A/N: I wrote this for a school assignment lol, it was originally based on Gajevy, just changed the names when I turned it in. Then, I decided to post this for whatever reason.
"You there, scum!" A large raven-haired man grunted, his slumbers being interrupted, and glared at a sneering Dominus, "You have a very important match later and I don't need you ruining our image. You are our most prized fighter and it would be a shame to lose you after all your training." Gajeel bit his tongue, swallowing a smart retort that would most definitely get him killed. Rising from his pitiful folded sack in a poor attempt at a pillow, he decided to start his routine thinking about his younger days.
Although, they weren't that different from his current state. Yes, he and the many other gladiators had access to many luxuries like baths, massages, warm floors, and even luxurious 3-course meals, but the looming thought of their superiors only giving them these comforts to have them in perfect shape for their many battles. And the shackles on his arms and legs really dimmed the experience down.
Gajeel was part of a normal lower-class family, more on the very poor side but barely any difference. He would usually wake up from his makeshift bed in his insulae. Eating what he could for breakfast and going to primary school for basic reading and writing skills. Pick-pocketing food for the next day was a common occurrence for him, easier since there were only two mouths to feed.
His mother was married off to his father at 15, being from a slightly richer family, she was able to be privately tutored. He didn't have any memories of his mother as she died during childbirth, but the mantras by his father alluded to her as the best thing that could have happened to his father. As a child, he attended these shows in the Colosseum. He remembered being awed by the lions and the combating slaves. When food was hard to find, he remembered how he would use his small size to steal grain from local stalls.
He knew there was a very prominent line between classes. How newly turned 16-year-olds would flaunt their new white togas and tease him for being uneducated. How the rich wouldn't respect the poor.
Not being able to afford higher education or basic necessities in general, his father decided to sell him off into slavery. Unfortunately, it was too late for him after the reform of the 100s A.D prohibiting paterfamilias from selling their offspring or putting them to death.
At least he didn't die, he thought, but was perishing that much better than ending up sold to a future of killing other people for your own survival? Being put in danger just for some stuck-up patricians? Gone were the empty promises by the government in the forms of bags of grains. Placed in front of him instead were the unsettling grins and laughing of those in the audience.
He was ashamed, however. During his gladiatorial training, he was a monster. After receiving the news that he was being sold by his own father, he was rightfully furious. Given the excuse to hurt other people and actually be encouraged for it was stress-relieving. Going into battle for real, truthfully, was exhilarating and the glee he felt after finally spilling blood on the sand he would soon sadly call home was what kept him going.
His Dominus already granted him freedom, but he still stayed. Why? Maybe it was because he wouldn't be accepted into society. Or he would probably end up right back where he started. Of course, maybe he could finally meet his father again after all these years. Who knows if his old man kicked the bucket. He could've even watched one of his tournaments for all he cares. For now, he fought for the Dominus.
Some nosy scholars may ask him what his thoughts were on the Roman Republic or the Roman Empire. Surely, they would understand that he was a gladiator and he had no time to even think about politics where he was too busy fighting for his life every day. Being one of the most favorable champions, winning and surviving all his battles, he was fairly close to being free from his shackles.
Both figuratively and literally. To put it slightly he was tired of living just for the entertainment of other people. He just wanted to live a normal life but is there any way to go back at this point? Could he have a chance of being in love like his mother and father? His younger-self would scoff at how soft the man became. Practically living the rest of his childhood in the hands of the Domini gave him no hope of actually living a normal life, if he lived long enough for that matter.
He didn't have much to do today, mostly training and being treated like a circus animal. The other gladiators didn't make for good conversation, maybe it was how unsocial and brooding he was when he wasn't training but he would never admit that. He had a name for himself and he wasn't keen on getting buddy buddy with his inevitable enemies.
While reminiscing, he had lost track of time, only snapping out of his thoughts when he heard the loud, dull cheers of the audience above him. He would be the second match of the day which gave him the time for his "final feast". The name meant nothing to him at that point, having eaten many "final feasts" in his career. Hearing the cries of death of the newbie gladiator signaled him to suit up and get ready.
A limping but still living gladiator nodded encouragingly to him as he was waiting for his name to be announced. Looking out into the crowd, something caught his eye. In this case, it was someone. From the looks of it, she was a noble, wearing a brightly colored dress, and was noticeably uncomfortable. But she was absolutely stunning.
She was noticeably shorter than her female companions, she had short curly hair stopping around her shoulders, her cornflower hair was strange but he found himself in awe. As she turned towards the middle of the Colosseum, the two made eye contact, he half expected her to glance over him but to his surprise, she held his gaze. He decided to mess with her and winked at her hoping to get a reaction. To his delight, she flushed scarlet and apparently, her friend noticed and elbowed knowingly into her side. He would like to see that face again he thought.
As Gajeel turned towards his opponent to study him, he caught a glimpse of the lady turning back to him, concern and intrigue in her eyes. Today, he decided he would fight for her and it was time for battle once again. His opponent was wearing a stormy blue loincloth, a large gladius, a helmet, a small breastplate, and greaves. However, Gajeel himself wore metal manicas on his shoulders, bracers on his forearms, a maroon loincloth, and greaves. Additionally, his only weapons were two short swords and nothing else. His adversary was in a cocky stance, tapping his sword on his hip in a relaxed manner and Gajeel could see the leer hidden behind the helmet. And the battle began.
His opponent rushed forward and swung his gladius towards his shoulder.
Anticipating the move, Gajeel easily used his own sword to block the swing with his right arm and using his other arm to strike at the other man's side. The man deflected the sword using his small shield with a loud thunk against the wood.
The two parried, dodged, and blocked each other's attacks. Both were evenly matched and the crowd was starting to get antsy. Abruptly, Gajeel jutted downwards and kicked his opponent's feet from under him. The man didn't fall all the way but was disoriented enough for him to land a well-timed slice on his rival's exposed neck.
The blade didn't go deep enough for the hit to be fatal but the man shrieked in pain and fell onto his back. A mix of cries from the audience of death or mercy was deafening. Gajeel looked back to where the woman that caught his eye was and her expression gave him his answer. He raised the bloodied blades above the other gladiator's head in anticipation of a finishing blow. As he plunged the tips down on either side of his head, hearing the sound of metal sink down into the sand, he turned back towards the spectators and locked eyes with the woman once again. This time she was noticeably more relaxed, even giving him a shy smile, slightly flustering the man as he walked off of the sand.
After getting a well-deserved bath, Gajeel was being escorted back to his cell when he heard voices down the hall. He recognized one of the voices as his Dominus and decided to see what the commotion was. Noticing the victor walking towards them, the Dominus grinned, "Gajeel! Spectacular battle today! The crowd was on the edges of their seats as usual!" Gajeel bowed respectfully to the man but was interrupted, "Now, now, a free man shouldn't bow. Especially one as entertaining as you. There's someone waiting to meet you. She was very adamant that I tell her everything about you." With that the Dominus left, no doubt going to lecture his other slaves. Light footsteps sounded in front of him and to his surprise, it was the beauty from the crowd.
She was much shorter in front of him, he could easily be a foot or so taller than her. He fluttered his eyes down to her waiting expectantly for her to speak. "Y-you are much taller than you seem down in the arena."
It was safe to say that he wasn't expecting her to say that. He let out a chuckle that he hadn't let out in for what seemed like an eternity. Most patricians would turn their nose up at him and talk down to him but the woman in front of him was different. Very different, he thought.
"Do you perhaps have a name I could call you by?"
"Oh! Yes, yes of course! Levy McGarden. You?"
He smiled, she even had a pretty name, "Gajeel."
"Forgive me for asking, but, do you not have a surname?"
He thought for a moment. As a child, his surname was always in the background, it wouldn't surprise him if he forgot his own last name.
She was about to change subjects when he finally spoke again, "Redfox. Although I haven't used it in years." Seeing her smile up at him made him weak in the knees. The countless fights barely made him drop to his knees, but it was this tiny woman in front of him who could make him drop within a blink of an eye. He had gone soft, he thought.
He was worried he said something wrong when he heard her let out a sad breath and was about to apologize. When she suddenly stared at him like a puzzle she wanted to solve, he quieted.
"If you don't mind me asking, why do you stay? You have already been rewarded your freedom, why continue to go through those barbaric tournaments on a daily? Is something keeping you here?"
That was a question he asked himself every night and it was always left without an answer. But, he finally had his answer, "A few things."
"Is it your Dominus? He was the one to give back your life though. Is it a sort of debt you owe to him? Why do you still fight for him?"
"Not anymore."
He could feel her getting more nervous by the second, and that feeling only skyrocketed when he inched closer to her.
"I-I don't understand what you mean."
He tilted his head to look directly into her eyes, "You."
He continued after marveling at her confused face, "I don't fight for the Dominus anymore. I fight for you now."
She was very visibly surprised. Her face stained red as she hid her face in her hands. Quietly she spoke, muffled by her closed hands, "I take it, then you wouldn't - wouldn't mind accompanying me to the Villas."
He smiled, he might actually be able to live a normal life. He could turn his life around with her by his side, "If that is what you wish for. I would follow you to the depths of the underworld if you let me."
She slowly looked back up to him, gaping for a moment then quietly insisted, "If that is the case, I don't want you fighting anymore." And in those few seconds, he felt his iron-walled heart collapse as she beamed at him.
He laughed, "Of course."