A/N: I had writer's block so bad it wasn't even funny. Anyway this prompt and probably the next couple of prompts will be kind of weird. I stole this 100 Word Challenge from an Avatar: The Last Airbender forum so the prompts mostly relate to that fandom rather than this one. However, it just challenges me more to try and relate them to this fandom!

Songs for this chapter (There's two because it took SO LONG to write): "Little Pieces" by Parlour Steps and "Falling" by Florence and the Machine. I know I already used the "Little Pieces" song for my Pocahontas story, but I doubt any of you read that one because it's a strange and crazy fandom. :D

Chapter 14: Yin and Yang

Cor knew he had a darkness about him. It was not, he reflected, the darkness a prince—let alone a future king—should have. Yet, there it was. It had taken a long time for him to realize that Aravis could not see it. Though she reminded him of his faults daily, she seemed to accept him as wholly good. But he was not. So it would serve that he was not immune to hate; the roiling, curling emotion that caused an angry twitch to galvanize his jaw muscles as a result of the constant set of his teeth. It was this deep obsidian hatred that forged new lines into his soul, but though it was all-encompassing the hatred was by no means absolute.

"If you would just stop thinking about it…" Aravis said tentatively, though very little she did with Cor was tentative. "Maybe you would stop feeling as bad as you do." Cor made a dismissive noise that sounded like a close cousin to a snort.

"That would be the day. They ruined my life. It's not like they left yours untouched either. And no matter how much they destroy and conquer, we're the ones who pay dearly."

"If Caspian didn't try and assassinate you we'd be stuck there," Aravis said. "Stuck in that sticky web of lies and politeness that they wove around our home. Why mourn that loss? There was nothing we could have done." Cor knew that Aravis's statement was composed of thoughts that she wanted to become beliefs, rather than how she actually contemplated the world. Aravis wanted to cut off all ties to something that was irrevocably lost, but still the attachment remained. So Cor knew she understood more than she let on. But the annoyance that came from these happy-go-lucky statements was not lost on him because of this fact.

"Oh come on, Aravis. I know you don't mean a word of that."

"So I don't. But I'm trying to help you," she said in the tone of one who was properly peeved at being found out. Then Aravis continued in a softer tone. "Even if I don't know the answers I can at least tell you what I think is right."

"Well you're not," Cor replied tersely, his mood still soured by anger.

"Fine, but you've got to know something," Aravis said and then looked at Cor, her tone turning grave with real advice. "Conquerors like Caspian get you by hate. They play upon your own darkness, and make you see that they have a corresponding shadow, a matching hatred in their own souls. And once they at get that, you have a similarity; you are theirs. Because nothing brings people together so much as a unified sense of spite." Aravis turned over to sleep after her advice, her own words having no affect on her. Cor, however, rolled on his back and looked up at the few stars studding the deep indigo sky, thinking about Aravis's honest advice.

It was a roadside night, where Cor and Aravis made a small camp, tacking up a tent if it rained, forsaking such a practice if it didn't. There was getting to be a lot of those nights now. The villagers were either stretched tight with space out of poverty or their hospitality was stretched by their suspicions about mysterious travelers.

Roadside nights were never too much of a hardship for Cor. Like Aravis, he secretly treasured the freedom that the open space provided. It also reminded him of the early days, the ones where it was just them, the horses, and a journey. Tonight, however, the night seemed to elongate itself into emptiness around him. Cor could hear the sound of the whistling wind all around him and the faint rustling noises of animals moving about or dust settling.

"Why should I have to forgive him?" Cor muttered the question under his breath. "Evil warlords are given far too much leniency nowadays." The threat of a long-awaited untimely end was not enough for Cor. He wanted to stop Caspian right in his tracks, to make the conqueror drop his weapons and run just like Cor himself was forced to. However, to do that Cor needed his life, but his safety was not at all assured in the company of Caspian. Cor wanted to rush in and duel to the death with Caspian, really he did. Only he knew he had to keep his life for more than himself. Thousands of people were counting on him, to keep continuing, to lead the kingdom, to return home with all his appendages intact. He knew that he had deserted his subjects at the threat of assassination and that did not sit well with him. The only thing that was keeping him from turning back and facing the danger like an idiotic hero was the fact that he had to be alive to help his people. It was as simple as that. So who cared what happened to him? As long as he was alive that's all people would ever know. Any other details of his unhappiness were meaningless. Aravis heard Cor's rustling and sat up.

"Cor? You okay?" Cor heard the concern in her tone and smirked into his sleeping bag. It was not a mean expression, more of a wry amusement at the fact that Aravis believed he could spill his guts at the slightest provocation. This was a matter buried with the intricate corners of his soul, of his heart. He wasn't going to let it go that easily. So instead Cor was silent, taking the stance that maybe if she didn't hear a response, she would assume he had gone to sleep.

"I know you think I don't understand, but I do," she said still talking to Cor's back. "You're scared…and you don't want to run from him. But the whole attempted murder thing? It just proves his weakness, not yours. He has to gain his power through manipulation. But the people love you."
"It doesn't matter," Cor said sitting up now. "All they want is me back in one piece so that I can rule."
"It does, though," replied Aravis. "Your people care about you. That's what I was saying. Caspian could die tomorrow and they wouldn't think anything of it."
"Whatever," Cor said. "It's not like things are going to change. It's just going to be this constant zero sum game. No one wins in a war like this."
"Okay, you're unhappy with the way things are and mad at Caspian. I get it," Aravis said. "But why do you put yourself through this? Why do you tell yourself that people don't care? We care even if you can't see that, Cor." Cor took a breath to refute her but he just didn't have any more venom within him. Just a recollection that the bitterness he had felt was a shell hard on the outside, yet easily dissolved, by the right person. Cor looked at Aravis, really looked at her for perhaps the first time in forever.

"I don't like to run. Not all the time. Archenland was well…For the first time I…had a family. It's different when it's real. And then they took it all away. It shouldn't matter because it's over, but I tried to live with them. Tried even though I knew they were evil. And then with the whole assassination attempt. It's the straw that broke the camel's back. I thought there was no possible way they could make life worse. And then they struck again. And again. It's like they're greedy even in their anger," Cor spoke softly, looking everywhere but Aravis. However when he finished he fixed his eyes on hers, just to see her final reaction. Her face was full of empathy because she had gone through it too; it had, after all, been their escape. So of course they would be partners in sorrow when it failed. Both of them had reasons for staying in Archenland, reasons made meaningless by the actions of the Telamarines.

"I'm sorry," Aravis replied. "That's hardly enough, but that's really all I can say. I wanted it just as much as you did."

"I know," said Cor, soft and punctuated by a deep, shuddering breath. He sat hunched over his knees, his terse manner caused by the emotions he could not show. His posture belied the stoic, scrunched expression on his face. As always, there was more to be said, but it was in his tense fisted fingers, and the set of his mouth. Aravis responded to this cry for help slowly inching forward. Her fingers lightly grazed Cor's back, almost a pretense of touch, as she tried to rub away all the hate. It was another tentative motion. Cor thought the reason behind the hesitancy was because she half expected him to recoil from her touch. But he stayed still. Slowly but surely, his breath came out slower, gentler. His muscles melted out of their cement hard mold of anger and restraint. Aravis pulled away first; she could feel the tension in his back drain away. This was broaching the lines of friendship; handholding could be explained away, but this? It was almost too close for comfort. So nothing was said by either Cor or Aravis to break the spell of too-close actions that could almost be construed as friendship. On Cor's part the silence was a cloak over actions that could not be spoken of, any more than the feelings that rolled around inside his soul. He was not averse to Aravis's touch by any means, but of what came after. The feeling of being too much, of putting too much into something when you were not sure what was going to be taken away next. Cor was not afraid of caring; his capability for feeling was very great. However, after all the other losses sustained this year he couldn't imagine losing one of the only people he had left. A shared past was hard to come by. Though the lives of so many had been splintered by the war, the wandering feeling of bits of memories left in other places, was shared by only Aravis. And he couldn't lose her. He snuck a glance at her. She was in his previous position, laying down and staring at the stars. He mimicked her and stared at the inky blackness above. Just friends, he thought. If they were anything else she could be lost, too. She would be lost along with a father, brother, countries, and almost a life. But he had kept that last one out of sheer luck. The world was too capricious, and from experience Cor knew that you could only put into things what you were prepared to lose. Because in the morning those things might be gone, and everything that you had put into them would be gone, too. So Cor turned on to his side with closed lips, saying nothing—not even a word of thanks—to the girl at his side; the tentative girl, who had been waiting for some sort of a sign, some reassurance that he was okay, that he didn't hate her awkward attempt to comfort him. That was the thing about the sense of touch, there was always a reaction. Someone would reach out their hand and then there would be the feeling. And just right then Cor felt all too much; too much to restrain, too much to explain away, and certainly too much to lose.