When an Enemy Saves Your Life, Are You Still Allowed to Hate Him?

by Fojee

Warning: R, slash, N/J, torture and rape scenes

Disclaimer: Characters belong to the Goddess Tamora and I don't get paid for this.

Acknowledgement: For Kitori who wrote excellent fic, "Fairy Tale", thanks for the inspiration. Sorry if it has similar plot.

Chapter 1: Taking the Fall and Paying the Price

I hate her. Joren of Stone Mountain thought to himself as he scrubbed another pot. Why couldn't she just stay home where she belonged? Maybe pa was right, and her whole family's a-twist. He was up to his arms in soapsuds, which was demeaning enough without the jeers of the other commoners working there. They didn't talk back to his face. Oh, no, they wouldn't dare. But the sidelong glances and whispers were enough to make Joren's blood boil. If he didn't need the money so damn much, he'd have the whole bar shut down.

Joren was working to pay the fine for that girl and her commoner maid. His father had already paid the hundred gold nobles, but the money came with a terse letter demanding that Joren find a way to reimburse the high price. Joren replaced the hated image of that girl with his father's. He knew they could afford to pay thrice that. The command was just to make it appear as if he was being punished, even though Burchard of Stone Mountain despised progressives more than Joren himself does.

Joren laughed bitterly. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. He didn't really pay those men to kidnap the damn servant, but have spoken out of anger at the indignity of being put to trial. He cursed his temper once more and thought obliquely that he envied the Lump her self-control. He would grant her that at least.

He didn't know who did the deed. Probably one of his father's conservative cronies. It didn't matter anymore. He had taken the fall, and he would pay the price. He didn't tell anyone and let them believe what they may. After all, the plan was genius, more so if it worked, and taking credit for it brought him no dishonor among his peers. After he became a squire, he even gave some effort to be nice to her, especially at his knight-master's request. But he has discovered that neither Keladry of Mindelan nor any of her friends easily forgave or forgot. And what was the use of wasting effort on being nice when no one believed you anyway? Joren shook his head in disgust.

Despite his being noble, or perhaps because of it, not many establishments at Corus allowed him the opportunity to work. They probably thought nobles didn't know the meaning of the word. And they would be right. Joren sighed, as he examined another blister growing at the base of his thumb. If training was drudgery, washing dishes was torture.

Joren didn't really mind hard work, despite his complaints to himself and to the world. He didn't shirk his work as a squire, understanding the need to train one's body to react instinctively to any threat. But he detested being humiliated above all. And while washing dishes wasn't really tough on the body, his ego could only take so much humiliation. Especially since he wasn't really any good at the job, and suspected the owner only kept him on for the laughs.

Not that it matters, he thought darkly. He still had more than half of the fine to pay. A big chunk of it he took out of his own allowance. He was hoping once the scandal died, his father would throw away this notion of punishment. Thank Mithros that Lump was away with the King's Own. Joren would probably snap if he had to see her everyday. At least, with more than half the knight-masters away from the palace on the Great Progress, few squires were around to see his indignity, and he could push around the pages left at the palace.

"Boy! Are you done there?" The red-faced owner called to Joren, breaking into his thoughts. Business was not really going well, because most of the nobles are on the road. The bar got its fair share of customers, but none of them had much coin to spend. So his boss seemed extremely grouchy, bordering on sadistic, when it comes to his treatment of Joren. "Come on out here!"

He finished putting the mugs and plates to dry, and went outside, expecting to be sent on another of the stupid errands his boss could think of. Either that, or he was "shown off" to the customers like a circus sideshow. A working noble must be quite a spectacle to these people. He thought.

However, he didn't expect to be greeted by a certain red-haired lady knight and her loud-mouthed squire. Great! He thought, pasting a fake smile on his fair face as he automatically ran a hand through his white-blond locks. Not that he's trying to look good or anything. He's certainly not trying to impress the older Nealan, who obviously hated his guts anyway.

Nealan sneered at him, but remained uncharacteristically silent. Of course, the Lioness had a reputation for having a sharp tongue. Nealan must be scared to compete with his knight-master.

"So this is Joren of Stone Mountain," Alanna of Trebond eyed him coolly, "The clothes become you." Joren bit back a sharp retort and looked at the floor. To his consternation, he felt his face heat up.

His boss gave him a sharp order to "entertain" their guests while the drinks and food were being brought. Joren had no choice but to sit with the two nobles.

"So, uh," Joren tried to sound indifferent, "What are you guys doing back here?"

Neal was openly jeering at Joren's commoner-outfit. "It's none of your business, pretty-boy!"

Alanna looked at her squire who became silent immediately. She's a miracle-worker alright. Joren thought wryly. Then she turned her violet gaze on him. Joren swallowed his reaction to Neal's moniker. "Actually, we came to you for a reason." Her tone became silky and persuasive, and, if possible, more dangerous. "You are aware that my father is the spymaster of Tortall, aren't you?"

"Aren't we all?" Joren rolled his eyes. Myles' position as spymaster was Tortall's worst kept secret.

"Well, he asked me to deliver a message. You are invited to our home tomorrow night at eight. He has a proposition for you."

"Why should I bother?" Joren allowed a slight sneer to color his tone, even though Sir Myles of Olau was someone he regarded with respect.

"Because it involves a large amount of money," Alanna countered, "Money I am sure you would appreciate having." She looked at his slightly wet dark brown tunic with thinly disguised distaste.

Joren closed his eyes briefly. "I'll think about it." He said curtly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to work." He made a slight bow before leaving, careful not to look at Neal.

Alanna regarded the slender young man. "Do you think he'll come? You know him well, don't you?" She asked her squire.

Neal shrugged. "He'd probably be curious enough to appear, but I doubt he'll agree to your father's scheme." For a minute there, he felt something suspiciously like pity for the other squire. "What I don't doubt is he can pull it off."

Alanna looked back at her squire and wondered at the strange expression in his face. Hmm…