Marcus's sword rested against Gen's throat.
One more push, one more inch.
That was all it would take.
Time itself seemed to stand still.
But with a sharp twist, Gen knocked Marcus's blade aside and rolled away just as the sword sliced through empty air. Snatching up the weapon he had dropped moments before, he surged to his feet, blood streaming down his side as he emt Marcus's next strike with a resounding clash of steel.
Around us, the Roman legionaries poured through the trees, crashing into the remaining Britons with disciplined precision. Horses screamed and reared beneath their riders as swords rang through the forest.
My own horse tossed its head violently beneath me, agitated by the chaos. Tightening my grip on the reins with one hand while shielding the child against my chest with the other, I struggled to keep the frightened animal under control as Marcus and Gen fought only yards away, neither man willing to yield an inch.
The tide of battle shifted with brutal efficiency.
The Romans fought as one.
Shield meeting shield, swords rose and fell in disciplined rhythm. One by one, the remaining Britons were forced backward. Some fled into the trees, others dropped their weapons, surrounded before they could escape.
Marcus and Gen remained at the center of it all.
Gen was quick despite the wound in his side, but blood continued to pour through the gap in his armor. Every exchange slowed him another fraction, costing him more strength than the last.
Marcus saw it too, using it to his advantage relentlessly.
One strike, then another.
Until Gen eventually stumbled.
Marcus drove him backward, until his heel caught against an exposed tree root.
He crashed to his knees, his sword slipping from his grasp, clattering across the forest floor beyond his reach.
Blood dripping steadily onto the leaves beneath him, as Marcus stepped forward.
"Come on," Gen bit out, his blue eyes flashing like the sky above. "Do it, Roman. Fucking do it."
The clearing fell silent, as Marcus's blade rose.
Every Roman watched, just as every surviving Briton held their breath.
"Stop!" I shouted, my voice tearing through the stillness. "Wait, stop!"
I had already thrown myself from the saddle before I realized what I was doing. The landing jarring my knees, but I barely felt it, keeping one arm securely around the sleeping infant bundled against my chest.
I ran straight toward them.
The child stirred in my arms then, letting out a soft cry.
Gen shifted his gaze to me, looking at me then at the tiny bundle pressed safely against my chest, wrapped in a Roman cloak.
Something passed over his face, something like grief, sadness and regret. All wrapped in one. So profound it hollowed him from within.
He remained where he was, kneeling in the dirt, one hand pressed against the wound in his side while blood seeped steadily between his fingers.
Marcus pointed his sword at his neck.
I approached them carefully, my heart pounding so violently I thought it might burst from my chest.
The infant whimpered, the tiny sound carrying through the silent clearing.
I stopped between them, tightening my hold on the child as tears blurred my vision.
"Marcus..." My voice trembled. "Please."
I looked up at my husband, his sword still poised above Gen's throat.
"Don't kill him." The words barely escaping me. "Don't let this child grow up without a father."
For a long moment, Marcus didn't move.
His jaw remained clenched, every muscle in his body taut with the effort it took not to bring the blade down.
Only then did Gen lower his eyes to the child nestled against my chest.
Slowly, he removed his helmet and let it slip from his fingers, falling into the dirt beside him.
He kept his gaze at his son, the bundle in my arms before letting out a quiet, broken laugh.
"What us is an heir..." he murmured, his blue eyes lifting back to mine,"...if you are not there to raise him with me, Elena?"
Marcus's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, his eyes never leaving Gen.
"If that is truly how you see him," he said quietly, "then you never deserved to be his father."
The words struck harder than any blade, as Gen looked up at Marcus.
Then slowly...he simply smiled, tired.
"You are probably right," Gen said.
Marcus drew a slow breath, before drawing back his sword.
He was going to end it.
"Marcus, wait!"
I threw myself forward, whether to stop him or merely reach them, I no longer knew.
Everything happened all at once.
Marcus hadn't even manage to draw his sword into Gen, when Gen moved.
Not away from the blade, but into it.
Marcus's eyes widened, as his sword drove clean through Gen's chest before Marcus could wrench it back. Blood blossoming across his armor.
The entire clearing froze.
Marcus stepped away instinctively, pulling the sword free as he watched his enemy fall.
Gen swayed once, then collapsed back onto his knees.
I was already beside him.
The child whimpered against my chest as I sank to the ground, catching Gen before he struck the earth completely. Blood soaking through my skirts almost immediately.
His breathing had become shallow, every breath rattling painfully as blood spluttering out of his mouth. And yet, he still managed to smile when he looked at me.
"You caught me, Elena..."
His voice was barely more than a whisper.
My tears spilled freely. "Don't speak, you're in pain."
His trembling hand lifted.
Not toward me, but toward his child.
His fingers brushing the edge of Marcus's cloak wrapped around the tiny bundle.
"He is so small..."
His son stirred, opening his eyes to reveal the same shade of blue as his father's. Both father and son looking at one another for the first time.
"I suppose..." Gen breathed, each word costing him, "...there are worse ways to leave this world."
Then his blue eyes returned to mine, a weak smile touching his lips. "The last thing I see...is the woman I truly loved." His gaze drifting once more to the child. "Holding my son."
His hand fell onto my lap. "I shall not..." he trailed off, swallowing with difficulty, "I shall not live long enough to name him."
Another ragged breath.
"So that honor..." he whispered, looking at me with a peace I had never seen in him before. "...belongs to you, my love."
A sob caught in my throat.
"I'm sorry," I cried, unable to stop the tears spilling down my face. My chest ached with a grief I hadn't expected to feel. "I hope you know...I did love you too."
His smile widened ever so slightly.
Not with triumph, but with acceptance.
His eyelids fluttered, growing heavier with each shallow breath.
"Thank you, Elena," he murmured, his voice scarcely louder than the wind. "Give him...a name...worthy of carrying."
His fingers brushed weakly against the tiny bundle in my arms one final time.
Then they fell still.