AN: I really like Ilithyia, which I think might be weird because she is not supposed to be a sympathetic character. But whatever, I am totally rooting for her, which is why I wrote this piece.

This takes place right after the events of episode 2x05 Libertus and it deals with major spoilers from that episode, so beware.

No specific warnings apply.

Invictus

The way back to the ludus passed in a haze and by the time Ilithyia entered her bedchamber her throat was raw and her eyes stung.

All was lost.

The thought struck as sharp as a lashing and she swayed on her feet by the impact of it. One of her slaves came to her aid and steadied her. The girls eyes were big and dumb and it made Ilithyia almost ill to see sympathy shine in them. She had broken down once in front of others today and she would not give any of them the satisfaction of seeing her like that again.

"Get out!" She snapped, pulling herself away from the girls grasp. She just stared at her like an ignorant animal. "I said get out!" Ilithyia screamed hoarsely, the words barely able to flow from throat.

The girl and the other slaves fled, leaving her alone in her chambers. Again she swayed on her feet.

All was lost.

She sank to her knees, cradling her belly with both hands. It should not comfort her, she thought, the feel of the babe inside her and yet it did. Hot tears started to stream down her cheeks again, washing way the ash.

Her father was dead. At the hands of Spartacus. Ilithyia shudder at the memory of words spoken. She knew what those words really meant, their dark murky implications. It was a thing far more horrifying then whatever she had witness at the games that day, more destructive then the fire that had raged.

Her husband, even in her thoughts that title now sounded poisonous, had known of her plans and killed her father to put and end to it. He killed her father.

She had never thought him capable of such. She had thought him defeated, gone from her life for good, allowing her to turn face to brighter future.

A future now lost to her, along with her father. She was stuck with him now. Her husband.

It was not a sob born from grief that escaped her lips, but a growl given live by anger.

She had underestimated him. She, who thought herself so clever and sly, had been made into the fool in this satyr play. He thought her a simpleton, thought her defeated.

All was lost, but she was not.

Slowly she climbed to her feet. She would not wallow on the ground, simpering like a child. She was greater then that. She was not defeated. Like Spartacus himself she would rise from every wound struck, fiercer and stronger. She could be every bit the adversary he was.

Spartacus.

Thoughts transformed, from jumbled mess to coherent plan and it made her shudder and smile.

He stole into the arena, unseen, unchallenged. Who was to say he could not do the same to this very ludus? Surely he could find a way inside, in the dark of the night when vengeance burned the brightest and slit her husbands throat? He'd made attempt on her life as well, yes, though before guards could find them he would flee and she would weep and scream and curse the Gods for cruelty bestowed upon her.

Yes. Her husband would die, at the hands of Spartacus, and not a single soul in Capua would think otherwise.

Except perhaps, Lucretia. Ilithyia giggled at the thought. Spartacus would have reasons to kill her too. What a tragedy it would be.

The gladiator proved more useful then she could have every dreamed of. She would kiss his hand and feet to show her thanks. The babe inside her stirred and Ilithyia stroked her belly thoughtfully. Or perhaps another form of thanks was in place. Named after Mars' son, she would say and how she would laugh, knowing only the truth herself.

"Thrax." She murmured to her belly happily. "Together, we will thrive."