( chapter two. . . )

𝔑𝔦𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡𝔫'𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 the last time he'd felt this dense. A deep-seated pressure undulated in the center of his forehead, bringing forth starbursts of heat and light to his eyes, hidden behind a sheen of darkness; his eyes were closed. It took nearly all of his illusive strength to reach up and touch the pulsing pain. Tentatively, he felt his fingers brush and scrape lightly against the frayed cloth. Someone had tended to his head. His stomach flipped with unease as he let his shaking hands drop to his sides, suddenly all too heavy. The surface was plush, smelling oddly musty. Quilts. Nicolas finally opened his eyes.

In the first instance, all he could tell was that he was housed in a dim stone shell, smelling profusely of lavender and rosemary. Nicolas gave pause, affronted by the sudden change in scenery. He was sitting in a small nook of a room, and a large, roaring fire flickered in the hearth. He could feel the waves of heat warming a black iron cauldron that bubbled animatedly in the gloom. An expansive, high wooden table ran horizontally in front of it, earthen shadows from the fire dancing upon the knick-knacks laid on the weathered tabletop. He noted that a little chest of drawers was lying open, with little vials and jars positioned in an orderly manner around it. As Nicolas turned, he also took note with an alarming shock that the window inlaid in the short stone wall a few meters from the table had darkened. Rain pelted and slicked the glass from outside, accompanied by a distant clap of thunder—a typical storm again.

With a scoff, he resumed his acclimation to the new space, his eyes moving slowly over the straw and dust coating the large gray stone floor. The grooves between the stones were caked with the grime of age, though some parts had a slight sheen to them as if they had been trodden on recently. His interest was piqued; whose quarters was he intruding on?

A slight groan interrupted Nicolas' wondering. At such an unexpected sound, his body seized, freezing. The sound of bed sheets rustling made him turn completely. What lay there beside him in another bed astounded him.

A girl, appearing no less than four years old, was sleeping soundlessly and still as dead in a bed identical to his. Questions overtook Nicolas, his body leaning forward to peer closer to study the new person. It seemed like something was moving on the surface of her olive-toned cheeks, where a thin red scratch cut into her skin. His eyes widened in awe when he saw that the wound was getting smaller and smaller until it was nothing but an innocent scar that marred her from temple to cheek. Her skin had healed itself!

Not waking, she rolled over to clutch the lumpy pillow to her body, shivering involuntarily. While there was a fire in the hearth, it did little to stanch the marine chill leaching in through the stone walls. The boy found himself jostling in his coldness as if feeling it for the first time.

Clutching his hands to his arms and rubbing them to induce warmth, Nicolas' nose caught the delectable aroma of roasted beef and vegetables. Next to him on a stool, to his delight, he found a small dented metal plate, piled high with food. An untouched goblet, the perfect size for a little boy like himself, was holding water to drink. A small piece of parchment stood at the base of the cup. Enjoy carefully, it said.

Suddenly too overcome, Nicolas all but snatched the plate and dug in, the mixed flavor of cooked meat and complementing herbs bursting in a flood over his starved tongue. Eyes widening in shock and relief, he ate the meal ravenously, never seeming to get enough into his mouth. Finishing quickly, his hands grappled for the goblet, and Nicolas gulped down the oddly refreshing liquid. He detected a hint of spiciness, though he gave no care to it. Pausing a moment to breathe, his eyes found the sleeping girl again as he held the cup to his lips.

A sudden thread of odd foreboding and intrigue squeezed his chest as Nicolas studied the still body across the way. He couldn't help but wonder who the strange girl was for a moment, the tang of the water numbing his parched tongue. With his eyes trained solely on the raised pink scar on her face, he set the cup down; he'd never seen skin stitch itself together before! It was like magic, surely.

"You're awake, I see." Nicolas's attention tore away at the sound of another voice, splitting the quiet like a dagger. The next absent sip he took from the cup lodged obtrusively in his throat, leading him into a staggering fit of coughs as he choked. Lost in spasm, a woman came up to him, hurriedly patting his back in an attempt to settle him.

As the breath came easier, Nicolas took stock of the new presence beside him. A tall, beautiful woman smiled at him in relief. She held the regalness of a queen, and his heart pulsed with memories of his mother. The sage green of her eyes seemed to melt in such a way that it tugged at his heart. The warmth inlaid in her smile turned his stomach. Her ochre curls were tied loosely to her face. Immediately, the boy felt himself relax; the action shocked him deeply. Nicolas didn't know what possessed him enough to dare trust this stranger, but something in her maternal presence made his heart ache for home.

All he could do was stare as his stricken eyes blurred in a sting of tears. The urge to collapse into her embrace was starkly overwhelming. Nicolas's grief seemed, for a moment, lost on the woman as she busied herself in her assessment of his injury. The distant pressure of her soft fingers on his tender head numbed him as the anguish finally spilled heavily down his chaffed cheeks. The woman's eyes found him in the next instance that he sniffled, at the mercy of his melancholy. Her mouth turned down at the sides, seeming to carve her face in worry, her gaze searching his quickly.

"You're alright now, darling," she assured him in a soft, accented tone. The boy stiffened at the press of the woman's palm against his heated cheek, her delicate thumb slowly removing the wet trail of tears from under his eye. "You're safe."

Nicolas shook his head, his caramel curls trembling as another wave of despair took him. All he wanted was to go home, away from this strange place. He didn't belong here! The familiarity of his bed, the silken, warm sheets, and the security of his family, now dead, were too much to bear. His limbs ached, his stomach churned in nauseated circles, his tired heart palpated heavy like a stone in his chest, and fear was a permanent resident in the back of his mind. He wasn't safe! He yearned deeply for the steadfast stone of his home.

"I want to go home," Nicolas whimpered desperately, his throat thick and dry. He coughed hard; he barely felt the flame of pain pressing into his chest. The staggering weight of desolation hung densely on his little shoulders. "Please," he continued, pushing away the woman's soft hands. He couldn't stand another touch; he wouldn't! "Let me go home!"

The woman hushed him softly, shocked at the next moment of the child nearly falling into her arms. He heard her release a soft sigh and then the reassuring grip of her arms as they wound around his backside. There, desperately clutching onto the woman, Nicolas cried. Deep, racking sobs of heartbreak, pain, and confusion. Nothing else could be heard in the small caverns except the wail of his grief and the distant roll of thunder. Wave after wave, the desolation intensified, and he thought he would surely die. All the while, the woman's hushing voice was a muted buzz against his damp hair. A light pressure held him afloat.

"W-who is that?" Nicolas asked, his small voice rough from his tearful sobs.

She gave a distant smile. "I don't know. No one does," she said. Nicolas followed her raised finger, staring at her calmly. "Do you know who you are?"

The boy straightened, putting on a semblance of pride. "Nicolas."

"Ah," she mused, taking the roll of bandages in hand. "I suspect your head hurts a bit, hm?" Nicolas nodded slowly, wincing as the pain radiated around the back of his skull, now strongly evident. "I have just the thing for that: willow bark. I'm Lady Sona, by the way," she added as she gave him the mug of tea. "Drink this. Not too fast, please."

"You're... A healer?" Nicolas guessed. Sona nodded sharply, her eyes turning warm.

"That's right."

Nicolas gave the room and the woman a nervous glance, gripping the mug and drinking deeply. It had an earthy taste, reminiscent of soil, after a fresh, steady rainfall. His nose twitched at the gritty essence that sank into his tongue, narrowing his eyes in infinitesimal disgust. At this point, Sona laughed softly.

"It's not the best taste in the world, I'll admit," she hummed. Against the gloom, she took the cup from Nicolas as he drained it, placing it on the tray between them. Sona gently pressed him back against the stained pillows as his vision of her began to blur, the pain in his head lessening. Nicolas hadn't realized how profoundly exhausted he was until Sona left his side to adjust the quilts around his body. The minute strength he possessed was fleeting, leaving bit by bit as the tea finally took full effect on him. He pushed it away as a sense of panic struck him; he froze, his eyes blowing wide.

"What will happen to me?" He asked, his voice slurring as he fought the alluring pull of sleep. He dared touch her hand, squeezing with an urgency that made Sona hush him and rest a hand on his head gently.

"You must rest, Nicolas," she said softly, too delicate over the static hum of the hurricane outside. A mere whisper, there and gone in moments. "You will feel much better once you've slept."

Sona made to turn, taking her supplies with her with a glance at the sleeping girl. He followed her gaze, his heart pulsing oddly faster, seeing the younger child's sweating frame tremble and jolt in a fit of erratic sleep. She was curled in on herself, whimpering, and her distressed face seemed to gleam with tears. Nicolas wondered about her; could they both be safe here overnight? What if someone came to harm them? Sona saw his unspoken concern and sighed, placing her things down.

"No one will come for either of you. Not while you're under my charge, I promise. Anyone who does will answer me." She smiled, though her olive green eyes sharpened with determination. Her hand had ghosted over her waist, and Nicolas saw the slight glint of a blade, secured there under the tie of her apron. In equal parts, this made him fear the woman and be comforted by her. He couldn't tell which was stronger, as she then let go of his hand with a squeeze and left him to sleep.

Her frame blurred some more as Nicolas watched Sona check on the sleeping girl. The last thing he saw was her whisper to the child, soothingly wiping down her clammy face with a damp cloth. She had adjusted the bedclothes on her bed and drifted out of the room, his eyes finally closing as he welcomed the embrace of sleep.

XXX

Two years have passed since the harrowing night Nicolas arrived on Telmarine soil. He never saw that strange baby again, as she had been removed while he was sleeping. Sona had told him that Lady Purnaprismia came to call on her wellbeing; she had been promptly taken under the woman's care. She was safe. Nicolas had no clue who that person was, and he hoped the baby was now in better spirits. The brighter news helped him quench his strange anxiety about the little girl. He hoped he could see her again someday.

 Now, Nicolas was left to his own devices. No one knew of the Archenlandish boy's presence under Sona's care. As much as she worked to avoid making him feel burdensome, it was clear that she was afraid. He could tell how Sona carried herself since the little girl was cleared of her charge. Her stance was stiffer, and her gaze was dark with worry and layers of fear. Her hands trembled as she crushed her herbs into poultices. She appeared more frazzled and easier to startle as the number of days in their shelter increased. Sona only frowned now, her expression tight and her hands cold and shaking when she checked Nicolas's injuries over the next few weeks.

"Sona," Nicolas whispered one day. He may be young, but he could admit that he was perceptive. Something was wrong, and it was very profoundly bothering the woman."What's wrong?"

The woman paused in cleaning his cuts, her pale fingers gripping the linen cloth tight in her fist for a moment. Her sage eyes moved over his inquisitive face, and her frown deepened, turning the boy's stomach with foreboding. She rolled her peach lips into her mouth, turning to dip the cloth into the bowl of a stinking, clear liquid that burned his nose. When she pressed the cloth into the deep, healing cuts on his cheek and jaw again, he winced at the sting. She knew Nicolas was curious and was far from blind; he could see something different. However hard she tried to hide it, she knew he would come asking questions one day. She hadn't been as good as she thought.

The truth was, something was wrong. Small and fleeting as it was, darkness encompassed the castle, infecting the courtiers and lords. It was only a matter of time until the demons testing their strongholds broke in, defiling all within with evil. She could see as much as anyone else how much envy had captured the heart of Lord Miraz, showing in hints of poorly hidden hate and malice as he stood at his King's side. It was apparent to anyone with proper eyes that something formidable was building between the two brothers.

Sona's dear husband, Dante Glozelle had allowed her to have such information. As the man was the captain of Caspian IX's battalion of soldiers, he told her that the power of the King's rule was grating on Miraz. While also being stationed as Miraz's guard, he'd witnessed outbursts, evil words, and promises said behind closed doors. It broke Sona's heart, knowing his wife, Purnaprismia, never knew anything. The esteemed lady was an acquaintance of the healer. Her friend was a benevolent soul and she never deserved such a vile, cold man as Miraz, if you happened to ask Sona. Countless times, she had reminded her that she should leave him for someone who respected her, but as always, Prunaprismia refused to listen. Sona hoped she could gain sense eventually before it was too late.

The healer had much to pray for and easily added in her friend's welfare. Such an act of faith was frowned upon in the castle, but Sona managed to keep it under wraps. After all, there was nothing more powerful than hope in a place where heathens were glorified. She had passed her faith onto Nicolas, who quickly became her son. Because she and Dante could not conceive, the boy's fateful presence and warmth were a true blessing from the Lion. She cherished every moment with him. Collectively, the couple had decided it best to adopt Nicolas, and they wanted to surprise him when the time came. Sona had planned a nice dinner as a family. Dante was working on securing a gift fit for the boy. He said it would be small, but special. Nicolas hadn't had anything good and bright in such a long time. It was long overdue. However, the adverse circumstances surrounding castle life have put a notable damper on the promise of the planned festivities.

Sona hoped that letting Nicolas in on the growing conflict wouldn't lessen his spirits. So, finishing her fresh bandaging of the boy's cuts, she took one of his hands in her own, squeezing gently as she prepared her words. Nicolas followed her movements patiently though his mind was running along with all the possible things she could say.

"Do you remember what I told you about the King?"Sona began slowly.

She had told him the basic truths: King Caspian IX was the prime leader in the castle, with a son a few years older than Nicolas. He would be the King after the current one passed. Nicolas remembered the way she spoke about several lords that stood as the King's trusted advisors, and that one of them was his younger brother. He was a brute of a man, Sona had said with much surprising disdain. Miraz? Nicolas didn't care to remember the name. He was the King's brother and he was a father, too. In sum, it was a large, powerful, and honestly complicated family lineage. Thinking of who was who and what they did makes Nicolas's young mind pound.

"Yes," he said."What about him?"

"There is talk," Sona continued. Nicolas did not miss how her soft voice wavered with trepidation. "People know that something will happen, something bad. They think a coup may happen soon, due to Miraz's impulsive and reckless behavior that shows in the King's private sessions. Dante knows the truth, he has seen it. Both there and outside the court. There are clear plans that Miraz means to take the King's throne for himself."

"What?"Nicolas couldn't grasp the concept. From what he could remember, the King was a kindly, benign man. He remembered this from his first night in Telmar. He cared for his people and wanted peace; why would someone want to take that away?"Why?"

Sona nodded in understanding as she turned to the bubbling cauldron of stew she had put on the fire to warm. It was Nicolas's favorite, and she admitted she wished this wasn't the conversation they were having while he enjoyed it. It was one of the things she had worked so hard to surprise him with when Dante came back for the night so they could share the news of his adoption. Nicolas saw what she was doing and sat at his spot at the high wooden table as Sona dished out the food. She brought three bowls over and continued her story. Distantly, the heavy oak door opened with a creak that echoed through the room; Dante had returned. Her heart gave a little thrill.

Sona looked over her shoulder with a smile as Dante passed through the doorway, a wrapped object clutched in his grip. He came into the kitchen, gave her a small greeting kiss, and she shook her head."Don't worry about it now. It's only rumors, anyway."

"What's only rumors?"Dante questioned pleasantly as he took a seat at the table.

"What's happening in court," Nicolas replied with a mouthful of stew. Dante paused, glancing at his wife. She met his gaze, biting her lip. Her stomach tightened with worry. If Nicolas was ever found to know about the proposed palace coup or even that he was here at all, housed by closeted traitors...

The thought brought a cold chill dripping down Sona's spine. She resisted a shiver, hiding behind the chewing of the meat and vegetables in her supper. There was no question of what would happen if they were discovered. Sona would be rooted out and imprisoned; Dante stripped of his rank and likely banished; Nicolas would possibly be killed just by association.

The boy's words made Dante's expression fall into shadow, his kindly eyes darkening in contempt. Today, Miraz publicly opposed many of the King's demands and was swiftly told to leave the advisory session. Glozelle had been ordered to follow him and ensure Miraz didn't make any more trouble. As a result, he was the brunt of the lesser lord's frustration. This display of insubordination was typical, but it was different today. Miraz, in his anger, proposed the unthinkable.

Dante couldn't fathom it; the entire thing was impossible. He couldn't, in good character or standing, bring himself to do something so wicked.

The hope was, in the lord's mind, to stage a mutiny. That his brother's men had turned against him, claiming allegiance to Miraz. From there, the idea was to uproot Caspian's entire family and start a new rule. Although it was a small notion, Miraz was driven mad by the possibility. The insanity was bright on the man's face as he spoke of this vile dream. It wasn't theoretical anymore. He then asked Glozelle to head the endeavor with the choice of a few men to reach the other soldiers' quarters. Although this was the first step of many, Miraz voiced with absolute certainty that it would all be foolproof.

He asked for time to give his answer; he had three days. If he refused, their silent life together would be over. If Dante did as he was ordered, it would mean higher status, glory, and riches. He couldn't ask for anything more for his family. Sona alone hadn't seen proper sunlight in weeks, as little as Telmar happened to get. It would educate Nicolas, and if he asked, he would be recognized as his son. The boy would have friends and a life to build. Yet, the motive...

Dante sighed heavily as his mind began to run with impossible choices. It was abrupt enough to pause Nicolas and Sona, one of whom frowned warily, her eyes turning grave. Nicolas had a spoon of broth suspended in his grip as he had been about to put it in his mouth. Dante dropped the gift he had brought on the oak tabletop as if it had burned him. The collision shook the dishes, the lit candle flames shivering.

"You should not know of such things, boy," Dante warned acutely. His gaze darkened to molten coal. "Don't give in to gossip."

"But," Nicolas swallowed dryly, his expression tight and wary."What if it's true?"

Dante glanced at his wife, who studiously cast her eyes on her meal. Her movements were stiff; she had told him something. He gave a noise of disapproval, then sighed softly, working his features to reassure the boy. Nicolas's curiosity was a real strength and commendable; he had a student's mind. Today, that trait is dangerous. Giving him answers would only place him on a dark, doomed path—one he could not partake in.

"Don't worry yourself."Glozelle gave a placating smile."Better to move on to brighter things, yes?"At Nicolas's slow nod, he indicated the small, tightly wrapped package on the table. With a glance at Sona, he pushed it into the boy's reach. "Like this."

"What is it?" Nicolas asked, pleased and wondering what the surprise gift could be. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze moving toward both Sona and Dante in question.

Sona grinned, the brilliance, however, barely reaching her eyes."Why don't you open it and find out?"

With an excited grin, Nicolas did just that.He eagerly untied the thin length of leather that bound the thick velvet wrappings to the object, throwing aside the materials without care. The dim light of the candles astounded the boy, bringing out a loud cry of shock and awe. The sound made the adults' hearts warm, one with pride and the other in pleasure at the boy. Nicolas lifted a freshly forged sword, thin and sharp, perfectly balanced with his size. Large enough to use with room to grow.

As Sona watched Nicolas toss the hilt of the weapon slowly between his hands, her heart shivered in fear. While it was a great gift, her vision told of the boy, one day, fighting for his life in battle and losing. In the image painting her mind, deep red blood leaked from his chest, and he fell, gasping on his sword, still and unbreathing. Dead.

She blinked the nightmarish thought away as she felt her arms touch her. Blindly, she matched Nicolas's beaming smile as he placed his gift gently on the table, coming around to hug both adults tightly.

"Thank you so much," he gushed, grateful for such a beautiful item. He couldn't wait to use it! To build his skill and maybe become a mighty knight one day. But he couldn't help but wonder."Why did you give this to me?"

"Well," Sona began, her throat thickening with love. Nicolas stood there, all illuminated dreams, a beautiful heart, and a past too horrid to wish on her worst enemy. She glanced at Dante, who smiled, nodding for her to continue."We thought it was only fitting because you've been such a gift to both of us. You deserve something as strong as you are."

With her eyes misty with tears, the woman smiles, tucking a loose golden curl out of Nicolas's heated face. Her palm runs softly and lovingly over the round of his freckled cheek, stilling for a moment before she drops it to cradle both her hands in her lap.

"We wanted to ask something of you."Dante's voice broke the comfortable silence, making Nicolas turn to him, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. The man got up, walked over, and crouched low at his wife's side. Equaling the boy's level, he reached to place a tender hand on the boy's small shoulder. It was a solid pressure, secure and real. Elated, Nicolas's stomach flipped as he waited in a buzzing silence."Do you like it here, living with us?"Dante asked softly, his tone roughened but friendly.

Immediately, Nicolas nodded. It was a quick, earnest movement that joyously made his curls dance around his face. His eyes widened, and a smile spread fast over his lips.

"Of course!"He adored the little life he came into, the people he could call family now. They filled a void berthed by violence, fear, loneliness, and shame. How could he not appreciate it?"More than anything."

"Would you want to be our son?"Sona asked, her words coming quickly because of her building anticipation. She took a deep breath and was suddenly faced with the unadulterated shock of the young boy as his eyes snapped to her. Dante laughed aloud, his strong shoulders shaking slightly."Officially?"

"Really?" Nicolas couldn't believe what he was hearing! A family, a true family. They loved him, cared for him, and guided him and his dreams. It was a beautiful song he wanted to sing, forever. The answer to all his prayers. His expression dropped, not knowing what else to say. It was more than he could ever hope; beyond anything he could deserve!

"Really."Sona smiled unapologetically now, her chest filled with so much happiness she feared that she was fit to burst. She took both Nicolas' hands, squeezing them tight, and held him like an anchor."Only if it's what you want, love. Is it?"

There was a sudden flurry of movement. Nicolas had all but attacked Sona in an embrace. She laughed to herself, warming him as he clung so desperately to her bosom. All too quickly, the plain cotton of her dress was soaked with the boy's tears of joy. She hugged him tighter as he muttered his gratitude to her, without relenting. Dante covered the other side, bringing the new family into a close-knit bond.

It was a few long, beautiful moments before they all dispersed. Sona had calmed the boy, wiping the streaks of tears from his reddened cheeks as he sniffled messily. Despite his rumpled countenance, he was beaming, content with the turn his meager life had taken. A while later, his mother gave him a hot drink he gulped down, savoring the wash of sweet apples and clove over his tongue. His new sword gleamed against the sleepy light of the hearth—a tiny and lethal object forged with a thick, short silver blade, inlaid with Telmarine sapphire and gold, with soft black leather-wrapped for comfort around the hilt. Useful and practical for his tender age.

Dante sat opposite him at the table as three plates of hot pie were enjoyed between them. Dante cleared his throat before looking at his new son with grave intent.

"I can go to the King in the next couple of days to get you recognized as our son. Nicolas, it would have to be done quietly, so you cannot tell another soul of this. Is that understood?" His father looked at him steadily. Nicolas swallowed the last of his drink and nodded in understanding. He knew that Dante could take the necessary steps to safeguard him, for he had ensured it for the last two years. There was no reason to doubt that this was any different.

"Yes, sir." At this, Dante chuckled.

"That's my boy," he said proudly."Let's see how you can handle your new sword, eh?"Dante hoped that, with practice, Nicolas could become a practical recruit for King's battalion. He could keep a proper eye on him, and protect him from Miraz's leeches. It was a small dream, but as he watched the boy take up his weapon, he saw the beginning of the great potential needed for a great soldier.

The couple prayed that this would help him grow into a life of light. Nicolas deserved to be a man of honor and peace, which Aslan would be proud of. Yet, they would not be around forever. Their influence could only help so much. In the end, it all came down to a choice, which Nicolas had to bear. They hoped that, when faced with the opportunity, their son would make the right one.

NOTE: 

THANK YOU FOR READING! 

Any thoughts so far? I know this update took FOREVER, but I'm trying. <3