Chapter Text
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus all stand around a table, muttering amongst themselves as they go over the details of their plans for Rome. They crowd together, Antony writing down names on a list of paper as the other two look over his shoulder, eyes narrowed acutely.
It was a list of the Roman senators that they were going over, many of whom had black dots blotted down next to their names. A dot that marked them for death in the following days, as the men plan their reshaping of Rome.
“Is that all the men need to be killed? Do any other names need to be marked?” Antony asks, eyes scanning the page for any who may have escaped his eye the other times they’d gone down the list to add more people in. Brutus had many friends in the capital, both before and after his assassination of Antony’s Caesar, and getting rid of all of them would be difficult. Not impossible, just difficult.
Octavius speaks up, pointing at a name near the bottom of the list, “Lepidus’ brother should be killed too,” he turns, raising an eyebrow at the other man, who only takes a second to consider it.
“I agree, it makes sense-.”
Octavius leans down to point at the name, brushing against Antony’s shoulder as he does so. “Mark him down toothen, Antony.”
“-under the condition that your nephew, Publius, also dies, Mark Antony.” Publius continues gruffly, clearly not happy about the younger man interrupting his words. Octvaius has the decency to look somewhat sheepish and apologetic, being the youngest of the three he is very eager to build up his reputation further by bringing down the ‘Betrayer’s of Rome’. This is the name many of the people loyal to Caesar had started calling the men who killed him.
It definitely wasn’t the most clever, but it had a level of drama that suited the people’s tastes perfectly.
“I’ve already marked him, you don’t need to worry,” Antony speaks with a sharp edge, as he makes the dot bigger next to Publius’ name so it’s easier to see. He dips the quill in more ink before adding in a more dismissive tone, “Go fetch Caesar’s will, Lepidus. We need to go over it so we can figure out a loophole to limit the amounts given to the people.”
Lepdius' eyes narrow, as he speaks the obvious, “The will is at Caesar’s house.”
Antony doesn’t spare the man a single glance as he continues looking over the paper, checking it over once more for the umpteenth time, simply replying, “And your point is?”
When no other attempts to address it follows, he asks, “Will you still be here when I get back?”
Antony sighs a long, suffering sigh and glances at Octavius, who takes the queue to answer him, “We’ll either be here or you can meet us at the capital.”
Lepidus looks back and forth between them for a moment, hesitating only a second before grumpily turning on his heel to start his journey to Caesar’s house. If he mutter’s something about not being ‘some pompous’ dictator’s lap dog’, neither of the men seem to hear it. At least, not until he completely leaves the room, when Atony chooses to speak up.
“I swear, that man is a meathead, and he would be lucky to be considered smart enough to be a lap dog,” he speaks almost too calmly, turning to Octavius who is slightly nervous with the calculating man’s attention fully on him, “Does it really make sense for someone like him to be given a share in ruling the new world we’re creating?”
To his credit, Octavius doesn’t take the criticism of the other man lying down and instead speaks up on his behalf, “Last I checked, you thought it made sense when you suggested he be made part of our new triumvirate. Even listened to his opinions on who should be killed.”
Antony sighs again, though it’s much kinder sounding now than with Lepidus, as he places a large hand on Octavius’ shoulder, “Being so much younger, I’ll excuse your naivete. While we have honored this man, it’s mostly to have a third person to share the potential blame. He’s practically a pack mule, being ordered to carry the burden of honor until we tell him to stop. Once that’s done, I think it’d be best for him to retire to greener pastures.”
Ocatavius is struck somewhat appalled by the words, once again speaking up indignantly on the man’s behalf and his own, “You can do what you want, but no matter what you say that man is a honored soldier.”
“And he’ll die like one, honored in name only.”
“Mark Antony-” Octavius begins to protest, but Antony interrupts him before he can begin to finish his thoughts.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Lepidus is a shell of a real man when it comes down to it. He follows orders and the examples of the men before him, but that’s it. He’s an empty page that was scribbled too much on, and it’s only a matter of time before it’s crumpled up and thrown away, and I doubt you could name a single person who is going to genuinely care when that happens.”
Octavius almost turns away from the older man at that moment. He’s always deeply admired Antony, for years, but he believed as a soldier of Rome Lepidus deserved some semblance of respect too. Only, when he really thought about it, he couldn’t quite conjure up any idea of who might care about something happening to Lepidus.
Even he himself would only have the shallow grief of being a fellow human, not the mourning of a family member or friend. It was an unsettling notion to say the least. With no real argument, he resorts to petulance, “You keep your opinion then, and I’ll keep mine.”
Antony studies him for a second, before nodding in agreement and continuing on with a different topic, “Anyway, on to more important things. Brutus and Cassius are raising an army and it’s important that we have our own to meet them. Pooling our resources would be the best plan, and a council should be created so we can work on strategizing our next move.”
“That seems smart,” Octavius agrees, going from annoyed to somewhat awe struck. Being related to Caesar he had worked beside Antony many times before, but working with him as an equal was entirely different. He had heard many stories about the man’s cunning, and he was looking forward to having a front row seat. “Given the circumstances, we don’t quite know who’s genuinely a friend and who’s waiting to shove knives into our backs.”
“Exactly,” Antony agrees, wrapping an arm around the younger man shoulders in a friendly gesture, pulling him along to walk with the older man, “They called Caesar a snake, but what they forgot to take into account is that when a snake’s head is chopped off, the body can still try to strangle you.” Antony grins deviously at him in a way that makes his stomach lurch, “And I plan to do just that.”
With that they exit, Octavius too distracted to suggest they wait for or leave a note for Lepidus, and Antony having no desire to include the man any more than he had to.