What If: Lakshman Died on the Battlefield? 

Only if he's given Sanjeevani before the first ray of sunlight hits his face, only then will he ever wake up.

They've tried everything, at this point. Little blocks of ice, all the herbs they still had left, even careful drops of alcohol to cleanse the wound. Ram can't help but wince at the sting each time Lakshman does, can't help but hold his hand tighter. But Lakshman just smiles weakly at him, as if everything is fine. As if Ram is the one that needs comforting.

Hanuman is taking long, longer than he should be, in Ram's opinion. He can feel his heart racing, blood rushing in his ears and the vague sense of nausea crawling up his throat. In the background, the monkeys are scrambling everywhere. Nal is screaming at Neel to quickly bring more branches. They're constructing a makeshift tent to shield Lakshman from the sun rays, in case Vibhishan's prediction was to be taken literally.

Ram clutches Lakshman's palm, breathing loudly. But Lakshman's breathing is oh so quiet, raspy, labored. "Are you okay, Laksh?" he mumbles for what must have been the fiftieth time that night, but he can't help it.

Jambavan has returned from his venture into the forest with a stone bowl that's cramped with crushed leaves. Ram knows that they're running out, knows that this concoction is weaker than the last, every attempt less likely to substitute for the Sanjeevani, to make it all better. But he still holds his breath, waiting, as Jambavan pours the mixture into Lakshman's trembling mouth.

As soon as the last drop is gone, Ram leans over his brother's body, casting a shadow on him as the moon watches sadly from above, helplessly pulled from her reign in the sky.

"Lakshman. Lakshman, did it help?" He's practically shouting now, shouting at his poor brother.

He can tell that he's loud by the way Lakshman angles his head away slightly. He can also tell that the herbs didn't help by the way his brother's body twitches with pain at the movement.

Still, he waits for a response. Lakshman crinkles his eyes like he knows Ram does when he's trying to look comforting. Lakshman tries to pretend he's okay. And Ram can tell that he isn't.

"Something else, Jambavan ji!" he begs, trying to fold his hands together. But he can't bring himself to let go of Lakshman's, so he clutches the younger's dirty, bloody one in his own dark palms.

Jambavan looks away, unable to tell lies or the truth to his lord. Yet dutifully, he ambles off again.

The sense of urgency isn't lost on the army. Angad is constantly jumping about the shore, squinting at the sky. Some are gathering large, fan-like palm leaves. Others are out scouting for whatever herbs they have left. The final few are trying to assist Sushen.

But they're all waiting for Hanuman.

When Ram isn't staring at the sky, he's staring at Lakshman. And Lakshman is staring at him. His lips are cracked, his face is dirty and darkened with dust instead of the glowing gold complexion he's supposed to be. There's blood seeping into the cracked Earth from the jagged cut on the back of his head. His hair is matted and clumped together, stringy like a hermit's.

Not the prince he was. Not like Ram's most prized possession.

His eyes, the only thing Ram can bare to look at any more, the only thing still unharmed, are half closed. Ram won't let him close his eyes, is right there to pry them back open if Lakshman tries. But Lakshman doesn't try, even if the conscious world is more painful than anything he's ever experienced before.

"Hey, I know you want to sleep. Bhaiyya will let you sleep as soon as you're all better, okay?" Ram whispered, his voice clogged with the lump of tears in his throat. "But you can't close your eyes now, okay?"

Lakshman chuckles, but his voice sounds hoarse and dry. "How could I sleep when my bhaiyya is commanding me not to?" And Ram knows that it's bad for him to talk, but his brother's voice reminds him that Lakshman is still alive. Lakshman continues, swallowing even as his face contorts in pain.

"All these years, I have been awake bhaiyya. How could I sleep? There's something I've promised you."

Ram clamps his mouth shut lest he start bawling, rocking back and forth on the ground as if Lakshman's a baby. "Oh?" he whispers, voice muffled through his fingers. "And what's that?"

Painfully, with his split lip and bloody teeth, Lakshman smiles up at him. "That I'd see your coronation, bhaiyya."

He tries to roll his head back towards Ram, but stops midway, grimacing.

"It's what I have been wishing for." he breathes. "The only thing. You know, I've tried to follow dharma too. I've tried not to wish for anything but good in my life. This is the one time I've hoped. God wouldn't take that away from me."

His voice is full of trust.

Ram smiles, trying to mute the invasive background thoughts that are wondering where Jambavan and his herbs are, where the monkeys are, where the promised tent is, when Hanuman will come. Because in his mind, there was only Lakshman and him. Alone.

"Of course," he assures, trying to muster every bit of confidence he ever had in Hanuman. In God. In the world. "They wouldn't. God is merciful. You'll see my coronation."

He wouldn't take you away from me, after all this.

Lakshman hums in satisfaction, though it sounds more like a small whimper. Over even the worried chatter of the monkeys, Ram can hear the crickets chirping.

Yes, the crickets are chirping.

When the moon is shining, the crickets are chirping, the wind is blowing, and the sky is blue, how could Lakshman possibly die? On a night just like any other night, when the stars dared to twinkle and the waves could still crash, could his mighty Lakshman be taken away from the Earth? No! It was impossible!

Ram looks up and finds Sushen walking back towards him with a large bag slinged across his bony shoulder. With a small groan, the aged medic sits down next to his brother, and Ram looks at him impatiently, still holding Lakshman close in his lap.

"Prabhu," Sushen murmurs, with more than a little wariness in his voice. "Would you please move your hand? I need to examine the wound."

Ram hastily does so, and watches Lakshman's gaze drift from him to Sushen, unable to look at the ghastly wound itself. "Alright, this will hurt a little bit," Sushen warns, before slowly touching the wound, closing his eyes.

Ram can see the pain register in Lakshman's mind, can see his mouth open in a silent groan, can see what little color is left in his face slowly drain away. It doesn't return, not even after Sushen removes his hand.

Everything is silent. Ram looks up. "What?" he asks. There's no response. He can feel anger rush up his spine. "WHAT?"

"Let's pray that Hanuman returns soon." Sushen mutters, head bowed.

Ram blinks, before looking down at Lakshman. Lakshman is looking up at him, trusting as ever.

"Bhaiyya," he begins, and Ram leans in, almost too eager to hear whatever encouraging words Lakshman is surely about to say.

"Bhaiyya," His voice is even quieter now. "Tell Urmila-" he cuts himself off, struggling to choke up the words. "Tell Mila I love her. I've always loved-her. I think of her....every second of-" he coughs, a little blood staining his lip. "-of every day."

It's the last straw. "Shut up! You're going to tell her that yourself, you coward." Ram barks, and finally finds it in him to shed a single tear, a lotus crystal that trails down his cheek and plops on Lakshman's arm.

Lakshman stares at it, swallowing. "It's okay, bhaiyya. Sometimes, things happen. I'll watch your coronation-don't cry."

Ram nods again, reassured. "Good." he sniffles, wiping away any other tears that collected at the bottom of his eyelid.

A moment passes. Then a whimper. "It hurts, bhaiyya." Lakshman rasps, spasming slightly. The white bandage is fully red again now, but Ram is too scared to peel it back.

"It feels like-" he cuts himself off, tightening his lips. "I can't see you anymore."

Ram looks up sharply, grabbing Sushen's arm as he's leaving.

"Bhaiyya," Lakshman mumbles, finally scared. "I can't see you anymore! I can't see-" He trails off, mumbling incoherent words.

Then he goes silent. His lips have begun to turn blue and his hand has stopped twitching even slightly in Ram's grasp. The only things still alive about him are his eyes, which don't dare move lest they be dragged away from Ram when Lakshman is blind.

Which gaze at him with all the everything that there's always been when he looks at Ram, because Ram could never call it love.

It wasn't love, that puny, meager thing that people had. It was something otherwordly. It told Ram that Lakshman would do anything for him. It wasn't loyalty. It wasn't devotion. Mortal, human Ram can't find the words to describe it.

"Lakshman," he begins anxiously, shaking his brother's cold body. "Lakshman, just say something." And Lakshman tries, opening his mouth before closing it.

Ram's heartbeat is racing again.

He tries to tell himself that he's just worried about his brother not being able to see, not being able to speak. He tries to console himself ; maybe it was all for better that he didn't move. But deep inside of him, some part knows his worry stems from an ugly and selfish desire to hear Lakshman's voice and be allowed to pretend that everything is fine.

Lakshman isn't even moving now. The trembling of his hands has stopped, and even the rise and fall of his chest is slowing down.

Ram starts to shake. No, no, everything is going wrong. When was Hanuman coming? When was it all going to be better? The midnight blue is already turning into that pale cornflowerish color that signals the arrival of dawn.

Lakshman's breathing becomes wheezy, loud, little droplets of blood splattering his saffron dhoti when he exhales, and all at once, Ram's baby brother is dying.

Begging to see something other than his worst nightmare coming to life right before them, Ram's eyes dart up to see that the orange glow of the sun is faintly visible from the mountain peaks. "NO." he yells, grabbing Lakshman tightly. "NO, STOP IT! STOP IT!"

"HANUMAN!" Angad's yell echoes and damn him, if it isn't the best sound Ram's ever heard.

His head, along with every other one in the camp except for Lakshman's, swivels around to watch excitedly as the faint silhouette of Hanuman becomes visible in the sky.

It's as if the Sun is chasing the monkey. He comes closer, and the glow of the Sun follows him determinedly, not too far behind. But the distance is enough that Ram dares to hope, licking his lips and sitting up, loosening his grip on Lakshman.

Hanuman lands with a great deal of dust rising up from the ground, and Lakshman is hoarsely coughing up mucous and crimson blood, but Ram can't hear it, because Sushen is running up to the giant monkey and the mountain he's brought to gather the Sanjeevani herbs.

"Sorry I was late," comes Hanuman's booming baritone, a hint of worry behind it. "I couldn't find the mountain."

But Ram has no time to reply, for the sun hasn't stopped its savage ascent, and Sushen is running towards them, practically crushing the herbs in his hands to save time. He looks at Lakshman belatedly, because none of them doubts it anymore.

"Laksh!" he's laughing, shaking his brother to try and animate him. "You'll be able to see it! My coronation!"

Lakshman looks up at him too, but there's something resigned in his eyes, something limp in his stature. His mouth down quirks a little, and Ram's smile fades slightly. The excited rushing of his heart slows.

But it's nothing, right? Just Lakshman's pessimistic nature. His fighter brother could never surrender, certainly not to something as fickle as fate!

Lakshman would live, right? The herbs would work, right? Everything would be okay. Right?

Sushen is mashing them with the heavy pestle as fast as his frail wrists can work, and then he's picking out the remnants of the leaves, and it's all suddenly taking so long. The sense of laid-back relief that Ram had felt just moments ago suddenly disappears.

The urgency returns. The nausea is back. "Go faster, Sushenji." he urges, for no reason at all. Because the sun is so far away, and he, the herbs, and Lakshman, they're all here, miles away from the rays. There's nothing to worry about.

Finally, it's done, and Ram watches with bated breath as Sushen lifts the bowl up, murmuring something under his breath. Lakshman painfully swallows the herbs.

There's silence.

A second passes.

Two seconds.

Ram is practically bouncing from worry.

A burst of color rushes back into Lakshman's graying face. He gasps a loud breath. His skin is golden and red again, all in one second, and his eyes turn wonderous as they stare up at Ram once more. He's the dreamy boy who followed Ram around everywhere, all over again. There's that look in his eyes that Ram loves.

Ram cannot smile at the miracle for some reason, even though there's muffled cheering from the monkeys in the background.

It must have been that his nerves that weren't cooling down. It must have been his own disbelief.

But it's okay now, he tries to think. Everything is okay now. And he was supposed to be happier about this. It was all supposed to be happier. He chokes out a laugh. "You're all better! You can sleep now, Laksh, see? You just had to wait!"

There's nothing but silence and even breaths. It's not enough.

"Lakshman? You're okay, right? Nothing hurts, right? It's all better, right? You can see, right?" He waves a hand in front of the younger's eyes, desperate for words.

Lakshman is just gazing at him, for some reason. "Bhaiyya," he rasps, and his voice has thinned so much from the pain that Ram can't recognize it anymore.

He lifts his hand to try to reach forward, touch Ram's face, but cannot. "Bhaiyya."

"Bhaiyya is here," Ram whispers, trying to lean down and touch Lakshman's hand with his cheek, but too late, for the younger's arm drops.

"I can see you, bhaiyya." Lakshman laughs, voice soft, looking at something that was beyond Ram. "You're a constellation in the sky. You're wearing a crown of twinkling stars. My Ram bhaiyya, king of the heavens. Maharaj Ram. You're smiling at me...for the first time in so long. Bhaiyya-"

Ram is impatient to hear the words he really wants to. "Yes, but it doesn't hurt anymore, right?"

And then Lakshman's eyes focus on him. On the Ram in front of him, the one without the crown of stars and robes of velvety night sky, the one with the blood stained saffron cloth and the tear-beaded eyelashes. He loves this one more.

"Yes," he wheezes, satisfied after years of await. "Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts at all."

A trickle of blood makes its way out of his mouth.

He exhales.

Ram exhales.

Then, his head has fallen back against Ram's thigh. His hand, which had been suspended in the air, is limp and hanging against the ground. No more words come after. His chest has stopped moving.

Ram stares at him, expectant.

"Lakshman?" he asks, confused, because Lakshman could never fall sleep so quickly. "Lakshman?" His voice wavers, because everything had finally been okay.

There's no response at all. Lakshman's staring up at him, but it's only a blank stare. Not even as it was when he had been blind. There's no emotion. There's no hope. There's no affection. There's nothing.

 Lakshman is nothing.

"Lakshman! LAKSHMAN!"

Ram is roaring now, shaking his brother violently. The camp is shaken to reality with his voice.

All the vanar shouts are drowned out as Ram's own cries become louder and louder until the Earth is shaking and the waves are trembling simply from the sound that's coming up from his throat. The King of the Heavens had fallen down to the Earth.

The vanars are running all over the place. Some have dropped their momentary festivities. Others are stumbling about in confusion at their lord's cries. Few have realized it.

Hanuman is standing there, hands limp by his side. He's still short of breath from the miles long flight. Those gasping breaths are slowly turning into sobs.

But Ram cannot see any of this. He cannot see the sun rising, but a dawn that Lakshman will never see. He cannot feel the warmth, only the coldness of Lakshman's hand. He cannot hear the shouts, only the silence left behind by his brother's words. He cannot see anything but Lakshman.

It's always just been him and Lakshman. Lakshman and him. There's nothing else in the universe to him but the man with the crown of stars and the boy who held them reverently in his eyes.

The blood on Lakshman's mouth is already drying, creating a trail of crusted maroon on his shining skin. There's no heat left in his body, which had, all at once, become frigid and cold.

The brand new bandage Sushen had wrapped on his body is still a pale white. His blood has stilled. His heart has stopped. His lungs are empty. 

His face is still golden. His cheeks are still flushed. His dark eyes are excited and see something none of them can. Beyond existence, he watches his dreams unfold.

Ram stops shouting meaningless questions and starts screaming in pain.

A/N: My very first chapter. Let's all thank Amita for finally persuading me to publish this. Thank you Amita! Thank you, reader!

The idea of this kind of depends on Lakshman never fully falling unconscious, because he had promised Ram never to fall asleep for too long, or because of Nidra Devi. Because he wasn't unconscious, he didn't have the rest his body needed to properly recuperate with the help of the herbs, and wake up. The herbs merely kept him alive long enough to see his dreams come true, and then he passed away. 

It's kind of a cruel thing to happen. I'll come up with more variations on this prompt. But till then, goodbye!