His vision was blurred, drifting on the edge of consciousness he heard sounds, Voices, he told himself.
There were too many, making what seemed to be an enourmous effort he tried to recall, he could vaguely picture the face of the healer, he remembered the voice, but most of all he remembered her treatments, which brought him some small measure of relief.
Yet the voice that had just spoken was not that of the healer, it was a different voice, the tones and manners of speech were known to him, but more, he could not tell.
Another surge of pain, Enough!, he thought, make it stop!
But the voice did not hear him, it was in a deep conversation with another voice, which seemed strangely familliar as well.
It seemed to him that years had passed when he next woke, yet he was still in the same place, and he could still hear the voice, there were more of them now, he could not make out what they were saying, yet somehow, hearing them brought him comfort, he must have known them. He tried to recall but pain was blurring his memory.
It will be over soon ... I must ...
He noticed that one of the voices was very close to him, he mustered what strenght he had left and said thank you, for whoever they were, he must have cared for them for their voices to be so soothing.
He tried to speak again but pain overcame him, and even though his eyes were closed he could feel himself spinning, and falling, images came into his mind, he saw his father, giving him his first sword when he was but a boy, he saw himself, kneeling and taking his vows as he was made a Royal Guard, then he saw flashes of battle, and himself kneeling and taking other vows, just before loosing consciousness for the last time, he remembered the words:
... Only in death shall my duty end.
He would never wake again.
