Swallowing, his saliva tasted thick with blood. His limbs ached, burned; scarred with the wounds of the fight. They splashed water on him, lathered oils on his skin, yet he did not feel any relief. The bite of the sword had wrought on him such agony - horrible images spun round and round in his head intermingling with flashes of terrifying pain.
'Let me die,' he prayed in the darkness of his mind, lost in the lightless midnight of his fever.'Let me join my wife wherever she is. I am not afraid. Let me die.'
His son, Lysander, remained always at his side, ever-vigilant. Yet his father did not hear him speak, or feel him hold his hand, unknowing to the loving diligence of the boy. Tears ran silver ribbons down the young man’s face as he looked to his most beloved father, wraps soaked with the crimson stain of blood. The wounds never ceased to bleed, weeping furiously. The healer soon returned, trying to replace many of the dirtied cloths, cleanse the deep gashes, but only in vain.
"He does not look good, Lysander," said the healer-woman, looking to him with clear blue eyes among the most striking he had seen. They were mystical; as if he looked in them too long he would be drowning in their deep pools. "The wounds are deep and serious, and he has bled far too much already. I have done everything I can for him."
Lysander hid his face away in the safety of his hands, masking the new tears. The ethereal woman walked to his side, gliding across ground as if on thin air. "Do not fret, young man. Zeus will take care of him. He shall rest peacefully in the Elysian Fields. There is no reason to worry."
He looked from his hiding place, to those mysterious, knowing eyes. “How do you know? How do any of us know for certain of our destination in death, and the choices the Gods make for us?”
“Have faith, Lysander,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I should know most of all, as I am Asclepias, the Goddess of Health. And I am afraid I can no longer be of use to your father – the time for his demise has come, and not even I can prevent the inevitability of Death. I am sorry. Know that we are all grateful for what Ajax has done on Earth; he has fought and defeated a great many evils. His time has come, and, with it, an age for new heroes.”
Ajax died with the passing of the night into morning, the pink dawn bringing color and bloom to his lifeless face. News was spread all across Greece of the Hero's passing, and a great many tears were shed. Lysander himself did not shed tears any longer, knowing his father was in the company of Gods, dwelling in the comforts of Elysian Fields. In his heart, lingering with the sadness, was furious determination, an unwavering resolve bring the justice of vengence to Ajax's killer.