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"The first and greatest punishment of the sinner is the conscience of sin."

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—•—

"George. Get up."

The dark haired man groaned, sitting up in his bed. Running a languid hand across his face, he opened his eyes to greet his friend.

"Good morning to you too, Karl."

Karl crossed the room, throwing open the sheer curtains, allowing blissful rays of sunlight to fill the room with golden ichor. George grumbled, snuggling back into his silk sheets, shying away from the presence of daylight.

"Why must you wake me so early?" George complained, laying a heavily dramatic hand across his forehead.

"Why must you be such a pain in my ass?" Karl retorted, skipping to the other side of the room again, this time to throw open George's expansive wardrobe.

George scoffed, pushing himself out of the warmth of his bed, trudging over to where his friend was. Karl held up two togas: a red one, with gold detailing; and a baby blue one, with whiteish-silver detailing.

"It's warm outside," Karl said, placing the red toga back into the wardrobe. "Therefore, the blue toga would be appropriate."

"Only you can match colours to the weather." George scoffed for the second time that morning, stepping onto a nearby pedestal.

Karl began to alter the toga on George's body, clipping a large, spherical sapphire onto his shoulder to secure the fabric. Once finished, Karl threw a pair of sandals at George, and laughed.

"I could have you executed for that." George muttered, sitting on the pedestal to pull on his sandals.

Karl hummed. "You could, but you won't."

George got to his feet. "Don't test your luck."

Karl snorted, walking back over to George and handing the dark haired man a laurel wreath of gold. "Your crown, emperor."

George snatched his crown from his friends hands bitterly. He placed it on his head, saying: "Don't call me that."

Karl grinned, admiring the handiwork of George's toga. "Apologies, domine. Shall we go?"

George, distracted with placing the delicate gold leaves on his head, whipped his eyes up. "Go where?"

"To breakfast," Karl began. "Then, this evening, several of the neighbouring ludus's have put together games for you to enjoy... in honour of your recent crowning as emperor."

George nodded stiffly, allowing Karl to exit the room. He told his friend that he would meet him in the dining room, but the young emperor needed time to think.

He had been emperor for only a few days. His ascent to the Roman throne was much awaited by the public, as his father had been a ruling tyrant, and it appeared as though George would be a fair ruler.

George shuddered. But now he had to go and watch the gladiator games. They are not games like mere sporting events.

No, these were much different.

Muscled men, glossed and gleaming with herb oils and sweat, battled each other in an arena, under the jeering cries and bloodthirsty eyes of a Roman audience. They fought each other, with sharpened and blunt weapons, with the intention to seriously maim and, in common circumstances, to kill.

They would also fight animals, wild beasts like lions and tigers, who's starved senses took in the sight of a shimmering gladiator, and closed in for a potential meal.

The games were a famed spectacle. They were often held after large military triumphs or, in this case, to welcome a new 'Roman King'.

George let out a long breath that he hadn't realised he was holding. He was to observe the games. The games were running in his honour. He had been the emperor of the great Roman Empire for less than three days, and these games were to be a celebration of his new position.

It's safe to say that George was incredibly nervous as he left his chambers, down the hall of polished marble, lined with perfectly carved statues.

But all he could do was wait for the games to begin.

—•—

"The games are tonight, and it seems you two are more than prepared."

Schlatt remarked upon viewing Dream absolutely annihilate his opponent. Dream grinned viciously as the man he had been fighting, bloodied and bruised, lay a groaning mess of punctured flesh on the loose dirt.

"You two won't be fighting each other," Schlatt told. "There are other gladiators from different ludus's coming from all over Rome."

Dream helped his opponent to his feet as Schlatt continued.

"These games are merely congratulatory entertainment for the new emperor. The next games however..."

Ah, Dream thought as his opponent struggled to stand.

The next games were set to be the biggest, most exciting spectacle in all of Italia. Gladiators from across the Roman Empire were training for this moment where only the best survived, and only the greatest succeeded.

It went on for days; days of bloodshed and violence and death. Where crowds would gather to watch men, animals and sometimes women fight each other to the death.

"This evening should be a warm up for a months time, shouldn't it, Nightmare?" Schlatt cackled, entering the arena and beckoning for his servants.

Dream grunted, watching as two servants carried his opponent out of the practise arena.

"Tonight, you'll fight in the usual arena," Schlatt said, observing Dream's agitated stance. "In a months time, you'll be fighting in the Colosseum."

"I've fought in the Colosseum before." Dream stated, swinging his training sword in front of him.

"This time is different, Nightmare." Schlatt said. "This time, our new emperor will be watching."

Dream raised an eyebrow. "Will the new emperor be watching tonight?"

Schlatt nodded. "Word is that he's looking for a bodyguard... and he's willing to pay a lot of coin."

Dream blinked, calculating Schlatts knowing smile with a pointed look.

"Are you..." Dream uttered. "Planning to sell me to the emperor?"

Schlatt laughed. "Only if you win."

"... I will win."

Schlatts laughter stopped. "True. And I hope he pays me handsomely for you."

"I've been at your Ludus for nearly eight years!" Dream exclaimed. "And you're going to—"

"—Sell you, yes." Schlatt interrupted. "Now shut up. I have another opponent for you."

—•—

"I don't need a bodyguard," George hissed, placing down his goblet of mulled wine. "Let alone some gladiator."

"You do," Karl replied earnestly. "How many times were you almost assassinated last year?"

George mumbled.

"Pardon?"

"I said," George huffed, taking an aggressive bite at a particularly large grape. "Forty-one. But that was because of my father!"

"Forty-one times! I'm going to faint!" Karl threw his head back in emphasis, chuckling to himself. "You definitely need a bodyguard."

"Okay, I understand where you are coming from. But a gladiator, Karl? Really?"

Karl nodded, swirling the rich red liquid around in his bejewelled goblet. "They're strong, fast, analytical and, well, quite handsome."

George's eyebrows shot up. "Karl!"

Karl smirked. "What? Am I wrong?"

"Well, no..." George averted eye contact for a moment, before saying: "But gladiators are also aggressive, violent, and bloodthirsty."

"Eh, I don't think they are," Karl said. "Most of them are quite calm outside of the arena."

"And how would you know that?" George shot back.

"Well, I was at a gladiator viewing yesterday—"

"—Of course you were."

"—and I was looking at all these hot men. You know, oiled up, tanned, showing off their muscles—"

"—is there a point to this story?"

"—and they were all quiet, just standing there very calmly, barely giving the crowd a second glance."

George listened to Karl. "Really?"

Karl nodded, placing a piece of cheese into his mouth. "They seemed quite... placid."

"Interesting..." George hummed. "But why were you at a gladiator viewing?"

"I was walking back from the market and they were right there... and I was curious," Karl spluttered. "There were a few that were ridiculously attractive."

"Please don't go falling in love with a gladiator." George pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as Karl laughed.

"Who said anything about love? They looked as though they could break me—"

"—Thank you, Karl!" George got to his feet, his chair scraping across the marble floor. "But I think I hear my father calling!"

"Your father is dead!" Karl called after the fleeing royal, laughing.

"Maybe it's his ghost!" George yelled back, already half way down the hall, his voice bouncing off of the walls.

—•—

Later that day, George was sat on a carved bench outside. Under the shade of a towering primeval oak, the young emperor flicked through the pages of a tattered book of poetry.

Nearby, a servant tapped gently on a sistra; it's harmonic musical tones filtering through the garden, sounding as rich as the smell of honey. The garden was alive with coloured insects and bees, fluttering and buzzing amongst themselves, hopping from flower to flower.

The warm embrace of sunlight dotted in projected circles up the emperors body, being distorted by the tree leaves. The smell of lavender and honey was sickly in the air, and George treasured the aroma with every breath he took.

"George?"

Once again, his peaceful lonesome was interrupted by Karl. His friend, and sort of advisor, shuffled along the stone pathway of the garden, approaching the emperor with rapt excitement.

"Are you alright?"

George nodded, replying simply. "I am."

Karl clasped his hands in his friends, causing George to drop the book he was reading. "Good! We must get you dressed!"

"The games are in two hours—"

"Hush!" Karl looped his arm through George's, picking up the book and leading the emperor away from the bench. "You must allow a substantial amount of time for my creative genius."

George rolled his eyes. "You literally just choose my outfit."

"Yes, and don't I do a wonderful job?"

"I suppose."

Karl held the emperors arm as they ascended the villa steps, into the gleaming interior. Once inside George's quarters, Karl got to work. Shoving the emperor atop the pedestal, the maid threw open the closet and stroked his chin.

"A special occasion like this requires gold," Karl muttered to himself, snatching two options form the depths of the closet. "So, what one do you want to wear?"

"You're giving me the choice?" George chuckled, deciding between the two options. A fully white toga, with gold ornamental detailing on the hem; or a royal blue toga, with a gold shawl and gold vines decorating the seems.

"I like the blue one." George concluded, much to Karl's happiness, who beamed at the young emperor.

"Excellent choice, domine!" Karl dressed George into the royal blue toga, once again tossing a pair of sandals haphazardly in George's direction.

George fixed the golden crown onto his head as Karl applied a smothering of kohl to the emperors eyes, and a light rouge of crushed berries to his lips and cheeks.

Karl stepped back, admiring the royal. "Gods, I'm good."

George clicked his tongue, turning to look at himself in the mirror. Karl added: "Venus has truly bestowed her beauty on you."

[: most romans spoke like this. A modern translation is basically "you look hot af" lmao]

"You flatter me." George said, stepping off of the pedestal and crossing the room, standing before his large window which overlooked the bustling city of Rome.

"Let's go see your people." Karl said, waltzing out of the room as George, a heat of nervousness prying at the edges of his mind, followed.

Tearing his eyes away from the beautiful city, the emperor walked outside and up into an awaiting litter, ready to be whisked off to the games.

The young emperor was nervous.

After all, every pair of eyes would soon be on him.

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Hey homies, this is an authors note!

• Domine - basically a respectful "sir"

• Kohl - dark eyeshadow/mascara/eyeliner which was very popular in ancient civilisations (on both men and women!)

• Games - literally just gladiator fights, etc. it's pretty gruesome but many romans loved it!

• Venus - the goddess of beauty

Also, George with eyeliner? *chefs kiss*

Until next time,

Blue :)