Kara moved slowly, as her legs were still burning from the events of yesterday. A Daxamite soldier had managed to cut her calf nearly in half, and while the healers had done a great job in fixing it back up, it was still sore when she put pressure on it. The healers had warned her that it would take a week for the muscle to be back to normal, but they had not even bothered to tell her to rest. They knew, just as she did, that there was no time for rest anymore. Every person, from the smallest child to the oldest adult, had to do what was needed of them for The Cause.
It was not as if Kara resented dedicating her life to this war, afterall it was all she had really known. She had only been twelve when the wars had begun again. Some had even thought their planet was going to explode back then. But they soon realized the earthquakes were truly caused by Daxamite explosions. They had been illegally mining Kryptonian resources, and recklessly. And that's when the war began. Their world survived, and everyone continued to live in order to fight against the Daxamites. As the months turned to years, all Kryptonian resources switched from preserving culture, to preserving life. The war consumed everything now, and Kara - like so many others - often felt like the war was all she would ever know.
Thus, here she was, moving through a canyon to scout if any enemies from yesterday's battle still lurked nearby. Moving instead of resting with an injured leg, because there was no time to rest anymore. No time for life, really. And that was why she was in the military instead of studying somewhere and writing stories like she had always wanted to. She had joined the military when she was twenty (later than most), and in four years had already made it to Captain. But she still was determined to "get her hands dirty" unlike some of her colleagues. If her one of her scouts were injured, she would always take the responsibilities herself. Currently, her scout was being cared for in the healer's tent. Thus, she was out here scouting herself.
The hill she was climbing was rocky and Krypton's red dust swirled around her feet when she moved. Most of the bodies had been cleared out already, thankfully. But there was still one or two that she came across on her scout. It always disturbed her to see how young the Daxamites were. Many of them looked to be barely fourteen. At least Krypton had a strict law that no one under the age of seventeen was to be on the front lines. The barbaric Daxamites clearly did not have a standard for the age of their foot soldiers.
As Kara moved through the cracks of the canyon, her leg started to burn even more. Eventually, she found she had to rest for a minute as the pain was going to cause her trouble if she kept ignoring it. She knew full well that she needed to be ready for an attack at any moment, so she took a moment to rest her injured leg.
Finding a little alcove where she could easily hide if necessary, she sat herself on a rock and massaged her weak muscles. She rested her head against the rock wall behind her, and closed her eyes - keeping her ears pricked for signs of danger, of course. It had been so long since Kara had been able to relax. Despite her being stationed only a twenty minute ride in a pod from the capital, and her home, she had not been back there in almost a year. To be truthful, she was warweary and simply wanted to go home. But she knew her duty as well, and her determination to keep her people safe pushed her to keep fighting.
Suddenly she heard the sound of shifting rocks, somewhere just ahead of her in the ravine. Kara sat up and listened more closely, a hand hovering over her blaster. When she heard it again, she jumped to her feet and drew her weapon, ready to shoot whoever came around that corner.
There was another thud, louder this time, and what sounded like a hiss of pain. She waited a few moments, unsure if whoever had fallen was going to get up again. When she heard no further movements, she peaked around the corner, her weapon held in front of her. But when she saw the man lying in a growing pool of blood, she hesitated in shooting. This man was not long for this world it seemed, so she did not feel the need to risk exposing her position by firing. Yet.
When she took a step towards the prone figure, he seemed to realize someone else was there. Pulling out a knife, he pointed it at Kara and tried to give her a warning glare. His face was so twisted with pain and fear, however, that the glare looked more pathetic than anything else to Kara. One look at the knife told her one thing for certain, this man was a Daxamite soldier, not Kryptonian. All weapons from Daxam bore the crest of the royal family (a rather gratuitous show of power, Kara always thought), and the hilt of the dagger clearly had the royal blue crest on it.
"Don't come any closer," the man warned, sounding rather out of breath. He surprised her by speaking Kryptonese, though he had a clear Daxamite accent.
Kara tilted her head to one side. "Or what? You're clearly here alone, and I have the superior weapon so it's you who should be worried," she retorted.
The false confidence on the Daxamite's face faltered at that. He lowered his weapon and shut his eyes then, his arms wrapping around his thigh again. Kara noticed then that his leg was where the blood was coming from. "Just make it quick then," he said as he struggled to sit up against the wall of the ravine.
Kara faltered then. With him looking at her, pain clear in his face, blood covering most of his body, and a resigned look in his eye; she found it hard to keep her blaster pointed at him. He looked like he was barely older than her, and she suddenly wondered how much the war had stolen from him. Was he missing home like she was? But those thoughts were ridiculous, because he was a Daxamite, and that meant he was the enemy, a monster.
Still, she could not find the anger in her heart to kill him when he looked just as miserable in life as she was. He was nothing but another person, trying to survive another day in this war. "What's your name?" Kara asked, letting her hands drop to her sides. Though she kept her blaster in hand, as a precaution.
The man scoffed bitterly before coughing and flinching in pain from the movement. "Why? So you can add it to your list of kills?" He gave her a dubious look. "Yeah, no thanks."
Kara holstered her weapon then, as a sign of trust. She put her hands up and knelt down so she was eye level with him before saying, "My name is Kara Zor-El, I'm a captain in the Kryptonian infantry." Lowering her hands, she put one out toward him, and after a moment's hesitation he shook her hand.
"Mon-El of Daxam," he said, wincing again from the movement of shaking her hand.
"I'm not going to hurt you, but can I see your leg?"
He nodded, and Kara moved forward to look at it. She could tell that an artery had been nicked, because there was far too much blood otherwise. However, if she did not stem the bleeding soon, he would likely bleed out and die shortly. "Give me your scarf," she told him, holding out a hand for it.
He slowly undid the knot and slid off his neckerchief. "Why exactly?"
"I'm going to use it to hopefully stop the bleeding, for now," she explained as she wrapped the scarf around his upper thigh and tied it securely to cut off the blood flow as much as possible. Thankfully it seemed to work. "Alright, I have to get some medical supplies or a healer out here. Moving you would be too dangerous," she said and moved to get up.
He put a hand on her arm to stop her, however. "No, they'll just kill me. It's fine, I just have to get a signal to my people and they'll come get me."
"And let them get close to my camp? Not happening."
"Why would a Kryptonian help a Daxamite anyway?"
Kara heaved a sigh and plopped herself back down in the dirt next to him. She picked up a handful of dirt and watched as it fell through her fingers before she replied. "I miss home. And correct me if I am wrong, but I think you do too," she said.
He looked down and shrugged a shoulder in response.
Kara continued, "I don't think we are that different from each other. I'm tired of fighting, and I just want to do some good for once." She shrugged, unsure of what else to say. She really was just so tired of fighting, but she also didn't feel the need to kill someone who was already dying, and was not so different from herself.
Mon-El gave her a crooked smile. "Do you get an extra badge or something for that in the Kryptonian infantry?"
Kara rolled her eyes. "No, I just think its the right thing to do." She stood and continued, "Now, excuse me while I go get some supplies to maybe save your life."
"If you still feel like it, you mean?" He called after her.
Pivoting around to face him, she said, "Exactly." Waving she continued to make her way back to the camp.
Kara sneaked around the back of the camp, hoping to avoid notice as she went towards the healer's tent. She peaked inside and saw there was only one healer there at the moment, and Kara debated if she should just take the supplies herself and go or not. Considering the level of injuries Mon-El had, however, Kara figured it was best to ask the healer for her advice. After all, if she was risking getting sent to Fort Rozz, she might as well make sure she actually helped the Daxamite.
"Excuse me?" Kara asked, coming into the tent and getting the healer's attention.
The healer had been tending to a patient but turned and greeted Kara. "How can I help you, Captain?" she asked Kara.
"I have an injured man in the field, who cannot be moved just yet-" Kara started.
"I'll grab my things, just give me a few moments," the healer said, returning to the patient before her.
"Actually," Kara said, moving around the patient's bed to face the healer again. "I just need some supplies, whatever you recommend for a deep thigh wound, and possibly some internal bleeding." She might not be a healer herself, but she could see the way Mon-El had grasped his stomach meant he had injuries there too. "You have several to tend to here, and I would like them to take priority, rather than a soldier in the field that might not make it anyway," Kara explained, trying to use an authoritative voice.
The healer still seemed doubtful, but reluctantly agreed, "Alright, just a moment." She finished helping the patient in front of her and then moved around the tent, gathering various supplies from different shelves. She gave Kara several instructions as she was filling up the bag with the things she would need to help Mon-El. Handing the bag to Kara she said, "If there is any trouble, simply send a signal and I will come as soon as I can."
Nodding Kara slung the bag over her shoulder and thanked the healer. "I truly appreciate the help," she said. The healer bowed her head in respect as Kara left the tent.
Before leaving the camp, she ducked into her own private tent. There she gathered up a few bits of food that she kept in her quarters for when she got hungry at night. Mon-El could probably use some food, as the healing process could take a lot out of someone. Once her bag was all packed, she headed back out.
Mon-El pressed his head against the cool rock behind him, focusing on his breathing. It hurt. Everything hurt. His limbs were growing stiff from not moving, and the blood that covered his chest and leg was drying and making his clothes stiff. Every time he tried to breathe, it felt as if someone was sticking needles into his chest.
After what felt like hours, the Kryptonian reappeared, surprising Mon-El because he certainly did not think she was going to come alone. But she had, and she had brought some medical things as she had promised. "So you're a healer too?" Mon-El asked in Kryptonese, dubious when she started pulling things from her bag and inspecting his wounded leg. He flinched when she peeled back the fabric that had molded to his skin, attempting to get a better view of the gash.
"No, I just got some advice is all," she said. "How did you get this? Could there be any fragments in it for any reason?"
He shrugged, just slightly so the movement did not hurt quite as much. "The ground in front of me exploded, and I think I hit a wall or something. The next thing I knew I was in this damned ravine, and I couldn't hear any more fighting, but my clothes were soaked in blood and everything hurt." He had been trying to remember some more of the battle, but really all he could remember was seeing death and destruction everywhere. One moment after stepping onto the field, he realized why his family had not let him lead men into battle before. A lot of him wished he had listened to his parents, because maybe then he would not be sitting in a ravine with the fate of his life in the hands of a Kryptonian.
"Okay, I'll have to check it for shards. This will probably hurt, sorry," Kara said.
Mon-El didn't look but could feel her moving the stiff fabric of his pants, and doing something with his leg. The pain was bad, but he was starting to get used to it. After a little while his leg went numb, and he glanced down to see what Kara had done. She'd put some kind of patch over the cut. "What'd you do exactly?" he finally asked.
She did not look up at him as she started to rifle through the bag again, saying, "It's a healing patch. It makes the area go numb, and then repairs the damaged tissue." She pulled something else out of the bag and said, "Okay, now lift up your shirt."
He smirked. "Well now, I thought Kryptonians were more prudish than that. We only just met, afterall."
Kara rolled her eyes dramatically and heaved a sigh. "I know you have some injury in your abdomen and I need to check it," she clarified. "Now please, lift up your shirt."
"You just want to see me shirtless," Mon-El teased, but obliged by shifting and moving his shirt up.
"Daxamite," Kara said bitterly, but the blush on her face gave her away. She was not actually mad, Mon-El could tell. But he also figured it was best to not tease her anymore until she was done healing him.
He felt her cool fingers press against his skin as she palpated his stomach, assumingly for signs of internal bleeding. When she leaned back on her heels, Mon-El asked, "Well, what's the verdict?" But the look on Kara's face told him all he really needed to know. "Got it," he said and pulled his shirt down.
Kara put a comforting hand on his arm and said, "I'm not an actual healer. And I don't have the experience or knowledge to diagnose your symptoms. I have a suspicion, but if I treat you for it and I'm wrong, you'll die."
"It's fine, I probably don't deserve to live anyway," he said, letting his head rest against the rock again and closing his eyes. He heard her ruffling through her bag again and opened his eyes when she cleared her throat. Her hand was extended towards him, offering some strange Kryptonian fruit. "What?" he asked.
"Eat something, your leg should be fine in a few more minutes, and then I'll help you get back to your people."
He laughed. "Why would you do that? You'll likely get caught, and besides I don't know how to get back to the camp anyway."
She let out another exasperated sigh. "I did not take the time to heal your leg, only for you to die here. So eat something, and then we can go," she said, pushing the fruit into his hand. "I know where your camp is, it's not really a secret."
Mon-El was honestly taken aback by the generosity of this person before him. Kryptonian or not, she clearly had a kind heart. It made him feel humbled to think about how many people she had likely lost to this war - everyone had lost someone - and yet she was still willing to help a person on the other side of it. "Thank you, Kara," he said, giving her a kind smile. "Now, how do I eat this exactly?"
She laughed and pulled out another one from the bag. Holding it in her hand she bit into it, and peeled back the rigid bumpy outside layer, revealing a softer inside. She peeled off every bit of the outside layer before taking a bite of the inside. "Like that," Kara said around the bit of fruit in her mouth.
Mon-El pressed his lips together to try and prevent the grin from spreading across his face. "I see, and why do you eat these things exactly?" He'd never eaten food with his hands, if he was being honest, though he knew it was often done by the lower families.
"Just try it," Kara insisted, taking another bite of hers.
Shrugging, Mon-El bit and peeled back the exterior of the strange fruit this Kryptonian had given him. When he bit into the softer part, however, he was surprised as a burst of flavor filled his mouth. It was actually pretty good, he realized.
When they had finished their fruit, Kara brushed her hands down her suit. Her outfit was black with a Kryptonian symbol just over her heart, like every other Kryptonian military outfit that he had ever seen. When she stood, however, he noticed she was standing gingerly on her one leg. "Did you hurt yourself?" Mon-El asked, nodding to her leg.
Kara shrugged. "It's nothing. It's just sore, is all." She put out a hand for him to take and said, "Now, let's get going. You need to see a healer, and I need to get back to my camp."
He put his hand in hers and she helped him to his feet. Mon-El's side hurt, and he wrapped an arm around his torso in a vain attempt to quell the pain. "Just going to point out one more time that you should really just leave me here," he said before they started hobbling onwards.
"Everyone deserves to live," she told him as they struggled to find an even pace that he could manage.
"Even Daxamites?"
She stopped then, making him almost tip over by taking a step without her. She looked at him straight on, her blue eyes boring into his when she said, "Yes, everyone. I might not agree with your lifestyle, but everyone has some good in them, somewhere."
He smiled at her, amazed once more at how generous she could be, even though she was a Kryptonian war captain. "If you say so," was his response as they started moving forward once more.
Getting out of the ravine was a challenge, as he had a hard time climbing up the rocks. But they managed in time, and things started to look a little more familiar to him. But, coming out of the ravine found them above a large valley. From their vantage point, Mon-El could clearly see the scorched ground below and the disturbed rock formations, clearly marking the area where the battle had taken place. It felt like a lifetime ago, almost.
The last time he had stood near this spot he was astonished by the violence taking place, and was frozen where he stood. A blast had exploded nearby, he fell back and, well, now here he was again. "How do you deal with it all?" Mon-El asked as they walked away from the valley, headed towards the trail that led to the Daxamite camp.
"Deal with what?" Kara asked, adjusting her hand's position around his waist. He tried not to think so much about her hand on his waist though.
"The war, and all the death that accompanies it."
She seemed a little taken aback at that. She pursed her lips in contemplation for a minute before saying, "I don't really know. I don't, I guess. I don't think anyone really does. We just lock all our feelings away until one day we can't hold them back anymore. And we keep hoping that things will get better in the meantime - or at least that is what I do."
Mon-El shook his head in disbelief. "I don't think I could handle war," he confessed.
Kara scoffed. "Well, you'll have to if you want to be a soldier. Unless Daxam does it differently, you usually have to fight in the war to be a soldier."
He felt a slight blush creep across his face. "Yeah, of course." He had to be more careful not to let his true identity out. Afterall, helping a random fallen soldier was one thing, but helping the crown prince was an entirely different matter. She would probably be obligated to take him to her own encampment if she found out he was the prince.
They had little conversation the rest of the way to his camp. Mon-El was too scared of letting anything slip, and Kara seemed a little on edge herself - probably because she was carrying a wounded Daxamite into enemy territory. The silence in the canyon seemed to make the walk longer, however. And eventually Mon-El asked, "So what's the symbol on your chest mean?"
Kara glanced at it and said, "My family crest. It means hope."
Mon-El nodded, trying to think of something more to say so the deafening silence would not resume.
"You speak Kryptonian fairly well," she observed. "How did you learn our language? I was not aware Daxamites were taught Kryptonian."
He had to chose his words carefully. He did not want to lie to her, if he could help it. But he also knew he could not tell her that he had learned it because he was the prince. All the royals of Daxam were expected to learn multiple languages. It was one of the many tasks Mon-El had never quite enjoyed as a child. There had just been so many languages, and a lot of them had confused him at first - eventually he mastered all 14 languages though. "Most don't know Kryptonian. But I had a governess that knew it, and taught it to me," he replied. It was not technically a lie, really. It just did not include the whole story.
"A slave?" There was no mistaking the disapproval and disgust in her voice.
He shut his eyes for a brief second to calm himself, but almost lost his balance doing so. He tried to take a few calming breaths instead. Finally, he told her, "No. She was commissioned. But yes, there are slaves on Daxam. And I understand that you disapprove of that. To be honest, I'm not crazy about it either. But, it is what it is." He shrugged, trying to let the subject drop and fall away. Kara would not let it go, however.
"It doesn't have to be that way. The people could rebel against it, the monarchy could change it. We all have choices and those choices are what define us," she informed him matter of factly. Kara was clearly one of the many infamous Kryptonian elitists.
"It's not always that simple, Kara."
"But it is," she said, her voice rising and the hand that wasn't helping Mon-El remain upright began waving in the air. "People want to believe they have no power, but they do. It is just a matter of having the courage to do something with what you have been given." She continued to talk about people abusing power, and how power should really be distributed.
He could not deny that what she said had value. Mon-El especially had power, but he had no idea how to use it. His parents would likely lock him in a cell for running off like he did. And even if they let him out, he had no real way of defying them. He had no legislative power. He had no real political power, he was simply a face and title. Maybe he would be able to change that some time, though.
"You're right," Mon-El said.
Kara abruptly stopped talking at his words, she simply stared at him. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head.
"Everyone has some power, true, but some people do not know how to use it either."
Her eyes narrowed. "Or they're too scared to use it, so they pass it on to others."
Mon-El wondered if she suspected he was some type of political figure on Daxam, or if she was simply confused and conflicted that a Daxamite actually thought about being fair. Whichever she was thinking, he could tell she was starting to hope for something. What could the two of them accomplish though, in reality? Little, Mon-El figured. Or perhaps, just perhaps, they could accomplish a lot… It would require a lot of faith, and even more danger. Still, it just might be possible. But they'd likely never see each other after today, so what did it matter?
"What would you say one should do, then?" he asked her.
She contemplated for a moment. "Well, if they had enough power, set up peace negotiations. If not, perhaps convince as many people as possible that peace was possible."
"To what end?"
"Well, if more and more started to hope for peace, then maybe it would get back to the leaders of the land and they would see the logic of creating peace for their people."
"You seem to be basing a lot of this on hope," he observed.
Kara shrugged. "And why not? Hope is often the most powerful tool a person can possess."
"What if all hope is lost?"
"Then so are we," she said matter of factly. Kara was so sure of things, it seemed. Mon-El had questioned things when he was younger, but by the time he was 13 he found it useless to question his parents or the world around him. It was easier to accept things as they were, than to try and understand them. Besides, he had taken one too many scoldings from his father to question his parents by the time he was 13.
He was about to say something, but Kara stopped and pointed ahead of them. She asked, "Does that look like your encampment?"
Mon-El squinted against the now setting sun. He could just barely make out the shapes of a few ships and tents. "Yeah, I think so." He hadn't actually seen the camp before, having snuck onto a ship from Daxam only to land in the middle of a battlefield. He momentarily remembered convincing his guard to go with him, but pushed it away. This was not the time to think about the death of his friend.
"Come on, let's get you back so you can be healed," Kara said, moving them forward again.
"Wait, you can't get caught," Mon-El said urgently. He knew that no mercy would be shown to a Kryptonian bringing in the injured Prince. Good intentions or not, the soldiers would not hesitate to shoot Kara on the spot, and he could not have her death on his conscious too. Plus, the idea of her dying for him hurt more than he thought it would.
"You can't very well walk on your own, either," Kara pointed out.
He looked around for something he could lean on and walk with. But there was nothing but rocks and dust. "Okay, so get me a little bit closer, but then you have to go. The scouts will find me, if I don't make it all the way back."
"Yeah, and by then you could have died."
"Kara, please," he pleaded with her.
She must have seen the desperation in his eyes for she heaved a frustrated sigh. "Fine, but I'm taking you as close as I can first," she said.
They moved forward together, and Mon-El struggled to start walking on his own. His strength was waning, but he knew he needed to pull through. If he could just get to the camp, he would be alright. He had to be. Because if he did not make it, his family would likely obliterate all of Krypton in retaliation. The thought of his family killing so many innocent people for his own stupid mistake made him nauseous. He was pulled out of his revere when they were about a dozen yards away from the camp.
"Do you think you can make it from here?" Kara asked with uncertainty. She was clearly still very skeptical of letting him finish the trek on his own. He was again stunned by how much a Kryptonian could care for a Daxamite she had never met. Though she had a clear sense of self-righteousness, he could not help but be amazed by her selflessness.
"I will make it," he assured her. He had to.
"Alright, well, I should get back. I wish you the best, though." She shifted awkwardly and kept her eyes down.
"Thank you for all your help, Kara," Mon-El said. The words seemed inadequate for what he wanted to convey, but he could not come up with any other Kryptonian words to match his gratitude towards her.
"My pleasure, Mon-El. I suppose I will see you on the battlefield," she said with a sad smile.
He forced a smile. "See you there," he said.