princess from afar.
gladiator 2 marcus acacius x female!princess reader.
author’s note: this idea came to me like a holy vision after watching like 100 gladiator 2 trailer edits of Pedro Pascal. god save us all when that movie is finally out. it will be feral girl hours!!! also MAYBE SPOILERS??? idk be careful x
small disclaimer: so... I haven’t had the pleasure of watching the first Gladiator movie, my apologies beforehand if anything is inaccurate lore-wise! I tried to go off what I knew of Ancient Rome and take inspiration from the movie and the sequel coming out later this year. I hope you all enjoy!
summary: you are a princess from far away visiting Rome under its new Emperors. the Roman General catches your eye, and you catch his.
warnings: gladiator-like violence.
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Your visit to Rome under its new twin Emperors has been eventful.
Your father and brothers were too occupied in your homelands to go themselves, leaving you as the sole candidate. Your father assured you plenty of times prior to departure that you were a perfect choice. Well-versed in languages and histories, practised in the arts and skills of diplomacy. You already had everything you needed to make it a successful visit, and establish a favourable relationship with Rome. Initially you had been nervous, understandably, your country’s standing with the most powerful empire on the planet came down to this visit, it weighed on your shoulders. But, upon arrival, the entire court of Rome, its government and its Emperors were inexplicably fascinated with you. Whether it was your beauty, which they had never witnessed before, or your personality or talents you could not say. Upon realising the hold you had over your hosts, you played everything to your advantage.
Dinner parties, festivals, meetings, trips into the city, you did it all with a smile and impeccable appearance. You had been accompanied by some of your loyal ladies, of course, who worked their magic each and every morning to ensure a flawless appearance greeted the court of Rome. You were mastering the art of diplomacy and playing your part, it was perfect. Then came the Colosseum. You were personally invited by one of the twin Emperors, Geta, to sit by his side and watch battles of all manner take place. Intrigued, as you did not have such a thing back home, you agreed. At first, you were shocked by the barbarity of it all, but upon seeing the joy it brought the crowds of spectators and the purpose it gave the fighters… you understood that it was another moving part of Rome and her empire. So, you applauded and followed the Emperor’s lead, which he loved. He was constantly seeking your company and favour, you felt yourself walking a dangerous line of a marriage proposal should you entice him too much. Such a thing would delight your father, but you weren’t so keen on your safety if you ever married the Emperor. There was just something about these types of men that made you keep your guard up.
After a few of these battles in the Colosseum, you grew to understand the addictiveness of watching and betting and waiting to see who came out on top. Some days wild beasts were released, other days it was man against fellow man. You saw enough blood and grime and hurt to last you a lifetime, but smiled through all of it when the Emperor glanced at you, grinning wildly. You had grown used to the intricacies of the glorious gladiator battles, and attended even when Geta had not personally sought you out to extend the invitation, as he now simply expected your presence at his side. It was on one of the Colosseum days that your visit would become even more intriguing.
You arrived that day fresh-faced, hair immaturely arranged, dress clean and jewellery gleaming in the sun. You had bathed in rose petals the night before and the smell danced around you as you greeted the Emperor and took your seat next to him. He kissed your hand, making eye contact with you before turning his attention to the Colosseum. The crowds were filling their seats, rows and rows of them all packed in trying to get a favourable view of the promised entrainment. A set of heavy footsteps behind made you turn your head, and you saw a man in white and gold, a sword at his hip, enter the Emperor’s box. You stood, a feeling deep down telling you that this man was important, as he approached. You had not noticed the spare seat next to the Emperor today, you should’ve known someone else was coming. The wide-shouldered, bronze-skinned man could’ve easily been mistaken for one of Rome’s Gods, you thought, watching him greet the Emperor. Then, the Emperor gestured to you.
“The beautiful Princess from afar, General Acacius. Isn’t she a sight to behold?” The Emperor’s eyes roved up and down your dress, and you feigned embarrassment. The General took your hand and kissed it, bowing respectfully as he did.
“Princess, forgive me. I was not informed of royalty accompanying the Emperor today. Do you mind if I join you both today for the entertainment?” You smiled prettily, eyes on his.
“Please, General, I am but a guest, you are Rome’s commander. Be welcome.” He nodded, taking his seat on the other side of Emperor Geta after you had sat yourself. Your hand was tingling with excitement from where he’d held and kissed it. For such a large, muscled man, he had a gentle touch. And he was so well dressed, rivalling yourself in his white and gold. He had golden leaves woven into his hair, brunette but speckled with grey. His beard was neat, trimmed. Your eyes lingered on his nose, a masterpiece carved by the Roman Gods themselves, surely. Your breath caught in your chest and you remembered yourself, fixing your attention on the Colosseum before you.
Though you tried to not give the handsome General too much attention, you felt his eyes lingering on you all the same.
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The fights were over, the crowds appeased, the sand of the Colosseum soaked with patches of blood and a few bodies. Geta had grown bored of the day and declared a feast to be held in the evening, all should attend. He swept away, guards following, and left you in the box bowing at his exit. The General’s warm eyes met yours when Geta was gone and he half-smiled.
“I suppose you shall be in attendance tonight, Princess from afar?” He asked, one hand on his sword, the other resting atop it.
“Of course, General. Will I see you there? You must be a busy man.” You replied, walking out of the box, holding your skirts up to take the steps.
“I will make my best efforts to attend, your Grace.” He bowed as you left, watching you go. He couldn’t fathom your existence, such beauty all in one person, such grace and softness. How could any man send you this far away on your lonesome? He gripped his sword hilt before relaxing and following you up the steps.
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You took to napping that late afternoon, then gossiped away with your ladies. They had just finished embroidering a gown that your father had sent along as a gift, and insisted that you wear it to please the Emperor tonight. They knew all of the goings on within the Emperor's palace, and for that you were thankful. They took out your hair, and agreed that a looser style would suit the intimacy of the evening feast. Precious gemstones were pinned into your hair, a reminder of your status as a Princess. The gown was arranged and fastened, you wore light slippers on your feet. Once the ladies had decided on appropriate jewellery and makeup, they finished by spritzing you with fresh rose water and then escorted you to the feast themselves. They, sadly, would not be joining you but would instead be waiting for you upon your return. You thanked them for their efforts, and they waved you into the dining hall, where the court was drinking and conversing in the candlelight as the feast was brought out.
Emperor Geta spotted you immediately. You obliged him and joined him in conversation with many different nobles and members of the court, though your Italian was good, sometimes you found some words did not quite translate in your head. You nodded instead and glanced at Geta with a radiant smile and a polite laugh if appropriate. You excused yourself for food and a wine refresh, glad for a moment alone where your brain could rest from translating entire sentences. Your smile dropped for just a moment and you wandered out to a balcony for real fresh air. Elbows leaning on the immaculate stone, you sipped your wine, staring out at the night sky and wondering if your family were awake or asleep back home. Were they thinking of you? You were thinking of them, always. When would it be time to go home? You put your goblet down and sighed, realising that you had put off these homesick thoughts by throwing yourself into life here in Rome.
“Princess,” You straightened up at the sound of someone’s voice approaching from the dining hall, then smiled in slight embarrassment when you saw the General carefully making his way out onto the balcony. “Peace and quiet at last.” He smiled, taking a place next to you on the balcony. He held no wine and carried no sword this time. He had changed into less golden attire, but it still made him look like a God disguised as a human.
“General Acacius, a pleasure to see you tonight.” You curtseyed and he bowed deeply, then took your hand and kissed the back lightly. His brown eyes caught you watching him with wonder on your face. “You are well versed in the ways of nobility and court, I am pleasantly surprised.” You said, trying to fill the air between you both. There was something about how he watched you so calmly, coolly, it set your insides alight.
“When you find yourself surrounded by certain types, you adapt.” He replied, leaning on the balcony with one arm, facing you.
“Not so different from a battlefield, I suppose?” You sipped your wine, eyes meeting his. He shook his head.
“Life is a battlefield, Princess, for everyone. Do you not find all of this a constant battle?” He glanced at the rowdy dining hall. You turned and made sure Geta wasn’t staring daggers at you, but he was nowhere to be seen. The crowd had grown somehow, and the feast was almost gone. You considered it all for a moment, before answering.
“I do see how one could view it as a battlefield, but I would not see myself as a warrior.” The General’s eyes widened, he grinned.
“I see you as a warrior, Princess, a valuable warrior. Do not diminish yourself, you may not be wielding a sword above your head, but your mind is just as sharp. I have heard stories of your visit so far, they love you. I fear you will never leave.” Though he meant it as humour, the thought of never leaving made you feel sick.
“Do you think I will ever go home?” You asked, suddenly desperate to hear someone say it. He searched your face, standing tall.
“Of course. You have a family awaiting your return, do you not?” The General’s hands folded before him. You nodded. “Who awaits you in your faraway land, Princess?” He asked, softly. You smiled at the stars.
“My father and brothers, General. You would enjoy them, if they ever visit.” The General stepped closer, admiring your little smile as you spoke of your family. His big hands took your wine from you and set it down. “He won’t keep me here will he?” You asked in a whisper, almost too scared to say it aloud. General Acacius studied your features for a heartbeat, then another. He could see the sadness hidden deep in your eyes, something many had never noticed in your time here. He saw the falter of your smile at the corner of your lips, even if for a moment. He had only met you hours before, but he found himself growing fond of you, the idea of you staying, but he knew it would only deepen your sadness.
“No, he is obsessive at times, but he will let you go. Your father would cross the seas for you, would he not, if you did not return?” You nodded and a little tear escaped your tired eyes. You wiped at it quickly, taking your wine from the General with a smile. You finished it and sighed.
“I think I shall retire for the evening, we are due back in the Colosseum tomorrow, are we not?” He stepped back, giving you space, and bowed. You curtseyed back, and he watched you reenter the dining hall. You slipped through the high energy crowd, making small apologies and nodding politely when they noticed you. Acacius wished he had told you to call him Marcus, he would tell you tomorrow, at the Colosseum.
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You took the long way back to your rooms, meandering around corners and admiring the architecture. You had so much to tell your father and brothers when you got back, you were hoping you remembered it all. Maybe writing it down somewhere would help empty your mind of all these thoughts of home? You saw your room at last, and slipped off your satin sippers. Picking them up, you heard a scuffle down the hallway. It was all darkness beyond your door, shadows seemed to move up there… No, it was the wine talking. You slowly stood, shoes in hand, hand to your head. Maybe forgoing wine in the future would be wise. You lay one hand on the door to open it, but felt the floor go out from under you, your weight was flung over and you were resting on someone’s shoulder. They started to run away from your door, so you screamed. You dropped your slippers as your kidnapper turned a corner, you heard your door open and your ladies' voices.
“Help me!” You called out again, before pairs of light, fast footsteps began following your screams. You struggled to free yourself from the grip of the person carrying you, they were turning corners and taking passageways you had never seen before. You kept screaming, but your ladies couldn’t catch up. They lost you, calling out your name and crying. You were thrown from the shoulder of your kidnapper to the floor, it was dark and dim down here in the bowels of the Emperor’s palace, the night air was cool. You felt your elbows gaze against tiles. Your kidnapper bent down, forcing a rag over your face, you struggled, nails digging into their wrist but with one inhale you lost all control of yourself and went dark.
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Sunlight streaming in on your face woke you up. It was bright, hot, you felt dry and sick. Pushing yourself up, you saw that you were chained in a cell, and could hear crowds roaring outside. Your head rolled, but finally steadied itself against the stone wall behind you. Your eyes were adjusting to daylight, you felt awful. You had just begun to recall the events of the night before when the sound of your cell unlocking and the appearance of a gladiator caught your attention.
“Good afternoon Princess. Ready for your grand entrance?” He smirked, hauling you up by your shoulder and forcing you to walk out of the cell. He steered you through small passageways, dimly lit except for stray rays of sunlight, you passed other cells with men chained up in corners. Your heart dropped, you were underneath the Colosseum. Was this the Emperor’s doing? Had he ordered you kidnapped for leaving the feast early without his permission? Had the General feigned friendliness only to arrange your kidnapping last night? You came to a room where all light was blocked by a gate, weapons were carelessly discarded, armour too. “Drink this, we can’t have you giving a bad performance for your Emperor.” Water was tipped down your throat, it spilt over your lips and down your neck, onto your dress.
“Did he order this?” You demanded, finding your voice. The gladiator’s eyes were dark, evil. He looked you up and down before speaking.
“No, it’s our little surprise to him, so put on a good show for us, Princess.” He approached the gate and banged with his fist three times, you heard the sound of hinges creaking, and sunlight filled the room. The gladiator hauled you up the slope and out into the very Colosseum you had been presiding over yesterday. The crowds were cheering wildly, unaware of who had just entered their arena. The gate slammed shut behind you, and you turned around, banging on it with chained fists.
“I have no quarrel with yourselves, or the Emperor, let me out of here at once!” You shouted, back to the gate. No voice came from the other side, your heart sank again. Hands chained and head on a swivel, you ran out to the centre of the Colosseum, hoping, praying that the Emperor would recognise you and order you saved.
You saw Geta stand, leaning over the Emperor’s box, then he started shouting. Movement in his box gave you a glimmer of hope that someone was coming to get you out of here alive. But then, the gates behind you opened again, and a stream of armoured men ran out, banging their armour and showing off their weapons. The crowd went berserk. You fell to your knees, realising your fate, and kept your eyes trained on the Emperor’s box. You thought of your father’s face when he was told the news by a prim and powdered envoy from Rome that his daughter had been slaughtered in the Colosseum. You prayed for good lives for your brothers, that they raise strong families that look after your homeland. The tears had started and you couldn’t stop them. You were hauled from your knees, your dress ripping and forced to stand.
“The Princess from afar will die for your entertainment today!” One of the gladiators yelled, displaying you to the crowds. Their cheers died down, and a ripple of confusion passed through them. You were released, and encircled by a half a dozen armoured gladiators with bloodthirsty expressions on their grimy, unshaven faces.
“You gain nothing from my murder, gladiator.” You spat, the anger beginning to take over. They laughed and brandished weapons of all manner. Swords, nets, daggers, tridents. “How can any of you stand there and murder a defenceless, chained woman, in full armour with sharp weapons in your hands? Have you no honour, no bravery? You fear a woman so greatly she must be killed in chains and unarmed? Cowards, all of you, a disgrace to your brothers!” You yelled, hoping that the words would buy you time. A few of the gladiators seemed uneasy as you spoke. Then, one strode forward, grabbed your chains and used his sword to shatter the link. Still cuffed, but now free to move your hands, he backed away, eyes on yours. “There is one brave enough to approach amongst you, at least.” You shook your hands and let the chains fall to your bare feet, burning in the sand.
A beat of hesitation from the others passed, before one gave in and ran at you, roaring. He held a long sword above his head, clad in armour, taller and broader than you. All you could see was one of your brothers charging at you with their wood practice swords as children, pretending to spear you rather than save you. You stood there, ready to greet death without the satisfaction of screaming or wailing, but at the very last moment you threw yourself aside and he missed. The crowd went up in a frenzy. His sword struck the sand and he looked over his shoulder at you, eyes tearing into yours.
Maybe you had decided not to die here.
He ran again, and you did the same, but you knew these gladiators were wise in strategy and learned their opponents' ways fast. He started swinging his sword at you, giving you little time to move out of the way, he caught your upper arms or dress where you were too slow, drawing thin lines of blood across your skin. Seeing the red made him hungry for more, and he did not relent in his attacks. You used the metal cuffs on your wrists to stop his sword taking your head off of your neck, and he grunted in anger, stepping back. The crowd were in uproar. He twirled his sword in his hand, idly, thinking as he surveyed you. You spotted a shorter sword sheathed on his hip, it would be madness to try and take it, he’d surely kill you at that distance, but you needed a weapon. You stood no chance of making it out alive or surviving until rescue if you had no weapon, you could only dodge and weave for so long, the other gladiators would be fiercer, more brutal, they were building up their stamina minute by minute.
The long sword narrowly grazed your side, you cried out and pressed a hand to your dress. It was torn open, bloodied already. Your hand came away red, your eyes widened. The gladiator’s shoulders were rolling, he wanted to land another hit. You had an idea, a wild one, but it would get you close to the short sword. You had to do it just right, you moved slower, hand pressed to your injured side. He swung again, missing, a second time, missing again. The third time you let him catch you again, and you went to your knees, crying out. The crowd booed, outraged. He grinned, ecstatic at the thought he was the first to face you and have you down on your knees injured, he approached, sword wet with your blood. His hand grabbed your chin, lifting it up to face him, you started up the tears again. “Just make it quick, you brute.” You hissed, panting. He grinned like a devil, lifting up his long sword, but as he went to swing down, you had his short sword unsheathed and drove it upwards to a gap where his chest armour didn’t cover his abdomen.
A wet sound, he stumbled, dropped the sword, took bumbling steps backwards. His face was a picture of shock, he fell dramatically onto his back, blood rushing from his new wound. You picked up the long sword, its weight foreign in your hand, and backed away from the body. The other gladiators all looked at one another in silence. The crowd, however, were anything but. You stood, eyeing up the five remaining gladiators. They watched their brother die and squirm, before looking back to you. Though they did seem reluctant to be the next to face you, they all closed in, weapons gleaming in the sunlight. Then the gate behind you opened, the one under the Emperor’s box. They all paused, and you half-turned to watch.
General Acacius came striding out, armoured up, sword in hand, the expression on his face was one carved from marble by the Roman Gods of war and death. His anger rolled across the Colosseum, his muscles strained as he stalked towards you and the five gladiators. He said nothing as he reached you, he did not spare you a glance, he made a straight-cut line for the remaining gladiators.
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Despite the fact you were openly bleeding from several cuts, your dress was a mess and you were devoid of your sunny smile, General Acacius was focused solely on the gladiators. You watched as the once reluctant men now fired themselves up with the promise of a real fight. But before you could run to the open gates, they encircled you and the General together, forcing you to back away from your escape route. The General surveyed the gladiators with a disgusted expression, and then it all happened at once.
All five gladiators charged, two at you, three at the General. While you had no doubts about the General’s capability to survive, you seriously doubted yours. You had no time to get any words out before one of the two was upon you, bringing a trident down, you raised your long sword with two hands and barely held him off, nearly going down to one knee with the effort. He backed away, the sharp prongs of the trident begging to be buried into flesh. Mouth dry, you watched the two gladiators exchange a look before the one wielding a long sword charged, you met him, not blow for blow but enough to keep him off of you. The General had already downed one of his gladiators and was onto the second and third. The crowd were cheering, chanting, stampeding in their seats. The trident flew past your head, landing in the General’s field of battle. Without hesitation, he picked it up, threw it back and met his attacker swiftly with his sword, never missing a beat. The trident had pinned the gladiator who owned it down, lodged in his arm, he struggled against the prongs. You felt sick.
The long sword came down at you again, you threw yourself out of the way, too tired to meet it with your own sword again. Your arms bled and ached from the weight of this weapon, you did not possess the same muscles as these men. You were not trained in the art of war, fighting other humans, or wielding weapons. Your brothers had tried to train you as children but your father had quickly intervened and warned them that you had no use for such things, as they would always be there to protect you. You wished dearly now that you had continued attending your brothers’ training sessions against your father’s orders. The sword narrowly missed your chest, you were shaking with the effort to breathe and move and fight all at the same time. You weren’t even sure your heart was still beating.
Your sword met his again, he was getting bored, tired of playing nice. You had to meet his blows to protect yourself, as tiring as it was. Your eyes scoured his armour for weak spots, a glimpse of vulnerable flesh… nothing. You took a few quick steps back, gaining distance, and time to think. Then the General downed his third gladiator, and turned to spot you warding off yours. The General advanced, sword slick with blood, but not before the gladiator rushed you and knocked you off your feet. He was atop you, sword poised to go through your chest, but not before you drove yours through his neck. The angle had given you the advantage, just. He rolled off of you, clutching at his neck, gargling on his own blood. He drowned before you, red spilling from his mouth and neck. His hands were covered in his own hot sticky blood, his eyes open as he died. You stood, covered in his blood, and watched as the General finished off the final gladiator who was pinned beneath his own trident like a fish.
You threw your sword aside, disgusted, horrified, on the verge of tears. General Acacius sheathed his own sword and ran to you. Without a word, he had you up in his arms, his nose in your hair.
“Are you hurt, Princess?” He asked, his voice low. You could barely make it out over the crowd’s collective cheering and celebrating.
“A little, General.” You said, clinging to his armour. He held you tight, making for the gate.
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The Roman court and government were in an absolute outrage at your kidnap and torture in the Colosseum. Both of the Emperors ordered the gladiators and slaves brought before them to find the one behind it, but you were too sick to care. Whoever had been behind it had got their way, you were thoroughly shamed and defeated. You had survived, but at what cost?
The General took you straight to the physician. He stayed guarding the room as your wounds were cleaned, packed and dressed. Your beautiful embroidered dress was cut away, to be thrown on the fire. It was soaked in gladiator blood. You watched the General pace the room, hand gripping his sword, jaw set. It took time for the physician to do his work, but he was finally satisfied and allowed you to rest. The General, however, did not leave when the old physician did. He let you settle before speaking to you. You sat yourself up in the bed, thin sheets over your battered body. You had accumulated some nasty bruises from throwing yourself out of harm’s way.
“Princess…” He said softly, kneeling at your bedside. You looked at him with tear-stained eyes and a weak smile. “I will find who did this, they will pay. We will have their heads.” He said this with his head bowed, as if in prayer. You leaned down to him, your fingers lifting his chin. Your eyes met.
“You saved my life, Acacius, that is enough.” His eyes took you in, he thought of you as a star robbed of its starlight. A rose shaken free of its petals.
“Please call me Marcus, Princess.” You breathed deeply for a moment and nodded.
“Marcus, do not let your bloodlust cloud your judgement. I am alive, and I am grateful for that. I will return home when I am well.” His hands took yours, and he traced the back of them for a moment. The words hung in the air, unseen, unheard.
“Will you ever return to Rome?” He asked, holding your fingers out.
“I do not know, when my father hears of this… I could not say if I will be permitted to return one day, Marcus.” Your untidy hair fell in your face, finally freeing itself of its gemstone pins from the night before. Marcus reached up, gingerly placing the hair behind your ear. His touch was featherlight, as if he was scared you would shatter at any moment. He said nothing as he memorised the lines on the palm of your hand, red and sore from the long sword’s handle and weight. You sank further into the bed, watching him, his face. You wanted to paint it and frame it in your bedchambers at home, so you would never forget what he looked like.
He then placed the softest kiss on the back of your hand, then your wrist. Your body lit up like a bonfire, like the moon and stars on a dark night, and he looked up at you.
“If you do not return, will you let me remember you?” He asked, taking in the faded scent of rose from your wrist. It was washed away by sweat and blood and hot water now, but he knew it lingered, lest it be his imagination.
“I would want you to remember me, as I will remember you.” You replied eventually, he appeared relieved at this, and suddenly raised himself up to your bed, inches above you. He paused, eyes flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes, your hair. “Do it, I will not regret it.” You whispered, eyes on his lips. With all of the care in Rome, he gave you your first and last kiss, he touched your hair, the side of your face. When he pulled away, he looked down, eyes avoiding yours. “When I go, will you see me?” You asked, voice tight.
“I would not miss it for the world, Princess from afar.” He quickly kissed your head, your wild hair, before withdrawing from your bed and taking himself out of your room.
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You would see him once more when you departed for home with your ladies. Emperor Geta made a grand show of escorting you to the docks and seeing you board your ship bound for your homeland. It had been such a long time, it felt, since you had seen your father and brothers. Geta was sending you with heaps of gifts and treasures for your family, partly as a show of your efforts, and partly as an apology for your kidnap. When the General approached to say his goodbye, kissing your hand firmly with eyes closed, he slipped you something, which you hid down the front of your dress and didn’t open until the ship was sailing.
In your hands now lay a simple gold chain with the retrieved gemstones from your hairpins dangling from it. You smiled to yourself and slipped the necklace on, closing your eyes and wondering if one day you would return to Rome and see him again.
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