I Refuse to be a Named Character

Part 1

... but it didn't come.

"WHY IS THE GATE UNGUARDED?" A shout distracted the crowd that had gathered, and everyone looked over to see a young man in armor, walking closer. I recognized him as he often came to the stable to see hi shores. It was the captain of the guard.

Sheepishly the two guards who had been at the gate but got distracted walked back to their posts. The remainder of the crowd that had gathered to watch drifted away, leaving the captain, Bale, the injured boy and me.

"What do you think you're doing?" The captain's cold voice made even Bale take a step back.

"I'm... I'm just..."

BAM!

Bale flew through the air at the other man's punch, striking against the wall with a loud groan.

"Don't go too far. The boy has a purpose. If you dare interfere with our Lord's plans again, I won't even give you a chance to beg for your worthless life." The captain's sneer made me shrink back, clutching the unconscious young man tightly in my arms.

He isn't mad that Bale was beating the boy bloody. He's mad that he almost killed him without permission.

What a cruel place. It made me wonder what had incited the villain to destroy this place so completely. The book had never mentioned his motive, just indicating that he had great hatred for the ninth lord and all his men. Looking down at the beaten teenager in my arms, new and old cuts crisscrossing over the exposed skin, I felt for a moment that I might understand such a hatred.

My thoughts came to a stuttering halt as the Captain walked over. "Here." With a gruff word he handed over a small sack that had hung at his waist. Taking it cautiously, I opened it to find bandages and labeled herbs to treat bleeding and pain.

"Thank yo..."

"Make sure he doesn't die, or I'll ensure you join him." His threat cut off my words of gratitude, and I nodded silently instead. Without another word the captain left, Bale scrambling to get away behind him.

I was alone with the injured boy.

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Struggling, I laid him flat, looking him over to assess how bad his injuries were. There were multiple superficial cuts and bruises, nothing that looked life threatening. I felt along his arms and legs, nothing appeared to be broken. The worst wound was on his scalp, blood dripped continuously from his already soaked hair. Worried, I drew some water from the nearest well, washing the exposed skin clean and packing the paste marked for bleeding into all of the open wounds. By the time I finished wrapping the last of his wounds, (a more difficult task then it had ever looked to be on TV shows) his eyes fluttered open, staring at me silently. It took me by surprise for a moment, but I forced my face into a friendly smile, not wanting to scare him.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" I hadn't lifted up his clothes to check, only focusing on the wounds I could see.

He shook his head, sitting up slowly, a confused expression forming on his face. "Why did you help me?"

"They were hurting you."

"I've been hurt plenty of times before. No one ever helped me then." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything."

He frowned at my quick answer. "Then why abandon escaping to help a stranger? Are you just foolishly brave?"

I thought over the last few years of my life. How I let Chloe dictate everything I said and did because I was too scared to be alone. "No. I'm a coward."