𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃 || Tirian of Narnia

Chapter Three: Paradise

Pale dawn crept into the edges of Tirian's vision like clawed metal bleeding rust into stone, piercing hazy retinas as the thunder of hoof-beats stabbed through his skull and every jarring footfall dragged his bones down, aching to fall, to end, but somewhere in the back of his burning mind he knew he couldn't.

He had to hold on, white mane in his fists, black fur at his thighs, the warmth of blood under his tunic long since having gone cold in the sharp wind, still stinging, polluted lightning through his core.

Dew-drenched grass lashed at his ankles, the world a grey blur, swimming, lurching, falling.

And at last the singular thought that he had to hold on slipped out of reach just as Jewel's hooves clopped over stone instead of earth and a commotion went up around them, the noise drifting as if from miles away.

Air claimed him, and then the strength of familiar arms as the earth tilted and his head fell back against someone's shoulder, lowering slowly, surrounded by a rush of voices he vaguely knew.

Someone was shouting. He thought it might have been his father, though he could no longer remember why that mattered.

His eyelids fluttered just enough to make out a familiar grey beard and blue eyes, vision swimming in the light, mind swirling, drifting, lost.

The voice was right over him now. He'd never heard it like this before, panicked, terrified. "What did you think you were doing?"

Tirian wanted to say something, he should have said something, but the moment he tried to breathe he only coughed, white hot pain stabbing his midsection like lightning cracking his ribs, a pathetic squeak escaping his throat. His vision flickered black, numbness flooding the base of his skull as the world blurred grey again.

The arms around him tightened and the voices hurried in their murmuring. He thought he heard Jewel, even Cinder, though he couldn't tell what they were saying, and then his father's voice bellowed again, as if from a long way away, under water.

A moment or an eternity later a shadow crossed him and the patter of light feet skidded to a halt as a girl's voice gasped "Here, your Majesty."

The arms around Tirian shifted and he dropped a little, voice cracking in a small moan.

Then something cool washed through his middle, the oppressive pain subsiding, washing away, evaporating, as if leached from him.

Breath rushed into his lungs and he gasped, coughed, the effort still sparking pain but not enough to shatter him. He took another deep, free breath and his eyes fluttered open to a small crystal bottle as it was handed back up to someone. He thought vaguely that he recognized it from somewhere. And then his eyes wandered to his father's face, tears glinting in the King's eyes as he sighed and nearly collapsed into Tirian's chest.

A rather stupid and lazy grin tugged at the corner of Tirian's mouth. "I told you giants couldn't be reasoned with," he murmured, voice raw and cracked, and before he knew what was happening his father had pulled him into a tight hug and Tirian yelped, half laughing, half wincing in the warm and crushing embrace.

"Easy," he gasped, "I'm bruised all over."

The hug tightened for a second before Erlian drew him back to arm's length and gripped his shoulders with exasperated laughter in his face. "You deserve those for your rashness, you foolish boy." He ruffled Tirian's hair, and Tirian swatted him playfully away, still half-sitting in his lap just inside the gate of the western courtyard, the first warm rays of dawn piercing the morning chill and splashing over the stone.

He also became suddenly aware of the crowd of horses and knights around them, and realized with a flood of memory that his father was meant to take a party out to meet the giants this morning. They must have been just about to set out just when Tirian showed up.