Vine de Nada (larry stylinson au)

• PART I • Career Suicide

Louis had never been to a show before. It’d taken years for his father to finally coax him into attending a match. The arena was built from the ground up, the stone walls sufficiently blocking out the natural light of the moon and stars in the sky, the natural bite of the chilly wind outside.

The stage, if it could be called that, was a pit, carved out several feet into the ground. It gave the audience a sort of advantage, of watching the fight beneath them, staring down at the two men in the cage, as if this were a harmless zoo.

There wasn’t much to the pit. The walls were smooth stone, rather than dirt, to alleviate any chance of a prisoner escaping through will power alone. The floor was stone too; hard and unforgiving.

Louis wasn’t a fan. This arena has existed for as long as he could remember. It was a tradition, really. The only true form of entertainment. Once a month, there would be a fight, and the entirety of the town would trek out to come and watch it from their stadium seating.

But Louis never attended. He couldn’t bridge that gap of disinterest, honestly. He couldn’t imagine how he could detach himself so completely from the situation, to find entertainment in watching two strangers fight each other to the death.

But his father had worn him down. This one was important. It was important because a prince had broken the law. And this was his punishment. Just one fight. Either he would die, or he would be forgiven.

Usually, any royals who participated in this archaic battle participated for show - they were protected, and treated to a rare night of nonlethal battle. But not this time.

Louis slouched low in his seat, watching the lit cage with something close to what he liked to imagine was somewhat believable disinterest, as his father chattered away to his business partners around Louis. Louis’s disinterest in that entire conversation was much more genuine.

The crowd erupted in noise before the gate at the base of the pit had even fully opened. A boy was dragged out through it. Louis frowned. He didn’t know who was meant to fight this prince, but he knew what the prince looked like - they all did. And this boy was not him. The prince had had years of training in defense. All royalty did. Surely they didn’t mean to make a mockery of this event by pitting a grown, experienced man against a boy.

The boy straightened up, and shoved his mop of hair out of his face. Even from here, his hair looked wet, and his cheeks looked flushed. The boy didn’t look scared, he looked annoyed. “Probably because he fought last month,” his father hummed quietly when Louis pointed this out to him. “I doubt he was scheduled to fight this month.”

“So they chose him to fight the prince on purpose?” Louis whispered back. “Why would they do that? He’s a child.”

His father scoffed. “I forget you hide yourself under a rock and pretend the world around you doesn’t exist,” he mused. “He’s hardly a child. Younger than you, sure, but of legal age - now. I’d clock him at nineteen, but he’s been a staple of the arena for a few years now. He was the child of a servant in their house. Practically raised by them, until he received his sentencing. I suspect they believe this to be poetic justice. Given that the prince himself condemned the boy. That’s Harold Styles.”

The crowd hushed around them, and then quickly erupted in loud, over the top jeering as the gate opened a second time. The Prince Grimshaw was not shoved into the pit. He strode into it on his own two feet, head held high, sword at his side. Louis frowned. Harry didn’t seem to have a weapon.