wildsaltair

[wildsaltair]

Bound by Name

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: M (romance, kinda fluffy but also kinda spicy)

Word Count: 1k

Author’s Note: It's been quite awhile since I posted any Maximus fanfiction, but I couldn't resist posting this one even though it's super short. I'm posting it especially for @streets-in-paradise, but it's for all of you who love Maximus as much as I do. This one is taking place in the universe with Maximus and his lover who is also a slave to the gladiator school, sent in to "entertain" him after his fights; they are in love of course, as you can read more about in Stalking Tiger. I hope you all enjoy, and as always thanks for making this blog a wonderful place where I get to share my love for Maximus :D

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Even in his most passionate moments, he’s gentle with you. One hand cradles the back of your head, while the other tenderly holds you by the waist as he lowers you down onto the bed. His kisses roam from your lips to your jaw to your neck and shoulders and chest, then back to your lips again as if he cannot get enough of you.

Ten thousand voices scream for him in the arena during the day, urging him to fight harder, run faster, spill more blood. They crave his ferocity and strength, praise him for his ability to slaughter. His name — “Spaniard! Spaniard!” — echoes through the streets of Rome like a battle cry.

But here, in this bed, in this tiny isolated cell of the gladiator school, with none but him to hear, his name is a whisper on your lips. It’s a prayer, a plea, a breathless assurance of your love. Nothing stirs his blood like hearing his name when you fall apart in his arms.

This is one of such moments. You have an hour, one precious hour, with him, and already he has melted you like wax with his attentions.

“Are you well, my love?” you mumble, his lips somewhere down your neck. You have not even had a chance yet to ask about his success in the arena today. He often sustains injuries but does not tell you for fear of worrying you.

He grunts his response, and his hand tightens around your waist, the other tangling deeply in your hair. “I am now.” His lips brush a sensitive spot on your throat when he speaks.

You can’t help but shiver. He never fails to coax such reactions from you.

Your hands wander over him as he takes his fill of your kisses — over his arms, his back, his sides, everywhere you can reach. He may not always divulge the extent of his injuries to you, but you can usually seek out his hurt places if you try. You always worry that you may accidentally bring him pain when you’re making love.

He is relatively wordless tonight, wholly focused on exploring your body. He pulls your shift open and begins working his usual magic on your skin with his hands and tongue, letting the weight of his body pin you down.

“Don’t stop,” you beg him when he raises his mouth from your chest. He’s repositioning himself, pulling you around him like a vine twining around a pillar. Once he has you where he wants you, cradled beneath him with your legs around his waist, he grins and resumes his kisses.

“You think I will deny you what we both crave?” he teases you, his voice deep and ragged with desire.

The passion intensifies the longer you’re in his arms, and soon he’s eased you into the rhythm you’ve both become intimately acquainted with. His own soft sounds of pleasure are punctuated by the moans and gasps he coaxes from you.

Oh, how he makes your heart soar. Every touch is a reminder of his sincere love to you, every thrust a pursuit of your shared pleasure. He lowers his head for a moment, resting it in the curve of your neck.

“Spaniard,” you whisper, arms locked around his shoulders to hold him close while you both pause to catch your breath. “I love you.”

You feel him swallow, feel him lift himself up on his elbows to rest his forehead against yours. His eyes are closed, his muscles tensed, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You can’t take your eyes off his kiss-swollen lips, or the wolf-tooth necklace dangling on his chest, or the way your bodies look so thoroughly entwined.

“That is not my name,” he says in a low voice. One hand brushes over your hair, smoothing it back while he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Heat rushes through your body when his other hand runs down the length of your torso. “I know,” you admit, “but it is the only name I have to call you by.”

It’s true. He has a name, no doubt, but it has long been buried along with his past. When he came to the gladiator school, he became a new man, a hardened warrior with no past and no name but the Spaniard. It is nothing but a nickname, a cruel reminder of his less-than-human status as an entertainer.

You have wondered about his true name so many times. You have longed to ask him, but you did not dare. Deep and true as your love is, you never wanted to bring back painful memories or force him to tell you something that he was not comfortable sharing.

Perhaps tonight will be the night.

He does not respond immediately, but he holds himself up with one arm to resume his lovemaking to you. Your whole body shudders in response to him, anchoring yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

Another moment passes, one in which all you can see are the stars exploding behind your eyelids. Your climax has built to a perfect crescendo, and your lips are formed to murmur the name “Spaniard” once again.

He stops you with a kiss, one that burns you with its heat.

“Maximus,” is all he says as he brings you another inch closer to the edge.

Maximus, your heart sings in response. Maximus, Maximus, Maximus.

You can’t say the words, your physical and emotional rapture too overwhelming to do anything but cry out in pure pleasure.

He leans down again, buries his face in the curve of your neck. “That is my name,” he whispers. “I want to hear you say it.”

It is his name. His true name, his name from the life you never shared. The life he is now, in some small way, offering to share with you.

Your heart feels close to bursting with the pure joy of it. You cannot even gasp out the first letter, so overcome by the moment.

“Say it,” he says. Not a demand, not a growl… but a request. A plea for you to finally whisper the name he has not heard spoken aloud for so long.

“Maximus,” you cry as you both tremble with your shared climax. “Maximus,” you moan as his body melds with yours in a moment of utter relief and intimacy. “Maximus,” you whisper as he holds you close, close to his chest, close to his heart.

Maximus, your own heart murmurs in response. Maximus, my love.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

[wildsaltair]

I need him to absolutely knock the breath out of me

[wildsaltair]

Random pictures of Maximus I found in a considerably good quality.

[wildsaltair]

Finally a place for my replica gladiator helmet 😁

[wildsaltair]

↬ stevie isn’t one to sleep around but when that man loves he loves HARD

for @wildsaltair because no one else on this planet understands my lust for russell crowe like she does

[wildsaltair]

enduring the brutal and humiliating ordeal of single combat in a system designed to destroy your humanity and reduce you to an animalistic form of entertainment all by yourself, handsome?

[wildsaltair]

literally have been catching myself daydreaming about maximus and have to immediately WIPE him off my mind bc i'm AT WORK. IN FRONT OF CUSTOMERS. AND ISTG I LOOK EXACTLY LIKE THIS BUT CAN YOU BLAME ME?????

[wildsaltair]

*screams like an electrified banshee who just saw a spider on her foot* yeah I agree

Russell Crowe's long hair

[wildsaltair]

He is so hot when full of rage

[wildsaltair]

ᴅʀ. ꜱᴛᴇᴘʜᴇɴ ʙᴇɴɴᴇᴛᴛ

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ sandman: genesis

[wildsaltair]

[wildsaltair]

Gladiator (2000) Preference: How they comfort you before their first fight in Rome.

In all scenarios, their partner is a slave staff from the gladiator school occupied in the side tasks needed for it to function. Like in many of my fics, we are going to pretend Maximus was not a grieving widow at the time for it to make sense.

Maximus

-All the expectations are settled on him, The Spaniard is the exciting novelty the crowd would be waiting for, and you fear his challenges will end up matching his fame.

-He haven't been completely honest with you, but you don't need to know he is an enemy of the Emperor to start fearing for him. Rome is the most challenging place in the world for a gladiator to debut. His matches in the province had no rival worthy of him, but there things will become very different.

-Your love for him calms you in the pridefull reminder that he is the best, but you can't help wondering if that would be meant to change. You have seen it happening even before Rome. Champions can fall from grace, be forgotten or find themselves facing oponents greater than them. Untill not so long before, Haken was the greatest star of the ludus and your Spaniard had came to outshine his glory.

-You notice him very serious and a bit distant, as if in a permanent state of alarm, what makes you think he is worrying of the same you do. Wondering if the Colosseum would be the arena where he will finally find his doom.

-Knowing that he has the support of Proximo, that he has spoke of fighting to stand in front of the Emperor and win his freedom, doesn't encourage you.

-The master is aware of your relationship, and given the Spaniard has proven to be a rebel in and out of the arena, he has choosen to weaponize it instead of disencouraging it. Your gladiator can see you come and go through your daily activities, but if he wants to see you in private, he has to perform well and earn it.

-The night before his first fight, you dissobey for the for the first time just to have a fleeting moment with him. Standing in front of his cell, calling for him untill he rushes to you and your hands clumsily attempt to caress his face sneaking between the bars.

-The guards are meant to take you out, but the fear your man inspires is too great for a quick reaction. They have seen what he is capable of do. They are perfectly aware that, if he wanted, that man would be able to take them all down in one try. They know you are his, and seeing him emerge from inside the cell with passionate rush makes them hesitant to act.

-As long as you wouldn't violate the more strict terms in the rule of the master, they would rather let you see him in a brief visit than becoming targets of the Spaniard's anger.

-Maximus sees you are at the edge of tears, and sweetly shushes you midway into your attempt of articulating the cause in a nervous speech product of the dilligence of the moment.

-" No matter of the outcome tomorrow, you will always remain the light in my darkest hours. Everything got taken from me, but they will have to rip off my heart from my chest to take you away from me. "

-His powerfull words trigger the first flow of tears even if you are smiling to his overwhelming devotion for you. He smiles back, then lowers himself in search for a crack from which his face could reach yours.

-Your hands are tangled in the holding of the same bars as your lips barely brush, but it's enough to make him cling to life for a sweet instant.

Haken

(We don't have gifs of him lol. Tecnically he is also the last one in a scale of character relevance, but I have a growing crush so he goes next.)

-You are his #1 fan, no matter the switching tendencies of the crowd.

-Haken often speaks of himself as if, after surviving for so long, he would be already inmortal. Unlike most men in the ludus, he genuinely enjoys of being a gladiator. Your man is an entertainer, he loves being worshipped playing the act of the allmighty champion that overcomes every obstacle on his own.

-Even if you know that falling in the arena remains a possibility for him, that's not the greatest fear for you that his behavior reflects. Haken has thrived even after the arrival of the Spaniard, when he stopped being the favorite among the men of Proximo. Losing the spot of privilege didn't cause him to fall, and a bright future still awaited him in Rome.

-You were the one domestic slave curious about the tales of the master on his time as a gladiator in Rome. To most it was just the gibberish of an old man, but you were always excited listening to him. Proximo remembered out loud with fondness, and everything he would tell was fascinating to you. It was not hard to imagine Haken reaching a similar fate, goal that you knew he chased.

-Fame and glory would find him, even if the Spaniard would remain leading. Gladiators caused an exceptional passion in the people of Rome and your man would thrive enabling them.

-Their passion, and his cheerfull embrace of it, was precisely what concerned you. Proximo had spoken of how the women used to go crazy for him, ... of how ladies of the elite were willing to pay fortunes for a night with him.

-The world he was stepping into was way bigger than yourself. No matter how genuinely happy you were for him, remaining supportive without the slightest hesitation, deep inside you feared that he would forget you. In Rome Haken would see his dream come true and perhaps he would leave you behind with his memories of the province.

-He had been over training since the arrival, his way of channeling the energy from the feelings of anticipation regarding his debut. Noticing that the pressure to excell was wrecking him, something that wouldn't help his performance as much as he seemed to believe, Proximo allowed your intervention sending you to encourage him.

-Seeing you arriving to the yard bringing a drink for him only increased his intensity. He was showing off for you, searching for the validation of your flusterred expression like if it was part of his rehearsal. Impressing you like he hoped to impress the crowd.

-In between flirtatious exchanges, a subtle, bitter sample of your intimate fears sneak out when you joke claiming he had been practicing with you all along for the main event seducing the roman crowd.

-Haken tries to follow the joke easily brushing off the implications, but quickly realizes you are not in the mood for jesting. Never before you had showed to care for what his vincle with the crowd could bring for you, but he perceibes that what aches you is more than simple jealousy.

-He stops and your hand trembles as you reach him the drink while confessing how you fear that, given he is starting a new stage of his life as a gladiator, he would abandon you for someone that would fit better into it.

-Haken is a straightfoward man, and his reaction proves the thought had never even crossed his mind. You would have wanted to smack him noticing him stiffling a chuckle as he swallowed the liquid in one long sip.

-"Why didn't you leave me for the Spaniard then? You could have abandoned me when he started leading, but you didn't. If we are going to let the feelings of the crowd dictate everything between us, I should have been the one losing you."

-It was something that would have never occured to you, because you followed him for love, and in simple words he remembered you that he felt the same. He loved you, and the displays of desire from his admirors in a flickle crowd wouldn't change that.

-A shy smile in acceptance of his words is not good enough for him, he needs to feel the security and joy returning to you. Before you can place objections of any kind, he is picking you up and spinning you around. Your sweet giggles are music for his ears, and his reassuring turns a bit more playfull.

-" They can look all they want, but I only want your touch ... They can scream for me, but I only want your moans."

Juba

( I literally couldn't find one gif of him that wasn't from the end scene)

-Like in the case of Maximus, let's pretend there was no one around before you meet. Shall we?

-Juba is the most perceptive man out of the entire ludus. Not even the most secretive of all gladiators, the mistery known as the Spaniard, manages to hide his emotions from him.

-He realized of your crush on him in his first week in Proximo's compound and confronted you about it with sweet amusement, point from which your relationship started its evolution. Your feelings grew in parallel with the friendship he developed with the Spaniard and you quickly faced they were a bundle deal. For your closeness to flourish, you also had to get closer with his good friend.

-Usually that meant no issue, because you could tell he was a good man. A wonderfull man like Juba, a kind soul of the ones that appear only once in a lifetime in such cruel place, would only develop an affinity with someone alike.

-The problem with his mannifestations of kindness is that, unlike your man, he doesn't seen to know of the subtle, underground gestures. Juba is the light of the small, everyday goodness, while the Spaniard is always up to face those in power.

-The provinces welcomed his messages as charming misbehavior, but In Rome that kind of attitude was an unforgivable transgression. One that could bring trouble not only for him, but for those known for supporting him. You knew it because you have been a slave of Proximo since before his business was banned from the capital. Even before Commodus took over, the roman elite didn't see with good eyes the kind of rebelliousness a man like the Spaniard represented.

-More than the dangers of the arena itself, you fear for the public reception of what would happen there and the possible consequences it may unleash. As a gladiator, Juba's fame remains connected to the growing legend of the Spaniard. In and out of the arena, he is his loyal friend. If a controversy would put one of them in the vengefull eye of power, the punishment would reach both.

-As you catch the gladiators admiring the magnificent sight of the Colosseum, a mock for the Spaniard slips from you claiming the monumental building was they perfect target of his insults to the lifestyle that the Empire has widespreaded.

-It's not with ill intention, and your smile eases him, but Juba has already guessed the underlying meaning of the callout.

-Finding a moment to adress it becomes harder than it used to be back in the old, smaller compound in the province. The ways in Rome left you all more surveilled than you used to be, what showed the underlying fear romans historically had for slave revolts.

-The one found perk was that access to bathing was relatively easier than in the desert, where they used to be cleneased with a strange white dust. Looks were very important for the roman crowd, so one of the first orders of Proximo was to get all of them bathed.

-When you brought the clean clothes, a similar replacement of the blue tunic that was the standard for the gladiators of Proximo, Juba found his first chance of the day to approach you calmly and individually.

-You are his partner, he trustes your hands over any other and the slaves doing the reproductive work for the ludus were used to understand this.

-After rubbing his skin with a balsam and as you helped him dress up, the casual physical intimacy encouraged the flowing of your conversation that he guided it into the direction he needed it to take.

-You were securing the belt keeping his tunic in order when he introduced his observation through adorable tease.

-" You are very wise, my love … Do you know that? I would have expected you to worry about the beasts they could make me face tomorrow, but your worries reach beyond … To the powerfull men watching, and what they want from my fighting. Perhaps to my friend, and his talent to offend them."

-He chuckled and the light heartedness of his approach eased the emotional burden of your fears, even managing to make you laugh with him.

-Keeping the same relaxed tone you explained him that, for as much as you liked the Spaniard, the roman environment could easily turn him into a heir of Spartacus. Following him so loyally would get him labelled as his second in command.

-You didn't need him to be a hero, he had nothing to prove to you. Playing to be one enough to survive and come back to you in one piece was enough. You loved him and feared the misterious campaing of his friend would claim his life before the arena could.

-Your concern moved him, seeing it didn't come from a place of confrontantion against the Spaniard. You understood why their friendship was important for him, but sweetly reminded him to make him aware of the new situation for the good of them both.

-Used to being the one watching over the wellbeing of others arround him when the circunstancies crushed them, he got reminded that you were the one there to look after him.

-" I will come back to you: the roman gods that the Spaniard angers are not my gods … And you are proof that mines haven't abandoned me. "

Tags: @wildsaltair

Note: I came up with this in a rush hallucinating it to cope while i as doing more important stuff . The Haken one triggered it, that's why it turned out the longer as it progressed.

[wildsaltair]

me watching Gladiator: Maximus, be careful! Maximus, watch out for the enemies behind you! Maximus, please be careful riding! Maximus, don’t let those scary men hurt you! ohhh Maximus, please watch out for that tiger! Maximus, the knife! watch out for that knife Ma—

[wildsaltair]

sometimes I just need to post this picture. for my sanity

[wildsaltair]

@wildsaltair

River laundry besties aesthetic I accidentally found in Conan.

[wildsaltair]

Follow up to @wildsaltair posts, tonight I am mentally here.

Walking around the camp by Maximus' hand as his men salute us and rejoice seeing their General so blissfully in love with me.

[wildsaltair]

The Spanish Vestal

Maximus reminds me of my dad and since I'm writing for a newer fandom to me, I'm writing family because I'm familiar with it

Sorry for historical inaccuracies!

Warning: some implied intent to r*pe, attempt to r*pe, mentions of r*pe, some general creepness, death, gore, tradgy. This shit is heavy.

This is an OC fic-For her voice, a feminine version of Antonio Bendares would work and I sprinkled in some Spanish sentences because they are in fact, from Spain or Hispania as they call it.

Also holy shit, I got carried away, this is way longer then I intended. This is an alternative ending/story.

My name is Maxima Allegrathe.

Daughter of Maximus Decimus Meridius.

And there was a time where my family knew joy.

I remember my homeland.

It was bright and beautiful. My father farmed crops and let me follow him around as he worked the land he loved so much. The place that was our home.

I remember my father.

How he would wrap me in his arms and tell me his stories, he would make me laugh, and smile. I love my father, more then I ever loved anyone.

I remember my mother.

How she would cup my cheek and tell me how I looked just like her, except I had my father blue-ish green eyes. How I shook my head and told her that wasn't possible because she was the most beautiful woman in Hispania.

I remember my little brother.

He smiled so much. I used to take him on pony rides and he loved them. I would tell him stories and play with him and my dolls.

I remember the day I decided I wanted to be a vestal.

I didn't want to leave my parents. It was a silly dream, wasn't it? I was a spanierd, I could never be a vestal. But my father had connections and the Emperor, he gave a speech about the Gods telling him. I didn't really believe him, and I don't think he did either but I had my job. My father smiled, knowing I was happy.

I remember the day I left.

I was ten years old. My baby brother was two when I last hugged him. I kissed my mothers cheeks and climbed up behind my father as he took me to Rome. That was the saddest goodbye, I knew I would see him again and I would miss him.

It was about two years into my training when I received the heartbreaking news. My mother and my brother, were killed. I heard to much about my families demise for a twelve year old.

The rape and whipping of my mother.

The brutal slaying of my at the time eight year old brother.

And my father? He was missing.

The sun beat down on the barely shaded caravan as the Gladiator's makes there way to Rome. Commodus had done little good to the country but he was distracting them with grand parties. It was under this distraction that he came to Maxima's chambers in the vestal house, three of her friends watching with worry.

He came to tell her she was dismissed from her position. "My father...made a mistake in appointing someone not of Rome to such a....prestigious religious position." His hand comes to hover by her cheek, he couldn't touch her until she was properly dismissed or until they were alone. She stands up, wrapping her shawl around herself and taking a step back.

"I shall take a moment to pray, your highness. And then I shall pack my things." Maxima felt cornered. She hadn't been this close to a man in several years and there was something sexual about his movement. The way his eyes raked over her form, the way he licked his lips.

"Might I...escort you?" She gave a smile that did not meet her eyes. His eyes were taking to her body like a parched man to water and it felt like he was getting increasingly closer to her that she could feel his breath. "Men aren't allowed into the temple of vestal, even those such esteemed as your self." She bowed her head with fake politeness. "Good day your majesty." She spoke calmly, leaving the room rapidly, hoping he wouldn't notice.

Outside in the city, Maximus Decimus Meridius, Father of Maxima Allegrathe, was stuck inside of a Gladiatorial prison. He had no idea if his daughter remembered him. She was only ten the last time he saw her and he dearly hoped she was well.

In order to keep up appearances, Maxima was allowed to watch the games with the vestals. She did not approve of violence for entertainment but people would question if there was a vestal missing with no announcement.

Still. She sat firmly in the front row. Her long brown hair flowing in the breeze, her cold eyes hiding emotion. She was dressed to masculine for a vestal. A dark blue tunic cover her skin with flowy sleeves and fabric, a inch wide belt holding it around her waist. Her legs were wrapped in black bandages from her ankles to her waist, hidden mostly beneath the fabric, they were designed to protect her from the worst. Cicero had taught her that when she was a young girl asking questions.

Her eyes stayed locked onto the doors, ignoring Commodus with purpose. The Gladiator's that stormed through were a mixed batch. Half were untrained but the other half, they knew what they were doing.

She crossed her arms leaning back. She had tuned out the massacre until her eyes caught a familiar figure. A figure who had stolen a horse, had run gladiators into battle formations and was now doing victory laps like a general. Because he was a general. Because he was her father.

Maxima watched as the Emperor approached the Gladiators, using his nephew as a human shield. She stood on her tiptoes, staring down at the man and straining her ears to hear.

“My name is Maximus Decimus Meridias, commander of the armies of the north, general of the Felix legions, loyal servant to the true emperor Marcus Aurelius, father to a murdered son and a vestal daughter, husband to a murdered wife, and I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.”

She tore down the steps like a bat out of hell. It couldn't be real, everyone else in her family was dead and her father had not come to find her, he couldn't be. But she hoped so dearly. All those who thought she was still a vestal parted ways as she ran, assuming she had some duty to attend too.

When Maxima slowed down she was able to slip unnoticed into the courtyard and area where the Gladiators were eating. Proximo noticed her first, though the men noticed her shortly after. She had that same confidence as her father, the kind of fearless fire inside of her. She walked right up to him, meeting his gaze with eyes that seemed familiar. "I've come to see a Gladiator. The people called him the Spaniard." Her accent was thick, perhaps from some part of Hispania.

Proximo had thought she was sitting with the vestals but perhaps he was wrong. It didn't matter. "You'll have to pay for that kind of company, lady-" Her fist slammed into the wood of the table, hand throbbing but she didn't seem to notice. "Where-"

"Maxima Allegrathe!"

The tone sounded scolding, but relieved.

Only one person called her by both her names. She turned, hair whipping with how fast she moved, the three small braids hidden in her thick locks hit her in the face but she didn't flinch.

There were two men next to him. One was tall, strong, with blue eyes. The other was slightly shorter, with skin like coco. She recognized them from the fight, the two who had stuck the closets to the Spanierd and listened to him.

And then her eyes met the ones almost identical to her own. "¿Padre?" Her voice, once powerful was reduced to that of the young girl she truly was. "Mi querida hija..."

Maximus barely had time to open his arms in order to catch his teenage daughter, cradling her to him like he had when she was very small. "I'm sorry papá, the Emperor dismissed me. I'm not a vestal, he took it from me. I failed you." Her voice cracked and Maximus shook his head, stroking her hair. "He didn't take you, mi hija. Él no te llevó."

Maxima was thin, malnourished almost, the temple of the vestals had been neglected, there was barely enough food for them and often the younger ones got the most. "Él no te llevó, mi pequeña niña."

Maximus made sure she ate and then reluctantly let his daughter go. She would not be safe anywhere, but especially in a Gladiatorial camp. He walked her as far as he could before watching her dart away, wrapped in a cloak Proximo had provided.

Maxima darted through crowds with speed she didn't know she possessed. Halfway through her journey, she ran into someone. Fear shot through her until she looked up, stepping back, she stared in shock. "Cicero?"

The man before her looked up from the ground. "Miss Maxima!" They both stared at each other, before words tumbled from their mouths at the same time.

"You've seen your father then."

"The emperor dismissed me, I'm not a vestal anymore."

They both stopped, Maxima's eyes tracing the now scared face of Cicero, it was both familiar and saddening.

"Cicero, is there some place else we could discuss this?" Maxima nervously worked the fabric of her cloak in her fingers. She had noticed Commodus looking for her and she wouldn't put it past him to send men after her. "I don't think I'm safe."

Cicero, who had watched Maxima grow up, nodded. His hand resting protectivly on her shoulder as he guided her through the crowd. Cicero was like her uncle, he always had been, and the fact that she hadn't seen him in a few years did not change that.

They both stayed up late into the night in Cicero's apartment, discussing everything that had happened or what they thought might have happened.

It was several days later Cicero spoke to Maxima about something she never expected. "The son of Lucilla needs to be safe distracted in order for her to help us? And you cannot tell me with what we need her help for?" The young woman tapped her fingers absentmindedly. She had been preparing herbs when he came and had to pause her work so she didn't mess up.

"Your father forbids it, as it is, he didn't like asking for your help with this."

"But you know I will."

"Of course I did, that why I insisted we ask."

Her lips quirk into a smile, despite the topic of conversation. "I'll do it. When does the young prince need to be occupied?"

"As soon as possible and for as long as possible." Cicero sat down at the table she worked at. "This is dangerous. And I fear for its success."

Well, nobody had told Lucius that he was going to go with Maxima. In fact, the former vestal had to bribe him out of the palace. It wasn't that hard, she had some sweetened fruit before explaining what was going on it. It was a delicatly honey coated version. The same thing she told Commodus when they ran into him.

"Your sister asked me to take her son into Rome, your grace. She told me that she wants your nephew to see the great kingdom his uncle has built." Sugary sweet lies fell from her lips with ease as she bowed her head with respect that was not meant. Her hand clutched that of the prince, though it was hidden beneath long sleeves.

"Is that so?" Even though it was a simple sentence it made her want to vomit as he approached her. He smelled like achohol and smoke, and she had to keep from running away. "It is."

"Lucius, leave us." Maxima's soul left her body as the small boy timidly left the room. Commodus's hand landed on her shoulder and she stiffenes, swallowing hard.

"So stiff." He taunted her, running his hand down to grope her chest. "You know I heard your mother moaned like a whore while my men raped her. And that your brother screamed like a girl." He pinched the side of her left breast. Hard enough to leave a bruise and she jumped, barely managing to hide the pure and utter hate that she held for him in her heart.

He stepped back, his nephew having entered the room and ran to her side, wanting to protect her but unsure how. She patted Lucius's hand and in casual voice to the emperor said "Cuando mueras, me aseguraré personalmente de que tu funeral sea una fiesta para celebrar adecuadamente el hecho de que tu hedor se desvanecerá." She said it like one would say a blessing, bowing slightly before leading Lucius out of the room, the young boy clinging to her arm.

Despite his age, the boy understood all to perfectly what his uncle had tried to do to his new friend. Lucius brought her out of the palace the way he knew was the quickest, the pair running for the hills, where they stayed until dark, coming back only to eat dinner

Lucius stayed with her, they never went to bed. She curled in a chair, half asleep, the young prince insisting on sleeping on the rug at her feet, holding a dagger as he snored softly.

Trumpets woke her up the next morning and she immediately pulled Lucius up and behind her, the young boy mumbling something.

Adrenaline courses through her and she looked out the window and then she saw her father's flag, waving in the distance. She gasped. So that's what they were planning. "Lucius, come here." She beckoned the boy that had stayed way behind her.

Lucius gasped and started smiling for the first time. But then Maxima heard the angry voice of Commodus. Shoving Lucius behind her, taking the dagger the young boy had clutched so tightly in the night.

She had absolutely no experience with sigh a thing except in religious rituals but she knew she would fight until she died, no matter what. Lucius's cling to the back of her tunic, the bandages that wrapped her legs seemed to both restrict her and keep her upright.

The flimsy curtain that blocked the enterance to the room tore apart are Commodus stormed in. Lucius slowly let go of her, walking backwards.

"Well, well, little vestal. A traitor to the crown as well?" He spoke her former title mockingly, this time she did not hide her hate for him, it was raw, and present.

Lucius had disappeared but Maxima was more focused on the man in front of her. Her breathing quickened as relief that her father went in the city turned to fear at what the Emperor would do to her.

"I am loyal to the Emperor my father served." She spoke, rather firmly. Her hand tightens on the dagger. "The one who granted me the life I wished."

She dodged his slap, sliding across the floor, putting a table and several chairs between them. Commodus grinned smugly, shoving the furniture to the side and she ran. The dagger aimed at her back only shredded the side of her tunic as she ran, holding the side shut.

In her panic she dropped the dagger, and then slipped down some stairs. Her wrist and ankle throbbing with pain she struggled to her feet, running as best she could when she heard a scream of pain. Commodus had stepped on the dagger she had dropped. She scrambled backwards, her back pressed against a piller as tears streamed down her cheeks, hoping she had hidden well enough.

The sharp pain tugged at her scalp as Commodus yanked her from her hiding spot laughing. However, from the doorway to the outside she could see the back of her father and she gave a scream in her mother tongue. "¡Papá! ¡Necesito ayuda!" She kicked Commodus in the shin. "¡Date prisa, por favor, me va a matar!"

Maximus had been giving orders to his men when he heard his daughters screams. Turning his horse, he rode the white mount directly into the palace, catching Commodus by enough surprise that Maxima could pull away, crawling to a safe distance.

Everything Maximus had planned had been tortures and horrible but in that moment he could think of nothing else but making sure his only family would remain unharmed by this brute of a man.

The last thing Commodus saw was the rage of a father and husband simmering beneath the gaze of the man he had tried so hard to destroy. And then his blood stained the floor, his head sliding off his neck as Maximus's sword cut through his neck with practiced skill.

After he was sure it was done, he climbed from his horse and went to his daughter. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to his horse, and rode with her out of the royal house. After all, he had a city to rebuild. For her future. And the future Rome deserved.

The end