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Chapter Text

Sweat rolls down your neck and runs down the neck of your armor, dampening the collar of your plain linen shirt. You are packed in a damp tunnel with other sweaty bodies, their frantic movement surging you forward. Rome is always hot, and the sun blinds you as you step out into the center of the Great Arena.

The sand reflects the sun's rays, and the visor of your helmet makes it difficult to see. A heavy metal shield is clamped in your other hand, its weight not unfamiliar to you. You can hear shouts and cheers all around you as you and your unfortunate companions stumble onto the sand.

A pillar towers beside you, and standing even higher above are walls of the coliseum. Spectators surround you, their faces blurring and their jeers overlapping into an overwhelming cacophony that sounds your imminent death.

The cheering swells to a crashing wave as the maestro of this accursed orchestra is revealed, a giant of a man atop a rhinoceros, a beast with leathery skin and a gleaming horn of pale ivory. Your mouth turns dry as you watch him parade around the arena, his certainty of victory making your heart sink.

You pick your blade up off the sand, your eyes adjusting to the light. Your helmet rattles with the endless noise, and dust clouds your eyes as it gets kicked up by the rhinoceros’s enormous steps.

Despite your fear, the blade is a comfort to have in your hand. Something to defend yourself with, a weapon you once knew and a craft that was once your life's work. Your fingers are stiff and clumsy around the handle, but your muscles are awakened by its presence. Your history calls you to action from within your soul.

Your opponent has turned his focus from the crowd to your rabble of cannon fodder, and there is a wheezing breath from the man next to you. The fear is palpable, but the five of you have survived thus far. Perhaps you may live to see another day after all. Maybe.

Without warning, his steed runs for you at a frightening pace, and you all scatter. An unfortunate man runs too slow, and is trampled beneath the giant's thundering hooves. Again the rhinoceros charges, and again you are able to avoid it. It comes uncomfortably close, and you can feel its hot breath urging you forward as it chases after another poor fool.

With each death, the crowd cheers. Their bloodlust is palpable, and you are sick with it. Under better circumstances, you might have shared in their obsession, the desire for victory burning within each and every Roman.

“Get together!” You shout, an idea forming rapidly in your mind. “Get together, quick!”

The others have no choice but to listen, their instinct scrambled by the imminent death charging after them. You assemble into a ragged group, the others looking to you for instruction.

“When it charges, break for either side of it! Hold your swords to the side, try to cut the saddle off!”

The men nod as the idea settles in their minds, hope forming. When the beast charges for a third time, your group splits, outmaneuvering the lumbering animal. Its rider whips his head around, suddenly his victory is not so certain, although he still stands astride the rhinoceros.

Again, you assemble. Without a second thought, the rhinoceros charges again. This time, you succeed in slicing the leather that holds the rider atop his giant and sending him tumbling. Without a handler to guide him, the animal is sent skidding into the wall of the coliseum, shaking the emperor's box and sending exclamations through the crowd.

Now, you and your rabble army outnumber the once-victorious gladiator. Without remorse, you send your sword plunging into his chest, blood spurting from the wound and spreading down the sand. He convulses once, then is still.

The crowd screams, their cries and the victory humming in your bones. Your heart thumps erratically, and a delirious smile stretches across your face. Although they are covered with helmets, the relief is clear on your companions faces. Despite the sweat and blood, you embrace one another and revel in your survival.

Amid the wild cries of the crowd, one voice stands clear. The emperor has made his way from his box and down onto the sand, and the cheers are silent as the crowd registers his presence. You drop your weapons and step forward, eager to come face-to-face with him.

You struggle to see him from within your helmet, but he appears shorter than you remember. Although it's been years, Marcus Aurelius was always a towering presence, both physically and mentally.

“Please,” the emperor requests, “why doesn't the hero reveal himself and tell us your name?”

Slowly, you pull your helmet off. Again, the sun is blinding and it takes you a moment to adjust. When you open your eyes fully, your jaw drops and your heart sinks. It's not Marcus Aurelius who stands before you.

“Commodus?”

Chapter Text

You first met Commodus when you were a young child, clinging to your father's heels as he attended business around the palace. He was a general, well-trusted by Emperor Marcus Aurelius, and he was your hero.

You had met Commodus somewhat by accident. Your father was in a meeting with the emperor and several other soldiers, the group of them poring over a map. You wanted to be included, but the table was too tall for you to see over and so you were left to wander on your own.

You were lost in your mind, skirting around corners and hiding behind pillars, pretending to be a soldier sneaking through enemy territory. You hid from the praetorians on patrol, imagining you were killing them one by one to get to their barbarian leader.

You took off running, not looking where you were going and ended up running smack into another young boy. The force of your collision sent you both sprawling across the marble floor. The other boy's body cushioned your fall, and you heard a whiff of air as the wind was knocked from his lungs.

“Hey!” You said as you got up, frustrated at the interruption.

“Hey, yourself!” Commodus panted back, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head.

You stuck your hands on your hips, trying to keep up your look of anger, but it softened as you looked at the other boy. You knew he was the emperor's son, but you had never met him. He stayed seated on the ground, looking up at you with inquisitive grey eyes.

Begrudgingly, you offered a hand to help him up. He took it, murmuring his thanks.

“I'm Y/N,” you said once you were face to face. He was a bit shorter than you, but his wild curls made him appear taller.

“I'm Commodus,” he said, smiling. It was infectious, and you found yourself smiling back.

“What were you running from, anyway?” He asked, chuckling. You rolled your eyes, a bit embarrassed now.

“I was pretending to be a soldier,” you admitted. “My father is a general, and I'm going to be just like him when I’m bigger.”

"Well a general needs an army,” Commodus ventured. “Would it be alright if I played with you?”

“Would you?!” You asked excitedly. There weren't many other children in the palace, and you were eager to have someone to share your adventures with. Hand in hand, you ran down the hall laughing.

You had many adventures like that in your childhood, you and Commodus racing down the halls and talking in hushed giggles about your missions. Wooden swords clanked against marble statues and suits of armor, and there were a handful of praetorian guards who would indulge your games by playing dead when struck.

You were in the middle of one of your most successful games yet when you heard the stern voice of the emperor call Commodus’ name. Immediately, his smile fell and he walked solemnly over to his father.

You didn't know what to do other than stand there as the emperor scolded his son, lecturing him on the behaviors of a young emperor and demanding to know why he was behaving so childishly.

Tears dripped down Commodus’ cheeks, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs. Eventually, his father commanded that he go to his room. Wordlessly, he nodded and walked slowly down the hall. You followed him, unsure of what to do. Despite wanting to comfort him, you couldn't find the words. So, you were both silent.

He was about to enter his room when you reached out and wrapped him in a hug. He began to weep, wrapping his arms around you and clinging to your shoulders. You hugged him with as much force as you could muster, as if you could squeeze out all the pain and sadness.

After that night, the two of you were nearly inseparable. Over the years, you graduated from playing at being soldiers to training with the rest of the army. You honed your skills at swordplay and hand-to-hand combat, often sparring against one another.

Commodus was a difficult match for you when he wasn't being watched by his father, especially if you were battling with swords. He had the ability to think three moves ahead of you, and you could see the gears turning in his head when you fought. His biggest weakness was he was easily distracted, but when it was just the two of you he turned into something you'd never seen before. He turned into a beast, a soldier, a king.

Despite Commodus’ ability to use strategy, he was still smaller than you and was easy to beat at hand-to-hand combat. You reveled in the feeling of bringing him down with nothing but brute force, your body against his. There were moments when you pinned him down you could see something in his eyes, a hunger that stirred something inside of you.

Training together made you both stronger, learning from each other and turning your weaknesses into strengths. Finally, there came a day when you were asked to join the men of the Emperor's army in battle. You were filled with pride and excitement, but Commodus wasn't so sure.

“What if I lose you?” He asked one night after training. “What if you die?”

“No matter what,” you whispered. “I will always find my way back to you.”

Talks like this weren't uncommon between the two of you, but you'd become well versed at quieting the noise within your friend's mind.

“I want you to have this,” Commodus said, handing you a small stone that he had found on the shores of Rome. It had small grooves from thousands of waves breaking over it, and it was heavy when he placed it in your hand.

“Thank you,” you said earnestly, the gesture warming your heart. “I will keep it forever.”

He nodded, letting his fingers linger against yours. You found yourself leaning closer to him, eyes flickering between his face and your hands. You were close enough to see the blue waves in his grey eyes, the wayward curls that clung to the back of his neck, the stubble which had just recently started to grow in.

Your gaze drifted down to the cleft that cut through his shadow of a moustache, and tracked his pink tongue as it swiped across his lower lip. Your faces were nearly touching, your breath fanning against him. You could smell his scent of leather and ink, and your heart fluttered. It felt like you were on the cusp of something that had been building for a long time. It was both dangerous and exciting, and you wanted to face it head on.

But at the last moment, you pulled back. Commodus turned away, flushed with embarrassment. You wrapped your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close to you. He returned the gesture, but it didn't satisfy the craving that had suddenly awoken within you.

The next day, you were both exhausted. It seems like neither of you had slept, and the only thing that kept you upright was adrenaline. Today was the day of the battle, and despite your excitement, anxiety was slowly filling your stomach.

Commodus didn't seem any better, and you offered him a reassuring smile. His armor matched his fathers, just as yours matched the general's. Despite your anxiety, you truly felt like a man for the first time.

"Do you think we'll see any real action?” Commodus whispered nervously to you.

“I hope so,” you replied excitedly. “It's okay, I'll be by your side the whole time.” You showed him the stone, which you had wrapped in a cord tied around your neck. He seemed reassured that you had it, and it calmed you to have it resting by your heart.

When the battle finally began, it was an overwhelming cacophony of sound and movement, unlike anything you had felt before. You tried to rely on your training, trusting your muscle memory. Unfortunately, your lack of sleep made your muscles heavy and slowed your mind, and you found yourself swinging blindly with your sword.

You soon realized you couldn't see any familiar faces, just death everywhere you looked. Bodies burned, dogs howled, humans screamed and the stench of death clouded your nostrils. Your breath began to quicken, your heart began to race. For the first time in your life, you were facing the very real possibility of your death. You continued to fight, holding your sword in front of you with both hands as your last defense. The only thing that kept you going in your panic was your need to find Commodus.

Briefly, you thought you heard someone call your name. You were distracted, and your guard was lowered enough for someone's weapon to come down on your head. There was a quick flash of pain, and then darkness.

To your surprise, the darkness was not forever. You found yourself in a distant country you didn't recognize, a place full of unusual sounds, smells and people. Your head throbbed with any movement, and your muscles were stiff.

It didn't take you long to realize your situation. Despite having survived the battle, you were now faced with the realities of being a prisoner of war. You were kept in a cold, dark cell with little to eat or drink. There were other prisoners with you, but nobody you knew or cared to know.

You didn't know how long you were kept there, it could have been months or it could have been years. Eventually, though, your captors grew interested in you. You were young, you had been a fighter, and you managed to survive your harsh environment up to that point. Maybe you could be useful. And so began your life as a slave.

Chains made every step laborious, the work was back breaking and endless, and you still had no better place to sleep but a damp cell. However, your strength grew. Your stone had not been taken from you, and every time it brushed your chest it reminded you that you still had to fight. For yourself and for your friend.

Escape came in the form of Macrinus, a gladiator trainer from the outskirts of Rome. You were sold to him a few years into your slavery, and it felt like salvation. You had become full grown, and, despite malnutrition, your body had become strong and solid. A soldier's body, begging to fight.

Your training was different now, though. Gone were the play fights of your youth, with wooden swords in the green fields of the palace. Macrinus saw to it that all his gladiators faced as much pain outside the arena as they did inside. Your knuckles were always bloody, your face always bruised, and you reveled in the pain.

You refused to be a scared adolescent, even in the face of death. Instead of fear, you felt only the drive to succeed when you faced your opponents. Your strategy was unmatched among your peers, a gift you had kept from your days in the palace. Your body was your weapon, a gift from Macrinus. You intended to use these gifts to find your way back to Rome.

The arena was your road to freedom, and Macrinus knew it. Soldier's honor still lived in your gladiator's body, and you vowed to fight for your freedom or die trying. Your necklace served as a reminder of what you once were, and who you were fighting for. Finally, the day came when you were introduced to the Great Arena of Rome. You had previously only fought in smaller cities, where your only spectators were the bored rich citizens. Now, all of Rome was watching you, even the emperor.

The emperor's box sat high above the rest, and you wondered if Marcus Aurelius was up there, watching you. You wondered if he remembered you.

Except, it wasn't Marcus Aurelius who stood before you now.

“Commodus?”

Chapter Text

Commodus seems to buffer, unsure of what to do. His lip quivers, and he takes a step back. You can see panic in his eyes, and his face grows pale. He offers you a terse smile, a show for the crowd, then turns around and quickly walks away. 

You're stunned. The world seems to slow down, the noise from the crowd dulling into soft thuds. You try to take a step towards him but are ushered away. You and the remaining survivors are rapidly escorted back to your cells, where whispers and reproachful glances await you. 

That night, sleep comes fitfully, filled with images of Commodus. You dream of your childhood with him, full of laughter and late night talks. You dream of your adolescence, new beginnings and burning with unsaid thoughts. You dream of the years you spent apart, the death of his father and his rise to Caesar. Most of all, you dream of his eyes; those icy, pleading eyes that are doors to a world that you had once known. 

After that, his eyes seem to follow you everywhere. Statues of him and his father line the corridors of the coliseum, their marble gazes piercing through your pretenses. Worse, though, is when you're in the arena. 

Commodus comes to every game, towering above you in his emperor's box. He sits nonchalantly, but you can feel him burning holes in the back of your skull. How you wish you could talk to him, learn who he has become and what led him along his path. 

Today's game is no different, and Commodus’ gaze beats down on you harder than the midday sun. It’s just you against one other gladiator, both of you armed with giant morning stars. It's unlike anything you've ever handled before, and it's unbalanced and clunky in your hands. 

Your opponent seems better versed with this weapon, and he charges towards you with the weapon held over his shoulder. You just barely manage to drag you and your weapon out of the way, as he brings the spiked head down where you were standing seconds ago. 

You try to follow his lead and hoist the heavy end over your shoulder as you run, but your arms buckle and you drop it. Your opponent takes advantage of your lack of experience, and sends a blow ramming into your chest. 

Your ears ring, sparks dancing across your vision. The force of the hit sends you sprawling onto your back, knocking the wind from your lungs. You are unable to move, unable to breathe, supine upon the sand. Panic fills your chest as the gladiator towers above you, arms raised and ready to deliver the killer blow. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Commodus leaning over the rail of his box. His knuckles are white as he grips the cement, fear in his eyes. He reminds you why you're here in the first place, reminds you what you're fighting for. You did not come this far just to die on the doorstep of success. 

With incredible effort, you roll out of the way of your impending doom. While your enemy is still recovering from the effort of the swing, you tackle him and wrestle him to the ground. You manage to land heavy punches to his face and torso, pinning him beneath your strong thighs. 

You've abandoned your morning star, leaving both of you to wrestle over the remaining weapon. Dust is kicked up beneath your bodies, blood dripping from your split lip onto your enemy's face. You both reek of sweat and desperation, your breath coming in heavy pants. The morning star is mere inches from your fingers, but you can't reach out and grab it without losing the upper hand.

The gladiator flips you onto your back, trying to gain the upper hand. You nearly miss the discarded morning star, the spikes too close to your face for comfort. However, it gives you an idea. With all the force you can muster, you roll your opponent right onto the spiked ball. The back of his head hits it squarely, not enough to kill but just enough to get him to let go of you. 

 You grab the morning star, now dripping with your enemy's blood. You raise it above your head, your arms trembling. Poised to kill, you stop and find Commodus in the crowd. You look at him determinedly, daring him to make the call. 

His arm is extended, thumb stilled in a neutral position. You can hear a pin drop in the coliseum, and there is electricity in your gaze as you two stare at each other. For a moment, you think he's going to choose mercy. 

Finally, his thumb tilts down. With all the force you can muster, you bring the morning star down on the head of the gladiator. It pops like a rotted cherry, his blood splattering your clothes and your face. The crowd roars as his brains and blood soak the sand, staining it dark like wine. 

“ The emperor's champion! ” One voice shouts above the rest. “ Emperor's Champion!” 

The crowd takes it up as a chant, and a crazed grin spreads across your face. You turn to Commodus, your arms spread in triumph. 

Well, Commodus, you think, how fitting that I am your champion. 

From then on, you fight as The Emperor's Champion. Your name is forgotten by the crowd, replaced by your title. It seems you are favored not only by Commodus but by the Gods, winning fights where even you would have bet against yourself. 

It seems your knuckles are always bloody, your armor permanently stained and dented. You fight with teeth and tenacity, and those who don't like you call you the Emperor's dog. You lean into it, howling and hooting with every victory. 

Every fight, you find Commodus’ eyes. His stare never leaves you, filling you with a spite you never knew you had. It sees you never kill of your own will, only on Commodus’ command. He never shows mercy, and you never want him to. 

One fight, you even go so far as to bite one of your opponents. You're both fighting with small daggers, up close and personal. You love fights like this, you always have. Hand to hand, using your body how it was meant to be used, turning it into a weapon. 

Your opponent is bigger than you, stronger. Right away, he clamps your weapon hand to your side, rendering it useless as he slams your cheek into the harsh sand. You kick frantically with your legs, writhing and screaming as you try to break his hold. 

One of his hands is wrapped around your neck, forcing you beneath him. Your vision dances with stars as he starts to squeeze your neck, cutting off the blood supply to your brain. You start to panic, drawing frantic breaths and wailing like you're possessed. 

Sure of his victory, your opponent brings his face up close to yours, taunting you. His breath is repugnant, and his cocky smile showcases cracked and yellowed teeth. Desperately, you think of something to do. 

Acting on instinct, you lunge forward and bite his cheek, using all your force to tear through muscle and flesh. He screams in anguish, letting go of you in a desperate attempt to get away. You can feel the skin tear from his face, leaving a bloody chunk dangling from your jaws. 

Commodus’ gaze zeroes in on you, full of hunger and depravity. He licks his lips, leaning forward in his chair. His breath comes heavily, and you grin maniacally at him. 

You begin to laugh, exhilarated and high on lack of oxygen. His blood stains the cracks in your teeth, bits of flesh hanging from your lips and dripping down your chin. You walk over to him slowly and he scrambles back on all fours, cowering with a hand covering his cheek. 

As always, you look to your Emperor for guidance. Will he show mercy? 

Commodus’ expression is unreadable as he points his thumb towards the ground, signaling the kill. His stare is intense as he watches you pin your opponent beneath your knees, grab him by the hair and slit his throat. 

The crowd roars as you exit the coliseum, but not one person speaks to you. Even Macrinus seems put off by you as you walk by him on your way to the baths. Blood stains the water pink by the time you're done, grime and gore scrubbing off you in filthy layers. 

You're just about to enter your cell when a praetorian stops you, fiddling nervously as he delivers his message. 

“The emperor has requested your presence."

Chapter Text

The walk to Commodus’ quarters is excruciating, your mind racing with every possibility. Are you about to be punished, or worse, killed? What would you say to Commodus? What would he say to you? 

You try to think of things to say to him, trying to give yourself some control. An apology, maybe? Apologizing for your disappearance, explaining what had happened to you? Or would you demand an explanation from him, a reason behind the madness in Rome? None of it seems right, and panic swells in your chest. 

The praetorian opens the heavy double doors to the emperor's room, wood scraping against the marble floors. The hinges squeak and you cringe, as though if the door were silent it would save you from the inevitable. 

Commodus sits at an enormous desk, littered with papers and quills, spilled ink staining the rich wood. As you enter, he stands. He is lit by the innumerable candles that line his quarters, making him look both comforting and mysterious. 

“Thank you,” he addresses the praetorian, who nods. “I would like to speak to Y/N alone, please.” 

The door slams shut, and then it is just you and Commodus. He approaches you, studying you intently. His eyes study every detail on your face, before traveling down to inspect your shoulders, arms and legs. You're unsure of what to do in the face of such intense scrutiny, but when you open your mouth to speak he cuts you off. 

“Hit me,” he orders, his face inches from yours. 

“I-what?” You stutter, confused. 

“I am your emperor, and I order you to hit me,” he says, more determined this time. 

“What happened to you?” You ask. Commodus seems so cold and harsh, and it makes you scared. You take a step back. 

“Do as I say!!” Commodus screams, startling you. Almost on instinct, you pull your fist back and let it fly, your whole body turning with the force of your blow. 

You hit him square in the nose, sending him stumbling backwards. Blood spurts from between his fingers, which he's brought up to cover his nose. His eyes are wild as he looks at you from the ground, and you immediately rush forward to help him as guilt pools in your stomach. 

The hand you offer to help him up is yanked hard as he pulls you to the ground, landing blows on your stomach and chest. The two of you roll across the floor, Commodus’ blood dripping hot drops onto your face. You stop at the foot of his bed, your head hitting one of the wooden feet that support it. 

Commodus sits atop your lap, your shirt clenched in his fists and his face inches from yours. He looks at you hungrily, both of you panting heavily. Blood drips from your split lip, and your tongue darts out to soothe it. Commodus mirrors the action, his gaze flitting from your mouth to your eyes. 

In a surge of movement and desperation, you bring your lips together in a fierce, biting kiss. You taste his blood mingled with yours, and he pulls at your cut with his teeth. Your hands are tangled in his dark curls and a possessive hand grips the back of your neck. 

You both fight for dominance, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain. You tug at Commodus’ hair, earning you a desperate whimper. When his nails scrape down your back, you gasp and arch against him. You're rolling across the floor again, blinded by need and fueled by fire. 

You're both tugging at each other’s clothes, panting and groaning almost like crazed animals. You manage to pin Commodus beneath you, biting into his shoulder and feeling the way the muscles of his back flex beneath you. You feel very much like the dog you are as you pull Commodus’ hips to yours and thrust into him, setting a bruising and unforgiving pace. 

The room fills with the sounds and smells of sweat, skin slapping on skin and depraved sex. Desperate moans escape you as you near your climax, your fingers digging into Commodus’ hip bones. 

“My lord,” you cry, your hips stuttering as you cum. You bury your face in Commodus’ hair, inhaling the scent of his sweat and his ever-present smell of ink. 

“My champion,” he moans, trying desperately to grab you as pleasure overtakes his body. You wrap your arm across his chest, holding him tightly to your body. 

You stay that way for a long time, letting the tremors and the panting subside. You are quiet, unsure of what happened but not regretting it. Your grip on Commodus is gentle, tender but fragile as you await his response. 

“You missed the bed,” he rasps, his throat dry. You're stunned for a moment, before you snort and begin to laugh. You both giggle as you lay on the floor, looking at the bed which is a few feet from where you landed. 

Slowly, you help him up. The two of you make it to the bed, and he pours wine from a goblet by the bed. You drink from it thankfully, quenching your thirst. You both sit in silence, enjoying one another's presence. You study Commodus, his face, his eyes. 

Conversation begins slowly, starting with small questions. Commodus says his favorite color is red, and you tell him how you've always loved the color of his eyes. 

Eventually, the conversation turns to your past. You tell him your journey, the long way you've come to get here. He tells you how he rose to the title of Caesar, of a soldier named Maximus who betrayed his trust, and how his father suffocated in his sleep. 

The conversation lulls again, and your hand finds his to give it a gentle squeeze. He squeezes back, resting his head on your shoulder. You easily fall into the roles you once knew, comforted by familiar presence. 

“We didn't know what happened to you,” Commodus says, breaking the silence. “I thought I lost you.” He looks at you earnestly, genuine emotion in his eyes. 

“I felt lost for a long time,” you admit, fiddling with the bedding. “But I fought every day to find you again.” 

“I feel like I'm losing myself,” Commodus whispers, his voice cracking. When you look up at him, you see his eyes are misty. 

“You haven't lost yourself,” you whisper, cupping his face in your hand. “I see you now more clearly than ever.” 

And you truly do see him more clearly than ever. You see the path he's come down, the decisions that were laid before his feet and the pain he still feels with the choices he's made. Something in your gut tells you that you haven't gotten the full story, but you don't need it right now.

It has been a long day, and weariness is present on both your faces. Commodus invites you to lie down, and you comply. His bed is soft and warm, and you two lay side-by-side. As he rests his head on your chest, he notices the stone necklace you still wear. The cord is worn down from years of abuse, but it's still clearly the token he gave you. 

“You still have it,” he murmurs against your skin, touching the stone gently. 

“I think without it I would have perished,” you say honestly, your hand cupping his. Commodus looks up at you, searching your face. 

“I could take you out of the arena,” he offers, watching you intently. “I don't want to lose you again.” 

“You won't lose me,” you reply. “I'm a soldier, and I want to gain my freedom by the right of my sword. If I leave now, I will never feel truly free.” 

“My champion,” Commodus whispers with a wry smile. You chuckle, and press a soft kiss to his lips. 

“Sleep now,” you whisper, curling into him and closing your eyes, safe in each other's arms.

Chapter Text

Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment you don't recognize where you are. You sit upright, quickly taking in your surroundings and getting ready to bolt at any moment. Your breathing slows once you remember where you are, and a smile creeps across your face when you notice Commodus sleeping beside you. 

You lay back down, and Commodus’ arm wraps around you sleepily. You smile, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. You revel in the obsession and bloodshed that started your new relationship, equally in control and under it. You're starting to realize, however, that you feel something deeper. 

The ties of childhood run through your soul, and when you see him so soft and peaceful it tugs at those ancient strings. He's become something more than a friend, even more than an emperor, and you want to explore the deepest reaches of your feelings for him if he'll let you. 

And god, do you hope he'll let you. Sunlight caresses his sleeping face, and you trace your fingers across his brow and down his cheek. You're struck by how similar he looks, and simultaneously so different. He looks old and young at once, still the boy you knew but with the weight of the world on his shoulders. You would carry it for him in a second if he asked. 

Commodus wakes up later in the morning, stretching slowly and smiling sleepily at you. You smile back and press a soft kiss to his lips. You exchange soft kisses and giggles, the reality of your situation finally hitting you. You made it, after all these years you made it back to each other. 

The morning passes slowly, sharing idle conversation over a platter of honeyed dates. Commodus feels them to you, his fingers lingering over your lips. You lick his fingertips, tasting the leftover honey that sweetens the taste of his skin. 

Time passes between heady kisses thick with wine and honey, stories and secrets confessed in laughing whispers. Commodus’ thick locks tangle between your fingers, the weight of him atop your lap warming you from the inside out. 

The bliss doesn't last forever, and you're brought back to reality when you see the sun is dipping beneath the horizon. Regretfully, you kiss Commodus goodbye and are escorted back to your cell. Your mind wanders as you lay on the straw cot provided, your skin still warm from where Commodus touched you. 

Your daydreams are interrupted when Macrinus bangs at the bars of your cell, a sly grin on his face. You sigh, coming to stand by the door. 

“Well, champion,” Macrinus drawls. “It seems you've gained the favor of the emperor. He's even given you a token!” 

“I've had that since I was young,” you don't like that Macrinus knows about your stone, so you tuck it beneath the collar of your shirt. 

“Yes, well,” he sighs. “Be careful around emperors. They make you forget who you are.” 

“Oh yes, because you know all about who I am,” you scoff. 

“Listen to me, slave,” he growls, grabbing your shirt through the bars. “I have made men rich in pursuit of power, but I have also ruined them. If you want my help, you should take my word seriously.”

“Why would I want your help?” You ask, pushing him off you. This interaction is starting to leave a bad taste in your mouth. 

“Because I can give you what you want most of all,” He promises. “Just tell me what it is you desire.”

“I want what's best for my emperor, like any good Roman should,” you growl. He's starting to get on your nerves, so you turn and walk away. 

“I assume your emperor hasn't told you about Maximus Decimus Meridius,” Macrinus calls. You had heard of Maximus, but the way Macrinus says it makes him seem important. 

“No,” you say, begrudgingly. 

“He's a gladiator from Spain,” Macrinus says leisurely, knowing he has your attention. “Some say he has a dark past. Some say he knew your emperor. Some even say he plans to dethrone the emperor.” 

“He can't do that,” you scoff. “The title of Caesar belongs to Commodus by birthright.” 

 “He can if he kills Commodus,” Macrinus replies slowly. His words sink like a stone in your stomach, and your mouth goes dry. Kill Commodus? 

“He can't do that,” you say, but it lacks vindication.

“Maybe he can, maybe he can't,” Macrinus says in a sing-song voice. “Sooner or later you'll have to pick a side.” 

With that, he strides off. You sit on your cot, your mind racing. Could a gladiator really kill an emperor? Who is Maximus, and where is he from? 

You tried to put it out of your mind, but the seed of doubt had already been planted. An unfamiliar fear started to grow within your stomach, growing sharp vines that punctured with every breath. 

It will be okay, you tried to convince yourself.  He can't actually do anything to Commodus. 

But the fear told you something different.

Chapter Text

Threats of Maximus are beginning to interrupt your day, and it seems it's affecting Commodus as well. He visits you often in your cell, and likes to make a big show of congratulating the strongest gladiators on their wins.

Lately, however, he's become anxious and on edge, his face becoming gaunt and his eyes bruised from lack of sleep. When you ask him about it, he tries to put on a brave face, but you can see that something is bothering him. 

One night, you are summoned to his quarters. You can feel Commodus’ paranoia seeping into the walls of the palace, palpable and painful. Before you enter, you take a deep breath to steel your nerves. You can tell already that it's going to be a rough night for both of you. 

When you enter Commodus' room, you find it to be a jarring reflection of his mind. You remember Commodus’ quarters as always being tidy, like his father trained him to do. Now, though, his belongings are scattered, his bedsheets in disarray, and candles burned down to nubs from long, sleepless nights. 

“Commodus?” You call, slowly stepping closer to where he sits on his bed. “Are you alright?” 

“He's going to kill me,” Commodus whispers. He looks up at you, his eyes bloodshot and teary. “He'll kill you too. There are enemies all around us.”

“Maximus?” You ask, and he cringes at the mention of his name. 

“There are enemies everywhere,” Commodus hisses, grabbing your hand. “Enemies, enemies, enemies, and they will find out and they will kill us both! ”

You sit down beside Commodus on his bed, putting your arm around him and pulling him close. He grabs you, weeping into your shoulder and whispering nonsense. You interlock your fingers and give him a comforting squeeze, wondering how long it's been since he's slept. 

“Nobody is going to hurt you,” you whisper soothingly, running your fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp. 

“There is a secret, and Maximus knows it,” Commodus insists. “He will use it to hurt me, to hurt you, too.” 

“What could a slave possibly do to hurt you?” You ask, trying to rationalize with both your fears. 

“He is more than a slave,” he says, holding your hand tightly. “You may not remember him, but he was a soldier, too. A general, even. He was my father's favorite and set to be the new emperor of Rome.” 

“But the throne is yours by birthright,” you say, confused. 

“An emperor may choose whomever he wishes to succeed him, son or not,” Commodus explains. “And he chose Maximus. So I killed him. I killed my father, too. But Maximus just won't die! ” 

“I thought your father died by suffocation,” you ask, even more confused. 

“I killed him! I tried to kill them both!” Commodus cries, breaking free of your hold. “And Maximus knows this and he will use it and he will kill and hurt and maim until he gets to me, and he will hurt you, too! He will hurt you!” 

You grab Commodus’ shoulders, holding him steady. His breath catches, his lip trembling. You look him in the eyes, determined to cut through this fear that has clouded Commodus’ mind. 

“He can not hurt you, because I am here,” you say, slowly. “I know you killed your father, and so I will protect you and your secrets until I die. To whatever end.” 

“To whatever end?” He asks, his voice breaking. You nod, pulling him in for a tight hug. 

“How can you still care about me if you know what I've done?” He whispers, his tears wetting your collar. You think for a moment, rubbing his back as you try to put your thoughts in order. 

“I am a soldier, a gladiator, and a prisoner of war,” you begin. “Life has never been easy for me, and death has haunted my footsteps since I first met her on the battlefield. I have had to kill so many people to survive, but that killing has brought me where I am now. 

“It has brought me life, it has brought me freedom. Most importantly, it has brought me to you. You killed because you believed it had to be done, and it brought you to me. Death is a dangerous mistress, but when you walk side-by-side with her, she cannot hurt you.” 

“I'm a terrible person,” Commodus rasps, his throat raw from crying. “My hands are stained with blood and yet you cradle them so gently.”

“Because I am forever devoted to you,” you whisper, tilting his chin upwards. “You are my emperor, and I wear your token as a symbol of my never ending devotion, and not even death could tear me away from you again.” 

“My champion,” Commodus whispers, leaning forward to kiss you. The kiss is soft, tender, and you cradle his face like a wounded animal. He clutches to you like a lifeline as you kiss, and nothing in the world could make you leave him in that moment. 

“I love you,” he whispers, “I think I have loved you all my life.” 

“Will you let me love you for the rest of it?” you whisper back. 

He nods, kissing you deeply and full of want, pulling you permanently back into the world of love and madness that lives behind those piercing eyes. 

The same piercing eyes watch you now from the emperor's box in the Coliseum as you prepare for what might be the most difficult fight you've faced. Five men surround you, dressed like barbarians while you're dressed in Roman armor, all of you armed with swords. 

You look to Commodus before the fight starts, bowing dramatically and winking at you. He winks back at you, but his focus is clearly directed to the turmoil in his mind rather than at you. 

You swallow dryly, trying not to worry about Commodus and instead worrying about the fight. The crowd is cheering for the Emperor's Champion, and you tip your head back to howl in response. 

Your enemies charge at you, all of them at once. Like the other barbarians you've faced, their strategy lacks coordination and precision, but they still drastically outnumber you. You manage to block the blows from some of them, but their sheer numbers knock you on your back. 

One of them, someone much bigger than you, rushes towards you with his sword held high over his head. You kick your legs out, tripping him and sending him sprawling on top of your sword. He sinks to the hilt, his dead body resting on top of you. 

You try to push the body off you, but he is much bigger than you. You use all your force, but are thwarted when another barbarian looms on top of you. He sends his sword plunging through the dead one atop you, but his sword just clinks against your chest plate. 

Futilely, he tries to stab you again and again, but only succeeds in denting your chest plate. The stabs help to roll the dead body off you, and once your sword is free from its fleshy prison, you slice the head off your current opponent. 

You grab the dead man's sword, swinging both your swords at your remaining three attackers. Now that you're starting to get the upper hand, you run at the smallest remaining barbarian. He runs from you and you give chase, landing blows at the back of his neck and legs. The crowd whoops and cheers, and you run him ragged until he trips and falls. 

With your foot on his neck, you look to Commodus for direction. Without much fanfare, he tilts his thumb down and signals no mercy. You make the kill, but his obvious paranoia takes away from your bloodthirstyness. He’s starting to make you worry, and you wish you could go to him and help him. 

While you're distracted, you're tackled from behind. You land on your face, scraping your chin on the rough gravel of the coliseum floor. You roll onto your back, your weapons lost and your armor sliding slightly upwards. You wrestle and writhe, kicking like a mule and biting like a crocodile. 

Again, you look at Commodus with a wicked smirk on your face. You intend to tease him, loving the idea of being pinned beneath him. He's not even watching you, though, instead staring into space and biting his lip until red blossoms beneath his teeth. Now you're truly worried, and your distraction leaves you vulnerable for your enemy to let his sword bite into your exposed belly. 

Pain blooms alongside bright red blood where your armor has slid up, leaving your stomach and organs open to attack. Angry with yourself, you begin to wrestle in earnest. You're scared now that you might actually lose this fight, and despite the blood loss you begin to formulate a plan. 

As you snap your enemy's neck, the basis of the plan comes together. Connections are made and the gears turn in your mind. Facing off against your last enemy, you're unsteady on your feet and you keep one arm wrapped securely around your stomach. 

The final barbarian smiles wickedly, sure he's won. His sword clashes against yours, your blocks unsteady and your attacks lacking any true conviction. Warm blood flows down your forearm and through your fingertips, and the pain grows with each second. Your steps falter, and you swear you can feel the squish of organs, fat and muscle beneath your hand. 

You look up at Commodus almost on instinct, and you see his focus is entirely on you. There is terror in his gaze, his knuckles white on the edge of his box as he leans as close to you as he can get. He's panicked, terrified even. You see yourself through his eyes, your face pale and your wound dripping dangerously scarlet. You can't let him watch you die, can't hurt him when you've sworn to protect him. 

With renewed fervor, you parry and lunge, knocking your enemy's arm out of the way and leaving him defenseless for precious seconds. You sink your sword into his armpit, twisting the blade into his heart and his lungs. Tendons and bone crunch under the weight of your sword, lodging it in his most vital organs. 

He screams, blood from his lungs bubbling out of his mouth. You let the sword go as he falls, crawling futilely as he screams with blood bubbling in his mouth. He leaves a crimson trail as he moves slowly before falling dead. Blood pools around him in a dark puddle, which you can barely see thanks to the spots dancing across your vision. 

As a medic rushes you out of the arena and onto a bed, the plan finally comes together. Your mind works in a feverish frenzy, putting the puzzle pieces together. Between the haze of opium and the pain of stitches in your gut, you are able to come up with one coherent thought. It rings out in your mind as you fall into a dreamless sleep, Maximus must die. 

Chapter Text

You're slow to heal after your last fight, and the time in bed is making you restless. Commodus visits you, which you enjoy. His presence refreshes you, and makes the mandatory rest less unbearable. Even though he sometimes gets trapped within the whirlpool of his mind, it's still good to see him smile. Even on his bad days, he makes you feel at home. 

Macrinus also visits you, but his effect on you is the opposite. He delightedly informs you of Maximus’ latest feats, fighting legendary gladiators and taunting the emperor to his face. 

“He's changing the game,” Macrinus tells you. “Soon it won't just be about who's winning games, it will be about who's running the empire.” 

“Well it takes an emperor to run an empire,” you retort. Macrinus smirks, but doesn't reply. 

When you ask Commodus about it, he doesn't respond. He tries to be strong, turning the topic to other things. Still, you can tell in his eyes that something isn't right. When he leaves the healer's tent for the night, grumbling that he has to leave, your mind wanders. 

You know Commodus is trying to be brave for you, yet it bothers you how secretive he's being. He deserves his privacy, but you also want him to trust you. You debate telling him about your plan to fight Maximus, but worry that it would cause him even more stress. You curse Maximus for causing such troubles. 

Today when Commodus visits you, he seems calmer than normal. While there are still deep bags beneath his eyes, his gaze is alert and his smiles seem genuine. While he normally sits on a chair beside your bed, today he climbs into bed with you. He is careful to avoid your stitches, laying beside you and resting his head against your collarbone. 

You press your nose to his curls, and you can smell the scent of leather and ink that has always clung to him. It reminds you of your adolescence, and your heart flutters. You run your hands through Commodus’ thick locks, your mind wandering to gentle places; A future where you and he can be safe together. 

Commodus adjusts to look at you, his gaze distracting you from your train of thought. He tenderly brings his lips to yours, his palm resting on your jaw. 

“I've been thinking about you,” he whispers, his gaze tracing every detail of your face. 

“You just saw me yesterday,” you tease softly.

“I was seeing you in my dreams all night,” he replies, his voice thick with want. “Nothing compares to feeling you,” 

You swallow thickly, butterflies filling your stomach and heat flooding your face. You pull Commodus to you, kissing slowly but with flames bubbling beneath the surface. Commodus clings to your shoulders like you might disappear, groaning into your mouth when you tug on his hair. 

He moves to straddle your thighs, still avoiding the gash along your middle. His arms rest on either side of you, trapping you delightfully beneath him. 

“You're gorgeous,” you whisper, rubbing his thighs softly. 

And he really is gorgeous. He was pretty when you were adolescents, but now he's grown into his beauty. His eyes are an alluring shade of blue, his lips plump and his jaw solid yet soft. His eyes crinkle as he fights a smile, leaning down to kiss you. 

He's wearing a loose toga, so it's easy to remove his undergarments and take him in your hand. He whimpers as you stroke him expertly, twisting your wrist each time you reach his tip. His hips twitch involuntarily, his face scrunching with pleasure. His face and chest are flushed pink, adding to his beauty. 

“My champion, I need you,” he whines, leaving open-mouthed kisses across your neck and jaw. 

“Anything,” you whisper reverently. You tip your head back with a groan as he palms you through your rest wear and undergarments. The friction sends sparks up your spine, and when he accidentally brushes your healing wound it brings pain in the best way. 

He strips you of your undergarments and sits down on your lap, sheathing you fully inside him. You let out a guttural moan, clinging to his shoulders as you both adjust to the sensation. 

When he starts to move, you grab his hips to stop him. The movement pulls at your stitches, and the pain leaves you spinning for a moment. You feel blood pool from where one of the stitches broke, and put pressure on it to try and stop it. 

“Do you need me to stop?” he asks, all his focus on you. You shake your head, breathing heavily through your nose. 

“No, I want to feel you,” you whisper. “Just please be careful.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. “I'll take good care of you,” 

 When he moves his hips again, he rolls them gently. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, helping him to balance. He presses soft kisses to your neck, jaw, and ear. He whispers filthy things to you, how he gets hard watching you kill and how he loves the sight of you covered in blood. 

“You kill on my command,” he says, whimpering when you thrust into him. “But would you cum on my command?” 

You moan, nodding desperately. You pull him closer to you, your hips beginning to stutter as you get closer and closer to the knife's edge of pleasure. You rake your nails down his back and he whimpers, his hips picking up their pace. 

The blood from your cut pools against your hipbone and pelvis, adding to the depraved sounds and wetness where your bodies meet. Commodus strokes himself at a desperate pace, both of you panting into each other's mouths as you get close. 

“Cum for me,” Commodus commands, and the tension in your gut snaps. A groan rips out of your throat, small whines coming from you as you convulse. Commodus cums from the sight of your release, the convulsions of his body milking you for all you're worth. 

You kiss Commodus over and over, whispering almost without thinking that you need him, you adore him, you love him. He murmurs it back, his skin glistening with sweat and glowing with pleasure. 

Once you come down from your highs, you realize that you've fully torn several of your stitches. Commodus cleans both of you up and waves down the healer, who is clearly unhappy but unable to scold the emperor. 

As the healer stitches you up, Commodus stays with you. He tries to distract you, asking you questions and doing his best to make you laugh. You reminisce over stories of your childhood, pranks that you pulled and the misadventures that made days special. 

“Do you know what you plan to do once you're healed?” He asks. Your heart sinks, but you choose to be honest.  

“Fight for you,” you say. “Fight Maximus.” 

“Under no circumstances,” he says, trying to forbid it. 

“I can beat him, I'm sure of it,” you insist. “Do you really want to keep living in the shadow of his threats? We could be happy. Together.” 

You give his hands a squeeze, but he won’t meet your gaze. 

“I will not risk losing you,” he whispers, his voice trembling. 

“I swore to take care of you, to do everything to protect you,” you say, ducking your head to meet his gaze. 

“You're already hurt,” he whispers. "What if you die?” 

“What if I live? Think of the future. We could have a future that's safe, a future without him.” you try to reason with him. 

“So I will fight him,” Commodus declares. 

“Absolutely not,” you say, forcing him to look at you. “Commodus, swear to me you won't.”

“Why shouldn't I fight him?” Commodus says, his eyes frenzied. "Why does it have to be you?”

“I'm a gladiator, a soldier,” you say. “You're not accustomed to fighting men like Maximus.” 

“Are you saying I'm not strong enough!” he shouts, standing. It's almost like you can see the paranoia wrapping around him like dark vines. 

“That's not what I'm saying,” you try to be calm. “It’s just that–”

“You think I'm weak!” he shouts. “My father thought I was weak, Maximus thought I was weak. Everyone thinks I'm weak! I'll show all of Rome that I am the true emperor,”

He trails off, muttering nonsense to himself. You try to comfort him but he storms off. You groan, sitting forlornly as the healer finishes the last of your stitches. Commodus seemed so happy, and you feel terrible for souring his good mood. 

Even though your heart aches, your resolve has only hardened. You have to fight Maximus before Commodus can, or he's going to get himself killed. You ask the healer to find Macrinus, taking a deep breath to steel your nerves. 

“Well, well, well,” Macrinus drawls. “Someone finally needs my help, do they?” 

“Yes, I need your help,” you grit your teeth. “I need to fight Maximus.” 

“Finally deciding to listen to me?” He asks. 

“It's not about you, it's about Commodus,” you snarl. 

“What's happened with your little chocolate prince?” He asks, seeming far too interested. 

“None of your concern,” you say, fed up and in pain. 

“Fine, I guess you don't need my help,” he begins to walk off, and you groan. You hate the power he holds over you. 

“Commodus is planning to fight Maximus,” you admit. “And I'm worried he's going to get himself killed. His mind is driving him out of control, and I think I can win this. For both of us.”

“And your not-so-secret lover won't be mad that you've gone behind his back?” Macrinus asks. You hate that he has a point. 

“He can't be rationalized with,” you say. “Not while Maximus is alive.” 

“You can fight him tomorrow,” Macrinus finalizes. He offers you his hand, and you shake it. 

“Deal.” 

Chapter Text

That night, you toss and turn. You can hardly sleep, your mind whirling with thoughts of Commodus, Maximus, and your fight tomorrow. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, you feel terrible about your fight with Commodus. Even though you know you should be resting, you decide to get up and go look for him. 

You assume he's in his quarters sleeping, and so you make your way to his rooms. The palace is creepy at night, the torches cast shuddery shadows and every statue seems to watch you. You keep your arm firmly wrapped around your bandaged stomach, as if to protect yourself. 

When you have to climb a flight of stairs, your stitches pull and you have to stop to catch your breath. You push through the pain and try to ignore the doubts that circle your mind like carrion, waiting for you to fall. 

When you reach Commodus’ door, you debate knocking. You assume he's sleeping, so you let yourself in. To your surprise, though, Commodus is sitting at his desk. You walk towards him, but he almost doesn't seem aware that you're there. Instead, he's facing the full moon which bleeds white light into the dark room. He is bathed in the eerie glow, and he is so still you can’t even see him breathe. 

“Commodus?” you whisper, coming to stand beside him. He flinches, not realizing you were there. 

“Oh,” he gasps. “It’s you. What are you doing here?” He's breathing heavily, trying to regain his composure. 

“It felt wrong to leave things the way we did,” you admit. “I wanted to make sure you're alright.” 

“Thank you,” he whispers. He is so quiet, a stark contrast to his paranoid shouts mere hours ago. 

“Commodus, it was wrong of me to call you weak,” you're starting to ramble. “I just get so worried, I don't want to see you hurt. So I start to think that if I can do everything for you, then maybe you'll be safe. But I've just pushed and angered you, and I don't want the last words I've spoken to you to be with anger because now–” 

“What are you trying to say?” Commodus cuts you off. He leans forward against his desk, all his focus on you. 

“I'm trying to say that I love you,” you whisper, tears in your eyes. “And I don't want to lose you.” 

“You love me?” Commodus’ voice breaks, and his eyes are glassy with tears. You nod. 

“I love you.” He whispers, almost inaudible. 

He stands slowly, walking towards you. His expression is unreadable, and for a moment you think he's going to scream. He stands before you, his breath hitching and emotion in his eyes. Then, he falls into your arms. 

You wrap each other in a powerful hug. You cling to each other, your breath shuddering and hot tears running down your face. Your heart aches, but not with pain. It aches with completion, with hope. You really have found your way home. 

You sit side by side on the marble floor, the moonlight kissing your skin and turning your teardrops to diamond. Commodus looks godlike in this light, his eyes almost silver. Between gasping breaths and laughter you kiss him; his face, his lips, his eyelids. You feel each scar and love it beneath your lips. 

Time passes in a moonlight haze as you enjoy each other's presence, the feeling of complete devotion warming your whole body. Commodus’ skin is soft beneath your touch, and when he threads his fingers through your hair and pulls you think you've found heaven. 

As the dreamlike moonlight fades and the sun begins to rise, reality creeps its way back into your bones. Your fight with Maximus is just a few hours away. No matter the outcome, by the end of today your future will be decided. 

“Commodus,” you whisper. You're still on the floor, although it seems he's fallen asleep on your chest. You nudge him and he stirs slowly.

“Are you alright?” He asks sleepily. You nod, and brush his hair back from his forehead. 

“I saw Macrinus last night,” you confess. “I'm to fight Maximus today. He promised me my freedom if I win.” 

He sighs, and moves so you two can sit side-by-side. Your backs rest against the windowsill, the morning sunlight spilling over your shoulders. For long moments he is silent, fidgeting with the string of your necklace. 

“Do you really think you can win?” He asks. 

“I don't know,” you answer honestly. “It's up to fate now.” 

“Your faith in fate is unusual,” he says, fear in his voice. “I don't want to lose you again.”

“Fate brought me back to you before,” you say, grabbing his hand. “She will bring us back again.” 

He holds your cheek and kisses you tenderly, his love colored with everything he can't say. 

 Your armor is heavy as Commodus helps strap you in. You've bandaged your stomach wound thickly, although it still aches with every breath. As you take up your sword, you stretch and adjust everything into place. No matter the outcome, this will be the last time you wear a gladiator's skin. 

You give Commodus one last kiss before you step out into the arena. Commodus has requested to watch the game from inside the arena, surrounded by armed guards. You worry for his safety, but are glad to have his presence. 

When you see Maximus face-to-face, some of your nerves lessen. He's not any taller than you, not absurdly muscular. You bow to one another, meeting the fight as equals. You imagine that under better circumstances, you would like Maximus. 

As soon as the fighting begins, though, you become scared. Your wound is unhealed, freshly stitched, and it slows you down. You parry a blow, keeping him away and managing to land a blow on his arm. Briefly it seems like you might have the upper hand, but then Maximus’ foot slams into your stomach and you double over, pain sparking up your spine. 

You sweep his legs out from under him, and the two of you roll across the sand. Your body is weak, your injury betraying you. Metal clashes against metal as you keep his sword away from you, but you're finding it difficult to breathe. You wheeze, and when his knee bashes your stomach, your arms buckle. 

Your eyes flash to Commodus, and you try to whisper something to him. Maybe an apology, maybe a confession of love, maybe a prayer. Whatever you're going to say dies on your lips as Maximus’ sword crunches through your breastplate and into your chest. Pain flashes for a moment, and then is gone. 

You're detached from your body, pulled out of the dying flesh. Your vision is blurry and you can't hear, but you still feel Commodus' scream deep in your soul. He pushes past the guards and stumbles to your body, taking your face in his hands. 

He is weeping, picking up your sword and rushing at Maximus. You try to tell him to stop, try to pull him back and calm his rash decisions. He can't hear you, though, and begins to fight Maximus with feverish rage. 

Swords clash and screams fly, Commodus shouting curses from heaven and hell in a poisoned vengeance. Commodus slashes again and again and again, tears streaming down his face. 

Maximus’ sword slashes across Commodus’ neck, and he stumbles back. You try to scream but can't, the noise absorbed by the void surrounding you. His body falls onto yours, and you try to go to him. You look frantically for a way to save him, but the life has already left his eyes. 

It seems to take ages, time moving so slowly in the lonely void you've been left in. Your bodies are moved, carried to a room you've never seen. Your armor is removed, and your stomach churns at the gaping wound left in your chest. 

The two bodies are laid side by side, dressed and cleaned. Commodus looks so wrong, so unanimated and, well, dead. You try to remember a time when he was happy, alive, but all you can think of is the present. 

You and Commodus are carried to a cemetery, and you're worried that they're going to separate you. The last thing you have of him now is his body, and you don't want to lose him even in death. 

Instead, you're both laid into a large tomb. Your hands are bound together with the necklace he gave you, almost like you're holding hands. As the soil is laid upon your bodies, your vision begins to darken. You can't fight it, submitting to the darkness that takes over your soul. 

Darkness is not the end. 

Light comes back into your vision, and when you regain your senses completely, you see you're in a green field. You look to your right and see Commodus, dressed in white and free of blood. You wrap each other in a powerful hug, and you finally feel a sense of peace. 

You could not lose Commodus, no matter what. Your souls have always been entwined, since the moment you first met. Except now, you are far from Rome, far from war, and far from the pain of life. 

“You didn't lose me,” you whisper. Commodus kisses you, full of love and hope. You're together, you're safe, forever. He holds your face, your foreheads touching, and you can see the light in his eyes. You know you'll get to cherish that forever. 

“Now we are free.”