#mark antony

You don't understand what happened.

All you know that you want to the Grand Egyptian museum with your friends to check the discovery of Cleopatra mummified body only when you do see the body, you find yourself in a completely different time era.

Ancient Egypt during Cleopatra's Regime.

You got arrested while trying to search for your solar power bank to charge your phone, and appearantly people where frightened by your appearance and the 'roller skater shoes' that you kept in your back pack as you were planning to roller skate to the pyramids gates with your friends after finishing visiting the museum.

And you can't blame them, you do indeed look weird especially with the roller skaters you wore.

When you were brought to Cleopatra, you thought you wouldn't understand the language, but it doesn't happen, you understood the ancient Egyptian language.

Also you understood Mark Antony's latin and Cleopatra's Old Greek.

“She is a spy, you can't tell me you a really going to trust a child, this is madness!”

“Umm...you do realize I can hear you Mark Antony?”

The older man is surprised by your words and how you just understood what was spoken.

“You know latin?”

“I can also understand Old Greek, which is strange.”

You whisper the last part to yourself.

“Well, this confirms everything we need to know about her, she is a spy for that bastard Octavian.”

You roll your eyes at him in disbelief and annoyance.

“No, I'm not, because if I were really a spy of Rome then why am I dressed like that? Huh? It's because this is not my timeline and I come from the future and I know what is going to happen.”

Antony and Cleopatra were hesitant to believe you at first especially Antony but when you sputed out the futuristic events to them that occured they believed you.

And Mark Antony won at the battle of Actium because of the information you gave him.

And all of a sudden you went from a suspected spy to a a beloved adopted child of Cleopatra and Antony despite you telling them you already have a life back in your timeline.

But they claimed you are a child that needed to get taken care of since you have no home or family in this timeline.

Mark Antony was the one to suggest adopting you and Cleopatra was more then excited to agree,

After all, you are literally just two years younger then Cleopatra when she overthrew her younger brother, and she knows how hard and brutal  life can be for a young girl

And also because you saved their lives!

“You have no home here,” Antony said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, “no family. Let us be that for you.”

You wanted to scream that you did have a family, that you weren’t an orphan, that this was all a cosmic mistake.

But the words tangled in your throat. What could you do? You were stranded in a world that ran on sandals and chariots, with a dead phone and a pair of roller skates as your only proof of the future.

So you stayed. Cleopatra introduced you to her sixteen-year-old son, Ptolemy XV, known as Caesarion. ‘Little Caesar,’ they called him, an irony that made you want to laugh.

You met her younger children with Antony, and you found a strange comfort in telling them stories, not just history, but the amazing fanfictions you had devoured back home. Their wide-eyed wonder was a balm, a reminder of the life you’d lost.

But the cracks began to show. You spoke about missing your timeline, about the ache of your real family and friends. You confided in your tutor once, when he asked about your parents, and you let slip how much you longed to go back.

The tutor vanished the next day.

Then one of your handmaidens, a kind girl who had whispered that maybe you should search for a way home, was dismissed without warning.

Antony’s spies had heard her. He told you, with a tight smile, that she had been ‘reassigned somewhere else’

You should have seen it then. But they were so good at masking it.

Antony taught you Roman traditions with booming pride, while Cleopatra would sit with you for hours, curious about every detail you could remember about the future, about the amazing discoveries.

You built a bond with them. A real one.

But you never called them Mother and Father. Not once.

Months later, the truth cracked open.

You were walking with Caesarion along the Nile, the evening air thick with the scent of lotus and wet earth. He stole a fig from your hand and bit into it, chewing lazily as he spoke.

“Don’t you ever get tired of Mother and Antony’s obsession?”

You stumbled, nearly tripping over your sandals. “I’m sorry, what?”

He turned to you, still holding the stolen fruit, and smiled like it was all a game. “Don’t be idiotic. Everyone knows how Mother kills anyone who comes in contact with you.”

You went cold. The world narrowed to his calm, almost bored face.

“She believes she’s the incarnation of Isis,” Caesarion continued, draping an arm around your suddenly rigid shoulders. He took another bite of the fig. “Goddess of motherhood. So she has every right to be your blood mother. She announced it publicly.”

“Wait, what?!” Your voice came out a strangled whisper.

“Mother said you were her and Mark Antony’s hidden daughter. That she kept you concealed out of fear for your life.” He shrugged, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Everyone believes it. You’re officially a princess of Egypt now.”

You wrenched yourself away from him, heart hammering. All those vanished servants. Antony’s harsh scolding whenever you mentioned home. Cleopatra’s grip, always pulling you closer, never letting you wander the streets alone.

“I will find a way to return home,” you said, the words shaking out of you. “Cleopatra and Mark Antony aren’t my parents. I have parents. I have a family they can’t replace.”

You turned and ran, sand kicking up behind you, leaving Caesarion standing by the river.

He sighed, taking another bite of the fig. “Oh no, Mother is going to kill me for telling her.” A pause, then a careless shrug. “Oh well.”

He turned and walked off to find his friends, while you fled to go find his mother.

𓇢 𓅃𓅃𓅃𓆸

“I'm not your daughter!”

This is the first thing you shout once you enter the throne room uncaring about the appearance of other higher status people.

Mark Antony frown in disapproval at your attitude, pointing at you with eyes to not speak like that now.

But you don't stop.

“Let everyone know here that you are not my blood parents, I have real parents and I will find a way to return home to them!”

The silence that followed your declaration was the kind that pressed against the ears,  heavy, suffocating, the kind of silence only a queen could command without uttering a single word.

Cleopatra rose slowly from her throne, the gold of her collar catching the torchlight like a second sun. Her painted eyes never left yours, but her voice, when it came, was directed elsewhere.

“Leave us.”

Two simple words spoken in Greek caused the advisors, the priests, the scribes, and the guards, all of them moved at once, sandals whispering against polished stone.

One older man hesitated, opening his mouth to protest, but a single glance from Mark Antony sent him scurrying after the others.

The great bronze doors closed with a hollow thud that echoed through the chamber.

“My heart,” she began, her voice low and warm, like honey poured over a wound. “Sit with me. Please.”

You didn’t move.

She didn't seem offended. She simply lowered herself onto the steps of her own throne, as though to make herself smaller,  less queen, and more mother like.

“Caesarion told you,” she said. It wasn't a question. A faint, tired smile touched her lips. “That boy. He has his father’s tongue and none of his patience.”

“Is it true?” you demanded, your voice trembling but sharp. “That you told all of Egypt I’m your daughter? And that you’ve been killing people who try to help me go home?”

“My sweet girl,” Cleopatra began, her voice a melodic blend of Greek and Egyptian cadences, soft as lotus petals. She stopped an arm's length away, close enough that you could smell the scent of various flowers on her.

She didn't reach for you, not yet. She knew better. “You are frightened, and overwhelmed. I understand.”

You opened your mouth, but she raised a slender hand, silencing you with that infuriating maternal gentleness.

“Listen to me, child. Please. When I was your age, I was already a queen. Already fighting for my life and my throne against those who should have protected me. I know what it means to be alone.”

Her dark eyes glistened, not with tears, but with fervent, zealous conviction. “Isis guided you here. To us. The gods do not make mistakes. You fell through time itself into my arms, do you not see the divine design? You belong here. With your true mother.”

“You're not my mother,” you corrected her.

“By blood, perhaps not,” she conceded with a regal tilt of her chin, as if biology were a minor technicality. “But blood is the least of what makes a mother. I have claimed you. In the eyes of Egypt, and in the eyes of the gods, you are my daughter. Pharaoh's daughter. That is not a truth you can simply unmake because you are homesick.”

Her voice was so reasonable, so painfully earnest. It made your stomach churn because you could see the genuine belief shining in her eyes. She truly thought she was saving you.

“I don't want to be Pharaoh's daughter,” you said, voice cracking. “I want to go home to be with my real family. If you won't help me find a way back, then I’ll leave this palace and find it myself. I'd rather live on the streets of Alexandria than stay here and live a lie.”

Mark Antony was on his feet when you spat those hurtful words to his wife.

“You ungrateful little—” His growls with the voice of a battle-hardened general who had ordered men to their deaths without flinching.

He stormed toward you, his sandals slapping against the stone, and grabbed your upper arm with a grip that would leave bruises. You yelped, trying to pull away, but he yanked you closer, his face inches from yours.

“You think you can survive out there?” he snarled, wine and rage on his breath. “You think the streets of Alexandria will welcome a strange girl with bizarre behavior and no family? You'll be dead in a week. Sold to slavers, or worse. And you think I would let that happen? You think I’d let you throw away what we've given you?”

"Antony, stop." Cleopatra tried to cut in.

“No, she needs to hear this.” His fingers tightened on your weak arm.

“You are our daughter now. Not because some curse or magic brought you here, but because we have decided it. You will be treated as such, protected as such, and loved as such. There is no home for you to return to. That life is gone. Dead. And if you try to run, if you so much as set one foot outside these walls without my permission. I will chain you to your chambers myself until you come to your senses. You are a child. Our child. And you will learn your place.”

You stared up at him, heart pounding, tears burning your eyes but stubbornly refusing to fall.

This was the Roman general history books warned about. The ruthless ally turned lover of Cleopatra.

And you wished you didn’t save him.

Cleopatra stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Antony's chest. “Beloved. You frighten her.” Her gaze flicked to you, soft but unyielding. “He speaks harshly, but out of love. Everything we do is to keep you safe, my darling. You will understand, in time. You will forget this longing. And we will be a family.”

“You can't force someone to love you,” you managed to say.

Antony's eyes darkened, but his voice changed to something conversational, far more terrifying than his rage.

senator mama mia!!