The crowd's cheers seemed to swing in and out of earshot as he felt himself fade in and out of consciousness. He was dying, and they were cheering. Why? For some barbaric slave, a fallen general who couldn't accept the consequences of his own betrayal? His laboured breathing became more and more constricted by the second as he thought of this fact. This pathetic excuse for a human life- the man his father, his empire, even his sister, had loved more than him? This was to be the man who was to claim his life? He lay in the gravel, unable to move, wishing some small mercy would allow him to scream out his dying breaths with the rage that filled him.
And then he saw her. Lucilla. She was there, in the ring, kneeling in the gravel beside Maximus, beside the traitor, whispering sickly, loving pleas to him as he lay wounded in the ground. Commodus wished he had strength enough to call out to her, to outstretch his arm to her, anything. The harsh, coppery scent and taste of his own blood was almost overpowering, and the blazing heat of the sun hit the Colosseum, scorching his wounds, almost blinding him. You're my sister, he wanted to scream, why don't you care that I'm dying?
Commodus remembered the immeasurable amount of dark nights he'd spent alone, longing for Lucilla's presence, wishing only for her comforting embrace, her protection, her love. But she never obliged, he was forced to spend every one of those nights alone, forced to watch the shadows cast across the walls of the master bedroom twisting into unimaginable horrors before his eyes as he was reduced to quietly sobbing himself to sleep. Had he really been as awful as everyone claimed? Was it he who had been the true monster after all? All he'd wanted was the love of his people, the love of his family…
"Commodus?"
His thoughts were broken as he looked up, his vision blurring, he was still able to make out the figure of his sister, leaning over him, tears in her eyes. Her hand rested upon his cheek, she was inhumanly warm, or perhaps he was inhumanly cold.
"Lucilla…" He whispered, his eyes welling with tears. She hadn't forgotten him. "I'm sorry, sister…for everything I've done to you. Please forgive me now, before I die."
"My poor brother, how did your mind become so sick? I wish I could have helped you. Before all of this. Before it was too late." Lucilla sobbed, taking her brother's icey-cold hand in her's and holding it tightly. Shakily, she pulled his hand towards her mouth, and kissed it gently. "Do you hurt, brother? Are you in pain?"
"No. I can't feel it anymore." Commodus stated blankly, the grim realisation of this setting in as he spoke, and his body tensing with horror. He didn't want to die. "I'm afraid, Lucilla." He whimpered, his expression almost childlike, tears rolling down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. "I'm so afraid."
"Don't be frightened." Lucilla smiled through her sorrow, running her fingers through her brother's hair as he grew colder still. "I forgive you, brother, for everything you have done. Your sickness can end now, your torment will cease." She held her brother's hands tightly within her own as she watched a faint, brief smile pass over the bloodied face of the dying Emperor. "Sleep now, Commodus. I love you."
After some minutes of denial, Lucilla felt her brother's hand become lifeless in her's as she let go of his still form slowly. Standing, she took one last glance over the body of her sibling and felt an immense sadness for the poor insane creature he had become. Maybe now he could find peace.
"Goodbye, Brother."