Ned's real death

Nedwin paused near the hearth. The bright flames hurt his eyes. The warmth bothered his skin. Every instinct screamed for him to withdraw.

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Nedwin threw himself into the fire, squirming until he was settled at the heart of the flaming logs.

Everything inside him recoiled. Every instinct screamed that he must flee. He was not in pain. The worms, maybe—not him. The fire was everywhere. Warm, not hot. It had seemed bright and horrible, but now he found it almost relaxing. He smelled it consuming him. His eyes were closed. He was not dying. He was already dead. This was just the end of his worn-out body. He had stayed sane through it all. Sane enough, at least. He had done his duty. He felt certain that Galloran would be proud of him, and the thought gave him comfort. He could no longer smell the burning. He could no longer hear the logs crackling. His hardships had ended. No pain would haunt this slumber. At long last, Nedwin rested.

Chapter 33