Fan Fiction
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Rooted Sorrow
The Roman Centurion was pacing the length of a sunlit balcony. He had been told that the Empress would join him there as soon as her current business was concluded.
The tall man could feel the sweat trickling down his spine under the shining armour and heavy wool tunic he had to wear as an official envoy of the Great Caesar. The more uncomfortable he felt under the uncompromising midday sun, the angrier he got.
She might be the unchallenged ruler of a land with thousands of years of history, but at the end of the day she is only a woman, nothing more but a weak woman in need of male protection. Yes, they are good at caring for a household and the very young children, but matters of state are far beyond the grasp of their feeble minds. And yet, here I am, ordered to play nice to the whims of a mere female.
His inner ranting abruptly stopped when one of these ridiculously dressed males he had seen scurrying around purposely strode towards him—well, sort of. What else would one call the movements of a man wearing the long skirts of a woman?
The short man with the overly ornate clothing bowed deeply and said, “Venerable Emissary, the Crown of Wisdom welcomes the representative of the great Roman Empire in her humble abode. She is deeply honoured…”
The Centurion had a hard time suppressing a satisfied smirk. So, this so-called Empress knew of his importance and seemed duly impressed by the glory of Rome. Things were definitively beginning to look up. He almost missed the rest of the man’s elaborate words over his musings.
“…will not be able to see personally to your needs and desires. So, she has awarded the great honour to be at your service to this humble servant. Please, tell me, o Epitome of Manhood, what is your master’s desire?”
The Roman had his sword at the man’s neck in the blink of an eye. Though he saw himself as a servant of Caesar’s; he still was his own man, the heir of one of the oldest families in the Roman Empire.
He had expected the old man to react the usual way, on reflex, out of fear. He wanted him to beg, but the older Chinese didn’t even move a muscle at the sudden attack.
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