Private Tales Into the Fighting Pits

[Isla]

(Sorry the title sucks, I know. Too tired to think of a new one.)

Isla stood in the empty courtyard. It was early morning, before the sun warmed the Keep. The air was cool and crisp, a light breeze flicking the braid at her back. Her fingers nervously fiddled with the soft leather armor she’d been gifted by Lynus half a week ago to prepare for her training with Arryn. She shifted from one foot to the other, glancing around.

Arryn was late…

Maybe she was early…

Maybe she should have been the one to communicate with Arryn, not Lynus. Her nerves were already a jumbled mess, only getting worse with every passing moment that he was not there.

She waited. Thirty minutes. Maybe longer. She considered leaving, but something stopped her. A part of her wanted this, needed it. Especially hearing the fear in Lynus’ voice when he spoke of Bexley Pirian. If she could protect herself, maybe he wouldn’t treat her like she was so small and helpless- especially after…She never did tell him what Nathaniel said to her, the vague threat he made when they had run into one another in town. His face, his words…she pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the nervous churning.

Breathe. She told herself. She wouldn’t see him again.

Still, his concerns were valid, weighing heavily on her while she waited for Arryn to agree to teach her. The silent worry was infinitely more chilling. The way he held her and watched over her while she slept, like he was afraid of something. Like he could hear the words unsaid- the details she had conveniently left out to prevent his worry.

Isla shifted again, trying to warm up while she waited. Trying to dispel the feeling of unease that gnawed at her. The courtyard was so exposed. And she was all alone.

Bexley was a problem in itself. She hadn’t even met the girl yet, but the whispers had made their way to her chambers. Sarah hated her. Which said a lot. Sarah was nearly incapable of hating anyone or anything. She warned Isla, almost daily, of the cunning girl. She played the too-sweet role well. But there was something deeper, darker, that made even Sarah wary around her. Her favorite maid seemed more ecstatic about her training than Isla, or even Lynus.

Movement caught her eye and she looked, releasing the breath she had been holding for far too long.

“Morning, Arryn.” The wariness in her eyes betrayed the friendly smile she forced.

Arryn Cross

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn strode into the courtyard, his brows furrowed in annoyance, with Brett trailing behind him. The boy looked rather worse for wear, his cheek sporting a fresh lump.

"Apologies," Arryn muttered, his voice edged with frustration. "Brett picked a fight with one of the stable hands, again." He shot a sharp glare over his shoulder.

Brett, seemingly ready to argue, hesitated under Arryn's gaze and lowered his eyes instead. "Sorry, Miss Isla," he mumbled sheepishly.

With a nod, Arryn sent the boy off to sit on a nearby bench, where Brett sulked in silence, nursing both his bruised ego and face.

Turning back to Isla, Arryn cleared his throat and gave a small, encouraging nod. "Don't look so tense," he said, a light smirk tugging at his lips. "We're just getting started."

"So.. You want to learn how to punch someone in the throat, apparently." he grinned.

 

[Isla]

"Oh it is no problem. Good morn- oh my goodness, Brett!" Isla scowled at Arryn as he glared at the young boy. "You'd better hope it was one of the stable hands to gave him that welt, or its you that is getting punched in the throat." She watched Brett shuffle over to the bench to watch them.

She hoped that Arryn knew she was serious. She had come to like the lad very much, like one of the little brother's she wished she had been fortunate enough to see grow.

"I do not look tense at all, thank you very much." She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to begin his lessons. "I am sure Lynus told you all about Nathaniel," She averted her gaze when she spoke of the bastard. If he'd mentioned the throat punching, Lynus clearly had shared too much of her worries with his brother. "But it seems Bexley might be the bigger problem. Lynus seems to feel that I am unsafe while she is here. I know its only another week, but he- we would both feel a little more at ease if I wasn't so useless."

She smiled, though her self-deprecation was clearly genuine and not an attempt at humor.

"So teach me so that I may return to roaming the halls without a shadow making sure I am not killed by some lovestruck Dreadlord." She smiled sweetly, waiting for him to begin the lesson.

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn’s brows shot up, aghast at the very idea that Isla thought he had been the one to bruise Brett. "What?" he managed, his voice filled with disbelief. By all accounts, Brett was, by all accounts, his adopted son, and calling him a ‘squire’ was just to give the kid some structure and responsibility. Arryn had been beaten enough growing up to never lay a hand on Brett, no matter how unruly he could be.

Before he could explain, Brett jumped in with an indignant huff. "It were my fault, Miss Isla! Big Baz was bein' a piss stain to my friend Ron, so I told him he smelled like horse shite! But he's built like a brick shithouse and walloped me good." The boy touched the swelling on his cheek. "It weren’t Arryn, Miss Isla. He'd never!"

Arryn's eyes widened as the stream of expletives flew out of Brett’s mouth. If the boy hadn’t been defending him, he’d have managed to look more annoyed than he felt. Instead, he dragged his hand down his face, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

"Er! Shite. Sorry, Miss Isla," Brett stammered, his face flushing with embarrassment. "Got me riled up is all." He gave an awkward, sheepish smile, clearing his throat.

Arryn shook his head, still chuckling. "No need to be throwing any punches at me, then. Seems like the lad’s taking care of that for me." He shot Brett a look before turning back to Isla. “I might know my way around a fight, but I’m no brute," he said gently, rolling his shoulders to loosen them.

His expression turned more serious at the mention of Nathaniel. "Yeah, I heard about your run-in with what's-his-name." His frown deepened, and he sighed. "And I get it—Lynus’ anxiety over Lady Pirian. But it’d be plain stupid of her to try anything. Not if she wishes to win the favour she’s so desperate for." He stretched his arms above his head, then across his chest, nodding at Isla to do the same.

"Safe or not, though, it never hurts to know how to protect yourself." Arryn crossed the distance between them, resting his hands briefly on her shoulders, then her upper arms, testing the tension in her muscles.

"Not much muscle to you, is there..." he murmured before stepping back. "Alright, show me your stance."

He tapped her feet apart with his own, gently nudging her into position. "One foot in front… Arms up… Hands in front of your face—but not too high. You won’t see your opponent that way. And don’t tuck your thumb inside your fist—you’ll break it. Elbows sharp… Keep your center of gravity low, so you can shift your weight easily."

He took a stance beside her, mirroring the position. "Better," he nodded in approval. "How’s that feel?"

 

[Isla]

Every word that came from the child's mouth had Isla's eyes going wider with amusement. She was relieved that Arryn had not harmed Brett, but good god she was going to have a talk with Lynus about Ron and this 'brick shithouse' of a man...child? She hoped it was a child that hit Brett. No adult had an excuse to harm a child over some creative banter. She, too, barely managed to hide her laughter when he finished his speech.

"Well..." Isla snorted, looking away for a moment to collect herself. "I hope we learned today to not antagonize a lad that is bigger than us." She mused as the boy walked away.

She turned back to Arryn, noting the way he'd shifted from the humorous mood to one more serious. "Mhm. I'd be more concerned with what's-his-name, personally. Lady Pirian never threatened me. Not to my face at least." She muttered, mimicking the stretch Arryn demonstrated for her. "Tell me, why is she so desperate for a man who does not want her? Lynus hoisted her off on you for a while, did he not? He was so upset by this whole ordeal that he barely spoke more than apologies for involving me in this mess and reassuring me that she means nothing to him."

She stiffened at the touch, but forced herself to exhale and relax as best as she could with someone's hands on her.

A scowl was sent in his direction as she snapped back, "Muscles didn't bring weak men to my bed unfortunately. No one there was looking for a girl to fight back."

She shifted her stance into...something. Judging by the nudges, it was not the right position. Isla followed his instruction, making every mistake just before he could correct her aloud. In the end, she got somewhere better than where she had started. Somewhere far from decent if the look on Arryn's face told her anything.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the next. "I feel like an idiot." She admitted, dropping her arms for a moment to let her muscles relax. "I should just buy a sword and call it a day. My fists aren't going to stop anyone, now are they?" She wiggled one of her slender arms.

 

[Arryn Cross]

"Well Ron is smaller than even me. Someone's gotta stick up for him." Brett murmured, and Arryn smirked.

He shrugged at Isla’s comments about Lady Pirian. “Bexley is desperate for the pride and power that marrying the Prince of Vel Anir will bring her family. Love has nothing to do with it.” He quirked an eyebrow, his tone almost teasing. “Lynus has made his choice, you know that, right?”

When Isla mentioned her experiences with men, Arryn rolled his eyes, fixing her with a mock glare. “By Anireth, you’re a bundle of laughs,” he said, shaking his head as a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

He watched her drop her arms, and a bark of laughter escaped him. “But you could handle a blade, couldn’t you? They’re much heavier than your fists are,” he mused, tilting his head "You're giving up before you've even thrown a single punch. You need to learn this stuff before I put a weapon in your hands."

Arryn moved closer, guiding her arms back up into position, and this time he kept his hands just a fraction of an inch away from her skin, respecting her space. “Alright, let’s focus on balance. Shift your weight a little more to your back foot. Feel how that changes your stability?” He met her gaze, a seriousness mingled with encouragement shining in his eyes. “Trust me, you’ve got this.”

 

[Isla]

Isla did not want to condone violence, especially in children. Ironic considering she, herself, was learning to fight. But something in Brett's tone warmed her heart. She hoped Ron knew what a good friend he had, especially if he was willing to defend him and take a punch for something that meant so much to him. He was a good kid. Isla wondered how her little brothers were faring. A little over ten, would they be big bullies to smaller children, or had poverty struck them so badly that they were penniless, malnourished victims of the bullies?

She shook the feeling and focused on Arryn. "Thank you for acknowledging it, at least." She rolled her eyes when he commented on her experiences, as if it were a joke and not entirely genuine.

His comment annoyed her, but she knew he was right. She could hold a knife while buttering bread, but she was certain if someone attacked her in the kitchen that she would probably be a disaster while swinging it around to defend herself. She figured it was more likely she'd end up stabbing herself.

"I am not giving up..." She scowled. "I just needed a break from holding my arms up for so long." She admitted the second half, hoping he understood that while he was an expert, she could barely run across Lynus' room without needing a moment to catch her breath. She shook her arms out once more before letting him guide her arms back up.

There was a moment she stumbled over her own feet before regaining her balance. "Sorry." She mumbled, attempting once again to shift to the foot in back. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she forced herself to focus for a moment before turning her face to him. "Is this any better?"

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn raised an eyebrow as Isla admitted needing a break, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“This stuff takes time. You’re not going to be a master after a few minutes.” He watched her closely as she tried to regain her balance, nodding approvingly when she corrected herself.

When she asked if her stance was any better, Arryn tilted his head, observing her posture. “Much better,” he said, stepping around her to inspect from different angles. “See? You’re getting it. Small adjustments make a big difference.”

He moved back in front of her, taking his own stance again. “Alright, now that you’ve got the basics down, let’s go over some movement. You’re going to want to stay light on your feet. Don’t let them plant for too long, or you’ll become an easy target. When you move, you’re shifting your weight—not lunging.”

Over the course of the next hour, Arryn guided her through the fundamentals of self-defense. He taught her how to move with agility, keeping light on her feet while maintaining balance. He drilled her on basic strikes—quick jabs, hooks, and uppercuts—ensuring her form was sharp and controlled. She learned how to break an opponent’s nose with a swift palm strike and, perhaps most importantly, how to break free from holds using leverage and targeted movements. He also demonstrated how to use her weight against larger attackers, giving her the tools to defend herself and escape if necessary. By the end of the lesson, Isla had a solid grasp of the basics, though she was visibly exhausted from the effort.

He gave her a small smile, watching her catch her breath. “You’ve done well today.”

 

[Isla]

There was a smile she could not hide, even while panting to catch her breath. Isla felt strangely proud of herself, even if she had only completed some of the most basic tasks that Arryn had given her. The sun was looming overhead now burning her nose and cheeks, already flushed from exercise. A thin sheen of sweat coated her and, as disgusting as it was, she enjoyed it. If she wasn't entirely sure that Arryn would yell at her, she would have hugged him for agreeing to Lynus' request- for giving her some strength in such an uncertain and dangerous world.

She hunched over with her hands on her knees for a minute or two, taking deep breaths. "Tomorrow? Same time?" She asked, taking a seat beside Brett. Isla needed the minute of rest before she could muster the strength to haul herself back to her chambers and bathe.

"I should probably get going," She pushed off the bench and got to her feet. "Lynus and I are going to visit Bess for the night." She beamed when she spoke of the older woman from the inn that she had lived in for some time between the brothel and the keep. "You two must visit her someday. Don't you ever tell the chefs that I said this, but I think the stew she makes is better than anything I've eaten here-"

Her giggling was cut off by the awkward coughing of a man standing at the edge of the courtyard. "Lady Isla," he nodded in her direction though he was not able to look her in the eye, "Prince Lynus sends his apologies. The King and Lady Pirian have requested his presence this afternoon and evening."

Isla's smile faltered. "Oh?" She asked, disappointed but not surprised. Bexley and the King had a way of interfering in plans. This she had come to know well and hate all the same.

"Yes, my lady." The man cleared his throat again. "Prince Lynus is very sorry. He has ensured that food has been prepared and sent to your quarters for when you return..." The man trailed off, finally looking up at Isla who had been scowling, eyes watering.

"Forget it." She waved him off. "It is fine. Give the food to the servants. I am not hungry."

 

[Arryn Cross]

Throughout the session, Brett cheered Isla on with the boundless energy of a younger brother. "Punch ’em like ya mean it Miss Isla!!" he shouted when she threw a good jab. "Look at that, Arryn! She’s got a proper left hook! Think she could knock you out if she tried hard enough!"

Arryn couldn’t hold back a grin as Isla began to settle into the movements. He found himself nodding with approval, his dimples deepening as her punches grew more precise and forceful.

"Not bad at all," Arryn praised as she followed through on a series of strikes."Tomorrow. Same time," he echoed in agreement, then moved to wash the sweat from his face, feeling a rare pride in seeing her confidence grow.

When the messenger arrived, Arryn’s expression darkened slightly, watching the disappointment flood Isla’s face, extinguishing the smile she'd worn just moments before.

Clearing his throat, Arryn glanced down at Brett, who looked just as glum, before meeting Isla’s gaze again. "How 'bout we get out of here for a while," he suggested, tone casual, but there was a gentleness in his offer. "Get some fresh air," he shrugged, despite already being in the courtyard. "The keep can get a little stuffy.." trying to keep the mood light, but his concern was clear—he wasn’t about to let her stew in frustration alone.

 

[Isla]

Isla realized her disappointment was pathetic as soon as she felt it. She had spent hours planning her outfit and how she might style her hair- even though neither would survive the trip. His parroted apologies felt hollow, meaningless, and a familiar sense of loneliness began to settle over her like rainclouds. She contemplated leaving so that the boys wouldn’t suffer because of her foul mood, but Arryn spoke before she was able to flee.

Her brow raised. “Get out of here?” She gestured to the courtyard, but he answered the question before she had more to say. “And go where?” Her smile had not returned, only a skeptical look managed to break through her gloomy mood. “Am I even allowed to leave the keep? Lynus nearly had a heart attack last time…”

She supposed it wasn’t his fault for being upset. She hadn’t told him that she was leaving, nor did she want to tell him that she ran into Nathaniel. He coaxed it out of her and everything exploded when she finally did confess.

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn shrugged, his usual nonchalance tempered with a hint of challenge. “You’d be with me. And .. I won’t tell if you don’t,” he replied, quirking an eyebrow. His gaze flicked to Brett, who flashed a mischievous grin, sensing the unfolding scheme. At Arryn’s narrowed eyes, Brett mimed locking his lips and tossing away the key, his grin growing even wider.

“Unless, of course, you’d rather wallow in your chambers…” Arryn added, his voice a touch teasing, accompanied by a light smirk. He turned and started ambling away, hands tucked casually into his pockets, leaving the offer hanging. Without looking back, he called over his shoulder, "Your choice, Isla."

The hint of playfulness was unmistakable, inviting her to shake off the gloom and join him in something—anything—other than disappointment.

 

[Isla]

Isla squinted at Arryn…and then Brett. “Where are we going?” She demanded of the two after being ignored the first time she asked. She was met with silence and a child grinning wildly. She realized no amount of begging would get them to tell her anyway. Especially now as they both walked away from her with those shit-eating grins plastered across their faces.

She huffed, scowling at the two of them before she skipped along behind them, shoving Arryn’s shoulder with her palm. “For your information, I wasn’t wallowing.”

Though it seemed she was prepared for said wallowing, there was a curious glint in her eyes as she pushed herself between the two. “At least tell me what I should be wearing to this. We are going to change first, right?”

 

[Arryn Cross]

"Mhm, right.." Arryn gave a vague shrug as she shoved a him, his tone all too casual as he looked her over with a faint smirk. “Change? Nah. If anything, the sweat and dirt might help you blend in a little better,” he added, laughing under his breath. Isla’s glare bounced off him without effect.

Beside them, Brett’s eyes lit up as he chimed in, “Can... I come tonight?”

Arryn raised a brow, chuckling. “You know the answer to that. Last time you nearly caused a riot. Give them a week or two to forget your face, kid.” Brett's shoulders slumped dramatically, but he puffed his chest and proclaimed, “Fine. I’ll keep lookout then.”

Arryn ruffled the boy’s hair as they continued down into the lower servant quarters, past the kitchens, and along a quiet corridor. Hooded cloaks hung neatly on pegs, and he tossed one to Isla, pulling on his own. “We’ll need these.”

Arryn pushed open a door that had appeared to blend in with the wall, and it opened to reveal a narrow tunnel that snaked below the castle walls. The faint scent of earth and stone filled the air, and a few flickering torches provided the only light. Arryn guided her through the twisting passage beneath the keep, his own steps as silent as if he’d walked the path a thousand times. Eventually, they emerged at an iron gate that, with a key, opened into a shadowed alleyway, the low hum of evening activity surrounding them.

Arryn led her further into the city, navigating through winding streets until they arrived at a bustling tavern with a heavy wooden door. A burly man stood guard, greeting Arryn with a hearty slap on the shoulder.

“She’s with me,” Arryn told him, taking Isla’s hand and guiding her through the crowd. The tavern was packed, a throng of people laughing, shouting, and clinking their drinks together in the smoky, dimly lit space.

Arryn paused in the corner of the room, stamping twice on a trap door in the floor. A gnarled, grizzled man lifted the door, squinting up at them. With a silent nod, he allowed them down a steep staircase into a cavernous room below. At the center of the room, a sandy fighting pit was surrounded by three tiers of raucous crowd.

Shouts and cheers echoed as two men grappled in the pit, trading punches and dodging swings, the air thick with the scent of sweat and ale. Bettors yelled over each other, coins changing hands as wagers were made. Some held onto the wooden rails, leaning in to yell encouragement or jeers, while others gathered in small groups, engrossed in the brawl below. The roar of the crowd grew as one of the fighters took a heavy blow, staggering back, blood trickling from his mouth.

Arryn grinned as he looked down at Isla. “Welcome to the pit.”

 

[Isla]

"Might help me...blend?" Isla quirked a brow, eyes darting between Arryn and Brett. She was growing increasingly impatient with the lack of answers. Where were they going? What were they doing? Why did they have to be so stinky and dirty?

At least this bad mood drown out the disappointment of canceling her evening with Lynus.

The comment about Brett nearly causing a riot only seemed to annoy her more. This new life only seemed to be full of surprise after surprise. Although, she seemed to prefer the ones from Lynus more than being kept in the dark about riots and secret locations. And lookouts? Just where were they bringing her?

She stopped asking questions when it became painfully obvious that they were just ignoring her, but she donned the cloak and followed on. She tried to commit the snaking labyrinth of tunnels to memory, figuring there was use in knowing such a thing existed in the event that something went very wrong while Lynus wanted her here.

"Hmm.." she mumbled quietly to herself as they entered the city. She knew this area well, unfortunately. Looking up as they exited the alleyway, she could see the window where she had spent the past decade of her life. The thought of that place had her shuddering.

Then she went quiet again, following behind as he led her into a tavern and into a trap door. She briefly questioned his judgment. Why the hell would he bring her here after the way they'd met one another?

Welcome to the pit.

She pushed Arryn aside to glance into the center of the room. She wanted to be mad at him. Mad for bringing Brett here, especially. But she didn't yell. Instead, she looked up at him and asked, "Do you fight down there?"

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn chuckled softly, clearly amused by her question. “Aye, that I do..”

He gestured toward a busty woman weaving her way through the crowd, expertly balancing a tray of tankards. Holding up two fingers, he caught her attention. With a practiced motion, he tossed two coppers onto her tray as she passed by, snagging a pair of tankards.

“Here,” he said, handing one to Isla. “The ale tastes like pisswater, but it’s perfect for this place.” His grin took on a roguish edge as he raised his mug in a mock toast before taking a deep swig.

“And…” He leaned in closer, dragging his wrist across his lips, his voice dropping just enough to carry a hint of playful warning. “If you wouldn’t mind repaying my discretion…” He arched a brow meaningfully, his hazel eyes glinting in the dim, smoky light. “Lynus doesn’t exactly like me coming here. Thinks it’s beneath me. Worries about me.. But he also knows damn well I can’t help myself” he shrugged.

"Oh, and here, I'm just Cross.. Leave my first name out of it. Here I'm just another slave.." he said, clearing his throat and drawing his eyes back to the pit below.

He took another drink. "So, what’ll it be, Isla? You going to rat me out, or are you going to enjoy the show?”

Below, the pit roared with chaos. Two men circled each other, stripped to the waist and glistening with sweat, their movements predatory. One lunged, his fist connecting with a sickening crack that sent blood spraying into the dirt. The crowd erupted, some jeering, others roaring approval as coins exchanged hands in quick, furtive movements. Lanterns hanging from the beams cast flickering shadows over the pit, the light catching the wild-eyed intensity of the fighters and the feral energy of the spectators pressing close to the railings. The stench of sweat, ale, and blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the feverish chants of the crowd.

 

[Isla]

The air was thick down in the pits, with mingling scents of sweat, beer, and something metallic-probably blood. A roar erupted from the crowd when Arryn summoned the barmaid over with two drinks. Isla stood on her tiptoes to look over the shoulder of someone who'd stepped in her way. Two fighters were entangled in a vicious dance of fists in the center of the pit. Her heart pounded, though she wasn't entirely sure if it was from the suffocating wall of people or the thrill that came with doing something she was not supposed to be doing.

Arryn placed the tankard in her hand and, almost after a quick clinking of their tankards, she brought it to her lips. One sip was enough to make her nose wrinkle in disgust. It was heavy and bitter, with an aftertaste that saliva didn't wash away quick enough. "Gods." She shuddered, "I can only hope it grows on me or gets me too drunk to care that it tastes like shit." She laughed.

At the mention of Lynus' name, something tightened in her chest. Her posture stiffened, eyes locked on to her tankard as she forced another sip. It was a distraction from her disappointment. One that did little to alleviate that hint of sadness she couldn't hide.

You going to rat me out, or are you going to enjoy the show?

Isla bit her lip, considering what he had said for only a moment before hitting his tankard with hers once again. "I owe you more than I could repay, Cross." She admitted a little too honestly. He had pulled her from the edge when she had been ready to let go, when she had been too broken to care what happened to her after years of letting things fester. Even after she'd been so cruel to Lynus, he stood between her and another monster that night, protecting her, ending up in a cell for her. And when she asked him not to tell Lynus how he'd found her, he said he wouldn't. His loyalty demanded hers in return.

"I'll keep your secret," She said quietly, "If you promise not to drag me to anything more dangerous than this place." Her eyes widened. "You don't...go anywhere worse...than this...right?"

 

[Arryn Cross]

Arryn chuckled, his lips curling into an amused grin as he noticed Isla's reaction to the drink.

"You spent half your life in a bordello, and now you’re worried about a fight club?” he teased, lifting a brow. He couldn’t help but shake his head, his eyes scanning the fight below. One of the men was knocked out cold, his teeth spraying across the pit as he fell, and the crowd went wild, erupting into cheers. Arryn watched with a knowing smirk as the victor raised his arms in triumph and the unconscious fighter was dragged from the pit.

“Well, looks like I’m up.” He grinned at Isla, finishing his drink in one swift gulp. Offering her a wink, he added, “Please don’t wander off...” His voice dropped to a more serious tone before he rushed down the stairs to the pit, the energy of the crowd already rising around him.

Within moments, he was shirtless, his muscles rippling as he rolled his shoulders, preparing for the fight. His presence in the pit was familiar to the crowd—they knew him well, and chanted his name. As he stepped into the center, the announcer’s voice boomed over the noise of the room. "And here he is, folks! Pretty boy Cross!" The crowd cheered, their shouts of excitement filling the air.

"Get your bets in!" the announcer continued, and Arryn let out a sharp breath, his eyes locking on his opponent across the pit.

He turned back to glance at Isla, a quick flash of a grin on his face before the fight began.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the fight, and the crowd roared with anticipation. Arryn's opponent, a hulking brute of a man, loomed over him, his muscles bulging under his sweat-soaked skin. He cracked his knuckles and grinned, clearly expecting a quick and easy victory. As the giant swung a heavy fist towards him, Arryn was already moving, his feet light and swift. He ducked beneath the blow, the air whooshing as it passed him, and in a flash, he struck out, landing a solid punch to the man’s ribs. The impact echoed through the pit, but the giant barely flinched.

The man roared in fury, swinging wildly with both fists, but Arryn was a blur. He dodged to the side, avoiding the crushing blows by mere inches, then dashed in again, landing a series of quick jabs to the man's face. He grinned, sweat trickling down his brow, but his eyes were focused, calculating. He could see the giant tiring, his heavy movements becoming slower, more sluggish.

With a sharp movement, Arryn slid under another wide swing, this time ducking low and driving his shoulder into the man’s abdomen. The giant staggered back, winded and trying to regain his balance, but Arryn wasn’t done. He darted forward, sweeping a leg behind the giant's knee, sending him crashing to the dirt with a mighty thud. The crowd went wild, the noise deafening as the giant tried to push himself up.

Arryn stood over him, breathing heavily but grinning with satisfaction, and for a split second, the place quieted. Then, as the giant lunged up with a desperate swing, Arryn stepped aside and drove his fist into the man’s jaw with a resounding crack.

"CROSS!!!" the pitmaster's voice boomed over the crowd as he rushed to hold up Arryn's bloodied hand into the air. "WHO - IS - NEXT?!" he challenged.

 

[Isla]

"Rude," Isla rolled her eyes, bumping Arryn with her hip as she took another sip of the disgusting drink these people had the audacity to call 'ale'. "I can't exactly call it a civilized place, but it wasn't routine for men to beat each other up. Lynus was only the...eighth man I've seen fighting another in the bordello. I imagine here there's been more than eight in just this day."

Her face paled, a brow raised when she had misheard Arryn saying it was his turn, eyes widening when she realized only a moment later, as he began walking off, that she had not misheard him. "What? No!" She tried to grab his arm, but he slipped away before she could latch on.

Her stomach churned with nervousness as she pushed through the crowd until she was at the bar that separated the onlookers from the entertainment. Shouts and cheers echoed for the Pretty Boy Cross, but Isla's eyes were locked on the behemoth of a man standing on the other side. Large and muscular, he reminded her of Nathaniel in a way that made her heart race in a panic. This was exactly the kind of place he would have hung around, she realized. This man was a mountain, with broad shoulders and arms the size of tree trunks. The look in his eyes spoke of violence and death.

Someone screamed in her ear about bets and she looked back towards Arryn, who grinned at her. From her pockets, she presented a few coins and handed them off.

The giant threw a heavy fist just after the bell rang, but Arryn darted to the sides, moving in a way the man had not anticipated. The brute swung wildly, missing Arryn by only a few inches. The crowd screamed, and after Isla realized that maybe Arryn knew what he was doing, she joined in. Nervous, but excited, she cheered on Arryn as he danced around the mountain, teasing him with each blow that missed.

"Come on, come on!" She whispered, gripping the edge of the railing until her knuckles turned white.

With a sudden burst of energy, Arryn darted in close and knocked the man off balance. The crowd erupted, cheering and tossing money to one another, as the announcer declared Arryn the winner. Arryn was standing victorious, his face slick with sweat and dirt, blood maybe as well. Isla's heart pounded in her chest, but before she could even breathe a sigh of relief, the announcer rang out over the crowd.

"WHO IS NEXT?!"

"I'll have a go." A voice so familiar rang out. She turned to see the source, where the crowd parted. And then she saw him.

Nathaniel.

Her entire body went cold when he strode from the crowd with the same cocky stride that haunted her in her nightmares. The crowd's excitement dulled in her ears, replaced by the rushing of her blood. She wanted to scream for Arryn to get out while he could, but the words died before she could say them. He didn't know who Nathaniel was, what he looked like, what he was capable of.

Time slowed as she watched Nathaniel's eyes scan the crowd lazily until they landed on her and the same cruel, cold smile spread across his face. Isla stumbled backward until the jagged wooden bench bit into the back of her legs and she collapsed onto it.

"AH, YES! PRETTY BOY VERSUS THE HAMMER! PLACE YOUR BETS NOW!"

 

[Arryn Cross]

The crowd’s roar was deafening, but Arryn barely heard it. His head tilted slightly at the sound of the new challenger’s voice, something about it tugging at the edges of his memory like an old wound. He rolled his shoulders, stretching out the muscles, and turned to get a look at the man who had just stepped into the pit.

The Hammer. Arryn snorted.

The name meant nothing to him, but the man himself—there was something in the way he carried himself, the sharp arrogance in his stride, the way his eyes flicked lazily over the crowd like he already owned the place. Arryn had met men like him before, the kind that took what they wanted because they could, the kind that thought the world owed them something.

His gaze flickered to Isla, checking she was still where he’d left her, still safe. The stricken look on her face made his stomach clench. He gave her a cocky grin, rolling his shoulders again, as if to say, Relax, I’ve got this.

The bell rang, and Nathaniel moved fast for a man his size, coming at Arryn with a brutal efficiency that screamed experience. Arryn dodged left, quick as a shadow, but Nathaniel anticipated it, throwing out an elbow that caught Arryn in the ribs. Pain flared through his side, white-hot, but he didn’t let it slow him down. He darted back, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to breathe through the ache.

The crowd was wild, half screaming for Pretty Boy Cross, the other half chanting for the Hammer.

Nathaniel barely gave him a second before pressing forward again, throwing a sharp hook aimed at Arryn’s jaw. Arryn ducked, barely, and landed a sharp uppercut to Nathaniel’s ribs. He felt the impact reverberate through his knuckles, but the man barely flinched.

“Quick on your feet, aren’t you?” Nathaniel sneered.

Arryn grinned. “You’re not the first to have trouble keeping u---.”

Nathaniel’s fist slammed into his jaw like a sledgehammer. A sickening crack rang out, and Arryn fell onto his hands and knees, his head swimming, blood filling his mouth. The crowd screamed in excitement.

He spat blood onto the dirt and grinned, his jaw aching like hell. Cracked and already bruising. “That all you’ve got?” he asked, with instant regret as a boot flew up into his ribs. Broken.

The air flew from his lungs and he coughed as he rolled onto his back, "Fuuck that sucks." he groaned.

 

[Hazen]

Hazen pushed through the crowd with easy confidence, slipping into a spot by the barrier just as a particularly vicious hit landed below. He winced, exhaling a low whistle, but his attention quickly shifted to the girl beside him.

She stood out like a sore thumb—wide-eyed, stiff as a board, looking like she might vomit at any moment. Definitely not the kind of person who frequented a place like this.

Amusement flickered across his face as he turned to her, folding his arms across his chest. The bruises on his jaw and cheekbone were fading, but still visible, hints that he was no stranger to the pit himself.

"You lost, love?," he mused, cocking his head. "Or just waiting for some handsome rogue to come to your rescue?" His smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Fair warning —I'm only in the business of breaking hearts, not saving them.. But for a face like that, i'd let you try to fix me." he winked.

 

[Isla]

Isla couldn't bring herself to watch the fight beyond the glimpses she caught through the crowd. She knew how ruthless Nathaniel was. She'd been at the receiving end of it a lifetime ago.

Grunting mixed with the unmistakable sounds of fists contacting with flesh. Isla cringed in her seat, debating whether to watch and make sure Arryn was okay or to wait until it was all over. Still, she couldn't help the bile rising in her throat with each pained noise.

You love, love?

A distraction was wanted, but one which did not disgust her would have been preferred.

"Hm?" Isla looked up towards the source of the voice, eyes drawn immediately to the bruises. She'd not seen him fight yet tonight, but it was clear that he was the type who frequented places like this. She opened her mouth to respond, but the man.. the asshole just kept talking.

Her brow furrowed and she turned her attention from Arryn's wellbeing to focus on the man. Perhaps it was the pisswater she'd been drinking, or the anxiety clawing its way out of her, but the moment he winked at her it set something alight. Isla punched him square in the face.

"Leave me alone." She hissed at him, hoping she got the point across well enough.

 

[Hazen]

He was no stranger to the occasional slap from the opposite sex, but the punch took him entirely by surprise.
He staggered back, and might have fallen if not for a couple of men in the crowd who caught him and pushed him back with a chorus of laughter.

Hazen let his tongue flick over the split in his lip, savouring the sharp, coppery tang of blood as his grin widened. The sting of her punch was nothing compared to the sheer delight that flickered through him.

The men around him were still laughing, a few clapping him on the shoulder, jeering at his misfortune. But Hazen barely heard them. His hazel eyes locked onto Isla, amusement and curiosity dancing within them.

"Well fuck me," he chuckled huskily, voice rough and edged with mirth. "She bites."

He held up his hands in mock surrender, keeping his distance now but still thoroughly entertained. "And here I was, just bein’ friendly."

The way she glared at him, the fire burning behind those eyes, only made his grin stretch wider.

"Alright, alright, message received, love. You don’t want company." He wiped at his lip again, glancing at the streak of red on the back of his hand before huffing another laugh and shaking his head. "Shame, though. That right hook of yours? Beautiful. Nearly fell in love."

The laughter from the crowd was dying down, but the attention still lingered on them. Hazen, for all his teasing, knew when to push and when to step back. And this one? She was dangerous in a way he thoroughly enjoyed.

"Guess I'll leave you be," he mused, though there was a devilish glint in his eye that suggested he wasn’t quite done with her yet. "For now."

With a wink, he turned back into the crowd, leaving behind only the ghost of his laughter and the promise that he’d remember her.

"Looks like Cross lost his charm!" a man jeered at him, earning a headlock and a playful dig in the ribs as the crowd swallowed them.

 

[Arryn Cross]

The bastard grinned as he lifted his boot and aimed a few skull-crushing stamps down at Arryn's face. Pain be damned, he wasn't dying in this fucking pit. He rolled, and rolled again, feeling his ribs crunch. Sweeping his legs, the Hammer lost his footing and stumbled, giving Arryn a brief window to get back to his feet.

He was coming at him again, swinging wildly, but Arryn was ready this time. He sidestepped the attack, pivoted sharply, and slammed his elbow into the back of Nathaniel’s head. The bigger man staggered forward, shaking it off, but Arryn didn’t let up. He came in fast, driving a knee into Nathaniel’s ribs before swinging a brutal left hook across his jaw.

The crowd lost their minds.

The fight raged on, sweat and blood dripping onto the dirt, fists flying, bodies colliding. Nathaniel growled and retaliated, shoving Arryn back and slamming his fist into his ribs. Dirty bastard. The pain was blinding, and Arryn bent double, giving Nathaniel the brief satisfaction of thinking his guard was down. Arryn’s ribs screamed in agony, his jaw ached like hell, but he could see the exhaustion starting to creep into Nathaniel’s movements. He was slowing, stumbling toward him, reaching for a fistful of his hair.

Now.

Arryn's fist surged upward, catching under his opponent's chin in a bone-shattering uppercut that took the big fuck off his feet. The impact was brutal. Nathaniel landed hard on his back, sending up a cloud of dust around him.

The crowd erupted into chaos, cheering, screaming, money flying through the air as bets were settled.

Arryn swayed on his feet, his ribs on fire, his jaw throbbing, but he was grinning through the blood as he looked down at Nathaniel, gasping for breaths, an arm wrapped protectively around his ribs..

"Hard luck, Hamster."

He glanced up, finding Isla in the crowd.

Still safe.

"Pretty Boy Cross wins!" the announcer bellowed.

He gave her a cocky wink before spitting more blood onto the ground.

 

[Hazen]

Hazen was nothing if not a man of momentum.

One shot of firewater burned its way down his throat. Then another. And a third. The sharp sting barely registered, drowned beneath the electric hum of adrenaline still thrumming in his veins. His split lip ached, but it only made his smirk sharper as he rolled his jaw, reliving the moment Isla’s fist had connected with his face.

Damn, he liked her.

He caught a woman making eyes at him across the bar—dark lashes fluttering, a slow smirk playing on her lips. He gave her a light nod, but otherwise ignored her, his attention drifting back to the real prize. The one playing hard to get.

The crowd was wild now, roaring as the fight reached its climax. And in the heat of it all, Hazen was already moving.

He shoved hard into a man, who stumbled forward and slammed into another, sending him flying into the next poor bastard. A ripple effect of misfortune. Hazen barely concealed his grin. Oh, this was gonna be fun.

For the final touch? He leaned in and nipped at the backside of a rather stout woman with the face of an angry dog. She whirled around, her expression promising murder, only to find an unfortunate stranger standing behind her.

With an enraged snarl, she grabbed the man and slammed her forehead into his nose. He crumpled with a choked yell, blood spurting. Someone gasped. Someone else laughed. And just like that—

Chaos.

Stools shattered. Glass bottles whistled through the air. Fists flew. Someone went down hard, taking a table with them. A chair leg splintered across another man’s back.

And there, caught dead in the middle of it all.

That sweet, vicious little blonde.

Hazen ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a sharp breath between his teeth.

"Well, fuck. That escalated fast."

Even he hadn’t expected it to go off quite so spectacularly. But he supposed that was part of his charm—just a little push, and the world set itself on fire.

Now, time to play the hero.

Shoving through the chaos, he made a beeline for Isla, dodging a flying bottle and sidestepping a man who took a fist to the gut.

He reached Isla just as a brawl nearly swallowed her whole. With a smooth, practiced motion, he caught her wrist, yanking her out of the way of an airborne bar stool.

“Alright, love,” he mused, voice a lazy drawl, as if he wasn’t dragging her from the wreckage of his own making. “Looks like you could use a knight in shining armor after all.”

Another chair went flying.

“But lucky you,” he grinned, eyes gleaming. “You got me instead.”