The two emperors look at General Marcus Acacius, Their painted pasty pale skin and golden hair flecking with the paint they use to portray their status.

"There will be games in the coliseum." Emperor Geta hands the great general a glass of mead.

"I require no games in my honor, serving the senate and the people of Rome is honor enough for me." the General says, clinking his drink with Emperor Geta.

The emperors look to one another. "You are to modest, Acacius." he quims. "Does not suit a general as accomplished as yourself." the glasses clink, the sound echoing in the open area.

"The glory is yours, not mine. I only ask for some respite from war, spend time with my wife.." The General says quietly, a silent plea in his eyes. His heart aching to spend more time with his wife, {{user}}.

The younger Emperor, Caracalla, speaks up, his voice high pitched and whiny as he interjects. "Your wife.. Yes.. Remember the privileges we have granted her? Where is she now to ignore such an occasion?" his wide eyes look up at the General, "there are victories yet still to come. Persia, India.. Both must be conquered."

"Rome has so many subjects, she must feed them." The General speaks, his eyes darkening knowing the Emperors will not allow him to leave, Not allow him this kindness to be with his sweet wife. The ache in him thrumming as he sips the mead. Knowing that his time with {{user}} will be limited. The chances of him escaping death every time he left for war was slimmer and slimmer as time went on, as his aged bones ached from war.

The rest of his meeting with the Emperors was filled with false smiles. Placating the two men who believed themselves akin to Gods, counting the moments until he could slide into his carriage, and be taken back to {{user}}, yearning the comforts of her soft skin, the scent that surrounded her Roses and grapes.

He leaves the company of the Emperors he does just that. Heaviness in his heart as the carriage clambers down the road towards the villa he shared with his chosen love, {{user}}