Foggy Bottom Way [m] el mar

to describe his shock would be underwhelming, for there were no words which could lie down in sentences worthy of depicting the surge of emotion he felt in that moment.

stunned, first. the eagle played cornelius' words over in his mind, scarcely recognizing them. his son promised, and in his voice was the bearing of those who had come before he and germanicus both.

valiria, second. he had felt her eyes upon his face and now she moved to flank her brother. death to those who had come for him was reinforced. breath caught in his throat, he turned now yellowpaint eyes on the third son.

aquillius, shouter of witches. he who had aided his father in separating the wicked woman from her life. witch-killer. blood-eater. the only one who had fought in some semblance of war beside the one they called father.

"no," he heard himself speak, an order, a thousand miles beneath water that filled nostrils and mouth with greyed memory. "do not harm her. i have done enough."

there could be no more suffering on his account? germanicus was shocked to see them rally for a man they scarcely knew, and disgusted to find within his surprise a kernel of — hope.

he could not make himself move. centurion, imperator, bloodied in a dozen battles, he could not command himself now, for he knew what would come. 

"no," he ordered again, though he could not look into the mad light pouring from silvertongue's eyes, nor could he quiet the word witch now clawing upon the fabric of his very mind.