The Roman Praetorian Guard were Rome's finest and bravest fighters. They were the Roman Emperor's personal guard, and were made up of those who have proven their mettle in battle. The Guard has stood against many would be assassins and many more barbarian warriors. With their discipline and courage, they faced every enemy with gusto and fury. No guard was without blood on their sword, they said. The time they had traveled back from the land known as Parthia was no different. The guards lost count of how many times they were attacked. None of them expected to be able to just travel back to Rome with the body of their beloved Emperor without a fight, but it was getting a little ridiculous. They would be attacked at least twice a day, but no matter how many insurgents came, they were always beaten back. None of the attacks proved fruitful, for the guards were too well trained, and had too much discipline to ever break ranks and retreat. Well, that was at least part of it. The Praetorian Guard always had a knack for having something special in mind for every occasion. That special thing was Maximus.

When the barbarian horde charged once again as they had before, the Roman Guard stood firm as they saw their enemy charge from the bushes around their formation. The desert foliage concealed the Parthians well enough at a distance, but when they were just twenty-five yards away, they were spotted by one of the soldiers.

The Romans stood firm as the curved swords of their enemy were gleaming in the sunlight. Their polished armor shown with the intensity of the sun. They sprinted towards the Roman line with reckless abandon. Most soldiers would falter and panic, but the Praetorian Guard was well trained and battle hardened. They were ready for whatever the barbarians could throw at them. After they got close, the Parthians wished they could say the same.

The barbarian insurgents saw the line of the Romans open, and so they adapted accordingly. They soon found that this wasn't some sort of tactical maneuver. No. They were merely making headway. For out from the line stepped another Roman soldier. He was not unlike the rest of the army, but they soon found out why this one was above all the most terrifying of the entire Empire.

With a shout that could stop a rhino in its tracks, the soldier charged forward. His gladius was being pumped along with his arms to give him momentum. The guard charged headlong into the fray with not so much a blink of his enraged eyes. The line of Parthians was now met with feet of the charging man as he sprang off the ground and planted both feet into the chest of his enemy. Three men, charging behind one another, fell like dominoes under the weight of the kick.

The charging guard hit the ground but as if he was made from a spring, he shot up and hacked wildly. His sword caught an insurgent in the face as he fought against the advancing horde. The Praetorian's anger, mixed with his skill, made him into one of the fiercest fighters ever to be seen by this group of barbarians. The Roman ducked left under a curved sword and blocked another as he rose to his right. He used the handle of his gladius to guide the weapon more right and then brought his fist up to catch his opponent in an uppercut. The Praetorian pressed his offensive left towards his first attacker and brought a meaty leg up to kick his opponent in the side and send his reeling as three ribs cracked. The gladius, thirsty for blood, found its drink when the second man was dealt a fatal wound to the heart. The other man was given a similar wound.

The Roman charged further into the line. His short sword was perfect for this type of combat and he wasted no time in proving it. The ranks of the Parthians were more tightly knit than they were before, but even that wasn't enough to ward off the thrusts of a sharpened, Roman sword. The guard stuck one insurgent in the gut with his blade, but when he tried to pull it out, it was stuck. He didn't have much time to free it though, for he was soon under attack from both sides by two Parthians. He saw that both men held their swords high, so with quick thinking, the guard tucked his shoulder down and rammed himself into one of the men and with a mighty heave, he brought the Parthian over his shoulder and let the man fall behind him and be impaled by his brother's sword as he came in a downward strike to soon. Now defenseless, the Parthian resorted to using his hands to combat his foe. The Parthian swung with a left hook, but the Roman was fast and blocked his strike and planted his own into the man's face. Blood rifled out of the man's mouth and nose as he was sent flying back from the guard's hit. The insurgent doubled over in pain and grabbed his face tenderly as he howled in agony. The Roman wasted no time in retrieving his sword from the dead Parthian's gut and then cloths lining a charging enemy and then finishing him off with a thrust to his throat. Nothing seemed to be stopping this Roman. Three more men died at his hands when he charged in and swung his sword and caught a man in the neck and then kept the momentum up until he had cleaved through another head and then into the face of another.

Across the battlefield, the leader of the attack could not believe what he was bearing witness to. One Roman was already cleaving his way into his men before his forces even met the main line. And that wasn't even close to faltering. Even though his forces were smashing into it with all their might. His force was being wiped out by an enemy he couldn't defeat. Especially when a monster of a fighter like that was leading the charge. Was this a half barbarian monster that the Roman gods have sent? Had the Roman's developed some sort of drug to give their men and this was the one they were testing it on? Whatever the cause for this, it had to be ended. He couldn't allow them to go another mile. For if they did, he could press his attacks no further. For he would then have to deal with his neighbors to the North and West. That fight was better left to the Romans. They could afford to lose a couple hundred more men. The Parthian commander ordered his second to blow a horn and sound a retreat. This battle was pointless. His men advanced too quickly and they should have just fled when they had been spotted. He believed his men could win the day, but that all changed when that soldier ripped through them. He was still over there fighting like a lion and chasing his men like they were prey when they were given the order to retreat. He only stopped when he was given the order to regroup with his men. As he stepped towards the line of red shields, they all hailed his name.

"Maximus!"

The guard stopped in his tracks and hailed to his commander. The man in adorned armor gave Maximus a smile and put his hand on his shoulder. "You never cease to impress, Maximus. You make your father proud. You make Rome proud." The commander turned to the rest of the guard. "Move forward, men! Rome awaits!"

The guards all faced right and then went forward. Maximus stood proudly by the commander's side in the march. This was his place, and he enjoyed every minute of it. He needed to be placed in a spot such as this. He had always needed to guard someone or something, and this was now his place since the death of the Emperor. That thought in itself was a heavy burden to bear. The Emperor had always been a close friend of his father, for he held the same position that Maximus now holds. So, naturally, Maximus also became good friends with the Emperor. He had served the man faithfully for six years in his personal guard, and he was even made out to be Trajan's favorite guard. He was like a son to him. Maximus and Trajan were so close that at one point, Maximus' own father broke down into tears when he realized that a busy Emperor was closer to his son than he was. Maximus, ever the noble of heart, was quick to assure his dad that only he was his one and true father. The guard had risen so high and come so close to the Emperor, that at the sight of his body, Maximus wept for hours and was inconsolable for days after. No one, not even the other generals, had greater feelings of woe than Maximus. Now, without an Emperor, Maximus serves a corpse. A personification in his own mind of what will befall Rome without his leadership.
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Rome. One would definitely enjoy Rome. That is, if one's soul was more boisterous and rowdy. Rome was a fast paced city, and it stood on the back bone of wealth and dominance. Every Roman had a heart and soul for conquest. Whither it was in business or over some personal force, Rome was a place for leaders and conquers, not weak people with no ambition. Fine tunics graced the shoulders of many wealthy people, and fine food lay on their tables. Although similar in taste, if one looks passed the all the flash and flair, Rome was the city of all cities and made doubly sure to proclaim that to the rest of the world. Whither through the strength of its arms, or the strength of its wealth and prestige. Rome was the city that the gods themselves deemed worthy to rule over the known world.

Every city, no matter how perfect, was not without its sins. No one was safe from the allures of the vices of Rome. Taverns dotted the city's corners, and upon those corners, women of little virtue stood waiting for the next man to come along and pay for a night of fun. Gambling was a way for lucky, or sneaky, men to make double the wage they had made while on the streets selling goods, or out on campaign. One could go home a well off man with the money he could make from gambling. On the other hand, he could also end up in severe debt.

Every Roman had their share of sin and vice. That is, unless that Roman was named Maximus. The dark haired and stone cut face of that man was never caught, even passed out tired, in any place such as that. No. Instead of going out drinking, he spent his hours praying before the Roman gods. He chose to spend his time, if not in training, praying for the souls of the soldiers that had been slain on the battlefield to, Sol Invictus, the god of soldiers. He prayed that they would be rewarded in death for their service to the Empire and would be given a hero's welcome home, and be graced with final rest. It was at this time that he would be on his knees and praying, but would be naked, as to have nothing to hide from the gods. He pleaded with Sol Invictus for this every time he returned. It wasn't long before the other soldiers found out about what he did. No one had any sort of problem with it, but others sort of poked fun at him because it just wasn't their way. No one meant any harm by their jokes. They just needed an outlet for their fun and they chose Maximus and his rituals. The Guard himself only cared for what he did. He knew his fellow guard members were just making fun, so why would he get mad at them?

Maximus, naked and down on his knees before a gleaming sword and helmet on an alter with a copper bowl with fine oil burning like a beacon to the heavens, prayed to the god, Sol Invictus, for his mercy upon the souls of his brothers. With his arms outstretched and his eyes focused upward to the marble ceiling of his chambers, he prayed.

"Dear Sol Invictus, mighty god of my fathers and brothers, god of soldiers and warriors, please hear my prayers." He folded his arms into his chest and averted his eyes to the flames in the copper bowl before him. "Please, allow my brothers in arms rest in the afterlife. Let them taste of sweet wine and fine food. Let their heroism be rewarded, as they have served Rome in your name, and have died for the glory of the same. I pray to you, Sol Invictus, that you grant the soldiers of Rome that have been slain in battle, a fitting rest for eternity among the gods, and beside you. I only ask as your humble servant and cry out to you, not for myself, but for the souls of my brothers and forefathers who have done your will."

Maximus then took his dagger, and placed the blade's tip against his finger. He pressed the steel into his flesh and drew blood. He squeezed out as many drops as he had counted the weeks out on campaign over the flames. When his ceremony was complete, Maximus cleaned his blade and finger with a white cloth and burned it in the flame. He rose to his feet and collected his helmet and sword.

He placed them gingerly on the mannequin that resembled a torso and head. The armor was neatly polished and repaired. Though some blemishes on his armor were too hard to be removed, the armor still always looked nice. Due to no small part of Maximus' constant care. He smiled as he reveled in the memories of receiving the armor when he had become a Praetorian. A crowning moment in his life.

Maximus jolted suddenly when he heard the creak of his door opening. He drew his sword from its scabbard and presented the point to the intruder. The steel edge singing in joy that it would taste blood. The blade would have shed a tear if it could when it felt itself being lowered to hip level. Maximus breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the face of the commander of the Praetorian Guard come through the threshold. Vicinitus was wearing his toga this night instead of his armor that Maximus was used to.

"Maximus." Commander Vicinitus greeted.

The Roman underling hailed his commander. "Hail, commander!"

"Please, Maximus." Vicinitus bade as he pressed the air in front of him with his hands. "Be calm. We are not in ranks."

"It is a pleasure that you grace my father's house this night, commander." Maximus stated. "I only wish I would have known of your coming. I would have prepared a meal for you."

"As I have said, Maximus, this is an unofficial meeting. It is I who should be more respectful. I am intruding on your prayer ceremony, after all." The commander took note of the fire still burning in the middle of the room.

"There is no intrusion. I have just finished my prayers for the night." Maximus bade his officer to enter into his chamber. The officer happily obliged. The guard put on his undergarments and tunic as his commander stepped further into the room. His sandals making a small tap with each foot fall.

"What brings you here this night?" Maximus asked as the two took a seat next to the other.

"Like I said, Maximus, this is an unofficial visit." Vicinitus answered in a sigh. "I am here under my own initiative, and this is all off the scrolls."

Maximus' eyes scanned the man before him. His eyes were pale looking, and he seemed to be sweating. His facial expression also spoke volumes. This visit was weighing heavier on Vicinitus' shoulders than he was letting on. "What's going on, commander?" Maximus questioned with a stern tone that made it clear he wanted an answer.

Vicinitus just stared at the young man for a while. His visage was set like stone. Worry and sadness plagued the man, that much was certain. But what was it that made him feel this way? The answer was clear when the commander reached into his tunic and produced his dagger from under his tunic. He set it down in his lap with his hand still loosely on the grip.

Maximus received all he needed to know from this. After all of his training. After all of his years of service. After all of his prayer. He was to die before he saw twenty-seven.

"Maximus." Vicinitus choked. "The reason I came here is because a new Emperor has been crowned. Emperor Hadrian. And he has ordered that you be executed."

"Why?" Maximus asked in confusion. "I have served Rome faithfully and I have served the Emperor since my birth. Why would he want me dead?"

"For the simple fact that he believes that you will not serve him." Vicinitus answered. "He believes that if you survive you will one day become more influential than you already are and take the throne of Rome."

"Does this man not know who I am?" Maximus asked incredulously. "Does he not understand the oath that I took when, not only I became a legionnaire, but also a Praetorian Guard?"

"I have told every bit of your story to this man." the commander explained. "And as I spoke he became more and more angry. He saw the valor you have, and the leadership you possess. It was enough to make me worry at one point that you might take my position one day. But it also filled me full of hope that one day you would take my position. Hope for a better future for the Roman Army under the command of someone so capable. Everyone else in my staff saw this as well. And their eyes lit up when they realized that you were the answers to our prayers. That a good soldier would become Emperor one day. We thought that was you. Hadrian fears that it is you."

"So, it is out of fear that he might lose his power that Emperor Hadrian orders that I am to be executed?" Maximus spat.

"Yes." Vicinitus sighed.

"So, you came here to carry out the Emperor's orders then?" Maximus looked at the dagger in the man's lap.

"No." the officer said. "I am here to grant you mercy. Emperor Hadrian wishes that your name be slandered and then have you stoned and beheaded. I am here to end your life with dignity. For you know that there is no escaping the Emperor's grip. At least for long."

Maximus stared at the man across from him for a very long time. He knew that his words were true and that he would not get to Ravenna before the Empire would catch him. Plus, he knew that he could not stomach the thought of running away and hiding. He was a proud soldier and he would die that way. Maximus took in a breath and then let it out slowly. He then rose from his seat and drew his sword from its scabbard again. He knelt down in front of the oil bowl in the middle of the chamber and rested his hands upon the pommel.

"If I am to die tonight," Maximus said. "then I wish to die as I have lived. Like a soldier and a servant to the god, Sol Invictus."

Vicinitus rose from his seat and put himself behind Maximus. He put his hands on his shoulders and began to quietly sob. He didn't want to do this. It was wrong of the Emperor to do this to a man such as this. This wasn't right! It wasn't just!

"Vicinitus." Maximus said. Even from behind him, the officer felt the warmth of his smile. He gave his commander his sword. "Make it clean." His words had struck the commander cold. He not only was willing, but he was happy.

"Maximus?" the commander choked.

"Do not weep for me, Vicinitus." Maximus ordered. "Sol Invictus calls my name. It is time for me leave Rome for good. I do not blame you for what you are doing. Better someone like you who loves me to do this, rather than someone who only cares to please his Emperor. I have run my course. It is time for me to join my father and mother." With tears in his eyes and with a lump in his throat, the general took the sword and held it downward. He lined it up with Maximus' spine and with a breath to steady himself.

"And one more thing, commander." Maximus said. "Make sure to tell the men a lie of how I died. For if we lose faith in our Emperor, we lose faith in Rome. Better my death be a secret to protect the Emperor, than to have it be the truth that destroys the empire."

He couldn't believe this! Even in this hour of betrayal and doom, Maximus was still willing to serve the Empire. Such devotion should be honored. And honor it, he will. Vicinitus steadied himself once more, and as soon as he let the last wisp of air leave his lungs he thrusted the sword down into Maximus' vertebrate and into his heart. The blade was buried up to the hilt when the deed was done. Small trickles of blood could not be seen running down Maximus' red tunic. His breath no longer came, and his consciousness had long since left. However, in the position that he first spoke to Sol Invictus, Maximus died on his knees and held the position that he had when he still lived. With arms folded, and head down, Maximus died in prayer.

General Vicinitus held Maximus by the shoulders and kissed the top of his head. He had ended the life of one of his greatest soldiers, yet even in death, Maximus still believed that his god was with him, and still cared for Rome. The commander set Maximus on his back and saw, that the only thing gone from his face was color. The blue eyes of the soldier were still there, and he, even at his end, still had a faint smile upon his face. Maximus had died in peace. Vicinitus knew that he had just lost a dear friend, but even though he would no longer be with him, the general knew that a spirit like Maximus' never truly dies.
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A candle in a small chamber was lit. It's light glowed brightly in the darkness of the room. Behind the candle was a painting of a woman with auburn hair wearing a shirt of white. Her smile was warm and inviting. If one looked deep enough, they would see a creative spark in her eyes.

Before the picture another female stood before the small shrine. Her multi-colored hair waved in a breeze that did not grace the room, and she wore only a white, silken, sleeveless gown. She knelt down before the portrait, and with eyes fixed upon the painting, she said.

"Dear Faust, creator of this world, hear my prayers. I have asked much from you in ways of guidance and wisdom, but this time I ask something of you that I am truly desperate for. My student Twilight, as you have guided me to do, has been crowned a princess. However, it has come to my attention that there are those who do not wish to see her in power. I have faith in my student, but I don't think she will last without your help. She is strong and wise, but those who wish to see her dethroned will not be satisfied by seeing her abdicate her position, but they wish to see her end. I can only do so much for Twilight, and I fear that what I can will not be enough. I ask this of you, not for myself, but for the sake of my dear Twilight Sparkle. Please, Faust, send your aid to Twilight. Give her protection from her enemies, and help keep her safe."

From behind the kneeling woman, another body crouched down next her side. "Sister?" a feminine voice rang with concern. "Art thou of sound mind?" The voice's owner placed a hand on the praying woman's shoulder.

Princess Celestia turned her now tear streaked face toward her sister, Princess Luna. Her lips quivering, and her eyes becoming soaked with tears. "How many more will try to kill her?" She choked. "How much hate can these people have for someone who has done nothing less than sacrifice herself for the good of a nation, by risking her own life, along with those of her friends, to save those who now wish to betray her."

Luna pulled her sister in for a warm embrace. She cradled her older sister's head in her breast and kissed her on the head. Celestia was a strong leader, and wise woman. However, it is because she sat so high is the reason that she is like this. Being up at that level means she had a very long way to fall. Both ruling sisters, even with all their magic and influence, cannot control the one thing that is the cause of all this strife.

The lust for power.

Even with all their strength, Celestia and Luna could never stave off, at least for long, the ambition of those who have become enraged by ascension of another royal figure. It was hard enough for people to accept Cadence into the fold, but now for someone like Twilight to come to power, it made some rethink their loyalty to the sisters. And when that realization set it, it broke Celestia's heart in four.

Luna tightened her grip on her sibling by pulling her closer into her chest. Celestia's tears stained her sister's nightly blue gown. "Everything will be okay, sister." Luna assured. "Twilight is under the watchful eye of my guard. They are my most trusted protectors, and will not fail in their task of keeping your student safe."

"Thank you, Luna" Celestia sniffled. "I only hope that Faust has heard my prayers."

Luna looked to the painting in front of her. She saw that not only was the candle still burning, but it seemed to glow a little more brightly. The flame at the top of the candle seemed to be coming to life. It even started to dance.

"I believe she has, Celestia!" Luna cried. "Look!"

The older sister tore herself from Luna's chest and saw that the candle was in a frenzy. Her eyes widened when she saw that the flame started to become taller. It looked as though it was taking on a shape. Then the two sisters saw that it was starting to write something in cursive.

The sisters spoke in unison when as they saw what letters were being spelt. "R. O. M. E."

The flame stopped after the last letter and then only stayed long enough to fade into the picture and leave the word it spelt as a
burned marking on the painting.

"Rome." the sisters said together. The pair gave each other confused looks. "What's a Rome?"

The markings on the portrait were the only clue to their inquiry, for the candle had returned to its natural state as a source of light.

Author's Note

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I would enjoy the feedback.
Thank you.