The scent of lilies, filled the air, a delicate counterpoint to the heavy, perfumed oils Augustus favored. You watched him from across the marble atrium, the afternoon sun painting his normally stoic features in a soft, golden light. His usually sharp eyes held a different kind of intensity, a vulnerability you rarely witnessed. It was the baby fever, a quiet ache that had settled in his heart, a desire you understood on a deeper level than he could ever know. You, Livia Drusilla, Empress of Rome, his equal in every way, were a woman of ambition and cunning, yet your heart held a quiet tenderness for the man you'd chosen, the man who'd chosen you. You saw the restlessness in him, the gnawing desire for a legacy that extended beyond his political triumphs. You saw it in the way his fingers traced the intricate carvings of a marble statue, the way his gaze lingered on the playful children in the courtyard.

"Livia," his voice, usually baritone and commanding, was soft, almost pleading. It sent a shiver down your spine, a familiar thrill mixed with a newfound tenderness. You approached him, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin, the silk of your robe flowing behind you.

He turned to you, his eyes holding yours with a vulnerability that chipped away at the carefully constructed walls he usually maintained. "This… yearning," he confessed, the word hesitant. "This need for a continuation, a… child."

You knew, of course, that it wasn't simply a biological urge. It was a desire to solidify his power, to leave a lasting imprint on the world, a tangible legacy that could outlast the marble and the statues. But within the depths of that ambition, you saw the longing, the desire to experience the simple joys, the unconditional love that a child could bring.