Lucius awoke with a start. For a moment he was wildly disoriented, drowning in his sea of sweat-soaked bed sheets, but then slowly, like a wave of nausea passing, the reality of his bedroom came back to him. He could not remember why he had jerked awake so harshly; all he could feel presently was fear gnawing a hole in his stomach. The walls and the shadows of his shelves and toys seemed suddenly menacing and sinister. He wanted his mother.

The last time he had had a nightmare, a couple months ago, his mother had told him gently that he was getting too old to steal into her bedroom at night. Lucius hoped she would make an exception in this case. He slipped out of his bed, his nightclothes clinging to his skin, and set off down the hall in the direction of his mother's room.

The corridors always scared Lucius at night. The torches burned low in their holders, throwing wide shadows across the floor, and the guards stood like statues with their faces half-concealed by the darkness. Lucius kept his gaze downward and walked at a brisk pace.

When he arrived at his mother's room, the door was closed, and so Lucius made a fist to knock on it.

"Mother?"

The guard caught Lucius' wrist before the boy could knock. "You must stay back, Master Lucius," he said calmly.

"But I want to see my mother!" the little boy cried, Still gripping Lucius' wrist, the guard dragged him back from the door.

"I am not to allow anyone entrance to the Mistress Lucilla's chambers," the guard said in the same detached tone. "May I suggest that you go to bed, Master Lucius. The hour is late."

How could the guard speak so stiffly, so unaffectedly? He had no knowledge of the cold sweat that beaded upon Lucius' palms at the thought of returning to his bedroom alone, nor of the dank and troubled air that hung about the boy's bedsheets. He felt too embarrassed to admit to the guard that he was scared, but it was imperative that he not return to sleep yet. That much he knew, deep in his chest, though he knew not why.

"May I wait here for her?" Lucius asked innocently. The guard huffed.

"If that is what you wish."

Lucius slid down against the wall and curled himself into a tight ball on the floor, resting his chin upon his knees. It was so unlike his mother to seal off herself to him, especially in the night when she knew her son needed her most. His sight blurred at the edges and before he knew it, a few splotches of wetness had appeared on the cloth of his nightgown. Hurriedly, he wiped his eyes, not wanting the guard to think him weak or girlish. No, Lucius would wait calmly for his mother's door to open, and he wouldn't sleep until morning if that's how long he had to wait.

Suddenly, there was an almighty thud from within his mother's room, and ground beneath Lucius shook as though something very heavy had fallen over. His mother screamed, and immediately another voice countered hers. Deep with anger. His uncle's voice.

"Mother?" Lucius cried, scampering to his feet. The guard shook his head.

"Keep back," he said simply, as if hadn't heard the screams at all.

Lucius shivered. He couldn't make out their words, but his mother and his uncle sparred back and forth, their voices sharp against each other like the crash of sword against sword in the arena. But with each returned volley his mother's voice faded away, and yet Commodus' voice retained its fever pitch. He was the gladiator in the arena, poised with his sword over his opponent's crushed body, ready to give the final blow. Lucius could hardly draw in a breath.

Heavy, hurried footsteps crescendoed, nearer and nearer to the door. At last his mother flung open the door, and Lucius flew to his feet.

"Mother!"

"Lucius!" She made no move toward her son.

Commodus had followed Lucilla through the door, hand outstretched beside her shoulder as if to grab her. He looked to his nephew and dropped his arm, his face red with a rage Lucius had never seen before.

"What is he doing here?" Commodus demanded. "Outside his chambers. Why is he here?"

"Commodus-"

Lucius cut his own mother off, feeling it is his fault that his uncle is so angry and thus he should be the one to offer explanation. "I had nightmares, Uncle." Once he spoke, his voice was frail and pitiful, any courage he had built up had rushed out with his breath.

Commodus pulled a face, a smug and mocking frown that made Lucius' eyes prick hot with tears. "He has nightmares, what shall we do?." Then in an instant, as though a rope had been cut, all false concern snapped to anger once more, and he turned to Lucilla. "This boy… your boy, your sniveling boy, you think he has the make of an emperor?"

"Brother, please," Lucilla pleaded, tears shimmering like jewels upon her cheeks. "Go to sleep, it's been days since you've rested."

Commodus sighed, the white hot fervor draining from his muscles as he slumped into Lucilla's arms. She supported him almost grudgingly, afraid of his getting too close. Lucius' heart hammered in his ears, and he wondered whether anyone could hear it.

"Stay with me," his uncle whispered, voice so quiet Lucius had to put all his concentration into listening. Commodus leaned heavily against his sister, his breaths more audible than his words.

Lucilla peeled her brother from her. "My son needs me now, Commodus."

"Go to him, then," he said, and it wasn't so much permission as a dare. Lucilla accepted it, going to her son and pressing his crying face against her stomach. Commodus looked on with narrowed eyes, something like jealousy burning within them.

"Take him to his room." He raised his voice, and though it was loud, it was not full of the anger it had been before. "Treasure your time together." Lucius relaxed into his mother's embrace, but for some reason she pulled him tighter than she ever had before.