Heroes Don't Cry
She was so tired. Sick of having to fight everyone else's battles for them. What about the demons she need to slay for herself? Didn't they matter? Was she just a tool to be used and discarded? Behind her, just visible in the distance, lay the village she had just saved. It was home to maybe twenty people, all farmers. The land it stood on was almost barren. It had ceased to be worth farming long years ago. She felt depressed- why did they still try to draw a living from land that had stopped being useful?
Her knee ached unmercifully. The warlord she had been fighting had got in a solid kick to the joint. By nightfall, she knew it would be hugely swollen. She was riding, and every step her mare took jolted the joint. She wasn't the impermeable, untouchable stone angel that people imagined her to be. She bled just like they did, and could die just as easily. People needed to paint her as above them, as a sort of demi-god so that they could sleep easily at night. If she was just a mere mortal, they could just as easily fall into dark ways.
It was okay with her, most of the time. Sometimes she had to let her walls down and just be Xena, the woman, rather than Xena- Warrior Princess. It was hard to find a place where she felt happy to be her true self. Home was one place where she didn't worry about letting people see what she felt. After all, some of them had seen her as a baby. She hadn't visited her home in such a long time. The homesickness for it was still there, locked away where she didn't have to feel it.
Most of the time, though, she kept those walls firmly in place. They had grown thicker and taller over the years, making her harder to reach. She found it harder to let go now. She worried that if she did, the walls would crumble and fall. After all, no-one liked their heroes to cry.
She sighed and wished she could give up fighting stranger's wars. How much did she owe them? None of them really knew her, except by reputation in some parts. She longed for a place to call home, even if it was just a tiny hut on the edge of the world. She knew where she would live, given the choice.
There was a small patch of land in her name on the coast. On it stood a cabin. It was roughly built, but charming. There was enough space for two people, plus a horse. It was remote enough so that no-one would bother her.
Suddenly, she made up her mind. She would go to that cabin, retire there. For the first time in weeks, she felt at peace. Not happy, but more settled.
She was a hero to the people, but to herself she was a thief. She had stolen away her own happiness, and it was about time she took it back.
No-one liked their heroes to cry, because no-one wanted their heroes to be real. A hero was only true when they were saving people. Sometimes, though, the hero had to save themselves.
And that was what she was going to do.
She was so tired. Sick of having to fight everyone else's battles for them. What about the demons she need to slay for herself? Didn't they matter? Was she just a tool to be used and discarded? Behind her, just visible in the distance, lay the village she had just saved. It was home to maybe twenty people, all farmers. The land it stood on was almost barren. It had ceased to be worth farming long years ago. She felt depressed- why did they still try to draw a living from land that had stopped being useful?
Her knee ached unmercifully. The warlord she had been fighting had got in a solid kick to the joint. By nightfall, she knew it would be hugely swollen. She was riding, and every step her mare took jolted the joint. She wasn't the impermeable, untouchable stone angel that people imagined her to be. She bled just like they did, and could die just as easily. People needed to paint her as above them, as a sort of demi-god so that they could sleep easily at night. If she was just a mere mortal, they could just as easily fall into dark ways.
It was okay with her, most of the time. Sometimes she had to let her walls down and just be Xena, the woman, rather than Xena- Warrior Princess. It was hard to find a place where she felt happy to be her true self. Home was one place where she didn't worry about letting people see what she felt. After all, some of them had seen her as a baby. She hadn't visited her home in such a long time. The homesickness for it was still there, locked away where she didn't have to feel it.
Most of the time, though, she kept those walls firmly in place. They had grown thicker and taller over the years, making her harder to reach. She found it harder to let go now. She worried that if she did, the walls would crumble and fall. After all, no-one liked their heroes to cry.
She sighed and wished she could give up fighting stranger's wars. How much did she owe them? None of them really knew her, except by reputation in some parts. She longed for a place to call home, even if it was just a tiny hut on the edge of the world. She knew where she would live, given the choice.
There was a small patch of land in her name on the coast. On it stood a cabin. It was roughly built, but charming. There was enough space for two people, plus a horse. It was remote enough so that no-one would bother her.
Suddenly, she made up her mind. She would go to that cabin, retire there. For the first time in weeks, she felt at peace. Not happy, but more settled.
She was a hero to the people, but to herself she was a thief. She had stolen away her own happiness, and it was about time she took it back.
No-one liked their heroes to cry, because no-one wanted their heroes to be real. A hero was only true when they were saving people. Sometimes, though, the hero had to save themselves.
And that was what she was going to do.