Énouement
Softly, he laid him on the floor. To begin with, he could not look. He kept his head down, his eyes closed and flowing with hot, angry tears. His shoulders stung where the old man's nails had dug in. He could still feel them, clenching and spasming, then, after an age, going limp. The last traces of life from the one who had helped bring him into this world.
He thought of Jove. The highest of all the gods had slaughtered his kin. Rome revered the sin of patricide. And, like Jupiter, it had been his only choice. It was his duty - to himself, to the empire, to his beloved sister, Lucilla. It should be just them, and Rome.
But, still, his heart shook in his ribcage. Sobs wracked his tired, aching body. Nausea churned in his stomach. He dared to glance into his father's face. His pale, filmy eyes still stared blankly at the fluttering canvas above them. Terrified whiteness consumed them. Or was it from shock? He had not expected Commodus' arms to tighten about him, nor his face to be forced into the dark space of his cloak, nor his final breath to be so inglorious. He was an emperor, a warrior, a scholar, the most powerful mortal in all the world. And yet his death had been undignified and quiet - an elderly man smothered in his nightclothes, within calling distance of his guards.
Commodus' hands trembled as he closed his father's eyes. His mouth still gaped open, desperate for air. He shut it tenderly. Apart from the crumpled position he was lying in, he could have been sleeping. Commodus remembered times as a boy when he had run to his bed, afraid of the things that lurked in the dark. Suddenly, he felt that young again - scared, childish, hunted by whatever was in the shadows. He saw this moment through that innocent vision, rushed into a bloody, twisted future, with no way to turn back time. He could not warn his youthful, free self of the troubles to come.
A wave of anger swept over him. He had never liked feeling helpless.
But no, he was not helpless anymore. This act - this sin - had purged the trials from his life. He had loved his father, but the great Marcus Aurelius had never loved him. Not as he loved his empire, not as he loved Maximus. His power would have fallen upon that rural, unworthy general - the same who had tried to take Lucilla from him. Now, it belonged to him, and so did she. The fate of Rome lay in his hands.
His patricidal, tainted hands.
Another punch of nausea hit his gut. He shuddered. No. He was emperor now. Ave Caesar. Ave Caesar. He would not cry, nor feel guilt. His barbed, golden crown elevated him above that.
Father, if only you had loved me as I loved you...
Breathing slowly, he rose onto his feet. Somehow, he found the strength to grasp the old man and pull him back into his bed. Seeing him there made it easier to accept the lie he would tell the Senate and his people - Marcus Aurelius died in his sleep. Commodus, Lucilla and the empire would mourn like dutiful children. And then his reign could begin.
The final blot on his power was Maximus. But, like the tigers in his father's Coliseum, he would tear him apart.
He would be the saviour of all Rome. And they would love him for it.
A/N: So this was a little prompt fill I did on my Tumblr blog as part of a list of '23 emotions people feel but can't explain' which me and my friend have done some some stories about. This was for 'Énouement' which means: the bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turned out, but not being able to tell your past self. It was kind of intimidating to do this as I love Gladiator so much and I wanted to do it justice. So I tried to show the volatile, frightening aspects of Commodus who Joaquin Phoenix plays so amazingly. Hope you enjoyed, feedback always appreciated :)