Honour him.
This is just a little piece of nothing. Ignore it.
Well, actaully, donÕt. A review would be nice too? ItÕs an AU, or perhaps not. Set just after Commodus returns from the front as Caesar.
***
A lambs bleat punctures the silence.
The procession enters the hallway, passing the lines upon lines of black marble columns, banded with gold. The massive room has a roof, but no walls, only countless columns. They stretch on and on, casting deep shadows punctuated by the soft light of a setting sun.
Marry at sunrise or sunset for luck, so they say.
She cam see him approaching in the procession, like a King, regal and proud. SheÕs known him all her life. She loved him once, but not any more. That was so long ago, and now love no longer seems to matter.
She stands by an alter decorated with flowers and bright materials. The room is a riot of colour, but the sunlight taints everything a fiery red, so it seems the very air is on fire. Custom dictates the groom wait for the brideÕs procession here at the alter, but custom did not allow for an Emperor. Caesar will not be kept waiting.
Her face is expressionless, framed in a deep red veil. The colour of the Gods, according to the barbarians. But also the colour of many other things. She stands completely still, flinching only slightly when the frantic bleating of the lamb behind the alter is suddenly silenced.
It seems as though she is looking down a tunnel at the approaching procession. The pillars slant off into an uncertain eternity.
She can smell the lambs blood now, coppery and cold in itÕs fierce heat. But as the procession nears, it could almost be the smell of him.
He smiles, but thereÕs nothing behind his eyes when they look at her, except maybe a need for possession. But no warmth or life.
But then those dark eyes flick to a woman watching at the front of the crowd, and they are suddenly filled with love. She smiles too, and the emotions are only too clear behind her eyes. Relief maybe. Perhaps she thinks that this will all stop once he is married. Pity then, when she looks at the bride-to-be. Understanding.
Commodus stands beside Sylvia and takes her hand in his. He is so cold that she has to hide the shiver that runs down her spine, lifting the hairs on her neck and goose-pimpling skin as it goes.
A man appears from behind the alter. He is cleaning his bloodied hands on a clean white cloth.
ÒThe signs bless this union, your highness.Ó
Do they? Sylvia feels like laughing though it would be entirely inappropriate. Would he dare say anything less to Caesar?
*
Marry at sunrise of sunset for luck.
Sylvia would rather it had been sunrise. Then at least she would have been given a day to prepare herself for this moment.
They had been married at sunset, then attended a celebratory feast. Commodus sat at one table, and she at another. She thanked the Gods for giving her that time alone. Just a precious few hours away from him. She sat with her friends and talked and laughed. She could almost forget that at the end of it all, she would be here.
She feels utterly sick. Her knees are like jelly.
Commodus spoke to her, and she must of answered, but she canÕt for the life of her remember what they had spoken of.
And now. This moment. The one she had been dreading for so long.
How did she get here? It feels like her whole life has been leading up to this point. How did everything happen so fast?
Commodus lays her down on the bed. She is surprised by how gentle he is. He is heavy on top of her, but his fingers are like feathers brushing across her lips. He looks at her as though she is something very curious. Some new toy of his that he must be careful not to break, a pet animal that he must be very gentle with. But still he cannot quell this boyish instinct that makes him want to break this new toy, mistreat the pet animal.
ÒMineÓ he whispers.
Suddenly Sylvia is not afraid. She is fascinated by him though -this little lost boy in an Emperors clothing. How did he become this way?
He leans down and kisses her gently, but Commodus and SylviaÕs eyes are wide open, watching each other.
He draws back sharply.
ÒDonÕt look at me like that.Ó
ÒLike what?Ó
ÒLike you know who I am.Ó
ÒPerhaps I do.Ó
ÒThen enlighten me.Ó he says petulantly.
Sylvia cannot stop herself from talking. It would probably be wiser to say nothing, and she knows it. The air has changed now. This is a different man. The destructive little boy has taken over from the gentle curious one of before.
ÒYouÕre afraid.Ó she says.
Sylvia knows she should be, but she isnÕt somehow.
ÒYou want to be loved and respected. But youÕre not.Ó she looks at him curiously, as he begins to tremble a little.
ÒNo one ever did love and respect you. I will not. Neither will Lucilla. Do you know why? Because we pity you.Ó
ÒHow dare you! I am Caesar!Ó He is trembling with rage now. The change has come about so quickly. His hands have moved, and theyÕre pinning her arms to the bed. HeÕs so heavy. ThereÕs no way she can move.
ÒYouÕre just a man.Ó
Commodus hits her, before she has even finished speaking. Her lip is cut and bleeds a little now.
The smell of blood, she notes. The smell of Commodus.
ÒI am Caesar! I am Caesar!Ó he spits. SheÕs trying to squirm away now, but his weight is pressing down on her.
This isnÕt how she imagined it would be. Her wedding night - her first time. She had dared to hope there would be some love, somewhere in it all.
When he is finished, he rolls away from her. This sudden release leaves her feeling cold and small as his weight is gone, leaving only the freezing air to touch her.
His breathing calms as they lay totally still beside each other.
ÒI donÕt love you. You know that.Õ he states, emotionless, ÔSometimes I think I could care for you. But that is only because you are mine, and no one else's.Ó
He canÕt see her from where he is lying, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. But she is smiling a little.
***
TBC ....
This is just a little piece of nothing. Ignore it.
Well, actaully, donÕt. A review would be nice too? ItÕs an AU, or perhaps not. Set just after Commodus returns from the front as Caesar.
***
A lambs bleat punctures the silence.
The procession enters the hallway, passing the lines upon lines of black marble columns, banded with gold. The massive room has a roof, but no walls, only countless columns. They stretch on and on, casting deep shadows punctuated by the soft light of a setting sun.
Marry at sunrise or sunset for luck, so they say.
She cam see him approaching in the procession, like a King, regal and proud. SheÕs known him all her life. She loved him once, but not any more. That was so long ago, and now love no longer seems to matter.
She stands by an alter decorated with flowers and bright materials. The room is a riot of colour, but the sunlight taints everything a fiery red, so it seems the very air is on fire. Custom dictates the groom wait for the brideÕs procession here at the alter, but custom did not allow for an Emperor. Caesar will not be kept waiting.
Her face is expressionless, framed in a deep red veil. The colour of the Gods, according to the barbarians. But also the colour of many other things. She stands completely still, flinching only slightly when the frantic bleating of the lamb behind the alter is suddenly silenced.
It seems as though she is looking down a tunnel at the approaching procession. The pillars slant off into an uncertain eternity.
She can smell the lambs blood now, coppery and cold in itÕs fierce heat. But as the procession nears, it could almost be the smell of him.
He smiles, but thereÕs nothing behind his eyes when they look at her, except maybe a need for possession. But no warmth or life.
But then those dark eyes flick to a woman watching at the front of the crowd, and they are suddenly filled with love. She smiles too, and the emotions are only too clear behind her eyes. Relief maybe. Perhaps she thinks that this will all stop once he is married. Pity then, when she looks at the bride-to-be. Understanding.
Commodus stands beside Sylvia and takes her hand in his. He is so cold that she has to hide the shiver that runs down her spine, lifting the hairs on her neck and goose-pimpling skin as it goes.
A man appears from behind the alter. He is cleaning his bloodied hands on a clean white cloth.
ÒThe signs bless this union, your highness.Ó
Do they? Sylvia feels like laughing though it would be entirely inappropriate. Would he dare say anything less to Caesar?
*
Marry at sunrise of sunset for luck.
Sylvia would rather it had been sunrise. Then at least she would have been given a day to prepare herself for this moment.
They had been married at sunset, then attended a celebratory feast. Commodus sat at one table, and she at another. She thanked the Gods for giving her that time alone. Just a precious few hours away from him. She sat with her friends and talked and laughed. She could almost forget that at the end of it all, she would be here.
She feels utterly sick. Her knees are like jelly.
Commodus spoke to her, and she must of answered, but she canÕt for the life of her remember what they had spoken of.
And now. This moment. The one she had been dreading for so long.
How did she get here? It feels like her whole life has been leading up to this point. How did everything happen so fast?
Commodus lays her down on the bed. She is surprised by how gentle he is. He is heavy on top of her, but his fingers are like feathers brushing across her lips. He looks at her as though she is something very curious. Some new toy of his that he must be careful not to break, a pet animal that he must be very gentle with. But still he cannot quell this boyish instinct that makes him want to break this new toy, mistreat the pet animal.
ÒMineÓ he whispers.
Suddenly Sylvia is not afraid. She is fascinated by him though -this little lost boy in an Emperors clothing. How did he become this way?
He leans down and kisses her gently, but Commodus and SylviaÕs eyes are wide open, watching each other.
He draws back sharply.
ÒDonÕt look at me like that.Ó
ÒLike what?Ó
ÒLike you know who I am.Ó
ÒPerhaps I do.Ó
ÒThen enlighten me.Ó he says petulantly.
Sylvia cannot stop herself from talking. It would probably be wiser to say nothing, and she knows it. The air has changed now. This is a different man. The destructive little boy has taken over from the gentle curious one of before.
ÒYouÕre afraid.Ó she says.
Sylvia knows she should be, but she isnÕt somehow.
ÒYou want to be loved and respected. But youÕre not.Ó she looks at him curiously, as he begins to tremble a little.
ÒNo one ever did love and respect you. I will not. Neither will Lucilla. Do you know why? Because we pity you.Ó
ÒHow dare you! I am Caesar!Ó He is trembling with rage now. The change has come about so quickly. His hands have moved, and theyÕre pinning her arms to the bed. HeÕs so heavy. ThereÕs no way she can move.
ÒYouÕre just a man.Ó
Commodus hits her, before she has even finished speaking. Her lip is cut and bleeds a little now.
The smell of blood, she notes. The smell of Commodus.
ÒI am Caesar! I am Caesar!Ó he spits. SheÕs trying to squirm away now, but his weight is pressing down on her.
This isnÕt how she imagined it would be. Her wedding night - her first time. She had dared to hope there would be some love, somewhere in it all.
When he is finished, he rolls away from her. This sudden release leaves her feeling cold and small as his weight is gone, leaving only the freezing air to touch her.
His breathing calms as they lay totally still beside each other.
ÒI donÕt love you. You know that.Õ he states, emotionless, ÔSometimes I think I could care for you. But that is only because you are mine, and no one else's.Ó
He canÕt see her from where he is lying, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. But she is smiling a little.
***
TBC ....