A/N: This fic was born from two drawings I ran across long ago on Deviantart and Tumblr. It's been so long that I can't go back and credit the artists, unfortunately, because I can't find them again and didn't save the references. One was of a young, unmarked Leto, bare-chested and holding a sword in an arena. The second was of a nervous looking Leto holding a serving plate with wine and glasses, with an off-screen Danarius saying "Come in, Leto." So this is the best I can manage to reference the artists who inspired this. Thank you.

"Protect them, Leto. That is your duty." Those were the last words he heard from his father before he was sold away. The master never even bothered to tell them where his father was being sent. For the past three years, Leto had done his best, working hard to earn better food and accommodations for his mother and younger sister. Now he had a chance to protect them forever, a way to give them freedom!

Varania was against it. As soon as he mentioned the magister's tournament to her, she cornered him in the laundry. "Don't you dare, Leto. You heard what the rules were! If you fail, it will kill mother!"

"I won't fail!" he railed back at her as loudly as he dared. Even here, on the far side of the mansion and deep in the slaves' section, no one dared raise their voice for fear of drawing the master's attention. Or worse yet, that of his apprentices.

"You're too young!"

"I've sixteen summers, Varania. You heard the rules. Any slave between sixteen and eighteen can take part."

"You'll be facing slaves two years older than you, Leto. You'll be killed." His sister's voice was filled with anguish. "We've already lost father. Don't make us mourn you, too."

"Nothing is forever, Varania. Haven't you learned that yet?" he asked harshly. "Magister Danarius is offering a boon to the winner. Do you realize what that means? I can ask him to free you and mother. Freedom, Varania! For both of you!"

Her fingers dug tighter into his shoulder through the threadbare tunic that he wore. "And what of you, Leto?"

"I'll be his bodyguard. It's a prized position, Varania. It won't be like here, ignored, starved. You've seen how the magisters treat the slaves they prize. They live almost as well as the magisters themselves. Plenty of food, a room in the main estate. As his bodyguard, I'll be able to travel outside and see the city. All of it. Not just the little bits and pieces you can see through the gate. It's the only chance for all of us, Varania. Don't you see?" He wrapped his hands around hers and pleaded with her to understand.

"I don't like it, Leto. There are stories of things the magisters do. Terrible stories." Her voice shook, but he could tell that she was listening to him.

"I have to do something, Varania. Otherwise, I'm worth nothing more than a blood sacrifice to the master. I don't want to die like that. I don't want you to die like that, either. You're my sister, Varania. I care about you." His hands on hers softened. "I have to do this, Varania. Can't you see?"

A tear fell from her eye, quickly brushed away. "There's no stopping you, is there, Leto?" The quiet resignation in her voice matched that on her expression.

He shook his head once. "No. I'm going to enter. And I will win, Varania. I swear it!"

She glanced around quickly to ensure they were alone, then she pulled him into a fierce hug. "I will pray for you, Leto." Just as quickly, she released him. "Go. I will tell mother."

He held her hand for just a second, then strode away to inform the seneschal of his decision.

That was how, three days later, he came to be standing in the holding cell in the Palladium, the largest arena in Minrathous. The cell was crowded with other slaves his age, at least thirty others, although he couldn't get a good count. Most of them were men, although there were several young women mixed in. There were even several humans in the crowd. Each of them was stripped down to a loin cloth. The girls also had a breast band, but nothing more. There had been a few elbows and fists thrown, but they were too closely watched for anything more serious. The magister wanted the killings to be in the arena.

A burly slave master with a thick gut and oiled beard climbed heavily to the blocks at the front of the cell. A heavy whip with a dark wood handle and leather stained with something darker dangled from his side. "Listen up, slaves," he yelled. They quieted immediately. "Ya heard the rules when ya entered the tourney, but I'm here to spell it out ta ya. One o' ya will end up bein' the winner of Magister Danarius' tournament. The rest of ya are entertainment for the masses. They expect a show, and we'll be givin' it ta them."

Still no one moved. Life in Minrathous was brutal for a slave, and not one of them expected anything different. The slave master continued. "Since there was so many that entered, the first round is the paired elimination. You'll get the weapons we give you. We'll match you up against each other, and you'll all be in the arena at once. Fight only your opponent - no others. Winners stay standing until everyone is finished."

He looked down on them, crushed together into a tense, angry mass. "One more thing. No healin' of any sort through the whole tourney. Ya take an injury, ya live with it to the end. Or not," he added with a grim chuckle.

Leto found himself shoved into the line about a third of the way from the beginning. They were being herded toward the arena through a narrow door. As he got closer to the exit, he saw that they were being paired up with each randomly given a weapon. He saw an older boy shove his way ahead of a girl to snatch up a sword, instead of the two daggers that the girl was given. He panicked when he saw the weapon master reach for a massive two-handed sword and give it to him. He tried to duck behind the boy behind him, but was rudely shoved back into place. The man in charge of weapons thrust the sword at him, and it was either grab it or drop it on his feet.

The line moved forward, and he was pushed out onto the sandy floor of the arena. The slave master grabbed him and the boy behind him and marched them onto the far side of the arena. Leto blinked in the early morning sun and saw that the Palladium was only half full. It would fill up later in the day as the contestants grew fewer. The rumor in the holding pens was that Magister Danarius had paid a great deal to put on this tournament. The royal box was filled with magisters although the Archon's throne was empty.

All around the arena, contestants were being paired off. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to the weapons each had been given. He hefted the massive two-handed sword and quailed for a moment at the weight, but he refused to let his opponent know how heavy it was for him. Instead, he lifted it and let it rest on his shoulder, doing his best to appear cocky and confident. The boy across from him was only slightly bigger and had been equipped with a small round shield and a short sword not much longer than his forearm.

A gong sounded three times. By the time the echoes from the third had faded into silence, the entire crowd was quiet, and a magister in rich purple robes was standing at the front of the box. "Slaves, you know the rules. By day's end, one of you will be the victor. The others will be food for the beasts of the arena. I want the strongest, most cunning warrior to be my bodyguard. I assure you, the winner will be feared by all. With my magic, the winner will become more powerful than you can ever imagine. And I will grant any boon of the winner's choosing. Now...fight!"

The crowd roared its appreciation and blood lust as the inexperienced fighters on the arena floor tried their best to kill their opponents. Leto's world narrowed down to the nameless boy across from him who charged straight at him with sword pumping up and down. Leto's sword was terribly heavy on his shoulder as he gripped the pommel hard. He waited until the last possible second, then leapt to the side and swung the monster sword. He managed to nick the other boy's bare calf, but the tip of the sword buried itself in the sand, and Leto was forced to let it fall to the ground to save himself as the boy turned and swiped at him with the short sword.

He danced around, twisting and turning to avoid the boy's clumsy sword swings. He couldn't get to his fallen sword, but he didn't even want to try. He knew he couldn't lift it and swing it in time to counter his opponent's attack. As he rolled to avoid an overhead blow, he grabbed a handful of sand and threw it into the boy's face. He immediately dropped his sword to rub at his eyes. Leto eyed the short sword enviously, but the slave master had told them to use their weapons, and he was afraid that if he took a weapon he hadn't been given that he would forfeit both his match and his life. But he was willing to bet that he could use his hands.

He launched himself at the other boy and knocked him down into the sand. His fist pummeled him in the face over and over until blood and then teeth went flying. The boy swung ineffectually, and Leto easily dodged his pitiful blows. Teeth pulled back in a snarl, Leto fastened his hands around the boy's throat and tightened with every bit of his strength until he felt something inside snap and the last bit of resistance disappeared from his enemy. Gasping, he sat back on his knees, and then staggered to his feet as he had been bidden.

Looking around the arena, he could see that only a few had finished their matches. It was clear even to him that none of those in the arena were familiar with weapons, which eased a tiny bit of the fear that lived inside him. He had never touched a weapon until this moment, and he had been frightened of meeting someone who was skilled in fighting.

His attention was drawn to a nearby pair still fighting. The girl had two daggers, and her opponent had a net and a trident. The girl would seem to be at a disadvantage, but it was soon obvious the boy was fumbling both the net and the trident. He tried to catch the girl around the legs, but the net fell short. As he tried to pull it back and point the trident at her at the same time, she screamed and rushed toward him. She twisted to avoid the trident points and sank a dagger into his neck. A long gout of blood spurted onto the sandy floor to the approving roar of the crowd. As the boy collapsed to his knees, she buried her other dagger into his chest. Like Leto, she climbed to her feet and stood facing the magisters in the royal box.

Leto had no idea how long he stood there watching the other pairs kill each other. The sun rose higher, and sweat rolled down his naked back, but he didn't move. Like all slaves, he had been harshly schooled in how to behave around magisters. Usually, as a slave, you wanted to avoid the attention of a magister, but today was completely different. Leto held his head high and kept his back straight as the other pairs eventually separated into victors and the dead.

Eventually, only one pair was left. They were still taking tentative pokes at each other, neither one committing to the attack, and both obviously afraid. Soon the crowd started booing. Leto split his attention between the magisters and the final pair. He saw Magister Danarius give a signal to the slave master, who nodded curtly. He strode over to the pair and grabbed the closest boy by the hair. He drew a wickedly curved knife from his belt and slit the boy's throat. The other boy cried out and started to run away. Leto saw the magister signal the guard, and an instant later, a black fletched arrow sprouted from the boy's back. The crowd roared its approval again.

Leto carefully buried his feelings deep inside as the slave master herded the remaining contestants back into the bowels of the Palladium. He carefully took the measure of those remaining. He saw that one boy had a deep cut across his thigh and could barely walk. A couple of others had wounds severe enough that he felt confident he could take them if paired up with them.

As they were pushed and crowded back into line, he sneered and pushed back at any who got too close to him. He had survived the first round, but so had all of them. The slave master put them into individual cells now, and Leto concentrated on projecting an image of confidence. He might not be a trained warrior, but nothing and no one would stop him from winning the magister's prize. His future, and more importantly, his family's freedom depended on it.