Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 30: And then there was peace

Warnings for descriptions of hypothermia, vomit, and severe sickness.
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Drowning was a tragic, painful way to die.

The panic made one's head spin, desperate to swim to the surface, but too weighed down to do more than flail and scream. It was impossible not to breathe. It was an aching urge, as the lungs spasmed agonisingly, begging for air. Life trickled away, and one was useless to do anything about it, knowing death was near. It was a harrowing, despairing way to go.

But then... Then, there was peace.

When the struggle became too much and the body surrendered, abandoning all hope, the rest was seamless. As easy and peaceful as falling asleep.

Limbs ceased their thrashing. Lungs took mouthfuls of cool water. Lids closed and lips gaped open, and soon, the brain went blissfully quiet.

Ella didn't know how long she drifted in that state of ease. Her body floated like a feather, her mind lost in a fuzzy place far away from all worries. It was dark and nothing hurt. No cold, no pain, no war. Only sweet, soft nothings.

She might have floated in that in-between state for centuries, or perhaps seconds, but soon, too soon, she was yanked into the real world.

The real world hurt.

Ella came to with a weak, warbled cry. A savage pressure was being applied to her chest, over and over again. Pressing her down like a loaf of dough, pummelling her, almost cracking her ribs.

She wanted to wail and fight back, but she was too weak to even open her eyes. Too weak to even breathe.

Her nose was pinched and her mouth pried open harshly, then, something cold settled against her lips. Puffs of air—over and over again—filled her mouth, and forced their way into her poor, battered lungs.

They filled her inside, like a warm breeze breathing life into her, and soon enough, she could breathe again.

She managed to take three gupping, desperate mouthfuls of air, and she seized over in gags. Water and foam drooled from her lips, but she barely felt it, too greedy for air.

"Thank gods, thank fucking gods," someone muttered over her in an urgent, desperate tone.

Ella continued to hack up water, too weak to open her eyes, or do more than breathe in raspy, shaky breaths.

She hadn't even finished spitting up water when she felt herself being lifted. She was bundled up, and her weak, battered body protested wildly.

"Aedion," she cried, hands pushing against his chest, trying to get away. "Hurts—hurts so much."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, love. I'm going to get you inside. Going to warm you up," he muttered above her, arms tightening around her.

Ella couldn't open her eyes to see, but she felt him moving, and she knew they were going up something. Quick, choppy movements that jolted her like a boat. Aedion whispered soothingly everything she whined in pain, never letting her go, even when she writhed and tried to scratch him, or vomited on his chest.

As soon as he deposited her on the ground, she tried to roll away, desperate for the pain to stop. But Aedion wasn't having it.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, as he began to shuck off her sopping, frozen clothes.

Boots, trousers, shirt, cloak, everything. Ella was too weak and disoriented to feel embarrassed. Hell, she still couldn't even open her eyes.

She did protest, however, when he wrapped her in thick, suffocatingly hot furs.