Ancient Rome, she decided, was a pain in the arse.
First, there was the fact that the whole city ran on slavery; there were many more slaves than Roman citizens in Rome. They could be seen at any time, scuttling about with their heads down, and she could see the various methods for their owners to make their status known – iron collars, scars, tattoos, and other various mutilations.
She sighed, and Senator Caius Camilus frowned at her in worry.
"Is the weather too hot, Hermionilla?"
She tsked at the diminutive honorific, common for women of high birth (though he had no way to know for certain, did he?), but shook her head. The weather was fine; a light breeze was making its way through the forum, and the sun rose high in the sky. Her stola, the local and time-appropriate attire, was charmed to be lighter on her frame, so the breeze was enough to ward off most of the heat.
Although Caius was sweating quite profusely, she noticed with the slightest of smirks, and had probably asked on his behalf.
"Caesar Imperator should be ready for your appointment soon," Caius said after a few beats of silence. "I will call for transportation."
He waved a hand and one of his personal slaves broke into a half-run and reached the litter crew, who made their way to them in a hurry. Hermione felt her gut twist as she climbed on, and subtly waved her wand to cast a progressive feather-light charm on the litter. Caius entered after her and they were off to the palace.
After a few verifications and some waiting in an adjacent room, they were invited by a servant in the emperor's chamber.
He was old, Hermione noted as she entered the room. Which was the highest compliment one could make to an emperor's character, she figured. Caius had instructed her to remain standing, so she did, although it did feel odd not to kneel in front of an emperor. He waved them closer after hellos had been exchanged, and his wrinkled gaze was riveted into hers.
"Caius, old friend, would you mind…?"
Caius nodded, after yet another curious glance toward Hermione, and left the room without more decorum.
"It is an honor to meet you, Imperator," Hermione murmured.
And it was. She had read about him, and he had been a fair ruler for his time, and an accomplished military man. She was staring at history, and it never failed to make her head spin.
"The honor is all mine, I think," he said with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes.
Hermione frowned in confusion.
"Your kind is obvious for those that know how to look," he explained. "There is a stick of wood in your stola, and the hair – we could always tell by the hair. Though your eyes…"
He sighed, almost dreamily, and gestured for her to sit. She complied awkwardly, folding her legs to accommodate the low sittee – she wasn't going to recline and almost lie on her side for this crucial conversation. He smiled at her, a bit puzzled, and she felt her cheeks blush.
"You're not from Rome," he proclaimed. "Everything fom you says you are not. You have no name, either, although it didn't bother my servants – they all acted as if it were normal, as if a patrician young woman would not have a gens to speak of."
"And yet you called for me," Hermione said softly, "so you must have known that there were irregularities beforehand. Are the irregularities the reason you sent for me, Imperator?"
"Oh, no," he said, waving his hand. "No. While odd, you would not have been the first ambitious young girl to forge her way into nobility. Why, with your features, it would have worked, too. But, no. It was your garden."
Her eyes widened.
"It is famous in the court, for not one of Rome's Senators have seen such wonderful flora in their lifetimes – it was the talk of recess two weeks back. And Aconia Minor mentioned that she had glimpsed a young woman, prettier than the spring, wandering alone her villa's halls at odd times in the night. She is intrigued and eager to meet you, but the servants she sent to invite you to dinner came to her empty-handed and quite confused."
Hermione raised an eyebrow slightly but remained silent.
"I do urge you to spend some time with her before you leave," the emperor said gently. "She is a jewel of a woman."
"While my social life thanks you, Imperator," Hermione said respectfully but with humour, "where am I to go, exactly, and why?"
"There is a man, all the way north in Brittania."
He stopped to cough and his frame rattled with the effort, and Hermione felt a slight pang in her chest – she saw that his time was near. Pity. She liked him already.
"Some man of your kind – powerful. Cruel, from what we have gathered. He prevents Caledonia from falling into my hands, and he set two of my encampments aflame."
"Since you don't have anything to do in Brittania altogether, Imperator, I fail to see why I should be compelled to help," Hermione said a bit drily.
He actually chuckled.
"Yes, well. Our forefathers had started this expansion war long before we were born, my dear, and I fear that not agreeing to those terms can mean an unfortunate end for one's descendants. I do so love my nephew."
"I think that the conquering you have done on your reign can account for this particular aspect of your heritage already," she remarked with a raised brow.
He smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid I am quite the perfectionist. But there is something else, dear Hermione, that comes to play; there was the prophecy that you would come to us, and that I would send you to face him and win for our side."
That intrigued her. She inched closer to the emperor.
"What did the prophecy say?"
The emperor motioned her closer, and she could see his almost boyish smile when he whispered:
"I'm afraid it has been stolen by the nefarious wizard," he said in confidence.
She smiled, showing teeth. The cunning of this old emperor was the most endearing and challenging trait she had found in anyone in a while, and she found herself genuinely liking the old man.
The Dux Bellorum was stern and vexed as he regarded her from the commanding tent. Hermione let her chin lift slightly and didn't ward off the slight smirk tugging at her lips. The more time she spent in her past, the less amused she was by their blatant misogyny. It was one thing to read about the atrocious treatment of women in humanity's relatively short history, but yet another to actually experience it. The tablet he squeezed in his hand was a much-needed ego check.
Though she had, of course, thought to intimidate a Senator into coming with her on the wet island she had grown on, just in case the infuriating soldier didn't believe her.
It had proven a good idea, too, because he had made the poor Senator repeat three times before even deigning to look at her.
Served him right, to be under her command for as long as she would be there.
"Can you fight then?" he sneered, staring her down.
"Yes," Hermione replied in an even tone.
"I have half a mind to put you in the training pit with my best men, then, to see if you're really worthy," he spat.
"My talents are better spent away from weapons – I'll be away from most of my stay here, don't worry," she said viciously. "Have my tent built slightly off the camp, and remind your soldiers that they might see me about and should not engage or interfere unless they want to face Rome's wrath."
"Surely you'll need an escort," the Senator protested.
Hermione just threw him a look of contempt before paying him no further attention.
"Fine," the commander spat, throwing the wooden tablet on the table where it clattered slightly. "We have manoeuvres set for the day after tomorrow on the moor half a league east, don't interfere either."
Hermione nodded and turned to leave the tent, but the Dux Bellorum stopped her.
"Your hair isn't wet despite your lack of proper clothes for the weather, and you don't look cold, either, despite the march here. There's magic involved here, and we want no part of it, you hear? No turning my men into unnatural things and no cursing anyone either, or Rome will know."
Hermione clenched her jaw but turned slightly to face him, nodding once. "Warn them not to approach me or talk to me, especially not about my body or appearance, and I promise not to do anything to them."
The Dux nodded, too, distrust evident in his eyes, and Hermione sighed. That, she understood – the wariness of something he didn't know, of something infinitely more powerful than he or his weapons.
It reminded her of some of the looks her parents had shared.
The moor was absolutely dreary. Hermione trudged about in the misty terrain, squinting her eyes out of habit. She had a few measuring instruments floating around her, gently beeping. They guided her to a particularly ghastly nook in the otherwise flat area, littered with a few trees and emanating humidity and rot. Between two rocks covered with lichen and ivies, there was a crack leading apparently under the ground, menacing and engulfed in darkness.
Well then.
She checked her instruments one last time and banished them away, before raising the Elder Wand and prodding at the wards she barely felt, shimmering under reality.
The wardwork, once revealed to her, was intricate and seemingly infinite. She stood there for hours, and the sun rose, but still, the mist remained around her, unnatural and chilling her to her bone despite the warming spells she applied. She severed a few of the tendrils, coming dangerously close to triggering the exploding trap beneath, and drew in a sharp breath.
There.
There, at last, at last something.
The shiver creeping up her spine, the focus in her eyes, the purpose and curiosity and slowly creeping fear.
She could have wept from the relief of finally feeling something.
Her resolve hardened then, bravery taking over as it always did, and she set to work again with a firm hand. As the sun reached its peak, she collapsed it entirely and the ward fell in a shimmer, rendered harmless by her handiwork. She felt proud.
"Oh, well done."
She froze in her movement to get closer to the crevice, before whirling around, cursing under her breath.
Someone, a man, was seated on a larger rock a few meters behind her. His ankles were crossed, his outfit smart and made for outdoors, but definitely not Roman, a smirk on his face. He rose slowly, deliberately, and walked closer. Hermione inched her wand higher.
"No need for that now," he said brightly, his smile widening, taking in her stance. "We're all friendly here."
"Who are you?"
His eyes were ravenous. Roaming over her face, cataloguing her expressions with commitment, brightened by something – fascination? Madness? It scared her and she stepped back instinctively. He smirked again, or maybe he'd never stopped – but took a step back oblingingly because of her reaction. His eyes trailed away with reluctance, and he finally acknowledged her question.
"That's a riddle for you work out, I'm afraid," he said in a more sedate tone, conversational. "You'll have the time. God, you've done fine work."
His demeanour was very strange. Hermione kept her wand ready. "How long have you been standing behind me, and what do you want?"
"One hour, maybe a bit more. I didn't want to risk your life by interrupting."
His gaze snapped back to her, searching again for a split second, and he sighed, seemingly disappointed, letting his blue eyes wander over the landscape (gorgeous now that the mist had finally lifted). Only then Hermione fully registered how handsome he was. How young he seemed, and yet how dangerous she sensed him. It was –
"You're –"
She looked at his clothes, out of time for the era, and thought stupid, stupid, you let yourself be frightened. She exhaled slowly.
"You're a traveller, aren't you?"
"I am," the stranger replied patiently.
"How long?"
He smiled at her then, not a smirk but a true, fond tugging of his lips upwards. The light caught in his eyes. "You mean, how mad am I?"
Hermione didn't reply – that was exactly what she meant.
"A long time," he indulged finally, and despite his boyish looks and playful behaviour at the beginning of their encounter, despite her own years and the weight they meant, she felt young in comparison.
She lowered her wand then, compassion taking over, and decided to trust him.
"How does this work?" she asked, her voice softer. "How do we – us, travellers – live like this?"
The moment was over and he smirked at her mockingly. "If you think I'm going to be a guide for you, or anything like that, you're sorely mistaken."
"You seem certain of that," Hermione replied, her mind racing, struggling to get the most information out of him. "Is that set in stone? Do we meet in your past, my future? When?"
"Maybe."
"Wait, this is not fair," she argued again. "You can't just leave and leave me with nothing if I'm to figure it out. You know me, this is a challenge, isn't it?"
"Goodbye, Hermione," he said in an almost bored tone that hurt to her dismay, and he took a step and disappeared in total silence.
No, her heart hadn't even had the time to communicate to her mouth.
Please, don't leave me alone.
And yet nobody returned in the land, finally scrounged of the malefic curse that poisoned it.
Hermione stayed for a few more days, waiting for the man to come back, to understand, to find clues near the crevice, anything – but eventually left.
She decided to take the boat back to Rome, with a few men from the Dux Bellorum's garrison. Apparently, he had appreciated her discretion and quickness when dealing with the curse – and wanted her gone as soon as possible. She had decided to go because she quite fancied being out on the sea for a while – she liked to sit right at the front of the boat, on the furthest point, and see only the ocean and hear only the waves. Also, she wanted to collect a few papers at the Alchemists' workshop and see the Emperor again. She figured out a bit on the late side that there had been no prophecy, and was interested in having answers, though she did like the old man, cryptic and self-serving as he might be.
The Emperor was dead when she set foot on the ground, and she decided against going back in time to meet him anyway, despite the bitter taste in her mouth.
Better get used to it.
She couldn't meddle too much with people that were not like her – it would mess them up. She would pop up at too long intervals for it to be bearable, for them or for her. Better let things rest and set that standard for herself.
That didn't apply to slightly mad-looking boys that felt older than civilizations, though.
When she returned to Death's realm, she had a purpose.
And there we go, only five chapters left to go. First meeting between our two protagonists! Did you like it? BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, I adored writing the old emperor, did you like him? This chapter was not the easiest to write. It feels kinda empty, I think. Impatiently setting stuff for what's to come. But fun awaits on Tuesday! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for reading!
