All Chapters of LOVE AND HONOR: The Mad Emperor (BL): Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

"For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.”—Rudyard KiplingWeser River, last week of November. 16 AD. Gero, a drunken warrior, with a crudely tattooed spear on his back, trembled with relief as he emptied his bladder into the river.He swigged from a gamey-smelling leather flask midstream to gulp the bitter liquor to burn his throat.Suddenly—a prickling sensation crawled across his braided scalp.‘Huh?’ he narrowed his eyes, his senses tingling.‘Something’s off…’ he told himself, bowing his head a little as he gulped.Something ominous.‘I can feel it even from a mile away…’ he tried to sniff the air but—‘Water… trees… animal shit… and campfire smoke.’He wet his lips, the distinct taste of the liquor lingered at the tip of his tongue.His guts screamed danger—the same instinct that earned him the nickname 'animal' in the tribe—as he puffed his chest out.He huffed as he secured the flask back to his waist, as his own urine still continued

Following their victory at the Weser River, Germanicus and his men began their march back to Vetera Castrum, still riding the high of battle.But not before paying a tribute to the fallen in Teotuborg Forest.Arminius's wife, Thusnelda, and her newborn baby accompanied them, as prisoners.As they entered the haunted depths of the forest, their triumph dulled into solemnity. This was more than a detour—it was a reckoning.For the first time in years, Roman boots disturbed the soil where three legions had perished.The air hung heavy with silence.It's been years, but the forest held the weight of their loss, a grim monument to Rome's bitter defeat.A brief prayer, led by Germanicus, rose through the ancient trees, a plea to the gods and goddesses for solace.Then, they retrieved the three aquilae (emblem), the lost eagles of the fallen legions, symbols of Rome's enduring spirit.That night, they camped beneath the towering trees, their only companion the distant, mournful call of an owl

20AD, around early January, Palatine Hill..It's raining...PITTER-PATTER'Is it possible for the sky to mourn?'PITTER-PATTERLepidus wondered, tilting his head toward the endless expanse of darkness above.Raindrops pelted down, drenching his black hair, tracing cold paths down his pale skin.Goosebumps popping up.He squinted against the downpour, his eyes swollen and red-rimmed from crying.'The air smells of damp earth…' He sniffled.His chest ached, tightening with an invisible force. 'The sky is dark… and it's weeping.'Slowly, he pressed a trembling hand to his chest, as if the pressure could dull the pain inside.The pitter-pattering of the rain drummed against the cobblestones, each drop a lonely note in the melancholic melody that echoed his sorrow.SPLOSH SPLOSH Barefoot, shivering, Lepidus stood alone in the rain-soaked streets of Rome.Citizens hurried past him—merchants, slaves, nobles—each too absorbed in their own lives to notice the small, trembling figure in the sto

'Hhhhnnnnnnnnnn..' A silent cry is being suppressed. It's caught in her throat. Trapped.Afraid to release it. She's barely hanging on with her sanity.Barely aware of what's going on around her.She's not even aware that her son Drusus Caesar has just slapped his younger brother Caligula, earlier.No.She's lost in her own little world.Her calceus-clad feet sank into the damp, rain-soaked grass, soft and yielding beneath her weight.The earth still held the memory of the recent downpour, puddles forming in its uneven embrace.SWISH SWISHEach step was sluggish, her long dark stola dragging through the wet ground, its hem absorbing mud and moisture until it grew heavy, a burden mirroring the weight in her chest.Her face was empty. Her eyes, vacant. But inside—'Hhhhnnnnnnnnnn...'The sound was hers alone, a silent wail curling in her soul.She carried the urn close, its cold ceramic surface pressing against her chest as she trudged forward, her mind unable to form a single coherent t

The night had fully settled in.. And the surrounding darkness seemed to swallow everything in its path—leaving behind an oppressive silence.. The usual rain of the season was absent tonight. Still, the air remained damp and cold. Plancina gazed into her speculum, her reflection, calm and composed—unusually so, for a wife whose husband was now imprisoned. Nearby, an array of cosmetics lay scattered across the table—opened, used, and left unattended. As if she could not care less about whether they were cleaned away or left to waste. A typical behavior for a woman of her caliber. She's a noble. It's what's expected of her. Her fingers absently ran through her dark hair, the motion was habitual, her thoughts drifting far away from the present. Four beeswax candles flickered in the room, their warm glow dancing against the cold night air. A wasteful act. Well.. she's a noble! A noble! The fire illuminated the smooth, rounded surface of the speculum, casting shadows that deepened