On the morning of the Crucible, Roran felt giddy. He didn't feel any more confident than before, but he was excited. Whether it was for victory or death, he wasn't sure, but he was beginning to see each round in the Crucible as a changing point. Something would happen today. Something would change and, for better or worse, Roran looked forward to it.
After moving around and doing some stretches to limber up his body, Roran sat in a meditative position and focused on his breathing, calming his mind and heart. When the rations were delivered, he was tempted to ask for extra to help bolster his strength, but one look at Kamil and Denali handing extra food to Toth and Sephyr told him it would be a waste of time.
When a bang from down the hall announced that they were collecting volunteers for the Crucible, Roran rose to his feet and approached Murrin. The old councilman was sitting and chatting with Dorval and Marcus, a blind merchant that had worked closely with Murrin before the war.
At his approach, Dorval scowled and Murrin crossed his arms to look down his nose at Roran. "What boy?"
"I'll be going to the Crucible soon," said Roran.
"Yes yes, do well and make us proud and all that," said Murrin, dismissing Roran.
When Roran didn't move, Murrin raised an eyebrow and frowned at him.
"I'm going to need my sword and shield," said Roran.
Murrin chuckled and gave him a patronizing look. "Roran, I thought we had already discussed this. We're taking possession of those."
Confused, Roran pointed to the gate, "The warden will be here soon, I'll need them to fight in the Crucible."
"They give you loaner equipment, don't they? You can make do with those."
"My sword and shield will be better than anything they will loan me. It will help keep me alive."
Murrin rolled his eyes, "As we already discussed, boy, you won't survive in the arena for much longer. It will be better for Toth and Sephyr to have our good weapons when they go to fight for us."
Murrin's words finally caught up to Roran. They hadn't been confiscating the weapons so Toth and Sephyr could practice with them, they'd been confiscated so that Murrin could hold onto them in case Roran died.
"My weapons will be sent back here if I die." Roran wasn't sure how true that was but it was a point worth arguing. Plus, there were his weapons, gifted to him by Kell. They weren't for Murrin to take on a whim.
"We can't risk our weapons," said Murrin, "on a chance like that. You will just have to make do until the inevitable, boy." There was a knock on the gate and the warden looked in expectantly. "Be off now boy, go make us proud."
Roran's shoulders slumped in defeat. This wasn't a fight he could win. Not right now. He turned and headed for the door and the warden popped it open. Roran joined the collection of rag tag fighters from the other refugee cells. He was the only repeat fighter. At this rate, he was becoming a veteran. This was made even clearer when the warden said, "Didn't you have your own weapons?"
Roran waved the comment away. "It's fine."
The warden shrugged and they resumed the procession that slowly led them up the stairs, through the halls, and back into the room full of loaner equipment. With a sigh, Roran began digging through the equipment, trying to find a sword similar in length and weight to the one Kell had purchased for him. He managed to find one close enough, though the blade was notched and dull, and found a serviceable buckler for his off hand.
"Well look who's still alive!"
Roran whirled at the sound of the voice, a grin already spreading on his face.
"Chase!"
"Hey Roran, how're you doing?"
"I'm still alive," said Roran, smiling. Chase's familiar face helped to ease the tension building in Roran's muscles. At least one person was glad he was alive. "I haven't seen you recently. Where have you been? How are the dogs?"
"Oh I've been busier than all the King's men combined. They're holding a special tourney in the Crucible and apparently they expect me to do all the work. I've been neglecting my poor hounds, they're starting to get grumpy with me. Well, all except for Herda, she's always grumpy with me." Chase laughed and clapped Roran on the shoulder.
"And you friend? How has the Crucible been? I hear you've been getting into trouble."
Roran blushed. "I uh...I killed a champion after the bell rang..."
"So it was you that bled out Gress. Well I hope you got paid for it, that bastard needed killing if you ask me. Hell, I've never seen a titled champion participate in the Crucible that didn't deserve killing."
Roran thought of what Kell had said, how all the champions fighting in the Crucible were just bullies picking on the weak. Not wanting to dwell on Gress, or his murder, Roran changed the topic.
"What's the special tourney?" asked Roran.
"It's a bloodbath is what it is," said Chase, rolling his eyes. "They have a series of matches with special rules and goals. You have to complete each round to move on. It ends with a special deathmatch where the winner receives a pile of coins and boon from one of the Kings. I think it's Tasos granting the favor this time but I would have to check."
"How much money?" asked Roran, an idea sparking inside of him.
"More than you'll ever make in the Crucible, that's for sure. But don't you be getting any ideas," said Chase, giving Roran the side eye, "A newbie like you would be shredded in the first round."
"What is the first round?"
"It's like a game of keep-away but where people try to stab you."
Roran nodded. That didn't sound too bad. The majority of his fighting experience was centered around running away and not being stabbed.
"But like I said," Chase continued, "don't even think about it. Tell you what, why don't you help me run the dogs again. I haven't had the time to do it and I could use the help. I could come fetch you at night and get you out of the dungeons for a little bit."
"You don't have to come fetch me," said Roran, digging his marker medallion out of his pocket and holding it up so Chase could see. "I have gladiator's rights."
"Well look at that, two rounds in the Crucible and you're already on your way. Good on you kid, if you keep going, we might be able to make a warden out of you."
"I could become a warden?" asked Roran.
"Yup, it's a hell of a lot safer than becoming a champion, that's for sure." Around them, people started shuffling towards the exit. "Looks like we're out of time. Well, think about what I said. Being a warden comes with decent housing, good pay, and you're less likely to have some punk stab you in the neck with a shard of metal." He winked at Roran.
Roran scowled but didn't argue. Being a warden would get him fresh air, sunshine, a decent place to live, and it would allow him to help his kinsmen. Though he shuddered at what Murrin would try and pressure him to do. Extra rations daily for sure, and the gods knew what else.
"Good luck out there kid," said Chase, and he left with the other wardens. Roran joined his fellow refugees and they headed for the stairs that would lead them into the arena. As they began marching up the stairs, and out onto the killing field, Roran wondered what Kell would say if he tried to become a warden instead of helping her. She would probably never speak to him again, and the thought made him sad.