Drukkari fanfics/oneshots?

myshoesarecrocs

Warning this one is sad

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35111221

Death and decay hung in the air. The stale heaviness of sickness wafted through the city, drenching the streets with misery. Barely a soul was in sight in what was once a bustling city, the cobblestones dusted over with dirt from disuse. That night it was being washed away by a cold rain, chilling those caught outside to the bone.

One of those few people was walking briskly through the street, head tipped down to avoid the rain. His shoulders sagged with the weight of what he was about to do, right hand gripping the mask he so hated. Dressed in black robes, he never felt so much like a villain.

The height of the plague was upon Europe, wiping out nearly everyone it touched. He'd seen whole cities crumble under its attack, unable to do anything but watch. His usual aloofness was lost to him as he became one of the only who could comfort those who were on their deathbed.

Druig rapped his knuckles against a wooden door, slipping his doctor's mask over his face. The smell of herbs assaulted him, stuffed into the long nose of the mask. Donning that and his robes, he looked like the reaper coming to collect his dues.

A woman with tear-rimmed eyes answered his knock, holding a white kerchief to her nose. The moment she saw him, she broke into a fit of sobs. He was used to this by now, merely pushing past her out of the rain.

The home reeked of sickness, humid from the fire they'd built to keep their loved one as comfortable as they could. He lay on a cot next to the fire, sweat coating his body as he trembled under the blankets.

Druig clenched his fists, willing himself to relax. He'd done this more times than he could count, what was one more?

"How long?" He asked to no one in particular.

"Four days."

He turned his head down to peer at a young girl, probably no older than sixteen. Her dark hair was pulled out of her face, and she sat with a boy in her lap. They looked exhausted, as if their grief had taken everything out of them.

"Your father?"

She nodded, glancing back at the sobbing woman, "And my mother."

Druig didn't acknowledge her as he strode toward the bedridden man. Pulling back the covers, he winced at the tumors on the insides of his thighs, black spots already spreading across his arms. Death would find him soon.

Pulling up a chair, Druig sunk down into it, taking the man's frail hand. His eyes fluttered open, and he squinted at him, "Doctor?"

Druig nodded.

"Am I...going to die?" He asked, pausing to catch his breath between words.

Druig hesitated. Why did they always have to ask him? He wouldn't lie to them, the people he tended to. It was cruel to give hope when there was none. Nonetheless, it wasn't easy to tell someone their already short life was coming to an end.

"Yes." He said quietly, feeling a slight squeeze from the man's hand as he held it.

The man's eyes closed, and he let out a choked sob. The sound cut through Druig's chest like a dagger, lodging in his mind to haunt him later.

"Your name, sir?" Druig asked softly.

"Charles."

"Do you have a last will and testament?"

Charles shook his head, the action physically paining him, some of the tumors lining his neck from the plague having ruptured, "I leave everything to my wife and children."