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She strides out of the arena briskly, heavy armour clanking. Her dwarven helmet restricts her view to a slit. People bustle around her, busy with their own lives, they pay her no heed. She does not hear the small patter of shoes against the cobbles pick up into an excited run. She screeches to a halt as a mop of bright yellow hair - comically flamelike - impedes her view. She frowns. She looks down.
"Wow! You're the Grand Champion! I saw your fight against the Gray Prince! You're the best! Can I... Can I follow you around? I won't get in the way!"
His smile is so bright, hazel eyes alight with joy. The child practically bounces on the balls of his feet. He’s nervous; unsure what to do with his hands. He unclenches them, fiddles with the hem of his dark green shirt, then folds them in front of himself.
Avery’s throat is tight. She does not deserve this praise. What occurred in the arena could not be considered a fight. She had tried to let the Gray Prince die with honor. After all, he had asked her to challenge him. This was the nature of the arena. It was what he wanted. A warrior’s death. She thought she had understood.
He is burned into her mind’s eye. He stands there inert, arms wide. He does not fight back.
She walks doggedly back through the blood works. Gladiators that she had trained alongside spit at her as she passes. Snarling, weeping, cursing her name. She killed their friend, not just the champion. Owyn is the only one glad to see her. She takes a small solace in that. She may be a champion beloved by the people, but not by her peers. The Gray Prince, Agronak gro-Malog, was beloved by all.
Guilt is an iron ball in her stomach. She is the monster they claim she is. The visit from the hooded stranger in the night, asking for her allegiance, pressing a murderer’s dagger into her hands confirmed her fears.
How does she explain this to a boy? The answer is she simply cannot. She swallows thickly, considering her words. She does not wish to be too blunt. What would Baurus say?
“Beat it, kid. I don't need a fan.”
The elf’s face falls in an instant, eyes dropping to the floor, mouth twisting into a pout. "Aw gee! You sure? Okay, well, I'll be hanging around the Arena grounds if you need someone to worship the ground you walk on. Bye!" He scampers off, disappearing into the crowd.
The name Dragonheart leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. She should not have chose it.