Autumn Nights - A Narnia Oneshot Challenge

Saving Grace

Prompt: Golden

Peter tapped on the door.

"Come in."

Peter walked inside. Susan sat at the edge of the bed, nursing the invalid back to health. Corin, the invalid in question, lay in his bed, cold cloths pressed against his bruising, shirtless ribs.

"Ah, the deviant prince," Peter tutted, smirking as he approached the bedside. Corin scowled. "Care to tell me how you got yourself into this one?"

Susan rose, intent on giving the high king and his guilty ward privacy.

"Please, don't be too hard on him," she whispered. Peter nodded.

He lowered himself into Susan's chair, his mouth and brows drawing into solemn lines.

"Look, boy, I've been easy on you before. But you're a squire of Narnia now, on your way to knighthood. I can't have you continuing these boyish pranks—"

"It wasn't a boyish prank."

Peter raised his eyebrows. Bold of the boy to interrupt the High King in his moment of discipline.

"I don't care what you say, or what Peridan says, or even what Queen Susan says: the faun boy had it coming."

"And I'm sure the same goes for your ribs and his cloven hooves."

"Quit teasing!" Corin yelled. But the force of his yell against bruised lungs hitched out a violent cough. He groaned, clutching at his chest in pain.

"Easy—" Peter rested one hand on the golden head and another on the cold compress against Corin's chest. "You're lucky you didn't shatter your ribs and tear your lungs."

Corin stared at the ceiling.

"Do you want to tell me what's really bothering you?" Peter prompted.

The prince swallowed hard, jaw working as he clenched his teeth.

"I'm not jealous of Cor," he said.

"What?"

"I'm not jealous that Cor is going to be king. I don't want to be king. I've said that from the beginning. I'd rather be here in Narnia with you. Princes have more fun."

"I know that. We all know that."

"But the only reason that Cor is crown prince is because he's the eldest. It's not because I would be a bad king, or because Cor is Father's favorite—"

The high king furrowed his brow, listening.

"I'm not the scraps. I wasn't a replacement." The boy's face was fiery red, his eyes glassy as he continued looking up, not daring to blink.

"You're right. You're not the scraps. You never were." Peter said softly.

Corin swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "Father always looked sad on my—I mean our—birthday...I know he didn't mean for me to know. He thought I didn't see. But I did."

"Corin..."

"Sometimes I wondered if he would have been happier if I was the one who was gone and not Cor. Maybe he only loved me because I was all he had left."

Peter didn't say anything for a moment. Corin still didn't look over.

"You know none of that is true, don't you?"

Corin nodded. "Just don't like hearing it from snotty fauns, that's all."

"Well, he isn't my ward. It's not my job to discipline him."

"Lucky him."

The high king didn't react.

"I'm sorry," Corin said, turning towards Peter. "You've all been good to me and I've been a beast. Especially this afternoon."

"It's alright. We've all been there."

"Thanks."

Peter nodded. "And Corin?"

"Hmm?"

"I know you said you know those things aren't true, but never forget how much your father needs you. Losing Cor was hard enough, but losing your mother a few years later—you were his only source of sunlight, Corin. He would kill and die for you a thousand times. For Cor, too. Don't ever think you were the leftovers. You were the saving grace."

Corin gave a weak smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Anytime." Peter rose and headed for the door.

"Does this mean I get off without punishment?"

Peter looked back over his shoulder. "Your punishment is deferred until you're feeling better. But once you can wield a shovel again, you're mucking out the stalls for a week."

When the high king turned, a pillow smacked the back of his head. Corin, propped up with one elbow, grabbed his ribs and groaned.

Laughter rang from both of them, golden as the hair on their heads, golden as the crowns that sat atop them. Golden as the hearts that beat within two broad chests—one, albeit—a little bruised.