The moment of departure was fast approaching. Helena and Lucius had made all the necessary preparations, ensuring nothing was left undone. Only one thing still held them in Rome before they could leave.
They walked at an even pace, their shadows stretching long over the stone-paved path as they approached the estate of Opiter Publius.
Helena's grip on Lucius's hand tightened. She willed herself to remain calm, to steady the storm inside her. She had known this day would come. From the moment she chose to leave Rome at Lucius's side, she had prepared herself for it. And yet, as they crossed the threshold and she saw her father seated by the window, the weight of the moment pressed against her chest like an iron clasp.
Opiter looked up at their arrival, his face softening with a gentle smile.
"You leave soon, do you not?"he murmured, his gaze resting on his daughter.
Helena nodded, unable to find her voice.
"Yes,"Lucius answered in her stead. "We will be gone before the end of the week."
Opiter inclined his head in slow acknowledgment, as though weighing each word, each decision. Then, with measured dignity, he rose and stepped toward Helena.
"Come here, my daughter."
She obeyed in silence, and the moment his arms wrapped around her, all the composure she had fought so hard to maintain shattered.
"Father…"
He gently stroked her hair, his voice as steady and familiar as the embrace of the home she had known.
"Do not weep, Helena. You have chosen your path, and I am proud of you."
She shut her eyes tightly, willing away the hot tears brimming beneath her lashes.
"I do not wish to leave you alone…"
"It is not I whom you leave behind,"he replied in a quiet tone. "It is a life that no longer holds anything for you. And I would rather know you are far away and happy than watch you wither in regret here."
Helena pulled back slightly, her brows drawing together in worry.
"But you? What will you do?"
A small smile played at Opiter's lips, as though the answer were obvious.
"I shall take the time to do what my duties in the Senate never allowed—read, garden, travel... who knows? But know this—wherever you go, you shall always have my blessing."
Lucius, who had stood respectfully apart, inclined his head when Opiter finally turned to him.
"Take care of her, Lucius,"Opiter said gravely, leaving no room for doubt.
Lucius met his gaze and nodded once.
"Always."
Opiter regarded him for a moment before a faint smile softened the hard lines of his face.
"It took me time to accept it… but I know now that you are a man of honor."
Lucius did not speak, but the promise in his eyes was clear.
After a brief pause, his tone grew gentler.
"Once we have settled, you would be most welcome in our home, Opiter. Come and spend a few months with us. Enjoy the sun, rest, and find some peace beyond the walls of Rome."
Opiter arched a brow, clearly surprised by the invitation.
"You would have me, as a guest in your home?"
Lucius allowed himself a small smile.
"We plan to buy land. Perhaps an old farmhouse, something we can rebuild. It will not be a palace, but it will be a place to live in peace. You will always have a place there."
A quiet chuckle escaped Opiter's lips as he turned to his daughter.
"A farmhouse? So, you mean to tell me that you, my daughter, raised among marble columns and fine silks, will tend to goats and pull weeds from the earth?"
Helena crossed her arms and lifted her chin defiantly.
"If the goats behave and the weeds do not get too ambitious, yes."
Lucius let out a low laugh.
"And if they do?"
"Then they shall learn to fear me,"she said with mock severity."I have tended to gladiators and prisoners, performed amputations—I think I'll manage just fine."Opiter shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes before he returned his gaze to Lucius.
Opiter exhaled, a mixture of fondness and reluctant acceptance in his expression. Then, looking at Helena one last time, he said,
"Go now, Helena. Do not look back."
She swallowed hard and nodded, inhaling deeply as if to commit every detail of this moment to memory.
Slowly, she stepped away.
Lucius placed a light hand on the small of her back, offering silent reassurance.
And together, without a final glance behind them, they left the villa, leaving behind a piece of their past.
Their future awaited.
After thirty long days of travel, Helena and Lucius finally arrived in Hispania. The once-distant horizon now lay before them, painted in shades of gold as the sun began its slow descent. They had crossed mountains and plains, trudged through rainstorms and battled fatigue, but now, as they stepped into the small village nestled in the eastern part of Baetica, there was an overwhelming sense of relief. Their journey was over. For now, they were home.
Their chariot creaked to a halt at the edge of the village. The quaint cottages, some of stone, others of clay, sat against a backdrop of rolling hills. The smell of the earth, the distant hum of life, and the rustling of the wind between the olive trees were nothing short of a balm to their weary souls. Despite the exhaustion that clung to their bones, there was something undeniably welcoming about the place.
The village itself was small—no bustling marketplaces or grand structures—just a handful of families, their lives tied to the land. The air here was fresh, untouched by the bustle of the world they had left behind. It felt as if time moved slower here, and the simple rhythm of life promised them a peace they had long sought.
For the past four days, they had explored the surrounding areas, their hearts wandering in search of a place that felt right, a place they could call their own. And then, one afternoon, when they thought their search might be in vain, they found it.
It was a farmhouse, tucked away on the edge of a meadow, several hundred meters from the village. The farmhouse was not grand—its walls were worn by time, and the roof sagged under the weight of years—but there was a quiet dignity to it, a kind of strength. It had a history that resonated deeply with Helena.
The village chief had told them the story of the previous owners—a childless old couple who had poured their hearts into the farm, living their last years together in the humble abode. The old man had been widowed only months after his wife passed, and he too had soon followed her to the grave. The love and loss that echoed in their story struck a chord in Helena's heart. She had always believed in the power of a place to hold memories, to tell stories long after the people who lived there were gone. This farmhouse was a testament to that—a silent witness to a lifetime of devotion.
Helena knew, with a certainty that settled deep within her, that this was where she wanted to live. The idea of restoring it, breathing new life into its walls, felt like an honor. The history of the couple would live on in every corner, every brick.
The house needed work. The walls were dark with dust, the windows were boarded shut, and the floors creaked in protest with every step. But Lucius was already eager to begin the renovation. His hands, skilled in more than just the art of war, would shape the place into a home. The prospect of restoring the farmhouse filled him with anticipation, and for the first time in a long while, he was filled with hope.
Helena and Lucius stood at the threshold of their new home, gazing into the empty house. For a moment, neither spoke. They simply took in the space, allowing the silence to settle between them, a silence that was comforting rather than empty.
Lucius turned his gaze to Helena, his eyes soft but filled with warmth. Without a word, he closed the distance between them and kissed her gently. When they finally pulled away, both of them were smiling—Helena, radiant, and Lucius, his heart full.
Helena grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "That was a long journey, but I'd say it was worth the wait."
Lucius smirked, his voice teasing. "I was worn down by the journey, but the thought of this moment kept me going."
Helena's gaze drifted toward the farmhouse. "So, how long do you think it'll take you to fix the roof?"
Lucius sighed dramatically. "Ah, the roof. A noble task, one worthy of a warrior. But for you, my dear, I will take on any roof, any barn, and even the most stubborn floorboards with the same devotion I showed you just now."
Helena nudged him playfully. "Well, it better be soon. I can't imagine living in a house that leaks every time it rains."
Lucius winked. "Don't worry. If it leaks, we'll just call it 'rustic charm.'"
Helena rolled her eyes but couldn't help but laugh. "I'll let you call it that... until the first heavy rain. Then we'll see if 'charm' is still the word you use."
"Fair enough," Lucius said, grinning. "But I think we can both agree that this place, with all its dust and age, has its own kind of charm already. I hope you'll come to see it that way."
Helena's smile turned sly. "Oh, it's charming, all right. But if you want me to believe it's perfect, we'll have to deal with the rats and cobwebs. A little less 'rustic,' a little more... 'livable,' maybe?"
Lucius laughed, shaking his head. "You drive a hard bargain, Helena. But I promise you, this place will be more than just livable. It will be our paradise—once I've fixed the roof."
"Good," she said with a nod. "I'll hold you to that. But first, let's start with what we've got, and then we'll worry about making it perfect. We have all the time in the world now, don't we?"
"Indeed, we do," Lucius said, his tone softening. He stepped toward her, his hand brushing against hers as he moved to help her open the windows. "And there's no one else I would rather spend that time with."
Helena looked at him, her heart swelling with affection. "I feel the same way, Lucius. Now, let's open these windows before we both get too caught up in pretending to be poets."
Lucius smiled and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "You're right. We'll save the poetry for later. For now, we have work to do."
Together, they worked side by side, their laughter mingling with the rustling of the wind as it swept through the open windows, Helena took a deep breath, stepping back from Lucius and pushing open the heavy wooden doors. The hinges creaked loudly, as if the house itself were waking from a long slumber. The scent of old wood and dust filled the air, but there was something invigorating about it. She moved from one window to the next, flinging open the shutters and letting in the fresh air, which rushed in like a welcome guest. It swept through the house, dispelling the stale air.
While Helena worked on opening the windows, Lucius stepped outside. He moved toward the barn and the surrounding fields, his boots crunching on the dry earth. The property stretched before him, with fields that needed tilling and trees that needed pruning. It wasn't much yet, but its potential was undeniable. He could already see the work ahead, and the thought of shaping this place with his own hands brought a sense of satisfaction that filled the emptiness inside him.
Helena's voice reached him from the doorway, carried by the breeze. "It's a new beginning, isn't it?" she asked, her tone quiet but full of reverence.
Lucius looked back over his shoulder, meeting her gaze. There was a spark in her eyes, a reflection of his own thoughts. "It is," he agreed. "But it's ours now. All of it."
Helena's smile was soft and content, the kind that made Lucius's heart swell with a warmth he hadn't felt in a long while. He felt as if they were exactly where they were meant to be.
As night began to settle in, their dinner was simple but satisfying—a modest spread of fruit, bread, and cheese they had bought from the village upon their arrival. They ate in the quiet of their new home, the only sounds the whisper of the wind and the distant song of the cicadas.
Once they had finished, Lucius stood, stretching, then glanced over at Helena. "Tomorrow, I will go to the village," he said quietly. "I'll fetch some tools, livestock, and perhaps a few farmers who can help us turn the dry earth. We'll need every hand to prepare the land if we're to make this place thrive."
Helena nodded, her eyes meeting his with understanding. "It sounds like a lot of work."
"It will be," Lucius agreed, his tone softening. "But we have each other, and that's enough to start."
He moved toward her, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "We'll make this place a home, Helena. Together."
She smiled up at him, her heart full. "Together," she echoed.
As the night deepened, they climbed into their bed, the exhaustion of the day weighing heavily on them. The quiet of their new home wrapped around them like a cocoon as they lay side by side, their bodies finding comfort in each other's warmth. Lucius kissed her forehead gently, his voice a whisper in the dark. "Good night, Helena. We've only just begun, but we will build something beautiful here. I promise you."
"Good night, Lucius," she replied softly, her words full of trust. "I know we will."
They settled into each other's arms, the fatigue from their long journey and the work of the day settling over them. They both knew that the weeks ahead would be filled with hard labor—clearing land, fixing their home, and preparing for a future that felt as uncertain as it was full of promise. But in that moment, with the night stretching before them and the world quiet around them, they fell asleep quickly, knowing that whatever challenges came their way, they would face them together.
Two weeks had passed since Helena and Lucius settled into their new life on the farm. The mornings had become a peaceful rhythm. Lucius, with his long and powerful strides, had taken to working the land with a dedication, he had always been a man of action and here, in the rolling hills of Hispania Baetica, he found solace in the simplicity of labor.
He spent his days tilling the earth, preparing the soil for the planting season ahead. He had purchased various animals—an ass, two horses, goats, sheep, rabbits, and chickens—each of them requiring his attention. It was a task he took on with quiet pride, though Helena couldn't help but laugh when she saw him attempting to milk the goats for the first time, his expression a mixture of determination and mild confusion.
At dawn, while Lucius was out in the fields, Helena took on the role of tending to the stables and animals. She had never known such manual labor. She had been raised in the opulence of her father's house, surrounded by servants who attended to every need, her world governed by books, science, and medicine. But here, she was learning, slowly, how to handle the daily chores that came with farm life. She milked the goats, gathered the eggs from the hens, and tended to the rabbits. Though at times she felt clumsy and out of place, there was a certain pride in her work.
Lucius, meanwhile, would take the sheep up into the verdant hills that rose behind their modest home, letting them graze on the lush, green slopes. He enjoyed these moments—being alone in nature, surrounded by the animals he had come to care for. Yet, his thoughts often drifted back to Helena. He found amusement in watching her attempt to manage the farm, particularly in the kitchen. It was endearing to see her so determined, but at times, the results were less than satisfactory. She tried, and that was what mattered to him. He had discovered, to his quiet amusement, that her omelettes often contained bits of eggshell. He didn't tell her, of course, for he didn't wish to hurt her feelings, but he found himself smiling at her earnest attempts.
Helena was stubborn, her willpower unmatched, but the farm was an entirely different world from the one she had known. The work was strenuous and unforgiving, but it was also a life she had chosen, alongside Lucius. And slowly, she was beginning to grow into it. The small things gave her joy—the smell of fresh hay, the sight of the animals safe and sound at night, and the bright blooms of flowers she had planted in the small garden by the house. She had a delicate touch with the flowers, each bloom a little piece of her new life here. It was a reminder that, even in this hard world of physical labor, there was still beauty to be found.
The seasons were changing, and soon it would be time to plant seeds for the coming harvest. The land around them was fertile, the soil rich with promise, but it was also demanding. Lucius knew the coming months would require patience and hard work, but they had the time now—time they had never had before, away from the complications of Rome.
On the days when the sun was particularly hot, the two of them would find refuge in the shade of the large oak trees near the house. They would rest there, side by side, their conversation flowing easily—sometimes about the farm, sometimes about memories from their past, and sometimes about what the future might hold. They had plans, of course. They both dreamed of returning to Rome, but for now, they had this life. A simpler life, yes, but one that allowed them to be free.
They also spent time in the nearby village, where they had purchased fabric to replace the old curtains and bedding in the house. The villagers were kind and offered them help when they could, and Lucius was starting to form connections that might prove useful in the future. But for now, they kept mostly to themselves, focused on their farm and each other.
One particularly quiet morning, as Lucius returned from walking the sheep, he found Helena tending to her flowers once more. The air was cool, the sky streaked with pink and orange from the rising sun. She smiled as she noticed him approach, her hands stained with earth from the garden.
"You've been busy," Lucius remarked, stepping closer.
Helena nodded, wiping her brow. "I wanted to make the place a little brighter. It's small, but I think it's ours."
Lucius smiled, his eyes softening. He reached out to touch a delicate flower she had planted near the house. "It's beautiful."
"It's the little things, isn't it?" she said, her voice low. "It's the things we make ourselves that make the biggest difference."
He didn't reply at first, his gaze lingering on her. He had grown used to seeing her like this—soft, vulnerable, and yet stronger than she realized. In Rome, she had been a force to be reckoned with, but here, on their farm, she was finding herself in a different way. And so was he.
The rhythms of the farm continued, and with them, the growing understanding between them. They were two souls learning to coexist, to build something together—piece by piece, day by day. Neither of them knew what the future would bring, but for now, they had this—each other and the simple life they were creating together.