[PASSAGE] The Death of Invincible (Arthas: Rise of the Lich King by Christie Golden)
"No," Arthas whispered, and struggled to his feet. The world went black around the edges and he almost lost consciousness again, but through sheer will hung on. Slowly, he made his way to the panicked animal, struggling against the pain and driving wind and snow that threatened to knock him over.
Invincible was churning up the bloodied snow with two powerful, unharmed rear legs and two shattered forelegs. Arthas felt his stomach heave at the sight of the limbs, once so long and straight and clean and powerful, hanging at odd angles as Invincible kept tryinf and failing to stand. Then the image was mercifully blurred by the snow and the rush of hot tears that spilled down his cheeks.
He slogged toward his horse, sobbing, dropping to his knees beside the maddened animal and trying to do--what? This was no scratch, to be quickly bound so that Invincible could be led to a warm stable and hot mash. Arthas reached for the animal's head, wanting to touch him, to calm him somehow, but Invincible was manic with agony. And he kept screaming.
Help. There were priests and Sir Uther--maybe they could heal--
Pain greater than physical shot through the youth. The bishop had gone with his father to Stormgarde, as had Uther. There might be a priest in another village, but Arthas didn't know where, and with the storm--
He shrank back from the animal, covering his ears and closing his eyes, sobbing so that his whole body shook. With the storm, he could never find a healer before Invincible either died of his injuries or froze to death. Arthas wasn't even sure he could find the Balnir homestead, even though it could not be far. The world was white, everywhere save for where the dying horse, who trusted him enough to leap off an icy embankment, lay churning up a steaming crimson pool.
Arthas knew what he had to do, but he couldn't do it.
He would never know how long he sat there, weeping, trying to shut out the sight and sound of his beloved horse in agony, until finally Invincible's struggles slowed. He lay in the snow, his sides heaving, his eyes rolling in torment.
Arthas couldn't feel his face or limbs, but somehow, he managed to move toward the beast. Every breath was agony, and he welcomed the pain. This was hid fault. His fault. He took the great head into his lap, and for a brief, merciful moment he wasn't sitting in the snow with a wounded beast, but sitting in a stable while a broodmare gave birth. For that moment, everything was all just beginning, and not coming to this shocking, sickening, avoidable end.
His tears fell on the horse's broad cheek. Invincible trembled, his brown eyes wide with now-silent pain. Arthas removed his gloves and ran his hand along the pink-geay muzzle, feeling the warmth of Invincible's breath against his hands. Then, slowly, he eased the horse's head from his lap, got to his feet, and fumbled with his warmed hand for his sword. His feet sank in the red puddle of melted snow as he stood over the fallen animal.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."
Invincible regarded him calmly, trustingly, as if he somehow understood what was about to happen, and the need for it. It was more than Arthas could bear, and for a moment, tears again clouded his vision. He blinked them back hard.
Arthas lifted the sword and brought it straight down.
He did this right, at least; pierced Invincible's great heart with a single ,strong blow from arms that should have been too chilled to do so. He felt the sword pierce skin, flesh, scrape against bone, and impale itself into the earth below. Invincible arched once, then shuddered and lay still.
...
Arthas craned his neck to look at the body of the horse he had named Invincible. He would let them all think it was an accident, because he could not bear to tell anyone what he had done.
And he made a vow then and there that if anyone else ever needed protection--that if sacrifices had to be made for the welfare of others--he would do it.
Whatever it takes, he thought.
Invincible was churning up the bloodied snow with two powerful, unharmed rear legs and two shattered forelegs. Arthas felt his stomach heave at the sight of the limbs, once so long and straight and clean and powerful, hanging at odd angles as Invincible kept tryinf and failing to stand. Then the image was mercifully blurred by the snow and the rush of hot tears that spilled down his cheeks.
He slogged toward his horse, sobbing, dropping to his knees beside the maddened animal and trying to do--what? This was no scratch, to be quickly bound so that Invincible could be led to a warm stable and hot mash. Arthas reached for the animal's head, wanting to touch him, to calm him somehow, but Invincible was manic with agony. And he kept screaming.
Help. There were priests and Sir Uther--maybe they could heal--
Pain greater than physical shot through the youth. The bishop had gone with his father to Stormgarde, as had Uther. There might be a priest in another village, but Arthas didn't know where, and with the storm--
He shrank back from the animal, covering his ears and closing his eyes, sobbing so that his whole body shook. With the storm, he could never find a healer before Invincible either died of his injuries or froze to death. Arthas wasn't even sure he could find the Balnir homestead, even though it could not be far. The world was white, everywhere save for where the dying horse, who trusted him enough to leap off an icy embankment, lay churning up a steaming crimson pool.
Arthas knew what he had to do, but he couldn't do it.
He would never know how long he sat there, weeping, trying to shut out the sight and sound of his beloved horse in agony, until finally Invincible's struggles slowed. He lay in the snow, his sides heaving, his eyes rolling in torment.
Arthas couldn't feel his face or limbs, but somehow, he managed to move toward the beast. Every breath was agony, and he welcomed the pain. This was hid fault. His fault. He took the great head into his lap, and for a brief, merciful moment he wasn't sitting in the snow with a wounded beast, but sitting in a stable while a broodmare gave birth. For that moment, everything was all just beginning, and not coming to this shocking, sickening, avoidable end.
His tears fell on the horse's broad cheek. Invincible trembled, his brown eyes wide with now-silent pain. Arthas removed his gloves and ran his hand along the pink-geay muzzle, feeling the warmth of Invincible's breath against his hands. Then, slowly, he eased the horse's head from his lap, got to his feet, and fumbled with his warmed hand for his sword. His feet sank in the red puddle of melted snow as he stood over the fallen animal.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."
Invincible regarded him calmly, trustingly, as if he somehow understood what was about to happen, and the need for it. It was more than Arthas could bear, and for a moment, tears again clouded his vision. He blinked them back hard.
Arthas lifted the sword and brought it straight down.
He did this right, at least; pierced Invincible's great heart with a single ,strong blow from arms that should have been too chilled to do so. He felt the sword pierce skin, flesh, scrape against bone, and impale itself into the earth below. Invincible arched once, then shuddered and lay still.
...
Arthas craned his neck to look at the body of the horse he had named Invincible. He would let them all think it was an accident, because he could not bear to tell anyone what he had done.
And he made a vow then and there that if anyone else ever needed protection--that if sacrifices had to be made for the welfare of others--he would do it.
Whatever it takes, he thought.