Chapter Text
Theseus is oddly breathtaking when he fights in the arena. Asterius had been reluctant to spectate at first, but there was still a part of him that felt he should go, regardless of his wants.
The first time Theseus announced he had a real match, and not merely training, Asterius had dutifully stood up to follow him, and Theseus had looked up into his face and frowned at whatever it was he found there.
“You need not come,” he had said.
Asterius had shaken his head, and Theseus’s frown had deepened, but he only asked once whether Asterius was sure.
“Yes, my king,” Asterius had said, and for the first time in a while, a genuine echo of unhappiness slid over Theseus’s face at the title. But he had not pushed it, and Asterius had followed.
When they arrive at the arena, Theseus pulls aside a shade that apparently serves as some sort of attendant, and speaks in a low voice to them as the trio walk through narrow hallways beneath the stands. The shade’s somewhat hazy face looks puzzled, but they nod, and dart off.
“Asterius!” Theseus raises his voice back to his usual levels as they enter a small chamber with benches and shelves on the walls.
“Would you prefer to spectate from the stands, or here in my antechamber? The stands will be a better view, but they are loud and crowded! No one will bother you here, and you would be able to leave easily at any time. And though you can see out the door, others cannot see in! Or, of course, I can get you a seat in one of the boxes if you’d like! I have developed quite a reputation through my success in informal matches, and I’m sure I would not be denied! But while it would be private in that you would not have company you would still be... very public and visible.”
Asterius peers carefully through the massive translucent gate that opens up to the arena, up at the stands and the box seats. The shades of Elysium have gotten marginally more used to Asterius’s presence after Theseus’s repeated excursions by his side, but the thought of sitting there, in full view, makes Asterius’s stomach churn.
“I will stay here.”
“Very well!” Theseus gives Asterius a big, showy grin, but his gaze is serious. “If you need anything, you need only ring the bell, and an attendant will aid you however they can!”
Asterius hadn’t noticed the shade return, but Theseus apparently had. The shade nods at Theseus, who beams.
“I trust you will afford Asterius every courtesy you would to me! You have always been helpful and conscientious, so I have great faith in you!”
The shade nods again, and Theseus clasps their hands in his. Asterius watches in faint interest as Theseus inquires after the shade’s family, and continues to maintain conversation even as the shade helps him change from a casual chiton into light armor.
Finally, a great bell clangs, and the shade hands Theseus a pink-tipped spear and a short sword. Theseus beams at the shade, and then turns to look at Asterius. His expression is odd, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but the gate slides open, and Theseus turns after the briefest pause, holding his spear aloft to raucous cheers. The shade bows to Theseus’s retreating back, then to Asterius, before leaving. Both doors slide shut, leaving Asterius alone.
The first half of Theseus’s fight makes Asterius feel sick. Even through the closed gate he can smell the stench of blood, he can hear the sickening squelch of blade in flesh, the crack of bone, the screaming of the crowd. Asterius clenches his fists against his thighs, and forces himself to watch.
But then he hears Theseus’s bright laughter, and he is flung back to the moment in the labyrinth, where he looked down at a small man, drenched in blood red and pale buttery gold, and that man had looked back, and beamed up at Asterius through bloody teeth.
Asterius forces himself now to watch the competitors’ faces, and not the way spilled blood soaks the dirt. The other fighter does not wear the same brazen delight as Theseus, but occasionally he or Theseus will strike an impressive blow, and he’ll grin.
It still sits heavy in Asterius stomach, but it allows him enough distance to actually pay attention to Theseus’s skill. He’s known Theseus was in a different league from any other he had fought when they met in the labyrinth, but now, armed, Theseus is a marvel. The other fighter too, is more impressive than any Asterius had previously encountered, but he doesn’t compare to Theseus, and eventually his sword clatters off to the side and he falls back onto the ground.
Theseus plants his foot on the opponent’s chest, and points the tip of his spear at the other man’s bare throat. Asterius steals himself for the killing blow, but instead the other man throws up his hands with a wry grin.
“I yield!”
Theseus beams down at him, drops the sword in his off hand, and offers it to help pull the man to his feet. They grin, hands clasped, and the opponent grips Theseus’s shoulder before jogging out of the arena. Theseus holds his arms high and the crowd, which had made a few noises of confusion earlier, erupts into cheers.
When Theseus returns to the antechamber, he looks at Asterius’s balled fists, and his face twists unhappily, but he does not comment. Instead he plasters on a smile and suggests he needs a bath, and would Asterius like to join him?
They enter separate rooms to wipe themselves clean before they soak in the public bath. When they reunite, Theseus smells clean, and Asterius has to admit that he relaxes when the sharp tang of iron is gone from the air. The public bath has a faint herbal smell, tinged with the faintest whiffs of a dozen different bodies, and the chatter is a pleasant buzz.
The bath is, in all senses, a balance of almost-neutral. The underlying amalgamation of multiple sights and sounds and smells blurs into white noise. Theseus maintains a steady stream of conversation and does not mention the arena. The other shades largely ignore them. The water is pleasantly hot, and the idle scrape of Theseus’s fingernails on Asterius’s arm is soothing, perhaps because Theseus doesn’t seem to notice he’s doing it.
Asterius realizes a few weeks later that Theseus doesn’t mention when he has a fight in the arena anymore. He’ll talk about them in the abstract, or ones in the far future, or ones in the past, and he doesn’t avoid the topic if someone asks, but he never tells Asterius when he’s about to go for a fight.
He’ll tell Asterius he’s going to the arena, and Asterius always assumes that means training. Early in their acquaintance, Asterius had accompanied Theseus for training, and it’d been largely uninteresting. He’d initially gone, and stayed, because he did not know what to do when he wasn’t by Theseus’s side, but they’d moved past that point. Asterius is comfortable enough now to wander Elysium alone, and spend his time exploring instead of watching Theseus smack a wooden dummy with a wooden stick.
But Asterius had thought the fights were different. They were Important to Theseus, and so he was sure he should spectate them, despite his discomfort. That’s why he’d gone that first time. And he’d intended to go again. The first few times he finds out that Theseus had a fight after the fact, he’d assumed Theseus had simply forgotten to mention it. But after a while it becomes clear that it’s intentional.
Asterius has this revelation one day, sitting in the living room of their shared home, and he frowns, staring at the wall. Theseus had just walked out the door, headed for the arena. Asterius had planned to go for a walk, and examine one of the chambers of orchards, but the knowledge that Theseus is hiding his matches forces him to reconsider. He can’t comprehend why Theseus would do so, but he knows he should go, if Theseus is, indeed, having a fight today.
Then he remembers the stench of blood and the cheers of the stands and the knowledge that most arena fights are to the death. He ends up sitting in silence until Theseus returns.
Theseus smells clean, not even of sweat (as he does when he trains), and that confirms it. There was a fight, Theseus did not tell him, and then he bathed to hide the stench of blood from Asterius’s sensitive nose.
“How was your fight, my king?” Asterius asks. He doesn’t know how else to address this.
Theseus pauses in the doorway, staring at Asterius. Asterius expects him to lie.
“It was alright! Not the best opponent I have had, but worthy of my time, and she ranked quite high, so her defeat advances me quite a bit!”
Not lying then. Or at least, not when it is obvious Asterius knows the truth. He tries a different tactic.
“Hm. When is your next fight?”
Theseus goes even more still.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
Asterius examines Theseus’s face carefully. Not a lie either, he thinks. A specific date, when previously Theseus had given none. But then, Asterius had never asked. And that realization feels... important.
Asterius looks away as he thinks, knowing that it relaxes Theseus to think he is unobserved. He watches Theseus in his wide periphery, as Theseus slowly resumes entering their home, and picks up a fig from the bowl of fruit.
Asterius had never asked. Theseus had not told him about the fights, but Asterius had never asked. Asterius had assumed he should attend the fights because they were important to Theseus, because Theseus has saved him, and Theseus was now his friend, and therefore the fights must also be important to Asterius. And then when Theseus had not invited him to the fights and Asterius had realized, he had assumed... something he cannot articulate. That Theseus thought him weak? That Theseus was ashamed to have him there?
“Shall I come then, to your next fight?” Asterius finally asks. He has only assumed before, but perhaps that has always been the issue.
Theseus pauses, mid-bite of the fig.
“If you would like, my friend!”
Asterius ponders a moment. “I think I would rather visit the orchards tomorrow. But I should like to know when you have your fights so I may decide.”
Again Asterius expects Theseus to... do something, say something. To demand that Asterius come to the fight, or that he not. To lie about his future fights. To refuse to tell Asterius.
Instead he carefully shoves the rest of the fig in his mouth, chews, swallows, and says, “Alright.”
Theseus tells Asterius about all of his fights from there on out. Asterius does not go to them, and Theseus does not ask him to come, but that the option is there feels significant.