Autumn Nights - A Narnia Oneshot Challenge

Haemanthus

Prompt: Sick
Setting: The October following the events of HHB
TW: Serious Illness, grief

He wished he could believe she was resting in a painless, natural sleep, not induced by herbal remedies. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to block out the image seared into his mind from a half hour before, the queen's muscles rigid from the fever that seized them. She arched her back and jerked in strange, sporadic movements, coughs tearing from her throat and shaking her graceful form like a rag doll clutched in a giant's fist. Edmund sprang forward, grabbing her twisting shoulders, trying to push her down. The king shouted for help and Corin raced to fetch the healers.

Susan's temperature dropped after the spike and she shivered beneath layers of sweat. He wanted to put a blanket on her, something to ease her chills—but the healers said no. He'd protested so hard that they'd asked him to leave, and King Edmund shuffled him out of the room, speaking to him in a low, steady voice.

"You've got to listen to them, they're the ones that know what they are doing."

Anger boiled in his veins. "Do they? Because I've got plenty of examples of the opposite—"

"Corin, please." Edmund's face was shadowed with fatigue, "This is difficult enough already."

The prince bit his lip, blood seeping through his teeth, iron sharp on his tongue.

He was let back in once she was in a steady, gentle sleep and the healers had finished.

Now, room empty save for two souls who had been laughing with each other just that morning, Corin became the queen's watchman. The weight of her limp body still lingered in his arms, his throat sore from shouting. It had come on so fast, the way she stumbled and murmured something about being dizzy, holding her head with one hand. He could still see her eyes unfocus.

White-bale fever. That's what it was. That's what it always was, wasn't it?

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he watched the slow rise and fall of the queen's chest, breaths hitching and sticking every few minutes. He swallowed the lump in his throat, blinking back the hot prick in his eyes.

His stomach rumbled.

He hadn't eaten since breakfast and eventide was swift approaching. Sighing, he caved to nature's limitations and left to find Queen Lucy.

Shutting the door behind him, his ears pricked at hushed, urgent voices. Lucy, King Edmund, and the healers stood at the end of the corridor. Edmund's face was drawn, weariness creasing his oft-stoic countenance. His hand closed around his sister's.

"But surely—" Lucy protested. "Writing Peter...sending for the cordial. It must be worth it."

Edmund shook his head. "It wouldn't matter. If she's to succumb—Peter wouldn't have a chance."

Corin's veins bulged, heat surging into his cheeks, pooling at the tips of his ears.

"So you're just going to give up?" The monarchs turned at the accusation, eyes widening as he stormed towards them. "Just like that? You aren't even going to try?"

"Corin—" Edmund's voice was low, steady. "We're doing all we can—"

"No, you're not!" He shouted, hands shaking. "If you were doing all you could, you'd be riding back to Narnia right now, instead of sitting here supping—"

"Corin," Lucy reprimanded, stepping forward. Edmund raised a hand to stop her. He looked back at the young prince.

"That isn't a fair accusation, son," the raven-headed king laid a hand on Corin's shoulder.