#commodus fic

For young Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus, mythology was more than a collection of simple bedtime stories. They were aspirational tales of divine valor for the rising emperor in him, and a fantastical escape for the playful child within him. Tired of hearing tutors drone for hours about insipid philosophy and mind-numbing mathematical theorems, the legends of brave kings, beautiful nymphs, and horrifying-yet-powerful creatures was an oasis of wonder for the eight-year-old. Whether many of those stories were actually true or not was an entirely different matter; he loved them and believed in them with unwavering faith.

"Pompeii…after the eruption of Vesuvius?"

"Yes, Highness," Servilla, governess of the young emperor of Rome, narrated to him one night. "It was said that the first dragon eggs were found at the foot of the volcano after the eruption of Mount Vesuvius had taken place."

Little Commodus sat up excitedly in bed, eager to hear more.

"There were three of them, buried beneath layers of ash and ignored for several years until the eruption. It is said that dragon eggs could be hatched in the presence of roaring flames, and can only occur with the sacrifice of human blood. The legends say the many lives lost in Pompeii was the necessary offering for the gods to bring the dragons to Earth."

"Who is the patron god of dragons, Servilla? Is it Lord Vulcan?"

"I am afraid that I do not know, Highness." She raised her veil above her head, and tucked back a curl of hair. "After the dragons had hatched, they were sold as commodities in the public markets of Pompeii. Bought by frivolous aristocrats, they were a source of entertainment while they were little creatures who spit sparks of fire. The poor believed them to be favored by the gods, perhaps even a reincarnation of the Greek hero Agamemnon. He was said to wear a blue dragon motif on his sword belt when he fought in battle, and a three-headed dragon on his breast plate."

"Was one of the dragons blue, Servilla?"

"One of them was blue-scaled, another was red-scaled, while another had black scales. When they grew up, all of Rome wanted them dead. They were too big to keep as pets, and were very quick to anger. They breathed fire among those who displeased them, and always wanted large portions of food. Sometimes," she whispered in a menacing tone and reached for the little emperor. "They would snatch young boys playing and eat them up!"

"They would never catch me!" Commodus laughed as he was being tickled. "I would not make them angry."

"After several complaints from the people of Pompeii, Caesar Caligula decided to adopt the dragons himself. He wanted to train them to be his personal weapons. In his mind, the dragons would be strong enough to destroy anyone who dared to stand up against his rule.

They were mighty and could never be killed. They were the strongest creatures in the entire empire! However, the dragons fled the mad emperor. It is unknown where the two of the dragons escaped to, but the bones of one of the dragons were found in the city of Lanuvium, near the sea. His rotting red scales became one with the sand, and his teeth disappeared to the bottom of the ocean."

"How long do dragons live?"

"They are said to be able to live for centuries, Highness. That is, if they do not die in combat."

Despite Commodus adorably protesting for more details about the legendary dragons of Pompeii, asking if they ever had any progeny, and if they ever served another emperor, Servilla gently told Commodus that it was late and a good rest was necessary. She bade him good night and blew out the candles in his chamber.

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"And Servilla said that Emperor Caligula tried to tame them, and they soon escaped after his assassination. Tales of their ferocity were sung in the streets - one of them escaped to Lanuvium!"

Commodus waved his hands about as he retold his governess's stories to the coffin, barely a week he'd heard them himself. It was almost customary for the young emperor to visit the crypts every so often and "talk" to his deceased loved ones as if they were really there. Commodus knelt before the tomb of his brother Annius, not caring for the dust soiling his legs. It had been barely ten days after his eighth nameday, and yet it seemed as if Fate had decided to play a trick upon him…by taking away the last remaining brother he had.

"I swear, 'tis almost as if pre-ordained by the gods! I must ask Father when we go there again - there could even be baby dragons waddling along the beaches. It would be a delight to see."

The young emperor was interrupted by the sound of his name being called, most likely by Lucilla. He murmured a silent prayer to his brother's tomb before picking up a flaming torch to find his way up the stairs. Commodus tip-toed along one hallway, only to be encountered by an intimidating marble statue of the late Emperor Antoninus Pius - Commodus's own maternal grandfather. Dismissing this pathway as a dead end, he turned around and attempted to find another way out.

Suddenly, Commodus tripped over something - he couldn't quite see it well, but it was certainly heavy - and the torch fell from his pale hands. Yet to his surprise, the fire did not seem to hurt him at all, his skin remaining unblemished in the split second when the flames brushed against his arm. No burning sensation of any kind…the fire almost felt like the water from his bath. Comforting, in a strange way.

Perplexed, he grabbed another torch from the wall of the crypt, bringing it closer to the floor. What was it that caused him to trip? It was a chest, with enigmatic engravings all over it.

"Gods…"

With one hand holding the torch and the other fiddling with the lock, Commodus boldly opened the chest. Inside were three eggs - all scaly, yet of different hues - nestled in a bed of straw. One of them was crimson red, with black tips on its scales. The middle one bore a shade of emerald and twitched at the sight of Commodus, while the right-most egg was obsidian-hued with gold tips on its scales. They all seemed to have a few cracks, as if they had already begun to hatch.

Dragon eggs could be hatched in the presence of roaring flames, Servilla told him earlier.

Without much thought, the young emperor set the eggs on fire, dousing all three of them in flames. His green eyes widened with excitement as the eggs fidgeted and the shells continued to crack. After what felt like several enchanting hours, the flames finally subsided and in the place of the eggs, there were three baby dragons surrounded by broken shells.

Commodus knelt before them, extending his left hand as the crimson-colored dragon pecked at his palm. It was almost like playing with the birds in the palace courtyard. He even let himself chuckle as they croaked and breathed little puffs of warm smoke.

"You're so beautiful," he immediately gushed out of admiration for the little beasts. "As the one who brought you to life, I promise to care for you like my own kin." 

Commodus turned to the crimson one, naming it 'Marcus' after his father. With a grin, he decided to call the green dragon 'Commodiana' because it bore the same color as Commodus's own eyes. And as for the obsidian one with flakes of gold, Commodus named it 'Annius' as homage to his late brother.

"Commodus!" His elder sister Lucilla rushed down the stairs and let a shrill cry escape from her lips as soon as she saw where he was. The princess was horrified at the little beasts, immediately asking her brother what he was doing.

It was a tried and tested approach, but it was the only way. Emperor Commodus ordered his now-advisor Falco to have every former Senator followed. He couldn’t help but suspect that they were up to something that would end his reign. His sister, now out of the political picture, would certainly have no connection to whatever plots those old men were hatching, but he - Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus - had to know for sure the Senators weren’t smuggling letters to Capri or doing something else of the sort.

What a lofty price for power, Commodus angrily thought to himself as he trained in the palace arena. Would he never stop paying? It would be a lie to say that Commodus enjoyed taking and ruining the lives of those who stood between him and his prized ambition, but he knew as emperor it was his duty.

He mercilessly launched attacks, piercing his sword through the air. In the name of perfecting his swordplay, he poured out his frustration - his frustration with the Senators for their silence, his frustration with Lucilla for her betrayal, his frustration with himself for not being the emperor he so dreamed of, and most of all…his frustration with Maximus for stealing everything Commodus ever loved dearly.

Despite having murdered the Spaniard, the general-turned-gladiator might as well have been alive. Even if no one else could see it, Commodus knew he lived on in a way Commodus could only dream of being immortalized. Maximus lived within the disdain of the Senate, he lived within the people of Rome, and he now lived within Commodus’s very own nephew.

Realizing the wandering of his mind, the emperor threw his sword onto the sands of the arena. He heavily panted while he attempted to catch his breath under the hot sun.

“The Savior of Rome,” he muttered under his breath, “They loved him for his mercy and they called him Maximus the Merciful. He dared to defy me and they called him the Savior of Rome.” It should have been him - the emperor, the father of the people of Rome - being showered with such eloquent praises.

It was unfair, that was all it was. Unfair, he thought, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Despite not being one for bookish learning, rather preferring physical activity and fighting, Commodus still fared well in his classes as a boy. In his own eyes, he had all of the qualifications necessary to be an emperor. He was devoted to his family and had great ambitions that drove him to excel. Those very ambitions were what drove him to sacrifice his sleep and peace for the welfare of Rome.

All Maximus had to do was wear the facade of an orphaned, moral fanatic. Not that Maximus never had to work his way up the ranks of the army, but it was nothing compared to the tumult that Commodus faced in his own journey. From the minute he showed obedience to the late emperor, Maximus was accepted by the royal family. In an effort to hopefully win some affection from his father, Commodus also embraced Maximus cordially.

It was almost nice, to have a companion to spar with and talk to. Maximus was the closest thing Commodus had to a brother, having lost his own twin at the age of four. When the Spaniard joined the royal family at dinners, Commodus would tell Maximus of his dreams to make Rome as wonderful as it was under the reign of Emperor Augustus. And how, with Maximus as his Praetorian leader, Rome would be unstoppable. At the time, Commodus believed that Lucilla’s thin smile and his father’s silence meant agreement. Now, he knew better.

A man of twenty years of age and familiar with the taste of betrayal, Commodus was fully aware that muted compliance meant secrets. The two of them had been plotting to establish a Republic, with Maximus as their poster boy, and cast him aside as if he were never the only-living, royal-blooded son of the dynasty.

But like a true emperor, Commodus protected his reign. He eliminated those who stood in his way, and would continue to do so for as long as he lived.

“The time for honoring yourself will soon be at an end…Highness.”

To his own surprise, Commodus smirked as he heard the baritone voice of the Spaniard. Standing amongst the weapons was the gladiator himself, wearing the very same black armor that he wore during his final battle.

“Unlike the legacy of Maximus, the general who became a slave…the slave who became a gladiator…the gladiator who defied an emperor and died for it?”

“I only died due to treachery, Highness,” Maximus bellowed. “At least I have nothing to hide.”

Commodus clenched his fists remembering how he wounded Maximus before their duel. The only ones who saw were General Quintus and the imprisoned Senator Gaius. He unceremoniously pierced a dagger into Maximus’s back, rendering the gladiator fatally wounded under the dark armor.

I needed to win, he told himself. I needed to show Rome who truly held power. On that day, Commodus lusted for victory in the Colosseum more than a drunkard lusted for a whore in a brothel.

“An empire needs an emperor like a child needs a father, Maximus. Of course, you would never understand that due to your…rustic upbringing,” Commodus spat. “The people of Rome were no less - they needed me to save them from the corruption of the Senate.”

Maximus chuckled, thinking about how hypocritical Commodus was to talk about fathers when it seemed the Emperor of Rome had no respect for them. After all, Maximus too was a father.

“And who will save them from your corruption…Highness?”

Like a leaf shivering in the winter breeze, the emperor’s tongue felt weak and feeble. The hairs on his arms began to stand up on their ends, while his fingers clenched his sword tighter. Who the goddamned hell was this holier-than-thou soldier to lecture him about morality?

“Are we truly so different, you and I?” Commodus hissed, forcing another smirk. “You did what you had to in order to win, and so did I. You wooed my father and mother with your facade of morality, and you lapped up their affections like a pussy being given warm milk.”

Not taken aback by the crude language, Maximus remained calm. “I did nothing but perform my duty. Perhaps you ought to do the same, Highness.”

Growling like a wild animal, Commodus couldn’t control his seething rage. What impudence; it seemed that even Death could not inhibit the words of this man! The emperor picked up his weapon and flung it at the Spaniard, only to watch it fly through empty air and land with a clang. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need to be told how to carry out his own imperial duties when everyone else around him failed miserably. He didn’t need to be lectured by a dead slave who held idealistic values and couldn’t hold his own tongue.

Storming out of the armory, the emperor was given a new robe by a servant to change into, from his tight, black trousers reserved for training.

Perform my duty, Maximus said. Who arranged the games for the citizens’ entertainment? Commodus did. Who removed Senators that prioritized personal gain over public welfare? He did. Who gave benefits to the Praetorians and won the favor of the armies? He did.

All that was left to do was groom Lucius into a worthy heir for the throne, and he would’ve accomplished the basic requirements of any Roman emperor.

Now wearing a dark green tunic with a black robe draped over his shoulder, Commodus decided to visit his darling nephew. The last time since he’d seen the boy was yesterday, when they broke their fast together. Lucius was bold enough to question the purpose of the gladiatorial games, and Commodus gave a clever answer that involved honoring the ancestors.

The emperor both feared and adored his nephew’s budding inquisitions. On one hand, it was good to know that Lucius would bring intelligence to his future reign as emperor. And on the other hand, Commodus feared that Lucius would become his mother in terms of loyalty, should he learn too much about their family.

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No longer a boy sparring with slaves, Lucius wistfully looked out the window of his chamber. It had been almost two months since the last time he saw his mother, or even anyone outside of the palace walls.

He hoped that his mother was safe, no matter where she may be. Refusing to reveal her whereabouts, his uncle merely told him that it was a matter of politics and that Lucius ought to concentrate on his training.

“Master,” a slave bowed to the prince. “The Emperor wishes to see you.”

“I shall go to him, then. Thank you, Cassius,” Lucius replied, climbing down from the ledge of the window. He tentatively walked towards the doorway of his chamber, wondering what his uncle could possibly have in store for him.

The young prince left his room with trepidation in every step, finding Commodus at the end of the hallway with his hands behind his back. A frown on the emperor’s face, he looked as if he’d come to scold Lucius for doing something wrong.

“Highness,” Lucius bowed politely.

Commodus felt the color begin to drain from his face. “Lucius,” he gently chastised, placing a hand under the prince’s chin. “I am your uncle. Don’t you remember that?”

“You’re also the emperor.”

“I am, but I do not wish to be your enemy.” Kneeling before the prince, Commodus stroked Lucius’s light brown hair. Just like his mother, he thought to himself. Lucius had his mother’s tender nature from when she was a little girl. And unlike their later father, Commodus wished to keep Lucius’s innocence for as long as possible.

After a moment of silence between the two royals, the emperor looked up into Lucius’s eyes. “Talk, Lucius. Have you been paying attention in your lessons?”

“Yes.”

“And have you been well?”

Lucius nodded, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Do you miss your mother?”

The prince shook his head this time, surprising Commodus. “You do not miss your mother at all? Not even a little?”

Lucius shook his head for the second time.

Commodus sighed, unsure how to diffuse the tension between him and his nephew. “Lucius,” he began with his eyebrows furrowed. “It is rude to remain silent when one is asked a question.”

“Forgive me.” Lucius lowered his head in shame.

Rising to his feet, the emperor placed an arm around his nephew and softly said, “I loved your mother. I hope you know that.”

“You did?”

“Yes, Lucius. I loved her very much. I always will.”

“Then why did you send her away?” Lucius immediately put a hand over his own mouth, silencing himself. Would his uncle banish him too now, or perhaps do worse?

“Because…” Commodus did not want the boy to think ill of his mother, nor did Commodus wish to glorify the treachery that she had done. What Lucilla did to him was beyond wrong, it was irreparable. “Because I had to.”

“I see.”

He has his mother’s tongue already, too. The emperor knew better than to simply believe Lucius. Of course the boy did not think he was telling the truth.

“Lucius,” he began again. “There are times when an emperor finds himself caught between what he wants to do, and what he must do.”

“But I thought an emperor could do what ever he wanted to do.”

Commodus suppressed a dark chuckle. “An emperor has duties that he must follow, in order to be a good ruler.”

“I know.”

“Can you name them for me, dear Lucius?”

The prince swallowed before speaking. “A good emperor must have control over his people. He must be able to inspire unity among his people. He must know how to keep an army, organize construction, choose laws and collect taxes. And he must be willing to keep his empire protected from all threats.”

Rewarding his nephew with a soft kiss on the top of the boy’s head, Commodus continued to walk with Lucius through the halls. “That was very good. Your diligence in your lessons pleases me.”

“Thank you.”

“As you said, keeping an empire protected from all threats is an important duty of an emperor,” Commodus explained. “Do you remember the story I told you about emperor Claudius?”

“The one about the bees?”

Nodding, the emperor continued. “Yes. The emperor Claudius was betrayed by his own blood. They threatened the empire that he swore to protect. Do you know what Claudius did to them?”

“No,” Lucius lied, knowing exactly the answer that his uncle would give.

“He was forced to do away with many of them, making sure that they would never hurt his beloved empire again. Weeping as he ordered their executions, his heart began to die along with them.”

“And did he die too?”

“No,” Commodus shook his head. “He continued to live as a good emperor, but he was forever heartbroken.”

“I feel sorry for him.”

“Do you?”

Lucius nodded. With a soft smile, Commodus sighed as the two of them took a turn in the hallway. He was happy that there was a chance for him to regain the nephew that adored him. “It is almost sunset. Perhaps we can have a walk - you and I - tomorrow through the woods behind the palace. Would you like that?”

“Perhaps,” the prince emotionlessly said. Secretly, he wondered what could possibly have made his usually-paranoid uncle consider letting him leave the palace walls for once.

“We can go after the games, then.” Commodus kissed Lucius’s forehead again before he was approached by a guard. “Yes?”

Petronius scoffed as Gaius led him out of his villa, having spent the night there after a long discussion filled with songs about the Republic and philosophical quotes. The estate was quite modest for a Senator, or rather a former-Senator. Lemon trees that emanated a sublime citrus fragrance lined the front of the sandstone building.

“Forgive me, Senator. A general is one who only knows to fight their enemy whilst looking them in the eye. He knows not of the art of flattery or the strategy of bending words with a slip of his tongue.”

Gaius sighed. Such is the nature of most military men, he thought, save General Quintus. That man had enough intelligence to save his skin when Commodus seized power for the first time. However, like all military men, his allegiance ultimately returned to the Spaniard at the crucial moment of judgment. “You crave for too much, General,” the older man replied. “It does not become a warrior to yearn for bloodshed so strongly.”

“I want him dead, that is all,” Petronius dismissed. “Rome has suffered enough under his wing.”

“And we shall save our motherland,” Gaius finished. “But we must arm ourselves with alliances and unite the forces under our cause. In the meantime, there may be a chance that Mania may take control of our Caesar before any other weapon can.”

As he reached the iron-gates of Gaius’s estate, he snorted. “With all due respect, Senator. If you are waiting for Commodus to lose himself in madness, then it is now that we must strike.”

Petronius continued, “He has no one left, Gaius. Even his own family had begun to fear him - his sister, his nephew…and possibly anyone else who happened to know Commodus as a child. If we killed him now, there would be no one too mourn for him, or defend him.”

“Humor me, then. How would you, a mere general who lives off the Emperor’s bread and salt, kill him?” Gaius smirked condescendingly.

“Bribe the servants to poison him.”

“Suppose the servants decide to tell the emperor,” Gaius countered. “You would be caught, and they would be rewarded.”

“Then we bribe the gladiators to attack Commodus.”

“He pays their entertainers well enough. Why should they complain or succumb to the influence of an outsider?”

With every counter-remark given by the old man, Petronius felt his temper dissipate bit by bit. Who was Gaius to lecture about the importance of saving Rome from a dictator when he himself, let alone his friends, could not bring themselves to take action? Even after the loss of their positions within politics, all the men were talking about the night before was the beauty of Gaius’s seemingly splendid mistresses. Certainly the wine may have loosened their usually-sharp tongues, but it was surprising, nay unacceptable, to see the state of Rome’s greatest minds.

Could those men not see that by lying low, they were putting the lives of Roman citizens at risk? That by refusing to rise to their call of duty, that they were only clipping the wings of the eagle that symbolized Rome and its greatness? It would only be a matter of time before the emperor, in a bout of madness, paranoia, and pure malice, would sever the talons of this eagle and leave it as powerless as a common fowl.

The general’s nostrils flared while the veins in his forearms throbbed furiously. “I do not care for your shrewd statements, Senator. I do not wish to contemplate upon your retorts, nor do I wish to indulge your appetite for wordplay. As I have told you, I am a general - I shall fight with my hands and not with my tongue. My hands are bound to serve Rome, and all it stands for.”

“Nevertheless,” he hastily added. “Since I have shared your bread and wine, as well as taken refuge in your home during the night, I shall revere you as any proper guest ought to. Fare thee well, Senator. I hope that you and I shall meet again.”

“Fare thee well, General.” Gaius watched as the young man vanished into the hustle and bustle of the public square. He certainly had a problem with the much-too-transparent ideologies that military men had, but in order for Commodus to receive his duly-deserved demise, the Senators needed the favor of the military. Perhaps he ought to the be the one to vouch for diplomacy in the midst of this clash of ideals.

The city was quiet compared to most days, even for a mid-morning. Possibly due to the games taking place today, the plebeians seemed to be missing from the streets. However, peddlers were still out selling their goods - a man clamored for people to buy his new stock of clams and oysters, freshly caught from the Mediterranean, while another advertised fine silks imported from China. Various hues in various designs, he said. A dark red one with a golden border caught Petronius’s eye, immediately remembering his sister’s favorite color.

Perhaps he could buy a bolt of the silk for her, possibly as an attempt to apologize for being away all night. Ever since his brother-in-law had passed away from the wars against Germania, he had sworn to guard his sister and her two sons with his life. Keeping such a vow felt almost effortless under the reign of Marcus Aurelius, but under his son, it was the contrary. She wept in Petronius’s arms the night that Senator Gracchus died, saying that she was glad that her husband received an honorable death instead of a false treason accusation. At that moment, he shushed her for fear that the other Praetorian guards would hear her, reporting them both to the emperor. However, if he could turn back time, he’d tell her not to worry, for the emperor would not live long enough to turn Rome into ruins. And with a warm hug, he would seal his promise to her.

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Boots clicking, Emperor Commodus paced the empty throne room with a strangely serene look on his face. He’d just come from the games, which never failed to amuse him. For those moments in the Colosseum, he felt as powerful as the gods themselves, taking life as needed, while watching lesser beings fight to survive. Sweat beaded his forehead while he walked, and he almost wanted to remove his laurel crown off due to the heat. Nevertheless, an emperor had to look his best at all times.

From an outsider’s standpoint, it seemed that Emperor Commodus took the Senators’ tongues along with their power. Silence was all those dry old men had to give him today as well. He needed to know what they could possibly be thinking of, nay, he needed to know about their plan to end his reign before they could strike. It was time for an old loyalist to join minds with him again.

“Falco, I’ve been expecting you.” The former senator entered cautiously, his leather sandals echoing against the smooth floor of the palace halls. He bowed before the emperor and stood upright. From the events of last night, it was with much skepticism that any of the senators thought that they could ever receive the emperor’s good graces. Perhaps his former loyalty has now manifested into a blessing. “How may I be of service to you, Caesar?”

Commodus gestured for him to be seated. “I take it that you, along with your colleagues, have heard my decision regarding the new…alterations in the governance of Rome. It must certainly displease you and your colleagues, does it not?”

Without flinching, Falco kept his wits near despite the presence of the temperamental Emperor. “Caesar, I cannot speak for those men. With all due respect, they are no longer my colleagues. All I know is that you are my Emperor, and that every decision you take must have been formed with necessary contemplation." Falco knew he was telling lies. To the Senate, Commodus never gave the impression of a man of thought, let alone the impression of a man.

And as for the Emperor, he knew better than to take the former Senator’s words by face value. Nevertheless, he did need an ally and it was only Falco who gave him advice when the rest of the Senate sided with Maximus.

“Thank you, Falco. Out of those men, it seems that you are the only one who genuinely cares for my welfare. Your priorities lie for the Empire, and for none else. That is why I wish to make you my main advisor. With no Empress and no Senate, I need a good man like you by my side…to rule, and to care for the people.”

Pretending to be stunned, brimming with gratitude, Falco rose from his seat. “Highness, your offer is…one of high value.”

“Join me, Falco,” Commodus extended his hand, which was accepted by the former Senator. “Join me, and we shall usher in a new age of Rome.”

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The Sun was ruthless to the troops of Rome today - many a foot soldier grunted with displeasure as they sparred with each other under the sweltering heat. General Petronius and Centurion Philomenus greeted each other with a familiar look, having seen each other at Gaius’s meeting last night.

“I sense tension in your fingers,” the general pointed towards his peer’s hand.

Philomenus chuckled as he glanced at his knuckles circling the hilt of his sword. “I…I thought about my sister. How she must be waiting for me, and how the heat is making her uncomfortable.”

“I empathize - I have a sister as well. Her husband was a legionnaire - do you remember Felix Cassius? No…well, the army is quite massive.”

The centurion picked up his weapon, twirling it absentmindedly. “Forgive me for not knowing him. I think it would take one eons to count every single life lost during the late emperor’s battles in Germania.”

Petronius gritted his teeth. “I wish the emperor’s son lost his life in Germania instead of the emperor.” Almost immediately, Philomenus tackled him to the ground with a sandy hand over his mouth.

“You monster!” Petronius gasped as he tried to catch his breath. “What in the name of Jupiter was that for?!”

“It was for daring to speak against the Emperor. We both know that punishment would be doled out on both of us - on you for your impudent tongue, and on me for listening to your talk of treason.”

“Men like you make me sick,” the general spat. “Was it not you who quoted the great Marcus Aurelius himself, having memorized his extensive writings? Do you not know that by punishing those who speak out against Commodus, you only encourage his tyrannical, anti-republic ways?!”

“Perhaps, but I do know when to keep my tongue in my cheek,” Philomenus retorted. “Did you not see what happened to the Spaniard who dared to challenge the emperor?”

“The Spaniard was once a general, Philomenus. He used to be one of us. If he could not complete his revenge, it would be our responsibility to finish it for him.”

Shaking his head, he took the general behind a wall while pretending to be very thirsty. “I do believe in the ways of the Republic, and that Rome’s golden age ended when the republic was seized by a pompous man pretending to be a dictator.”

“Commodus is not Julius Caesar, Philomenus - he has no military prowess of his own, aside from formidable swordplay.”

“Please, just know that he will not last long. The grain will run out, and the public who loved him so much will turn their backs on him. But while he’s in power, let him be happy.”

“You sound just like those blasted Senators,” Petronius grunted. “Those old men can afford to live off their ancestral wealth for their remaining years, but you and I are not like them!”

Philomenus yelled back, suddenly triggered by the mention of familial affluence. “I know that! My parents perished when I was thirteen, leaving my sister and I penniless with a pair of newborn twins.”

“I have worked a long way to come where I am,” he continued to fume. “I know what I have read speaks of a Republic, but what can I do?! What can we do, given our state?”

“Then join me,” Petronius coerced the other man. “Help me think of a way to kill Commodus, and together we can bring back the Republic Rome was always meant to be.”

“Here is what we’ll do- we will ambush him from the exit gates of the Colosseum. And when he enters without bodyguards, we will make our presence known and attack him,” Philomenus whispered. “I will keep our weapons under my tunic so as not to arouse suspicion.”

“Anger has certainly brought your intelligence into light. I admire your plan, but what will I do?” Petronius asked with a raised eyebrow.

The centurion smirked, “Stay alive, and keep your goddamn mouth shut for once.”

“Commodus must die….for Maximus and for the Senate.”

“Never show weakness,” her father’s voice echoed in her mind.“You mustn’t be afraid of Death. It will only get you killed.” It wasn’t the violence that scared her, but rather having been the unfortunate witness of such an act that brought internal terror. It was no secret that the emperors of Rome valued their public image and many of them would stop at nothing to preserve a persona of wisdom, justice, fortitude, and temperance.

Disappearing into her room, Caesonia backed away from him gingerly. And without a second thought, the emperor followed her. Yet Commodus found himself remaining near the threshold of the doorway to debate his next choice of words.

Perhaps it was guilt, or even fear, that could be used to describe the emotion Commodus had been afflicted with. Lucilla’s words followed him like a shadow, even as he advanced towards Caesonia. Those stinging remarks were by his side long after the vision of his sister had disappeared. What if Lucilla were correct - that all he’d ever done was push everyone he’s cared about away? Would Caesonia, his Pink Fairy, become disgusted with his violent outburst and reject him? No, she couldn’t…she was his prisoner…he held the lives of her and his father in the palm of his hand. She belonged to him.

“Ave, Caesar,” Caesonia greeted, breaking the long silence and Commodus’s string of self-doubt. “Good evening, my lady,” he replied amidst blinking with astonishment. Commodus had not expected her to be so formal or calm, after what she’d just seen. And the sight of her obediently kissing his ring brought about a sense of temporary calmness for the emperor too.

Raising her chin so that their eyes met, Commodus took a moment to study her features before asking her a question. “Am I a monster, Lady Caesonia?”

She shook her head in reply. “I want to hear it from your lips,” he quietly growled.

“You are not a monster, Caesar.”

The emperor walked towards the aging, white bed, still standing before her with an intense stare. “Do you loathe me?”

“I do not, Caesar.”

Abridging the space between them, Commodus felt a slight quiver in his tone and swallowed as he inquired his last question.

“Am I not merciful?”

The analytical side of her would’ve weighed her answer based on which would guarantee her being alive to see the next day. An outright criticism of the emperor’s ways would guarantee an execution, while agreement would spare her. Yet, as the weeks passed in her empty, incarcerated existence, Caesonia asked herself endlessly why she was still obeying every command and trying to live. Her father hadn’t fought for her; he abandoned her in a heartbeat when she fought to spare his life. Then again, if her father were dead, she’d have no place to go. For all the righteousness and virtues many emperors claimed to possess, Rome was never kind to a lonely girl.

Still, was she merely trying to stay alive because that is what she was taught - to survive at all costs? Or was she finding herself loyal to her captor? Caesonia knew why her father was in trouble, and tried for treason. He failed his duty towards the Emperor of Rome, and had to be duly punished. The Emperor accepted her offer, and was as benevolent as possible to her. Instead of the dungeons, she was given a room. Granted she was not allowed to leave said room, but it was certainly better to be alone than to be surrounded by violent, insane men who’d certainly prey upon a girl thrust into their premises. And for his seemingly kind gestures, Caesonia took it upon herself to be obedient to him in return.

“You are merciful indeed, Caesar,” she answered, barely louder than a whisper.

“No, I’m NOT!”, he wanted to scream at her. “You watched me take an innocent life before your very eyes! Why would you still address me as merciful, you deceitful girl?!” But this was not the time for screaming. Maybe this wasn’t the time to say anything.

Instead, the chamber was filled with the sounds of weeping as the emperor of Rome suddenly fell to his knees. Tears streaming down his reddening face, Commodus couldn’t control his sobs. Whether it was for the unlucky servant, the scheming senators, his discouraged sister, or even the prospect of loneliness, his cries were beyond explanation. He didn’t know why he wanted to cry, but it was all that Commodus really wanted to do.

Caesonia stood as stiff as a statue for a moment, attempting to process the tragedy unfolding before her. Let alone an emperor, a man crying openly was almost unheard of. Trembling, she slowly knelt before him and caressed his cheek in hopes of wiping his tears. To her surprise, Commodus clasped her hand, their fingers interlacing, and held it close to his face. It was as if he wanted to know if she were truly real, or merely a figment of his imagination.

“Sh-sh-shall I bring you something, Caesar?” She asked, trying to be helpful.

He looked up at her with misty eyes, longing for only one thing. Commodus swallowed again, “I am not an emperor tonight, Caesonia.”

With a deep breath, he clarified, “Let us pretend that I am a weary traveler come from afar and that you are a lovely maiden in whose arms I seek refuge.” Inching closer to her, Commodus softly asked. “Will you grant me that, radiant beauty?”

“Yes, dear traveler,” she nodded sadly. Without another word, Caesonia wrapped her arms around Commodus and held him to her chest. “My rose…,” he whispered, losing himself in her touch while he closed his eyes. The poem, Caesonia remembered, the one about a rose blooming from another rose. The unfolded parchment was on top of her pillow as she’d been re-reading it to herself lately; how kind of him to notice that, she thought.

Whispering into his dark brown hair, Caesonia said, “Sleep well, dear traveler.”

——— ———— ——— ——— ——— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— 

Slightly irritated by the glare in his eyes, Commodus groaned as he shifted around in Caesonia’s lap. He had accidentally fallen asleep on the floor and now it was almost past the break of dawn.

Her hushed snores immediately caught his attention. He was surprised that she hadn’t budged all night, instead choosing to lean her head against the bed. Right now, she seemed to be almost fast asleep; not a muscle of hers moved as he rose from her lap.

Despite having admired the Sun all his life, the emperor felt a twinge of jealousy for the celestial star being the first one to brush her cheeks. Mine, he thought, she should be mine alone -  to hold, to hug, to cherish…  Commodus tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, marveling at how peaceful -almost seraphic- she looked.  “Good morning, my rose,” he cooed into her ear while affectionately stroking her warm fingers.

“Good morning…” her voice faltered as she saw the emperor looming over her. “F-forgive me for making you sleep on the floor.” Caesonia wiped her mouth, suddenly self-conscious before him. The night was gone, and so were the traveler and the maiden.

Offering her his hand, he carefully helped her up. The two of them stood silently before each other, too hesitant to directly look at the other yet afraid of seeming weak and unnecessarily bashful. “I must go to the baths,” Commodus commented. She shakily nodded in reply. “I see.”

“Would you come with me?” he asked sternly, not wishing to let her out of his sight

“I accept your invitation,” Caesonia placed her hands behind her back and followed him out of her chamber, lowering her head. Most likely, the palace would be filled with maids and servants bustling about. Would they know that the emperor spent the night in her vicinity, or would they assume that he wanted her relocated for…penal purposes? She didn’t know; perhaps it was better to lie low than rouse suspicion.

When they reached the imperial bathing chambers, the emperor ordered for the doors to be closed. He began disrobing before the pools, letting his garments fall from his body. Caesonia averted her eyes only to be fiercely jolted by a hand on her shoulder.

“It is rude to show your back on an emperor, Lady Caesonia,” Commodus snickered, taking strange delight in her fear. He brought her here mainly because of remorse for bringing an unpleasant sight to her eyes; she deserved something to cheer her up.

His peridot eyes fixated on her, Commodus watched Caesonia dip her toes into the water. He waded gently in the pool and decided to gaze at her for a while, letting himself be consumed by her loveliness. Her soft side-glances spoke of a charming coyness, and it appeared that she had reciprocated his warm expression. After all, the baths were no place for suspicion; who would carry out dangerous plots in the baths?

Lost in her own company, Caesonia flicked her toes in the water, making little splashes. One of them wet Commodus, who turned around and raised an eyebrow at her obliviousness. Without a second to lose, he splashed her in retaliation. Her shocked eyes immediately met his mischievous ones from across the pool.

“Go on,” he goaded her with another splash.

Soon, the two of them were throwing water at each other, laughing like children, and grateful that the doors were closed. For now, the world faded away and time stood still for their innocent indulgence. In an effort to keep up with his splashes, Caesonia accidentally fell in. “Are you alright?” He made his way towards her. She nodded in return.

Her hands traced his broad shoulders as she clung to him. Commodus did his best to keep his breath steady, simultaneously bewildered and excited by being touched so tenderly. She studied him closely, running her fingertips over his slightly curved jawline and finally settling on his lips. Her thumb traced over the corner of his mouth, and in a playful manner, he pretended to bite her finger. Caesonia flinched, a fond smile forming as Commodus sheepishly grinned.  “What is it, my rose?”

“I wanted to know if this was all a dream,” Caesonia confessed shyly.

“What do you think?” He asked in a hushed tone before capturing her lips in a kiss. Her lips locked with his, as if they had been separated for far too long. Caesonia daringly ran her fingers through his hair, softly yanking the cropped dark brown locks, and it was enough to arouse the emperor beyond compare. Whispering her name under his breath, Commodus kissed her deeper and tugged at any inch of fabric on her body that he could get his hands on. He wanted to have her so badly, to feel her skin against his, to make her melt with desire for him.

Their moment of intimacy was promptly interrupted by the voice of a guard outside. “Highness, your chariot to the Colosseum awaits you.” The emperor looked longingly at her before slowly making his way out of the pool, water dripping from his muscles. Caesonia followed him despite the heaviness of her soaked dress.

“Do you need…would you like help with your armor?” She asked, picking up the metallic breastplates from the floor.

“You may,” he smugly spoke. Even though he would ask for another suit of armor and a fresh set of robes the minute he reached his quarters, Commodus never wanted to reject her touch. Promptly she fastened the clasps holding the dark and shiny ensemble together.

Biting her lip, Caesonia timidly looked up at him when she finished dressing him. “Forgive me for being so bold…but I like you very much.”

“Commodus,” he finished, raising her chin to his eye-level.

“I like you very much, Commodus,” she repeated.

Senator Julius smirked at his colleague Senator Gaius’s remark. Gaius had never been one to appreciate a jest with a vulgar double-meaning, but still did it to seem like a man in public.

General Petronius shook his head. “He’s going to do it - he’s made plans to announce it at the games and no one seems to be doing anything about it.”

“The Senate has done much to gain the support of the people. Especially after the death of Senator and late Consul Gracchus, may he rest in peace.” Gaius lectured, “We hammered the letter addressed to the Caesar in the public square. With our collective pleas, we begged him to show us mercy and bestow kindness upon the Senate of Rome.”

“Keep making your jests, Senators,” Petronius answered, disgusted with the two elder men. “The people do not understand the value of elocution as well as we do. All they know is…fear and wonder. Wasn’t it your friend Gracchus who said that the heart of Rome lies not in the marble of the Senate, but in the heart of the Colosseum? That is what his Highness takes advantage of. It is how he whisks the common man from under our noses.”

“And the army, too,” Julius chuckled. “What have you to complain about, General? Does Caesar not pay you handsomely enough?” The general was beyond offended by this.

“He pays me well, but in not the way I would desire” He spat, not caring in that moment about the repercussions of his tone. “I am complaining because I do not wish to tarnish the legacy that the great Caesar Marcus Aurelius has brought to Rome.”

“And the General who became a slave…who rose from his ashes into a gladiator who could defy an emperor, Maximus Decimus Meridus,” Petronius added with a theatric flair. “The two of them gave their lives for Rome, and now that very Rome is to pay for the life of this man sitting on the throne now!”

“And I suppose you wish to follow in his footsteps,” Gaius sneered. “Or do you wish to survive? Last I recall, you have an unwed sister and two small children at home. I shudder to think what may happen if their breadwinner goes gallivanting behind a metaphysical quest for a Republic.”

Petronius continued to assert himself. “If not us, who will? Our venerated Lady Lucilla was once there to stop him from carrying out such a dastardly action. And now…the duties fall upon us to bring back the Rome that once was.”

Senator Gaius clicked his tongue. “With your way of words, you could have been extremely political. What a pity you had to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

“I prefer to fight my battles in a straightforward manner. A general talks with his weapons more than with his tongue, Senators.”

“Yes, but anyone can be killed with weapons,” Julius retorted. “Only a fool can be killed by his own tongue.”

“I should say so, coming from a man who may soon find himself out of a livelihood very soon and is still making jokes like a street jester.”

Just as the angry young general was about to leave, Gaius grabbed Petronius’s arm. “It does not bode well for a man like you to behave like this in public,” he whispered hotly. “For our own safety, we must remain quiet until we have the power to act. You must trust Fate for the time being, General”

The young man hissed, “I have no faith in the same fate that brought such an emperor back to life from the realm of Tartarus.”

“Meet us tonight in the Forum, and I will guide you to my house. There, we shall set our next move.”

—————————————————————————————————————

The golden sun gleamed upon the city of Rome. In the early hours of morning, it was truly a heavenly sight to behold - it was as if the entire city was bathed in an ethereal light, with the warm glow emanating from every marble structure.

A divine Father…that is what the sun truly is, Emperor Commodus mused to himself, standing from his balcony. For the first day of the reinstated games, he wore a brand new set of dark grey and black armor coupled with golden ornamentation.

It shows light equally upon the buildings as well as upon the grass and the flowers. Regardless of the obstacles it faces, the Sun continues to illuminate the world and shower light, just like a father showering unconditional love upon his children.

And so I shall be like the Sun - brilliant, courageous, and devoted to his children. I shall rise every morning and shower love upon all of my people as the Sun bestows light.

“Uncle?” Lucius called meekly. “Yes, Lucius?”

“Is all of this violence necessary in the name of entertainment?” Commodus was taken aback by the boy’s query. “Lucius, it does not serve you well to question such a tradition. Ever since the reign of Emperor Augustus, gladiatorial games have been held to entertain the masses. They will make you courageous in the face of battle.”

Lowering his tone to a whisper, the emperor knelt down to the boy’s level. “Many Caesars, including those from our ancestor Emperor Claudius have used the games as a way of keeping the people of Rome happy. And these games…these games are being held to honor the legacy of your grandfather. He was a great emperor whom I swore to honor when he named me his successor.”

“I see, Uncle.” Lucius replied, not wishing to ask more about the late Caesar. His mother had told him many things before she was sent away from Rome, including the conspiracy that his uncle, of all people, killed his grandfather through suffocation. Lucius was intelligent enough not to directly ask the emperor about this, but it lingered in the back of his mind. His uncle could kill for the throne, granted his last battle nearly cost the emperor his life, but it would be logical to suspect the emperor was capable of committing another such heinous act.

“Now, finish your breakfast,” Commodus instructed, smoothing the boy’s dusky, golden hair. “Our chariot will take us to the Colosseum at noon, and I expect that you will be prompt.”

Lucius nodded, and Commodus watched as his nephew ran off. He loved the boy dearly, but there was something…strange about the dear prince. Whenever Commodus wanted to approach him, he always flinched like a sparrow being approached by a hawk. In the place of love, there was fear in Lucius’s eyes. It reminded Commodus too much of his own sister. The more he ruminated about it, he could even see Lucilla’s face in Lucius.

He loved the boy dearly, but…the betrayal by his own sister was unforgettable, to say the least. It stung him more than the most sharpest of daggers. Even before his duel with Maximus, he’d already felt as if he’d lost his greatest weapon. In a blind fit of rage, he threatened the life of the very boy whom he hoped to shower with paternal affection. Commodus never failed to regret bringing his nephew into the stakes of politics. Though it was Lucilla who’d committed the mistake of revealing confidential information to Lucius, Commodus took it upon himself to blame for putting Lucius’s life in danger. From the moment he first stood up from his bed, barely recovered from his injuries, Commodus swore to protect his dear nephew - even at the cost of his own life.

And, the emperor promised himself that he would do the same, should the gods bless him with sons and daughters of his own.

———————————————————————————————————-

“Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!”

With the majestic stride of a lion, Emperor Commodus felt as powerful as the feline king of the jungle when he entered the Colosseum and waved to the citizens. His triumph over Maximus had appeared to have reaped its fruit. The crowd loved him, and even embraced him. He watched as his servants threw loaves of bread into the crowd. Perhaps it was not him who was fighting in the arena this time, but Commodus felt the victory he never had a chance to feel on that fateful day.  

The announcer, wearing a blonde wig, ascended the steps to the podium. He declared, “On the first day of the reinstated games, his Highness is pleased to present yet another piece of history. Honoring the great triumphs of the Commander Publius Cornelius Dolabella during the Roman-Gallic wars, the Battle of Lake Vadimo will be re-enacted before you today. But before the emperor can let the battle commence, there is a special announcement he would be delighted to deliver.”

“Thank you, Cassius,” Commodus politely acknowledged the announcer. “People of Rome, it brings me immense pleasure to be in the presence of you all. As your emperor, I consider it my foremost duty above all else to make sure that my citizens are satisfied with my reign.

In the name of satisfying my subjects, it is my executive decision to formally announce the dissolution of the Roman Senate. From tomorrow, the citizens will be encouraged to take their grievances to my palace directly. My doors shall remain open for each and every citizen, and I shall give each and every concern of theirs due attention.

’Tis time for Rome to enter a New Age. One in which power is out of the hands of dry, old men who inadequately represent the people whom they are supposed to give a voice to, and an age in which an empire is ruled by an emperor. I thank you all for your love and support, and it is my ardent wish that you enjoy the games today.”

For a moment, it was as if the gods made time stop for Commodus’s words to echo through the Colosseum. Silence prevailed through the arena before scattered applause morphed into furious claps, mainly from the commoners. Despite the acclamation from the plebeians, it was the artificial smiles of the Senators that instantly attracted the attention of Emperor Commodus. It baffled him how not a single one of them protested their dissolution. And then it came to him - they were already plotting against him. He had been too transparent with his disdain for them, and now they were already planning to take revenge.

This was not his first time fighting this particular battle. When Commodus told the Senate he was using the grain reserves to pay for those very games, they reacted with silence. They reacted with deadly, lethal silence that only paved the way for a grand scheme to depose him. Granted it failed ultimately, but it still cost him everything he knew and cherished.

Not wishing to repeat his mistake, the emperor forced himself to maintain his jovial manner and suppress his resurfacing paranoia. Casting an affectionate glance towards Lucius and the empty throne that used to seat Lucilla, Commodus gestured for the games to begin.

The bloodshed, as always, managed to take Commodus’s mind off of the political trauma he’d endured for too long. Bloodied chariots, fallen hounds, and even spears to the chest elicited laughter and childlike glee from the emperor. Many of the intellectuals would scorn an emperor who took so much pleasure in the games, citing his father’s stoic ideals, but in Commodus’s mind it was his way of honoring the traditions of Rome. Moreover, it was a rare feeling of multifaceted control that Commodus never seemed to feel often. Seated above all in the Imperial Box with the ability to grant life or death with the mere movement of his thumb, it was a powerful sensation indeed.

And to add to his good mood, there were no rude surprises today. Just as history had written, the Romans won the Battle of Lake Vadimo, while the Gallics were brutally defeated.

——————————————————————————————————————-

The moment the large doors closed behind the emperor, the laurel crown announced its place on the floor with a loud clang.  

“Wine,” the emperor ordered, immediately being delivered an urn of dark scarlet liquid and a goblet. Commodus poured himself a drink and gulped it down. Closing his eyes, he let out a painful sigh from both the gravity of the day’s events and the alcohol taking its toll. It was for Rome, he told himself. I needed to save Rome from the politicians.

“Commodus, the Senate has its uses.”

Could he be hallucinating again? “L-Lucilla?” He stammered, looking up to her with wide, naive eyes.

“Brother,” Lucilla narrowed her eyes. “We both know father would not have wanted this for Rome.”

“Father is dead, Lucilla,” Commodus dismissed, pouring another serving of wine.

“Come now, Commodus. We both know you feel otherwise.”

“Why should it bother you what I feel? You and Father were the experts at putting up facades, pretending to care for me. I was the one so foolish as to believe your love for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Commodus. There’s always been a Senate.”

“Rome has changed since the days of the Republic, dear sister. An empire needs an emperor, nothing less.”

Lucilla’s nostrils flared at his impudence. “Even Death has been unable to teach you a lesson. All your life, you’ve been stubborn, clinging to those dreams you fabricated as a boy. You turned every one of your friends and allies against you because you refused to accept things.”

Enraged with her, he threw his goblet onto the floor, staining the marble with red droplets. His upper lip quivered while his eyelids struggled to hold back hot tears. “YOU LEFT ME! You left me when I needed you the most and I paid for it with my life!”

“No one left you, Commodus,” she harshly reprimanded him. You sent them away to satisfy your insatiable ego. Soon you’ll be left with no one but your own mind for company. It will do you good to remember me then.”

Growling like a wounded animal, he furiously lunged towards her only to fall from his chair. When his eyes rose from the floor, she disappeared. It was only his mind playing tricks; Lucilla was truly gone.

A young, startled slave rushed in, holding a tray of food. “Sire, is there something you need?”

“No, go away,” the emperor dismissed him, trying to stand up. He had given in to a hallucination, and now he was caught in a rather compromising position by a servant.

“Are you sure, Highness? I heard- “ the servant rambled, only to be cut off suddenly.

“Actually…I’d like you to fight me.” Commodus demanded the slave.

“I-I-I don’t have a weapon, Your Highness.”

“There’s a knife on your platter, near the cheese. Use it.”

“Sire, it is no-”

“That was not a request, slave. Pick up your knife and fight me.”

Obedient to his master, the slave put down his platter and grasped the kitchen knife tightly. Commodus held a naked sword and led the slave into the hall, launching the first attack. For a servant, he was surprisingly good at stalling the emperor, blocking and dodging many of Commodus’s blows. Alas, it was only a matter of fatigue and timing before the servant was unable to maintain his momentum. The emperor backed the servant into a wall, swiftly letting his blade enter the servant’s stomach again…and again…and again.

People should know when they’ve been conquered, her father used to say. Caesonia looked out of her tiny window, watching the orange and yellow rays fall from the concrete and presumably into the horizon. Of course, when he said those words, he usually referred to Germanic barbarians, not young women.

Caesonia’s fingers dawdled near the cold wall, tracing abstract patterns against the grey material. Didn’t philosophers used to call life one big prison that houses all men? They spoke of a metaphorical one, while she was in a real one.

That wasn’t to say that her prison was akin to a cell in the palace’s dungeon - it was a bit more spacious and she had a blanket to cover herself with. Would you be proud of me, father? Being a dutiful citizen and serving my sentence as I must?, Caesonia thought longingly. Or have I disappointed you being a meek coward this whole time?

All Caesonia had ever wanted was to make her father satisfied to call her his progeny, despite never being the son he so desperately craved for. Perhaps he would’ve agreed that she did the right thing by remaining in her prison day after day. She didn’t seem to be giving the emperor or his guards any sort of trouble, and for a month, all was well.

Yet being the daughter of a general, had she failed the test of courage by never daring to escape her cell? Surely one of bravery would have done so, swearing to defy the emperor’s orders and fight back. The window was small, but she could’ve squeezed through and jumped out of it. Whether she would survive the three-story fall was a secondary question, but at least she would be free.

Ever since that Spaniard gladiator had arrived in the city, it seemed fashionable to defy the emperor - anyone who followed his orders was considered a weakling or a fool. Being a young lady, Caesonia never needed to worry about whom to side with; ever since she’d come of age, her father never encouraged her to delve into politics.

However, things were different now with the recent…change in dynamics. The emperor was back in power, and the Senate now in disarray, but the people were still deciding whom to give their loyalty to. From the conversations she could overhear in her cell, not even the servants were sure of their true allegiance. Only time could truly tell who would win this ultimate battle of leadership.

Her thoughts were adjourned by an announcement from a guard. “The Emperor of Rome is on his way, prisoner!” His declaration was interrupted by a quick slap. “How dare you call her merely a prisoner?” The voice was none other than that of Commodus’s. “She is a lady and must be addressed as such.”

Caesonia straightened herself, adjusting her toga so that she may be presentable before him. She saw him coming towards her, bearing a piece of pink cloth in one of his hands. Narrowing her eyes closer, she recognized it as her pink cloth - it was from the dress she wore to witness the Spaniard fight His Majesty.

The guards parted for him. “Good evening, my lady,” Emperor Commodus lowered his head for her, a rare honor for anyone, let alone a prisoner. “Good evening, your Highness,” she curtsied before him, her lower lip quivering as her eyes met his.

“Do you by any chance know of this, Lady Caesonia?” He offered her the cloth.

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “Yes, it looks similar to a piece of a dress that I own. Except, my cloth was stained with dirt and blood; the one you are holding, Caesar, is clean.”

Commodus, relieved that he truly knew whom his Pink Fairy was, signalled for the guards to let her out into the halls. “I had the laundresses clean it, my lady. Would it displease you if I asked you to walk with me tonight?”

“Not at all, your Highness.”

He hummed in agreement, going outside of the palace and into one of the gardens in the southern wing. Surrounded by various species of roses, narcissi, and gladioli, it was quite the colorful ensemble. And in the center, there was a large fountain with water spouting from a statue of Augustus, the first Roman emperor in history.

It was quite dark, with the sky being surrounded by nothing but black, velvety clouds. Yet, the starlight and the faint glow from the palace was enough luminescence for them to see each other.

The emperor invited her to sit next to him on the marble bench. Noticing her silence, Commodus softly asked her. “Do I scare you, Lady Caesonia?”

“No. This is not the first time we have met, your Highness.”

“Where have we met before?”

“In Germania, Highness. I came along with my father on his battles.”

Commodus raised an eyebrow at the idea of a young girl being brought to a battefield, especially one of nobility. “But why? Surely a girl like you would’ve been entrusted to her mother at home. A battle camp is no place for a young lady.”

Caesonia closed her eyes for a moment. “My mother died during childbirth, Caesar. And I had no siblings.”

“My condolences to your mother,” the emperor nodded.

“Thank you, Caesar,” she forced a small smile.

“Did your father teach you to fight?”

“He did when I was young - until I was twelve, everyone called me Cassius Quintii,” her eyes twinkled under the indigo sky as she narrated. “I was raised as a boy, and I fought like any soldier’s son.”

“And then what happened?”

Caesonia continued, “My armor…my armor became too tight for my chest, and my father knew why. He stopped teaching me, and started leaving me in the company of various ladies present - concubines, noble ladies, and even…” Her voice faltered, hesitating to mention Lady Lucilla.

“My sister, no?” Commodus finished, “She used to leave you in my care and go off to speak with her lover.”

Looking further at Caesonia, the memory suddenly came back to him. When he came to Germania hoping to speak with his father about his succession and eventual coronation, he was given a girl to watch over. It was utterly humiliating, him - a prince - being brought to a battlefield to baby-sit. Until his father’s letter describing the four virtues, he thought there was no clearer of a way for his father to convey his opinion about Commodus.

Caesonia added, “All I’ve wanted was to please my father, but I think he’s still angry that I was never the son he wanted…and that I took away the chance of him having another child.”

“And yet you still plead for his life in court even though he made yours uncomfortable?”

“I love him nonetheless, and I think he deserves to live. Perhaps that was my mistake.” Caesonia looked down, placing her hands in her lap.

His expression softening, Commodus gently stroked her cheek, causing her to turn towards him. With those same fingers, he lifted her chin and brought his lips to hers. Caesonia held his forearm to steady herself as she attempted to reciprocate his kiss, having never experienced such intimacy before. She did not want to be punished for refusing him and she was afraid of angering the emperor with her boldness, but her touch only captivated him.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, lowering her onto the marble delicately as if she were made of glass. Commodus marveled at her submissiveness, having never felt so much power in his arms as he did in that moment. Her eyelids lowered and her lips parted slightly when he climbed on top of her, the heavy weight of his armor crushing her chest. He captured her lips again, and felt her arms encircle his broad shoulders.

As their kiss deepened, her muted sighs only strengthened a new desire surging through his veins. It was far too different than merely lust, Commodus thought, it was almost a feeling of jealousy, or hunger perhaps. In that moment, he was ready to kill anyone who tried to claim her, or touch her, or snatch her away from him. She needed to be his and only his.

Gasping for air, the two of them broke apart too soon for either’s liking, still lingering in each other’s embrace. It had felt like an eternity passed before the emperor rose from the bench. Commodus suppressed a chuckle as he watched Caesonia’s knees buckle when she tried to stand up. Lovingly, he wrapped the cloth around her neck like a scarf and strode away from the bench. Walking five steps behind him, she followed him out of the garden and into the palace.

The emperor could not help but glance behind as they made their way through the halls. She looked ethereal among the light of the torches. Her smooth hair and her cheekbones called to his fingers, clamoring for his caress. It was taking every fiber of his being not to roughly push her against the palace walls and kiss her again until they were both breathless.

He stopped before another empty bedroom, seemingly much more comfortable, and spoke to the guard, instructing him to keep her here for the time being. “Good night, Lady Caesonia,” he bent down to kiss her hand.

“Good night, Caesar. Thank you for your benevolence,” she nodded in return.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Caesonia rose from her bed to find a plate of pink-bottled perfumes and creams, along with a little rouge, by her bedside. Perhaps a maid must’ve placed it while I slept, she thought. In the midst of the cosmetics, there was a folded piece of parchment. Carefully, she unfolded the note and read,

“If you ever asked me if I’d seen a rose blooming from another rose,

My reply would be yes, for my eyes have been blessed by one of those.

On the night your soft, finely curved lips met mine,

Marcus considered you his son’s private tutor. Commodus, however, considered you his second-in-command.

The old king furrowed his brows. “Well. He will need you now. More than ever.” With that, he disappeared. Commodus had followed soon after, a large smile on his face.

“My Lady! He will announce it this evening. I’m sure of it.”

Something felt off. You didn’t know what. “Perhaps… perhaps he will do it tomorrow, my Lord. Or in the coming days. I’m certain he wants to give the soldiers their day in the sun.”

He smiled as he stepped through the swathes of material separating you. You were now face to face. “You are so wise, Y/N. You are right.” His voice was dripping with…. something. An emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. One that felt deeply unsavoury. Inappropriate, even.

You cleared your throat. “Yes, Your Highness. It’s my duty to provide you with guidance, after all.”

“Y/N, please. We are alone. Please don’t call me that.” His voice was low. A whisper. He smiled tenderly. A Pretorian Guard entered the room and announced that Commodus was requested by the Emperor. A look of boyish excitement spread through his face. You could read his thoughts: It’s my time.

Commodus didn’t reappear. The party died down. And, tired from your journey to Germania with Commodus, you had turned in for the evening. Whatever Commodus learned from Marcus could wait until tomorrow.

Or so you thought.

And here you were. A Pretorian Guard had called for you. The Emperor wanted to see you.

You followed the guard through the corridors of the beautiful space. You were asked to wait outside until the Emperor was ready for you. You had just spoken with Marcus before you went to bed. What on earth would he want with you now?

You listened to the conversation happening inside the room. You recognised Commodus’ voice instantly.

“Ameen with me, brother. Our great father is dead.”

Your eyes widened at his words. How could Marcus be dead? You spoke to him only hours ago.

The guard eyed you intently. You straightened your back, acted stoic, and pretended you weren’t listening to every sound in that room.

You heard everything.

The surgeon said his breath gave out as he slept. He felt no pain.

A long silence.

Your Emperor asks for your loyalty, Maximus.

And then.

Take my hand. I offer it only once.

Followed by mutters.

You heard Maximus shouting in the distance.

Closer to you, you heard two hard slaps. Followed by Lucilla’s voice.

Hail Caesar.

Quintos walked past you. He told the guard, “It’s done.”

Quintos turned to you and nodded. “My Lady.”

Your eyes became wet. Marcus was dead. And you had every certainty who’s hands he died at.

You gasped and jumped in shock when the curtain opened. You turned to see Commodus standing there. His eyes were brimming with tears. He wore a distant, dissociative expression.

“My father is dead.” He spoke matter-of-fact. “Come.”

He turned his back and you followed him. He walked you through what must have been the quarters of Marcus. It looked palatial. Statues. Gold. Fine materials. And there, on the bed, lay Marcus. You stopped. Commodus turned when he realised you were no longer following him. You couldn’t take your eyes off Marcus. It was surreal.

“You wish to pay your respects. You may.” He gestured towards the bed.

You nodded in response to Commodus, while you continued staring straight ahead. Slowly, you walked towards the late Emperor. You felt a gentle hand on your back. Commodus.

“It’s a shock. I know.” His voice was gentle. Still, you daren’t look at him.

Slowly, you sunk to your knees. You prayed. Commodus knelt with you. Silently, he thanked the Gods for your grace. For your love towards his father. For your respect. Your loyalty. You rose to your feet. You placed a hand over the still hand of Marcus. Silently, you promised to help his son.

You turned to Commodus. He was Emperor now. Should you kiss his ring? Or curtsey? Frankly, he looked as though he needed a hug. He sensed your uncertainty.

“Come. We will rest in private.” He placed a gentle hand on your upper arm, stroking it. He offered you a small smile.

She looks terrified. She knows. She most certainly knows.

“Here. Take my arm.” He tilted his chin up proudly. He looked down at you through long, dark eyelashes.

You slipped your hand through his arm, smiling. You felt relief. He was still Commodus. The one you knew so well. He smiled proudly as he led you through to a private room.

He poured you both some wine, handing you a goblet. You hesitated before sipping. You looked at him, waiting for him to drink.

“I assure you, it’s not poisoned.” He gave you a smirk, like he always did when he made a bad joke. But this felt different. A little more sinister. Or were you imaging it?

You looked him in the eye. And you sipped.

“My father always said, you were my tutor,” he began, pacing. He spoke authoritatively. After all, he was Caesar now. “But you should know, Y/N, I have always viewed you as more than that.” He turned to you. He licked at the corner of his mouth, a habit he had when he felt nervous. “Do you feel that, too, Y/N?”

You were frozen still. You couldn’t answer him. Not without knowing for certain.

“Commodus.” You straightened your back, mustered all of your courage. You stepped towards him. “You value honesty. As do I. Honesty, respect and love – they are inextricably linked. So tell me the truth, now. What happened?”

His eyes fluttered. Excessive blinking was a sure sign of his discomfort. His eyes glanced to the makeshift door. Made only of layers of fabric, it was far from soundproof. He lowered his voice.

“I have a feeling you already know.”

Your skin blistered with fear. Still, you spoke with courage.

“So you did. You did it.”

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t planned.” He continued to whisper. “I assure you.”

Was a spontaneous murder any better? You thought not.

“He was to give my powers over to the General. He wanted Rome to become a Republic. I could not let that happen. You understand, don’t you?”

You had frozen again. Were you even safe with him now?

“You’re afraid of me?”

“No.”

“Y/N. Tell me the truth.”

“A little, yes. And there are few things that frighten me.”

“Is there anything I can do to place your mind at ease?”

“Tell me. Tell me how.”

He nodded. He understood. He explained in gestures only. No words were required. He gestured to someone on their knees in front of him. He placed his hands apart, although he was placing his hands either side of someone’s face. He moved his hands towards his stomach. His hands moved now, as though they were at the back of this person’s head. You noticed as his face contorted in anguish. He pushed his hands inwards, as though he was forcing their head into his body. As he did so, he collapsed to his knees and started crying.

You dropped to the ground to be beside him. “Commodus… Commodus…”

He cried hysterically. His eyes contained equal amounts of grief, guilt, shame, and regret. You held him until his tears subsided. You stoked his hair, which soothed him. He felt like a child in your arms. Lifetimes away from the Emperor he had become. You remembered your promise to his father. I will help him become a better man.

“Commodus. You called for me. I sense there is something you wanted to ask of me.”

He looked up at you. His deep, dark eyes were full of emotion.

“Here,” you whispered, giving him your hand and helping him to his feet.

“I… I should be offering my hand to you,” he sniffed. He was trying to be better already.

He looked around the space and saw two large chairs next to a table. They were positioned close to a map of the empire.

“Let us sit here, in peace, together.”

Whether it was an offer or a command, either way you followed him to the table. He pulled out a chair for you, and you sat. He picked up a large throne-like chair – it was surely his fathers – and placed it down close to you. He angled the chair to face you. You repeated the motion. He sat, you both facing one another.

“I have a gap in my knowledge,” he started. “It appears that… after all my training, we have… we have missed one vital element.”

You furrowed your brows. You had covered everything. Whatever was he referring to?

His cheeks flushed as he leaned in and dropped his voice several volumes lower. “We seem to have missed… the last chapter.” He gave you a knowing look, as if this would mean something to you.

What you did know is only this… that he referenced the book his father had given you both, penned by Marcus Aurelius himself. It covered all essential elements of becoming the ruler the Empire needed. But you had diligently covered every chapter, in detail, several times over.

“The final chapter, my Lord – is Governance of the Senate. We covered this. And, I suspect it’s not something you wish to keep in any case.”

He looked confused now. “N-no. No, Y/N. The last chapter. Surely you know what I’m referring to.” He glanced down, his eyelashes fluttering. His cheeks flushed once more. “Must I say it?”

You placed a caring hand on his face. “I’m afraid you’ll have to.” You had no idea what he was talking about.

His mouth moved open as if to speak. No words came out. “Excuse me.”

He rose from his seat. Was he leaving? He walked over to his father’s book shelves, running his fingers along the spines until he found the one he searched for. He removed it, dusting off the front cover. He licked his fingers and thumbed the pages. He placed it down in front of you.

“This one.”

Chapter XVI: The Art of Love

You looked up at him. You had never seen this before.

“This wasn’t in my book,” you said simply.

“W-well… why would… why would he remove it?” Commodus was just as confused as you were. “May I sit?” He was extra polite all of a sudden. You nodded. He sat.

He took your hands in his, ever so gently. “I… I was waiting. I was waiting for us to reach this chapter. I wondered if I must pass a test of some kind in order for me to reach this stage.”

You looked at him earnestly. “Commodus. I didn’t know. But, now I do… please tell me what you need.”

He mustered all of his courage and tilted his head proudly. “Would you teach me?” He gulped down on the fear in his throat. “Would you teach me the art of pleasure?”

You nodded. “Yes.” You picked up the book. Turned the first page of the final chapter. You passed it back to him. “Read it to me.” You had no idea if this was ever supposed to be form of his father’s curriculum. Frankly you were making it up as you went along. And besides, Commodus was Emperor now. His command was for this chapter to be fulfilled. And his command would be obeyed.

He held the book and looked up at you over its pages. He read aloud. “There comes a time in a young man’s life when he turns the corner from boy to man. When it comes to ruling an Empire, it is just as essential to be versed in the art of love, as it is to finesse the skills of swordsmanship and proficiencies on horseback. By refining his skills in love, the young Emperor will ensure a steady line of suitors, the best in the Empire, and will rightly secure an heir.” He looked up at you with trepidation.

You took the book from him and placed it down on the table. You closed it. “That was what your father wanted.” You leaned in further. “But what do you want?”

He grinned fiendishly. He leaned in further. Your mouths were a mere inch apart. “I will have the most skilled tongue in all of Rome. They will talk about it. Whispers will form in the palace hallways, and make their way into the alcoves of the Senate. They will titter and talk in the bustle of the town and in the sand of the Colosseum. They will wonder if it is true. Men will envy me. And women will desire me. And…” he paused, wetting his lips with his tongue. “…the future Empress will be satisfied every night of her life.”

You gulped down hard. Over the years you had witnessed his dedication to honing his craft on horseback, of studying every detail of empire governance, and of course refining his skills with his sword. You had no doubt this diligence and dedication would spill over into his next endeavour. This future Empress would be fortunate indeed.

“Are you not…” you paused, your breathing increasing without your consent. “Are you not already skilled in the art of pleasure?” You had heard laughter and moans from his chambers as concubines came and went in the evening. You were certain he was no virgin.

“Yes. But in the art of receiving pleasure only. I will learn how to give pleasure. Would you teach me?” His eyes dropped to your mouth, and back up to your eyes. A feeling stirred between your legs.

“Yes.”

He stood authoritatively. “Good. We will remain in Germania for the next week. We will congratulate our men. Ensure the armies are in good order. Well fed. Healthy. Fit for return to their homes. You and I, we will bathe, we will treat our skin with the finest oils, we will rest and eat well. And ensure we are fit to return to Rome. And you, you will remain by my side.”

It was most certainly an order.

You stood. Gently, you picked up his hand in yours, and placed your lips on the ring. You closed your eyes with devotion, missing the expression of your Emperor as you did so. He was full of adoration at your gesture.

“Please. Rise.”

You stood. He smiled. And he turned to leave.

“Commodus?” You called after him.

The Emperor turned. You stepped forward.

“What happened to the General? I must know.”

He stood up straight. “I ordered him executed.”

Well. Shit.

With a nod, he was gone.

***

“Commodus… I’m exhausted.”

He had been practicing since morning. Through the small windows of the carriage, you could see the sun starting to set. You were traveling back to Rome from Germania. You were both looking much more tidy. Freshly bathed, with the oils he had promised for your skin. The new Emperor was now cleanly-shaven, with short hair, ready for his arrival back in Rome.

“But I want to get it right.” He said, looking up at you from in between your legs. His hands cupped underneath your thighs. “I must get it right.”

It was an odd statement from a man who had made you come from morning until dusk, but he was obsessive in his search for excellence and would not be stopped.

“My darling boy…” You gave him a ‘come hither’ movement with your fingers. Obediently, he stood. “While you have mastered the art of your tongue. I must confess. The art of pleasure is not simply mechanical.”

He frowned. Wasn’t it? He listened intently to your next words.

“It’s not only the movement of your tongue and your fingertips, skilled though they are. It’s about the art of… seduction.”

Ahhh…

A look of realisation spread across his face.

“Seduce me.”

He froze. Then, he stood up proudly. You closed your legs and lay back on the day bed, awaiting your seduction.

He spoke loudly. “I am the Emperor. And I command you to become weak in my presence.”

Your eyes glanced up into your head. You frowned.

“No. No that wasn’t it, was it…” He placed a hand on his stomach self-consciously. He looked down at the ground of the carriage, searching it for answers. He cleared his throat.

“You will lie back… as I ravish you. Again… and again…” He spoke softly now and narrowed his eyes. “And again.”

“Better,” you told him honestly.

“What am I missing?” He asked, scurrying onto the day bed, leaning over you. He looked into your eyes. You shifted in place.

“Well… you are more seductive right now. When you’re not… trying so hard.”

“Then, what should I do?” He asked keenly.

“Simply…” you shrugged. “Do whatever you would like to do… if I was someone you wanted to make love to. If I was someone you longed for. Ached for. If I was someone in your fantasies. If I was someone who were in love with.”

Does she know…?

His lower lip trembled. He nodded. “Yes. Yes of course.”

Slowly, he lifted up his right hand. He moved it up towards your face, ever so slowly. He kept his eyes on your lips as he did so. He whispered to you in one breath, “Open your mouth.” Your chest rose and fell as you parted your lips for him. He continued eying you intently, as though you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Painfully slowly, he swept a trembling finger over your lower lip. Then, he swept his finger under your top lip. His eyes moved to his fingertips now, as he lifted his digits to his lips. He kept his fingers perfectly still, so as not to waste even a cell of your taste. He placed the pad of his middle finger in his mouth. He closed his eyes as he tasted you. A look of pure, genuine, unadulterated ecstasy engulfed his features.

He opened his eyes. Your mouth had fallen further open. Your eyes were wide. Your chest continued to rise and fall rapidly. He moved his hand back towards your face, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingertips. He leaned in, his lips moving towards yours into a kiss. You tilted your chin to meet him. An inch from you, he stopped. He didn’t kiss you. He rested his head on your chest now. He stroked the soft silk of your dress. And then, he spoke.

“And how was that?”

You mumbled. Words were too difficult to form. Commodus positioned himself fully over you now, his legs straddling you.

“Would it please the Empress, do you think?”

“I-I… I’m certain it would, yes.” Your lower lip trembled with desire.

He smiled lovingly.

She doesn’t know.

“Allow me to rephrase.” He brushed his thumb over your lower lip. “Did it please you?”

You nodded. “Y-yes.”

“Then it pleased the future Empress.” The warmth of his emotions was palpable.

“I’m… I’m not certain I understand.”

“Please, Y/N.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear. “You have always known I wanted you beside me. For how long have I called you my second-in-command?”

“For as long as I can remember.” You smiled with him now. It was all becoming clear.

“And what else would you call an Emperor’s second-in-command?”

“An Empress.”

He placed his lips on yours, kissing you for the first time. When your lips parted, he spoke simply.

“We will arrive in Rome in two weeks. I would very much like you by my side during my coronation.”

You smiled mischievously. “Well. It seems we should ensure we have practiced sufficiently to ensure you have all the skills befitting of an Emperor.”

He laughed as he kissed you again and lifted up the hem of your dress.

“As long as the Empress is pleased, I am deserving of the title of Caesar…”

His words trailed off as his mouth met your centre.