A pale bleak sun cast its rays over broken spears and tattered banners as Boudica stumbled over rocks and grass still slick with gore. The iron scent of the battlefield filled her nostrils, an acrid reek of blood and fear and bodies already rotting in the humid air. It made her stomach roil and heave, but she would not let it choke her. Not until she had made a full round of the dead and dying. Not until she was sure none of her kin were still alive among the wreckage.

Sucking in breath, she paused at the edge of the lightly wooded combe and forced herself to look down among the thickets. There were at least two dozen bodies, and probably more hidden among the trampled foliage. Most were clad in the segmented metal armor of the enemy, while others wore the boiled leather cuirasses of her warriors, but all were together in the stillness of death. It hung in the air, carried in the rising stench and the hoarse cries of circling crows.

All these lives, these brave men, sacrificed to Rome's greedy talons. Boudica felt grief and rage claw up her throat. Once, she would have let it out in great wracking sobs, as she wept for her broken home and her desperate people. Now she swallowed it to fuel the coals in her belly, and turned back towards the smoke trailing in the distance. Let the dead rest, and worry about the living. I've seen everything I needed here.

Or so she thought, when a choked gurgle made her head snap around. Boudica followed it down, scrambling over loose pebbles and branches as she slid down the slope. Pushing through a thick cluster of trees at the bottom, she found herself staring down at a dead horse bearing the livery of Rome. Its once-glossy flank was dabbled in blood, its legs doubled awkwardly under its bulk. And pinned underneath…

"Galan!" cried Boudica, throwing herself to her knees next to the young warrior. He gasped for breath through bloodied lips, his hands reflexively scrabbling in a futile effort to push the beast's great weight off his legs. A heavy blow must have knocked it off its feet, and her kinsman was unlucky enough to be in its path.

He stilled when she gently touched his cheek, then turned reddened eyes towards her. Boudica's breath hitched when she saw how pale his face was under the scruffy red beard. Although she wasn't close to the man, she remembered the tow-headed boy who had eagerly followed his older sister when they played in the fields with Boudica's own daughters. Back then, she had idly wondered if he would follow his father's profession as a bowyer, or instead put those bows to use as a hunter.

And now…

"Oh Galan," she groaned as she sat back on her haunches, looking down at the dying man before her. For a wild moment, Boudica thought about grabbing the carcass that was crushing him, using every ounce of strength to somehow lever it off. Then she could carefully haul him up, carry him back step by step to camp—

"B… Boudica…" The voice rose, wet and thick between ragged breaths, to hook her back to reality. When his twitching fingers pawed at the earth in front of her, she gently took them in her own.

"I'm here, Galan," she said quietly. She tried to think of reassuring words, a prayer to the gods or a promise to look after his sister, but nothing came through the clenching of her heart.

To her shame, he tried to reassure her, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. He can smile like this, even on death's door. The thought hardened her resolve and straightened her shoulders as she gripped his hand with renewed strength. She had to show him the proud leader to whom they had pledged their swords, show him that he had not sacrificed everything for a coward. She owned him this much—Galan, and all her other kin whose blood soaked the field.

"Boudica… no, my Queen," he rasped out. "Did we win…?"

"Yes," she said, "Andraste has seen us to victory."

Even though it was a pyrrhic one at best. Their blood and iron had routed the Romans and prevented them from reaching the pass, but her army was too tattered to remain here without resupplying. They would have to give up the ground so dearly won today, and it was all too likely these woods would see blood again before the snows fell.

But Boudica could afford to lie to him. A single glance at his shattered legs told her Galan would never walk again, even if she could muster the strength to free him from the dead animal trapping him. Her fantasy of dragging him to safety was just that, the sort of foolishness that a queen knew to brush away. Her army had to march, and swiftly, if they wished to regroup with the Trinovantes before nightfall.

Galan gave her hand a weak squeeze as he let himself drop fully against the rough grass at his back. "I'm glad," he sighed. "Send those dogs running… with their tails between their legs…"

"We will, I swear it," said Boudica as she discreetly worked her dagger loose from its sheath at her side. "Our brothers will not have died in vain today. We'll drive those bastards from our home and spit on every Roman milestone, all the way to Londinium."

His lips crinkled up into a smile, even as blood dripped from the corners. She smiled back with all the pride she felt for him, holding his gaze as she maneuvred her blade. A swift cut to the throat, and his suffering would be over. This is all I can do for Galan now.

Boudica leaned over him again, steeling herself for the blow, when Galan heaved himself upwards with a tortured grunt. She froze as his arms locked weakly around her shoulders, his beard scratching against her cheek as he feebly hugged her.

"Thank you," he said, his throat hoarse with clotted gore. "I think… I can see them now." He jerked as her arms closed around him, his body becoming lead in her grasp. "I need to go... My Queen."

She had thought her tears long since dried up, in that hall of black pine, but the salt taste on her lips as she set him down was all too familiar. She clutched at the (cold, how was he already so cold) man, even though she knew he was already slipping away from her. She wanted to pretend, just a moment longer, before she had to get back to searching for others. Distantly she heard the flutter of black wings and sharp caws, carrion birds calling their own kin down to feast.

Then the body suddenly shifted in her grip, wrenching itself away with sudden and terrifying strength. Instinctively Boudica grabbed on, throwing her arms around that corpse-pale neck and clutching with all her strength. As gruesome as it was, it was her only lifeline in the darkness swiftly encroaching from every side.

"Don't leave me!" she cried, dignity forgotten before the spike of fear and grief burying itself in her breast. "Please, don't leave me here alone! Galan… Prasutagas, please… everyone…"

Boudica's hold tightened as the corpse jerked in her arms again. Something cut through the air, a broken desperate wail. It was only the burning in her throat that let her recognize it as her own.

She screamed, screamed against a sky that had gone black as pitch, screamed against the crimson shadows pooling over her, drowning her—

—Boudica woke to darkness before her eyes and her heart pounding in her chest, the scream lodged in her throat. Something slippery was twisted around her limbs, sticking unpleasantly to the cold sweat bathing her body. For a terrifying moment, she felt it as ropes pinning her down to unyielding ground, ready for the enemy's blade. She couldn't help thrashing her legs against - sheets, she finally registered, those are sheets - even as she unconsciously tightened her hold on the warm body in her arms.

"Ow!" The body pulled away, despite the redhead's best efforts to hold on. "Boudica, that hurts!" A shuffle on the bed, then jade eyes were staring down at her, their colour washed out in the moonlight.

Boudica recoiled from that gaze, pulling the sheets with her as she reared back. Her breath caught as her hands curled into fists, ready to defend herself.

"Darling? Boudica, what's wrong?"

The woman - she could make out that much in the dim light - seemed taken aback at first. She hesitated, then reached a hand out towards Boudica. Palm up, an invitation rather than a demand.

"Shhh," she soothed. "It's okay, darling. It's just me." The voice was familiar now, a rich tone that spoke of warm lips and summer blooms.

"N… Nero?" Boudica's shoulders were shaking, but she slowly loosened her grip on the sheet. When she squinted, she could just make out a familiar mane of hair, even if it looked silvery-white instead of its usual blonde.

"That's right," said Nero, in the calm voice she used whenever her husband woke up haunted by shadows. "I'm here. We're here, together."

It was far more familiar than Boudica cared to admit, and again she felt the prickling of shame. She had needed reassurance from a dying man, and now here she was craving it from Nero, the woman she had broken and taken responsibility for putting back together. It felt like weakness, and the bitter taste of defeat.

She might have stubbornly turned her back on the comfort being offered, lied to both of them, if not for the hand still held out to her. The comfort of human touch, freely given. Boudica snatched at it, fingers closing in a vice grip around that wrist, feeling smooth skin and delicate bones underneath.

To Nero's credit, she didn't flinch. Instead she slowly and delicately rubbed her thumb across the back of the Celt's hand, tracing soothing circles. Her touch felt warm and solid, nothing like the shadows of her dreamscape, and Boudica felt herself relax the slightest bit.

"Another nightmare?" asked Nero with a sympathetic sigh.

"Y… yeah," she admitted, and without warning her eyes filled with tears. Once, she might have tried hiding them from the blonde as a sign of weakness. But there was no point, not when Nero had learnt to track her moods as an augur followed the stars. More than that, it was a relief to let them fall without fear.

"It was… vivid," she said at last. "More than usual, I mean."

The reek of blood still lingered in her nose, as much as the buzzing of blow-flies in her ears. If she closed her eyes, she would find herself sitting among corpses.

"I can imagine," said Nero, before giving a small giggle, one of her many tools when she wished to lighten a heavy atmosphere. "You gave me quite a scare! I might have thought you a mule, the way you kicked."

The blonde's laughter was a bit strained, but still far better than—

—the screams of her horses, more shrill and piercing than human vocal chords could produce, as they fell under the cloud of arrows raining down from every side—

Panic seized Boudica's heart again, squeezing it with cruel fingers. She couldn't think, she couldn't breath, only close her eyes against the pale faces floating up in the darkness.

Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders as Nero pulled her into a fierce embrace. Boudica clung to her wife, pressing herself as closely as she could. She buried her nose in golden tresses, inhaling deeply so that her wife's sweet scent might drown out the haunting stench of the battlefield.

"It's okay, it's okay," murmured Nero as she stroked her hair. "I have you."

It was warm in Nero's arms, especially when Boudica moved her face down to press into the crook of her wife's neck. She could feel the pulse running in her throat, the steady beat of a living heart. The redhead found herself counting down the beats, a soothing rhythm to anchor her breathing until she could calm down. Even better when gentle hands rubbed her back, warm against the shivering of her naked skin. A leg slipped between hers, intertwining them, even as comforting nothings were whispered in her ear.

On other nights, that would have been enough to drive away the phantom screams and roars. They would fall back asleep in each other's embrace, and sleep soundly until morning. But Boudica's eyes had scarcely fluttered shut when she could see bodies again, already rotting in the damp forest air. A crow picked at one, snatching up a bit of entrail in its slender beak.

There was a small cry of pain, she wasn't sure from which of them, as Boudica grabbed at Nero again, caressing her back and shoulders with a fierce tenderness. She needed to feel her, needed to touch warm skin and know that the woman was really there, wouldn't vanish like mist on the wind. That she wouldn't wake up cold and alone in her room in Chaldea, and realize that the past weeks had only been the dream of a yearning heart. It's alright, she told herself between deep breaths. You're here with Nero. You're not alone.

A shaky smile had just formed on her lips when a sharp little voice, the one she had tried to bury these past weeks, cut through the muddled haze of her emotions. Here with Rome, you mean, it said darkly. Seeking comfort in Rome's arms. She stiffened in the blonde's grasp.

"Boudica…?"

She barely registered the question, lost in a sudden flood of self-loathing. Rome, the very foe that filled her nights with screams and clanging steel. A fresh wave of disgust threatened to pull her under as she remembered her promise to Galan. What happened to driving the dogs to Londinium? Here you are, in bed with their master.

There was a brush of hands against her face. Boudica pried them off automatically, then stared into worried green eyes. For a breath, she saw the scarlet banners again, the cruel march of soldiers' sandals down the hills of her homeland, and her fists clenched. Then she remembered the way those eyes had screwed shut, that proud head bowed in apology, only days ago.

"My mother… guided my hand, when I first ascended to the Seat of Roses," Nero had said haltingly, as she always did when she spoke of her. "When she died… no, I must be honest… when I had her executed, I found myself floundering. I had never been allowed to truly touch matters of state before, and suddenly they were all piled before me. Among them was the question of Britain."

She had taken a deep breath then before continuing, her voice uncharacteristically flat. "My great uncle Claudius launched the invasion when I was six years old. Fifteen years later, I had to decide whether to send more legions to hold the new provinces, or withdraw them to Gaul. My advisors all told me to solidify our conquest. For the glory of Rome."

Her entire body had folded in defensively, but she had forced herself to meet Boudica's gaze. "I told them to carry on, and thought little more of it. I may not have commanded them, but I am nonetheless responsible." Face pale, voice trembling, she had jerked her head down. "Boudica… I don't expect you to ever forgive you for the crime your people suffered. I… I don't even know if apologizing helps, or if it's just another insult. But for what it's worth… I'm sorry."

The helpless slump of Nero's shoulders, the despair in her eyes, had all screamed that she expected Boudica to leave her, and wouldn't have blamed her for it. But she had apologized anyway, risked tearing the wound irreparably open, when the Celt had expected it to forever fester silently between them. Perhaps that was why Boudica had chosen to forgive her, to live in the present, even if she would never forget the past.

The present, she thought, looking across to where her Nero sat on the bed, her brow creased in concern.

"There you are," said the blonde quietly. "I thought I had lost you again."

That was uncomfortably close to the truth. Boudica took a jagged breath, then grasped Nero's hands in her own again. "Don't worry," she said, trying for strength, "It's fine, everything is fine."

It is fine, she told herself as they embraced once more, her wife's gentle warmth keeping her grounded in the moment. Nero may have been Emperor, but she isn't that Rome. Galan would understand, surely they would all—

Eyes stared back at her, glassy with death, from a face caked in blood. I have to go now, my Queen.

"No! No, no, I can't!" Boudica's whole body shuddered as her fingers dug into shoulders whose warmth was rapidly leaking out, leaving her with the chill of a corpse. "Please, I can't…"

Choking on grief and fear, she was half adrift in a sea of shadowed memories when a hand slid down her back, drawing small circles along her spine. Pulling shivers from her, but the good kind of shivers, from pleasure rather than fear. Part of Boudica felt a touch of shame, that her body could react this way in these circumstances. The rest of her desperately latched onto the sensation, leaned into each stroke and press of digits, hoping to drown out the shadows.

"Shhh, it's okay," said Nero, moving her hands down the redhead's sides, tracing warmth along cold skin. "You're here at the beach house with me. You're safe."

Boudica gave a shaky smile as she tried to relax under that touch, as gentle as rain -

—the sky had opened on her journey back to the camp, icy spears pelting down on her back and shoulders, drenching her in water as cold as the death seeping into the earth—

Again the Celt gave a strangled cry, and again she was pulled back by warm fingers as they danced lower, brushing along her stomach and hips before coming to rest on her thigh. Tracing fire into her skin, slowly but steadily building heat in her core. That heat crept up her back and burned in the nape of her neck, driving away the cold fog seizing her mind.

"Look at me, please," whispered Nero, and Boudica found herself gazing helplessly into those eyes, that loving smile.

Then lips descended on hers, soft and tasting of rose petals and wine. What began as a tender kiss swiftly picked up hunger, as Boudica sought to lose herself in the sweetness of Nero's mouth. Something pricked at the back of her brain, but it was increasingly difficult to focus when lust was setting her blood aflame.

They had scarcely separated to catch their breaths when Boudica pressed the attack, burying her hands in Nero's hair as she recaptured her lips in a kiss even more heated than the last. Then the blonde's hands slid lower still, teasing along the skin on the inside of her thighs, and arousal exploded into raw animal need.

"A-ahh, Nero..." she groaned helplessly into the other's mouth. "I need…"

"I know," said Nero quietly, "Leave everything to me."

Deft fingers gently opened her folds, exposing the trembling bud at the top before pressing against it with a firmness that made her jolt. Searing pleasure coursed through her body, the last traces of her nightmare vanishing like shadows melting away under the sun. Some stubborn part of her caught onto the last tendril of it, but warm lips firmly descended again, and she willingly let it slip away.

Boudica surrendered to that kiss, just as she lay back and surrendered when Nero's hand slid fully between her thighs, her questing fingers pushing inside to stroke and thrust. Plucking her like a violin, letting her vibrate in time with the rhythm of the plunging digits.

She wrapped her arms around the slender but powerful shoulders shifting above her, her nails impressing crescents into Nero's back. Distantly she felt a weight press against her leg. She glanced down to see the blonde settling herself fully against her thigh, Nero's own core warm and dripping wet where it touched her naked skin.

Awareness flickered through the scarlet haze of passion, and with it her sense of responsibility. Nero's doing this for me, she thought, and a prickle of guilt joined the lust burning in her veins. She should feel good too. I should take care of her.

She had barely begun to rise from the bed when Nero gently but firmly pushed her back down, never pausing the deft play of her fingers inside her.

"Let me take care of you, Please."

It was impossible to resist that earnest voice, as impossible as forgoing the delicious friction of Nero's hand working her into a frenzy. Boudica let herself fall into the sea of sensation, waves of pleasure wash over her as she was sped towards her crest. Letting someone worry about everything for once, while she lay back and let herself feel.

Now she understood why Nero provoked her so much, why the blonde was so eager to put herself under Boudica's direction. It was freeing, and she could already feel some of the stress leaving her body, replaced by an entirely different and far more pleasant tension. She could close her eyes and let things wash over her, let things happen without worry, knowing that Nero would take care of her. An absurd thought, willingly putting herself in Rome's hands, and trusting that she would come out unharmed. But at that moment, there was nowhere else she would rather be.

Boudica shamelessly rolled her hips, seeking more of that delicious friction, oblivious to everything but her own pleasure. There was nothing but this moment shared between them, heat and desire and life in every quirk of Nero's fingers inside her, every brush of lips against her forehead.

It couldn't last long, not with the intensity of the feelings flowing between them. Boudica stiffened as she crested her peak, flung on waves of bliss that left her gasping on the far shore. A moment later Nero rocked against her with a shuddering sigh, hot sticky fluids from her release coating Boudica's leg. As messy as it was, the Celt welcomed it. There was a certain sensuality in sharing every aspect of their bodies, even the messy parts. But more importantly, the wetness on her thigh was the proof that Nero had things fully under control. That she had made things good for both of them, even when Boudica was lost in the throes of selfish desire.

Entirely spent, Nero let herself tumble to the side, breathing hard. Boudica didn't move, electing to bask in the afterglow a little while longer. There was nothing she needed to do, nowhere she needed to be this patch of stillness before dawn, pressed up close against her wife.

She might have laid there forever, if not for the fingers delicately brushing her hair from her sweat-slicked brow. Boudica looked up to see jade eyes gazing tenderly down at her, a hint of anxiety in the arch of that elegant brow.

"Better now?" asked Nero.

"Yes," said Boudica, reaching for Nero's hand and intertwining their fingers. "That was just what I needed."

Relief shone in the smile that spread across Nero's lips. It lit up her whole face, a spring flower opening to its sun. She gave Boudica's hand a fond squeeze. "Anything for my dearest husband."

The redhead sighed in contentment as she reclined back against the pillows, fatigue pressing heavily down on her now that night terrors had been thoroughly vanquished. The sky was a little lighter now, but there should still be some hours of sleep before Liz came knocking at their door to show off her outfit that day. Not that Servants needed sleep, but it was still a nice—

Arms settled around her waist, reminding her that she wasn't the only one awake in the stillness. She winced as realization set in that her nightmares had again pulled Nero from sleep. Not a trivial affair, for left to her own devices, the Roman would put any housecat to shame.

"Hey, Nero?" she said as she raised a hand to caress her cheek. "I'm sorry I woke you up. Next, time, I'll try to—"

The attempted promise was swallowed up by a kiss, as the blonde pressed their mouths together again. It was light and tender, rather than the messy lustful affair from earlier, but no less effective a means of capturing her husband's undivided attention.

When they pulled back, Nero cradled Boudica's face in her hands. "You're my everything," she said. "I'm not going to ignore you when you're in pain. I won't stand by and see my sun darken, not when I can do something to help."

From anyone else, such a declaration might have sounded like overblown sentiment. In Nero's mouth, framed by the flash of her eyes and the determined set of her jaw, it took on the ring of truth. Boudica felt a surge of gratitude and affection, but try as she might, her own words kept getting caught in her throat. She struggled for a bit, then gave up and simply opened her arms.

"Then come here," she commanded, and smirked when she felt some of her confidence return.

"Ahh, darling! You always know just what to say," laughed Nero as she happily threw herself into Boudica's embrace, nuzzling the top of her head against the redhead's chin. It was very reminiscent of the lionesses that the Saber was so fond of, and not just because of the physicality of her affection. There was real power in the limbs wrapping themselves around Boudica's neck, but rather than a threat, it was a comfort. She could rest a little easier, knowing that when she stumbled, Nero would be there to catch her in turn.

It makes sense, in a way, she thought wryly to herself. Rome broke me, as surely as I broke her. So Rome should have to fix it.

When they settled back down this time, Boudica's heart had finally calmed. She was sure she would be able to sleep now. Still, she kept herself tightly wrapped around her wife as she breathed in her fragrance, revelled in the steady rise and fall of her chest. Whenever the Celt had these dreams in the past, she would give up on any hope of sleep and drink mead until morning. Alone and shaking, lost in her past and dreading what tragedies the future would bring. Now, she knew that she could rest, anchored in her present and the people who needed her, and who she needed in turn.

Even if Nero did hog the covers. Already the Roman had managed to pull the sheet largely off Boudica to wrap it tightly around her own shoulders. The Celt might have been annoyed if the blonde did not look absolutely adorable in her sleep, her rebel hair fluttering with each murmured breath.

Boudica grinned as she pressed in closer, enjoying the pleased noise Nero made as she unconsciously leaned into her embrace. Just means I have an excuse to snuggle in closer.

There was a sharp tang to the marinade, even under the rich flavour of wine and sea salt. Boudica set the spoon back down with a nod of satisfaction. At first, she had been taken aback by the burning spice of the unassuming green peppers that Quetzalcoatl had cheerfully pressed into her hands. It was just as well nobody had been around to hear the flood of curses Boudica had spat when her chopping accidentally sprayed a bit of their oil in her eye. But for all that, she appreciated the heat they added to dishes.

She had just picked up her brush to apply the sweet liquid over the chicken skewers when she spotted Carmilla approaching. Her smooth stride made it seem like she was gliding over the burning sand, despite her six-inch heels. Boudica felt her hackles rise. Even if they were pledged to the same Master, she never felt comfortable around someone who had so callously killed young maidens for the sake of vanity.

Long nails clicked against the table as Carmilla silently considered the skewers laid out neatly in rows. Boudica briefly considered ignoring her in favour of focusing on her cooking, hoping the vampire might go away. Then she sighed and put down the brush. Misdirections and retreats were for Romans, certain individuals excepted. The Iceni always faced their challenges head-on.

"Did you need something?" she asked, trying to keep the dislike from her voice.

Golden eyes studied her over expensive sunglasses, before coming up to meet her gaze. "You're getting along quite well with the Emperor of Roses." She presented it as a statement of fact, though it was impossible to miss the hint of challenge underneath.

Boudica bristled. "Indeed, we are," she said curtly, then dipped her brush and applied the first coat to the meat.

A long silence followed, as Carmilla tracked every dip and movement of the Celt's handiwork. There was something unsettling about the Assassin's focus and the absolute control with which she held herself. Then the mask lifted for a moment, as her brow crinkled in puzzlement.

"There are some who would see that as a betrayal of your identity," she said without accusation. "The Queen of Victory, entirely besotted with the one that ruined her."

The brush snapped in two as Boudica inhaled sharply and rounded on her. "Some might be better off minding their own business," she growled. "If that's all you're here to tell me, don't let me keep you."

Infuriatingly, Carmilla made no move to leave. If anything, her frown deepened. Tension coiled in Boudica's limbs as she tried to make sense of what this meant, and whether a fight might be imminent after all.

Then the vampire sucked in a deep breath and murmured, so quietly that Boudica almost missed it, "I wish to know why."

The Rider's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" Her fingers tightened around the shard of handle still in her grasp. What's her angle here? She's not the type to take innocent interest.

"Nero's soldiers murdered your husband and ravaged your home. To lift her yoke, you poured out your people's sweat and blood." She paused on the last word, then looked her straight in the eye. "By all rights, you should be the most bitter of enemies, and yet you clasp her to you and call her wife. How do you resolve this contradiction?"

How dare you saunter up and ask me that? But the words died on the Celt's lips, because she had been wondering exactly the same thing. Because Nero had been right—even if she had not commanded the troops that destroyed the Iceni, her indifference had made possible their atrocities. For all her whispered assurances to herself last night, she was sure her warriors would indeed see her actions as betrayal. And yet…

"I can't change the past, no matter how much I wish it otherwise," she murmured, her eyes straying to the glowing surface of the heating grill. "And I can't control the future, no matter how much I try to prepare for it. We are all hostage to fate, in one degree or another. But…"

She drew herself up. "I can live in the present. Here and now, I can change things for the better. Every choice I make, every blade I lift and every smile I protect, makes a difference however small. Here and now, I am needed. Here and now, I have a home. I won't let my regrets and my grudges get in the way."

A gentle smile curved her lips. "My past is what defines me, but it does not control me. I can choose to love Nero, despite everything that happened. Even if I can't ever forget, I can learn to forgive."

After a few heartbeats of silence, she brought her gaze back up. Carmilla had turned to face the surf. It reminded Boudica that she wasn't alone.

"Why do you ask?"

Carmilla's only answer was to look out further towards the tide. Boudica followed her gaze to where Liz and Kiyohime were watching with keen interest as Mordred demonstrated how to catch a wave.

Then the vampire's posture shifted, and her gaze took on a hint of wistfulness.

"There are some days when..." she spoke haltingly, her whisper barely audible above the crashing of the waves, "...when color has drained from the world, and all I can see is the red of my past. And there are some days... I wish I could..."

Then her face closed off, regaining its mask of cold indifference. She pushed her sunglasses back up before turning to face Boudica again. "Never mind." She nodded towards the food laid out on the table. "I look forward to the meal."

She walked off without another glance. Boudica watched her for a bit as she wandered down the beach, her heels dragging lines in the sand. She never eats food, though. Then she glanced back at Liz, who had snagged a piece of driftwood from somewhere to serve as her microphone. From the disgusted expression on Mordred's face, she could guess that the dragon-girl had offered to reward her with a song. How does a girl so full of life and color fade into such cold silver?

"If you wanted a song, you should have asked me," said a reproachful but wonderfully familiar voice behind her. Boudica pivoted around to find her wife pouting at her, hands behind her back.

"No thank you," she said quickly, then seeing the flash of hurt in Nero's eyes, she hastily added, "I'd much rather make you sing tonight."

The Roman beamed at the promise of another busy night, and Boudica sighed in relief. As much as she loved her wife, some crimes were simply beyond the pale.

"Oh, by the way," said Nero after a moment, with affected levity that did not hide the eager sparkle in her eyes, "I got you something!"

She thrust her hands forward, showing off a necklace of small seashells threaded on string. Their scalloped forms shone iridescent in the sunlight, shimmering prettily in swirling blues and greens.

"Cleopatra helped me make it!" she said brightly. "You deserve to be showered in gold and pearls, but this will have to do to convey my sentiments."

Nero held the necklace up invitingly. Boudica smiled as she reflected that she would have hated to have anything from Rome's treasury touch her skin. But this necklace, made clumsily but with real sentiment from the nurturing earth and sea…

"It's beautiful," she said, and meant it. "Thank you, Nero."

Her once enemy, now her beloved partner, beamed as she placed it around the Celt's neck. "Don't worry, I'll come up with something better once—"

Boudica caught her hand and pressed a kiss on the knuckles. "It's perfect. You made it for me, and that's all I can ask for."

The blonde's smile widened. "So we're taking it home with us?"

"Obviously," said Boudica with a slight huff. "I could never leave any happy memory with you abandoned on the shore." She might have winced at saying something so embarrassing, but for the way Nero's eyes lit up in elation. What was a bit of saccharinity, when it brought such joy to the love of her life?

She held her hand out. "Shall we?"

"Yes," purred Nero as she took it, interlacing their fingers. "Home sounds nice."

"Yeah. It really does."

And so we come to the finale. Here's what my good friend TungstenCat has to say about that.

"Thank you for reading, and taking another step into rarepair hell with us. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go look up more pictures of servants in Nero's bride outfit and it's all Minerva's fault."

It is my fault. Nero Bride is extremely hot on her own, but damn, does Jalter work it well... sorry, what was I saying?

This chapter took a while to get right because it's so hard to execute all these fine points of angst and not have them feel excessive. It might still feel that way to some of you, but Boudica needed her character arc, and both Tunko and I refuse to deny her the ability to come to terms with this. That is what Two Sides of a Sesterce is all about: a Heroic Spirit is defined by their past, but they aren't controlled by it.

Thank you for taking this journey with us. It was fun the whole step of the way. We will be back in the next entry into the Yuri Chaldea series eventually, because Lord knows a premise like that is just begging to be written.

Your ending theme is Heretics of Purity by kegani featuring DracoVirgo.

Thanks for reading.