Chapter Text
With a crackling crash, a man with dirty, matted gray hair was slammed into the rim of an arena. On impact, he almost thought something broke, or at least cracked inside of him. Leaning against the shattered wall made with cheap materials and surrounded by debris from the wreckage, he forced his bleary eyes open, refocusing them on the hulking figure of his opponent as he fought for air with strong heaves of his chest, not wasting even one split of a second to recover from the hit. The audience cheered, finally getting something exciting to see for the night.
The other man, the opposing gladiator, took his time closing the distance between them, cracking his knuckles and the joint of his neck as if what he just did was nothing but an easy play with a toy, his ego undoubtedly stroked by the cheers from their crowd.
“What’s wrong? Gray scoundrel? You ain’t even that much of a warmup today! What’s gotten to you? A stomach ache?” The bulky man interlocked those heavily callused fingers of his, raising them high above his head as he taunted. With a blink of an eye, he pulled those hands down with immense force of his arms to slam them right into his near-defeated opponent’s face.
The gray-haired man raised his own muscled arms, crossing them in front of himself to buffer the attack. The hit landed hard, further sinking the weakened man into the broken floor, but the strike was surely parried by his defensive stance. The crowd let out excited ‘oooh’s at the hit. It made his ears ring.
His breathing further shallowed, not only in attempt to replenish oxygen for his strained muscles, but also to cool the unbearable heat that was hindering the actions of his body.
“Oh? You aren’t as bad as you look after all, rascal! But can you take another?” The huge man once again raised his interlocked fists and slammed down hard on his opponent, but it was yet again parried by the lying man’s defensive posture.
Unfortunately, the smaller gladiator was at his limit. No matter how hard he tried to catch his breath, it wouldn’t catch up with the amount of oxygen his muscles consumed, not when he was affected by this Archons damned fever. His sense of hearing was starting to turn itself off, and he could no longer make out what self-complacent nonsense his opponent was spouting out of that stinking mouth of his.
With blurred vision, the gray-haired man saw those unrelenting fists once again raising up high into the air, contrasted by the old flickering spotlight above the arena, ready to strike him with what probably will be the last hit of the match— for once, and for all. He had no choice but to keep his bruised arms up to protect his head, for there was nothing else that he could do with this severely weakened and devastated body of his.
Strained chest desperately heaved for air, his teal and wooden brown eyes watched the silhouette of limbs before the blinding light. Once those arms began lowering themselves, he tensed the muscles in his own, bracing himself for the incoming blow to end the match.
“HOLD!”
Was the command that woke him up from dizziness of his fever, and startled that giant opponent of his. Then, everything else went silent. The man with gray hair knew that voice, and he knew what that voice would do to his opponent, and to most of the gladiators forced to serve in this shithole of a place, but not to him.
As if caught in a freeze reaction, the tall and muscular man froze in his place. His fists were mere centimeters away from his near-defeated rival, yet he didn’t dare move another muscle, for he knew, they both knew, if he dared to oppose the command, the command from their master, their owner, they will have to suffer the unbearable consequences for doing so.
With the absolute command, the hulking man released his interlocked fingers, timidly backing off from his opponent as he made way for his master. From behind tired and abused limbs, the gray-haired man could make out the form of his ‘owner’ and a stranger wearing eye-dazzling garments following close behind.
He lowered his arms and squinted teal eyes as the stranger walked even closer towards him, and he realized that this man was not the only person his ‘master’ had brought with him— This blonde man, in clothes too fancy for this hell of a place, was carrying a small child in his arm.
Who in their right mind brings their child to an illegal underground gladiator arena? Was what he thought before he realized how wrong he was.
That child, was pointing at him.
“I will take this one.” Said the child. Her voice— the man with gray hair recognized— was clear and confident, quite unfitting for someone her age and being in a place such as this.
That is not his child.
“But madam, although an excellent fighter, this one has an appalling attitude and is unbelievably disobedient! We have many more goods that are more befitting for your purchase! Are—”
“Did you not hear my Lady?” Said the blonde, further consolidating the gray-haired man’s assumption, in a loud and clear voice more than enough to effectively shut his aggravating ‘master’ up.
“Ye…Yes, of course.” A huff of laughter almost made its way out of the tired and feverish man’s chest at how his arrogant ‘master’ was reduced into nothing but a piece of lowly human trash.
“Please wait!”
“Quiet! What in the heavens do you think you are doing!” Yet this time, not even the master’s command managed to stop the man.
“Please! Young lady and nobleman! Please take me instead! You see, I am the one who beat that gray scoundrel into that state! I am stronger than—”
All the hulking man got was a backhand slap right into his face, hitting so hard he flew a few meters backwards just from a swipe of the blonde’s hand. It was a miracle that his neck didn’t break from the impact.
“You may continue, my Lady.” The blonde said to the child sitting comfortably in his arm, all while flicking his other hand in the air as if trying to shake off invisible filth.
However, the weakened man found his consciousness slipping away from him. Before passing out from fever and fatigue, the last thing he saw was the blonde man leaning into the child’s ear, whispering something to her of which he failed to catch, and the girl in white whispering her answer back into his ear.
***
For a long, unbearable period of time, he found himself slipping in and out of consciousness. He was more than once wakened up by splashes of cold water against his wounded and feverish body, yet passing out again with the sharp pain of water seeping into old and new gashes all over his form.
The next time he woke up, his body was trembling from the chill of water from the sorry excuse of a shower he was given and the effects of his worsening fever. Breathing still heavy and heated, he tried stretching his legs, but his foot quickly knocked into something akin to metal bars. He immediately understood that he was locked in one of those small cages made to keep the ‘goods’ in for shipment— either for transportation, or to be sold off.
With his consciousness gradually returning, his ears began functioning again at a minimal capacity. He heard the mumbling voices of his ‘master’ and the blonde man with a seemingly displeased tone. With a turn of his head, he peeked through the bars to see the blurry outlines of those fancy trousers on said man, standing just a few steps away from his cage.
“Well? What other excuses do you have for keeping your ‘goods’ in such a horrible state?” The blonde challenged.
“A-a-about that, this particular slave happened to be feeling unwell today! We didn’t even realize he got sick before we started cleaning him following your Lady’s purchase!”
The sharp noise that pierced the dark room could only indicate that his ‘master’ had successfully earned himself a slap from the blonde as well. Leaning against the metal bars to cool his fever, he closed his eyes and managed to pull the corner of his lips upwards, celebrating its implications in silence.
“What an awful excuse. My Lady has had enough of you. We will take him the way my Lady desires. Now, scram, before my hand slips and gives you another kiss to the face.”
He heard the pathetic squeaking of the arrogant man fading into the distance. Hopefully this will be the last time he had to hear from him. Then, a foreign touch to his bruised and beaten arm startled him to a jump. It was small, soft, and warm against feverish skin. He opened teal and wooden eyes to find the child right next to himself, who was soon joined by her blonde servant.
White, green, and red. He couldn’t see their eyes, he realized, because they were both wearing half-masks over their faces.
His arm twitched where it was touched, but otherwise gave no other particular response simply because his body and strength were completely drained by all that had happened. Another set of fingers landed on him, this time on his heated temple just behind the corner of his eye. The second set of digits were larger and cooler than the child’s, but its movements were as soft as the first. To think that those touches were from the same hand that had slapped two full-grown men into oblivion in a span of less than an hour. How ironic.
The soft, warm hands of the girl left his arm, and the cool, soothing ones slowly glided across his cheek. He simply slumped against the metal bars, too tired to swat at those digits poking and prodding at him like some caged animal at the zoo, until he heard a clear metallic click, followed by the bars that he was leaning against giving way under his weight. Accompanied by the creaking noise of hinges, the cooler pair of hands firmly caught him by his shoulders, and the last thing he saw before passing out again was a mellow flash of bright green light.
Vaguely, he felt himself being carried somewhere, held in a pair of strong arms and against a lean torso.
***
“Kaveh, I will prepare the carriage. Please take care of him.”
“Leave it to me.”
The gray-haired man was once again roused by those voices. In his drowsiness, he found himself lying down, legs stretching out more comfortably this time before hitting the wall. His head was propped up against something tough, but felt way better than the pillow he and other gladiators were given in their cells.
As if sensing his waking, something cold pressed against his lips. He twisted his head aside by instinct to avoid the foreign object, only to have some kind of cool liquid splashed onto the corner of his mouth, trickling down his jaw and all the way to his neck.
“Shh, it’s ok, it’s just water. Can you drink? You probably really need some right now.” The bigger hand with cooler digits slipped between his cheek and his ‘pillow’, bringing his face upright to once again press the rim of the container against his lips.
He stirred. With pursed lips, still refusing what the man claimed as water, he strained his neck and peeked upwards. This time, the first thing that entered his sight was red. With the half-mask nowhere to be found, he could finally tell that the blonde man had a pair of red eyes. Not the type of red that would remind one of bloodshed, but the type that resembled cut gems embedded in luxury accessories, just like that colorful and overly fancy outfit of his.
Cool fingers started stroking down his still damp and matted gray hair. The ‘pillow’ under his head adjusted itself— it’s the blonde man’s leg, he recognized so by the movement of muscles from within— and his new ‘owner’ began coaxing him to take whatever he was trying to pour into his mouth.
“Come on, drink some water. You have got to be thirsty after getting beaten up while having a fever.”
He did not get beaten up. His opponent was too scared to continue just by hearing the voice of their ‘master’; but it was true that he was thirsty, ever more so after being reminded of it.
Without any other choice, he allowed his lips to part. The blonde man— Kaveh, or so the child called him, smiled and tipped the cool liquid from the container into his mouth. True to his words, those were indeed water, but he wouldn’t be able to tell if it was drugged or not.
Yet once the first mouthful slid down his throat, he found himself wanting- needing more. He began swallowing in bigger gulps, his head jerked upward to greedily snatch the thin rim of the container between his teeth, drinking in everything that got tilted out from the bottle until those fingers in his hair had to pull him back down against the thigh.
“Hey, hey, slower, don’t choke yourself. We have plentiful of water, you can drink as much as you want.” Kaveh said with calming strokes over his hair, but the bottle was already emptied before the gray-haired man had realized.
Not enough. Still not enough. He found himself still terribly thirsty. He probably didn’t even pay attention to how dehydrated he had become, as his body was too busy fighting against other more life-threatening matters a while ago, to a point that he refused to let go of the empty container even after its contents were completely tipped down his throat. Only being half conscious, his aching arms began grabbing at the seat underneath himself, using the surface as leverage to fight against the tug.
“Hey, let go? There is more water, but you have to let me get it for you.” Kaveh gently pulled the container against the man’s grasp, much like playing a game of tug of war against a stubborn dog.
Ultimately, his jaws were sore from the meaningless fight. After all, he fought with his body, arms and legs, not with his teeth. So he let go of the container, and Kaveh immediately leaned forward to reach out his arm, passing the empty bottle away and in return received a new, full one in its place. With the corner of his bleary gaze, he saw the child in white. She had been watching them, and she was the one who passed Kaveh the new bottle of water.
Kaveh uncapped the new bottle with a pop, and once again, carefully pressed the cool rim against his lips. The man with gray hair let out a long, rather relaxed breath, before accepting the liquid without a fight, his grip at the carriage’s seat gradually loosened. More slowly this time, he took as much as he needed. When he felt his thirst finally quenched, he simply stopped swallowing more. Eyes drooping, he was too tired to even push the bottle away from himself.
Fortunately, the blonde got his signal and did it for him. He recapped the bottle and placed it aside, wiped his lips, jaws, and neck dry of the mess he made on himself and wrapped it all up with a soft stroke over his gray hair.
“Are we ready?” Asked the girl with that sweet voice of hers.
“I think so.” Kaveh answered, then turned his gaze towards the tired man. The blonde moved his fingers over teal eyes, gently swiping those eyelids closed and covered them under his hand. “Have some rest. We will wake you once we are home.”
He had no reason to disobey the ‘command’.