A/N: Yay, deathfic! I've had the idea for this floating around since July last year, so I figured it was about time I got around to it. This is just a one-shot, no follow-up stuff. Enjoy!
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You know, you never really think in a battle that you're winning that you'll be the one to go. Most others wouldn't think it would happen to me, either, because I'm a Ranger. There's something kind of untouchable and invincible about us. Of course, all the rumours of our use of black magic helped elevate us to this status.
We're very careful with our jobs. I don't think I've ever met a Ranger that didn't die naturally. Apart from Berrigan, who lost his leg to a Skandian in a battle years ago, there aren't any major disfigurations in the Corps. We all train for five years, honing and perfecting our skills, before we get left to our own devices.
Like I said, many see as invincible figures. But we're not. We've trained hard and are very good at what we do, but that doesn't mean we're not mortal. We are. Mortals can make mistakes.
And, one way or another, mortals die.
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There's a strange pounding in my head. Everything seems blurred and slower for some reason. Sounds are coming through muffled. I can see the fight continuing off to my left, and I smile because I can see we're still winning. Even as I watch, one of the last remaining enemy leaders is cut down and the leaderless troops start to surrender. My smile stretches to a grin. We've won! I want to get up and find my friends so we can celebrate, but my legs don't seem to want to comply.
It doesn't matter, anyway. I can see one of them heading towards me now, running. He must be happy. The ground I'm lying on is surprisingly soft and warm, and I'm content to lie here and wait.
Finally, Halt's face swims into view. He's shouting something, looking down at me with extreme concern. I frown. We won, why is he so upset? Did something happen? I struggle to sit up, but my torso is as unresponsive as my legs. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to make sense of the words Halt is throwing around, but he quickly grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me, a light of panic in his eyes.
After a while, the words start to filter through.
"...on't you dare do this. Will! Will!"
Halt turns to one side, calling for his apprentice. The young boy rushes into view.
"Halt, what's…?" I think for a moment my hearing has become unfocused again, but then I realise Will has simply trailed off, staring at me with horror. What could possibly be wrong? I think, my mind going down the same track as it had before. We won.
Halt is shouting at him now, telling him to get help. Will stammers something about getting Horace to help move me to the healer's tent. I frown again. Sure, we've won the crux of the battle, but surely there are still little pockets of fighting? Horace will be needed there. Besides, there's nothing wrong with me. I must have just got knocked over the head, which would explain the pounding pervading everything. I just need a few minutes for everything to settle back into place.
I can see Halt hunched over my legs, hands forward. I wonder what he's doing. Then, he wipes his brow with the back of one blood-soaked hand, leaving a red streak there. Concern fills me. Is he injured? I try to sit up, to help him if I can, but this attempt was about as successful as the last one.
Just then, Will returns with Horace, a stretcher rolled up and resting on his burly shoulders. They quickly arrange it on the ground next to me, and all three of them lift me onto it. Horace takes the end near my feet, Will the other. Halt has hunched over my leg again, but without being able to lift my head, I still can't see what he was doing. I try to protest, to tell them that I just need a few minutes to recover, but the words are so thick in my mouth that I can't get them out.
We all enter the healer's tent, and there's an immediate flurry of action. I'm pleased to notice there are only a few injured in here, most of them minor. We did well.
I'm carried over to one of the many empty cots and gently set down. A number of healers bustle around me, pulling out herbs and making poultices and syrups. Halt's still standing at my legs, hunched over, with Horace and Will crowded anxiously on the other side. As I watch, one of the healers asks them to step back. They comply reluctantly, pained expressions on their faces.
"Now don't you leave us," Halt warns me sternly, voice cracking and eyes misting.
"I'm going somewhere?" I slur, finally able to manage to at least speak.
One of the healers gently moves me into a sitting position and tells me to drink from the cup she's holding out to me. I accept gratefully, hoping that the drink will clear my throat enough to let me talk properly. I hand her back the empty cup with a small smile, but that drops as I catch a glimpse of red from the corner of my eye. I look closer and suddenly realise why Halt had been hunched over my legs that whole time.
There was a deep gash the size of my forearm across my thigh.
Blood was everywhere. It should have been inside me, but now it was slowly pulsing out and has covered Halt's hands, the healers' hands, the stretcher, the cot, everything. There was too much. Seeing the wound for the first time, a lance of pain shot through me, so intense I nearly blacked out. I realise the drink I'd just had was probably a blood-strengthening tea. The healers are working frantically to stitch my leg up, cutting away the fabric of my pants around the laceration, but the head healer was already shaking her head. I'd lost too much blood already. There was nothing they could do for me. A cold hand of fear clutches my heart.
I'm going to die.
My left hand scrabbles frantically over the side of the cot, seeking Halt's hand. He seizes it and gives it a squeeze. I can see the tears rolling down his cheeks. Will steps forward and takes my other hand, Horace adding his on top. I managed to feel a small amount of comfort from their touch, but it's still swamped by my pain and fear. I don't want it to end like this. I want to live.
Another drink is offered to me. "What's in this one?" I manage thickly.
The healer looks at me steadily. "It's a sedative. It'll dull the pain and make you go to sleep."
I gently shake off the hands of my friends, taking the cup and staring into its depths. I glance up at the healer. "I won't wake up ever again if I drink this, will I?" He shook his head.
"I'm sorry. It doesn't matter if you drink it now or not, you'll still die. But at least this way, it will be a lot less painful for you."
I look at the tortured gaze of the three familiar faces still clustered to my left, and I smile apologetically as I down the contents of the cup. Almost instantaneously, a warm flush spreads through my body, transforming the screaming agony of my leg to a dull ache. It isn't as painless as before I'd noticed the injury, but still a vast improvement.
The edges of my vision are starting to go black, and I grasp for my friends' hands again. Will foregoes holding onto my hand and wraps me into a hug. Halt is only a second behind him, enfolding us both in his arms. Horace, having no space to join in at my left side, makes his way to the other side of the cot and joins the embrace.
Little black and white stars are starting to dance before my eyes, and everything is getting increasingly dark, so I hug them all tighter. "Goodbye, Halt, Will, Horace. I'm so sorry."
The Ranger's apprentice buries his head against my chest and the apprentice warrior heaves with sobs.
"Goodbye, Gilan." I turn towards the sound of Halt's choked voice.
The last thing I see is Halt standing back a little and gazing fondly down at me, tears streaming silently down his cheeks.