PAST

The fresh gardenia's from the nobles' woods couldn't mask the reek of death that hovered in the bedroom. She'd stopped groaning by now, and the poppy had by now dulled her senses. Yet, her steely eyes never left Lot's own.

"I'm right done in, aren't I?" She laughed, gums red from blood and teeth yellow from sickness. "Gods, I'm wastin' away."

He squeezed her frail hand, so limp that he was afraid it would snap off like the wing of a butterfly. "Don't speak like that. It's just a scratch. Come on, you're the hero this side of the Nobles' Woods! When you get knocked down, you get right back up, ten-fold stronger!"

She chuckled at that, chest rising and falling. She was still beautiful, Lot thought. Even in sickness, even as her red hair grayed and pink lips chapped and bled, a fire still burned in her eyes. She'd always wanted to be the hero. To gain the lord's favour and journey out into the world beyond the woods. The hero life wasn't for Lot, but he'd follow his love on her quests till his death. But never had he believed hers would come before his own.

He came to his feet, standing over the bed. "You rest here. I'll go out and--"

"No!" She cried. The silenced settled in the bedroom. Her thin fingers were wrapped around his wrist, keeping him there with what remaining strength she had left. If at all, she'd spend it to keep him by her side. "No. . .please. S-stay."

"But if I can find a healer--"

"And pay him with what? The clothes on your back? My hand in marriage? Maybe even your hand in marriage if he favours men." She coughed, specks of blood staining her fist. "Sit, Lot."

He wanted nothing more than to rush out those doors, steal a horse and ride to the city. If to save his hero, he'd give his life in her stead. Lot was no honeyed talker. He was a simple weapon smith, and even in that field he was simple. His weapons were weak and broke within the day, and if not for her encouragement and support, he would have tossed the trade altogether.

And she wouldn't be lying in bed, dying from a putrefied wound from a wood serpent. If her sword hadn't snapped in two like a twig, she'd still be lively, out in the fields striking a target with her blade.

She squeezed his hand, smiling despite her grim situation. "Don't blame yourself. I told you this when we were children--I'd be the hero, and you'd be my smith. I'll only ever use the weapons you make. Be it the end of me or no." She shifted, wincing. Blood stained the sheets as the wound began bleeding again, but she stopped him from tending to it. "It's no point. It won't be too long now."

"Serya, let me get you help! P-please--I--the family has the best healers in the realm. If I speak to them, get on my hands and knees and beg--"

She struck him on the ear, but it was so weak her hand barely graze his face. "We. . .don't. . .beg. We never beg. Serya The Dragoness and her fearless smith Lot do not beg."

". . .and if we get upon our hands and knees--" 

"Let death put us out of our miseries swiftly," she finished. It was their mantra since childhood. To beg was to become a beggar, and a beggar was no hero. A beggar would never rise from the gutters and slay beasts and battle mages. A beggar would die in the gutters, hungry and cold. But not Serya. Serya, with a smile, would die in her bed after battle. Warm, and in the embrace of her beloved.

"I'll die a warrior's death. You didn't kill me, Lot. You gave me the ending I wanted. Soon, it might have been, but a death befitting of a hero." A wetness ran down her pale cheeks. They must have been tears. But whether they were from her grieving companion or her her own eyes, she didn't know. Nor did she care. Because she could see it, the light of the warrior goddess. She could see the towering vigils, the golden chariots, the hall of slain heroes. She saw the great winged army, rallying to ride from the heavens, and the goddess herself, holding her hand out and beckoning Serya to join her eternal ranks.

She'd die a hero. And she'd live everlasting as the hero she'd always dreamed to be.

Lot held his beloved hand as her teary eyes closed. Her lips were set in a smile, and her heart remained beating in her chest.

He waited.

He waited.

Silence.