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Night has fallen. Constellations are strewn across the sky, looking down on the world of man with indifference. “Well,” murmurs Hadrian, “At least I get to die under the stars.”
The battlefield has mostly fallen silent by now. The moans of the nearly dead have ceased, leaving an eerie silence. Hadrian isn't sure exactly how long it has been since the battle was lost - maybe a day, going by his thirst? All he knows is that he woke up, pinned under a fallen comrade. His side burns and he thinks his leg is broken. It is going to be a slow, agonizing crawl out of this mess and he is putting it off for just a bit longer. And he is already tired, the sort of soul deep exhaustion where just twitching a finger consumes too much of him.
Hadrian feels a little betrayed that they would just leave him to die like this, that they didn't even check on him. Sure, he has never been the most popular, but he has always kept his head down, and even made a few friends. He tells himself that they must not have seen him, for the alternative is not something he wants to think about.
It is getting colder now, and Hadrian is starting to shiver. He knows he needs to move and find somewhere to shelter for the night, else he could actually join the dead out here. He takes a deep breath in and steadily pulls his leg out from where it is pinned on the exhale. A muffled scream escapes his clenched teeth, the pain and tiredness causing spots to dance across his vision. Yup, definitely broken. He sits there, panting, for several long moments.
He almost misses it. From behind him, a glowing orb snaps into being. Its blue light isn't enough to illuminate the figure holding it. Fuck. Hadrian scrambles for his sword, though he knows he has little chance in his current state, and waits.
The light moves closer, eventually stopping just out of sword range. They have clearly seen him and Hadrian doesn't think it is worth playing dead. “Who goes there,” he states, far more confidently than he actually feels.
The orb shifts slightly higher, illuminating their face. The man is young, still with a bit of boyish charm to him. His dark and slightly unkempt hair falls in waves to brush his shoulders, and he has the beginnings of a beard on his chin. Or an attempt at one, at least. Hadrian knows he was growing more impressive chin fluff at 13. He finds himself lingering on the sharpness of his features, the curve of his lips. That is, until he notices the distinctive silver earrings and delicate circlet that mark him as a mage of the fallen. His sworn enemy. Hadrian stiffens, raising the sword higher.
“Wait, wait!” the man exclaims. “Promise I'm not going to hurt you or anything. I was just passing by to see if everything was … finished here, when I heard your scream. You're obviously hurt. I can help.”
“I'm your enemy. Why wouldn't you want to kill me?” Not that Hadrian particularly wants to die, but he is confused by the logic.
“Are you planning on killing me?”
Hadrian shakes his head in response. He has no hope of killing a mage in his state.
“Well, that settles it. If you lower your very pointy sword, I'll come closer and see what I can do about getting you fixed up. I'll warn you though that I was never the best at first aid in my cohort, but I do know a thing or two. Should be enough to get you up and going at least. Oh, and I'm Lyle, by the way. My mother would be appalled at me for forgetting my manners, even on a battlefield.”
“Hadrian.” He doesn't see the harm in telling the other man that much. How much could he do with a name?
Hadrian locks eyes with the mage, trying to read his expression. They are supposed to be enemies, he has grown up knowing that. So why is he being shown mercy? Does the mage really believe in what he is saying? Hadrian cannot see any evidence of deception in the other’s gaze, but that doesn’t mean much, given how much his head is currently swimming.
He sighs, his whole body going loose. “I'm sure this is a really fucking stupid move that is more than likely going to get me killed, but fine. I believe you. Healing would be … appreciated.” He lowers the sword, throwing it off to one side with a clang. At this point, he has nothing left to lose other than his life, and that is already on a knife’s edge anyway.
“Great!” Lyle rubs his hands together as he walks forward and crouches down. “Let's see what we are working with here.”
Despite his earlier statement, Lyle turns out to be a very efficient healer. His hands are gentle but firm as he examines the break in the bone and pokes at the hole in his side. Hadrian has never had a mage heal him before; that was only ever reserved for the wealthy and important. But he has seen them work before and, from what his inexperienced eye can tell, Lyle is very good at what he does.
It seems to be no time at all before the green glow fades from Lyle's palms. Hadrian's pain isn't gone exactly, but it has retreated to a dull ache that he can ignore.
Lyle brushes his hands off onto his robes, though really he is just smearing blood and filth and who knows what else everywhere. He doesn't seem too bothered. “How is that feeling now? Up for trying to walk on it?”
“Yes, that's a …” Hadrian's voice cracks with the dryness in his throat and he breaks into a coughing fit.
“Ah, I should have realised,” Lyle says apologetically, fumbling around on his belt. “Here.” He holds out a waterskin.
At this point, it could be the mostly deadly poison and Hadrian couldn't bring himself to care. He takes it, taking long drags. It is just water and tastes a little stale, but it is the best water he has ever tasted. He can barely hold himself back from finishing it up.
Hadrian hands the almost empty waterskin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks,” he says with a slight smile, “I needed that.”
“Of course. I can't have you dying of thirst when I've just saved your life.” A teasing smile crosses the lips of the mage. “Now, let's get you upright.”
It takes a little manoeuvring but quickly enough, Lyle's hands are clasping Hadrian's forearms and together they stumble upright. Hadrian is rather impressed at the strength Lyle is hiding in his wiry frame; clad in full armour, he knows that he isn't light. They stand, still holding the other, for a moment too long, before Hadrian pulls away with an awkward cough. He doesn’t think that he is imagining the flush that blooms on the other man’s cheeks. Maybe … But there is no time for that sort of thinking now.
“I’m set up not far from here, and it will only take a moment to get a fire going. You are, however, very welcome to leave if you want. I’m not kidnapping you or anything. But you can join me. If you want, that is.” He trails to a stop, shuffling his feet a little awkwardly.
By the gods does this man ramble. Hadrian is less irritated by it than he would have expected. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He has no plans to forsake his people for this stranger or anything, but the man is right: he has no hope of getting anywhere in the dark. He can at least join him for the night. He hopes the morning will bring a little more clarity.