Caspian traced his finger along the face in the painting, studying again the figures depicted within it.
A strong king, a gentle queen.
She held onto the king's arm with such love. Such care.
Caspian's finger lingered on the hand. He could almost imagine the gentle touch, the love it would hold, how it might feel against his cheek.
He brushed his other hand across his face, attempting to mimic the idea.
Trying to imitate something he so longed for.
Her eyes looked so kind, but there was no life in a painting. No warmth. No love.
The king appeared so calm and steady. So caring. In his eyes, you could see how much he adored his queen.
You didn't smile for a royal portrait, but Caspian could almost see it itching at the corners of the king's mouth as he looked at his wife.
Almost.
But there was no movement here. No joy. Nothing but paint on a canvas, capturing a moment long before.
Caspian's eyes flickered to the mirror hanging beside the painting. A face that strongly resembled that of the king in structure, a nose like that of the queen, eyes that were very much alive stared back.
There was life in this image, but these eyes held no warm love, no caring gentleness.
They were bright and full, but there was an overwhelming sorrow deep within them. A burning pain, a suppressed anger, a spark of fear- unshed tears that suddenly found a way down the reflection.
Caspian blinked, turning his attention back to the old painting.
The king. His father.
The queen. His mother.
The only image he had. He'd spent so many nights here, pretending in his mind what they would have been like. How much they would have loved him, because they must have loved him.
He had to believe that.
He'd hung the mirror beside it so he could see them with him, find any of them inside of himself.
Now, at fourteen, pretending them alive was too hard. He'd stopped telling the painting all the stories he'd been told years ago. Now, he only looked at it to wish- and then cry.
Alone.
The only place he was ever safe enough to do so.
He was glad he looked like them, but he wanted, needed, to know them. Uncle Miraz would hardly tell him anything about them. Caspian stopped asking. He knew better.
His finger resumed its tracing over the faces.
The queen's long dark hair matched his almost exactly. He wanted to touch it, to know her scent. To know her love.
Know her.
Some things he would never have; never know.
He sniffed, rubbing the tear away, only for a few more to fall. He let them go, resuming his staring and placing a hand back against the familiar paint.
The painting hung on the wall, always within reach, reminding him of the parents that were always just beyond.
Slamming footsteps startled him, and he snapped his hand back, spinning around. He hoped it wasn't Miraz charging toward his room, and he frantically brushed at his tears, willing them to disappear.
He could only try to hide them- and hope he looked okay when the door opened.
YOU ARE READING
(Narnia) Broken Pieces -Caspian X- A One Shot Collection
Fanfiction"If only he'd been a little older, then he would have his own memories. But his father and mother were gone, leaving him in a castle, surrounded by people, yet almost entirely alone. Alone without even a memory..." Short one-shots exploring Prince C...
