Pride of a warrior, the love of a woman: Closed Thread

Historians Note: This story takes place in a world of fantasy. Technology and places are near equivalents to roman technology.

Moderator’s note: This thread is closed to Jewelskye and the Gladiator, please do not post unless expressly approved by the authors.

As always this is a work of fiction, names places or events are products of the author’s imaginations, or are used fictitiously.

Author’s note: It has been a while since the two of us have written together, and hope everyone enjoys reading the tale, which we will weave.
Thank you, and enjoy
The Gladiator

IC:

He stood in the ring once again. It had been a while since they had forced him to fight. They feared him, and he knew it. He had actually gotten into the crowd and killed several of the elite guards, of the emperor. He was supposed to be killed outright, however the audience had thought it planned and so had screamed and cheered for their hero. So Galath lived. The emperor hated him now. He always had, he had hated him even when Galath had been one of his leading generals. However the people had loved the half elf Galath as a general, and they loved him as a gladiator. He was everything Emperor Shiarken wasn’t, hansom, noble, dedicated to his men and friends, and most of all, had elven blood.
Due to the last time he had fought, it had been a long while since Galath had been selected to enter the ring. However, it was said that emperor Shiarken had requested him to fight on this festival day specially. Oh Galath knew why. The crowd hadn’t accepted his exicution, but he knew if Galath were to fall in a match, no one could say anything. And So Galath stood in the ring and waited. He knew that this night, if he fell, he would be shown no mercy. Even though he himself showed mercy, and often, he knew the types of opponents he would be facing would show no such a compunction to killing him to the roaring cheers of the crowd.

The fight was five on one. Galath fought brilliantly, but in the heat of the moment he was of course forced to kill. They put him in a kill or be killed situation. All of these opponents were not slaves like himself, they were brutes, volunteers who lived for the fighting. So Galath killed, but the battle took his toll on him. He was bleeding from a deep gash along his right arm, and was suffering cracked ribs and he suspected his ankle was not broken, but badly sprained. He faced but one opponent now, but the huge Minotaur was unbloodied. He had hung back letting the humans and half orcs gut themselves on Galath’s sword, before he stalked in huge sword at the ready. At full strength, the half elf could have taken the hulking bull, but not in his present condition. The huge creature fainted and when Galath blocked the sword swing, the minotaur punched out, connecting with Galath’s face, sending blood spurting from his nose, and instantly causing his eye to swell shut as he tasted dirt. The creature stood over his fallen victim and roared his triumph. Galath tried to regain his footing, but the half man placed a foot solidly on his chest further cracking already stressed ribs and smirked down at him. “That was too easy.” The Minotaur roared, “I will let you live, so you can face me when you can fight like a real man.”
“However, I will leave you with this, something to remember me by.” He said and slashed down slicing cleanly through the thick brade of Galath’s hair. His hair was a mark of his pride and former status. Even when enslaved the emperor had feared to order the cutting of Galath’s hair. It was a mark of his birth, his ancestry. Doing what he just did, the minotaur did more to hurt Galath than if he had killed him. The half elf did not care however; his pride was more than just some hank of hair. He would wait, he would get better, and he would have his revenge.

Galath was thrown broken and bleeding onto his small cot. They hadn’t even bothered to clean the dirt from his wounds, or remove the sword fragments from his right arm.
“A healer has been summoned.” The slave master told him and left. He was greatly displeased, for the emperor was displeased, Shiarken wanted Galath dead, and now It appeared as if there would not be another opportunity for him to be killed in battle for quite a long time.
Galath just lay there silent not even bothering to wipe the blood from his face with his good hand, if you could call it that. The minotaur had broken two of the fingers, by stomping on them, but other than that the left arm was relatively unscathed. And so he was when she found him…

She'd never seen him fight, but she knew his name. She'd never met him, but she knew the tales of how he'd been a General, how he'd fallen into slavery and been turned into a Gladiator... And she didn't know how grievous his wounds were, but she'd been given express orders to nurse him back to health in whatever way possible. If he was going to die, it needed to be in the ring, at the hands of an opponent. She'd been given express orders that if he died while under her care... She'd be following him to the underworld.

She was trembling some as she stepped into the room, holding a basket filled with various items in her arm, a male slave behind her, carrying a cot of sorts that would serve as her bed while she was with the gladiator. The other male set the cot down just inside the room for her to tend to it later, before disappearing. She, for her own part, could only stand there and stare at him. He was... Beautiful, despite being bloodied and broken.

Clutching her basket to her chest, she stepped to the side until she was infront of the cot, before turning and setting the basket down, her eyes never leaving his form. Turning back to him, she made her way over and knelt beside him. As a pair of crystal blue eyes drank in the sight of his too-perfect face, her hands gently, tenderly used a cloth she'd grabbed from the basket to start wiping away blood from his face.

She said nothing for a long while, going about her business quietly, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Finally though, she felt it prudent to introduce herself. "They call me Crysania, I'm here to help you." Her voice was soft, musical, but she was quite obviously human.

A beauty to be sure, with her knee length raven's wing hair and perfect blue eyes set into a pale, angelic face complete with pouty, deep pink lips and long black lashes. There was something... something just a little too beautiful about her, but she was definitely human, there was no denying that. Perhaps she had fae or elven blood somewhere far, far back in her bloodline that had been forgotten over the generations.

Her body was petite, and at full height she didn't rise above 5'0". Despite the long white dress she wore, a mark of her status as a healer, her body was obviously curvacious, blessed with full, firm, perky breasts and a slender waist, completed by full hips and a firm round bottom, the ideal hourglass figure hidden behind the loose fabric of her dress. Her only mark of slavery? A simple silver metal collar locked around her slender neck.

when she spoke, his eyes opened to regard her dispassionately. His eyes were gray with green flecks in them. The color of green often found in elven eyes. Until he opened his eyes, and she looked fully into his face, he could have passed for human. However, his eyes were not human in their shape, his face was not human in its masculin beauty. She would know even without lifting the jet black hair, which covered his ears, to know that his ears would have points. That he had elven blood was obvious. It was also obvious by his shaddowed jawline, that he was not a full blooded elf either, for no elf could grow a beard as he was starting to. He spoke not a word to her, he did not make any other acknowledgement of her other than his gaze, which never left her. He looked ready to tell her to leave him alone, but it was obvious in the way his body would tense and then release, that he was in pain, and needed help. Instinctively on some level he knew she was not here to harm him, not sent to inflict torcher, or more pain. The muscles flexed and rippled catlike down his arm as he tried to clench his fist against the pain he was feeling, but this only strained the cut on the back of his forearm, causing it to bleed more.

His eyes opened, and for a moment, Crysania was sure her heart had just stopped in her chest. So he was elf! Well... part elf, to be sure, from the looks of those eyes. So exotic... But his body was tensing and relaxing, she didn't have time to worry about his eyes, did she?

"I wont hurt you, Galath... Sir," she said softly, turning away only long enough to rise, fetching a large bowl of warm water and a few more cloths from her basket. Another item was soon added to that, and she returned, the bowl in one hand and the cloth and a small box in the other. Kneeling beside him once more, she went about slowly bathing his face, her eyes assessing the damage silently before moving on.

His arm came next, and she was soon cleaning the cut with gentle, tender fingertips, blowing on it from time to time to help relieve the sting of the water in the wound. "You are very lucky to still be alive. I can tell from the way you're breathing that he did damage to the bones in your chest... I'm amazed he didn't do more," she said softly, looking up at him, trying to offer him a comforting smile.

She reached over, grabbing a flask from her back and pulling the stopper out. Handing it to him, she smiled softly. "Drink. It will help numb the pain. I promise I will not let anyone bother you."

She'd been healer to her fair share of people who fought, or felt they needed to ever be on alert... He'd be reluctant to drink something that could muddle his thoughts. As soon as he held the flask in his other hand, Crysania was pulling out an odd, hook-shaped needle and a thick wire-like thread, watching him from the corner of her eye, waiting for him to take in enough of the liquid that would allow him to relax through what she was sure was destined to be a rather long, painful process.

He shook his head and waved away the flask, "I will not lose my inhibitions, my connection to my body." he said, speaking for the first time to her. His voice was deep, smooth, like liquid silk. It was obvious why he had been charismatic as a general, his voice alone made listeners want to hear him keep speaking. He said nothing else, but watched what she was doing, not hindering her in her work. His muscles continued to clench with the pain, but still he made no sound, no acknowledgement that he was in pain.

She sighed some, but didn't argue with him. Gently, she took the flask back before returning to threading her needle. She tied a knot into one end, and then immediately set to work, stitching his wound closed. She was quick, her movements swift and sure. Somehow, she seemed adept at doing her work with little to no problems, not having to hesitate for much of anything.

This of course would make the pain a bit more intense for him, but it would extend over a much shorter duration of time, and almost as quickly as it began, it was over. Taking the flask, she opened it and poured some of the wine over the wound to clean it, then wiped away the excess from around the cut.

Her next task would be his hand with the broken fingers. Those bones would set faster than the others, so she needed to straighten them quickly or he may never be able to use them to grip a sword again.

Taking his hand, she ran her fingers along the swollen digits gently, feeling for the break in the bone. When she found it, she was quick in setting to work at setting them. A firm tug on each straightened them out, and as quickly as she had done that, she placed a splint under each of them and then wrapped them with thin bandages to keep them tied to the splint.

She could only imagine the pain he was feeling... but there was nothing to be done for it, if he denied the ability to numb it some with the drink.

He ground his teeth with the pain, the lingering pain of the stitching, and then the sharp pains of the bones being set. He still made no sound, his eyes never leaving hers. When she splinted the hand, he tried to lift it to his forehead wiwhich glissened with sweat.
"Thank you for your efforts on my behalf." he said softly, the strain of the pain showing just a little in his voice.

Before he had a chance to move his hand to his forehead, her own was on his arm, gently easing it back to his side as she picked up a clean cloth, dipped it into the water in her bowl, and then mopped his brow with it. The water was still clean, and she moved from his brow to the rest of his face, carefully wiping away dried blood and dirt.

"It is my duty, Sir," she said softly, her eyes returning to his now and then as she worked. "Your wounds are many, and Master made it clear that I am to care for you until you are well again. Is there anything you would like specifically for me to do while I am here?"

He looked at her as if she had grown a second head as she spoke. "You said you were sent to help heal my wounds?" he asked, "Well then I would expect you to help heal my wounds of course. . . . what sort of a question is that?" he asked snorting a little, and then wincing with the pain such a normal thing, laughing, caused him. He knew she was just doing as ordered, and knew he souldn't bate her like that with his words, but... she left herself so open to such a response from him.

Her eyes lowered at his mocking, and her voice was quiet as she responded. "Forgive me, Sir, for my ignorance." Her hands went about their task with diligence, though she was always gentle, careful with him, careful not to cause him any more pain than she had to even as she gently, oh so gently, used her fingers to help reset the cartilage that had been shifted in his nose when he'd been hit.

"I simply meant... that because you will not be able to do very many things for yourself... that perhaps there were tasks you needed done that I could help you with, or tend to myself."

he sighed, he really hadn't thought about such, "Well, some one will tend to my armor." he said slowly, "What sorts of things were you referring to?" he asked, not truly having caught on that he might not even be able to take a piss on his own anymore.

Crysania nodded at his comment about his armor. "I will see that it is taken care of, Sir... Your hands are in a bad way, and the wounds I've stitched up will need several days, at the least, before they will be healed enough for you to move around a lot. And then of course..." Her hands had left his face after straightening his nose and again stopping the bleeding, moving down over his neck and upper chest, to his ribcage, where she applied gentle pressure until she watched pain in his eyes, despite how trained his countanance was. Her fingers continued to examine, though they focused on that area. "You've fractured the bones in your chest. You will not be able to do much on your own for some time. I will stay with you until you are well enough to care for yourself. Until then... I shall take care of your meals, your armor, your bathing, and anything else that needs tending."

Galath looked at her blankly for a moment, "Bathe me? Take care of me?" he asked his expression darkening just a bit before changing to neutral once more, "Are you saying that I am too injured to wash? Is there anything you can do to change that?" he said, not wanting to admit that he didn't want anyone to care for him, that he feared it would make him less of a man. "Thank you for your kindness, but I will be alright on my own." he said, fighting to try to sit up, the pain visible on his face as he strained his ribs, and used his hands as he shouldn't. He was unable to wipe it off his face, even as he tried, however he didn't make a sound.

Crysania watched him as he asked if she was saying he was unable to care for himself, and then proceed to ask if there was something she could do about that. Just as he was beginning to sit up, she lifted onto her knees on the side of his cot, and pushed him back down, her hands on his shoulders. Honestly, she did care if it hurt him for her to do it, but she cared more that he not make his injuries worse. "I am trying to do something about that, but you moving around, Sir, is only going to make the period of time you have to have me here to help you longer."

She continued to push at him gently until he lay back. "Now please... I know you do not want me here, but if you do not recover from your injuries to fight again, it will be both our backs that will taste feel the master's whip." Her eyes pleaded with him silently as she looked at him. She'd spent her whole life striving to be obedient, to avoid incurring her owner's wrath, avoid the bite of the whip or the sting of the crop to her tender skin.

He grumbled something in Elven, and then nodded stiffly, "Thank you for your assistance," he said rather formally, properly rebuked. His eyes watched her though, smoldering fire, not with anger at her for the most part, but at the situation, at his helplessness. He took a deep breath and winced with the pain that caused him, "I see your point." he admitted grudgingly, "What all will you have to help me with?" he finally asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer but knowing he needed to know.

Watching him as she went back to tending his wounds, Crysania sighed. "Most everything, I suspect... Your wounds are grievous. Your body and your will are strong, but if you do not heal properly, it will all be for naught because they will kill us anyway if you can not fight."

Moving, she hooked an arm around his lower back, gently easing him into a sitting position before slowly, gently bathing his upper body as best she could. After toweling him off, she wrapped his ribs tightly. "This will be painful, but it is necessary that the bones be kept stable beneath the skin."

he watched her as she worked, his eyes hard and cold, but softer than they had been. He ground his teeth audably with the pain, but no longer fought her. "Talk to me." he said, "Distraction is good." he added softly.

As she finished wrapping his ribs and lay him back gently. "What is your favorite food, Sir?" she asked quietly, moving down his body to begin washing his legs and feet the best she could. Eventually she would give him a better bath, but for now, while she was tending his wounds, this would have to do. "I would like to make it for you if the opportunity arises. They say that eating one's favorite foods can help to speed the healing process because it lifts the mood."

He considered, "I do not know honestly." he said sounding surprised, "Being a slave, and in the military, I've learned to eat anything, even meat." he said the idea of eating meat making him shudder, in a way that the pain hadn't. He knew she was just being nice to him because it was her duty, so he swore that he wouldn't warm up to her.

Crysania took note of the shudder that passed through him as he spoke of eating meat. "Alright then, no meat in your diet so long as I can prevent it," she said with a smile, pausing to brush some of his hair out of his face. "Now... you need to rest, Sir... I know the pain will make it hard to sleep, but I can make you a tea to help you relax, if you like."

She looked down at him, her hand still tender with his hair and face, studying him. "The order was given that no one else should bother us unless I go to them first," she said softly. "I will see to it that you have no reason to fear letting your guard down long enough to rest."

His grey eyes regarded her, "I wouldn't be surprised if someone comes to finish me off in the middle of the night." he said, "I'm almost tempted to let them." he added. He regarded her, "But thank you for your concern."

Crysania sighed some at his words. "No one will come to kill you in your sleep, Sir. The king wants you dead in the arena, and many of the other fighters and slaves have respect for you for doing what you have done. Please, you need to rest, or the healing process will be longer, and you will be more prone to infection." She rose, moving to her basket and pulling out a flask of clear, still warm water. Grabbing his cup normally used to hold his drinks, she placed a few tea leaves into it and then poured water over it. After dropping a few more herbs into the liquid, she moved back to his side and sat on the edge of the cot he lay on. "Drink," she commanded softly, holding the cup to his lips.

"When you wake you can guide me through caring for your armor and I will see to it you get a more thorough bath."

he sighed and nodded, not wanting to take the tea, but too tired to argue. "Thank you." he murmered closing his eyes. Sweat still beaded on his forehead, and he felt feaverish, he drank reluctantly, and then waited to see what would happen next.