Chapter Seven: When the Fighting Starts

            Oderan’s first sensation was one of comforting warmth. Akkedisian blood did not run hot, and every member of his species knew that no matter how many blankets one piled atop themselves, they would always wake cold. This fact is of course only true if an external heater is not provided. Many Akkedisians of royal blood would have their dutiful servants place hot water bottles in the bed with them every hour as they slept, so the nobles’ may wake comfortably; right now Oderan had something much better in his arms. The lizard cracked his eyes, allowing the white-orange light of the morning sun into his world. He hummed slightly, tilting his head to the side and looking at Albion. Oderan had gone to bed in the same building as his uncle, but he had not stayed there. The panther still slept, his eyes gently closed, his whiskers twitching as his body slowly made efforts to rouse itself. Oderan watched him, unable to keep from smiling. They both lay naked in the bed, Oderan on his back and Albion cradling him gently, a single paw stretched protectively across his scaled chest. From deep in the cat’s throat, Oderan could hear a slight purring of contentment, and it made his grin only broaden.  In his earlier years it had taken him a very long time to accept the fact he was not meant to love females. For years he’d slunk away to the poorest, darkest districts of the city to meet with males who would whore their bodies to him. It had been a vile pleasure, one that was ‘necessary’ and yet still filled him with gut-wrenching guilt, and all the while he had told himself it was merely a youthful curiosity…how wrong he’d been.

When he’d first visited Albion to commission a weapon, it had just been…unreal. Later the two would discuss the meeting, and neither were able to accurately describe exactly what it had felt like, yet they both had experienced it; a sudden compulsion to touch and caress the other, both a need and an understanding. They had wasted four good meetings before they relented to the urges, and Oderan had known within the month that he loved the panther with everything that he had. Lord Sarossum had raised his son as a cynic, and Oderan had never believed in love at first sight, that sort of thing was reserved for naïve girls and poetic city dandies…and yet…the attraction he’d felt to the male panther was undeniable. He’d been only a fledgling duellist back then, but he soon dedicated himself to one day being brought before the Godking and granted his favour. His father and uncle had both been amazed at the sudden fervour with which he trained, the obsession he held with being the best coming to them totally out of the blue. Oderan had always been physically gifted with both grace and fighting ability, but the sudden love and lust had driven him beyond that. He’d quickly climbed the duelling ranks in the Akkedisian side of the city, eventually being asked to travel to the other side and compete against the Tevarians as well.  It had made his relationship with Albion only easier.

Seeing one another every few weeks or months, with hardly any contact in between had been a major stress on the two. They had barely survived it sometimes; Albion had spent many lonely nights crying with only his pillow to comfort him, wishing he could just speak to his lover. They had screamed at each other, hated their faces, despised the wants and needs they both held. But after it all…strength. After every miserable night, once all the tears were gone, the two were better for it.  Loving Albion wasn’t always easy. The panther didn’t talk about his worries while Oderan tended to unload, usually in huge wanton serves of information. The lizard had always been secretly terrified that one day he would simply be told that it was over, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. He closed his eyes briefly, wondering how he’d let himself be so neurotic. He opened them again and saw his lover staring back at him; the dark eyes finally open to the morning. Oderan leaned forwards and planted a soft kiss on his nose.

“Good morning.” He whispered to the cat. Albion smiled, snuggling closer to Oderan and purring louder.

“Hello.” He replied. “What time is the fight?” He asked, cocking his head. Oderan thought for a moment, all his non-Albion thoughts had been pushed away until now.

“Um, half past the eleventh hour I believe. Before midday at least.” He answered. “I’ll need to go soon I suppose, my uncle will be waiting, almost certainly tapping his foot impatiently already.” Albion laughed at that, but his eyes were a little sad.

“I’ll come to watch you fight. I want to see if that new blade will hold up.” Replied Albion. Oderan shifted uncomfortably in the bed, looking away. “What?”

“Well, I have been training with it. It’s amazingly light, so easy to use and oh…it looks absolutely stunning in a good spar. It’s just…” He paused. “I’m scared to use it Albi.” Oderan confessed, cringing slightly. The panther merely chuckled, sitting up in the bed, his sheets pooling around his lap. In a single fluid motion, Albion reached a warm paw over and laid it on the back of Oderan’s neck, lightly massaging his scales there.

“And do tell, what is the point of the thing if you won’t use it, sweetness?” He cooed, cocking his head at the lizard. If Akkedisians could blush, Oderan would have been doing so now. He pulled his claws together in his lap, biting a lip and fiddling with his fingers.

“I just…you made it for me.” He said quietly. “It’s special, I don’t want to break or scratch it…what a waste.” Albion paused at that, and Oderan looked to him, wide-eyed. The panther stared at him plainly for a few moments, and then threw his head back laughing. Oderan frowned, crossing his arms childishly as the big cat guffawed in the bed next to him. “Don’t laugh.” He murmured, embarrassed. Eventually Albion’s laughter died down, and he leaned into the lizard, wrapping his arms around the drake’s broad shoulders.

“Oh you’re just so precious.” He purred. “I never thought you to be so cursedly sentimental. Please, if it’s good like you say, then use it. If something happens, I’ll make another.” He said, and Oderan sighed.

“I don’t know. You made it as a gift, the best one I’ve ever received…I hate the idea of tarnishing in front of all those judgemental noble eyes. Is that stupid?” He explained, glancing to his lover. Albion smiled, kissing him gently on the neck.

“I can’t think of anything better than you using it to fight for our love, love.” Oderan laughed at that, smiling wanly. He let himself fall into the bed a little more deeply, allowing Albion to cuddle in tighter. “Don’t you need to get going?” He asked.

“Soon. I can spare a little longer though.” Oderan replied. The two sat in silence for a while, and Oderan found himself listening attentively to Albion’s breathing. The steady in-out sound was relaxing, and he thought he could probably listen to it all day long and not grow bored.

“Oderan.” Albion whispered softly, and Oderan met his eyes. “Do you really think we can be together? I mean…really? You’ll be asking so much…” The drake sighed. Customarily, when fighters were distinguished in the Akkedisian Empire and brought before Godking Szaresh, they’d request things like lands or titles. It had been used to request vengeance, and one time a drake had simply asked to become a personal guard to the Godking. Oderan’s request was extremely unorthodox, and dangerous. He’d also effectively be requesting two boons, and risked incurring the wrath of a self-proclaimed God. The first was to marry someone who belonged to the Tevarian Empire, a warm-blooded fur. The second was to marry a male of all things. If the Godking took his request the wrong way, it was entirely possible that Oderan could be executed or thrown in jail. One thing Oderan respected about the Tevarians was the fact that they were relatively lax about interspecies marriage. He knew the Wolf-led Kingdom forbade male-to-male relationships, but a Wolf could at least marry a Fox with relatively little fanfare. It’d of course make for some good court gossip, but nobody would be losing their heads. The Akkedisian way was far more purity-centric. The Godking’s dogma taught that the drakes were the superior race, and for royal blood to defame itself by courting a fur-clad…well people had died for less. Oderan firmed his jaw, exhaling slowly through his nostrils.

“I…don’t know.” He said finally. A part of him wanted to lie to Albion, to claim that everything would be just fine. But it wouldn’t be fair. “Let’s worry about that when it comes, okay? We have a lot of a fights until that becomes an issue.” Albion didn’t seem entirely happy with that, but he let the issue drop for now.

“I’ll be whispering good-lucks to you from the stands you know.” He said instead, sitting up again and climbing out of the bed. Oderan watched him lazily as the panther pulled his trousers and shirt on, buttoning himself up.

“What if your presence begins to make me nervous? I might falter while trying to look heroic and masculine for you.” He teased. Albion gave him an unamused look, then pulled the sheets of the bed back, exposing Oderan to the cool air.

“Time to get up, I don’t want that damned Uncle of yours kicking my door in because someone is late.” Albion said. Oderan scowled, but picked himself up and began to dress.

“You speak as if he knows where I am.” He replied sarcastically. Once dressed, the lizard walked over to his panther, cupping his jaw and looking at his eyes. “Thank you.” He said softly.

“For uh…for what?” The Weaponsmith replied, raising an eyebrow. Oderan chuckled.

“Just for being you. You give me a purpose, something to strive for. It doesn’t feel like my life is just one royal gesture after another, but as if it has a true goal. We’ll be able to be a real family one day, I promise.” Albion’s eyes melted, and he leaned forwards and kissed Oderan gently.

“Just win today.” He said with a smile.

“Finally.” Lorric exclaimed dramatically, as his nephew waltzed into the Akkedisian side of the Tevarian arena. The arena this side of the city wasn’t quite as large as the Akkedisians own, but it was more than serviceable for a simple duel. As he’d walked through the streets, Oderan had seen the Wolves’ Royal Palace looming over them, as it lay in relatively close proximity to the arena. The interior of the fighter rooms were all decked out in Akkedisian blues, flags and seals of the nation adorning the walls. Servants scurried about busily, carrying sets of armour and items that would soon be handed to Oderan. In the main armouring room stood a tall wooden mannequin, dressed with Oderan’s preferred fighting outfit. On a table in the centre of the room his spear sat in a neat stand, Albion’s latest masterwork outfitted to the tip. The handle was a dark, nearly black wood capped with simple steel at the bottom end, Oderan didn’t have to pick it up to know it was lightweight and manoeuvrable. Most of the duellists he knew chose to fight with massive two-handed Greatswords, or sometimes a basic shield and sword. When Oderan had made his first serious commitment to duelling and walked out into the arena with a Greatspear…well, heads had turned. It was something that always tired him, court gossip. It seemed that anything laying outside basic normality was worthy of hushed whispers and showy gasps. Did it really matter?

“Dear Uncle, could you at least attempt not to worry so much. Have I ever once been late to a duel of this importance?” Oderan scolded, undoing his shirt and quickly stripping to his underclothes. Lorric just gave him a hostile look as a servant brought a set of padded cotton garments. They would be worn beneath his armour, and were both tight-fitting and flexible. Oderan slipped into the clothes, allowing an assistant to do up the ties at his neck, wrists and ankles. “I managed to win several bouts this side of the city without you here nagging me in the past, honestly, acting like a cranky old maid now will do no good.”

“There is a first for everything Oderan. Where in Odirium’s name were you boy? I sent guards out to search for you, and they came back completely empty handed.” Lorric scolded, comically waving his claws to emphasise his point. The guards had actually found him, technically. Early in the morning he’d heard a thick set of knocks on Albion’s door, but neither had gotten up to let them in and the guards had left, presumably to report that their charge was not there.

“Am I allowed no secrets?” Oderan retorted tiredly. He began to walk over to his armour set, when Lorric’s claw shot up and tightly grasped his shoulder.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He asked harshly. Oderan sighed.

“I’ve won plenty of duels without first dedicating my eternal soul to the Godking.” He said, hating the way that Lorric made him feel like a petulant child. His Uncle just stared him down, and so Oderan sighed, gesturing to a nearby servant. The drake nodded curtly and disappeared, returning after a fashion with an ornate golden bowl, a small pile of crushed leaves placed within it. Lorric placed the bowl on the ground, and he and Oderan both knelt in front of it. Lorric was passed a small set of matches, and the older lizard lit one, holding it carefully to the pile of leaves. After a moment they began to smoulder, a thin wisp of smoke wafting into the air. Oderan closed his eyes, slowly exhaling. Then gently, as he’d been taught since the day he was hatched, he began to inhale slowly. He could smell the mix of fragrant leaves sucked in through his nostrils. Lorric would likely imagine Oderan was internally petitioning Szaresh for a glorious victory, as he probably was. Oderan’s thoughts were of course solely dedicated to Albion.

You bastard. Oderan began his prayer. Just let us be happy together. We don’t want anything but that. We won’t hurt anyone, or corrupt your damned bloodline. We’ll go to another, smaller city even. Just let us be together. He opened his eyes and looked to Lorric, who nodded. They both stood and his Uncle gestured to the bowl, to which a servant came and retrieved it. Oderan went to go to his armour stand, but again he was stopped.

“What?” Oderan snapped, his Uncle flinching at the outburst. He was getting tired of constantly being held back. He brought Lorric with him to this side of the city in an effort to grow closer to the drake, but the old thing done nothing save get in the way.

“I just wanted to say that I’m incredibly proud of you. I know things between you and I are not always so relaxed, but you are a good person. Your father would be amazed at who you’ve become. You bring both honour and victory to our family name, and since one day you’ll lead the Sarossum bloodline, I thought I should tell you I’m glad of that fact.” Oderan wasn’t sure what to say to that. Lorric wasn’t fond of positive reinforcement, and he couldn’t think of one other time in his life the lizard had said he was proud of him.

Would you still feel the same if you knew I held no intention of rearing children? Did my actions last night bring honour to your name? Or would you be ashamed? He thought, quivering slightly. Eventually Oderan nodded shakily, and Lorric released him.

“Thank you.” He said finally. “It means a lot to me that you would say these things. I just…hope I can live up to your belief.” His uncle smiled.

“You already have my boy.” Lorric replied. Oderan looked to the ground, unable to stop himself from feeling as if he were lying to his family. No, this was worse than lying to them; he was stabbing them in the back. He had only a sister and a widowed Uncle left now, the family name’s immortality rested with him alone. And he was choosing to discard it, all so he could fuck a male instead. The old feelings of hatred and disgust welled up inside Oderan, but he quickly crushed them.

Don’t I deserve to be happy? Is there any point to all this, if you lead a life devoid of love? Which is more honourable, respecting your family name and furthering the line, or staying true to your heart? Am I selfish for wanting to be loved? He thought of Albion’s smiling face, of how he was only truly happy when he was with the panther. The barbs of guilt tried to take hold of his emotions, but he shook them away with a memory of those dark eyes. Oderan nodded again, leaving his Uncle and going to his armour stand. It took two servants assisting to get Oderan properly prepared. Much like his chosen weapon, the lizard’s outfit was a little unorthodox. He wore first a heavy brown overcoat, weighty compared to most noble outfits but far lighter than ordinary plate. Then clamped over his chest were several plate-like pieces of armour, plus steel pauldrons for his shoulders and gauntlets on his claws. A fur-lined steel helmet rested on his head, with two rings allowing his horns to protrude out gracefully.

To his left horn Oderan had tied two colourful short ribbons, a little flair for the audience members. It was important for duellists to realise that combat in an arena was not just about winning. The money came from bets and sponsorships, and onlooking nobility tended to put their gold on the ones they liked, not necessarily the most skilful fighter. Exciting movements, combined with various flourishes and eccentric demonstrations of skill was how one ascended the ranks. Nobody would ever fight on a battlefield like Oderan would fight today, but then again that was why the arena existed; to play pretend. The brown leather overcoat he wore beneath the upper armour extended midway down his thighs, and on his legs the drake wore neat trousers and high, black-leather boots that were secured with shiny tight buckles. Oderan relied on fighting with quick and darting movements; he kept fast on his feet and tried to avoid any kind of blow. Some of the duellists he knew preferred to wear heavy armour, deliberately allowing their opponent to land several insubstantial attacks in order to get close. Due to his particular technique however, Oderan had managed to accrue somewhat of a nickname for himself in the arena world; The Untouchable. Of course he didn’t always escape his bouts unscathed, but several high ranking opponents had been defeated without landing a single blow, earning him the name. It was just another way he ensured that people remembered him, another way he acquired more popularity. Finally dressed in his armour, Oderan peered out from the curtain of his fighter room, the earlier ‘warm-up’ battles were beginning to come to a close, and soon he’d be summoned to fight as one of the main attractions.

“Feeling ready?” Lorric asked, laying a hand on his nephew’s armoured shoulder. Oderan nodded absentmindedly, wondering where exactly Albion might be seated. After a few moments of silence, he heard a loud horn blown, the cry echoing through the arena to cheers of excitement from the nobility. “Time to go.” Lorric said, helpfully stating the obvious. Oderan looked back to him and grinned.

“See you on the other side.” He said flippantly, walking out to the cries of hundreds of spectators.