I just stare, my eyes filled with tears yet to escape. On the bed before
me lies my brother, dying. Everyone surrounds the bed with the same
sympathetic expression. I caress my brother's pallor hand as he struggles
for every breath. Oscar is covered in many wounds, the worst being an axe
wound cleaved across his stomach. I wield an axe. I feel unnecessary guilt,
even though it is partially my fault that he is suffering so.
I recall a time earlier that day, as Rhys tries once more to ease his pain.
We had gotten into a row, Oscar and I, which resulted in him storming
outside in a fury. He rarely does that. Minutes passed, then hours, and
still he had not come back. A slight worry escaped me and I decided to go
look for him. I looked all around the fort. No sign of him. I started down
the path that leads from our home to the nearby village. A little ways out
from the fort laid my brother, in a pool of blood. Panic-stricken, I
rushed to his side. I fumbled at his neck, searching for his jugular vein
for even a faintest beat. His life was yet his own; his pulse was very weak,
but there. I hesitated to move him. His wounds made him very fragile and
the last thing I wanted to do was cause him more discomfort. I called out
till my throat was raw for help. Help did come. The last person I wanted
came, Rolf. I remember the fear and confusion in his eyes. I commanded him to
go get Rhys. He stumbled, and then quickly obeyed without saying anything. I
heard a weak cough. Oscar was conscious and was trying to get up. I told
him to lay back down and that help would arrive soon. He tried to speak,
but I shushed him. I took off my old, leather headband and dabbed some of
the blood away. His once forest-green shirt was saturated with blood. His
own blood. Blood that wasn't meant to be shed. Bandits must have ambushed him. Why?
He was utterly
defenseless. No armor or weapons. I told him I was sorry over and over.
Over and over.
A sound of shattering glass awakens me from my trance. To my horror I
see Rhys' broken staff. The room seems even quieter than before. Rhys has to
be lead off to another room; he is severely upset, he blames himself. I
don't know what to think. I see Oscar's hope shattered in bits of glass on
the floor. I bring his hand to my forehead. Rolf is whispering 'no' over
and over again. He seems to know that his eldest brother will probably die.
Greil mutters something and everyone says their apologies to me as they head
out of the room. Why? Did they give up hope on Oscar's chances? Did they
think his death was inevitable?
I just sit there stroking his hand as it grows colder. I talk to my dear
brother as if he could hear me. I tell him it was my fault. I tell myself
it was my fault. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up and see Rolf's
pained expression. He tells me I need to go to bed. There is a job
tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow will come for me. Will it come for Oscar? As I fall asleep, grasping his pale hand, I think the painful thought of what will come tomorrow.
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Well, this was my first FE fanfic ever! I know I went a little OOC on Oscar. Hope you all enjoyed it anyways!