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getaapologist · 4 months ago

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The Tension and the Terror...........Part I

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length in a later part)

Summary: Macrinus has plans, layers of plans on plans on plans. He brings Letha out of her cage and shows her what Rome truly is, hopeful she can help him topple an empire. What he can't plan for is the way her resolve buckles at the sight of a certain Emperor.

Warnings: None for this one.

Word Count: 2.4k

Part 1 of 15

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hi, hello, Geta had me in a chokehold as soon as he uttered "Persia" with so much sass. This diverges from the movie quite a bit, I just wanted things to turn out differently, I'm sure you can relate if you're here reading this... well. I may mention other GII characters, but most of this revolves around Geta, Caracalla, Macrinus, and our Letha. I'm hopeful that someone else can enjoy this self-indulgent and horribly historically inaccurate mess.

The din of the party echoed to a degree that was overwhelming. Ever since Letha was stolen away from her home she had never known peace and quiet. There was always something. Even when in her cell late at night, there was the squeaking of rats, hushed conversation from a few cages over, the antsy pacing and panting of hunting dogs. But that was nothing compared to the revelry unfolding before her eyes. Debauchery that would make Bacchus weep a tear of pride.

A lavish spread of delicacies from all over was laid out across long tables, the smell causing her stomach to growl uncomfortably. Wine was being poured anywhere she looked. Her throat felt dry. Men and women walked confidently through the partygoers, barely dressed, painted up, beautiful. They knew who to approach. Who to talk to. This party was like a well-oiled machine, though it’s purpose was unknown to her. Perhaps just because they could.

Letha moved her wrists, grimacing. The chained cuffs clasped around them were much too tight. It was a punishment, one Viggo saw to after she got one of her arms free the night before. She had to be pulled off by Viggo and two others after reaching out and slamming a man against the bars of her cage for commenting crudely on her possible usefulness to him.

“Behave,” Viggo frowned. He unlocked the cuffs and gathered the chains up, as if to get rid of the evidence that she was little more than a prisoner. Before she could consider taking an overindulgent senator as hostage, Macrinus strode into the foyer. He was constantly adjusting and fiddling with his bountiful robes, unwilling to let them drag on the ground as if they were precious to him. They were. He kept a watchful eye on everyone and everything.

He played at a man out of his depth, certainly with no aspirations of his own. But really, he was the most cunning man she’d ever encountered, his sights set on a far larger prize than wealth or status. But not in public. Today, Macrinus was a humble citizen of Rome who knew his place and enjoyed the games enough to make a living out of them.

Viggo departed as Macrinus approached. The elaborate necklaces and other jewelry Macrinus wore clinked together as he reached up to her shoulders, wordlessly righting the maroon dress she’d been forced to wear. She felt like she was in costume, much like him, though he was much more at home in the gilded luxury than he let on.

“Remember, nothing happens today,” he instructed, reminding her of his plans.

“I remember,” she spoke, unable to mask the disdain in her voice.

He allowed himself a small grin at her obstinate nature as he watched her carefully. “Forget being my bodyguard,” he winked, “Today, you are my consort. Play at being Hyacinthia for an evening. Wait on me. Observe.”

“Oh, I have been,” she muttered, looking around at the smiling, relaxed faces. These people were indulgent to excess. They had never experienced the horrors of their conquering horde beyond these walls. They cheered for blood but wouldn’t draw it themselves unless it was for their own political advancement. Even then, it was usually done from the shadows or by another’s hand, their only involvement being the exchange of gold. They bathed in the violence, the games they held serving as some religious rite. Imagine thinking the gods truly cared about the result of their fixed matches.

Cowards, she thought.

I don’t want you to think, Macrinus would say, a conspiratorial smile on his face.

He had moved on from her, currently chatting up the hosting senator, Thraex. She dutifully followed after him, lingering behind, waiting to be called upon, observing. There was always a plan, even when it didn’t seem like it. Some hidden motive to advance Macrinus closer to the ear of the Emperor. Well, Emperors.

Letha had seen the smaller of the two twins pass by earlier, a whole group of waiting concubines following after him, hopeful to be allowed to sit at his side, gilded in gold and little else. It was easy to see who wielded any amount of influence. Follow the flitting of pretty women and even prettier men, see whose arms they clung to, who they laughed with. She didn’t think she could do the tough job of flattering these despicable people. How they did it, motives misguided or not, she had no clue.

“Ah, she is new, Macrinus,” Thraex greeted, not addressing Letha directly. He wasn’t particularly lecherous, but he was very clearly hinting at the very thing she was just ruminating over. It filled her with revulsion. She suddenly felt for Hyacinthia if this is what she was subjected to regularly.

“Oh, yes, this is Letha,” Macrinus explained, his hand pressing into the small of her back, drawing her in closer to his side. Keeping up appearances. “This is her first party,” he grinned. She only barely resisted the urge to shudder at the implication, though she knew Macrinus’s suggestion was hollow. They had already discussed her participation. A staunch no. She was relieved when he accepted it.

“Oh, well, surely we will find time later to… connect?” Thraex spoke, his words falling out as both a question and a request, his eyes flitting over to her before focusing back on Macrinus. The very idea of it made her want to retch, to embarrass herself in front of him so he would leave her alone.

A sharp pinch at her side made her jump and she quickly coached her expression.

“She’s still so new, Thraex, I’m not sure she would be up for it, but believe me, I will find you if she still has life left in her,” Macrinus winked, earning a loud chuckle and clasping of shoulders from the pasty senator. Even though Macrinus was lying, it still left her feeling ill.

“You fit right in here, Macrinus,” Thraex praised. “I heard you were perhaps…” he shot a glance at Letha, as if maybe she shouldn’t be present for the conversation, but Macrinus readjusted his grip on her side, sending the message that she would be staying. “Well, there’s talk that you are interested in standing for election to the senate?”

Macrinus laughed, swatting at Thraex’s arm. “I barely understand an abacus, I have no aspirations of the senate.” Thraex doesn’t seem totally convinced, but before he can dig up any other pointed questions disguised as friendly banter, Macrinus initiates a pivotal part of his plan. The real reason for his being here today. “I’ve heard it’s custom for your guests to make wagers at these affairs… might we…?”

Thraex seems reluctant, but forges ahead anyway. “How large a sum did you have in mind?”

“Oh, perhaps… a thousand gold denarii?” Macrinus played at being unskilled far too well.

“Two,” Thraex interjected, hooked immediately.

“Is it truly so simple?” Macrinus smiles, releasing Letha to shake Thraex’s hand.

Letha saw the wheels turning. This man was a gambler, unable to turn down a bet. Unable to resist escalating it, thinking the windfall was just around the corner. What Macrinus would do with this senator’s money, she didn’t know yet.

“Come, let me introduce you,” Thraex insisted, leading Macrinus further into the manse, the nonexistent gold already buoying his spirits. Letha followed behind, doing her best not to get lost in the dense crowd.

There was an open area in the middle of the largest room they’d passed through yet, a gulf between the Emperors and anyone else. Thraex and Macrinus stepped into that gulf, bowing and greeting the two twin Emperors of Rome. She stayed just far back enough to not be noticed, blending in with the gathered throng. She finally set her eyes on them. The men ultimately responsible for the misery brought on her family. The real reason she had been brought to Rome in the first place. She felt the burning of Mars himself in her muscles as she fought to remain still, to resist charging over and throttling the two men. Her swift death would surely follow but it felt almost worth it.

The raised dais along the back wall contained a long plush couch. The copper-haired man she’d seen in passing earlier lounged comfortably on the right half of it, his thick red and gold robes burying his slight form. The lion’s share of the senator’s concubines laid out around him, some on the floor in front, others kneeling behind, all awaiting an opportunity to be called upon, perhaps wishing they could be whisked away from here and taken to the palace. A small monkey sat on the shoulder of a boy, its chirps echoing off the vaulted ceiling. From what Macrinus had told her, she assumed this was Caracalla. Smaller, almost child-like in comparison, he had a youthful, soft face with piercing blue eyes that seemed a bit troubled.

Letha had a hard time rationalizing his appearance with the harrowing violence unleashed at his order. Macrinus called him bloodthirsty. His attention seemed scattered, bright eyes moving over the room, chasing the loudest of the sounds and conversation. He didn’t speak much to Macrinus and Thraex, leaving formality to his brother. He might’ve been too impaired to reliably converse. Occasionally his flighty glances slid into an almost blissful smile as something amused him. His entirely-too-comfortable position didn’t seem to bother his brother in the slightest, though they couldn’t have appeared more different from each other.

His brother. Geta. The more dangerous of the twins. Less prone to deadly outbursts, more reasonable, collected. His wavy hair was more maintained than his brother’s. Though identical in color, that seemed to be the only feature they shared. The way he was dressed contrasted with his brother, the gilded laurel crown he wore made of silver as opposed to gold. It brought out his pale skin and made his eyes seem darker, almost black. He wore dark reddish paint in a fine line around his large, inquisitive eyes. There were many rings on his fingers, deep earthen toned stones embedded in each one. He wore silver and black robes in opposition to his brother’s warmer tones.

Letha was left with one uncomfortable thought as her eyes rose from the elaborate robes covering his shoulders, travelling up the expanse of his neck to pause on his jaw. He was beautiful. The reality of it settled like a stone in her gut.

As she continued her appraisal, noting the shape of his soft, pink lips as he offered the two men before him a warm smile, she wondered if she was making a grave mistake. She couldn’t do this. To have confessed her desire to strike the Emperors from history to Macrinus was the worst thing she’d done up to now. The weight of Macrinus’s hopes and dreams for himself was almost heavier than her own personal loss. The idea of that hurt too. Surely she would fail at this, just like she’d failed at protecting her family.

No. This is your purpose. What other reason is there to keep living?

As if he heard her thinking about him too loudly, his eyes darted over to her, sending her reeling. His gaze could cut through marble all on its own. She very nearly fell back into those standing behind her. It took her far longer than she would’ve liked to recover, finally averting her eyes from Emperor Geta. Macrinus had instructed her to observe, but she was confident this wasn’t what he had in mind. Thankfully, if her staring had irked the Emperor, he did not mention it.

“Yes, thank you, your majesties,” Macrinus smiled, bowing low again. He moved to take his place beside Geta and Letha followed, offering up a miniscule bow in her haste to move back out of sight.

From behind Macrinus she watched the woman perched on the arm of the couch beside Geta. Her smile was radiant as Geta’s ringed fingers gripped her hand, keeping her touch close. Her clothing was more of a suggestion than anything substantial, and Letha couldn’t blame the emperor for picking her out specifically. She was lovely.

“Do not lose control of your fury now, Letha,” Macrinus warned quietly, mistaking her affected state for an itch to spill their blood. She felt like her own thoughts had turned traitorous. “We are just getting started.”

If he knew what dark secrets she was burying down deep, she was sure he would’ve handed her back to Viggo to be locked up indefinitely, never to be thought of again. She felt pathetic, weak-willed. The purpose guiding her through the worst period of her life, her revenge, the tether of it was just beginning to fray now that she was confronted with her quarry. For all Geta’s beauty, he was still a monster. They both were. She held firm to that, repeating it in her head like a mantra. She willed it to ring true. She would repeat it until it did.

Viggo walked into the room, leading one of Macrinus’s gladiators into the open space before the emperors. Another larger man was led in bearing chains as well, probably Thraex’s competitor.

Letha could detect a heightened sense of anticipation spread out into the room as the two men were unchained, much like she had been earlier. She could feel the itch at her wrists and resisted touching the tender skin so as to not draw attention to it.

“This is your gladiator, Macrinus?” Geta questioned softly, leaning over the lap of the woman at his side to look up at Macrinus.

“Yes, your majesty,” Macrinus answered, focused on another of his many plots and plans. So focused, that he didn’t see Geta’s eyes flit over to Letha. She felt a jolt, a bolt of lightning travelling down her spine, struck down from Jupiter himself. Geta’s lips parted as if to speak, but the shout of his brother made him turn back around. Letha let out a breath and a revelation came with it.

The difficulty of her task no longer lied in overpowering either of the two emperors, or slipping past guards. It lay in the heat slowly churning within her at the sight of Geta. A weakness, one she didn’t know she had until he was in front of her, looking at her like that.

[ Part II ]

#Emperor Geta x reader #Emperor Geta x OFC #I hope you like it #I can take criticism well too so I'd love to hear anything at all #emperor geta #gladiator II x reader #okay but is that gif in like 8k quality?! I'm screaming over here. It's going to be my undoing.

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