ARISTOS ACHAION // Awesamdude X Reader

7

You ducked out of the dining hall as soon as you could, feeling queasy. The guards didn't stop you, too busy enjoying the fights going on above the room. They didn't seem to care as you slipped out the doors - a testament to just how maze-like the halls were. Even if you had been keeping track of the twists and turns, you doubted you would be able to find your way out.

You wandered down the halls, stepping in and out of the torchlight as you walked. Your stomach still felt uneasy, barely holding onto the slop you had just eaten. It had been a while since you had watched one of the colosseum fights - and with good reason - you had forgotten just how brutal they were.

In a few days time, you were going to be out there, sword in hand, facing down whichever one of the caesar's champions was fighting that day. Hopefully, it wouldn't be Ceres.

You couldn't get the man's screams out of your head.

Taking a sharp left turn, you started down a different hallway, forcibly quieting your mind. It felt good to be on your feet again, just moving for the sake of it. If you closed your eyes, it almost felt like you were back out on the city streets, moving from place to place in search of your next meal. The fantasy was ruined by the stale air of the halls though - the whole place smelled like stone, probably because it was underground.

Torches flashed in the corner of your vision as you went along, coming to another split in the hall. You took a right this time, fully expecting the route not to lead to anything.

Instead, you came across a set of wooden double doors. Unlike most of the other doors you had seen, this pair seemed to be made of a better quality of wood, and the handles were bronze instead of cheap copper.

Your curiosity getting the better of you, you pushed open one of the doors, peering inside.

Another training room, much like the one you had spent your lesson in, except this room held to a much higher standard. Weaponry lined the walls, all of the tools polished to a sheen. Overhead, a chandelier held torches, casting the room in an even light. Instead of there just being one balcony overlooking the space, a catwalk stretched around all four walls. This was the place where the champions trained.

You stepped into the room fully, letting the door swing shut behind you. There was no sand on the floor here - instead, a circle was painted on the planks, marking the edges of a ring. The floor was scuffed with scratches, no doubt from sparring and training. What drew your attention most though, was the weapon wall - specifically, the trident, hung in the center.

It seemed to glow in the lighting of the room, a soft halo like a gravitational field. It was beautifully made - it was one of the only weapons you had seen that was as much art as it was a tool. The spires curved upwards from the base of the weapon gracefully, yet still sharp enough to kill a man easily. It was enchanting.

You reached out towards the handle, the tips of your fingers just permeating that soft halo of light that surrounded the thing-

"You're not supposed to be in here."

A deep voice cut through the trance, and you snatched your hand back, heart suddenly leaping to your throat. You knew that voice. The warden.

Fuck.

You spun around as you heard his footsteps begin to pace towards you, raising your hands in surrender. "Apologies," You said, meeting stormy green eyes. Then tacked on at the end, to try and appease more, "Sir."

"You're from the latest group." Sam said, eyes narrowed slightly. "Where's the rest of your cellmates?"

"The dining hall." You said. "I just needed to settle my stomach - it's hard to keep the food down when you're watching someone be torn in half."

Sam hummed, face unreadable.

For a moment, a silence stretched between you, and your thoughts turned south. There was no way you were getting out of this without punishment of some kind - surely, wandering away while you were in prison was not something that would just be brushed under the rug-

"I can't say I blame you for not enjoying the dinner show." Sam said. "But you can't be wandering away like this - I'll walk you back."

"Oh." You said. "Thank you."

Sam said nothing, simply holding the door open for you as you walked through.

You said nothing as you walked side-by-side with the warden, listening to his heavy footsteps on the stone of the halls. You were genuinely surprised that you were getting away scot-free from that (or at least, it seemed like you were). Although, it seemed like Sam was at least sympathetic to not wanting to watch people take their last breaths over dinner.

"That trident you were looking at, it's actually mine."

Your train of thought was broken at Sam's voice. You glanced over at him, but he was still looking ahead. "Oh." You said. "I didn't know."

"Well, I haven't used it much since I stopped fighting in the ring." He said. "But it was a gift from my patron."

That explained the gravity you had felt - it was a gift from the gods.

The conversation dwindled as you approached the dining hall again, and Sam opened the door, letting you slip back inside. The nearest guards eye snapped to you, confused, but then widened as Sam stepped into the room behind you.

"Warden-!"

"You'd do well to remember you're not just here to watch the fights." Sam said, his voice ringing authority. "Prisoners shouldn't be just out and about in the halls, soldier." Sam's eyes flicked to you for a second, and he tilted his head towards the tables.

You smiled gratefully before re-joining the crowd, finding your way back to your seat. You could feel green eyes watching you go.