Author: Amy Fortuna (peacefulpassion@hotmail.com)
Rating: PG-13
Category: POV
Disclaimer: Beautiful Cicero, alas, belongs not to me, and I, thus, may not keep him -- but I'll make sure he has a little happiness before I give him back to Dreamworks.
Warning: Slash.
Archive: Anywhere that I post it to may archive it.
Series: Sequel to Cold Sky of Memory.
Spoilers: BIG spoilers for Gladiator.
Summary: Cicero discovers something that makes him very happy.
Feedback: Ask me why I breathe, ask me why I eat, but don't ask me why I need your comments. Just send them.
Entering the city I took on the guise of a beggar. I had a little money, of course, but I felt I might need that for more important things than food and lodging.
I knew no one in Rome at all, so for two days I merely wandered about the city streets, taking in the atmosphere.
Underneath their gaity, many people had despair hidden, and I even talked to some who complained about basic needs such as sanitation and water flow. I was sure Rome was ripe for revolution, if the means could only be found.
On the afternoon of the third day, the news flying winged through the city reached me -- you were alive!
Alive! And for the first time in years I felt dizzy, but this was a pleasant dizzyness.
Alive! Maximus, how could I have doubted you for one moment? No German band had attacked your praetorian murderers, you had overcome them yourself.
And then I listened to what the rest of my eager informant was telling me.
You were a gladiator. Oh gods. And my heart sunk again just as it had been lifted. A gladiator. For a brief moment my mind calculated the odds that you'd stay alive long enough for me to even exchange one word with you, then I deliberately erased the forboding from my mind.
My general, my love, you could do it. The man who could survive a death sentence and four praetorians could surely stay alive another day.
Later that day, I walked casually near the Colosseum, where the gladiators, they said, were. Glancing into the cages where they were kept -- a cage for Rome's victor at Vindobona! -- I tried to see if I could even catch a glimpse of you.
Nothing.
So the next day, bright and early, I took my seat in Colosseum, hoping against hope that you'd fight today, hoping desperately that you'd be the winner.
Most of the earlier events bored me. Such carnage. Wasted life. All for a game, not even a battle.
And finally that announcer pompously proclaimed the entrance of Tigris of Gaul. I, along with the rest of the crowd, waited to see what his opponent would be like.
And you walked out.
Oh, love, so beautiful. And I restrained myself from moving down to the edge of the arena and throwing my body at you.
The living, breathing you here -- and I'd thought you dead!
I kept my expression carefully schooled, giving away by not a hint, not a look, that I knew and loved you.
Along with the crowd, I gasped in horror as you fought with the giant and four tigers.
And when it was over, I watched you fight a greater battle; one with yourself. I could not hear what Commodus said, but I could guess -- he wanted you dead. A sword-swipe from a praetorian, or several of them, would work, but there must be cause.
I am sure he taunted you, love. I do not want to know what foul things he said to you.
In any case, you spoke soft words to him, then turned and walked away. The crowd roared for their new conquering hero.
And I -- I left, heading for the street. I wanted to see you closer, my lord. To maybe even speak with you.
In the crowd you saw me and we clasped hands briefly. I managed to get your ancestral figures out from my bosom and hand them to you in the press.
Late that afternoon, I made my way to where you were kept. Love and desire swept over me in great waves as we held hands through the bars for several moments, talking swiftly, quietly.
I promised to return when I had faithfully carried out your wishes. Maybe we could even spend a little more time together then.