They fought for Rome:
We Live in the Hearts of those We Leave Behind Part One:  "They Fought For You… They Fought for Rome"

            A mummer of surprise echoed through the marble Senate chambers, but Commodus continued anyway.  "Gentlemen, let us not be dense.  I am my father's son.  I have been raised to fulfill the station of Caesar and Emperor.  Will you waste these years of preparation and training by accepting a man whom you hardly know?

            "My father showed no sign of bypassing me until he was influenced by a general he had entrusted with far too much power.  Power, Senators, corrupts, and it makes many a man ambitious."  He smiled gently.  "As for me, of course, I cannot become more corrupt."

            The gathered senators chuckled obligingly, appreciating the expert handling.  When he wanted something, the young prince was indeed convincing… And he did indeed look the prince today, garbed not in armor, as was his preference, but in a fine toga of white; his only adornment was the simple crown of gold leaves upon his head.  Encouraged, Commodus continued.  "My father's general took advantage of his trust.  He abused the power he had been granted – all to gain the throne.  We all know how hard it is to deny an army, especially when the men love their general…"

            A long figure approached the double doors, striding forward with easy confidence, his footsteps echoing in the long marble hallway.  Sunlight glittered slightly off his armor, lending his presence an undeniably god-like quality.  A long, simple, cape of maroon flowed out behind him with the slight breeze created by his movements, which were smooth, with the ease of a practiced and assured warrior.  He halted before the guards, looking from one to the other calmly and expectantly, waiting.  Neither, however, acknowledged his presence.

            "Open the doors," he said levelly, yet no quietness could conceal the command in his voice.

            The soldiers stood fast, silent, trying to pretend no man stood before them.  They were not Praetorians, nor of Rome's Home Guard; these two men were merely hired bodyguards, probably ex-gladiators or legionnaires.  Their bearing, however, told him that it was the latter, and he'd lots of experience with soldiers.

"You will answer me, soldier," he rumbled deeply, his voice all the more dangerous for its softness.

The one whom he'd fixed with his intense gaze capitulated almost immediately.  Fortunately or unfortunately, he tended to have that effect on people.  Piercing eyes could accomplish much when backed by steel.  "We are not allowed to admit anyone, General," he replied respectfully.

Moments ticked silently by, and both guards shifted uneasily under his stare.  Dangerous charisma flowed from him and filled their eyes, although there was no clear threat.  "I am the Emperor of Rome," he said softly.  "Open the doors."

"Conscript Fathers, I henceforth ask you to follow your heads, not your hearts.  My father's memory is dear to us all, yet we cannot allow emotion to dictate our choices.  If Rome is to prosper, Rome must be ruled by a strong emperor, born to rule –"

"Leaders are made, not bred," a calm voice interrupted from the entranceway.  "If I recall, your father was the fifth in a line of adopted emperors, chosen, not for blood, but for ability."

As one, both would-be emperor and the senate spun to face the interloper, all staring dumbly at the still, yet commanding, form.  Maximus, for his part, merely strode forward calmly, his hands clapped loosely behind his back.  He halted barely an arm's length from his brother in law, meeting the assembly's gazes evenly, careful not to allow the slightest hint of emotion to enter his face, save mild curiosity, fabricated to throw them off guard.  This was a deadly game he was playing, and it was not necessarily one he was good at, even though he had suspected that these events would happen for a long time.  Nothing, however, could have fully prepared him for it.  Then again, he mused, the senate was probably as off-balance as he was.

That was the only good thing about his present situation.  All else, he mused, could go to hell.

"Yet strangely enough, none of them commanded an army," Commodus observed innocently, smiling slightly to his rival.  For a moment, their eyes locked, and one thought passed between the two: the world had not the space for them both.  Sooner or later, the loser had to go.

Maximus allowed his gaze to burn into Commodus' for no longer than necessary.  Unlike the younger man, he was not there to prove a point.  He was not there to spite the prince, nor was he there simply to deny his rival what he most desired.  The enmity between them had crossed and poisoned the entire time the two had known each other, but the Spaniard knew far better than to let it affect him – unlike Commodus, who was now silently gloating over his small victory.  Abruptly, he tore his eyes from the fair prince and turned to the senate once more, catching the other's confused frown as he did so.  Maximus allowed himself a brief moment of inner triumph; step one was accomplished, for he'd not get in a personal battle with Commodus on the senate floor.

"Gentlemen, we all come from different backgrounds.  Mine happens to be in the army."  Spreading his hands, palms up, in a gesture of peace, Maximus drifted forward as he spoke, more comfortable in these surroundings than he would have ever dreamed of being.  Thank you, Marcus, for that.  "Most of you have served your time on the front, as I have, and you understand the privilege and duty that it is to serve Rome.  I have been fortunate enough to do so well.

"In any case, this is not the subject at hand today."  Smoothly and unnoticeably, he circled the senate chamber, looking each member in the eyes as he moved, receiving slight nods in return from many of the men.  They did, indeed, know what was at stake.  "Today, my brother-in-law" – he nodded slightly to Commodus as he spoke, acting far more gracious than he felt, but long months of training under Marcus Aurelius had taught him to keep his more…rambunctious nature in check – "has asked you to deny my confirmation as Emperor and chose him instead."

Carefully, he kept his eyes away from Commodus.  If he didn't, Maximus knew he would never have resisted the need to skewer the younger man with a death glare.  Power hungry, he thought to himself.  You'd think he might have learned by now.  Instead, though, he kept his peace, and allowed the silence to stretch into eternity, broken only by his footfalls on the cold marble floor.  The assembled Romans did not dare speak, for to do so would be to brave the darkness that threatened to overtake their world.  Abruptly, then, Maximus stopped motion and spun to face them, his voice still calm and reasonable.

"Marcus Aurelius' wishes are clear.  You may not know me well, and you may not like me, but he chose me as his heir.  I did not ask for this power, nor did I want this responsibility, but I am here."  Only then, did he turn and allow his gaze to burn into Commodus'. 

"And I will be damned if I see his dream fail."

Together, they stepped into the marble hallway outside.  Black and white could not have further contrasted the two; one was flushed red in embarrassment, while the other was unreadable as a plain plaster wall.  Maximus was aware that many of the praetorians called him the Iceman behind his back, yet he took perverse pleasure in that fact, at times.  It was awfully useful.

At the moment, however, it just served to accentuate Commodus' feelings.  The younger man could not possibly have expected to win, yet he surely had not foreseen the landside results of his plea – nearly the entire senate had voted in favor of Maximus.  Only a few die-hard loyalists had sided with the young prince, for most of the men had known Commodus since childhood, and had a fair idea what type of ruler he would be.  No matter how power-hungry some of the senators were, and how they yearned to control an emperor, they knew that the uncontrollable Maximus would be a far sight better than the unstable Commodus.  Most had not wished for a strong emperor; they knew now that they had a strong man, and that his rule would likely be as such, but even those who'd wished for a weakling knew that the general would be easier to deal with than the prince.

Suddenly, but not unexpectedly, the prince stopped, barely having allowed the doors to slam shut behind them.  Livid, he turned to Maximus, who merely waited for the inevitable explosion.

"This is not over," Commodus stated with surprising control.

Meeting his gaze, Maximus replied, "I'm sure it's not."
            "I will win."

"Don't do anything stupid, Commodus," Maximus replied quietly.  He hated the younger man for himself, but would see no harm come to him, in the name of not the young man, but for his father.  The old emperor had never asked him to promise that, but Maximus had made that pact with himself. 

Marcus Aurelius' son spun to him with surprising fury.  "I have friends, Maximus," he hissed.  "I am the prince of Rome."

"And I am its Emperor," the former general replied calmly.  "Do not forget that."