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The first rule Nancy had made when she met Robin Buckley was that she refused to fall in love with her. She believed fully that she would not. She was a gladiatrix, a warrior of the stadium, and she would not succumb to such desire for a mere peasant. A thief, nonetheless.
Even so, as she prepared herself with Holly by her side, she longed for the woman’s gaze following her every move as their fingers intertwined, the rest of the world falling in blurs to nothing but her short, blonde hair and calloused touch. She was aware of this, and for the strangest reason she did not feel fear – yet only want. Deep, long, lingering want.
“You will win, won’t you?” Holly asked by her side, holding out a small piece of armor that Nancy slips onto her shoulder, muttering a thanks to her sister before turning to grab her glaive from its place against the wall.
She held the sword thoughtfully, holding it tight in her right hand, “Of course,” She replied, taking a step towards the exit, “I always do.”
Walking straight out until she was quite sure Holly had retreated, she diverged paths suddenly and nearly ran into her beloved, nervous furrows in her brows and distress written all over her face.
Nancy knew Robin was worried, as she always was before a stadium fight. Without fail, each time she met with her after donning her armor and prior to entering the arena, her hands would jitter and shake, and Nancy would have to hold them encased in her own to calm the nerves.
Today was no different.
“You do know, we could simply run away now if you do not wish to do this?” Robin asked, whispering it like each syllable was a crime committed by her lips – and in the gladiatrix’s firm opinion, they were.
Hands wrapped around one another – Robin’s right just above her hip, marking its place like her body was a temple designed for worship of herself alone – Nancy’s lips met Robin’s in a haze of overflowing tastes that made her mind buzz as if on fire. She pulled away, yet not far, making sure to keep her forehead resting against the other’s.
Eyes focused on her paramour, she speaks quietly, words meant for Robin’s eyes solely, “I do not find pleasure in my work, but it is to protect you, my sweet. I shall always protect you, no matter the costs.”
Robin nods, her eyes growing quickly damp, and Nancy wraps her back into her grip with a smile on her lips.
“Meet me in my room after I am named victorious, yes?” Robin grants her own smile at such confident words – yet she believes every single one, no doubt – and pulls out of the embrace with a lingering touch on her back like the mark of a witch. She nods, kissing the air between them before rushing out of the halls, turning around a corner and disappearing from sight.
Nearly immediately, her posture tenses and straightens, as her body always does when her lover departs. Lover. What a small word, yet so strong. Its letters nearly send her to the ground when it crosses her mind, yet she steadies herself. She must.
She turns, and walks to the arena.
Nancy will win this battle. Not for herself, nor the glory it shall bring. For love. For her beloved, the one no one shall know but her – the woman whose eyes shall haunt her for decades to come after death and beyond. She must, or she is not sure what will happen after.
Nancy had, as she promised, won. The moment her opponent’s knees had hit the ground, she had to hold down a guttural scream from her throat – maybe a cry for another grasp of her humanity slipping through the gaps in her fingers, or perhaps a shout of victory; she was not quite sure.
Her eyes quickly found Robin, and widened in size as she did. Usually, when the woman was able to watch her matches, she’d stay crouched in the crowd the entire fight – giving claps and cheers, but not too much else. She understood quite fine – why a thief such as herself would need to blend in – but it did cause a small ache in her chest every time she saw her lover, who should’ve been with the rest of her family, kneeled down to conceal herself for the small crime of watching her beloved fight.
Instead, Robin stood tall. Her mouth spread in a wide grin, one arm slung around her partner – perhaps Jonathan? She had not seen the man in so long, she had nearly forgotten what he looked like – with her other held tall to catch attention.
Nancy felt herself reflect her expression, sunlight blooming onto her like a crack in boarded-up windows, hand raised to wave to her. Eyes gazing over the rest of the crowd, cheering and boasting for her, she felt real. Not like a doll as she had – limbs being pulled and tugged by her owners, yet like herself. For once, she felt like Nancy Wheeler.
She was forced to keep her face straight as her eyes fell back onto Robin, the latter's smile now faded – hand reaching up to catch the red dripping from her chest. The ichor sank into the cloth of her sleeve, the weapon being swiftly tugged out of her upper body and tossed away – by whom, she could not see. No doubt, a past victim of the cunning girl’s thievery.
All she saw was Robin – delicate, benevolent Robin, who was now leaning desperately against Jonathan, the man holding her with his face ghostly white, eyes darting away from Nancy as he pulled her away from the crowd.
She had won again. The thought invaded her blank mind before she could shove it out, turning away to face the other side of the arena.
She had won once more, and yet lost so much.