Day 1: Young Cor
Cor ignored the burning sensation at the back of his throat. He was NOT sick. He didn't have time to be sick.
He parried the short sword heading for his throat and retaliates. Cor is heading for the next assassin before his last opponent is even on the floor.
The ground under his feet moves and Cor fights to stay standing. He is NOT sick! Not when Clarus is barely recovering from the poison and he's the only one who can protect Regis.
The last assassin is dead before Cor reaches them, dead by the Prince's hand. Cor pants as he draws breath after desperate breath into aching lungs. He was NO…
He wakes up staring at the ceiling of a caravan with no idea how he went from protecting Regis to lying down in bed. Cor tries to push himself upright but the mere movement of his head sends him back into unconsciousness.
Cor can hear voices around him. He knows he should be up and about. Knows that he needs to protect them. Soothing hands are placed on his forehead, whispered words calming his feverish mind before something cold and oh so good, is placed over his eyes.
He dreams of his empty home, his parents screaming at each other, accusing each other if the worst things. He dreams of fighting against big hands that hurt and push and never stop. He begs and whimpers as they keep pushing him to train as his hands bleed around the hilts of weapons.
He dreams of bigger hands, soft and safe, that quickly brushed the hurtful ones away. He dreams of a coarse voice talking to him softly when he whimpers in fear of the silence.
Cor dreams of food that wasn't rotten or disgusting, picked from trash cans. He dreams of being cleaned with gentle hands and warm cloth.
Cor is sick, he is young and he is safe.