I have severe insomnia at the moment and this is manifesting itself in lots of little plot bunnies. This is a very short one-shot about a dying soldier's encounter with a Female Warden and her group.
-Genjutsu-Dragon-
O
He had been surrounded by death and pain, shades of grey and black and brown and red, for so long that when her eyes fall upon his broken body he cannot remember what colour to call them. He lifts an arm, waving weakly, calling out in a voice already bubbling with the blood in his throat and the twisted growl of the taint. Her companions remain upright, standing a little away from him, as though scared of contagion, as though he will lunge out and sink his teeth into them.
She kneels by him, pulling off one of her gloves, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. It is an unnecessary gesture, but comforting – he can shut his eyes and imagine he is a child again, his mother checking for fever and ordering him to stay in bed. The world seems a little less harsh. She checks his pulse and the calloused tips of her fingers surprise him in contrast to the smooth skin he felt before. He is wheezing, now, and has to force his eyes open when she speaks to him in a voice that sounds like a woman's, but issues from the throat of one who looks barely older than his daughter.
He answers her questions as best he can, trying to ignore the burning in his blood. He is getting hotter, and she notices. Silently, she gestures, and a man with scruffy brown hair steps forward, holding a waterskin. She holds it to his lips and he gulps gratefully. He hears one of the female companions make a scoffing noise, commenting on the waste of water on one who is going to die. He has known for a while that he will not recover from this, but the off-handed comment brings it home. He feels oddly relieved. The will of life was sapped from him long ago.
She calls him brave, nonetheless. In this midst of all the violent memories crowding in on him, her kind eyes look down without judgement. She asks if he wants them to carry him back to the village, ignoring the angry criticism of the offer by her group. He holds her hand and smiles, telling her that he is done. He feels that she knew this. He asks her to end it quickly. She nods, drawing a knife from her belt, and lines it up at his throat. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze of thanks for what he has told them.
There is nothing in the world but those beautiful, kind eyes, looking down with infinite compassion. He feels some pain as his neck is slashed open, but she kept her promise. It is quick. And as his soul struggles free of his body, he finally recalls their colour.
Green.