Mylor Silvanus dies surrounded by strangers.
Well-meaning strangers to be sure. They call for a med-witch, water, a wand, something to save the dying man lying in the grass in the makeshift triage unit on the castle grounds. The battle rages on around them. Mylor can hear it-even as his vision fades. He wonders passingly, fleetingly who will win. He wonders if his death will mean anything when it's all said and done.
A scream tears through the night and the young men and women around him run from his side to assist. Medical care must be given to those who have a chance to survive, and he has no chance at all. He does not resent his caretakers for their choice.
One of them stays. A young woman with waves of chestnut hair framing her pleasant, plump face like a halo. She smiles down at him and brushes his greying hair out of his eyes.
"Eloise, Eloise, we need you over here!" someone calls her and Mylor feels panic for the first time. He cannot do this alone. He cannot leave with no one by his side.
"Give me a moment." She does not raise her voice, or turn her attention from Mylor for a moment.
"It's alright." She smiles down at him, "You can close your eyes. I'm here."
Mylor is afraid.
"Don't be afraid." Eloise says, "Nothing bad can happen anymore."
Mylor closes his eyes and pretends the gentle hands on his face belong to his daughter.
"That's it. It's ok." Eloise breathes, but her voice seems distant now, like she is moving further away. The noise of the battle fades the cold and dark recede.
With Eloise at his side, Mylor finds dying easier than falling asleep.