For all those who read my fanfics over the years and enjoyed them I just want to say thank you. For sticking by me and seeing the good in them despite the glaring faults, messy plotlines and terrible grammar. Anyway, I've read Rick's recent work and it got me in a Jeyna mood, so in my own way this is my ode to my Jeyna days. Looking back I don't think they could ever been together so I had no idea how I held out so much hope but it's nice to play with the what if aspect if this ship. Some of this fic is inspired by the Ember in the Ashes, a series I would definitely recommend everyone to read. I was also inspired by I Surrender by Celine Dion, especially the last bit where I had this mental picture of Reyna and Jason travelling to Split with their sisters and bumping into each other individually in the old town.
Act I: Loss of Power
Judging by the angle the sun lay in the sky I assumed that it was around 5 pm, giving me around an hour or so to get back to New Rome before the senate meeting began. I had little doubt that Octavian had noticed my absence by now and called a secret meeting, seizing the city's unrest to blame the whole debacle on my incompetence. If there was one thing I hated the most it was admitting that the little git was right; I had lead the horse right into our home and watched them burn it. Even worse, I had let them get away with it. Suffice to say, my trek towards the Berkeley hills was not an easy one; my whole body was racked with a visceral rage; an instinct drilled into me through my years of training at the Wolf House and at camp: the desire to annihilate my enemies, to bleed them dry and make sure nothing was left of them. I had already lost so much in my short 16 years of life but one loss I wouldn't tolerate was Rome. Over the years, I've grown use to people coming abruptly, always forcing me to make room for them and always leaving with the same violence they came. Rome was never like that for me; the very concept of it had the likeness of an old companion guiding me through the lonely sojourn that was life. Rome had offered me the comfort and permanence that no parent, friend or lover ever could. Now I risked losing all that.
After intercepting a few traps along the way, I entered one of the many labyrinthine tunnels that perforated the hillside. Upon entering, a bolt of cool air washed over me which I was grateful for, the bliss of it almost distracting me from the dark figure that lurked a few paces from me. Instinctively, my hand reached for the dagger at my side.
"Salutations, Praetor Ramirez-Arellano," the dark figure said, finally moving into the light streaming from the mouth of the tunnel, "I was expecting you, did you enjoy all the traps I've set?"
I tilted my head forward out of respect of speaking to an elder as was custom of my people, "General Drusus Cornelius Scipio," I intoned, "Yes I did enjoy them, especially when I had to pick pieces of shrapnel out of my armour. Must I always risk my death in order to meet with you?"
The old general considered. In truth we were cousins, separated by thousands of years and lands. When the western half of the Roman Empire fell, Rome's eternal flame dispersed, travelling in arcs across continents, its torch picked up by many empires and kingdoms throughout the ages. My family traced Rome's light across the Spanish Empire and then to Puerto Rico, while his decided to stay in continental Europe before migrating to North America; being one of the founding families that established the colony that would become New Rome. I remember when I had first met him and he discovered our shared heritage; he had laughed which was something he rarely did and said; "We are Cornellii's, ours is hardy stock, while we don't have any imperial blood in our line ever since Rome's founding we have been generals, statesmen and advisors loyal to the expansion of the Empire. Wherever Rome's legacy burns the brightest you will find one of our kinsmen there, no doubt kindling the fire that makes the Empire churn. That is your inheritance."
His dark brown eyes sparkled. "I could, but what use would all your training be? Life would be rather dull if we mortals didn't dance with death every so often." Once the word death was spoken the atmosphere around us shifted. I waited for the blow.
"Octavian still lives," General Cornelius Scipio said with distaste,"Why haven't you killed him yet?"
"I'm afraid assassinations aren't so easy these days. If anybody caught so much of a whisper of it, I'd be apprehended and then put on trial for conspiracy for murder."
He scowled at my callous indifference, "Use that head of yours, child. Make it look like it happened due to natural causes; do you see how skinny and sickly he is? You'd just be speeding along the process."
I pondered his advice, unraveling the many possible outcomes in my head. Octavian was no longer thorn at my side nor the bitter rival he was during the years I've climbed up the ranks. I was now vested in a neck deep struggle for power against him and the outcome was clear: one of us had to die for the other to win. And I was not willing to play into his machinations again. Still, killing him would come with a cost. Rome was at its edge; some parts of the city lay in ruins and our wares were spread thin. And beyond that was the fact that I did not want to take on the role of a killer again. For as long as I've known him, Octavian was angry, vicious and broken. Now I could add mad on that list too, but there was something else lurking within him; a darkness that mirrored my own. Where I fought mine and submitted my will to Rome, Octavian was ruled by his. The same could be said about many of my compatriots; the hierarchical organization of camp did that much. Cruelty and bloodthirsty ambition proved to be useful tools to claw yourself to the top. Briefly, I wondered what would have become of me if Jason hadn't offered me his friendship. He was my closest friend, the first person who convinced me to make camp my home. Today's events did nothing to change that.
While I was in thought General Cornelius had seen the conflict written clearly on my face. "Young one," he started, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. "I see a fierceness in you that wholly belongs to our family. My daughter had the same fire though it was snuffed out because she was too good, like you..." I sensed a tinge of sadness in his voice. "Your enemies will see that, for such weakness is often exploited. You are a good person and that will be to your detriment."
I would be lying if I said his words didn't unsettle me for what they implied. My climb to power had been perilous; I had risked a lot, lost a lot, just to be where I was. Now I had to fight to secure it. After one last exchange, I left the cavernous tunnels and made my way down the grassy hilltops and into the winding alleys of New Rome, just passing the Pomeranian line and into the Senate House, into a vipers nest.
...
While General Cornelius' advice weighed heavy on my mind, I might as well have been one of the many ghosts in the Senate room as Octavian had wrested my power from me again. Suddenly, I had the chilling thought that maybe the General overestimated my being too good. I had killed my own father because I thought he had murdered Hylla. I made a name for myself in New Rome in spite of the fact that the very action I took against him would've gotten me executed if anyone caught word of it. I could and would do it again if it ensured the safety of Rome and my people.
"I trust I do not have to repeat the horrors of today, but if I must..." Octavian turned to feign a smile at me, "I suggest Praetor Reyna do the honours, since that monstrosity entered the city on her permission." From their seats the senators looked upon me askance, too stunned (angered) by the days events to speak. Even the ghosts essences flared more fiercely than usual. They awaited my explanation.
So I gave it to them. "I did it on the condition that Jason was on that boat. Basic diplomacy requires that much, Octavian." I retorted, trying to mask the anger in my voice.
"Diplomacy," Octavian enunciated the word as if I were a child who was playing a role far too big for her. "Should only be extended when the requirements to do so are met. The Greeks infiltrated our camp with a trireme, why you didn't consider that itself as a declaration of war is a sure sign of your incompetence." At that, I forced my hands to grip the sides of my toga. He was now attacking me in front of the Senate and in doing so hoping to meander his way into my mind; in hopes of getting an emotional reaction from me, to make me undignified.
He smiled once again, this time putting his smugness on full display which was when I recalled speaking to him earlier today, a few minutes after one of Jason's friends fired at New Rome. I remembered how calm he was amid the chaos that ensued, how unsettled it made me feel. He had have to have known this, I thought. I had been trying to restore order among the crowds when he encircled me along with his lackeys on his way to Capitoline hill. "It's no use, Reyna," he had said, "You've set your own trap and now you must lay in it."
"NO," I growled back. "This is what you wanted from the very beginning, you blamed me for everything that went wrong so far, and now that there's chaos you'll use it to assume power! You never cared for Rome, you only ever cared for yourself!"
"And?" His expression teetered between perplexity and amusement. "Rome was always just a set of ideals; the truth is that Rome is ruled by the men who govern it, never the other way around. Julius Caesar knew that and so did my ancestor Augustus. Perhaps you wouldn't be such a fool if you had realized that too." He then burst out into laughter. "I thought we could work together once, you and me, as did Augustus with Livia, but you are no more than a desperate little girl trying to establish ideals that could be only found in books. The reality lies in the people, in having men being loyal to you, not what the dead say."
For a moment I tore my eyes away from Octavian and looked at the scene that lay ahead of me; parts of the city burning, a trireme floating a few miles above my head; my people hurting and angry, in a few hours they'll be looking for someone to blame. I turned back to look at Octavian who had a triumphant gleam in his eyes.
"I wonder," he said with fake curiosity. "Who will take the blame for this incident and how will we ever get retribution? Should the criminal be sewn into a sac and thrown into Tiber, flogged to death or thrown into a gladiatorial game for our enjoyment?" He gauged my expression, his eyes speaking for him: your death, your choice. "It would've always been this way, Reyna. I would've taken it regardless of the costs."
...
With so little allies—Centurion Dakota and his cohort as it seemed—the decision was unanimous; we would be going to war against the Greeks. As I held the spear meant to be symbolic of warfare and marched my legion up Capitoline hill, I wondered if I could've done more. But what more could've been done when the motto of my people was aut vincere aut mori, conquer or die. We built an empire before on those very same words. History could never be changed, once provoked there was no going back, my peoples thirst for vengeance would not be quenched until we wrought destruction on the Greek camp and brought back the criminals heads on pikes. Where that made me stand I did not know. My instinct and training told me it was my right to go after them, but whatever heart left in me countered that Jason was on that boat and whatever the reality was; I would never hurt him.
When we reached the summit of the hill I let the cool night's air envelop me and in that moment my mind started to wander as it did often—not to the past or future, but to another world entirely. In this world my father was never driven mad because of love and my family was never torn apart. In this world Jason Grace wasn't abandoned at the wolf house nor was he a son of Rome; he was a Greek. We'd live separate lives, mine as a wayward, sheltered daughter in Puerto Rico while he lived on the eastern seaboard. Him being raised a Greek would even him out in a way Rome could never do; the likeness of him being a gentle breeze on a summers day instead the calm in midst storm I was so used to. We'd meet in Split, Croatia, a city that attracted both of us for its beauty and history and we'd fall in love—free from the mantle of expectation that both our legacies set upon us. I let the image of it settle before I wiped it clear from my mind. The fantasy does not bring me the comfort that it used to. Instead this truth lay painted before me: Jason was gone and the only thing left from him was the destruction his friend set upon the city. War was all that was left.