Work Text:
Perched on a roof, an average looking boy in a large hat swings his feet back and forth, occasionally hitting his feet against the wall below. He repeats what he hears.
"Eyes rough, jangling armor hurts my ears, back aches, fingers too clumsy for knots. Wind cool, like aunt Elouise's pond. Lips scalded as I sip, warmth blossoms, first kiss in the barn, what was his name?
Tin jangle as the blood spills. Pierre's wrapped body on the wagon to the chantry. five more minutes. my fault."
The boy appears next to the woman.
"You can't save all of them. like Pierre getting sick after you snuck out to Aunt Elouise's pond. You want it to be your fault, so there is a reason and it's not so frightening. But there is no reason. Pierre just got sick. The soldier was never going to live. It wasn't your fault."
Then he waves his hand in front of the woman. A small cloud of black dust appears out of his hands, momentarily covering her face. When the cloud quickly clears, she turns her head, and begins to walk away as if he had never been there. He is forgotten.
He then returned to his spot, listening as before.
If you were to find him, you could ask him why he does this. However, his response will most likely be "It is better to help and then be gone. If I stay, it can be frightening." It is hard to tell who he's talking about, though. He'll say that he wants to "heal the hurt" and "save the small"
When not outside, in the open, he sits in the top of the tavern, still listening for pain. He has a very few friends that can still see him, and he is perfectly content with his life, and letting you just...
"forget."