Dragon Prince One-Shots

One Way Out

ships:
none

word count: 750

original writing/publishing date:
september 16, 2018

notes:
So I binged The Dragon Prince yesterday, and this scenario popped into my mind after Rayla mentioned that the ribbon around her wrist would only get tighter and tighter until her hand fell off. Please forgive me.

Also, I don't usually write scenes like this, so think of it as a small bit of practice. I might turn this into a longer fic, but I'll probably wait until more episodes are released if I decide to do that.

__________

Rayla awoke that night to a crushing pain in her wrist, her breath catching in her throat at the sudden crushing pain. In the dim moonlight she could clearly see the bruise marks that covered almost her entire left arm.

Her right hand flew to her mouth, teeth clenched together as she tried to wait out the rushes of pain. She hastily used her right hand to tug at the binding, but it wouldn't move. It was as if with every touch the ribbon just moved tighter and tighter around her wrist.

It was then that she noticed the blood.

It was as if her skin had been torn after being stretched too far, and Rayla supposed that it had been from having too much skin under too little space. She kept herself quiet though.

Ezran and Callum were still sleeping, they didn't need to witness her pain.

It tightened again, and Rayla bit her lip to keep herself silent.

How funny, she thought, to survive the events of the winter lodge and river, only to be taken down by a simple string.

The bracelet continued to tighten, and Rayla could hear when her bone cracked.

Nausea rolled through her being, and she pulled herself slowly to her feet, making her way to an area separate from the two princes. She took out one of her daggers, holding it loosely above her wrist.

One slice, and the binding would be gone. One slice, and the slow, methodical pain of her wrist being crushed would be gone. But it would be replace with the pain of a lost hand, and the handicap that came with it.

Rayla hesitated.

She'd need a way to stop the bleeding, and at the moment, all she had on her was clothing, the food and supplies in their bags, and her two daggers. Of course, she was surrounded by forest, and wood.

Cauterization, of course.

She began collecting wood immediately, moving silently around their campsite with the precision of an assassin. Rayla was fully aware of how worse burns were compared to cuts, but it was better than bleeding to death. She arranged the wood into a fire, favoring her left wrist with each crushing squeeze off the binding.

It would be over soon, she told herself.

She took a small piece of flint from their supplies, drawing it across her dagger and letting a small fire spark to life through the wood. Rayla let her dagger's blade rest in the heart of the flame. Now she just had to wait.

She was good at that.

It was the bracelet's not-so-gentle squeeze that reminded her of what she was about to do. She felt her bone crack once more, and the pain sent another round of nausea through her, and this time she had to bring herself away from the fire to release the contents of her stomach.

She heaved and heaved until there was nothing left but the dry taste of bile lingering on her tongue.

The binding continued to tighten, shifting the small fragments of bone from where they rested. She had to do it now, to prevent further injury, and to prevent the pain from growing.

Her knife glowed gently when she pulled it from the flames, and she angled it right above her wrist. Above where the binding filled her body with the constant, torturous pain.

She shut her eyes and let the blade meet her skin.

An involuntary cry escaped her lips, but she continued to press down. It was a weird feeling, having your hand go numb as each nerve was cleanly severed. Tears forced their way out of her eyes, and it seemed as if hours had passed by the time she heard the simple drop of a small object to the grass below.

Having a wound seared closed by heat was a weird feeling, and not being able to feel a limb that was just there was even worse.

She allowed herself to cry, and hated herself for it.

But the pain was too blinding for her to stop.

She needed to clean it. She needed to wrap it in something, just to prevent infection.

She barely registered the two princes waking up from her cries, and barely noticed how they swarmed around her. A gentle hand ripping fabric from his shirt and wrapping it around the stump from where her hand once was.

Her hand was gone. Her hand was gone.

And it was never coming back.