[May 9] [Original] The Hated One

[rosehiptea.livejournal.com]

Title: The Hated One
Day/Theme: May 9/The friend and the foe
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: No names.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 579



He was dying, and she hated him. He was enemy, he was other. Finding him in the woods, wounded, made no difference. To her, he incarnated evil. It was probably one of her own compatriots who had wounded his shoulder, despite rumors that peace was coming.

So why was she kneeling beside him? At first she hadn't even realized what he was, with the helmet covering the blond hair. But why she had stayed, even when she took the helmet off to help him, she couldn't say.

He opened his mouth to say "Water."

She hesitated. Clearly he was delirious, to think she would help him now. But water was a little enough thing to give him. She could refill her canteen at the stream nearby. Carefully, she held it up to his lips and let him drink a little.

"Thank you."

Without thinking, she replied "You're welcome."

"What's your name?" he asked her. He spoke her language especially well. But she refused to reply.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" he continued.

She shook her head, though she knew he might die. "Don't talk," she advised him.

"It wasn't one of you who did this to me," he continued. "It was a robber, one of mine."

That didn't surprise her. They were known for robbery. Then again, there were criminals among her own kind as well.

"Shh..." she said, running her hand over his forehead without even thinking.

"I have a daughter your age," he said. "She's not a warrior like you though. But she has blue eyes, just like you."

Blue eyes were rare among her people, but not his. Sometimes her friends teased her that one of them must have married into her family long ago. She was always insulted. But what if it were true?

"Why are you helping me?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied. And she didn't. "Perhaps it just seems a shame to me that someone should die alone." But didn't she want him to die?

He nodded. "Thank you," he said again.

He tried to move, and the pain seemed to hit him. Suddenly he reached out and grabbed her hand. His grip was strong, and she couldn't wrench her hand away. So they sat, she and her enemy, holding hands.

Finally he fell asleep. She couldn't sleep, not with her worries that there were more of his people on the road. As she stayed awake, she considered her options. She could just leave. Maybe his comrades would find him here. Or she could kill him herself. Why did that seem so repugnant to her?

So she sat by his side. Occasionally he would awaken, looking into her eyes, and telling her little stories about his daughter at home, how she had played when she was a little girl. Their children played the same games she had, it seemed. How had she never known that?

Eventually she spoke as well. "I've been a warrior almost half a year now," she told him. "But I've never been in battle. Just practice."

"You mean you haven't killed any of us?"

She was shocked that he said it, but merely shook her head. "No."

"They say there will be a treaty," he said.

"I hope so," she answered, though until this moment she hadn't cared.

When morning came, she was still holding his hand, and he was still alive. And though she told herself she hated him, she knew it was a lie.