Two Eyes Cenote regnum

very rarely did germanicus find himself unknowing of what step he must next take.

cornelius was now with him. valiria walked the desert. aquillius had gone to the hinterlands.

and the eagle was still within akashingo.

stiffly he asked to be announced at her gleaming door. his own appointed chambers were lavish, generous. he drank water and ate sparingly of meat.

it was a leaner man who asked to be announced that night, a quieter one. a face impassive and yet drawn.

he stood waiting for queen @Toula with straight back.

so much had changed, between them both! and as she welcomed him again into the Cenote’s own receiving room, she wondered if he too might have more to say to her. 
as she did to him! but first, she would grant him that opportunity. again, small fare was lain out before them both. blueberries were before her, as she found herself craving something sweeter herself. do you mind, my friend and ally? I am feeling rather peckish this evening, she says with a light laugh, hoping to create an even greater sense of ease between them. her own was genuine, even despite knowing what she did. 
Toula had the sense that he had known he had done wrong. his lean figure before her, his tired eyes—she saw that he lived the consequences of it, everyday. and still he might never pay the full price of it for as long as he lived, if he were to be so entrenched in his own guilt! and how could a man like Germanicus not be?

germanicus did not wish to eat. he did not wish to lie in fine furs and be fed fine things. he did not like the eyes of akashingo upon him, least of all her own.

he was undeserving of very much and longed for the rugged demands of a wild land without a god or master.

she knew, and yet she was kind. he tucked a blueberry into his cheek and let it slowly soften, the skin loosening, the juice rushing.

the guilt made it taste of ash.

"i understand cornelius has told you my sin," he said, choosing a direct action rather than a gambit. "yet you welcome me as if nothing has changed."

what you did was wrong, she breathes, and I know it is not enough to only know that. but I look at you, Imperator, and I see that in so many ways you have paid it. I know that you still pay it even now, as your son chooses to stay. you live in regret of it, Germanicus. but this misdeed, it does not define you. I know that, too, she stepped nearer to him, her own appetite suddenly gone as she looks to the man in front of her. 
I understand some, now, that my father… he was not so good a man as she had thought. as even now her mind sought to build him up to be. it was hard to even say the words—and she could not! it did not bode well to speak ill of the dead, and so she would not. you were always good to me. to my sister. to my people, and it meant the world to her. she had not forgotten this. he could have been cruel to her—to her family. he could have killed them. it is not my place to forgive you. and it is fortunately within my power to ensure such a thing never transpires again. what good would it do, to strike a man already so wounded? 
she shook her head. Akashingo has taken enough from you. from that poor woman. it is why I will take no one’s choice from them, his son among that! 
I will be Pharaoh, Imperator. I will make certain of this, time he know this now. that these were not idle claims.

oh, she was wise, this girl child left behind by ramesses who had come into her own right as ruler of a mighty kingdom which even now expanded its borders.

but she was young. she could not know it all.

he had indeed suffered. he knew its weight and magnitude. but she did not know the final condemnation upon his soul.

"your Ammit would devour my heart, great one," he said, as if to impress upon her the magnitude of his ugliness.

but the queen was determined for peace, and it seemed, for the throne herself. in spite of his very rot, germanicus performed a congratulatory bow. "you will be a fine Falcon," and his heart felt many things to hear himself given once more the title of imperator.

in his mind he caressed it. mereo was the only thing he had ever built.

perhaps Ammit would. it is up to you to change that, she rejoined, and so long as you still live—you have that chance. each day is it’s own opportunity, her voice was gentle, warm. he had been robbed of hope—well, she would see him restored. 
she wondered if he still enjoyed to be called what he was, beyond his own name. should you like to be Imperator again for Akashingo, it… could be made open to you. know that I and my husband will again have an army made, so that our peace is protected. not all will love the freedoms I will grant—but I will not have them taken away, she took a single step nearer to him. my Ammit would surely look kindly upon you joining such a cause, to ensure what has once been shall not be done again. 
but she had meant what she had said! she would force no one, not even him. another choice for him to make. she could help him change his heart, to chip away the stone surrounding it to reveal the gold in it again.

redemption through his only skillset.

germanicus saw great wisdom in her great mercy.

to serve akashingo once more was a mental amusement and one that tortured. it seemed he was cursed to never be free of the palace, and now he contemplated a remote outpost here in the long sands.

and he was weary.

and he was elated.

and he was guilty.

"if i rebuilt mereo it would not be the desert i chose for a barracks, great one," the imperator said even as he allowed himself a sliver of dreaming.

redemption.

"men cannot be allowed to remain stationary. they must move often. they must be recalled for war."

but he had said more than he wished to discuss. "one day, perhaps i shall meet this husband of yours, divine one, if only to assure myself that justice is done to your name by his deeds."