No. This can't be happening. You refuse to believe this is real. You stand, perfectly still, not because you have the energy to but because even the thought of moving a muscle makes you physically sick to your stomach. Your breathing coming in shaky rasps, your throat sticks to itself as you try and fail to swallow, causing you to choke and splutter. Your eyes, fixed on that same location they had been for an incalculable amount of time now; how long had it been? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?
Oh Gog no, please no. Please let it not have been as long as that. Please let there remain some ounce of hope. Blindly, you stumble forward. You don't bother trying to regain your balance as you take another step. You find it hard to sense the distance to your destination, or to the ground below your feet for that matter. It's either a yard or a mile away, you can't tell. All sense of time and space has ceased. They no longer have any meaning. The only thing that does is reaching him.
You barely see the limp, lifeless bodies of your other former companions as you stagger by. None of it matters anymore, if he is dea- Your eyes squeeze tight and breathing becomes a serious feat. No, you can't think about it… and yet there is nothing else tothink about, as he lies there at your feet, disturbingly still in presence. Lightheadedly you kneel beside him, your legs gladly giving out beneath you. He faces away from you, so hesitantly and with quivering hands you reach out and turn his visage towards yours. You feel such a pang in your chest you think you might die. Oh, you hope you do. Those features, so stupidly peaceful in expression; the slight upturn of the lips into what was that, satisfaction? mocks you so that you want to cry out in anger, frustration, pain… and yet your throat refuses to make a sound. You grip a section of fabric, its brilliant blue now stained with an even more brilliant red. You've lost track of how much of it belongs to him or you. At this rate you know you'll bleed to death soon, not that you really care about that anymore. The Heir… only The Heir… the only thing of importance… you feel a sudden bout of dizziness and the ground comes up to meet you.
[Author's note: I'm considering continuing with this story if I get enough feedback. This is one of my first attempts at creative writing in a long time, so I really appreciate any comments to get a feel for what my audience is into and help me get back into the swing of things creative writing-wise. Thanks for reading.]