Champion

“The chosen champions of the realms, Sir Donovan for the Kingdom of Flugefell and Sir Wilhelm for the Kingdom of Gilhere!”

We sat across from each other, a plate piled high in front of us.  Neither of us had touched the food.  We sat and sized each other up, the fate of the kingdoms in our hands and our stomachs.

Breaking bread with one another had been a tradition of the realms going back for thousands of years, so far that no one truly could tell you when the tradition had begun. It started out as a friendly gesture- breaking bread with your neighbor to show respect, cooperation and friendship, but somewhere in history, now lost to the realms, this act became a contest.  

Kings and champions alike had competed and winners had been crowned each year.  Last year, the champion, Sir Galan of Gilhere, had spent nearly 24 hours eating at the table, piles of bones and stems and leaves and plates surrounding him, ever increasing, until, at last, he could no longer stand the deluge of food that filled his stomach and he passed out in what can only be described as a food coma from which he did not wake for a week.  He was outlasted by Sir Johanne of Flugefell, who had to be placed on bed rest for the rest of the month.  It was nigh a dangerous undertaking, only by the boldest and most reckless of all the people, but once the table was reached, the status of the champion was cemented for life.  

Statues lined the eating halls of each kingdom, chronicling the winners of the past, monuments to those who earned the realms their continued freedom and prosperity.  It was the greatest honor to be an Eater of Freedom.

I stared at Wilhelm with malice in my eyes, my hands in my lap, ready for the battle to begin.  There was little to do now but prepare my stomach for the voyage it was about to undertake.  I breathed deeply.

In.

Out.    

“Prepare.” My hands upon the chicken.

“Eat!”  The moment I had been training for arrived and I started with gusto, barely aware of my surroundings. I will spare you the details of those first few minutes, because there was a great deal of food flying around both sides of the table.

Throughout my entire eating career, I had been training for this moment, and I was not going to let the kingdom down.  I ate with ferocity, for that is what the greatest eaters do- they attack the food and their opponent with force and come away from the table legends.  I could feel that history coursing through my veins.  I was among the royalty of food.

I could feel myself filling for hours, knowing that at some point, my stomach would break and my mind must not.  I could see that Wihelm was nearly at the same point as me, and I pitied him.  There was only one champion, and that would be me and the realm of Flugefell.  I’m sure that he was having similar thoughts and that is why we are both at the table.

The spectators cheered as we fought like lions through the piles of food.  There was merriment and games and drinking around us, but we warriors, focused on our task, thought only of victory.  

And then it happened.  I was only aware of it because it happened to my left, just within my periphery.  Someone had jumped from the stands and was running to the table.  It happened on occasion, but the sacredness of the contest was usually observed by all who were in attendance, so this was unusual.  The knights jumped him down, only to find a sword in their guts.  

He was coming for me.  I knew that I had to keep eating or I would lose the contest and Gilhere would be triumphant.  The shame that would befall both myself and my countrymen would echo throughout history. 

 I ate.

I hoped aid would befall me.

It did not.  My side was pierced by steel and I instantly lurched sideways, my blood beginning to drain.  There was nothing I could do now.  My time as champion was coming to an end and Flugefell would come down with me.  My massive body fell out of the chair and I was unable to right myself, as I had not had to move on my own for quite some time.  

It was then that the storm broke loose.  From the floor, I saw the colors of both realms descend upon the table and a melee ensued.  Bodies fell around me as I lay upon the ground.  The table itself was overturned.  Bodies pushing from all directions, there was no place to hide.  I was stepped upon and stumbled over- forgotten by the masses that now seemed to have shifted from ceremonial combat to physical combat.  

It seemed hopeless for me at this point.  There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.  But I tried to do both by dragging myself under the table.  I knew that if I got out of the way, I might have a chance for survival.

My blood trailed along the floor as I slowly moved the four feet to my hiding place.  Screaming, the clash of metal, and dull thuds of bodies surrounded me. I made it and unexpectedly found my most worthy of adversaries waiting under the large wooden table, already safely distanced  from the chaos.

I looked at Wilhelm, saw the fear in his eyes as he huddled there, eyes darting.  I saw him notice my wound and his look grew even more alarmed.  I realized then that he and I were the same, caught in a world that was tenuous at best, deadly at worst. And neither of us had the tools to thrive in this moment.  It was going to take a shift of epic proportions to make the change in this world, our skills no longer useful nor prized. The two of us had been left behind, obsolete.  And the realization of that brought to both of us a new perspective.  The horror in his eyes told me that Wilhelm was not taking it as well as, despite my wound.

Resignation sank in.  I settled in to wait this out.  There was nothing more I could do.  The fighting raged on around us and I watched as our respective homelands battled it out.

Soon, the hall began to empty, except for the dead and the dying.  The skirmish seemed to have been taken outside, leaving those indoor to our fates. I learned later that the fighting shortly ended without truly deciding anything.  Both realms had retreated to their corners and neither had seemed to win in any sort of fashion.  We had blindly gone to war, then been left to pick up the pieces.  I knew that I was never going to go back to the field of competitive eating and vowed to find a better, more productive place in society.

I dragged myself out to get my wounds tended to, and set off on my way, lumbering through the streets, away from the past and toward a future that I knew would be different from anything I had ever known before.