Heirs of the Gods

Ch 28: Years in the making

Note: This is a POV change! Different character narrating, just a quick heads up to avoid confusion.

TW: Strong violence

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Robin Ironspear was a sickly boy.

At nine years old, it was all too often that he fell ill, taking to bed for long periods of time.

No amount of renowned physicians could manage to keep the frail boy healthy for long, try as they may with their fantastical, sophisticated methods. Bloodletting, daily spoonfuls of pearl powder, snake oil, plasters, baths of ice-filled water. Not any of the treatments worked for long. And so, the physicians simply made do with prescribing an extended visit to Mayfield Park every time his condition became too bad. Something about the sunshine and open fields of the countryside, they said. Good for the lungs.

Mair was of the idea that the charlatan physicians only used this time period to concoct more outrageous practices they intended to experiment on the child. She would have had them all beheaded for gross negligence and fraud if it weren't for her weak-willed husband. But truthfully, these visits did in fact help Robin.

Mayfield Park was one of the many estates of the royal family. Nothing particularly special about it, just another aristocratic country house in the Ilmore capital. It was a comfortably large, yet simple cottage manor known for its cheery buttercup colour, yellow rose garden and unobstructed view of the Rhothomir countryside. The Yellow House, Robin called it since he was a child. It was quiet and unassuming, hours away from any town--private. Mair and Robin took up residence there so often, that staff had been left there permanently. It was more of a second home than anything else.

Mair pulled open the pale curtains surrounding a large window overlooking the estate. Gloomy, early morning light barely illuminated the inside of the room. Adorned in simple white wood furniture and plain cream and pale blue linens, it didn't look much like the room of the royal prince, heir to the throne. It was unfussy and full of children's books, toys and trinkets; Robin wasn't much for the extravagance and luxury, and Mair found it difficult to say no to her son.

Turning her back to the window, she made her way across the creaky wooden floors, absentmindedly nudging a toy soldier and stuffed bear out of the way. They'd arrived at the estate three days prior, and last night had been the first time Robin had been well enough to get up from bed and play. It usually took him two or three days before he mustered enough strength.

She sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle it as she smoothed her heavy skirts. She could barely make out the top of her son's head poking out over the blue coverlet.

Pulling the small side table closer, she laid a porcelain cup on top of the plate and brought the steaming teapot over, filling it with fragrant black tea. Two heaping spoonfuls of honey and a wedge of lemon followed suit.

The bed shifted slightly. "Mummy?" A small, sleepy voice.

Mair turned her head slightly as she stirred the clumpy honey into the hot tea. Golden curls, a smattering of freckles atop a small, uplifted nose. A fist rubbing sleepy, sea-green eyes. It was at times like this when Robin reminded her too much of another curly-haired, freckled person she knew. Rather, had once known. Much younger, much different. 

"Good morning, my love." She passed him the teacup and small plate. "How are you feeling?" Without waiting for an answer, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his forehead. Not hot anymore.

"Mum," he whined, a crease forming between his blond brows. "I feel fine. Much better."

"Do not whine, Robin Ironspear," she said sternly, though without any malice. "It's not proper." Yet, she reached forward and smoothed down his sleep-mussed golden curls. "I'm glad you're feeling better."