He idly plucked a small branch of lilac and held it to his nose to inhale the sweet fragrance, eyes closing to savor the scent that so reminded him of her. Spring had finally arrived after a long winter, and he was growing impatient for the year to be over, for her decade of service to the goddess and the temple and the Empire to be done. Upon hearing her voice, he spun around on a heel, nearly dropping the bloom, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest, harder than it ever did in battle. How one soft sweet woman he'd known since she was a girl could completely undo him, he hadn't a clue. "Silvia," he echoed her greeting, stepping toward her and holding out the tiny fragrant offering, eyes bright with adoration he dared let none but her see.

That adoration was easily echoed in the liquid dark of her eyes as she reached out to take the delicate offering he gave her, her fingers slipping against his as she took the tiny lilac sprig. She had loved Marcellus Theodorius since she was a child, prevented from having him as her husband first by the decree of her father, and then by her dedication to Vesta. "Forgive my lateness," she asked him softly, stepping as close as she dared. "There were many offerings to take as the dawn arose."

As much as he wanted to, he dared not touch her, his fingertips accidentally brushing hers and causing his cheeks to flush hotly. In all the years of their acquaintance, they had only shared a few clandestine caresses and even fewer stolen kisses. He knew how dangerous it was for her to meet him, much less display open affection toward him. It was no secret that they'd been childhood friends, and he had often wondered if her father had given her to the temple to purposely prevent her from marrying him. "There is nothing to forgive," he dismissed her apology with a smile, holding back the hand that wanted to reach up and touch her, if only for a moment. I would wait for you forever, my heart. The words remained unsaid, though they could be seen in the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, and his gaze lingered on hers. He knew her duties came first, as did his, but he hoped that would soon change.

The brightness in her cheeks was a close match to the crimson of her stola, the briefest brush of his skin to hers enough to turn her shy. She was, after all, a Vestal Virgin, with all that implied, and though she loved Marcellus deeply, she was just a little afraid of the way he made her feel sometimes. Her smile softened further as she breathed in the scent of the lilac he had given her, moving further into the seclusion of their chosen meeting place. "How have you kept, since last we met?"

Impatient, he thought to himself, though he dared not say such a thing, lest he cause her to feel guilty for circumstances she could have done nothing to prevent or change. They had decided long ago that this was the path they'd take, both of them serving the Empire in their own way, until they were allowed to be free. Ten years was a long time, but it was nearly over. All their waiting would be over. "I have been well, and you?" he asked politely as he fell into step to stroll the gardens beside her, always leaving a small discreet space between them, at least for now.

"I have been well, yes," she assured him, the gentle rustle of her garments doing nothing to drown out the thump of her own heartbeat ringing in her ears. "I offer my prayers to Vesta each day, asking her to keep you safe and well, and away from the rebellions that keep rising throughout the Empire. So long as you are stationed here, I do not fear losing you to war."

He frowned a little as she said this, knowing something she did not yet know, something he knew would upset her. Though the ten years of her service were nearly over and the waiting was nearly done, he was a soldier and as such, was at the whim of his superiors, not least of which was the Emperor. "I'm afraid I have news that you may not like then."

She halted suddenly, shock rising on her face fighting for dominance over the natural fear that came with it as she raised her eyes to his, her hands suddenly fisted in her palla. "Your legion is being deployed?" she asked in a voice that trembled at the thought. Through almost ten years, she had held tight to the anchor that his love gave her, the certainty that they would marry when she was released. "Marcellus" Tell me I am wrong."

He saw the shock and the fear on her face, but he had little choice. He was a Roman centurion and as such, must do as he was ordered. If he was fortunate, he would not be gone long. If he was not so fortunate, then perhaps he could send for her to join him as his wife, until such time that he was able to come home. She would soon be free to do as she chose, and though other men might vie for her hand, it was he who held her heart. "I wish that I could, but I have no choice." He paused in their stroll to turn and face her, nearly reaching for her hand before his own hand fell empty at his side. "We are being sent to Britannia," he told her solemnly.

Britannia. Her heart seemed to fall in her chest, the fear of losing him compounded by the knowledge of where he would be. It would take a few months for him to simply reach that distant edge of the Empire, a place she had heard was filled with savages and barbarians who were worse than the Germanic Celts. "So far away," was all she could think of to say, each word weighted with disappointment and distress, her dark eyes swimming with the threat of tears. "You will not be here when ....when Vesta releases me."

It seemed all their plans had gone for naught. Ten years of waiting only to have to wait longer, and who knew how much longer" He frowned sadly to see the tears in her eyes, to know he had brought her such sadness. "Silvia, listen to me," he implored, dark eyes meeting hers. "I will send for you when I reach the Isles. You'll be free by then to do as you wish. You can join me there, and we'll be married, just as we planned." Despite everything, he still dared to hope, dared to dream.

"If you survive the journey," she shook her head unhappily. "If I survive the journey. I know I am very sheltered, but I do understand the dangers. I'm afraid for you, Marcellus. I'm so afraid." Without thinking, she surged forward, her hands seeking his to grip tightly as she looked up into his eyes. "I would risk everything to be your wife. Surely the gods would not be so cruel as to part us before we have a chance to fulfill the promise we made, would they?"

"If you would, my lady." There was no way in Tartarus the commander was going to tell Marcellus what was really going on while a frightened girl was standing there, certainly not while they were in a public place.

Silvia jumped when she was addressed, her frightened eyes slipping from Marcellus to the guard who gestured for her to walk with him. There was sympathy in the man's eyes, but even she knew he did not dare go against his orders. And even she knew how shaky the Senate's hold on the Empire was at this moment. "Of course," she agreed, casting a last look to Marcellus as she moved to follow the guard.

The commander waited until they were out of sight, his hand steady on his sword as he looked back at his own prisoner. "I would appreciate your cooperation."

Marcellus threw a worried glance at Silvia, more concerned for her well-being than his own, convinced this was some mistake and that once the truth came out, they would both be cleared of charges. They had pledged themselves to each other years ago in the witness of Vesta, before she had been dedicated to service in the temple. They had waited nearly ten long years. It had to be a mistake; there was no other explanation. "You don't understand. We've done nothing wrong," he said, appealing to the commander, though he knew it would do no good. "She's done nothing wrong."

The commander met his eyes with weary resignation. "You know it doesn't matter," he said quietly. "The Senate is shaking, and they need a scapegoat. You have been seen in the company of Silvia Livinius more than once; it was enough for them to issue the warrant. On top of that, I understand the sacred flame has been left to go out, and that is to be blamed upon Silvia Livinius. A Vestal Virgin has brought shame and ill-fortune upon the city, you know the drill. For my part, I only wish I had not seen you kiss her. There'll be no saving either of you now."

"She did not let the flame go out. It's not her fault," Marcellus argued, knowing with all his heart that Silvia was not to blame. Someone wanted to point the finger and find a scapegoat, and they just happened to be the easiest ones to blame. "So, you will let an innocent be sacrificed to keep the peace. If you must blame someone, blame me. Tell them I forced myself upon her. It was not her fault." He was pleading now, even though he knew it was hopeless. How had it come to this, when they were so close to freedom"

Another weary sigh left the commander as he shook his head. "Whether she was forced or not - and I will not impugn your name by suggesting that anything but love exists between you, I know what I saw - her life is still forfeit. The Senate require a sacrifice. She was chosen before ever your name was mentioned. Come with me, lad. Don't be a hero - you'll lose the chance to see her again before you die."

"Is there no hope then, even if I plead our case?" Marcellus asked, feeling the weight of the world suddenly settling upon his shoulders. He would do anything to save her, even if it meant sacrificing his own life to do so. "We were promised years ago, before her father sent her to the temple. She only has a few months left, and then she'll be free."

The commander met his eyes, regret and sympathy in his eyes. He was an experienced man, a family man, and he knew how the politics of the city worked. This was a mess of the Senate's making, the loss of the legions in the Rhine, and they lashed out to take the attention from themselves. "No hope, centurion," he spoke truthfully. "You'll both be put to death, but perhaps we'll be able to slip you hemlock before you are taken to the place of execution. The Pontifex himself will escort her to her own place of execution."

He straightened his back, courage finding him in his hour of need, if not pride. He knew it was hopeless. There was nothing he could do once they'd made up their minds, and there was no escape. All he could hope for now was for either a quick, merciful death or to die with honor, though the latter was unlikely. He shuddered at the thought of his sweet Silvia being escorted to the underground "habitable room" where she would die alone in cold and darkness, and he felt his chest tighten with heaviness of despair. "If we are to die, then let us die together. Don't let her die alone."

The commander did not answer, enough kindness in his nature not to destroy whatever fragile hope was in his prisoner's heart that the innocent girl would not die a slow death alone by stating the truth aloud. Neither death that awaited was quick, nor were they merciful. They were enough to appall the most experienced soldier. "Come along, Marcellus. You're to be tried tomorrow."

"So soon," he muttered, despairing. To think that only a few short minutes ago, he and his Silvia were despairing of his leaving and now all of their long awaited and wished for plans were going to end in tragedy and ruin. Perhaps he would be able to speak at the trial, state his case, and plead for her life, if not his own. It was the only thread of hope he could hold onto in the face of so much misfortune.

The dream wavered, and for a moment, time seemed to sweep by, scenes of tiny cell rooms and the two young lovers kept apart by the law that now called for their deaths, a farce of a trial conducted in public by stern men, only to return to the quiet stillness of those cell rooms. Silvia's voice called to the dreamers from that darkness, words of despair and devotion, pleading for justice where no justice could be done. "Nine years of my life I have given to you, sweet goddess, nine years of love sacrificed, and now it is all for naught. Please, Sweet Vesta, in your mercy and wisdom, see that Marcellus is saved. My life I give freely for the city and her ills, but do not let him die, I beg you ..."

Just as his love pleaded for his life to a goddess to whom she had devoted the last nine years of her life, he had pleaded for hers to a tribunal of hard-hearted, uncaring men who had already decided the young lovers' fate even before they were brought to trial. Marcellus swallowed his pride to beg and plead for the life of his beloved, even if it meant losing his own. He was a soldier, born and bred, and knew his life was likely to end prematurely, but not like this. If he was not to die with honor and glory, then at least, he wanted to die with dignity. He did not plead for his own life, but for hers, and yet all his words of entreaty and argument fell on deaf ears, cold faces, and hearts of stone.

The scandal was impossible to hide, and indeed, no effort was made to keep it hidden. By the end of the second day, all of Rome was alive with the news that the shame of losing three legions to barbarians in the north was the fault of a single Vestal who had not only allowed the sacred flame to die, but corrupted her own virtue with a willing centurion of the Imperial Legions. Silvia's guilt was decided long before she stood before the Senate, before she was forced to bear the humiliation of being examined in a public place, before the physician lied to those who witnessed it and declared her maidenhead torn. Guilt led, with depressing inevitability, to a sentence of death, and it was only when that sentence was extended to Marcellus Theodorius as well that Silvia Livinius was seen to weep at the injustice. Her prayers had gone unanswered, and the man she loved, the man who had waited so patiently for her all these years ....he was to suffer a terrible death simply for having been seen to feel so strongly for her, the Senate's scapegoat.

Marcellus was not a man given to emotional weakness. He had not wept a drop when his father had died and had only shed tears in private at the passing of his mother. He had accepted his own guilty verdict with stoic indifference, though inside he was quaking with anger and fear at the injustice and the prospect of death. To die in battle would have been glorious, but there was no glory in this, only guilt and shame. Even though he knew the truth of the matter - that he had not corrupted her at all - he felt a heavy burden of guilt and shame upon his heart that he had brought this tragedy upon her, and it was that which made brought him to tears in the cold and lonely darkness of his cell. He knew what fate awaited him - he had seen men punished for smaller offenses and knew his own punishment would be harsh, and yet it was the thought of his sweet Silvia that brought him to tears at the injustice and cruelty of it all.

In his arms, Silvia had gone rigid, shock rippling through her body as she stared, wide-eyed, in the darkness that enveloped the tiny cell. Just for a moment, she had thought she'd been in the presence of ....But that was impossible. The goddess was never felt outside the Temple. Why would she be here, now, when her intervention was too late" The young woman looked up at Marcellus, almost afraid to note that he, too, had felt the fleeting presence of the divine.

Yet the voice that answered was not hers, but that of the being who, even now, was slipping from their perception. "Venus was denied her match. By the wisdom of Minerva, I am prevented from keeping your promise. But this I pledge ....by the power of the gods, your sacrifice will be rewarded. In the ages to come, there will be other lifetimes, and in each, you will find one another. Thus does Vesta keep her promises."

Marcellus had believed in the gods all his life. He had worshiped at the temples; he had made the sacrifices; he had done all that had been asked of him, and yet he could hardly believe that one of them - Vesta herself, it seemed - had come to them now in their hour of need, not to save them from their fate, but to promise them a reward of another kind - to be given the gift of another life or lives to fulfill the promises they'd made to each other in this one. He felt humbled in the presence of one so powerful and so divine, feeling the sting of tears prickling at his eyes once again, finding a strange joy in the sorrow of their fate.

Silvia trembled against him as Vesta's presence faded from perception once again, her mind struggling to grasp what had just happened. Unlike Marcellus, she had lived in the goddess' presence for nine long years, her faith secure in the knowledge that Vesta was real, tangible. Yet it seemed it was not just Vesta who had made this new promise to them; she had spoken of Venus and Minerva, Love and Wisdom lending their power to Hearth and Home to promise something beyond price in the centuries to come. Her hand smoothed gently against Marcellus' tunic front as she groped for words. "She answered," she said finally, her tears dried in the awe of that moment. "She answered my prayers."

Even as her tears dried, his spilled over onto his cheek, adding more trailing tracks to the smudges of dirt on his face. It seemed Silvia was right - the goddess had answered, too late to save them in this lifetime, but with promises for a future he could hardly fathom. His mouth moved silently, at a loss for words, and striving to understand what had just taken place. "I will....I will not lose you then. Not truly," he stammered as he found his voice at last.

Trembling fingers smoothed against his cheeks, chasing away the spilling moisture that cut through the dirt of days in the darkness. "Never," Silvia agreed, wonder thick in her voice as she let the reassurance of that promise sink into her bones. No matter the pain in the days ahead, it would be the merest blink of an eye when all time came to an end. "You will always be in my heart, in every age to come." And very slowly, a smile began to curve her lips, the despair of only a few minutes before easing away. "I do not feel so afraid now, as I did before."

As her confidence grew, so did his confusion, and though a few moments ago, he'd found himself reassuring her and encouraging her to be brave, he now found his own courage wavering as he tried to grasp the full meaning of the goddess' promise. "But how will I find you?" he asked, tears swimming in his dark eyes as he searched her face for understanding.

"The gods will provide." On anyone else's lips, it would have been just a platitude, a sop to the masses who pretended to believe. Yet in that moment, Silvia truly believed, the peace on her face more inspiring than any speech or further exposition. Her palm cupped his cheek, small and warm against his skin. "Just have faith."

He looked into the dark depths of her eyes, so lovely and so certain. He knew what he'd seen, what he'd heard. He understood the promise of the goddess and yet he still felt forsaken. Only a moment ago, he had been so sure. She had needed him and in her moment of need, he had tried to give her courage, but now he felt his courage wavering. "I'm afraid," he whispered, contradicting what he'd told her earlier, confiding his secret to her alone. Only fools never felt any fear, and he was human, after all.

For just a moment, her certainty wavered, reminded with just two words of the horrific death that awaited him. the next day. Her hands cradled his face as she looked into his eyes, wishing she could give him even a little of the calm the goddess' touch had given her. "So am I," she confessed softly. "But not for myself. I love you, Marcellus, but I fear your pain. I cannot bear to think of what tomorrow will bring."

"I wish I'd gone to battle years ago," he told her in a voice that was trembling with emotion. "Then none of this would have happened. It's all my fault, Silvi. I'm so sorry. Had I known..." He bent his head so he could not meet her eyes, and she could not see his tears, ashamed of his own weakness, of his fear, of his guilt, believing if it wasn't for him, her life would not be forfeit.

"Shhh ..." For all that she was sweet-natured and quiet, Silvia had learned to be strong when the occasion called for it. She refused to let him hide from her, not now. "You could not have known," she told him firmly. "The loss of the legions was something no one expected. That it could shake the Senate so badly could not have been predicted. The Empire can survive the loss of a Vestal. It cannot survive the death of the Senate, and the last vestige of our Republic. This is no one's fault, my heart, certainly not yours. We are citizens of Rome. It is our duty to act in her interest, even if that act is simply to accept death at her whim."

"But we've done nothing wrong, Silvia. You've done nothing wrong." And yet, no matter how many times he argued it - with himself, with the guards, with the Senate, with her - he knew it would not change things. Their fates were sealed by men who wielded more power than either of them could ever hope to muster. In the face of the certainty of their deaths, he grasped onto the only hope that was left to them - Vesta's promise that they would live again, be together again, and that in those lifetimes to come, they would share the love they'd been denied in this life. "I love you," he whispered the words he'd never dared speak before, the words his heart had been longing to say for nearly a decade.

He suffered all these indignities in silence. He had already pleaded innocence and begged for pardon, more for Silvia than for himself, ready and willing to suffer pain and death if only she were spared, but that was not to be. He held his head high, proud and defiant, despite his own defeat. They could take his life and hers, but they could not sever the bond that had been forged between them. Even as imminent death loomed, he found her in the crowd, their eyes met, and he found himself smiling, as if to tell her without speaking that everything would be all right, eyes swimming with tears at the sight of her shackled like a common slave. Oh, my love....We will be together soon....He tasted the poison on the bit of leather that was pressed between his teeth and was grateful for that small bit of mercy, knowing someone there among his peers had seen fit to at least give him that.

As the lash fell, the first of many that would tear him open and leave him bare to elements, his smile was echoed across the square by the one person he would see again, the one soul that would accompany his throughout the ages to come. For you, my dearest heart, this end will be quick. But I will join you soon. I swear it.

He held her gaze as the lash fell, the first of many, tearing into his flesh and drawing blood, pain the likes of which he'd never known and could never have imagined. He flinched as that first lash tore at his flesh, but his eyes never left hers. So long as he focused on her eyes, on her beautiful face, knowing it would be over soon, and then they'd be together, he thought he could bear it. Over and over, the lash fell, tearing into flesh and spilling blood, agonizing to watch, much less to bear. The shouts and jeers of the crowd eventually grew quiet, the crack and sickening thud and rip of flesh the only sounds that echoed through the gathering, the soft sound of weeping from those with tender hearts who'd noticed the loving glances exchanged between the tragic lovers.

Through it all, Silvia stood, tall and silent, offering only love, only strength, through the force of her gaze, deaf to the crowd around them. Each blow sent a jolt through her, her chest and throat aching as the minutes passed, refusing to weaken, to shame Marcellus in his last moments with tears. It was only when he hung limp from the post, his body bloodied and torn beyond repair, that she seemed to sag where she stood, kept from falling only by the hands of her guards at her back; only when the fact of Marcellus Theodorius' death was announced to the quiet crowd did the tears fall, and for a long time, the only sound in that place was the heartbroken sobs of the innocent woman who had watched the man she loved die a terrible death. But it was not yet over.

With the Pontifex Maximus leading the procession, she was led away, through the city, to where her own place of execution had been prepared. Roman law forbade the spilling of a Vestal's blood; it also forbade the execution of anyone within the boundary of the city. Yet an exception was made, of a sort, for crimes such as that of which she had been accused. Before the Senate and those who had followed from beyond the city limits, Silvia Livinius was lowered to the depths of an underground room, made "habitable" to avoid the anger of the gods. Food was lowered, enough for a day or so, and slowly, the opening was sealed. Where Marcellus' death had been quick and gruesome, Silvia's was slow. Days of never-ending darkness and solitude, days of slowly starving, of losing strength and will and hope ....days of nothing but her own thoughts and prayers, until there was nothing left.

For Rome, it marked the beginning of the decades of corruption that would bring the Empire to its knees, yet for those condemned for the expedience of the Senate's wishes, it was just the beginning. Eternal souls had taken flight, drawn into the embrace of the gods, and in just a few years, their cycle of life began all over again. Vesta, in her compassion, kept her promise through all the ages of the world, long past the time when all belief in her had been lost, and so that promise lived on. Souls that had been born Marcellus and Silvia lived and relived the cycle of life and death, and each time they found one another in the storm of living in the world.

*~*~*

In the darkness of a New York apartment room, dawn crept in through a crack in the windows, a single shaft of light illuminating two faces as they stirred from their slumber. The detective and the nurse woke together, the dream they had shared lingering in their minds, with all its bittersweet glory. And slowly, they found each other again. Hands wrapped about one another, eyes sought the reassurance of knowing that the other was alive and well and unharmed by the events they had witnessed as they slept. And despite the confusion, hearts soared with the intimate knowledge that what they shared was older even than the country they called their own. A gift from gods long forgotten, and never to be destroyed, even by death.

((Yay for past lives and interfering goddesses! Huge, massive, ubermagnimous thank yous to Jason's player!))