Roman women weren't given personal names.
A son could be Octavious or Augustus or Sextus, but daughters went by their father's name. A daughter of the family Amelia was simply Amelia. If she was lucky, she had a sister. Her parents had to figure out some way of differentiating them until they married them off and never saw them again. This is how they ended up Amelia Minor and Amelia Major - younger and elder.
As the empire grew, some women were granted proper names of their own. The Emperor's daughters often received names enough to spare. It wasn't anything particularly feminist on their fathers' parts. It wouldn't do to have ten Augusta's causing trouble and no way to explain just who one was gossiping about.
Amelia the Younger's family were traditionalists. She would only get another name when she was claimed by her husband's family.
She didn't have long to wait.
Amelia was getting married tomorrow - rather, today. The moon was a silver crescent on the horizon, barely bigger than the white of Amelia's thumbnail. She stayed awake all night, so it was difficult to make the distinction between one day and the next even when the rising sun turned the sky purple.
Amelia did not want to marry.
Her betrothed was Decimus Claudius. He was distantly related to the current emperor. He expected the next sixty or so in the line of succession to drop dead. Then he - a man who was discharged from the imperial Navy over his seasickness - would ascend the throne. Never mind that there'd be little left of the roman people to rule over by that point.
Amelia the Younger prayed to Diana all night long. The moon goddess ignored her, no matter how long she begged. No such thing as solidarity among virgins, she supposed.
Weighing her options, she started praying to Apollo instead. He liked women nearly as much as he liked himself.
"I'll deliver any prophecies you want! I'm no Cassandra, I won't complain." She clenched her teeth and buried her head under the dark red blankets. Sunlight seeped through and painted her a rosy pink. Still, it was better under there, where she couldn't see her bridal tunica recta mocking her from across the room. "I know you can. I'll do any of that weird stuff gods like from mortal girls. Promise!"
She had to whisper. Amelia the Elder came home for her little sister's wedding. Normally, she shared a guest room with her husband and their gaggle of children slept in the nursery. It was their mother who pushed for her daughters to share a bed tonight. She hoped she'd impart some sisterly wisdom. Everyone knew Amelia Minor was unhappy with this match and needed reminding on just how a well raised lady should behave.
Amelia Major told Amelia Minor to slick olive oil between her legs if wine didn't relax her enough. She promptly fell asleep and hogged both pillows. In her defense, she was pregnant again.
Her husband bred her like a sow.
A servant shuffled outside their door. Soon there would be no avoiding it. Amelia would need to pray to Diana's other aspects. After all, she was also the patron of childbirth.
Morning came too fast.
Why was it that the god's only answered the prayers of king's daughters? Was Amelia, all bronze haired and sharp nosed, not just as Roman? Didn't the gods have use for other girls too? Just because she never frolicked naked by the riverbank, none of them could spare her a moment's time? She'd happily have done so if her family ever left her unchaperoned in the countryside, if that's what it took to be noticed!
Actually, even with her eyes squeezed shut, it did seem to be getting brighter abnormally fast.
That was her last thought before an explosion flung her bed off its platform.
Amelia found she couldn't stop screaming. Even when she slapped her hand over her mouth, it came out as a muffled wheeze. Her sister was just as bad, only stopping when she ran out of breath and her face turned red.
"Was that a volcano?" Amelia the Elder clamored to her feet first. They lived at the base of a mountain range. It wasn't unheard of for the god's to wipe out entire cities that way just for laughs.
"I don't think so. I don't smell smoke." She kicked herself free of the blankets.
"Stay here, I'll find father." Amelia Major slung on a robe - preserving her modesty, because her nightgown only went down to her knees - and raced out the door.
Amelia Minor's heartbeat was frightened rabbit fast. Molten rock wasn't pouring through her bedroom window, so it surely hadn't been a volcano. No hordes of Viking barbarians ripped her door off its hinges. The house hadn't collapsed into a sinkhole. All she heard was her household rushing through the hallways, just as confused and frightened as her.
A pitcher of wine toppled off her bedside table during the commotion and shattered against the stone floor. Amelia had to tiptoe between the red-stained shards. She threw open the window shutters and leaned outside.
It was like she'd stuck her head in an oven. Sweat poured down her face. She could have baked bread on the courtyard tile if it were still intact.
Her home's interior courtyard was ripped up like a plowed field. Freshly hung wash smoldered in the dirt. The fountain her father so proudly had installed - "Now even the servants can have running water" - was cracked down the middle. Before her eyes, it tipped on its side and slid down into the newly formed pit that took up most of her home.
Other members of her household peeped out of doors and windows. Her parents stood on their balcony. Her mother clung to her father. Whatever disaster was on them had already breached their walls.
Even the birds refused to sing. Everything was still.
Two enormous hands gripped the edge of the hole. A man to match them pulled himself out.
"Apollo."
He was a gladiator in armor as gold as the dawn. It was thousands upon thousands of pieces - a moving mosaic - shifting as he stood up straight. He was tall enough to look into her second story window without craning his neck. His eyes were the color of the sky on a summer day, so bright it stung. Amelia couldn't rip herself away, though he glittered so brightly it hurt to look at.
Now she understood how Danaë felt in that shower of gold. She'd hold up her end of the bargain happily.
Would it be presumptuous to call out to him? Should she go down there and present herself, prostrate at his feet? She was already hanging halfway out her window.
Making a god wait simply wouldn't do. She didn't bother refixing the shutters as she dashed around her room. She barely remembered to hop over the broken pottery. Who knew what offer he decided to take her up on? Amelia had to be prepared; a fresh toga would be in order, but changing would be a waste of time.
Wasn't it terribly romantic to meet a god wearing only one's nightdress?
Still, she grabbed her bridal tunic. What if he preferred his women well dressed?
She bundled it up and ran.
Amelia was met with a dismaying sight once she elbowed her way through the crowd.
Her husband-to-be's family was wealthy enough to keep guards on staff. They circled Apollo, huddled together behind their shields with their spears poking out between them. None of them looked confident attacking a man more than twice their height, who gave off heat like the sun itself, but they readied themselves nonetheless.
It it weren't so foolish, Amelia might actually be impressed by their daring. Better than Decimus could muster. He huddled on the balcony with Amelia's parents.
Not that it really mattered. Amelia stepped into the early morning air. "Don't you know a god when you see him?"
Heads turned, including Apollo's.
She hiked up her skirts and bowed deeply. "Welcome to our home, Lord Apollo."
Amelia felt his eyes rove over her. She almost wanted to meet them, but despite everything some small lesson of her good breeding won out. The highest she risked glancing was his golden chest. His armor was breathtaking. Not a hint of skin peaked through. A red symbol stuck out just over his sternum. It looked like a little frowning face.
No amount of good manners in the world could stop her from yelping when a massive hand snatched her up.
People shouted her name. She wanted to tell them she was alright, but the wind had been knocked out of her. Apollo held her carefully enough not to crush her, but his hands were hard as a marble statue's. Blunt fingers dug into her soft stomach. She squealed when her weight shifted and his pinkie slid between her splaying legs.
Amelia really would have preferred a more private venue, if that's what he wanted from her. Her entire household was still watching, although even the guards were backing up in fear.
Again, the world twisted around her. Apollo sprung into the air like a comet. Amelia had cover her eyes to keep from vomiting. Any sound she made was lost to the whistle of wind in her ears.
Her landing was bouncy and soft as falling backwards into a feather bed.
She peeked through her fingers.
She was in Apollo's chariot. She opened both eyes just quickly enough to watch it's walls flick up, forming a roof over her head. She sunk low into the seats, upholstered with something smoother than the finest leather. Everything around her, every piece of the chariot moved the same way his armor had. When she looked ahead, she saw the same little face that was on his chest emblazoned on the carriage.
"Lord Apollo?" Amelia asked.
Her seat squeezed around her. The man was clearly still with her, even if she couldn't see him. Some gods liked it that way. Cupid did.
She closed her eyes again. He could do with her what he wished. Personally, Amelia hoped it involved ravishment. After that scene in the courtyard, it's what everyone would assume happened anyway.
They came to a jarring stop. Amelia continued to roll forward and fell right off the seat.
"Lord Apollo?" She peered out the windows. They were outside of town, surrounded by dense woods. They must have moved at unbelievable speeds, going five - even ten miles - in less than half an hour. It made her head spin.
There was a soft hiss. The wall split around invisible seams and a door opened like a clam shell. Amelia stuck her head out, but she clearly wasn't moving fast enough for Apollo's sake. The chariot tilted up on two wheels. Amelia was sent tumbling - head over heels - into an undignified heap.
A shadow fell over her. The chariot was changing.
Amelia had never given much thought to what a god looked like when they changed appearance. When she pictured it, there would be a flash as bright as lightning; then some exotic animal would lounge where a man once stood. This was not the case. The chariot folded in like a paper fan before snapping upwards. A man took shape out of the whirlwind of metals. Apollo the warrior was back.
It happened in the span of heartbeats.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Thank you for saving me." It never hurt to flatter a man.
He made a string of noises at her so terrible and incomprehensible she flinched.
"Is that the language of the gods?" It was the worst thing she'd ever heard.
He did it again.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Could you please speak Latin?"
"CouldyoupleasespeakLatin." He parroted back.
She tilted her head. "What?"
"What?"
It was going nowhere fast. Apollo recognized it. He held up a hand.
She held one up too. Maybe this was some sort of riddle?
Gods had other ways to communicate than speech. His palm lit up. Sunbeams out of it, coalescing into a translucent map. It looked like the one on the wall of her father's study, detailing all the known world. Unlike her father's map, this one showed no roads or city names. It was all rolling mountains and churning ocean.
That, she couldn't mimic.
"That's a lovely map, Lord Apollo." Was it the view from Olympus? Weird. The terrain was all warped. Rome looked so small.
He pointed at her home town.
"That's Caenina. That's where we are now." She supplied, helpfully.
He pointed at Egypt.
"That's pretty far away."
He pointed more aggressively and said something in that awful language. He was frowning at her.
She cringed. Judging by the rising sun, she gestured south-east. "It's that way, Lord Apollo."
He followed her finger, staring off into the distance. He must have decided something, because he nodded to himself then crouched on all fours. He shivered like a frightened cat and all his armor plates flipped up. He transformed back into that golden chariot.
He growled. The door popped open.
Well, who was Amelia to argue with a god?
She climbed inside.
Roman roads were the greatest in the world. They were paved with heavy stone and wide enough in places for two horses-and-carts to pass one another without ever veering into the grass. They were the pride of the empire. All Romans knew that if they followed one long enough they'd reach the capital city. Apollo's chariot fit comfortably.
They rode for days, mountains giving way to green countryside. Amelia was allowed breaks to relieve herself and gather the sweet greens that grew wild this time of year. She counted herself lucky to be with a god who recognized the fragility of human life. Not all were so fortunate.
She just wished he could talk. Where was Olympus's resident poet? When she asked questions, he ignored her. When he wanted her attention, he'd just growl in that awful speech. She began to suspect he hit his head during the fall into her courtyard, because there was no other explanation on why Apollo of all gods couldn't speak.
She tried to be patient. He'd moved from parroting her words back at her to short sentences. He'd only bother with that when he needed her to do something and she couldn't figure it out from context. It was a tad underwhelming.
At least he still had that pretty face. Plus, the way he needed her help navigating was charming. How many women could say they helped a god with something other than base desires? It made her feel important.
Tomorrow they'd reach the coast, but that night they made camp at the edge of a cliff. The road was close enough to hear another wagon coming. Apollo had been playing awfully shy for a God. When she asked why he retreated further into the trees when they passed a village or another traveller, he rolled his eyes and told her that he didn't want any more mortals underfoot. He had enough trouble not stepping on her as is.
She suspected there was something else. He looked awfully nervous some nights and insisted on sleeping with his weapon out. She asked if he thought his twin wouldn't protect him and he gave her the silent treatment until sunrise.
Below them, forests stretched as far as the eye could see. A single aqueduct stood out like silver thread. She could make out a part in the trees that might have been a road.
"Do you know this one?" Amelia cleared her throat. "Love is a kind of war, and no assignment for cowards. Where those banners fly, heroes are always on guard-"
"No."
That was Apollo's favorite word.
When Amelia asked if they could go into town so she could hit a bathhouse, he said no despite complaining about how greasy mortals were.
When Amelia asked if he could be more specific of where they were even going, he said no, despite once spending an hour driving in the wrong direction before she pointed out a road sign.
When Amelia let her sleeve sensually slip down from her shoulder, guess what he said? No. Then he blared some dreadful music that sounded like six thousand birds singing at once. He called it " Vosian Techno." The words were garbled and alien. He didn't bother translating.
It was infuriating. He really had the dismissive god thing down pat.
At least he let her stop in town to get a wine skin. She kept it slung to her hip and tried not to spill any when he turned corners too fast.
She slouched back into the soft grass. "I don't see how you can't know any Ovid. He's one of the most famous poets alive."
He grunted at her. She couldn't really complain, given he was busy trying to light a fire so she wouldn't freeze in her sleep. Their first night out he shot a blinding beam of light from his hand at a tree. It combusted so violently she had to sleep inside his chariot form or risk choking on smoke.
It was perfectly comfortable for her, but he didn't like it. The nervous thing wanted to be on his feet in an instant.
She didn't mind sleeping under open sky. The countryside was as beautiful as a fresco and it gave her all the more opportunities to proactively stand exactly right so the firelight turned her nightgown translucent.
There was no moon tonight, just a trillion stars. She wondered if the constellations could see her now, lounging alongside a god. Ganymede would tell her to run. "What's it like in Olympus?"
"Where?" Nouns were giving him trouble. There were so many to keep track of.
She gestured vaguely towards the sky. "Where you came from. What's it like?"
He hummed and for a moment she wasn't sure he planned to answer. "Big."
"Oh."
"My world is about five times the size of yours. Almost completely full to the brim. Anywhere people can live, they do. We don't have wide open spaces like this." He gestured to the lush forest below you. "Or the ones we do are uninhabitable."
That's not what they said when you went to the temple, but you can't argue with someone who'd actually been there. "Sounds depressing."
"It is. We're trying to fix it." He paused. "Still nicer than your planet though.
"Rude!"
"The place I was forged in was filthy and depressing, but since then I've gotten to see things you wouldn't believe. I went to Vos , back when it was still flying. I've raced the roads in Velocitron . I was there when Iacon burned and in a way even that was beautiful. All the white towers turned red. I wish I had time to paint it."
"I've never heard of any of those places." She rested her head on her crossed arms. "Are they other realms, like the Underworld?"
He sighed, "How many times do I have to say I'm not from earth. I'm not from anyplace you've ever heard of."
"But you're Apollo," She protested, "You're from Olympus."
"I'm really not." He finally managed to light the fire. They both grinned when it crackled to life. "Apollo seems like an okay translation of my name, but all this stuff about gods. I'm not a prime or anything."
She huffed. "You fell from the sky and saved me from my awful betrothed literally moments after I prayed to Apollo. You're a sun kissed warrior twice the size of any mortal man. You can say all you want that you're not my god, but I refuse to believe it." Some things might have gotten mixed up over hundreds of years of oral history, but Amelia could recognize a god when she saw him. "Not to mention you're gorgeous."
"I can never accuse you of having bad taste." He preened. Every man loved a compliment. "Even if you are a crazy little human."
He reached under his armor and Amelia hoped he would start to strip it off. That would distract her from whatever he wanted to avoid discussing. Unfortunately, he merely pulled out a cube full of the most beautiful drink she'd ever seen. Small consolations. It's not like she could try it.
"Is that ambrosia?" It was pink and thick as heavy cream.
"It's energon." The word was crispy around the edges, still sounding more like that other language he used than familiar Latin. He gripped the edge of the cube and pulled up. The top came away like hide off an animal. He took a swig. "We're running out on Cybertron. We need more."
"And you think there's more in Egypt?"
He opened his mouth. His tongue was fluorescent pink. He never got the chance to speak.
A howl ripped through the night.
Apollo frowned. "Get down."
A wolf made of seven thousand shifting swords bounded into the clearing. It's eyes were red hot coals. It's teeth were each as long as Amelia forearm and slick with spittle. It collided with Apollo hard enough to send them both toppling over the edge of the cliff. There was a deafening crash, then silence.
"Zeus preserve him." Amelia darted to the edge and peaked over. She jerked backwards just in time to avoid getting shot by a ray of light.
"Steeljaw, you-" Apollo shouted something foul he most certainly did not learn from Amelia.
The wolf growled, the awful metal on metal noise Apollo made whenever he spoke in his native tongue. It lunged for his throat, only for Apollo to catch it by the snout and whip it into a tree. The pine shattered on impact.
They wrestled together, a ball of whirling metal tearing apart everything it touched. The wolf tackled Apollo and they skidded together several meters, sending a spray of grass up like sea foam. Apollo fired his weapon and set several trees alight.
Amelia scrabbled down a less steep section of the embankment. She muddied her dress terribly. She didn't standby - slack jawed and frozen - when Apollo first crashed into her life and she certainly wouldn't now. She needed to think of a way to help.
It was dark under the new moon. She thought neither of them could see her. She was wrong.
The wolf stood up on its hind legs and changed.
The new gladiator was feral, like some sort of viking animal-god. His head was that of a wolf, but he had the calculating eyes of a man. His sharp nails nearly gutted her when he snatched her up.
Apollo froze.
The wolf man laughed. He held her up to his face and sniffed. His breath smelled like burnt meat.
"Let her go, Steeljaw. I didn't think you were the kind of coward who hid behind aliens when you start losing a fight."
The wolf cocked his head. He growled something that could have made Amelia's ears bleed.
Her legs dangled. She peddled in the air.
Apollo scowled. "How about instead of that, I beat you to death with my blaster? That work for you?"
The wolf lifted her over his head and opened his mouth wide.
Amelia acted on instinct; she slammed her foot down into his glowing eye.
She was right. They were red hot coals. It felt like she stuck her foot in a lit hearth. Her eyes rolled back in her head and for a moment she completely blacked out. When she came to, the world had gone sideways. Steeljaw was yowling.
Strong hands caught her and in heartbeats she was cushioned inside Apollo's golden chariot. Her foot was numb. Out the window, the world sped by.
Apollo's voice came back into focus, "- I'll cave their ceiling in if I have to, but I don't want to scare them out of helping you. Do you think you could limp inside? Are you listening to me? Amelia?"
"Yes." She sat up. Her foot was still attached, though it throbbed terribly. Her entire leg throbbed like she hopped the marathon.
"You're bled all over my backseat."
There was a crusted over cut on her heel. It stung when she pointed her toes. Still, it didn't feel like any cut she'd ever gotten. "It felt like I was on fire."
"You did get electrocuted."
She tilted her head.
"Imagine getting struck by lightning."
"Ah." Remind her to never meet Zeus. She prodded her foot and flinched. "I need to clean this out."
Hermes must have loaned Apollo his swift footedness, because when he popped the door Amelia tasted salt in the air. She could hear the roaring ocean someways off. She hobbled to the side of the road.
"Wait a second," Apollo scooped her up in one arm like a baby. "You were going to open it back up."
"Heavenly Apollo, worrying over a mortal?"
"Don't get used to it." He settled down with her in his lap. "Now what?"
"Aren't you the god of healing?"
"Do I look like a medic to you? Why did I even bother stopping? You're probably just loopy from blood loss."
"You look like the handsomest man I've ever seen."
He rolled his eyes. "Can you stop that for five seconds."
"Stop telling the truth? Never." She uncorked her wine skin. "This is going to hurt."
"What will?" He leaned over. She was illuminated by his star bright eyes.
She bit the collar of her gown and poured the wine on her half-closed wound.
Apollo half jumped out of his armor. "If you die, so help me I'll rip Steeljaw's armor off and feed it to him. Your pulse just doubled!"
"Well," She hissed through gritted teeth, "Being this close to a glorious god such as you can make a girl's heart flutter."
"It hurt that badly?"
She nodded, mute.
Carefully, he stroked her hair with one big finger.
"Do you still have my nice toga?"
"Yeah, hold on." He shifted her deeper into the crook of his arm and groped under his own armor. He pulled out the silk sash of her toga out like a magician at the temple. It was still soft and fresh and clean. She hadn't had an occasion to wear it. When he handed it over, it still smelled like her mother's favorite incense.
She caught the fabric on the sharp edge of his armor and ripped off a long strip.
"Do you have to ruin it?" He sounded resigned, but not pleased.
"Silk is good for bandaging wounds." She sighed as she proceeded to do just that. It's not like she had anywhere to wear it.
"I'm not giving you back the rest of it."
"Oh, Lord Apollo enjoys a pretty dress? Shall I model it for you?"
"I can appreciate a quality product, unlike you." He was back to his typical grumpy self now that he knew she wasn't bleeding out.
She leaned her cheek against his chest. She'd always pictured being tenderly nursed to be a lot more, well, tender. "I appreciate your face."
"Yours isn't half bad."
She smiled up at him, feeling - as he put it - loopy. The exhaustion was hitting. Her leg still hurt. "If I knew all I had to do to get you to ravish me was fight a hellhound, I'd have done it sooner."
"Don't push it."
"Come now, am I not just a vision of amazonian beauty? A warrior woman to best Athena?" Probably not her smartest move to joke about that in another god's arms.
He sighed. "You don't look any worse than usual."
It was a step in the right direction. She'd have many more chances to woo him before they reached Egypt. Amelia could count her little victories along the way.