Aftermath

History Has Its Eyes on You

Warnings: Violence, angst, character death

Philomenus never wanted to run. At least that's what he hoped that people would say when they told his story.

Approaching the Colosseum with daggers and gladii under his tunic, the centurion had never felt more alive that before. Philomenus kept thinking about how happy Claudia would be to raise their siblings in a republic, how delighted their deceased parents would be with their offspring, and how heroic he would stand in the face of his young twin brother and sister.

For someone who had never participated in a scheme before, deception came rather easily to him. With a few sweet words, Philomenus was able to charm one of the guards into leaving his post and surrendering his uniform. The disguise would definitely fool Commodus, he thought. The next guard would not let Philomenus pass so easily. Not after the centurion tripped and a knife fell from under his tunic with a loud clang. But one quick slash of his sword against the guard's stomach cleared his way.

As of now, Petronius was the only one who knew about their joint plot, but they would reveal themselves as the assassins once Commodus breathed his last. The two of them would be publicly hailed as the ones who brought Rome back to her true self. The Senators would be eternally grateful to them, and they could all fearlessly honor the Spaniard who spent his life as a soldier of Rome. Finishing what he started, the centurion was confident that the soul of Maximus Decimus Meridius would finally rest in peace.

The thought of all this was enough for massive mounts of adrenaline to surge within Philomenus. He was going to be fighting for Rome in the biggest stand of his life, defending her honor as he would defend his own mother.

Petronius was right when he claimed yesterday that it was their responsibility, as comrades of the late Maximus, to exact revenge upon Commodus. The vile man had no regard for the value of human life, taking it as he pleased in the same way a child would throw around its toys. Patricide would have been the only way for Commodus to win the throne; surely Marcus Aurelius would never let his immoral son succeed him. Wisdom, justice, fortitude, and temperance...Commodus never had any of those things, and yet had the nerve to believe he deserved to become the protector of Rome. All because he was born into the household of the late Caesar!

Spitting into the ground with disgust, Philomenus clenched his jaw hearing the mob chant Commodus's name from the seats of the Colosseum. And how Commodus would be happily eating up the attention like a dog eats from the bones thrown at him. The only thing that calmed the centurion's wrath the knowledge that after tomorrow, that very name would be erased from the minds and tongues of Romans everywhere.

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The Emperor had a youthful glow upon his face when he entered the Imperial Box of the stadium. It was almost as if the Sun took a bit of its own brightness, and showered Commodus in it.

He had the most perfect morning after a long time. Rather than being disappointed by his nephew's reluctance at breakfast, the emperor was amused by stories Prince Lucius narrated from his lessons. And instead of being agitated by a night terror, Commodus was awakened by kisses from his bride-to-be.

Wide-eyed with mildly-disheveled hair, Caesonia innocently brushed her lips along his arm. Blushing while his eyes fluttered open, Commodus held her closer and gently moved his fingers along her back. That glint in his eyes quickly turned lustful when his hand barely reached the curve of her derriere. After they realized the two of them were still naked from the night before, things quickly escalated into another session of sweet lovemaking.