Stop moving you dolt." Hadley grumbled, dabbing at the deep shoulder wound before him with a white linen cloth. "Honestly Thomas, you better watch your back- I won't always be there to cover for you. Or to stitch you up." He emphasized by pressing firmly on the stitches. "Are you sure you'll be well enough to join tomorrow?"

Tom let out a cry and grit his teeth. Twitching at the sharp jolt of pain that rushed through his veins. "Doesn't mean you have to make it hurt MORE!" He looked over to his shoulder then. It was just a flesh wound. Hadley wasn't exactly nimble-fingered, that was why it looked worse than it actually was really. "I have to be there tomorrow. My men need me to be there."

"Your men need you ALIVE. They need you healthy and of sound mind. Do you really think you'll lead them to victory if you won't even be able to lift your sword?" Hadley retorted, wrapping up the man's shoulder with bindings. "Think of the lives that will be lost if you make a poor call. If the enemy sees your weakness, they will exploit it. You need to recover... the last fight also took its toll on you. A wise man knows how to choose his battles."

"My sword-arm is my other arm Hadley." Tom sat up and rubbed his left shoulder a bit. The flaps of the tent waved in the wind, cold wind blowing over his sweaty skin. He was getting slightly feverish from the pain, but Hadley couldn't talk him out of this. He was going, this was too important. "I am perfectly capable of a good mind. If I don't lead them my men will be like sheep, running every way without their shepherd. Just try to put it together well enough that it can take a bit of a hit." He said before closing his eyes for a moment. "Stupid spears..."

Hadley frowned. So stubborn, always so stubborn. He put away the needle and thread before he stood up to clean his hands. "Tom, please. As your friend and brother in arms- rest for a bit. The Romans won't be going, the war will still be there to fight another day, but if you die- it will be permanent. I mean look at you- you can barely stay awake and you're showing the first signs of infection. Please, Tom? Have you no faith in me at all? I can lead your men.. I have led them on many occasions when we needed to split up. Let me prove my worth."

"You can lead them when I'm DEAD." Tom answered. He rubbed his face and stood up from the stretcher. "Go to bed. The Romans will be stirring again by dawn and I still need you at my right." He brushed his fingers through his hair. Short brown, he could not have it in his face. He splashed water in his face and let his arm hang loose to try and spare his nerves. "Hadley... That was an order." He ushered when he saw the man stand there and grumble a bit behind his back.

Tom waited for Hadley to leave and sat back on the stretcher, tossing away the bloody cloth his shoulder had been resting on. He put his body to rest carefully and shut his eyes. His arm hurt, but pain was a minor sacrifice. It was his responsibility to lead the troops in his command. And he did not take that lightly. Tomorrow there was another day, and there would be days after that too. But one day the war would end and he would see that day. He was certain of it.

Chris kicked one more time at the wood of the chicken coop he'd been fixing and sighed out a relieved breath when it finally stopped leaning to the side. He really hated having to work alone sometimes... but with everything that had been happening in the bigger cities and towns, he was glad for the reprieve of solitary living. It meant nobody could cheat him or sell him out to provide for the colonies- and it meant he didn't need to choose a side. Neutrality was a blessing. He looked up from his handiwork when he heard Godfrey start barking - he squinted towards the direction where his pup's high pitched barks were directed at, vaguely seeing the shadows shift and form into the silhouette of a steed.

When the silhouette kept approaching Chris grabbed his pitchfork, just in case. The horse was white... At least he supposed that it once might have been. There were whiter patches of coat between the brown, red and green smudges. That horse had come from the battlefield. And when the stallion closed in yet some more he could distinguish a rider in the saddle as well. The horse moved rather slow though. And the one riding it did a lousy job, bouncing with the movements way too much as if he wasn't even trying.

Chris bit his lip, "Stop right there! I'm warning you!" He called out, but as the steed kept approaching, he moved forward and raised his meagre weapon, ready to strike. The horse seemed to sense his intent and bucked back, and to his surprise, its rider fell off boneless. He stopped, raising the lamp he'd brought and what he saw made him almost gag. The man was sprawled on his side, covered in blood from almost head to toe- but that wasn't even half of it. He was littered with deep wounds, some of his skin having been torn apart jaggedly with bits of his flesh hanging by a single sinew. The smell was what hit him next- it wasn't just the coppery smell of blood, but also a certain rotten stench that emanated from the man- thing- body? He went over and knelt beside the man- trying his best not to gag at the pus was oozing from some of the half-clotted wounds. He really wasn't expecting the man to be alive- so when he felt faint puffs of air touching the skin of his fingers, his eyes widened significantly and his hands shook as he wrapped his coat over the man's body. He really didn't want to involve himself with someone who looked half-dead, not to mention a stranger- but gods help him, he wouldn't let anyone just die. Especially not on his property.

The horse let out some rather disgruntled noises, as if it was none too happy to be relieved of its rider. It bowed its head and started to sniff on the soldier, gently nudging him with its nose. The side of the saddle and the horse itself were also spattered with blood. Chris was sure now that the battlefield was a bad place to be. Look at what it did... The sun was setting steadily, creating long shadows across the ground. And it was quiet. It always was rather quiet where Chris lived. But this was a deeper kind of silent. A dead silence. He just hoped it wasn't a promise of what was to come. He just wanted peace, his own life. But not at the cost of another's life. Too many people had died around him already, he wasn't going to let the count rise.

Chris tried to be careful, he really did- but when he sat the man up and lifted him to his arms, he heard and practically felt bones shifting. He quickly walked back to the safety of his home after he'd secured the steed in the barn- he didn't want to risk meeting the enemies of this man. Maybe they would do to him what they did to this stranger. He would rather die quick if it were to come. He lay the battered body down the table- gods, that was where he ATE- and got a good look at the extent of the man's injuries. Now that there was more light, he could see the full damage the man had suffered. His upper body was a mess of torn clothing and ravaged skin, a few cuts so deep that he could see bone peeking through if he shifted it at the right angles. He also had a few broken bones, his right arm quite clearly even and then there was certainly a dislocated left shoulder- his fingers also looked bent unnaturally. He would worry about bones later though- his main concerns now were the pus infected, bone deep, blackening flesh wounds. Gods... he wasn't made for this. He could only help to the best of his ability.

He steeled himself then and worked through the night. At some point he came to realize that sponging the body clean was making a mess more than he'd thought and he'd left to fill up his bath with water. He'd been very careful to move the other again and he'd set him in the tub to just soak clean for a few moments. When he returned with whatever he could find to try and fix this guy he could finally distinguish some actual skin. He could see the transitions between flesh and wounds, well it was a start at least. He cleaned the man's face after that and started to look how that armour could come off without Chris accidently pulling off his arm or something. Because it looked like that would happen too easily.

In the end, Chris simply decided to just cut through it with his improvised tools, twisting metals and sawing through chainmail. It was tedious work, but it finally let him work without having any obstructions. The armour was fixable, he would get to do that in a few days. If not for his patient then maybe for himself instead, it never hurt to have protection lying around. He stitched up the deeper wounds, others he seared shut with a blade, and others still, he decided he couldn't fix and just left them with a bundled up piece of cloth strapped to it. The man barely clung to life, his breaths almost next to non-existent. Chris had the vague feeling that he wouldn't make it to sunrise, so when he finished doing what he could, he stayed with the man- keeping track of his breathing and every small hitch- the weak pulse that scared him sometimes when it seemed to stutter off to nothing. When it remained unchanged he took the dare and brought him back to the table, he wouldn't leave that bloody mess in his bed quite yet. He sighed, picking Godfrey off the floor to sit on his lap after he had settled in a chair. If the man wouldn't die from his injuries- the infection and fever would kill him off. Chris didn't have what it took to treat and help people torn by war.

When the sun rose again he perked up from his chair. The animals were stirring to life, waiting for him to feed them. He was not sure as to why he was in a chair rather than his bed. He always went to bed early enough, he never fell asleep elsewhere. When he stood however he was remembered of his 'problem' by the smell of it. Despite his cleaning efforts the man's body still had a certain stench. He stood and checked the guy up, fully expecting to be digging a grave for him this morning. But his breath was still coming out in hesitant little sighs and it wasn't dying out either. Chris sighed and fed his animals, going about his routine before he headed to his shrine. He gave Demeter an offering each day to thank her for his fertile land and healthy live-stock. He filled her a cup of his grain, putting it on the altar. He put a candle up for her and decorated the bowl with fresh flowers from his field. He was about to leave again when he got a different idea and he sighed. He set down a second bowl and lit a second candle, this time calling to Apollo. He put flowers in this bowl as well and cut himself to offer the god his healthy blood. He grabbed the bloody cloth with the stranger's blood on it and prayed to Apollo to give the soldier blood as healthy as the blood he'd offered. It was worth the try.

After he'd finished up his morning routine, Chris went inside to cook a bit of brunch, a simple meal of mushroom soup with few vegetables more. He burnt some of it in the hearth, it was tradition, and ate his fill. When he was done, he painstakingly fed the other man as well. It was tricky, needing to keep his head tilted and rub at his throat to get him to swallow, not to mention that he also had to time when to slip the liquid between his lips - else he choke or inhale some of the soup. He only fed him a small portion, just a little over a quarter of a bowl. Chris had planned to go into town today, but he really didn't want to come home to a corpse on his table. He settled instead with getting to work on his farm, planting new crops to grow in the small backyard garden and letting the animals out on the field to graze, all the while going back and forth inside the house to check on the man. There was no change in his condition though- still weak breathing, weak heartbeat... but at least he wasn't deteriorating either. Without him knowing it, hours had passed and soon, it was nearing dusk again. He took a bath to rid himself of the dirt and grime and went back to check on the man, hoping to find him improved. He was disappointed however, because it seemed he'd gotten worse. Shivers now wracked his body and he was making odd gurgling sounds, so Chris turned him on his side- and when his hands came in contact with the stranger's skin, he felt his hopes come crashing down. The man's skin was burning with fever- and the weak heartbeat was now an erratic rhythm. He had no doubt now... the man was going to die halfway through the night if he didn't get any medication.

He felt helpless when the man was twisting and turning in what seemed to be agony. Chris had the idea to bring the poor stranger to his bed so he could have his last night in a soft, comforting space. But he could not take a decent hold of the writhing body. The man's brow was furrowed, his brown hair soaked wet from his sweat. He was in pain. Chris took a few deep breaths and grabbed his pillow. He hadn't ever killed a man before. But this wasn't murder was it? The guy was writhing in pain and whimpering. He was hurting. He walked back to the table and stood over the shaking body. "I am so sorry." He spoke. He was about to cover the man's face when suddenly the body fell still, as if he was asleep again. Was he dead? Chris gently checked his pulse. It was steadying.
Chris blinked once, twice- then put down the pillow and checked again. It was real- the man heaved a deep breath and let it out, his chest then rising and falling with more ease before slipping back into soft sighs. He smiled despite himself, the gods must have been on their side. Whatever that 'side' was. He decided to transfer the soldier onto his bed then, gently easing his arms under his knees and wrapping his other one behind him, carrying him up to his room. The fever was still there, but it wasn't anything like the furnace-like heat from just a few minutes ago. He snorted at himself, he didn't know what he'd do once the man woke up...

The soldier stayed asleep for many more days. Chris took care of his horse as well in the meantime. Despite the fact that it was a steed and that it'd been in battle Chris found it to be a friendly horse. It was indeed white with a few grey spots on the flanks. It was a really good horse. Had he been dishonest he would have sold it. This one could bring in a lot of money. But he wasn't like that.

Chris had kept the armour the stranger had been wearing when he crashed on his ground. He'd found out it was Greek. So the other wasn't Roman. That was good. It meant that he had at least saved someone from his own people. By now he was also sure that Apollo had blessed the man with new health. Since the day Chris had almost killed him the man's hair had started to discolour. It was brown when Chris found him, and with each day it started to get more golden. It was an odd sight to behold. He figured that once the transition was done his charge would wake. So he was patient and kept his offerings to Apollo going, sure that he would be receiving some sort of gratitude for his selfless behaviour.
Chris took care of the man for almost three weeks, continuing his routines without worry now and even leaving every other day to sell his produce. On the morning of the nineteenth day, while he was out tending to his animals he heard the distinct squeaky bark of his dog from the house and hurried off to see what the problem was this time. When he opened the door though, he was met by the sight of Godfrey licking at the strangers face, pausing to bark at him again. "Hey! Don't do that you daft ball of fur." He picked the pup up and looked at his charge, then stared with his mouth agape as the man stared right back at him.

The stranger smiled a bit. "I think I was at least half responsible..." He groaned, pushing himself up on the bed to sit. "I called him over." He looked at Chris with a light frown. "I do not mean to be rude, or to disrespect your care, but who are you? And where is this place? I remember nothing since the battlefield... Nothing at all." He looked himself over a little. He was a mess. His entire body packed and stitched. He frowned a little. What happened? And how the hell did he end up here?
Chris opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again and simply looked at the man with hopes of being casual about it. "You were half-dead when I found you. And you're on my property- I think I'm the one who should be asking questions." He frowned a bit and put his pup down to arrange pillows behind the man's back. "You came here on your steed. Where here is, however, I'm not saying until you tell me who you are. Why were you in the state I found you in? Where did you come from? Where are the rest of your comrades? We may share the same beliefs, but I want no part in the war." He'd picked Godfrey up again, stroking his fur as he sat down on a chair. War had cost him his family, and others as well- he didn't want anything to do with it.

The soldier nodded. "Of course... My name is Tom. I am a..." He paused. No, too risky to tell the man his position. "I'm cavalry soldier from the fifteenth battalion." He could not trust the man with his status. He could think a big fish would bring in some money, sell him out maybe. "We fought and defended the plains of Corinth." He frowned and tried to untangle his last memories at the battlefield. It was all such a blur. "I remember our troops were riding to flank the Romans that were heading for the city, but they had moved overnight and were now behind us. We were taken completely by surprise... I-I'm sorry but I don't remember leaving the battle or going here... Wherever 'here' is." He leaned against the pillows that were put behind him. "Ah... That hurts..." He breathed out through his nose sharply. "I should have died... How am I even alive?"

Chris tilted his head. Well, the man did look like he was just a foot soldier. He let out a sigh. "You're in my farm, a few miles away from Athens." He looked the man over, squinting. "You've travelled quite far." He set Godfrey on the man's lap, getting up to get some water and the few crackers he'd been munching on from his satchel, offering some of them to Tom. "My name is Chris. As I've said I found you almost three weeks ago. Beaten and bloody... I prayed to Apollo for your healing and I've been taking care of you ever since. Don't ask ME why you're still alive. Also, your hair is blond now, just saying." He said with a bit of a shrug, sitting down on his perch again.

Tom nodded and softly rubbed his fingers through the dog's coat. "I owe you my life... You have my deepest gratitude." When Chris spoke of his hair he frowned and touched his head. It felt normal. Apollo had blessed him? Why? He was no special person. He was just Tom. He was a good general. He would admit. But for the gods to choose to save him... "I thank you a thousand fold for your help. If I can repay the favour in any way..."
Chris smiled a bit at that, at least the man had the decency to be grateful. He'd expected him to be haughty and self-absorbed, but it seemed he was wrong. "You can start by keeping him company while I tend to my farm." He gestured to the dog, "I still need to finish doing a few things, but I'll be back with some lunch later. Will you be alright here by yourself? I have a few books you could read. I don't think it would be the best idea to move you around quite yet."

"I'll be fine... Just sore." Tom rubbed his chest and shifted a little. Chris put a book on the bedside-table. "Just be careful with yourself." He said before heading out to do his chores. Tom nodded and petted the dog. He grabbed the steel platter Chris had put bandages on and studied his face. His hair had gone blond... Golden even one could say. But however happy he was that Apollo had granted him a second chance he also felt anxious as to why he had done so.

For the rest of the morning, Chris was anxious. The man was awake now... it was different when he'd been asleep, Chris didn't need to worry about him doing anything then. But now, it didn't sit well with him that a complete stranger was staying in his home. When he was done, he made a simple meal of freshly chopped vegetables with olives and cheese, a bit of lamb meat as well- because he could afford it- and honeyed lime juice. He cleared his throat as he entered his room, getting the soldier's attention before setting the tray down. He sat on the chair beside the bed instead of on it and looked at the man's bandaged fingers. "I err... do you need help with that?"

Tom looked at his fingers. They were hurting. He would not deny that. "I think they'd do better when they are left alone... They hurt but they're not crooked. Thank the gods." He closed the book. The dog left his bed to join Chris again and the man started to help him eat when he kept dropping his spoon on accident. It was hard to eat with healing fingers. He looked at the farmer. "You are very kind to me. Even in the army they do not care like you do."

Chris frowned and held up another forkful for Tom, waiting until he'd bitten the food off. "Well, be glad I'm not from the army then." When Tom said he'd had enough, he started on his own meal. He kept looking up at the man, watching him as he stared at his lap. "What are you planning when you've recovered? Will you leave to join your comrades again?" He was worried... what if the man chose to leave and bring back his men? He could feed a few soldiers, sure- but the whole reason why he chose to live a solitary life was for that sole purpose. He didn't want to be involved.

Tom shrugged a little. "I will return to the battlefield. I swore my allegiance to this land and its people. And if Apollo chose to save me it is not so I can cower." He looked around the room a bit. "But fret not. I will take my steed when the day is due and you will not see another soldier come here anymore. Perhaps we will meet again after the war has been fought. But I will bring no danger to your fields."

Chris smiled sheepishly at the man then, "Am I that obvious?" He chuckled, placing his finished plate on the tray on the bedside table. "Then I shall wish you well when you do. I can't imagine having to live a life like that... I'm afraid I am not brave enough."
"Oh I doubt it's your bravery." Tom interjected. He rubbed his shoulder when it started pulsing again. Chris looked at him with a bit of a frown. "You were brave enough to take in a perfect stranger. Brave enough to take responsibility over my life. No... You are no coward." He let out a muffled groan as he felt a painful shift near his hip. "Your heart is too kind. That is why you won't fight. You care too much. You can't bring yourself to take a life, or watch others do it to their enemies. Which is your right of course. Not every man has the stomach for it."

Chris took hold of Tom's hand when it drifted to his hip, "Don't. You'll make it hurt more." He sighed then, pulling the blankets that were covering him up to the man's chest. "Take it easy for a while. You suffered quite the ordeal." He said as he stood again, looking down at Tom who was trying to mask his pain. Chris sighed, "I'll go into town, sell some of my animals and see if I can get you anything for the pain. I'll be back in an hour, two hours tops."

"You don't need to spend your money for me. I have dealt with pain before." Tom protested a bit. And the sheets were soft too. Not like those hard woven blankets and their sacks of straw to sleep on. No, a feathered pillow, good linen bedding and a soft mattress. "You try and sleep for a bit. Godfrey will keep you company. Feel free to talk to him." Chris chuckled a little. Tom smiled at him a bit. "I'll try." He promised.
Chris left with two healthy chickens, half a sack of good corn, two crates of milk, and a good harvest of wheat- he figured it would do for a few good remedies. He left for the markets and traded his goods for a handful of golden drachmas and went to buy the best pain reliever he could. He bought a few bottles of the tonic and other herbs and remedies just for variety, in the end, he still had some coins to spare to buy the man two sets of clothing and some potatoes to cook for dinner. He had a new flock of chicks that were about to reach maturity and he was expecting another calf to be born anyways. He would earn the money again. He went home feeling a tad bit lighter that afternoon, giving himself a mental pat on the back. After all, fortune favoured those that gave, and he believed that doing good was its own reward