KAZAMIR NJAL
"The Champion"

The crowd had gone almost completely silent. A hushing sensation that made Kazamir Njal's ears ring with intesity. His bloodied face and pounding head finally made him realize the blows he had taken while in the open stadium, his vision blurred and darkening in one eye as it swelled shut. His sword had pierced is opponent straight in the chest, the man falling to his knees, grasping at the sharpened steel with intent to begin begging.

Kazamir pulled out the sword, bloodied and heavy in his left hand, the body falling limp face-down in the sand. Kazamir turned to the crowd, the ringing only beginning to increase more as the loudness of the people cheered and hollered. The sight was one that not many saw - and Kazamir had fought his way to experience it, though not for himself. His mother - a woman with barely anything to live for - had requested this of him.

"Fight like your father," she would say. "Fight truthful and penalizing."

The words replayed in his head.

He had finally done it.

"Kazamir Njal!" A booming voice echoed, the crowd clamor silenced. "The King's Champion!" The man exclaimed, raising his hands in the air as if to notify the people to begin cheering again. Kazamir knew that if it had been his opponent, they would be doing the same. He was aware of the opportunity of living to be a Champion and the excitement it brought, but he also was aware of the obvious fact that he could easily be replaced at next year's tournaments.

This would only be the beginning.

Moments later, Kazamir found himself in a medical-like room. Filled to the roof with books and elixers, the smell of rosemary and flesh permeating the air, Kazamir felt a stinging sensation.

"Your eye will heal in a couple of weeks," the shaman spoke gently. Her words were quite soft, like a pillow after a long day of training. Kazamir nodded, squinting at her with his good eye.

She appeared to be roughly his age, perhaps a little younger, with raven dark hair and bright green eyes. Her skin was tanned and clear like a summer's day with no future forecast.

"Thank you," he finally returned.

The woman placed a few more bandages on Kazamir - his eye and his shoulder in particular. His opponent was not afraid of a fight, and he admired him for that. It was good entertainment when two fighters could put on a show, but Kazamir always asked himself the same question; at what cost? His mother would be glad to hear the news, yes, but it would not help her. He would not be able to get her out of the hole that he had left her in almost a decade ago. Outside of the kingdom, she was simply a nobody, and furthermore, her postion of being a nobody would not allow her to reach what she wanted - a life.

The woman rose from her seat next to Kazamir, his shirtless frame bruised and scratched, beaten and battered. He looked at her - the best he could - as she returned with a small glass bottle of a black liquid.

"This is a tea," she said. "Drink it every few hours. It will help with the pain." She handed it to him, Kazamir holding it in his hand. He inspected it for a moment before setting it on the wooden table beside him, seemingly handmade with care. He slide his undershirt on gently, slightly groaning at the pain that radiated throughout his body, especially his abdomen.

"Thank you," Kazamir finally repeated again before he would leave the room, standing alone in a long corridor of the northern wing of the kingdom. It was where mostly the servants lived - other places like the library and shaman's quarters were there as well. Places untouched and unseen, not many would come wandering. He knew that he was better off to stay in place, but Kazamir had a place to be - his new bed.

A smaller older man had approached him. He was frail and hunched over, his back obviously not one to age with him.

"Boy, boy," he said. He grinned, most of his teeth missing. Kazamir appeared like a giant in front of him.

"This way. The King and Prince wants to talk to you," he said. He gestured, beginning to walk in front of him. Kazamir clenched his jaw, appreciating the words that the royalty was pleased enough with him to talk only few hours after his fight, but he craved - no, longed - for a bed and rest.

Kazamir didn't say anything and followed behind the man, watching him closely. He was skeptical of him for some reason, but couldn't quite place a finger on why. Kazamir brushed the thought off, thinking of it to be adrenaline and his tired brain.

The man had finally stopped at large, heavy doors, two guards placed outside on either side. He raised his hand to knock, Kazamir glancing at the two knights. They nodded, almost bowing in a way, towards the Champion. He didn't say anything, but instead heard the doors creak open. It had been the meeting room, filled with maps and artifacts of war and adventure. Inside was a long table, tall chairs on either side and ends. Kazamir swallowed, walking inside. The doors were heavily shut behind him, slammed almost, causing him to slightly jump.

In front of him were the King and Prince.

"Your majestys," Kazamir said gruffly, nodding his head as a sign of respect. He looked around for a moment, appreciating the details of the room before his gaze landed upon the two nobles in front of him.

KAZAMIR NJAL

"The Champion"

Kazamir knew that the introduction of the King and Prince would be one for a lifetime, but his stomach turned. A song? Honor for the court? This could be anyone, not just him. Perhaps it was guilt that lingered beneath his heart, or maybe envy. Kazamir would not wish this upon anyone, let alone the death and bloodshed. He could see the excitement within the King, but the Prince, Neo, he did not witness a single moment of interest from him. Maybe it was something the two of them would converse on later.

Kazamir had popped the cork from the glass bottle that was still in his hand, taking a swig of the tea. He hummed softly, his muscles sore and tense. He knew tomorrow it would only be worse, and he prayed to the gods silently that he would see a day of rest. Of course now he would only be used for his strength of fighting.

When the word warrior slipped from the King's lips, Kazamir felt a sensation of hatred. It was not directed at the King not the Prince, but rather himself. A warrior was not all what he was - he was a human being with heart and feelings, undeniable ones at that, and Kazamir was aware of the affects of his winnings. He would be placed on a pedestal for years to come until he was either too old or could not provide for the people anymore, easily replaced and disposed of. He would most likely grow corrupt, wanting this position as it was all that he had dreamed of. But Kazamir knew deep down that this was his mother's dream, not his, and that's when the silence was broken when the Prince had dropped his book on the table.

The King and his son exchanged words, words that did not pertain to Kazamir aside from the stated facets that Neo would be his trainer. He did not seem like the type - a warrior, as his father remarked. Kazamir watched the two, a certain tension making him feel excluded but rightfully so. He stood there silently, painfully, observing the pair. He could tell a relationship like this was complicated as Neo clearly had other intentions with his life. Kazamir was unaware of any other siblings or perhaps another heir named rather than the King's son, but Alskan did not seem like the type to deny blood. Kazamir certainly hoped so, as he knew the outcome of such actions.

Kazamir gently cleared his throat, disrupting the two. "I have a singular request, Your Majesty," he said, his voice sounding as though it had gotten injured. Kazamir plopped himself in the nearest chair, not baring to stand anymore. "My mother. I ask that she be moved here and taken care of. She is sick and I have done this for her," Kazamir added, getting straight to the point. He was unsure if making what could be demands would be a good first impression, but seeing that Champions were provided with their needs beyond what was truly necessary, he figured asking for a beloved family member to be there with him could do no harm.

Kazamir acknowledged the fact that there was no guarantee she would be moved here. She would hear the word that her only son - only child - was a Champion from whispers at the local markets, or a local noble announcing it after calling for an audience. "Kazamir Njal - a local man - named Champion!" Kazamir imagined the words. It sounded pleasing to an outsider, but he would simply be a mule for a kingdom that barely showed their commoners what life could be like had they cared. Kazamir was not one to accuse, nor was he political, but in a perfect world he knew that his mother and those like her could be provided much more than just enough to get by.

"I am not asking immediately, but I would prefer it done soon," Kazamir then added after a moment. He was in no place to make demands, let alone to a King, but he felt a sensation of longing for his mother even if she was why he was in this position to begin with.