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[Samzo77]

 Another short, this one about 550 words.  Open to any criticism or tips.  Hope you enjoy.

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Blood dripped from the opened wound.  That damned blood, tainted and cursed.  If only the price had not been so steep, if only he had known beforehand, he might be living and happy.  As it were he was dead and miserable. Though he still breathed, he'd been dead for some time, abandoned to the deep roads, the place where Wardens go to die.  Not the retirement party he would have wanted, but a fitting one.
Braxton had joined the Grey Wardens when he was much younger, formerly a chevalier in the service of Orlais.  He had wealth and status in Orlais, he gave it up for a glory that never came.  There were no blights during his time with the Wardens, no Arch Demons to slay.  Fighting darkspawn meant coming here, to the forgotten depths of the Dwarven people.  It was dark, the enemy was grotesque, and here was where all of their practices were born. It is one thing to kill darkspawn that have come to the surface, it is quite another to go to their home, where they live, where they are created.
In a dark corner he leaned to catch his breathe, with his hand holding back the blood that would drain from his gut.  Closing his eye he saw the dragon, it was sleeping, but that didn't matter, it was still horrific.  This is the Arch Demon that would come someday, that his fellows would sacrifice their lives to stop, all without him. He would be forgotten in the roads.  The visions of the dragon and hurlocks, and ogres that feasted on rotting corpses, it was too much.  He had not slept in days, his mind overcome by the gross images.
He thought of Athan'dra, her beautiful golden hair, and that expression of concern she always had.  He had found it endearing.  The tattoos of her people added to her beauty and mystery.  He knew what he had left behind in Orlais, but what had she forsaken?  He had only known her for a few years, but he was captivated by her none the less, and now he longed for her.  He wished he had not been concerned about their age difference, he being at least a decade her senior.  He wished he had not worried what the other Wardens would have thought.  He wished he had not been so scared of rejection, that he had told her how he felt.  He killed hundreds of darkspawn without fear, why had that been so hard?  He wished. . .
He wished she were here right now, she was one damn good healer, and would make short work of his wounds.  This was not a time to regret life, but a time to end it, while taking as many darkspawn bastards as he could with him.  This was his end, the way it was meant to be.  There was no other possible way this could have gone.  He had seen victories.  He had been vigilant.  Now, he would sacrifice.  His blood began to hurt, telling him of the troop of darkspawn just out of sight.  Surely they felt his presence too, his moments were fleeting.  He stood, left hand over his wound, right hand holding his blade, this was it.  Andraste, let it end quickly.