Swallowing, his salvia tasted thick with blood, and his limbs ached, burning with the wounds of the fight. Ajax felt the water they splashed on him, and the oils they lathered on his skin, yet he did not feel the relief that they brought. The bite of the sword had wrought on him such agony-horrible images spun around in his head, flashes of pain terrifying him, unaware of where he was.
'Let me die,' he prayed in the darkness of his mind, lost in the lightless midnight behind his eyes. 'Let me join my wife wherever she be. I am not afraid. Let me die.'
His son Lysander sat at his side, though he did not hear him speak, or feel him hold his hand. Silver ribbons of tears streamed down young Lysander's cheek as he looked at his father, cloth wraps now almost completely soaked with Ajax's blood laid over the lashes which bled most furiously. A healer soon returned, beginning to replace many of the cloths, though in vain.
"He does not look good, Lysander," said the woman, her clear blue eyes one of the most striking eyes he had seen. They were almost 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 hands in his face, tears wetting his palms. The young, beautiful lady walked over, gliding across the ground like she was floating on 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 up. "How do you know that, woman?"
Her eyes glittered playfully, "Did you not guess, I am Asclepias, the Goddess of Health." They dulled, somber and dark. Lysander swore they changed to a deeper, indigo blue. "And I fear that my powers can't help your father anymore. I am sorry. We all are grateful for what Ajax has done on Earth, he has fought and defeated great evils. But I am afraid his time as come, and come with that an age for new heros."
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 many tears were shed. Lysander, though his heart sad and tinged with fury, did not show another tear, knowing deep within him, his father was in the company of Gods in the Elysian Fields, and vengence would soon be wrought on his evil killer.