KING AND LIONHEART | e. pevensie

𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖎𝖘.

Nicolas collapsed against the stone wall, far from prying eyes. The firelight in the sconces was sharp, silver like knives, its burn twice as painful. They each flickered against the cold gray stone, bathing the outsider in icy blankets of metal. In an attempt to hold himself together, he wound his arms around his torso, squeezing the pieces tight. He may appear strong against the cruelty, but he didn't know how much more damage he could take. 

Nicolas was truly falling apart. 

Light hands touched his shoulders, and he barely noticed. His pain rolled through him, growing into a tempest that roared turbulently within him, twisted and nauseating. There was a muddled voice speaking and Nicolas looked up through the din, his eyes wide and panicked. He had forgotten his friends and he glanced up at them from his crouched position on the floor; he must have fallen in the chaos. Caspian stood a little away, his stance opposing, warding off any sadistic soul daring to come near. Whereas, Mattias crouched at Nicolas's level, his eyes holding a disgusting amount of concern, directed solely at him. The boy offered him his hand.

A short, hot flame of rage ignited his chest in the next moment and Nicolas was blindly shoving the boy away, not daring to take in the pity that shone in the prince's navy gaze. He hated it. He hated everything! Swiftly getting to his feet, he was gripped by an intense desire to flee, far away from anyone showing him compassion. Anyone who cared, for undoubtedly, they could be liars. 

Nicolas Davenwood was not weak and didn't want to be regarded as such. Mattias knew him long and well enough to know how he felt about sympathy.  It was for children and that was one thing he wasn't.

"Don't!" he shouted shakily. Mattias stopped immediately, putting up his hands in surrender. He nodded once, knowing he had overstepped. A part of Nicolas despised also that, when wrapped in such a panic, he was like a caged animal. 

Seeing how deeply his words affected his friend, guilt gnawed at him. The notion of Nicolas causing harm only contributed to the deep-seated hatred within him. The pain inflicted by the abuse and its effects wasunknown to them. It would shatter them, and they'd hold themselves responsible.

It was akin to a weighty stone bathed in blazing fire. The nauseating sensation grew stronger as it undulated in his stomach. He fixed his gaze, his face growing more determined as he pressed his hands against his stinging eyes. Stop, stop. He couldn't cry, not in front of them. If he did, Nicolas could never escape it. Just like the stain of his lineage.

Breathing was difficult, feeling too short and static. His body rattled as Nicolas tried to hold his pieces together; he couldn't break them. Not here. He had to leave. In the next moment, he was up on his feet, tripping through the gilded hallway, fleeing the chaos. All he heard was the stinging chime of bells in his ears. His skin became overwhelmed with a heinous and disgusting heat; he wanted to tear his skin off in rivets.

With each turn, the storm grew, bubbling and expanding inside his body. He feared he'd burst into a shower of bone and bloody innards, oozing over the tiles, and running down the walls. Nicolas couldn't push his legs any harder, or run any faster without feeling death itself. His sweating palms grappled with a tainted silver doorknob, heaving it open in a panic and tumbling inside. It closed him inside a dark, quiet room smelling of parchment and aged leather.

The screaming inside his mind built to an unshakable uproar, akin to a ravenous pride of lions thirsty for his blood. His skull pounded, feeling a thousand pounds too heavy to hold on to his neck. With his pale skin crawling with a foreboding itch, Nicolas fell to the ground, right there against the heavy oak door. His knees came up to meet his face as he buried himself away, folded in and squeezing away the hurt, hiding from his impending storm. He gripped his legs tight and closed his tearful eyes tighter, whimpering and moaning at the mercy of vicious, racing thoughts.

There, the boy broke, cracking under the dam as he forged against the pain, hurt, and confusion. The tears flowed thick and burning over his flushed cheeks, unable now to keep them within. His sobs shook him as each wave washed through, drowning him in their malice. Underneath it, he couldn't understand why. He had done nothing to deserve this cruelty. Even in the back of his mind, knowing it wasn't his fault, Nicolas still loathed himself for everything; he was to blame. Maybe that was what he needed. To accept the claims, fall for the lies, and become the monster everyone expects him to be.

He wasn't sure how long he had been crying, but it was a soft, tentative touch on his forearm that stilled him. Nicolas sniffed, slowly looking up. His eyes, red and swollen gave him a blurred and watery image of a shape in front of him It was crouched off to the side, kneeling at his level. A small girl appeared through the candlelight as he blinked away his last tears. The girl was from the professor's study. Peering around further, he could see that he had made it to the library. Warm light from the center mantle cast thick shadows across the room.

Cattia studied him, concern etching her delicate features. Nicolas' chest caved. As he moved, the girl removed her hand, holding it carefully suspended in the air between them. She appeared like she was uncertain as Nicolas bit his lower lip, embarrassed. She had seen him cry. Would she tell anyone?

"Hi," Nicolas said in a coarse whisper. His throat was swollen with stone, he was sure; swallowing hurt. He blinked at her, scrubbing his hand across his sodden eyes. Trying his best to appear stable, he smiled.

"Hi," Cattia whispered, her eyes moving slowly over his face. Suddenly aware of her hand, she let it drop, clasping it in her pearlescent skirt. "Are you okay?"

As soon as she asked him that question, Nicolas's features cracked again, his chest swelled with despair. His mouth trembled as he weakly let out a sob. Before he could stop himself, he fell forward into her arms, where she quickly wrapped him up and held him against her. The pair stayed like that for hours as the poor soul Nicolas Davenwood drowned, falling deeper into the abyss, with no one but Cattia as his anchor.