It started when he got his feet under him, knowing she was right and that they couldn't linger here. He was listening to her speak, could feel her shoulders beneath his arm, and then everything changed. He could feel it, that familiar burning ache in his side. His skin felt as though it was on fire, and though all he wanted was to be left in his misery, still they pestered him.
"Don't touch me." He pushed away from her, ending up stumbling a few steps and leaning against the wall opposite. They wanted to keep him here, hold him down. The physician had hacked away at his hair as if that would stop the fire consuming him. Someone had thrown water in his face, he could still feel it on his skin. He managed to walk a few steps, could feel the canvas of the tent against his fingers as he did, and then he stumbled again, landing on hands and knees.
Everything had changed again. It was hot sand beneath his fingers now, the sun relentlessly beating down on him, feeling as though it cooked him inside the chain mail. And ahead of him, a Saracen holding Much by the hair, ready to slit his throat. He couldn't speak, his words caught in his throat. He tried to push himself to his feet, got part of the way and fell again. And when he looked up again, it was Marian in Much's place. "No..." It was a choked whisper. His bow was gone, he could not stop her death. The blade slid across her throat, blood spilling out over her perfect skin, her beloved voice cut off mid scream.