Aftermath

Twisted Every Way

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.