Disclaimer: I sort of own the OC and I sort of don't. I mean, Lewis wrote about him, but I wrote him, if you understand my meaning. Anyway.
Rhosin started out of a feverish sleep when his bed suddenly dipped. He flailed his arms out to catch himself, rapping one hand against wood while the other struck a soft bundle, eliciting a wail. Where are my covers? My chambers? My – And then he remembered.
He was out on the open sea.
He sat up – an action that made him feel terribly woozy and achy – and scooped the infant into his arms. "Hush, little one," he rasped. "I did not mean to strike you." The child's crying subsided a little, but his face puckered up again and he opened his little mouth further. Oh, no, no, please…. "Please don't. I know, I know." He set a pendant into the little writing fingers, which promptly set the treasure into the toothless mouth.
Rhosin could not bear to watch the infant search for relief, so he leaned back and turned his gaze to the moonlit waves. Water surrounded them for miles around and yet it only made him thirstier. How long has it been? He wasn't sure he could trust himself to determine the length of days they'd been out at sea, or how long ago his stomach had first rumbled, or how long his tongue lay swollen in his mouth, or when the weakness and aching had set in. Rhosin let his eyes close. He used to love the smell of the sea. Now, he groaned under its mockery.
The child's sucking noises caused Rhosin to observe him again. His little face, pale from lack of a couple days' nourishment, was made paler still by the light of the moon. His eyes, round and blue as the sky, roved about, taking in his own fingers, the stars, Rhosin's gaunt face….
What have I done? Rhosin had no tears to spring into his eye, but his heart wept as surely as a mother mourns a lost child. I am sorry, little one. I should not have…. We were wrong. I can ask no forgiveness, I who have brought you out here to perish.
The moon rose higher and they rode the waves in silence. At long last, the baby's eyelids drooped closed. Rhosin's threatened to do the same. He leaned his head back.
Then came a voice, very small, little more than a faint whisper on the breeze. You yet have one more task before you.
I cannot, he answered.
You must.
I have not the strength.
A new sound reached his ears, hardly any less faint than the voice itself. Rhosin strained to make it out.
Row.
Rhosin forced his eyes open and raised himself up. His head pounded and he gasped for air, but he stayed up. His arms trembled as they reached for the oars, but he splashed the oars into the water all the same and pulled. The sound of nearing breakers upon a distant shore roused a determination in him, making each stroke a little stronger than the last.
Do you hear that, little one? You will live. We have only to reach that land.
The moon illumined the baby's slumbering face and shone upon the pendant still clutched in his little hand.
You will live. Favour smiles upon you. You will live.
Stroke after stroke, laboured breath after laboured breath….
I will not be able to protect you. I cannot bring you home. I wish I could.
He ached and burned all over. His fingers were loosening their hold.
This is what it is to exile a prince.
He sank back.
I do not ask your forgiveness…
The pain dulled.
… but perhaps one day, Prince Cor, you can forgive me all the same.
So passed Sir Rhosin of Archenland. Under the silver moon, the boat continued onward till it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive it.
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