If Death Were Good
Oct. 24th, 2010 10:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shinonTitle: If Death Were Good
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon
Characters: Matthis
Word count: 510
Warnings: None
Notes:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fe_contest challenge 9: Terror.
Matthis was going to die.
He was going to die he was going to die he was going to die – stabbed or shot or gutted or burned to a crisp with some magic he’d never see coming.
He hadn’t asked for this. He’d joined up because he’d been offered the choice to do so or die then and there. He had pretty firmly cast his vote, he thought, on the “not dying” side. To no avail. He was still going to end up just as dead and now he was going to do it fighting for a terrible cause. He wished he were a braver man, or a smarter one. How could he not have seen it was going to end this way? Lena would never have –
Lena. His sister. His dear, sweet, sensible sister. She was going to be so angry with him.
It took him a moment to pick out the discrepancy there: if he died here, Lena’s disapproval was a terror he would never have to face. And he was going to die here, no question.
It wasn’t like he was trying to avoid letting her know what he’d done – that would have been ignoble, craven. If he saw her, he would have to explain. It was just that he wasn’t going to see her. He was going to die and there was nothing anybody could do about it. Was it wrong to find some relief in that?
Indeed, the more he reflected on his impending death, the easier it became. When you accepted these things as fact, they weren’t terrifying, just sad. The icy knife that fear had twisted in his gut slowly melted away, replaced by a vague melancholy. He was going to die. And so young, too. Such a shame, such a shame, but the world was cruel and it was not his place to stand up to the iniquities of fate. No one could possibly expect that of him.
It really was too bad he was never going to see Lena again. He did love her. She was his sister.
He hoped he’d die quickly. Arrow to the throat? Axe to the head? The axe, he decided. There was a chance a good axe blow would ruin his face, so his remains would never be identified and he’d never have to answer for anything.
When the Altean army came down the hill, he was conducting a funeral for himself in his head. With flowers. Those white ones. He would never know their name.
He opened his eyes. There was white in the oncoming army, too – the white robes of a cleric. Like Lena. If only he could hear her voice one more time –
They got the order to ride, and as he advanced toward certain death, he saw: that cleric had red hair. A little closer and he knew it was her.
He would not have the luxury of dying today. He had to reach her, speak to her. He had to live. And the moment he knew, terror gripped him once again.
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon
Characters: Matthis
Word count: 510
Warnings: None
Notes:
fe_contest challenge 9: Terror.Matthis was going to die.
He was going to die he was going to die he was going to die – stabbed or shot or gutted or burned to a crisp with some magic he’d never see coming.
He hadn’t asked for this. He’d joined up because he’d been offered the choice to do so or die then and there. He had pretty firmly cast his vote, he thought, on the “not dying” side. To no avail. He was still going to end up just as dead and now he was going to do it fighting for a terrible cause. He wished he were a braver man, or a smarter one. How could he not have seen it was going to end this way? Lena would never have –
Lena. His sister. His dear, sweet, sensible sister. She was going to be so angry with him.
It took him a moment to pick out the discrepancy there: if he died here, Lena’s disapproval was a terror he would never have to face. And he was going to die here, no question.
It wasn’t like he was trying to avoid letting her know what he’d done – that would have been ignoble, craven. If he saw her, he would have to explain. It was just that he wasn’t going to see her. He was going to die and there was nothing anybody could do about it. Was it wrong to find some relief in that?
Indeed, the more he reflected on his impending death, the easier it became. When you accepted these things as fact, they weren’t terrifying, just sad. The icy knife that fear had twisted in his gut slowly melted away, replaced by a vague melancholy. He was going to die. And so young, too. Such a shame, such a shame, but the world was cruel and it was not his place to stand up to the iniquities of fate. No one could possibly expect that of him.
It really was too bad he was never going to see Lena again. He did love her. She was his sister.
He hoped he’d die quickly. Arrow to the throat? Axe to the head? The axe, he decided. There was a chance a good axe blow would ruin his face, so his remains would never be identified and he’d never have to answer for anything.
When the Altean army came down the hill, he was conducting a funeral for himself in his head. With flowers. Those white ones. He would never know their name.
He opened his eyes. There was white in the oncoming army, too – the white robes of a cleric. Like Lena. If only he could hear her voice one more time –
They got the order to ride, and as he advanced toward certain death, he saw: that cleric had red hair. A little closer and he knew it was her.
He would not have the luxury of dying today. He had to reach her, speak to her. He had to live. And the moment he knew, terror gripped him once again.
