Kill Them All

When the gladiators take the House of Batiatus, Crixus spares but one life. Set in the finale of season 1. ::Crixus/OFC::

Kill a man and you're a murderer,

kill many and you're a conqueror,

kill them all, and you're a god.

- Jean Rostand -

-x-X-x-

He did not belong to her. He was a slave, but given different master - a master who, in return, gave him a sword and a shield and thought him merely a man. This man, though like all others, was shaped from clay and given the breath of life from the gods, but he surpassed his makers and rose above the heavens. He became a divinity worthy of praise, if only she knew how to worship a being that was more than a god.

But neither did she belong to him. She was the niece to his master and an almost intangible dream were it not for the mornings that he awoke light and slow from sleep, his flesh still aglow with the flush of forbidden love; his lips still ablaze with passionate kisses, too brisk and pleasantly burning; his fingertips still grasping at a long departed phantom who made pilgrimage to his cell in the dark of night.

But shadows disappear in the light, and under the blush of the crimson sun, all things return to what they truly are. Crixus, not a god, but a man standing in shackles. Olivia, not a fantasy, but a girl who must hide desire behind false visage.

But do not tell her that shadows were not real. Do not ask her to forsake her god, for already she thought it a blasphemous thing to look down upon him. But there she was atop the balcony with others so unworthy of their elevated station. To think themselves more than he who stood upon the sands, to have him positioned below their feet and to watch over him, omnisciently, his every move under scrutiny - they would be struck down for their impiety.

We shall all be punished.

"My heart to the Legatus Glaber," Batiatus proclaimed, "and his support. In the hopes that you will share it in the coming days, I present a gift of blood. Two legends of the arena to face each other sine missione - no quarter given, no mercy shown. Behold Crixus, the Savage Gaul!"

A murmur swept through the crowd, the patrons pleased at their host's announcement. Olivia moved to the edge of the balcony and leaned over the parapet with the others, anxious to get a better view. The man broke line and stepped forward as the Romans applauded, and soon he was free of his manacles.

"And who shall attempt to tame him?" Batiatus continued. "There can be but one man. Spartacus, Slayer of the Shadow of Death!"

More cheers. More applause. The group crowded closer to the balcony walls so that all may better watch the battle. The intimacy sickened Olivia. So eagerly these Romans called for blood and so near to it they wished to be. But she was among them, as close to the edge as she could get. As close to Crixus.

"He is of a form, is he not?" Olivia heard from beside her. She turned to the woman, but the other paid her no mind. Instead she watched Spartacus as he took to the sands, swords tight in his grip and head held up high to stare up at the spectators.

"The man stands a god." Numerius replied, a broad smile on his anxious face.

Spartacus may be a god, but Crixus is something more.

"Begin!"

Weapons up and ready, the gladiators faced each other, both champions in their own right, but today only one would prove legend true. Crixus was the first to move with an appeal to his makers, a loud war cry that lifted up to the heavens, filling the sky with his rage. He was not created to die at the hands of this pretender and the gods would bear witness to the Thracian's fate.

Steel met steel like lightening and thunder, sending sparks flying into the air with a metallic clamor. The sound rang in Olivia's ears until the only thing she could hear was the sound of sword against shield. Advancing, retreating, the two men made furious assault on each other until one fell -Crixus, with his back upon the sands.

The girl gasped in horror, but she would not turn away. He did not deserve such treachery, such faithlessness. She would stand watching until he looked to her, eyes shining with bridled tears of devotion and love. Crixus was no coward, and neither would she be. She would not hide her face in fear of unwanted outcome, but stand tall with faith in her god.

And did he hear her prayers? He must have, for he bounded to his feet with a renewed vigor, creating a storm with his shining weapons as he attacked the Thracian. A sword was lost, and Spartacus was half unarmed, left to fight with just one gladius against the true Champion of Capua. But that was enough, and Crixus was again on the sands, kneeling in the rough grains hot and sharp against his flesh.

He looked up, staring at the girl who would not look away, and a sadness crept over his dark eyes. Her hands gripped the parapet, silently urging him to stand, to fight. Why did he fade? Where was the fire that Olivia knew so well? And, finally, there it was - a white hot flame that ignited as his eyes briefly flickered to Lucretia. Lucretia. The hatred was clear and the girl could not help but look over at her uncle's wife once Crixus turned his back to the Romans.

Screams.

And before she knew what was happening, Olivia was being pushed towards the interior of the villa by a frantic wave of terrified patricians. She pushed through the crowd and left the screams behind her, mind blank in the throes of shock and only the most inherent instinct of survival guiding her footsteps. Her emerald skirts billowed in the air, her sandals tapping against marble as she moved as fast as her feet could carry her to the only haven she knew.

She met no other on her way in the lonely corridors, and when she reached her room she closed the door fast behind her, resting her back against the cool wood. Her chest heaved in exhaustion and fear and anger. It was her god that hoisted Spartacus high into the heavens, subjecting Olivia to whatever fate she would meet that day.

The door flew open, pushing the girl roughly into her room. She righted herself and turned quickly, and there stood Crixus - thick and broad, bronze skin glistening with oil and sweat and blood. He kicked the door close with his heel, never taking his eyes off of Olivia, the frightened girl who could do nothing but stand still under his scrutiny.

"What offense have I committed for you to seek me out in my chambers?" she managed to say, but her words came out an uneasy sigh. Crixus stepped towards the girl, and she took a stumbling stride back. The Gaul stopped and looked down at the sword in his hand, realizing his mistake and her apprehension.

"You believe I would strike you down?"

Olivia clutched at her skirts, anxiously balling the fabric in her fists. "As you would do the others."

Crixus let his weapon fall with a sharp crash on the hard floor, and swept the girl into his arms before she could counter his movements. He held her tight to his chest and she instantly melted into him, the scarred flesh warm and slick against her cheek.

"Olivia -" The man held her head in his hands, weaving her hair between his fingers. Softly, he brought her back so that he may look upon her face. Her eyes glittered in adoration and love and - fear, still fear. He could not have it so.

Crixus let his fingertips wander over the girl's fragile throat, her pulse fluttering under the pad of his thumb. "My hands have never touched you but with tender caress," he whispered and his words rang true. Even in the times of half frenzied urgency, he was still gentle, treating her as a delicate treasure that would turn to dust if clutched too tight.

And now, she was truly pliable under his touch. He could break her easily, bend her, mold her into whatever he wanted her to be, and she would oblige willingly. Yet that was not something he desired. He longed for only her and what she was when she crept down to the ludus under the cloak of night, when there was no slave nor master. No gaul nor Roman. Only a man and woman held fast in each other's arms.

"I overreached," Olivia said, cupping his jaw in her palm. "I abandoned the gods for a more sacred thing and now I am punished for it."

Crixus leaned his forehead against the girl's. "The gods favor us," he replied, his strong arms wrapped firm around her body. Their lips almost touched as he spoke and Olivia yearned for him to move even closer still. "We are now both of us free of this fucking house."

"No. You are free," the girl said, looking up at him sadly. "I will stay and you will leave, taking everything I had with you. I shall never find it in myself to forgive you."

Yet the soft tone of pardon was already in her voice and Crixus swept her hair from her shoulders, tilting her head back so that he may capture her lips in one final kiss. Olivia whimpered into the man's mouth, his fevered flesh hot against hers that ignited a burning desire elsewhere. She clutched his shoulders and tried to bring him closer, tried to disappear into his comforting embrace, but he pulled back reluctantly with a heavy sigh and breathed her in for the last time - sweet mint and light jasmine - a scent that he would hold until life left him.

"Bar the door," he said, still breathless and wanting. Still holding fast to her hips as if he would never let her go. "Do not leave the room until this is finished."

"Crixus -"

He wiped a single tear from the girl's cheek, smooth and flushed pink, and let his thumb linger on her lips swollen from their kiss. "We will unite again, in a life far better than this one. On the shores of the River Styx we will meet in grand embrace."

Olivia smiled at the gladiator, her god whom she put all her faith into. He did not belong to her, nor did he belong to anyone else. He was given a master who thought him merely a man, but this day he had proven them all false. The girl bent down and retrieved his sword from the ground. It was heavier than she thought, but she lifted it without difficulty and handed it to Crixus.

"No," she told the man. "We will meet in the heavens. And then we will rise above them."