★ 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝑶𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔 ★

Warmth and Comfort

Fandom: Songs of War
Pairing: Deathtide
Type: Angst/Fluff
TW's: Blood, Self-blame

Cold...cold is all Achillean felt as the fresh flakes of snow gently laid on him, coating him in a thin yet numbing layer of snow. Scarlet blood had glazed the fresh white snow, tainting it.

A ringing echoed from his ears, the world around him was hazy. He tried to move but couldn't. His chest and legs ached in agony while he was slightly gasping for air as if it was such a foreign thing now.

The wind fiercely howled throughout the wide and dense forest, rustling the leaves and branches, removing some of the fallen snow from them.

Achillean trembled. The combination of cold and pain was not a good one. His body was unable to stand all this torture for much longer. He was able to gather enough energy to get up as best he could. He used a tree nearby to support himself. He let go of the tree and began stumbling in the direction he arrived from, hoping...praying he doesn't pass out.

He clutched his torso. The bleeding didn't stop. In fact, it had gotten worse which deeply alarmed him. The wound in his left leg didn't make matters any better.

The wind furiously wailed, making Achillean stumble. The trees helped him catch himself and he continued walking. His body ached increasingly the more he moved. It was a searing sensation that filled every muscle and joint in his body. The wound on his chest hindered his breathing and the icy air didn't help.

Minutes passed by yet it felt like eons. All that was seen were blankets of fresh white snow that embraced everything they touched. Achillean shivered as he continued to walk, the sharp sensation throughout his body getting worse by the second. He wouldn't be able to continue like this for much longer.

Achillean could only hear the snow crunching under his feet along with a shrill and sore ringing in his ears.

His legs were knocked out from beneath him by the sudden and powerful wind. He fell hitting his head against the harsh, hard snow.

His breathing became stiff as each breath became pure agony. A great deal of fatigue now weighed on his body and his vision was more than blurred. A headache came over him due to the ringing in his ears, but he could not do anything about it. His shivering had increased tremendously and his wounds were much more severe compared to before.

In an attempt to keep himself warm, Achillean hugged his chest and brought his legs towards his torso. The pain at every action was unbearable, yet it was no match for the cold...he was no match for the merciless treatment he was receiving from it.

Black spots clouded his vision. A wave of peace washed over him, yet he felt numb. He felt...tired. He longed to go into eternal sleep, to forget about all his problems and responsibilities, to leave everything behind.

A fearful dullness established in his markings and a slight flicker appeared from time to time.

Achillean listened to this desire and closed his eyes, hoping to never wake up again. The last thing he saw was a figure running in his direction.

~•~

Rather than being in the middle of the forest, Achillean woke up in a soft bed. He fought the struggle to keep his eyes open but failed. Even after sleeping for god knows how long, he was still remarkably exhausted. He groaned as he tried shifting his body into a different position.

"He's awake." A voice whispered to another. The voice sounded so close yet so distant at the same time.

"Achillean..." A faint voice called out. "Go back to sleep, it's only been an hour."