Dnf Oneshots

why are you here?

The Tournament is an annual event that's held at the center of Rome every year. Gladiators of all sizes fight to perform in front of the Emperor and his family. George has never enjoyed watching the fights, but as the Prince of Rome, he is required to attend. However, this year a certain contender has caught his eye.

or

George finally finds himself interested in the Tournament.

TWs:
Blood
Death
Violence
Swearing
Angst

Inspired by my history teacher and his interest in Ancient Rome.

Guys I know very little about Ancient Rome and the gladiators. I did some research, but I'm just going to write it how I want. So this oneshot has very little historical accuracy.

ALSO: every oneshot from now on is edited by TheFroggess :)

Enjoy! <3

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The steady thrum of the drums rumbles through the amphitheater. It's slow and monotonous, a rhythm George has never liked.

It always meant the same thing: death.

He hates watching men fight, hates watching as they exchange blow for blow, often losing more blood than should be humanly possible. Although the fights aren't usually to the death, George dislikes the violence.

His father is the opposite. He's all blood-hungry and eager for violence compared to George's passive nature. It's a personality trait that has earned him many disapproving looks from his father.

His mother is like him. She's the beauty in the world, the first bloom of a flower and the gentle rise of the moon. She's the reason for most of George's education and his humble outlook on life.

But even she can't stop the age-old tradition of the Tournament. The amphitheater is roaring with people, mostly men, but women often watch for the excitement and awe over the strong gladiators. Bets have been placed and prizes have been decided.

George doesn't understand the point of it. Most of the gladiators are slaves, forced to fight, but there are a few who fight just for the thrill of it, for the adrenaline. They come from all over Rome. The crowd feeds off their energy, cheering at spilled blood and booing at weak men who give up before the fight has even started.

Most gladiators fight against other gladiators of the same skill set, fighting until the other can't go anymore. Then there are the other gladiators. The ones who fight wild animals. The ones brave enough to stand up to beasts and kill untamable creatures with ruthless precision.

George doesn't like watching any of it, yet here he sits, at the highest point of the crowd, with a spot beside his father. They have the best view; they are royalty after all.

George sits, shifting uncomfortably, not because of his seat or the scorching sun, but because of what he has to witness today.

His white toga is comfortable, and a gold corona sits atop his head. The golden leaves shaped in a wreath is a solid weight, a reminder of his family's wealth.

The crowns his parents wear are much more ornate, pointing up with grace and curving eloquently. On days like the Tournament, George's father prefers to dress like the gladiators, choosing to wear clothes more suited towards fighting than ruling to show his support of the contenders.

George turns his attention to the arena below him when a horn blows out. George winces at the harsh noise, and his lips curl down in distaste.

The first fight commences and the crowd is already wild. Waves of energy pulse through the excited Romans as they watch the annual games. Every year the Tournament is the same, but the outcome is always different.