𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐘 || A Narnian Autumn Writing Challenge (Oneshot Book)

17. Inheritance

archenland // year 1031
prompt: "acorn"
word count: 2,365

xXx

Cor's eyelids fluttered, muted light filtering in like knives to his corneas, head swimming as the world drifted hazily back into focus around him and pain sparked in his side at the faintest breath, the sting of torn flesh deepening into a suffocating ache from his ribs down to his left thigh.

His fingertips grazed silk sheets, curling only the barest fraction of an inch before giving up on the movement, a shallow breath escaping his lungs at the effort.

For a moment it all rushed back—the blade and the heat and the rush of battle, the wind knocked from his lungs, and the sickening haze afterward. Distantly, he almost thought he heard that chilling note of rare panic in Aravis' sharp, commanding voice, but when he blinked again it vanished, and he found himself gazing up only into the familiar arched ceiling of the quiet, empty royal bedchamber.

The curtains must have been drawn, heavy orange light slanting dimly in and casting wavering patterns over the solid oak beams criss-crossing overhead.

Late afternoon, if he had to guess.

How long had he been out?

Something rustled beside him and he turned his head just enough to glimpse the little figure hunched over and cross-legged before it glanced sharply up at his movement, Ram's tear-stained cheeks and wide brown eyes for a moment evoking a boy much younger than nine.

His curly mop of dark hair fell around an olive face that resembled his mother only in color, Cor's own squarish bone structure and delicate nose reflected back to him like a mirror as the boy dropped whatever he'd been playing with, scattering onto the bed with a light, hollow rattle like wooden beads.

Cor smiled, his weak voice soft and scratchy when at last he mustered the energy to speak. "I've had a guard all this time, have I?"

The boy looked down. "Not the whole time. Mother wouldn't let me in while the healers were here." His brown fingers fiddled with something small and round, and his voice fell off distantly, for a moment laced with faint horror. "People sure do have an awful lot of blood in them, don't they?"

Cor smiled sympathetically and then winced when his breath came in too sharp and sent a twinge like fire through his side, breathing out again slowly, calming the snap of adrenaline that flooded in with the pain. "Where's your mother?"

"She had to meet with the general, and…" Ram screwed up his little face, evidently in an effort to remember the message he'd been meant to pass on. "Someone else. About the battle. Do you want me to fetch her?"

"No," breathed Cor, "she'll come when she can. I'm only sorry I can't help her right now. Or… likely for another few weeks." He turned his head, shifting an arm as if to prop himself up, but Ram's small hand settled on his shoulder, and he glanced back to his son.

"Mother told me to stop you if you tried to move."

Cor breathed a knowing sigh at his wife's foresight, cursing her lovingly in his mind, but Ram's dark eyes never ceased to churn with painful, innocent worry, flicking down to his father's side where the piercing pressure of tightly bound bandages told of damage one didn't need to see to believe.

"You won't ever do it again, will you?" he asked tremulously.

"What's that, son?"

Ram flushed and hung his head. And Cor understood. The boy knew better than to say what he was really thinking. He knew as well as any other boy his age that it was cowardly to run from battle, but the knowledge so easily instilled by nursery rhymes and his uncle's wild heroic tales looked rather different when met face to face.