Chapter 11: Aelwyn: The Arena

The days blur together. Or perhaps it has been weeks. Time moves strangely inside the keep ... slow, heavy, muffled by stone. My cell has no window, only a narrow vent carved high in the wall that lets in a thin ribbon of cold air. I measure the passing hours by my visit to the arena for my daily exercise.

The arena is located in an adjacent part of the fortress. The area has a square stone floor with two tiers of stone benches surrounding the central square. High stone walls rise behind the benches making the arena look if it is built inside a huge chimney. The open sky above the arena provides the only daylight I see.

Each day I must demonstrate my fighting abilities against one of the many Dwarven warriors who volunteer to challenge my skills. Of course, I’m not allowed anywhere near a weapon, so the contests are fought unarmed. That gives the dwarves an unfair advantage. I have the advantage of agility and speed, but in the confines of the arena I’m eventually trapped, and my opponents bulk and strength soon overcomes my resistance. I lose every contest, but my success or failure is measured by how long I last before being forced into submission.

My body stays fit although I must endure numerous aches and pains. My body and limbs are covered in bruises. But at least the exercise gives me something to do. And my muscles grow stronger each day.

I don’t sleep much. The cot in my cell is hard. The blanket is rough. My burlap dress scratches my skin. But none of that matters. What matters is that I keep defying their rule. Composed. Unbroken.