Hollow Victory
By Misha
Disclaimer- Not mine.
Author’s Notes- So this is probably the last Tragedy verse story I will ever write, even though I had a few more planned/started, but it has been 3 years. Hey, at least I finished this one, right? I have always planned on writing this particular story, but I knew it would hurt, which is why it took so long.
Pairing- Antony/MC
Summary- Antony returns to Rome after Caesar’s victory, but is greeted by trwgic news.
Rating- M
Antony returned to Rome with little fanfare.
There would be time for that later, he could already envision the celebrations he would throw (in Caesar’s name, of course) and the honours and rewards that would befall him as the right hand of the most powerful man in the world.
But right now he had other desires, namely one very basic one. He wanted to reacquaint himself with every inch of Portia’s body, sink deep inside of her, and hear her moan his name in pleasure as they both found their release.
He had thought of her often during their time apart, no other woman could match the passion he found with her or dilute her hold on him. He had found himself eager to return to Rome, not just to claim the spoils of war, but to return to her.
It was a slightly uncomfortable thought, the power she had over him; but one made more palatable by the memory of their last night together and the words she had whispered, “I love you”.
The memory made Antony speed up his pace, eager to hear them again, and he hurried toward Portia’s villa, but the moment he stepped through the doors, he knew something was wrong. The villa was too quiet.
He made his way through the villa, his foreboding increasing. In the garden he finally found a lone servant, his eyes narrowing as he took in the woman’s nervousness. “Where is your mistress?” He demanded, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.
The servant refused to meet his eyes, “gone, domine.”
Gone.
It was a simple word but it felt sharper than any knife.
“Where did she go?” Antony demanded. Had she left with Cassius? Antony knew that the other man had returned to Rome before him, had he come and finally wooed Portia away?
The servant kept her gaze locked on the floor, “she is dead, domine, three weeks now. It was the fever. The other servants left, but I was instructed to wait for you.”
Instructed by whom, Antony wondered fleetingly, but he didn’t bother ask. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that Portia was dead.
“You can go,” he dismissed and the servant hurried out of his sight. Antony paid her no attention, his previous euphoria having turned into something darker and more painful as the news sunk in.
He returned to the house, heading to the bedchamber. Her belongings were still there. Silk gowns, the jewels he bought her. Whoever had cleaned up after her death and dismissed the servants had left her personal things. Kindness or cruelty, Antony wondered, turning from the sight.
He would get one of his servants to get rid of it all later. He didn’t want it. Didn’t even want to look at her belongings. Except… He remembered the knife he had given her, the way her eyes had lit up at the gift. He would make sure that was set aside for him.
But everything else… It could all go. He quickly turned on his heel and left the bedchamber, unable to bear being in that room. The last time he was there, Portia had whispered her love, she had finally been his completely and now… Now she was gone.
She hadn’t left him, hadn’t chosen another man; she was just gone.
Antony grabbed one of the vases and threw it against the wall, rage overcoming him. This was not how it was supposed to go. This was supposed to be a good day. He was triumphant. Caesar had won. He was supposed to have it all.
They were supposed to have it all.
And yet… It had all fallen apart as quickly as the vase had shattered.
Antony shook his head. Without Portia, there was no reason for him to be in this villa. He couldn’t stand it. He needed a stiff drink and then a warm body; anyone would do because Antony knew that no matter who took to his bed that night, she would just be a placeholder and that he would be haunted by dark curls and green eyes.
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End
