Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It had been a full moon that night. And whilst that should have been enough of a warning to be careful to keep an eye out for a rogue Were, it was so rare an occurrence to encounter one that they had never seen it coming. Stiles didn’t even see it happen. Stiles hadn’t even been there when it happened.

He had heard the scream, though. He had run back to where he had left Scott with the horses and had found his best friend lying on the dirty cobbles of the street, pale, bloodstained and wide-eyed with shock.  The Were had disappeared, but the mark it left behind did not.

They had not seen it coming. But now they had to deal with the aftermath.

Scott’s future had just become incredibly uncertain, because the bite of a Were was, ultimately, a death sentence. They were dealing with an aftermath that would be unbelievably cruel and fatal to Scott whichever way it took him.

It wasn’t fair.

But then, life was not fair to Weres, and if Scott survived the bite, it was a Were he would become.

Two days passed, and it became clear that Scott was not going to die from the bite. He was going to be transformed by it.

“I will not have one of those creatures in my house.”

The voice that spoke was shrill, cold and uncompromising. Stiles heard it through the closed door, where he was purposefully eavesdropping in the corridor outside. He would be punished for such an act if he was caught, but he did not care. This was Scott’s future on the line. And if Victoria Argent had it her way, it would undoubtedly be bleak. Not that they could question her authority, though. She was the Mistress of the house, the wife of Lord Christopher Argent; the owner of Stiles, Scott and Scott’s mother Melissa, who was currently attempting to plead for the future of her son.

“Please Master, Mistress,” Stiles heard Melissa say, her voice wavering, but bold and determined, “Please do not send Scott away, he has served you his entire life, he would never do a thing to harm a soul in this household. I beg of you.”

Stiles closed his eyes and pressed himself against the wall beside the door. Scott was currently locked in the stables, in which he had tended to the Argent’s horses for the majority of his sixteen years – his lifetime – of servitude to the family. Scott was locked in there because he was now considered a threat; a wild animal with no control.

“I am sorry Melissa,” Chris Argent said, “But if my father was to find out that I was keeping a Were as a house slave he would be furious. The reputation of my family; my father’s political stance concerning Weres; Kate’s Ludus…it would all be thrown into disrepute. There is nothing I can do.”

Stiles bit his lip hard, his heart dropping. Of his Masters, Chris was the better hope for Scott of the two, because he was fairer and more sympathetic than his wife, who was stony and strict at the best of times. Stiles wished his Masters had allowed Allison to fight Scott’s corner, or at least have a say or sway in the decisions that were to be made, but she had been sent to her rooms and ordered not to leave them.

Despite being the only child of the Argents and technically another Mistress of the house, Stiles considered Allison a friend. She was beautiful and kind, and did not treat slaves as inferior creatures or pets to do her bidding. She refused to have a slave of her own, stating she could take care of herself, but when occasion called to it, such as when her grandfather or aunt were visiting, she reluctantly picked out a slave to serve her. Due to her fondness for Stiles, she often chose him. However, as fond as she was of Stiles, the clear favourite of Allison’s was Scott. Whilst Stiles had been a slave of the Argent’s for five years, Scott had been Argent property since birth; his mother a slave already and his father a solider in the army who had made promises and broken them. Scott and Allison had grown up together, and they adored each other. It made Stiles happy when he saw them together, but, as they grew older, it was also hard to comprehend that it could never be anything more than an unconventional friendship. Scott was besotted with Allison, and Stiles knew that his friend would never love anybody else like he did her. It was obvious to Stiles that Allison loved Scott in return, but she kept her feelings and any budding romance they shared hidden from her parents, knowing that Scott would be punished should the truth ever be discovered. It was a closeness that could not be entirely secret, however, and the moment she demanded to help treat Scott of the bite, she had been banned from seeing him and confined to her rooms. Stiles had been allowed to see her at mealtimes, when he delivered her food. Each time he had found her in tears, furious at her parents for keeping her away, and asking Stiles how Scott was faring.

Stiles jerked back to the conversation he was overhearing when Melissa began sobbing. His heart tightened and his eyes brimmed with tears at the sound of it.

“But Master, he is so young," Melissa begged, "I don’t…he has his whole life ahead of him. Where will you send him? What will happen to my son?”

“He cannot stay here, but will not go the mines. I promise you that,” Chris said firmly. “However, I cannot think of a house that would readily take him in as a house slave.”

The Supernatural were deemed an inferior race to humans, but the werewolves were considered the lowest of the low. Some Weres managed to keep their identities hidden, but if they were discovered and captured alive, there were three paths their lives could take. The first was to be sent to work in the mines, a treacherous task shared by both Were and human slaves, that gave nothing but misery, backbreaking labour and a guaranteed shorter lifespan. The second was that female Weres could be bought for house slaves, but this was rare, as humans were preferred. It was virtually unheard of to keep a male Were as a house slave, so Scott would not be able to be one any longer. But, if Chris was saving Scott from the mines, and Scott could not remain a house slave, that only left the third option. Melissa came to the conclusion at the same time as Stiles’ stomach plummeted with the realisation.

 “A gladiator?!” Melissa gasped, her voice choked and catching in her throat. “But Master! Scott wouldn’t stand a chance in an arena! Not against some of those wolves! He would…oh gods…he would be ripped apart…”

Tears stung Stiles’ eyes and he dropped his head in to his hands. Surely the Argents could not be so cruel? It would mean a certain death for Scott, surely they could see that? Scott could never be a gladiator. Scott, with his dark curls and big brown eyes, his wide and wonderful smile, his heart of gold. Scott had never hurt a soul. He didn’t have it in him. He would not be able to fight. To maim. To kill. All for the miniscule chance of gaining glory and reputation, and …

Stiles remembered the few gladiator fights he had seen when he was a child. He could not wipe them from his memory. His parents had despised the popular form of entertainment, and avoided them at all costs. But Stiles’ father had been a Sherriff, and he and his family had sometimes been invited as second-class guests by richer men who wanted to show off their power. On those occasions it would have been social suicide to refuse, particularly as his mother had been a seamstress for many high ranking families, including the Argents.

Stiles remembered the first fight he had watched. He had been seven years old.

“Don’t watch, baby,” His mother had told him, hiding his face in her shoulder. “It’s not for your eyes.”

But he had peeked. Because Stiles had always done what he had been told not to do. He had regretted it immediately, because he had witnessed how one Were had slashed down on another with its claws, their faces transformed; hairy, fanged, their eyes a startling shade of yellow-amber. The Were then impaled the other on his sword, and drew it up so that the victim’s innards spilled out and stained the sands. The wounded Were had died in wolf-form. Stiles hadn’t slept properly for weeks. That fight, and the few Stiles had seen since, were still branded, unwanted, in his memory.

Stiles tried to imagine what Scott’s wolf-face might look like, but that led to the image of Scott dying, ripped to shreds and scattered to the sand, dying with his yellow-eyes and fanged-mouth open.

Stiles shuddered and slid further down the wall, until he was sitting, covering his face with his hands and pressing them into his knees.

“A couple of Weres have previously worked in Kate’s Ludus in a staff capacity for the Gladiators,” Chris was saying. “They don’t fight, they serve. It stands them lower in status than the fighters, but they do not see battle. As Scott has been in service to our family for his sixteen years, I do not see how Kate could refuse him that leniency. She has met you and Scott on numerous occasions. I will look into it.”

“Thank you, thank you Master…”

Stiles echoed Melissa’s thanks in his head. That had to be something. Maybe Scott did have a chance.

“However,” Victoria added. “You should not underestimate the strength of a slighter Were, Melissa. Some of them possess more power than the largest of Weres. We will not know what Scott is capable of until he changes for the first time. And we are certainly not equipped to deal with his first change here. He needs to be taught how to control it. The best way to do that is for him to train at the Ludus.”

“But do you mean to say…” Melissa blurted. There was a pause. Melissa had interrupted her Mistress, which was out of character for the woman Stiles saw as a second mother. “My apologies Mistress, I did not mean to…”

“You are concerned for your child, Melissa. This once, we will give you leniency on what you wish to say.”

“Thank you. I just wanted to make sure that I understand. For Scott, if he changes…”

“When he changes. I am sorry Melissa. But the bite is there and it is a matter of time.”

Stiles clenched his fists at Victoria’s bluntness. His nails dug into his palms, but the pain didn’t do anything to stop the ache in his chest or the fearful thumping of his heart.

“When he changes,” Melissa corrected, her voice devastated and broken. “The Argent Ludus will be the best place for him to learn how to control the shift. But there is a chance that it will be decided that he is strong enough to train as Gladiator. And if he fails the training, he’ll be sent to the mines?”

“Not to the mines,” Chris insisted again. “I will make sure Kate knows the score.”

There was, in the silence that followed, the unspoken knowledge that in any scenario, Scott’s life would never be the same, and it would probably end early and painfully.

Stiles had met Gerard and Kate Argent on several occasions. Gerard was intimidating and unforgiving; a businessman and politician, grasping and eager for power. He did not speak to the servants, and, it was said that in his younger days, he had the tongues cut out of his slaves so they could not speak to him. Therefore, absolute silence was maintained by the slaves that shared a room with him. Stiles had never made eye contact with the man. Gerard had run his Argent Lupus Ludus for decades, but in the last five years, that control had been passed to his daughter Kate whilst Gerard worked on strengthening his political power. Chris had been offered the role, but had firmly rejected the offer. Kate had been more than eager to take over the mantle of Domina of the Ludus.

Kate was beautiful yet terrifying. She enjoyed the power that owning slaves and Gladiators brought her. Unlike her father, she did not seek political influence, only bigger and better reputation in the arena with her infamous Gladiators, known as The Wolves. She was also very interested in her position in society, often hosting parties in order to show off her wealth, power and servants. She was also unlike her father in the way that she took an odd interest in her servants and Gladiators. She liked to know the lives and business of all who worked for the Argent family, to better relish the power she had over them. Stiles knew this only from what he had been told or observed from her visits, where on more than one occasion Stiles had noticed Kate’s eyes tracking him.

“This one is new,” She had commented on their first encounter. Stiles had avoided her piercing stare.

“He is,” Chris had said.

“Where did you come from?”

Stiles had started at the question, which had appeared to be directed at him, but Gerard had been in the room so he had held his tongue.

“He is from…” Chris had started.

“Not you, Christopher, I am asking the boy.”

“Kate,” Gerard had snapped warningly.

“What?” Kate had asked innocently, her gaze returning to Stiles. “You, boy.”

Stiles had bitten the inside of his cheek in order to remind himself that he could not react with a sarcastic retort. He was often reprimanded for growing annoyed and speaking out of turn to Chris and Victoria, who were overly lenient with him. “Mistress,” Stiles had managed to acknowledge, with a nervous tilt of his head.

Kate had hummed in approval. “He is adorable. Tell me boy, where are you from?”

“This city, Mistress.”

“Interesting. And your parents?”

Stiles’ breath had caught in his throat. “Dead, Mistress.”

“The boy’s mother, Claudia Stilinski, was one of our favoured seamstresses,” Chris had informed his sister. “Do you remember her?”

“I do.” Kate had nodded, eyeing Stiles with renewed interest. “And I remember his father, John, all too well.”

“When his father died, I felt a duty to save the boy from the poorhouse and the orphanage. I gave him a future here, out of respect to his father.”

“You have done the boy much by allowing him here, Christopher. He should be thankful,” Gerard had dismissed.

They had not spoken to Stiles again, though he knew Kate had watched him once or twice on subsequent visits.

Kate was poisonous. Everyone knew it. And Stiles would be damned if Scott was going to end up in her possession.

He scrambled to his feet and left the corridor where he had been listening in on the debate of Scott’s future and ran down to the stables.

Stiles wrenched open the stable door to find Scott curled up on his side in the hay. His friend’s normally tan skin was paled with the dissipating fever sparked by the teeth marks that had been punched into his side.

“Scott,” Stiles breathed. He rushed to his friend and ran a quaking hand over his forehead. “Are you ok?”

Scott flinched at Stiles’ voice, still unaccustomed to the enhanced assault on his senses that the Werewolf powers gave him. “Better now you are here.” Scott sent him a weak smile. “Where’s Mum?”

“With Chris and Victoria,” Stiles kept his voice as hushed as possible, to save Scott’s ears the noise.

Scott, however, was concerned with different matters, apparently picking up on Stiles’ distress, because he lifted his head slightly from the hay and looked at him sadly, “They are deciding what to do with me, aren’t they?”

“They should not get to make that decision,” Stiles said, taking Scott’s hand. “Come on, on your feet.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You though…you are leaving.”

“Leaving? Are they sending me…”

“Nowhere if I can help it. You are going to run, so they cannot take you.”

“Stiles,” Scott said as Stiles attempted to pull him to the open door. “Stiles!” Scott dug his heels in and forced Stiles to turn back to him. Scott looked heart-wrenchingly sad and resigned, “Stiles, where would I go?”

“Anywhere but the mines, or in the Ludus of Kate Argent.”

“If they caught me, I’d be killed for what I am.”

“You haven’t even changed yet.”

“To them I have. I’m a Were now Stiles. It’s not so easy to run. Hells, it’s not even possible for a human slave to run. You should know.”

Stiles had tried it once in his early days as a slave. Once.

“But…”

“There is nothing I can do, Stiles. Nothing.” Scott fell, defeated, to his knees. “I have never lived anywhere but here. They are going to make me leave Mum and Allison and you,” His voice trailed to a whisper. “I’m scared.”

Stiles dropped to the hay as well and wrapped his arms around Scott’s trembling shoulders, a decision suddenly made in his mind, “You are not going through this alone. I promise.”

***

“Oh Chris,” Kate gushed. “A new Were and a house slave? You do spoil me.”

 “You receive them at a price, Kate,” Chris warned, watching as his sister began to circle the two teenage slaves standing before her, like a cat with new playthings. “You know that Scott has served in my house since he was old enough to, and I do not want him put in any unnecessary danger, do you hear me?”

“Yes, yes.” Kate waved him off. “I understand.” She stopped in front of Scott. “When was he bitten?” She asked, grasping his chin and turning his head this way and that.

“Three days ago.”

“A pretty boy. It is a pity that the wolf has taken him.” She clucked her tongue mournfully. Kate, for all that she promoted her Gladiators and, as Chris suspected, often enjoyed them, she hated the ‘curse’ more than him, and more than anyone he had ever known. She loved yet despised their power, their strength and their physical beauty.

“I give him to you in the confidence that Scott is not made to do any task that is not specifically agreed between us,” Chris stated firmly.

Kate’s glare hit him with full force, daring him to challenge her and the treatment of her slaves out loud.

“Agreed.” She circled Scott again, and seemingly pleased with him, met Chris’ eye again. “He will train to control the change in the Ludus. Should his first change prove a success and he displays promise I will make him a Gladiator, if not, I will find work for him in the Ludus elsewhere, as agreed.”

Chris gritted his teeth and nodded. Allison and Melissa had been outraged at the idea that Scott could very well be made a Gladiator, but they were Kate’s terms and they were fixed. Without Kate, it would be harder to control what would happen to Scott and where he could end up.

“And you bring me an extra gift.” She stopped before the second boy. “How lovely.” She caught the boy’s eyes and held on with a smile. “What have I done to earn young Stiles?”

Chris had not intended to give Stiles away as well. It had not been his intention to lose two house slaves on the same day. No, that had all been Stiles’ idea, and wasn’t that a kick in the teeth? That his decision had been made for him by a slave?

Stiles had asked for private audience with Chris on the night that the decision was made to move Scott to Kate’s Ludus. That had been bold of the boy from the first, but then he had proceeded to demand that if Scott had to go away, then Stiles would go with him. Chris had argued, and although he was loath to admit it and Stiles would believe otherwise, Chris argued against it in Stiles’ best interests. Scott, before his unfortunate incident with the Were, had ultimately been a very satisfactory slave; meek, kind, possibly a little too close with Allison for comfort, but his heart was in the right place, and he knew that that place was of a lower station. Stiles, on the other hand, had been a drain on Chris’ nerves during the five years that he had been a slave to the Argents. Stiles had not initially believed Chris’ action of taking him in as a slave after the deaths of his parents to have been a saving grace, and had tried to run. He had been disobedient, and despite being significantly better behaved now, he was still the most disobedient of Chris’ house slaves. He had moments of outspokenness and was prone to fidgeting and quickly growing restless, which was a quality not appreciated in house slaves that were meant to blend in with the furniture. Kate would despise a slave that could not control his tongue or his shuffling feet. Stiles could do neither. He had proved it as he and Chris had argued. Chris had gotten so far as to raising an angry hand to the boy, but the back of his hand had paused a second before it had made contact with Stiles’ face. Stiles had flinched, but his eyes had remained defiant. Chris had sighed, and told Stiles that he had no idea what he was getting himself into by choosing to go to Kate, rather than staying with Chris. Kate was not as tolerant as Chris, and Stiles required a lot of tolerance.

“Stiles will serve in the house as long as Scott is with you,” Chris said, and then gave his sister a hard, uncompromising stare as he laid down the terms; “I have ordered Stiles to report back to me on any misgiving. He will support Scott through his change, and will be allowed visiting rights to see him. I also have the right to take Stiles back at any time.”

Kate frowned, clearly unimpressed with demands being made and the fact that slaves would be reporting back to Chris on her behaviour. He knew she would despise that, but it was his condition, because he found himself feeling responsible for the boys that had been in his care.

“This is most unusual, Chris,” Kate said. There was annoyance in her tone, but then her face lit up with unveiled curiosity, “Not that I’m complaining…but why not Melissa?”

“Victoria will not part with her. But Melissa will have visiting rights dependent on our arranging of them. Stiles offered to come with Scott so he is not alone in a new household. This has all been a rather overwhelming couple of days, you understand.”

“Indeed.” Kate made her inspection of Stiles, before her eyes slid to Scott. “Did they catch the wolf that bit him?”

“No.”

“Pity. It would have been nice to see it ripped apart for all it has done.”

“As you say,” Chris agreed. At least he and his sister agreed in that regard. “So, both boys are welcome with you?”

“Of course. They will fit in splendidly.”

“Allison, Melissa and myself will arrange occasions in which we will come and visit the boys.”

“Yes, yes,” His sister was beginning to sound bored, which was his cue to leave. He had laid down his terms as firmly as he could. It just remained to be seen if his sister kept to her word.

Chris cleared his throat, “Then I had best be going.” He nodded to his former slaves in acknowledgement, “Scott. Stiles.” He turned to go, determined not to look back at the boys who had served for sixteen years, and five years, within his home.

“Goodbye Master,” Scott’s quiet and anguish-filled voice followed him to the door.

Chris clenched his teeth at the sound of Scott’s voice, guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders. Stiles did not say anything. Chris could feel those amber eyes burning holes into his back. The boy was still angry that Chris was sending Scott away at all. But there was no more that Chris could do for Scott, and it had been Stiles’ choice to go with his friend. Despite Chris’ freedom to take Stiles back if he wished, Stiles was, for the meantime at least, not his responsibility anymore. And that meant that Stiles would have to control his mouth, because Kate would not be anywhere near as lenient to a boy with a fiery tongue. She’d more likely have the damn thing cut out. Stiles seemed undeterred despite all of Chris’ warnings. Chris supposed he would have to learn.

“Chris.” His sister came after him and stopped him at the door, out of earshot of the boys, who remained standing in the centre of the room. “If Scott does prove to be a powerful Were I will want to make him a Gladiator. And if Scott becomes a Gladiator, there is a chance he will be dead within the next year or two. I hope you are aware of that. I do not want the blame for his demise. In fact I am giving him the best chance of life and the chance for a glorious death. Or, if he proves a successful warrior, as my Wolves are trained to be, he could eventually earn the money to buy his freedom.” Kate did not sound like she believed much in the latter. Scott did not really fit the physique or ruthlessness of a champion Gladiator.

“We will discuss what to do with Scott once he has survived his first change. He may not prove strong enough to fight on the sands.”

“And if he does?”

“We will make that decision at that time. And we will make it together,” Chris made his tone final, but as he turned to leave again, and leave the conversation behind as well, Kate grabbed his forearm and stopped him again.

“And as for the way that I choose to train and handle my slaves and Gladiators…you know my methods. I do not want my generosity mistaken for unfair treatment. Is that understood?”

“Loud and clear.”

***

After Chris had left the villa, Stiles watched apprehensively as Kate approached them again. She had her hair pulled back and elaborately adorned, and was wearing a dress of shades of deep blue. She looked beautiful, but the eyes of the woman betrayed the poison in her veins.

She stopped before them. Her face was no longer so full of pitying smiles, but the hard demeanour of a Domina.

“Now that Lord Argent is gone we can get down to business,” She said. Even her voice was harder now. “This is not Lord Argent’s home, so you no longer follow Lord Argent’s rules. This is the Lupus Ludus of House Argent, and I expect far more of my slaves than Lord Argent does with his lax discipline and soft severity. I will expect you to follow my rules, obey them to the letter, and not to question them. I am your Master now, and I therefore have your allegiance. I am your Domina and you will refer to me as such. Is that understood?”

“Yes Domina,” Stiles and Scott spoke in unison. Scott’s voice hitched in his words, and Stiles barely controlled the wobble that threatened to derail his.

Kate sniffed, seemingly approving of their response. “The first task I would have of you is that you be shaved of most hair. Any new slave that enters my house has their hair cut, so that I can see them for who they are, and so that they understand that they are my property; mine to control, now, as is my right. Should I wish you to grow any of it out again, I will allow it in time.”

She watched their faces closely, assumedly gaging what reactions she could find there. Stiles did not know what she would find in his face, probably dumb shock, with the knowledge that he now belonged to Kate Argent; a woman who liked to prove her power in her control over other human beings . That was not a person that was decent, or kind, and Stiles did not want Scott in her hands. He did not want to be in her hands.

Kate carried on, seemingly oblivious to the inner-panic brewing within her new slaves, “Following that, Scott will go down to the Ludus to meet his new brothers. Because, Stiles, you are no longer Scott’s brother.”

Stiles could not hold back the frown that began to creep onto his face.

“You may have visiting rights,” Kate said, verging on petty as she repeated one of her brother’s demands, “Which I will allow out of respect of my brother’s wishes. But as far as this Ludus is concerned, the Wolves are each other’s family; brothers and sisters forged on the sands. Do you understand?”

Stiles was stunned to silence. Scott didn’t say anything either. Stiles felt Scott’s hand twitch so that it knocked against his own.

When no reply came, Kate shot forwards and Stiles’ found his chin harshly grasped in one hand, and Scott’s was gripped in the other. “I said. Do. You. Understand?”

Her fingernails were sharp and dug into his skin. “Yes, Domina,” Stiles forced out. Scott doing likewise.

“Stiles, I was pleased to hear how you were so willing to enter my service. Your duties here will be to help in the kitchens but also to attend me when I require it.” She physically turned his head to the far wall, where three slaves stood silent, staring blankly ahead. They had been so quiet, Stiles had forgotten they were there. “Those are a few of your new fellows. Lydia will show you how things are done here.”

Stiles let his eyes wander over the female of the three slaves. Lydia was stunning; red hair, pale skin and full lips, petite in her plain woollen tunic. The two male slaves wore simplistic linen garments that were only a little more extensive than loincloths and linen shirts that were left open and bared the majority of their chests. One of the men was tanned with black hair, the other paler, leaner and brunette. All three slaves had golden collars encircling their necks. It was clear that Kate did not dress her slaves for modesty and had chosen them for their looks.

Kate must have caught on to his chain of thought. “You are both such pretty boys. You will fit in well here.” She released their faces, but not before trailing the backs of her fingers down their cheeks; a display of her new dominance over them which gave Stiles a sick feeling in his stomach. “Stiles you will go with Lydia and then report back to me. Scott, go with Danny and Matt. They will then send you to the Doctor for physical examination. Say your goodbyes.”

Stiles turned to Scott and, without a care for his new Domina, pulled him into a hug. Scott buried his face in Stiles’ shoulder.

“You didn’t have to come here,” Scott murmured into his shoulder. “You could have stayed.”

“I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever,” Stiles promised, running a hand through Scott’s locks, knowing that they were going to be gone the next time he saw him. “Just be brave. Ok? Don’t be too soft.”

“That is enough,” Kate ordered.

“And you be careful,” Scott whispered, “I love you.” He squeezed Stiles tightly, which, with his new untested strength, left Stiles wheezing.

“I love you more buddy.” Stiles knocked his temple gently against Scott’s before pressing a kiss there. He then let go.

Kate turned on her heel, apparently bored with the show, and Stiles reluctantly watched Scott turn and follow the two male servants – Danny and Matt – through a door at the far end of the room.

“Come with me,” Lydia ordered to Stiles, turning them in the opposite direction.

“Coming.” Stiles put on a smile and followed her. If one thing was going to cheer him up about this day, it would be meeting the young woman beside him. “Nice to meet you Lydia, I…”

“You are foolish,” Lydia interrupted sharply.

Stiles’ mouth hung open. “You know what? I take back the ‘nice to meet you’.”

“I was in that room, I heard the conversation.” She rounded on him. “You chose to come here rather than stay with Chris Argent? Are you insane?”

Stiles had always used humour and sarcasm as a shield, and seeing as Kate’s introduction had already left him rattled, his defences flew up pretty fast. “Yes I believe I am. What of it?”

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him like she really thought he was crazy. “Jokes won’t save you. And you won’t save that friend of yours. He is a Were. The only future for him is the sands and an earlier grave than most. You should have accepted that and stayed where you were.”

Stiles brushed aside the blunt opinion on Scott’s fate, because what else was he meant to do? “Is Kate really that bad?” He glanced at Lydia. He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t even more worried now than he had been. He had heard of Kate’s reputation, but he had never really been at the receiving end of it before, until now.

Lydia glanced around her, as though worried the walls would hear her. “You must refer to her as 'Domina'. And if you keep on her good side, you’ll be ok. But you would have been better where you were."

“Well, I’m suitably nervous. Thanks for that.”

Lydia huffed loudly and rolled her eyes. “Idiot,” she grumbled.

“It’s been a joy spending time with you already,” Stiles deadpanned, “What a merry life we are going to lead.” He spotted the corner of her mouth quirk upwards slightly, but only for a second.

“You won’t be saying that after we’ve shaved you,” She retorted airily.

“Yes, about that,” Stiles swallowed. “When Ka...the Domina...says most hair she means…”

“Head, leg, body and underarm hair.”

“Oh gods. Is my treasured region safe?”

“Treasured region?” Lydia raised an unamused eyebrow. “We won’t be shaving that.”

“‘We’?”

“Me and Kira.”

“Oh gods.”

***

Stiles ran a wobbly hand over his close-shaved hair, eyeing himself in a mirror. “It’s never been short like this.” For all his joking and light-hearted quips, he was afraid. His original appearance had already been taken from him. It made him fear what else Kate could take from him.

“She may decide she likes you hairier and this will be the only time,” Lydia said, her berating had toned down to soft reassurance from the moment the collection of hair in his lap had finally grown stifling to Stiles and it had all hit him like a tidal wave. Lydia had caught the tear that had rolled down his cheek. “You know, I should have said to you before…yes, I think you are foolish beyond reason, but what you have done for your friend is brave. Foolishly brave, but brave.”

“You know, I might wrong,” Stiles shot her a watery smile, “But I think you might consider me foolish.”

She smiled back. It was bright and sunny and it made Stiles feel a little better. “You must care about him a great deal.”

“I do. He’s my best friend. My brother, no matter what the Domina says. I had to come here with him. I couldn’t leave him alone.”

“It is strange; I would not have understood your dedication to another person a year ago, but just recently…”

“Lydia,” Kira’s voice interrupted her from the door. “The Domina requests Stiles’ presence the moment he is ready.”

Lydia, apparently fine to leave their conversation exactly where they had left it and probably feeling that she had revealed too much, walked to the cupboards in the room and pulled out one of the hideous shirts and loincloth-things that Danny and Matt had been wearing.

“Do I have to?” Stiles asked.

“Yes.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “And get used to it. I don’t know if you are aware of this but you’ve signed yourself up to serve here for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh really? I wasn’t aware.” Stiles took the clothes and pulled them on over his wax-smooth skin. It felt odd. And when he turned to the mirror, he looked odd.

He had always been a little self-conscious but this was ridiculous. He was skinny with some lean muscle -not a hideous physique - but he never bared his pale and mole-dotted skin. His shaven head made him look his age, where as his hair when longer had lent him a year or two. His skin was baby-smooth. He tried to pull the open shirt further around himself, remembering the tanned slave – whom he had been told was the one called Danny – and his muscles and six-pack.

“Danny’s going to make me look like a skinny waif,” He muttered.

“Leave it alone.” Lydia batted Stiles’ hands away from the shirt and fixed it open again. “Though I hate to admit it, you are actually not too hard on the eyes.”

“You are too kind to me.”

“Don’t make me be less kind.”

Stiles liked Lydia. Their back-and-forth flowed comfortably, and had so far taken his mind off of his situation. Kira seemed friendly too. If Stiles had to put up with serving Kate Argent, at least he had people here who were kind to him.

“What I said before, about you being handsome,” Lydia said to him as they walked towards where Kate was expecting him. “The Domina clearly thinks so too, and she will have a heightened interest in you because of your decision to come here willingly. Just be careful of her. Do as she says. Don’t put the word-vomit you clearly possess to use. You’ll survive. I will see you later.”

“Thanks Lydia,” Stiles said, aiming for sarcasm and landing in quiet sincerity.

When Stiles entered the room, Kate was lounging on a long plush seat, waiting for him. “Ah Stiles. Come here.”

She stood as he approached, and the moment he was in reaching distance, a hand immediately travelled over his shorn hair. “Adorable,” She said, using the word she had once used to describe him all those years ago. “From the first day I laid eyes on you, you have intrigued me, Stiles. You were clearly disobedient at times in Lord Argent’s house.” She tilted her head, considering, “And yet when you followed orders, it always felt like an accomplishment, rather than it being my right as the sister of your Master to make those orders. It was peculiar. But now I am your Mistress, your Domina, and whilst I enjoy a challenge at times, disobedience is forbidden. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Domina.”

She closed her eyes with a triumphant smile on her face. “Music to my ears. Do not disappoint me, Stiles.”

Before Stiles knew what was happening, Kate’s eyes were open and she was closing a gold-coloured band around his neck.

“You are mine now,” She said, tilting his head back to admire the collar. “And it looks good on you. Though I warn you now, if I gain word that my brother has heard anything from you that I do not wish him to hear…” She backhanded Stiles hard across the face. “You and your Scott will pay for your disobedience.”

***

Below the house of Kate Argent, down in the Ludus, Scott was having a collar of his own fitted.

“This may burn for a little while,” Doctor Deaton apologised to him as he closed the collar, which was dark in colour and looked somewhat like leather, around Scott’s throat, “But you will grow used to it.”

Scott knew he would have to grow used to a lot of things; being able to hear conversations streets away and the individual drips of a tap from yards away; being able to see better, smell better than he ever had before. He was so strong now that he could probably break stone with his bare hands if he wanted to. He would have to grow used to being on his own, and not seeing his mother, Allison and Stiles every day. He would have to learn how to fight for his life and learn to stand on his own against Weres far bigger and more powerful than he. He would have to learn how to survive.

The biggest irony of this whole damn disaster was that Scott used to actually enjoy watching the Gladiator tournaments he had attended whilst waiting on the Argent family. Stiles hated the fights, so Scott was often given the job of server, and spent the day at the arena in Stiles’ stead. Standing in prime position behind the Argent family in one of the boxes for the rich and wealthy, Scott had always had great views of the fights. He had admired the skill and strength of the fighters and was in uneducated awe of their half-transformation with their wolf-like features. Although the blood and gore could be extremely difficult to witness, and a fight ending in a thumbs-down response from the audience (which led to the loser being put to death) was hard to watch, Scott still respected the fighters that came out on top. Now, he wondered how he ever found a thrill in watching such fights, because now here he stood, bitten and changed himself, without a single clue of how he had any hope in hell of surviving his first fight, let alone any more than one. He could picture the losers he had seen over the years, their blood and guts scattering the sands, and knew that after the next full moon, the next dying Were would most likely be him.

The collar felt like it was glowing hot when it hit his skin, like the brands that they used on the horses at Chris Argent’s house. Scott flinched away, and clenched his teeth to stop himself from screaming.

“Sorry,” Doctor Deaton said, sincere.

The Doctor had given him a health check, and would be helping to guide Scott in his initial training as a Were, and then at the Ludus, if it was decided he was to become a fighter. Deaton seemed mellow, and had so far been kind towards Scott, and Scott immediately liked him. The Doctor was human, and seemed very out of place in Kate Argent’s employ. He had an air about him which made Scott wonder if there was more to the Doctor than met the eye.

“The collars are made from a special formula, which includes traces of mistletoe and Wolf’s Bane,” The Doctor explained, “Both of those are poisonous to Weres, but this is a tiny dose that is not directly against the skin. It will hurt for some time, but your accelerated healing will mean that you will grow accustomed to wearing it all the time. I would have you know that this is not my creation, nor my rules. Gerard Argent discovered the means to making the collars years ago, and Kate is adamant that they are used. I have no choice in the matter.”

Scott had been so focused on the pain caused by the collar that he only just came to realise that the moment that the collar had closed around his neck, everything had become silent again. He could not hear every tiny sound around him. He could not see every tiny detail of every object in the room. It was like his newly found powers had just vanished.

 “What does it do?” Scott asked, assuming the collar was to blame, and raised a hand to tug at the collar before realising it would burn his fingers too. He dropped his hand again quickly.  “Why does it contain those things?”

“Because,” A voice interrupted them, blasé on the surface, and yet Scott could pick out annoyance and anger too, bubbling away underneath. “Whilst we wear them we cannot transform into our complete forms. They take away our right to use the instincts and power our gift brings us.”

Scott turned toward the speaker, and found him leaning nonchalantly against the frame of the door, arms crossed over his chest, and one foot hooked over the other; casual in demeanour, but there was intensity in those cold, blue eyes. His hair was a light shade of brown, his skin pale, and he was wearing tattered brown trousers, that were tied tight to his legs by strips of a darker material that were wound around his thighs, and more thickly around the thick boots on his feet. His chest was, for the most part, bare, like most Gladiators Scott had ever seen fight. But this man was a Were, so there was not a scar on him. It looked like he had never seen battle in his life. But Scott knew not to be fooled and that this was a hardened warrior.

Deaton decided to introduce them; “Peter, this is Scott, our latest recruit. Formerly a house slave for Chris Argent.”

Peter’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, and he nodded sharply.

“And this, Scott, is Peter Hale. Or you may know him better as…”

“The Defeater of Death?” Scott finished for him, amazed, but also suddenly even more intimidated by the man.

He realised that he had seen this man fight before in the arena. The man had been in his wolf-form during the fights which was why Scott had not immediately recognised him. Peter Hale was known as the Defeater of Death, because there had been a number of occasions where everybody thought he had gone down to the sands and wasn’t getting back up again, but at the last moment had struck and won. Rumour had it, he had spent a month in a coma, and his heart had stopped beating twice following fights over the years, but he had always somehow come back, stronger each time.

Peter gave a mock-bow. “In the flesh and bone,” Peter said.

“Peter is one of the Gladiators assigned to your training,” Deaton told Scott, “He is a born Were, so knows more than most about how best to train newly turned Weres. He is also one of the longest serving Gladiators of the Ludus, so you will be trained to be the very best.”

“Kate…I mean…” Scott stalled himself, berating himself for using her first name, “The Domina, has said to my former master that I may not have to fight. I may not prove strong enough to become a Gladiator.”

“Oh, you’ll be strong enough,” Peter cut in, his gaze boring unnervingly into Scott again. “I have little doubt about that.”

Peter pushed himself away from the wall and sauntered into the room, and Scott had to force himself not to flinch away when Peter reached out his hand to trace his fingers across Scott’s new collar. Scott was surprised Peter would try to touch it, but Scott did not see any pain at all cross Peter’s face. Scott supposed Peter was now long used to his own collar, which stood out starkly against Peter’s paler skin.

“Your first lesson,” Peter began, “Is about the collars. We have to wear these at all times in the Ludus and in the house, and even in combat training. The collars work to suppress our powers. Even a born Were such as I, whilst wearing my collar, cannot extend my claws, cannot grow my fangs, cannot use my strength and cannot change into my Were form. The collars essentially lock our powers inside of us. It is so the Argents do not have to fear an uprising, because as long as we wear these fucking collars, the humans are just as strong as we are. And don’t even bother trying to remove it. If the leather so much as breaks, the poison inside it is designed to leak into our skin and kill us slowly. I have seen it happen. It isn’t pretty. Don’t try to take it off. They, however, can take the collars off…” Peter’s fingers tapped on a small square of metal that joined the collar, it was the only bit of it that felt cool against Scott’s skin. Peter sounded bored as he explained, like he had explained it one too many times. “…with the use of keys, which Kate Argent keeps locked in her rooms. There is no getting to them. That has been tried too. Didn't end well. Don’t try it. There are four occasions in which the collars are taken off. The first is for ‘monitored’ gladiator training; training sessions where we spend the whole time under the watch of armoured guards that have arrows and swords and spears laced with Wolfsbane. The second is just before you enter the arena, and during the fight. The third is if you are so badly injured after a fight that you require accelerated healing, in which case they keep the collars off for an extended period of time, but it’s controlled and monitored by guards. The fourth is on the full moon. They can’t suppress our powers over full moon for the fear of our natural instincts overpowering the collars, and growing immune to them, so they lock us all up individually. Most of us can control ourselves on full moons, of course, but they don’t trust us not to use our strength to escape.”

Peter came to a stop, and Scott swayed a little on the medical table, overwhelmed and feeling faintly sick. Surely he would not be made to fight. Surely he would not require the collar taken off at all. If he kept the collar on, he would not ever have to deal with the powers of a Were at all. Why could he not have this collar and remain at the House of Chris Argent, with his mother and Allison. He wouldn’t have to stay here. Stiles wouldn’t have to stay here. They could both go home.

Deaton seemed to read his chain of thought, because he shook his head gently, “You would not be able to wear a collar and remain living free in the human world. The collar is too obvious, and would be easily recognised.  You would be known as a Were, captured as one, and be sent to the mines.”

“But if they made a collar,” Scott started desperately, “Surely they could make something less obvious? An arm band or something that could be concealed by clothes?”

Peter laughed an unsympathetic laugh, “They could. But they won’t. This is an Argent speciality item. Why would they make anything to help a Were? Kate hates Weres more than any other thing, living or dead. She would not make a means for us to wander around outside undetected,” Peter paused and smirked, “Unless it suits her, of course.”

Scott swallowed, the collar restricting the movement and burning all the more at the realisation that this collar was not a blessing in its suppression of his powers, it was in fact a curse, because the suppression would only help to lesser him further, not help him regain some normality.

“We will be taking your collar on and off more often during your training with me and Derek, of course. So you can grow accustomed to your gift,” Peter said. “Under guard, obviously. Because gods forbid we could do anything without being under guard.”

Peter was the only person in the world Scott had ever heard refer to being a Were as a ‘gift’. How could Peter even think of it as a gift, if all Peter’s gift had done was make him a slave forced to fight for his survival? He did not dare question this aloud however, and instead asked, “Who’s Derek?”

“My nephew,” Peter replied.

Scott’s mind immediately pieced two and two together. Derek Hale. The Undefeated Alpha. Currently the country’s most successful Gladiator, and the pride of the Argents’ Wolves at the Lupus Ludus.

At least by training with Derek and Peter Hale, Scott might have a slight chance at proving a good Were, and surviving the arena. He hoped there was still a small chance that Kate might decide not to make him a Gladiator but, if Peter’s word meant anything, Scott most likely would prove strong enough to become one.

“Scott, if you would like to go into the next room and change, your training will begin immediately,” Deaton told him.

Scott swallowed back a renewed threat of tears, determined not to look weak in front of Peter Hale, who was, Scott had already decided, a rather unsettling individual; eerie in his temperamental switches between mocking disinterest and intense rage. He nodded to Deaton and Peter, and slipped off the table.

He was glad to close the door of the small dressing area of Deaton’s surgery and put some distance between himself and the strangers on the other side. He rested his head against the wood and closed his eyes, attempting to get his breathing back under control. He did not need super-hearing in order to overhear said strangers discussing his future through the door.

“I think he may prove to be a strong Were,” Doctor Deaton was saying.

“Oh, he’ll be a strong Were, without a doubt,” Peter Hale replied dismissively, “What matters is whether he is going to be strong enough to survive on the sands.”

Deaton hummed, noncommitting, “I suppose we will not know until the next full moon and his first true change. A strange coincidence, isn’t it, that the first person that I have heard of getting randomly attacked in the street by a rogue Were in this town in years, just so happens to be a house slave of the Argent family. Don’t you think?”

“You think there’s something more to it?”

“It isn’t impossible. The Argents have a lot of enemies. A lot of supernatural enemies.”

He heard Peter scoff. “If it was an act of revenge, why would they attack a house slave? The Argents don’t care about house slaves. It would have done better to have gone after the daughter.”

Scott’s stomach tightened. Just the thought of Allison in his place had him feeling physically sick. Surely if Allison had been bitten, she would not have been shipped off to a Ludus like he had. Though, having met Kate and Gerard Argent, Scott could not be so sure of what fate she would have had.

“That may be so,” Deaton replied, “But it appears Chris Argent may be softer on the lad than most. He’s allowed another of his house slaves to accompany Scott, and that slave is to report back to Chris on how the pair of them are treated. Chris is determined to keep a close eye on his sister in this transaction of slaves. Which also means, Peter, that you also must treat the boy well. None of your usual antics.”

“Antics?” Peter asked, tone faux-innocent, “I wouldn’t dare invoke the wrath of Chris Argent. But I’d rather suffer his wrath than that of our oh-so-powerful Domina. She won’t allow anything to be reported back to Chris that she does not want him to hear. That boy and his little friend won’t be reporting anything bad back to Chris Argent. She’ll make damn sure they are aware of that.”

Scott froze, once again wracked with guilt for what Stiles might have to suffer at the hands of Kate Argent upstairs. As long as Stiles held his tongue and did what he was told, Kate would not have a reason to harm him. The problem was, Stiles had never been one to play by the rules.

Scott pushed himself away from the door, unwilling to overhear any more of the conversation that had done nothing but make him more afraid and guilty. And now he would have to face Peter Hale again, and Derek Hale, the famous Undefeated Alpha, and pretend to be brave.

He would have to pretend to be brave for the foreseeable future. He just hoped he could play the part. And that Stiles could too.

***

It was two days before Stiles saw Scott again. He was on kitchen duties, and a part of those duties was to serve food to the Wolves.

He and Matt struggled down stone steps and into the depths of the Ludus below the house, heaving a big pot of broth between them, with Danny close behind with a large basket filled with loaves of bread. They waited for a guard to open the barred gate to the Ludus and then hauled the pot through. Stiles’ muscles were straining with the effort, and he was panting from the exertion and the heat radiating from the pot. Those problems, however, muted the moment they stepped into the Ludus.

Stiles stared about him as they passed through a large room that was not dissimilar to a stable. Or a prison. He could not help but gawp at the strange cage-like compartments; open barred cells carpeted with thin blankets and hay. He knew that these must be the sleeping quarters, but he could barely believe that people were expected to sleep in them. At a couple of points there were breaks in the cells on either side, as they branched off into corridors to the left, lined with heavy wooden doors, with small barred windows in the tops. They passed those quickly, and Stiles did not get to have a proper look. His interest for exploring the depths of the Ludus, however, disappeared as he became distracted once again, and they entered the dining hall of the Gladiators.

They set the pot and the basket of bread on a large table at the end of the room, which was filled with long tables and benches for the Gladiators to eat their meals. The dining room was only walled on three sides. The missing wall opened straight onto the sands of the training grounds. As he laid out bowls ready for the broth, he kept glancing at the sands. He hoped to see Scott, but his friend was nowhere to be seen. What he saw instead, were grown, muscled men, and lithe, strong women, all wearing very little, and slashing at each other with blunted weapons. They were training for the days when those weapons would not be blunt. They would be very, very sharp.

Once the table was ready, Danny produced a hand bell from under the table and rang it. Immediately the Wolves abandoned their training weapons and began lining up for their food. Stiles was curious to see what the Wolves were like. He had never been close to a Were before Scott was bitten, and although he knew that they were just like him or Danny, or, of course, like Scott, he wondered what the more battle-hardened Weres were like.

“The more experienced Gladiators eat first,” Danny explained to Stiles as he broke off a piece of bread to hand to the first Gladiator in line. “The new ones go to the back, so your friend won’t be here yet.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, filling a bowl up with stew and handing it over to the waiting Gladiator whilst Danny offered the bread.

Danny smiled lopsidedly at Stiles’ obvious disappointment. “You will be seeing him in a minute. And you have permission from the Domina to sit and eat with Scott this afternoon as part of your visiting time. So cheer up! It won’t be for long but you’ll get some time with him.”

“I haven’t gone without seeing Scott this long in my whole five years of knowing him,” Stiles admitted.

Danny smiled kindly at him, before turning to acknowledge one of the Gladiators. “Jackson. How are you?”

The handsome blonde man on the other side of the table clasped arms with Danny. Stiles noticed the strange wolf symbol that belonged to the Argent family branded on his arm just above the leather bindings around his wrists. It was a mark that all the Gladiators wore branded into their skin, somehow designed so that it would not heal and fade like every other mark. “I’m good, Danny, beating the crap out of these idiots as always. How are you?”

“Same as usual,” Danny dismissed with a grin.

The blonde beamed back at Danny. His voice was lowered for the next question, and he glanced to the side of him to make sure the Gladiator beside him was too occupied with getting his bowl of stew from Matt, “And how’s Lydia?”

“She is fine. She’s been taking care of Stiles here for the last couple of days.”

Jackson’s blue gaze landed on Stiles for the first time. “So this is the newbies’ little friend is it?”

Stiles bristled at being referred to as the ‘little friend’, and the fact that Jackson knew that Stiles was here solely for Scott; though he assumed that news travelled as fast in this house and Ludus as it did in Chris Argent’ house, and that all the Gladiators probably knew.

“It is,” Danny nodded. “Play nice, Jackson.”

“I’m always nice.” Jackson bared a grin that suggested he was anything but. Stiles took the opportunity to regard the muscled body before him, barely covered by the leather padding strapped here and there. Apparently Kate had a theme for the household dress-sense; more skin than cloth. “I’ll speak to you after you’ve fed this bunch, right?” Jackson asked Danny.

“Right,” Danny agreed, and Jackson moved on. Danny caught Stiles staring. “You aren’t the only one with friends in the Ludus.” He smiled. “I get visiting time too for good behaviour.”

“And Lydia?” Stiles asked curiously. The arrogant Jackson seemed rather interested in Lydia’s welfare. He wondered whether Lydia returned that concern over Jackson. “Your friend seems rather keen to know how she is.”

“They have become friends of late,” Danny commented absently, breaking off more bread. “But best keep it between us. Ok?”

Stiles nodded quickly. He would never pass on any information that would find its way back to Kate Argent. He would never do that to the other slaves of the Ludus. He was not a snitch. And he would certainly not aid Kate Argent.

Finally, the long line of Gladiators dwindled; all branded as Argent property, all scantily armoured, and all seemingly as human and as undeserving of their fate as Stiles had expected they would be. They mostly ignored Stiles, Danny and Matt, being more interested in their food, and for that Stiles was glad.

“Next,” Matt called out.

Stiles filled up a bowl and held it out. He looked up to meet familiar smiling-but-exhausted brown eyes.

“Scott!” Stiles yelped, overjoyed, flinging the bowl to the table and scrambling underneath it to launch himself into Scott’s arms. “How are you? Are you ok? How are they treating you?” Stiles gabbled, holding Scott at arm’s length to scan him. Scott’s hair was shorter than it had been, no longer falling over his ears, and he was wearing similar leather garments to the Wolves before him, but to Stiles’ relief, he was a bit more padded out and protected than the others. “What happened to your hair?” Stiles asked finally.

Scott laughed. “I could say the same to you.” He ran a hand over Stiles’ close-cut hair. Stiles was chagrined to discover that his hair had been cut much shorter than Scott’s. But Scott’s attention did not linger on the fate of their hair, when his eyes fell to the bruise on Stiles’ cheekbone. “What is this?” He asked worriedly, trailing the hand down over Stiles’ cheek.

“A welcome present from our Domina,” Stiles grimaced. “It happened not long after we arrived.”

“I…” Scott stalled. “Oh Stiles. It is good to see you here, it really is, but I also wish you hadn’t put yourself in this position. You didn’t have to come here. You didn’t have to serve her.”

“We have discussed this,” Stiles sniffed. “I’m here to stay. Deal with it.”

“Stiles,” Danny’s soft voice butted in. He pushed a bowl of broth and a chunk of bread into Scott’s hands. “I’m going to be over there with Jackson. I’ll come and get you when it’s time to leave.”

Stiles nodded and accepted his own bowl and bread from Matt, who was staying to feed the stragglers who had been training on the sand.

Stiles sat down opposite Scott on the nearest empty table. “So fill me in. Are things ok?”

“Things are better than I could have hoped,” Scott shrugged. “The people have been ok for the most part and I’ve been told they will warm to me over time. Jackson has given me a bit of a hard time.”

“Uh huh. I’ve met that guy,” Stiles muttered disapprovingly.

“But some of the Wolves I’ve met so far are quite nice.” Scott turned a bit on the wooden bench to scan the room. “The blonde girl over there is called Erica and with her is Isaac – that’s the curly haired one – and the other is Boyd. They were the last lot of ‘newbies’, so they have been nicest to me. Isaac is quite shy but he’s friendly.”

Stiles eyed the three Wolves. Erica looked like she could be fierce and fiery; she was gorgeous in her armour, like a warrior queen. Boyd had muscles that made him immediately intimidating, and Isaac was slight, and more like Scott, cute as a button and looked as innocent as a puppy.

“Isaac doesn’t seem much like a Gladiator,” Stiles commented.

“I know. But apparently when he shifts he is a great fighter. He used to fight in illegal pits, and he survived them. So there is hope for me,” Scott joked weakly.

“You may yet get a job working in the Ludus rather than fighting,” Stiles reminded him, resolute. “How is the control training going? They haven’t made you do any of that sort of training…” he pointed out to the sands and the discarded blunted weapons, “…have they?”

“No, they haven’t made me train with the Gladiators. I’ve been separate, and will remain so until I have control of my powers and get past my first full moon. The control training is going ok. It’s really hard. Gods knows how exhausting Gladiator training must be.” Scott’s eyes fell to the table for the moment, before finding Stiles’ again with a wavering smile, “So far I have been working with Deaton, who is the Ludus doctor. He’s human. He has been kind to me so far but he’s mysterious. I haven’t quite figured him out yet. And then there are the Hales. Peter Hale, the Defeater of Death…”

Scott paused and looked at Stiles expectantly. Stiles had only ever seen a couple of Gladiator fights, and paid little interest in them beyond that, but he had heard of the Defeater of Death.

“He is weird, and I don’t think he is very happy about being made to train newbies.” Scott looked around the room for Peter. “He’s at the food table now.”

Stiles turned in his seat to look at the man at the table. Peter Hale was chiselled, lean, but equipped with compact muscle. His narrowed eyes scanned the room, catching on to Stiles and Scott before disinterestedly moving on.

“He looks friendly,” Stiles deadpanned.

“Wait until you see his nephew, Derek Hale.”

“Derek Hale?” Stiles may have vaguely recalled the name of Peter Hale, the Defeater of Death, but he definitely had heard of Derek Hale. He had never seen him fight, but his name was unavoidable in society and in the conversation of Kate Argent whenever she had been to visit her brother. “Derek Hale as in the Undefeated Alpha?”

“That’s him. He is the best fighter in the Ludus. He is arguably the best alpha fighter in the country,” Scott said this with some amount of awe, and Stiles frowned at him. Scott had always enjoyed accompanying the Argents to Gladiator tournaments. He knew all about the most famous Gladiators, and would find the fights thrilling. Now that he was potentially going to be on the sands, Stiles had expected him to have completely  lost that excitement, but apparently in the face of some of his ‘heroes’, Scott still possessed some of that awe. “Jackson is the best beta fighter,” Scott was saying. “They call him The Kanima because he was once involved in an infamous fight where all the Gladiators were armed with poison-tipped spears, and at the end of it he was the only one still standing. Kanima’s are apparently creatures that use venom to paralyse their prey.”

Stiles brushed aside the trivia information about Jackson, swallowing down his dread that one day Scott may get a nickname of his own for some terrible fight, if he survived long enough to make an impression. “Which one is Derek?”

“Erm…” Scott looked around the room again. “He’s…he’s…” Scott suddenly ducked his head, looking into his stew. “He’s looking right at us.”

“What?” Stiles swung around to look where Scott had been looking and found himself staring into heavily-browed eyes from across the room. “Him?” He asked weakly.

“Yes,” Scott said, spooning his stew into his mouth.

Derek Hale was sitting at a table across the room, Peter Hale at his side talking close to his ear, but Derek’s eyes were fixed on Scott and Stiles. He had black spiked hair and a frown on his ridiculously handsome face. And gods, was it a handsome face.

“He can’t hear us can he?” Stiles frowned, before panicking so much he flailed and nearly fell off the bench. “Weres have amazing hearing right?” He glanced around them nervously, at Jackson, Isaac, Erica and Boyd. He prayed that none of the Wolves they had been discussing had overheard them.

“He would be able to if it weren’t for these,” Scott thumbed the dark collar around his neck and winced. “These have something in them that suppresses the Were powers, according to Deaton. I am only allowed to take it off for my control training. The same goes for the Gladiators. The collars are worn at all times unless it’s what they call ‘Shift Training’ where the Wolves train in Were form, or when they are fighting in the arena.”

“Shit,” Stiles said, glancing back at Derek and seeing that not only had he turned his attention back to his uncle, but he was also wearing a collar. All the wolves were. “That sucks.”

“You’re telling me,” Scott frowned. “I see you have one too.”

“Mine is shinier than yours,” Stiles grinned.

Scott didn’t smile as Stiles had intended him to. Instead he just looked terribly sad. “I miss the arm clasps we had at Chris and Victoria’s,” Scott said. “Collars feel so much more demeaning.”

“I think that is the whole reason for them,” Stiles’ grin turned bitter.

Scott leant over the table and closer to Stiles. “Kate has been ok to you, hasn’t she? She hasn’t hurt you apart from…” He gestured to Stiles’ face.

“That was to warn me against reporting anything back to Chris that hasn’t been approved by her ladyship. We have played into her hands a little, coming here together. We are each other’s bargaining chips against the other.”

Scott flinched, as though he knew something Stiles didn’t, and his hand reached out and clasped Stiles’. “It will be ok.”

“I know. And besides, that’s what I should be telling you,” Stiles smiled. “Now eat your food before it gets cold. I spent a lot of time on that broth.”

Scott rolled his eyes and dug into his meal, clearly ravenous.

They ate in companionable silence for a minute or two, before they were well and truly interrupted. Stiles had not noticed the two Gladiators approach them until they were standing right over them. He glanced up at them apprehensively. He didn’t recognise them, and they weren’t any of the Gladiators Scott had mentioned to him. They were huge. Built and bearded and hostile-looking.

“Lunchtime’s over, new meat,” One of the Weres grinned, stealing the rest of the bread from Scott’s hand. “We fighters deserve larger portions.”

In an instant Scott was on his feet. “Give that back.”

The Were appeared taken aback at first, before he recovered and leered at him. “Are you going to make me?” Before shoving Scott back into the table.

Stiles was flying around the table in an instant to stand beside Scott. “Give the bread back and fuck off.”

That seemed to cause more surprise that Scott’s defiance did. “Now, now, pretty house-boy.” The Were eyed Stiles up and down. “You shouldn’t start a fight you have no hope in hells of winning. Back down.”

“I don’t think so,” Scott growled, and Stiles was proud of his friend for standing up for himself and standing his ground. Scott was already learning to survive here, which gave Stiles hope.

The second Were tilted his head to the side and smirked, “Tell you what, pretty house-boy. You and Little Wolf can have the bread back if you do something good for me.” He winked. His friend laughed.

Stiles sneered. “I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon.”

“And you can take the bread,” Scott turned up his nose, “From what I have heard, it will be the first prize you have won as a Gladiator in a long while.”

When their responses raised laughter from the nearest table in earshot, the Were with the bread growled in fury, and his fist raised in the air and he drew it back with a curl of his lip.

Stiles and Scott prepared to counter-attack. Stiles grabbed the nearest weapon to hand – which happened to be the spoon he had been eating his broth with – and held it out threateningly.

But before anything could happen, the Were’s fist suddenly dropped and for a split second Stiles was amused that they had backed down from Scott and Stiles, of all people, before he became distinctly aware of a presence beside them.

“Back off, Smith,” Derek Hale snarled, stepping between Stiles, Scott and the two Weres.

The Were with the bread – Smith - did a double-take, before his face neutralised again. “Sure. Whatever.” He spat a glob of saliva toward Scott and Stiles, took a large bite of the bread in his hand and quickly turned away.

Scott and Stiles both instinctively took a step forward angrily at being spat at, but an armoured arm swung out to block the two of them. Derek looked down at Scott, frowning in disapproval. “We do not fight against our brothers outside of the training ground,” Derek’s voice wasn’t as low as Stiles had expected it would be. It sounded softer, and younger. “Go to the training room, Scott. Now.” Then hard eyes landed on Stiles. “Fighting is not tolerated here. Particularly from house-slaves.” Stiles nearly flinched at the harsh tone, as well as what Derek said being true. The house-slaves were considered to be decorative; not getting in Gladiator brawls. He must be something of an oddity to the Wolves of the Argent Ludus. Derek narrowed his eyes at him, “I would get back upstairs if I were you.”

“I get visitor’s rights,” Stiles blurted angrily.

Derek looked surprised that he was even being questioned. It was clear to see that Derek wasn’t used to being challenged. It wasn’t surprising. Derek made a commanding and intimidating presence, with a muscular physique, and dark leather armour covering very little of the broad expanses of skin.

“Stiles,” Scott muttered under his breath, in warning for Stiles’ outburst.

“Scott,” Derek barked. “Now.”

“See you soon Stiles,” Scott promised, squeezing Stiles’ wrist, before weaving his way through the tables. Scott seemed afraid of Derek. Smith and his friend had backed off immediately at Derek’s order. With all good sense Stiles should do as he was told too, but Stiles also refused to back down from an argument.

Derek’s cold glare turned back to him. “If you don’t behave yourself in the Ludus, you will not be allowed back. Your visitor’s rights will be revoked if the Domina finds out you are picking fights with the Gladiators. And she will make sure that you do not embarrass her again.”

“But she won’t find out, will she?” Stiles asked nervously, the bruise on his cheek aching in anticipation of the punishment.

Derek frowned at him but didn’t reply. He looked over Stiles’ shoulder. “Danny, I think it’s time that the new slave went back upstairs, don’t you?”

“My name is Stiles,” Stiles offered, unable to keep his mouth closed despite being more than a little scared of the guy and his intense stare.

Derek looked taken aback for the second time. His lip curled back into a half-snarl.

“Stiles,” Danny hissed urgently. “Time to go. Time. Now.”

As Danny and Stiles exited the hall, with many eyes following them, Stiles heard Jackson exclaim “The new wolf and house-slave have a death wish.”

“I like them,” Erica decided loudly, as Stiles and Danny entered the sleeping accommodation and away from the dining hall.

Stiles could feel Derek Hale’s gaze following him all the way out of the room.

*

“Are you insane?!” Lydia rounded on Stiles the moment Danny had filled her in on why they were back in the kitchen earlier than expected.

“I thought we had established this,” Stiles commented.

“Well it is clear I was right! You pick a fight with Smith and then talk back to the Undefeated Alpha?!”

“He was scary. My mouth runs away with me when I’m nervous. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you should be apologising to! Derek is a formidable warrior and demands respect. The other Weres do respect him and so should you! And if the Domina finds out then…” Lydia shuddered. “You clearly have no sense of self-preservation!”

“I was trying to stand up for Scott.”

“Scott will learn to stand up for himself. If Derek supports him, which by the sound of it he does - despite the mess you two made - then Scott will gain the respect he needs. Derek is the best of the best and you should put more faith in him, but be afraid of him too, because you don’t know Derek like we do.”

***

Later that day, Stiles was cleaning in the Pool Hall of the House; a large room paved and walled in cool white stone, with cushions and seating scattered about, and a water pool standing as a feature in the very centre.

He looked up when he heard footsteps, and found Lydia standing before him, balancing a tray of drinks and a small bowl of fruit on her hand.  “The Domina has requested that you attend her this afternoon out on the balcony,” Lydia said.

Stiles stood up, dropping the damp washcloth he was holding into the tub of water beside him. He straightened his clothes and wrung his hands nervously. “You don’t think she heard about what happened earlier, do you?”

“Probably,” Lydia replied shortly, “There isn’t much that passes her notice.” She walked up to Stiles and handed over the tray. “She learns most things that go on here.”

Stiles levelled her with a knowing look, “But she doesn’t know everything. Does she?”

“No,” Lydia said, kneeling down to carry on the job Stiles had been halfway through. She tucked a stray strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. “Not absolutely everything.”

He knew what she was implying. Lydia was hiding a secret from her Domina. Stiles would have to learn how to be more discreet, to learn how to keep his secrets too. He had a feeling Lydia would help him do so.

He nodded to her, before heading to the balcony.

Kate Argent was out in the open already, basking in a low chair with a sloped back. She was dressed in a plum purple dress, her hair loose and rippling about her shoulders in the breeze. She was looking down at the view.

The view just so happened to be the training sands of the Ludus. Apparently she often came out onto the balcony to watch her Gladiators train down below her.

Stiles could not see Scott anywhere; probably off doing his control training, as Peter Hale was also absent from the sand. Derek Hale, however, was not. Stiles spotted him immediately; his dark hair and coiled muscles catching Stiles’ eye at once. He was moving against his ‘opponent’ with such relentless skill that he was making his victory look stupidly easy.

“Domina,” Stiles averted his gaze and looked back to Kate, alerting her of his presence.

“Ah, Stiles,” She acknowledged, holding her hand out.

Stiles lowered the tray so that she could choose the drink she wanted. “Leave the fruit on the side table and the drinks on the back ledge,” She ordered.

Stiles did as he was told.

“Come here, Stiles,” She said, her eyes not once leaving the sands.

Stiles moved beside her.

“Look at them Stiles. What do you think of my Gladiators? Strong, aren’t they? The best examples of their unfavourable species.”

“They fight very well, Domina.”

“How would you know, Stiles? If my memory serves me right, I barely ever saw you accompany my brother and sister-in-law to tournaments.”

Stiles swallowed. He did not dare tell her that his parents had greatly disapproved of the treatment of Weres, and through direct association, any kind of Gladiator event. “I was not often asked to attend,” He settled on.

“It is a pity, as you have missed out on some of the greatest sporting spectacles of our generation.”

“I do not doubt it, Domina.”

“Though I suppose it is useful that Scott was the one most commonly chosen to attend to the family at tournaments, as he may have picked up a thing or two.”

“Yes, Domina,” Stiles replied quietly, disliking the fact that Kate was already apparently in the mind that Scott was to become a Gladiator. Stiles reckoned she had never even considered giving Scott another, safer, role in the house.

“But you can see now, how they fight.”

“Yes, Domina.”

“And yet, you were so willing to start a fight with one.”

Before Stiles knew what was happening, Kate’s hand had closed on his arm, and the sharp rings on her fingers, and her long nails, dug hard enough into his skin to draw blood to the surface. Stiles yelped in surprise, and then stubbornly stifled any further noise. His eyes watered furiously, but just as Kate was doing, Stiles kept his eyes fixed firmly on the training down below. If he made a scene, he knew he would be punished worse than this.

“I heard what happened today.”

Stiles’ fingers twitched in pain, desperate to pull his arm free, but was too afraid to. “Domina?”

“Don’t play the fool, Stiles. You know exactly what I am talking about; your little display down in the dining area.”

Stiles moved his eyes desperately across the fighters, wishing to find something to distract himself from the pain rushing through the soft skin of his underarm. He found his distraction, surprisingly, in the form of Derek Hale. As Stiles’ eyes passed over Derek for a second time, the Gladiator happened to glance up at the balcony. Derek had finished his fight, and was busy choosing a new weapon to train with. His hands stalled as their eyes locked gaze.

Even from all the way up on the balcony, Stiles could see how Derek’s eyes flickered down to the hold that Kate had on Stiles’ arm and back up to their faces again. He was frowning. Though Stiles doubted the man knew how to smile even if he wanted to.

“A house slave should never pick a fight with a Gladiator. You embarrassed yourself today. And you embarrassed me. I will not have that, Stiles. And consider this your final warning…” The nails dug in harder and Stiles winced, leaning into the hold a little more in an attempt to lessen the strain. He broke eye contact with Derek Hale as he did so and did not dare look back. “I will revoke your rights to visit Scott if this should happen again. And it will not happen again. If you put one more toe out of line I swear to you that you will regret it most deeply.”

Kate finally released her hold on Stiles’ arm and he drew it up towards himself, not daring to look down at the gouges in his skin. “Yes Domina,” Stiles said, his voice betraying him by wavering in upset, “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Good boy,” Kate replied absently, as though her attention was already focused elsewhere. Her eyes followed the men on the sand. Lingering, Stiles could not help but notice, on her prize Gladiator. Her Undefeated Alpha. Derek Hale was not looking up at the balcony anymore. “Now leave me.”

Stiles was more than happy to obey.