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- You were Commodus childhood friend, you had grown together in the corridors of the palace, despite different ranks, you were a freedwoman after all. But the little heir had never cared, for he only wanted a playmate to flee away from his instructors and he had no sister of his age, only brothers and to be with a girl was nice sometimes.
- You and Commodus were very close, you watched him grow in a fine young man but terribly tormented, his father was an inattentive father, too focused on the matters of the Empire and the wars to bother with the fluctuating emotions of his little boy.
- You supported Commodus on those moments, particularly when he failed a teaching from his father and felt once again unworthy of any attention, unloved. Or when he ran away from his professors to play sword with slaves or spread mischief. You saw him feel better when he did that, so you kept him company and kept an eye around to warn him if an adult was approaching. Some day you would even manage to sneak out of the palace for a ride. Making Commodus smile had become your daily goal as a child.
- Even if your support meant a lot for him, he always wanted his father, his father’s love, approval. At least, your presence would help him to keep his head out of the water.
- As child, he soon, learned to hide himself when he was tormented, instead of seeking comfort, of confiding in somebody. He would stay as much as possible in his bedroom, curtains closed, a small oil lamp for only light. Curved into a ball in his bed and enable to sleep because of nightmares or you would find him praying by his little Lararium, his shrine where he had a little statue of his hero Hercules but also his deceased uncle, mother and twin.
- As he grew up and became a teenager, and then a young man, he felt slightly more confident because his father took him to the battle field and made him take part in his work, he was proud and eager to make his father proud when it will be his turn to reign over the world.
- But then, Marcus Aurelius broke all his hopes, taking from him what he had been raised to do, instead handing the empire to a soldier who only knew how to kill, nothing about laws or economics like him. His terrible insecurities surged back and led to an even worse event, Commodus, the son, had been wounded deeply and forever.
- In public, he would always wear his mask of Emperor, unshakeable, and focused on his duty. But he couldn’t fool you, at least his eyes that in those moments could bear so much sadness and melancholia.
- You would never leave his side, and he knew it. Sometimes he would burst into your room, escorted by two pretorians who closed the doors behind him, his mask would fall apart in a matter of seconds. You would feel his anxiety, as he shifted his weight on his other leg, his fists clenched, he would tell you what good things he had done today, then looking at you expectantly, pain in his eyes as if you always disapproved of his choices and actions, desperately waiting for your approval and reward.
- You would instantly get up, approaching him, brushing you hand against his “Commodus. You have nothing to prove to me, you are a great Emperor. The people love you, you have stopped the wars, you give them games, bread and so much more! You are worthy of the gods and of your father!” he wasn’t Marcus Aurelius but that didn’t mean he was a terrible Emperor. Only the conspirators, jealous, and senators holding to their privileges spread disorder and false rumors to damage his reign.
- He wouldn’t answer and would throw his arms around you, holding you tightly against him as he cried in your neck, unrestrained sobs muffled against your skin and his tears wetting your tunic. Only with you, he could let go and be vulnerable without fear. He felt understood and cared for. He would stay in your arms until the tears stopped and only then, he would start talking, about his fears and terrors and you would listen to him and do your best to sooth him.
- You would indeed encourage him to share what he has inside, because he would keep a lot , too much inside, which would increase his anxiety and make him paranoid to the point he would retreat for weeks and even months in a villa in the countryside, leaving power to others and keeping himself locked up in his safe and idyllic bubble.
- Still, you would have to wait for him to come to you, when he felt ready. Because when you would come to him, he would usually send you away, coldly. Even if you knew it wasn’t against you, his mind was just in a dark place sometimes and he could get far of your reach.
- With time, he would trust you more and more, and let his guard down more easily with you. You would be essential to his life like air to breathe and he always would take you anywhere he went, his hand reaching for yours, even in public. If he could take you to his sessions to the Senate, he would.
- He would be very clingy with you, even requesting that you sat on his lap as he worked at his desk. And you would accept with great pleasure, it was better than to be by yourself or with other nobles anyway.
- And again, with time, he would let tears free as he joined you in bed, you would entangle your legs with his, bringing the sheet up to his chin, and stroke his face, your thumb stroking his trembling lips while you kissed away his tears. Slowly, he would calm down, distancing himself from what upset him. And instead he would focus on your touch, your calm breathing and soothing words. Soon, he would feel sleepy, exhaustion getting the best of him, he would keep his eyes tightly wrapped around you the whole night. As long as he had you, he would keep fighting and offer you the world.