Disclaimer – I own nothing and make no profit.

Author Notes – I watched the movie tonight, possibly for the hundredth time, and suddenly all I could think about was why Commodus had turned out the way he had. This is my idea of what could have happened.

This story contains implied slash. It's all one-sided and not the least bit graphic but it is still there and still important so if you don't like it I suggest that you don't read it.

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Shadows and Dust

We mortals are but shadows and dust. Shadows and dust, Maximus!

Proximo

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There is love in me, love so strong and passionate that it burns. I doubt many men could love as truly as I, love with so much of their own being that it is all that they could feel, all that they would know. Not many men could feel their heart beating rapidly in their chest and know that it was beating only for one other and that without that single person it would simply give up. No reason to beat when there is no reason to live.

Many would doubt my words. I am considered cold, heartless even, by those who claim to know me and those standing further away believe me above such human things as emotions. I am the emperor of Rome and as such I am better then all else.

But that cold exterior – that fragile mask – is only a way for me to survive. If I let it slip, even if it would only be for a second, all that people knew me to be would fall apart and waste away.

I have not always been like this, have not always been forced to hide my heart behind all these walls. Once upon a time I could laugh – true and happy – for the simplest of reasons. My smile would be so big that it stretched across my face and hurt my chins but it still would not falter. I remember those days clearly even though I have wished with all my heart to forget. It is not easy to carry such joyful memories when you know that they only end in heartache.

He was strong even as a child – stronger then most grown men – but it was his gentle side that caught my attention. The way he would tenderly stroke the neck of his horse, the way he spoke to even the most common of men as if they were equal and the way he loved so softly, so peacefully, as if it would slip from his grasp if he held it too tight.

I always found it fascinating and could often be found sitting by my window or in the garden or wherever else that I could watch him from afar. He intrigued me, I must admit, and I soon found it hard to keep him out of my thoughts even when he was not near.

Of course, I was not the only one that was watching him. My father – the man I had loved from the very first beat of my heart but who had never spared me more then the briefest affection – kept a close eye on him too. I think I knew, even from the very beginning, how the story would end but that I refused to realise it. Not surprising considering what a tragedy it would turn out to be.

I watched over the years how my father took more and more interest in him. I did not mind it at first because the boy was astonishing enough to deserve the attention but over time I started to feel jealous. I convinced myself that it was because of my father fore why would he give such affection to a boy not even his own blood when he could not spare it on me? It was a fair argument, I thought, and I held on to it for quite some time.

It was years later that I would realise what it really meant.

My sister was a beautiful girl and grew up to be an even more beautiful woman. I loved her dearly, as she loved me, and we spent many minutes in each others company. She was my only confidant and truest friend and she is the only one to have ever felt the deeps of my heart. She knew how I felt about father, how I lived every day just to please him, and she was the one that would comfort me when he yet again turned my love away as if it was not good enough for him.

Therefore it took me by surprise the day she came to me, a smile on her angelic face, and told me about this boy – although at this point he was more of a man – that had captured her heart. She spoke of his strength, his knowledge and his fairness and above all else she spoke of how gentle he was. I smiled for her, told her how happy I was that she had found someone worthy of her affection, and then I softly excused myself before walking away.

The rapid beating of my heart, the sweat on my hands and tears I would not let fall from my eyes are things I remember even to this day. He had stolen everything from me, I thought, first my father and now my sister. He had taken their love when it was supposed to be mine and he had done it without even trying. For years I had fought to keep my place in their hearts and now he had taken it without a single fight.

And as I closed the doors to my room and sank down on my empty bed I realised that it was not only their hearts he had taken. I had not seen it before, had refused to acknowledge it before this day, but suddenly I felt it with my whole being. He had stolen my heart long ago and I knew without any doubt that he would never give it back.

It was that day that everything changed. My happy smile turned it to an empty mask and my warmth faded away leaving only coldness behind. I tried to forget about him, did every thing in my power to stay as far away from him as possible, but somehow I always found myself back where I started. Watching him.

He never realised what he did to me. He never realised how hard it was for me to be near him and not reach out a hand to gently run through his dark hair, to place my hand over his heart and feel it beating against his chest. I wished so hard for him to see me as I had always seen him but my anger at how easily he had stolen everyone's heart made me cold and foul. I wanted to tell him how my heart beat only for him but the only words I could form were those that turned him away from me. I loved him too much and too hard and he slipped from my grasp.

There was so much love going to waste and for every day that passed I could feel an empty void filling my chest. So much love around me and still none to fill my lonely heart. I resented how easily people loved him and how easily he could love them back when I was there – so close yet so far away – standing alone and unloved. I wanted what he had, what everyone gave him without him having to ask. Did I not deserve it? I, the emperors son, did I not deserve as much – if not more – then this simple man? Why was he entitled to so much and I to so little?

The years passed and my obsession with him and all that he had grew. I admit now, even if I have never done so before, that perhaps I allowed it to grow too much. But I wanted it, everything that he had, and that included my sister's heart.

But even as I admit that – as I admit my greatest sin – I want you to understand that it was never really what it appeared to be. My sister never understood the difference – mainly because I did not allow her – but my love for her was never more then the love to a sister. Perhaps it was even lesser then that. I fooled my heart in to believing that she was what I wanted because somehow that was easier to bear then to let it love him. And as long as she was mine she could never be his and in turn he could never be hers.

When my father died – I will not admit to have killed him because I only loved him – what brought tears to my eyes was not really his passing but how I had been overlooked once again. My fathers love was never mine, not even on his deathbed.

You might think that my actions after that were bizarre but my heart would not have let me done it any other way. The one I loved – the one that everyone loved – turned my hand away yet again and I was not strong enough to bear it. I told myself that if he were no longer here then all the hearts he had stolen would be returned. I prayed that mine would be one of them.

I really believed him to have been killed and I mourned for his death even as I felt my heart growing colder. I told myself that with time I would forget him and that there had not been any other way. We simply could not live in the same world.

My sister knew what I had done and she thought she knew all the reasons. How fooled she was, how naïve. She hated me even tough she tried to hide it and I did all I could to persuade myself that all I felt for her was love. I told myself that we were finally happy and I refused to acknowledge that my life was emptier then it had ever been before.

When he reappeared – so close to me that I could feel the heat from his body, smell the sweat and the blood coating his skin – it took me by surprise. My heart felt like it would explode with joy at the same time as it withered and died by the hatred that was clear in his eyes. And why should he not hate me? I had taken everything from him – his family, his home – all but for that heart that insisted to keep on beating in his chest. I had taken his life and still he refused to die.

The world fell apart around me then. I tried to hold it all together but it was like water slipping through my fingers. I saw how people plotted against me and at night, alone in the dark, I saw how my end crept nearer with every beat of my heart.

So many years of fighting, so many years of trying to deny what I truly feel and it all led to this moment. It is so silent. So serene. I stare in to his eyes and try to make him understand that it could never have ended in any other way. All the blood, all the death, all the heartache it was all destined to happen from the first moment my eyes landed on him.

I blink my eyes as the world slips out of focus and try to smile but there is not enough strength left in me for even such a small gesture. How ironic is it that I wished for so many years to be in his arms only to have it fulfilled as he stabs a knife through my throat.

Yes, there is so much love in me – so strong and passionate that it burns – and everyone knows that such passion will only lead to tragedy.

The world finally slips away from me as I die in the arms of the man I have loved for so long, Maximus Decimus Meridius,, and the one who was always meant to be the death of me.

It could not have ended in any other way.