Chapter II – Scars of the Battle
No matter how much strength Ganondorf had gained from the exhilaration, it only overshadowed his exhaustion and pain. It accompanied him on every step. But showing his weakness towards the audience? No, never. As long as he was in that arena, he would stand upright even if it would kill him.
Ganondorf reached the preparation room. Every gladiator went here before and after their fights, for they were not allowed to take any weapons or armor into the inside areas. These ones were secured with an additional iron railing and the guards only opened it when the fighter had put everything back on the designated racks, far out of their reach to suddenly grab them again to turn against his superiors.
The fighters might be branded as the property of the arena, but it did not change the fact that they were skilled and had nothing to lose besides their enslaved life. Rebellion happened one day or another out of the desperation, but the master had drastic measurements for such a behavior. He used the death sentence without blinking an eye, yet still it remained even in his interest to keep the chances of uprisings at a minimum.
Once the arena gate closed behind Ganondorf, his body exacted its toll. Nothing he could against his knees becoming weak. He fell over. He had not even the strength to lessen the impact. Just how he hated the fact that he laid in the dust again despite the fight being over. Knowing that in the recent years he never was that exhausted and injured after a fight scratched his pride even further. Maybe this was even more painful than the wounds itself. No, it was.
He heard one of the guards, known as Mikrul, demanding him to stand up again and get out of his armor. This one time, Ganondorf would have loved to follow his orders and spare himself this pathetic view despite the aversion he had towards this man. But since his body denied him to a point where even breathing and keeping his eyes open became strenuous, there was not even the possibility to act willingly disobedient. He had not only reached his limits with this beast, he had overstepped it. By far.
Mikrul's shouted towards some other guards, his annoyance audible, after Ganondorf did not show any inclination to do anything. The door burst against the bars.
"Do you intend to lay there for all eternity?!" moaned Mikrul when he stood near Ganondorf. "If you would've fought properly and not like an absolute beginner, you wouldn't look like a slaughtered pig now."
The arrogance of this man. Disgusting. Enraging. Ganondorf would have loved to take the man's head and crush his skull into pieces on the next wall. Mikrul likely was one of those people who enjoyed to show and exercise power over others, but who could never stand up to a fight in the arena. His relatively small stature and hollow cheeks were good indications for this. It fed his own aggression towards this man even more to know he was in the inferior position and unable to do anything against him without severe punishment.
Before Ganondorf could even think about a response that he probably could not have spoken out anyway, Mikrul had grabbed his right arm and tried to tear him up with it. "Couldn't you have taken better care of yourself? How do you think to compete in the next fight?"
Mikrul only achieved that Ganondorf moaned. The pain spread instantly through his body, to head, to toe, accompanied by a prickling feeling. Out of all parts of his body, Mikrul had to strain the one that had taken the most damage. His field of vision blurred, like his sense of hearing. It became too much, far too much to handle.
He was on the edge of losing his consciousness, when Mikrul abruptly let go of him. Ganondorf heard another man with a sharp voice, "What are you doing? Are you blind? Can't you see he won't move a muscle anymore?"
Raul he recognized, a man that grew grey hair but who had a terrifying presence with his sinister expressions and sturdy build. A man of strict rules no one mucked around with unpunished, yet he was someone who knew when he had to abandon his principles and take other priorities. Definitely one of the more sympathetic guards if he could say that about any.
"He shouldn't make such a fuss out of it. I thought if he was an ever so strong warrior, then he should act like one and not like a pussy," responded Mikrul in a spiteful manner.
Raul knelt next to Ganondorf and loosened the leather strap of his armor and sighed annoyed. "You should know when to keep your trap shut. If we would all act like you, we would soon have not a single gladiator left. If you want them to function and keep on, you have to care at least a little for them. Even more when you want them to compete in the more challenging and dangerous battles." He stopped in his movement and Ganondorf assumed he looked up to Mikrul. "I would wish you much fun to tell our chief that one of his better fighters died not in the arena but because of your carelessness. Maybe he'll send you as a replacement for him so that you learn a thing or two, assuming you survive out there." He continued in getting Ganondorf out of the armor. "And now stop staring into the space and help me. This is true for you two, too. We must get him to the infirmary."
Mikrul remained quiet and followed Raul's instructions. Ganondorf tried to not grin, even this was painful. But such an enjoyment if someone shut Mikrul up. Luckily, Raul was a great example for it and since he was higher ranked and more experienced, Mikrul had no chances to counter. Now, if Raul also would have smashed his face in, it would have been perfect.
After Ganondorf only having left a breechcloth, Raul and another guard each laid one arm of him over their shoulder. They were indeed much more careful in not worsening his injuries when they carried, as opposed to Mikrul.
The infirmary was nearby and belonged to the best furnished stations the whole facility had to offer. Though the walls were still made of cold stone with windows reinforced with bars, the room he was brought to consisted of six beds, three arranged parallel on each wall. A surprisingly well lighted one. Even the condition of the beds and the tissues on them was good, especially in contrast to the old and worn out ones they had back in their cells.
A luxury even though it left a bad taste it was not meant as a compensation for the hard fights. Since they put a lot of rupees in getting a slave in the first place, they also had to put money, effort and time into their training before they could be sent into the arena to show a proper fight. Otherwise, the audience would be unhappy, resulting in demanding their money back. And even worse, they would not come again.
They tried to keep the losses of their capital as low as possible which also meant to get the gladiators up again once they were wounded from the fights. The ones bound to the arena for a long, trained as they were, were able to compete in more spectacular fights against dangerous beasts and foes, thus making those fighters even more valuable. They were willing to put more effort and rupees into their recovery than they would be willing for a newcomer.
Despite the good condition of the room, the smell of blood and death polluted the air. Always. Ganondorf was used to it, but this day he got a twisted feeling in his stomach and felt sick once the two guards had dragged him into the hospital ward.
He heard footsteps from the other side of the station and shortly after the voice of Dina, "I guess the fight is over. Did he manage to get through it?" The head of the infirmary and a skilled user of the healing arts. She took her work very responsibly, but even though she was successful, she was not sensitive when it came down to treating injuries or illnesses. Much to the chagrin of the wounded.
"He breathes," answered Raul before he added with an amused undertone, "and he can moan. Guess that means he's still alive,"
"What a sharp conclusion." Her voice remained cold. "Now get him on the bed, who knows how long he'll stay this way if you let him hang around like this all day."
The third guard grabbed Ganondorf by his feet and the three lifted him up to place him on the bed. The last thing he saw was the angular face of Dina who bent over him. He could barely hear her saying, "Let's see what I can do," before his injuries and the sickening air closed him off from the waking world.
It was the shaking and the resounding itching that brought him back to his senses. Though at first disorientated, Ganondorf slowly recovered his memory of the events leading to his current state. And he realized that he stared into the face of Dina.
"Finally awake? Took you long enough," she said without emotion. "Then you can finally drink this." She put a bottle filled with a red liquid on his chest which he intended to take with his right hand, but he soon noticed it was an impossible endeavor. When he turned his head, he saw that it was bandaged and stabilized to restrict any movements.
Dina must have noticed his hesitation and suspicious view. "It's for this. The other injuries will still need their time to heal but with this one you've gone overboard. It will take months to heal under normal circumstances. We need to speed up the healing process with the help of medicine." She pushed the bottle forcefully against his chest. "Now drink it. I don't have to explain you that its effect lessens with the more time passing by and you've wasted already enough with your sleeping."
Since Ganondorf's mind cleared up, he refused to take bottle. He knew this medicine, and he did not like it. Not at all. Not because it tasted gruesome and one would spit it out within seconds if unprepared, it was the value it held. Though it could not heal injuries or prevent the effect of mortal wounds, it stopped the bleeding and supported the recovery process. But since it was also difficult to store and consisted of rare ingredients, its cost proved to be horrendous.
"I would rather fight with one hand for the next couple of weeks than drinking this," stated Ganondorf straight-forwardly. He was serious with it. Absolutely. He acknoweledged that they deemed him worthy enough to pay for such a medicine, yet he knew they would never do it without ulterior motives. He had to pay it back, all of it, more likely double or thrice the price. Not in money as he possessed none, but they could let him participate in more fights than usual or assign him with other unpleasant tasks between the breaks of the training schedule. Cleaning the arena, scrubbing floors or peeling potatoes, they had enough of those things. He would rather fight at such a disadvantage than endure this degree of humiliation again.
"It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order." Dina glared at him but Ganondorf did not change his mind. She continued with a menacing voice, "I do not have to remind you, one of our veteran fighters, about the consequences we have for disobedient behavior, do I? Correct me if I am wrong."
Ganondorf turned his head away to avoid her piercing glare but he was clenching his teeth. Even though he, as long as he could remember, had spent his whole life inside these walls, he still loathed to this day the fact he was under someone else's command, not allowed to make decisions on his own. However, what he hated even more was when those people showed him the power they held over him right into his face, knowing he could do nothing against it.
"See. Continue acting like this and I'll call the guards. They'll get the medicine into you, believe me, and later on we will see how pleased you are to spend all your time between training and battles in a small cell in the company of chains." Dina's voice, so cold while she tapped her fingers on the bottle. "It's your decision, but make it in the next ten seconds or I do."
The sound from her tapping alone was annoying but her words bugged Ganondorf even more. As much as he would have liked to shove the medicine into her mouth and begin a quarrel with the guards, it would harm him by far more than giving in. He whipped out the bottle of her hands and lifted his upper body before he drank it down in one gulp. It tasted horrible, disgusting, but the alternative to it was even worse. No treatment of a newcomer for him again where he was not allowed to make even a single step without being guarded and chained up outside of the training ground. It had taken enough time to reach and to regain this status any other time. He did not want to lose it now, certainly not.
"Next time you spare me the trouble," demanded Dina when she took the bottle back. Without losing any other words, she left.
Later on, Ganondorf received five days to spend at the hospital ward without any duties except recovering. A surprise even for him as it was an unusually long time frame and a privilege to not be forced to do any work. Maybe the battle was something special, at least he could not deny it was his toughest one over the years despite his improved skills.
Despite having nothing to do these particular days, they did not feel boring. Not at all. Ganondorf enjoyed them because he did not have to train from morning to evening, had not fulfilled any other humiliating task, had a comfortable bed, was not yelled at and especially not ordered around. It felt wonderful. Really wonderful. He wished the time would not end too soon. Or better, not at all.
In the coming days, he had seen other gladiators coming and going. Most of them had only small injuries, resulting from the training and were soon sent back. One that came on the fourth day though, he remorselessly pressed his hands against his chest. When two guards carried him to one bed, he moaned in pain. Even after Dina had cared for his wound, he still laid crumbling there, gasping for air.
Ganondorf guessed him to be a new one who had fought in his first serious battle where real weapons were involved. The ascension it got called, meant to test if someone was prepared to enter a true fight in the arena in front of the audience's eyes. In regard to his condition, he failed the trial. Unlikely he would survive this night.
Ganondorf's interest in other people besides himself was never a great one, he never made a secret out of it. He did not ask the dying for the circumstances. Even if the man was able to answer, he had no desire to involve himself in a conversation. He preferred to keep his distance towards others. Else one day he might be ordered to fight against one he grew attached to. Those sentiments could be proven to be dangerous if not deadly. Sentiments he could not afford in one of those fights. Neither he needed them.
With the dawn of the fifth day, Ganondorf's assumption became true. The man's motionless body was carried away. The guards showed no pity, they did not even seem bothered. For them it was just another one. Another tool failed. Maybe they regretted the loss in money but that was the ultimate feeling. Though truth be told, he did not feel any different. It could happen to him as well one day and probably no one would care either.
This was just the life of gladiators; the ones who were weak were condemned to die. Only the powerful survived. He wanted to belong to the last.
The hours passed by before Ganondorf heard trampling from the direction of the staff room. A familiar voice shouted, "Is the redhead here?"
"I have a name!" Ganondorf could not and neither wanted to hide his annoyance. True, he had never seen anybody else with red hair here, yet he detested it to be only addressed by this and especially by this man.
Mikrul walked towards him. "Here you are."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on your intentions for coming."
"Very funny." Mikrul crossed his arms in front of his chest when he said derogatorily, "And just for your information, redhead. If I want to call you redhead, I call you redhead. And if I want to call you trash, I call you trash. Got it?"
"Forget it, scum." Ganondorf could not suppress all of his rising rage. Even though he got better control over his short temperament in the years, it was a characteristic that accompanied him since his childhood. Despite all the punishment he earned for it, he never got rid of it entirely.
Mikrul's expression darkened and Ganondorf noticed how his hand slid towards the rift of his sword. He restrained himself from drawing it though he made no secret out of his displeasure. "You're just on the way to getting better and you're already scratching the boundaries really close, redhead. You should watch your mouth because I've already noticed in the recent time that you're getting a little defiant. I don't like this. Seems like you need some measurement to help you remember your position here, don't you think, redhead?"
Ganondorf remained quiet. Even though it itched strongly in his tongue to give Mikrul another naughty remark, it seemed to be wiser to not provoke him any further. It would harm him more than it would Mikrul. No matter how much he despised him, this one was in the superior position. Unfortunately.
Mikrul enjoyed the silence; at least his amused expression indicated it. He let a good amount of minutes passing by before asking, "Oh, can I assume you have already remembered?"
Ganondorf clenched his fist under the duvet in such a strong way it hurt. He even had to bite on his tongue and remind himself that this disgusting man was just not worth the trouble he had to undergo if he would punch him straight in his ugly face. Or just strangle him to death.
Mikrul waited again, obviously enjoying the situation before he threw a pile of tissues on Ganondorf's legs. "Then take this." Just a pack of rags that they were given as normal clothes. A roughspun tunic with a trouser, together with a pair of footwraps, all of them colored in olive-green and in a worn-out condition. Probably not even worth one rupee but at least better than only the underwear he wore by now.
"I also have a message for you," continued Mikrul while Ganondorf tried to get into the clothing. Due to his right arm still being immobilized, it proved to be a more difficult task than expected. "Your master wants to speak with you. Personally. Now." Mikrul walked towards the door and turned around a last time. "Though I would love to see his reaction on you if you let him wait, you shouldn't do it. He detests it. You don't want his wrath on you. Believe me, even you just don't want that, redhead."