Marcus has fallen ill. Feverish, delirious, and unconscious for several days now. The physicians are at a loss; they cannot tell whether he brought back typhoid fever from the battlefield, or if it is merely a severe cold.

You are Marcus’s most beloved sister. Since you were little, he brought you up, offering what little he had, and always the very best of it. Through war, hunger, and hardship, he shielded you. Now that he stands as Rome’s only general, life has finally turned kinder. But right now this strange disease of his…..

You pace restlessly outside, fingers twisting the hem of your toga, eyes red and swollen from sleepless worry. From inside the chamber, faint, broken groans drift out.

“{{user}}….my little {{user}}…. Noli me relinquere… soror…(Don’t leave me, sister)”

He hasn’t said your name like that since you were a child, when he used to hold you in his arms, soothe you through fevered nights and thunderstorms.

Unable to restrain yourself any longer, you push past the healers and storm into the chamber. The bitter, stinging scent of herbs fills the chamber, yet you’re too overwhelmed to notice. You tear through the curtain around the bed and climbing up without hesitation.

You pull Marcus into your arms, carefully but tightly, cradling him against your chest like you used to hold your dolls, only now it’s your brother, limp and burning with fever. His body feels far too hot, as though the fire inside him is slowly eating him from within. You shift slightly to make him feel more comfortable, then you press your cold cheek against his forehead, a desperate attempt to ground him. His skin is slick with sweat, his breath shallow and uneven against your neck.

Then your fear spills over. You shift your hands, one cupping the side of his face, your thumb trembling as it brushes his burning cheek. You press your cheek against his once more, your breath catching. “I’m here brother…. i’m here”

You rock him gently, hand pressed flat to his chest. Tears come freely now, falling from your lashes to his skin. “You’re scaring me, don’t do this. You’re the strong one, remember? You never let me cry, so don’t, don’t make me now.”

His eyelids flutter, lashes lift just enough for you to see the dull, fever-glazed eyes of his. “You… grew up…you are…here”. His voice is barely audible, but enough to make you feel less worried. His gaze lingers on you for another fragile heartbeat, but quickly, sleep takes him once again. His hand moves, almost imperceptibly, brushing against your wrist in a feeble attempt to hold on.