His throat burned, taking away his breath of air as he startled in his sleep, peeking through blurry eyes. A flurry of movement beyond his eyes made me struggle to awaken despite the pull at his neck. But reaching for his neck, there was nothing there. His throat continued to burn as though he had drank-

Eyes widening as he gasped and sputtered, feeling saliva dribbling down his mouth as he scrambled over the cold, hard floor, he opened and closed his mouth, pointing to the figures swathed in flowy white gowns that danced in the flickering candlelight.

Poison...It was poison...help!

He could only grunt and groan, eyes watering and the lack of flowing air into his lungs was bringing a settlement of panic down. He wheezed and gasped, whining and hissing.

"He...lp...poi...son, hel...me..." His voice was squeaky and painful as he clutched his throat, his nails digging into the wet, stone floor. His mind was heavy like cotton as he slumped, gasping and heaving for any single sip of air.

"We can't...cannot do this anymore..."

Someone was talking?

"...no choice...death chosen..."

"...but never happened...why now?"

What were they talking about? Why weren't they helping him?

"Heelp...me...ple...ease, hel...help me...no...a...air..." He reached out, grasping something that clasped tightly around his hand. Blearily, he looked up through his watery eyes, tears slipping from the corner of his eyes, his heart was thundering a panicked thunder and lungs struggling to keep breathing in limited air. Gasping like a fish was on on land but brief bursts of water washed over allowing him to breathe. "Hee...hel...help...m, me..." He sobbed through his gasps, feeling his body growing tired and the fight for air was dimming.

A shadow loomed over him, long wheat-gold curls and eyes like sapphires cut from the mountains themselves were looking down at him. To his surprise, they were glistening with tears through his own blurred tears.

He didn't want to die. He had a family to go home to. Why did he have to die? He was only watching the princesses...did they...?

Gasping painfully, he felt a hand clasping his own and the woman looked him down, her eyes glimmering painfully as she whispered gently in his ear.

"We didn't mean for this to happen."

Mean for what? His death?

"...we can't do this...no one...like this..." Someone's voice shouted from somewhere else. Everything was growing darker and more painful and exhausting, so much colder now and the blue eyes smiled painfully down at him.

"I'm sorry we couldn't help you. You will be known as a hero always." His breaths slowed down, less pain and more cold and less of a struggle.

At least I was not alone.

Was the last thought before it grew dark, then quiet and so very lonely.