Rila: Not Rex/Ahsoka for once. Mm, weird.
Claim: I own Eris.
Disclaim: I don't own it. Darn.
It didn't hurt, dying.
Or at least, it didn't hurt in the way that she thought it would. She had never given Death much of a thought, thinking it of some dark creature, shrouded and wrapped in a veil of darkness that would one day cover her vision and she would succumb to its hypnotizing hold. It was not something she feared - she could not fear it, not when she was a Jedi.
But as she lay on the cold ground, staring up at the sky, she could not help but think back on how far she had come. It was not her life that flashed before her eyes, no involuntary images of her childhood and parents with their faces shrouded in shadow. No, it was voluntary, her will guiding her thoughts.
She recalled the day she had begun training to become a Padawan, the effort she had put into studying and practicing until her head throbbed and her muscles screamed. It had all been worth it, the day she met her Master and recieved her Padawan braid.
It was gone now, cut away from her head by her Master's lightsabre just a few days ago. Her movements had felt off without it swinging against her back, and she could not muster the strength to move her arm to where it had once been.
She could not move at all, just the slow, sluggish blink of her eyes, her eyelashes brushing against the tops of her cheeks. It felt like the touch of a leaf on her skin, and she gave a shaky exhale of breath, the inhale rattling deep in her throat.
The sky was a beautiful shade of blue and green, and it reminded her of her Master's eyes. They had expressed a dozen things - warmth, kindness, disappointment and anger. The last two had been what she hated to see in her Master's gaze, especially when it was directed to her.
She had wanted nothing more than to make her Master proud, and idly, she wondered if she would accomplish it. No doubt she had done so when she passed the Trials, but now she wondered, fleetingly - would her Master be upset with her?
She had failed, failed on her first mission - but that was funny, she didn't feel like she had failed. And perhaps she hadn't - faintly, as if from a far off distance, she could hear the sounds of battle, of blaster bolts and droids.
I have to get up. Surely Master would scold her if she laid here any longer, letting her mind wander when it should have been focused. Though it rattled somewhere deep in her chest, she inhaled and forced herself to roll over, teeth grinding together at the feel of fire and agony that raced down her back.
Her hands searched dusty ground and splayed upon the cold cylinder of her unlit lightsabre, the weapon activating and humming beneath her touch as she brought her knees beneath her, pushing herself away from the ground. She wobbled and pitched, barely keeping herself from joining the ground again.
Her vision blurred and spun, and she felt like she were going to pass out. Not yet, she told herself firmly. Not yet.
She staggered forward, forcing strength back into her legs as she ambled towards the sound of battle, vision sliding in and out of focus as she moved. There might have been a call of what sounded like her name, but she couldn't hear anything past the faltering pulse in her ears.
I have to, she told herself, I have to do this. I have to succeed. Master must be proud of me. That was what she placed above all else, the unshakable faith that her Master had placed in her before she had left.
It was then that raw agony tore into her midsection, turning her around and sending her tumbling back to the ground in a way that had her limbs aching as she gaped wordlessly against the ground. Warmth welled in her mouth and spilled from the corner, the taste sharp and of copper.
"Eris!" The cry was sharp, shattering the dull thrumming in her ears as hands found her arms and rolled her over. Her vision was blank, horribly blank, but then filtered out to focus upon the face of her Master.
"Master," she began, and wondered why her voice sounded so quiet, "Master, why are you here?"
"Don't worry about that," came the sharp reply, her words softer as she continued, stroking loose hair away from Eris' face, "concentrate on saving your strength, Eris."
"Master," she said, her eyes rolling for a moment before they refocused, "Master, have I made you proud?"
"Yes," came the reply, and she wondered - why was Master crying? "Yes, you've made me proud. So very proud."
"Master," she said, "am I dying?"
"No." The tone was fierce. She was, Eris realized, lying. Lying to make her feel better. Lying in hopes of making it truth. Her mouth moved.
"Master, did we win?"
"Yes. We won, Eris. We've won."
Her breath rattled. "M-Master," she struggled, "I-I can't see, Master. Where are you?" Her vision had gone dark, blanking out everything around her. A hand gripped one of hers.
"I'm here, Eris."
Her breathing was shallow, the thrumming slowing in her ears. She was in fact, dying. But it didn't hurt. Not the way she thought it would. Her fingers curled feebly around her Master's. "Goodbye, Master."
Ending Quote: "I call a lie: wanting not to see something one does see, wanting not to see something as one sees it... The most common lie is the lie one tells to oneself; lying to others is relatively the exception."