Life is cruel. Doc manager deleted this so I had to write it all over again.
It's sad how things happen when you don't expect them. Especially nasty things.
Ferris sat on the windowsill of his room, looking down at the courtyard below. Unlike Halt's room - which had the view over the walls of the Castle - he could see the inside yard of the castle.
Slam!
He winced as, yet again, Halt's arrow slammed into the dummy that had been placed for Archery practice.
"Why," he muttered. "Does he have to do that, of all things?" He envied his brother's skill in weaponry. Although Halt wasn't an excellent swordsman, he was an extremely talented archer - due to all his life's training.
Slam!
Making a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, he turned and slipped down from the window seat. He knew that his brother didn't want the throne, yet he could see no way of achieving it for himself. He paced around his room, trying to think of a way.
A minute later, he chose to turn to a plan. A plan, which he had kept for years, but had never used it... yet.
Taking in a deep breath, he called his faithful servant, Marlin, in.
Halt wasn't planning anything except to eat, go to his room, and read.
Of course, he had absolutely nothing on his mind as dinner came in. The table was deathly quiet, the parents not even looking at each other. Halt sighed. He was no fool. He had heard them arguing more than a couple times. Chance were, he heard them arguing every night. They would argue about everything.
Well, everything except their precious Ferris.
He picked at his food, trying to think something. For some reason, at the table, he could never think about anything.
And then their was a sharp prick of pain in this gut. He winced, his hands instinctively going to his midriff.
"Halt?" That was Caitlyn's worried tone. He quickly looked up. His parents hadn't even stirred. Ferris, on the other hand, was looking away from him, staring at a painting that hung above the fireplace. Strange of him to look so enthusiastically study something he had seen for 16 years, every day.
He put his head on the table, taking deep breathes. The pain wasn't going anywhere. He gripped the table, realizing that it was intensifying, slowly burning in him, spreading like wildfire, as if he was something to consume.
A wave of nausea hit him. He could hold no more. He moaned, and, at the same time, rolled off the chair, falling into thick unconsciousness.
But the pain remained.
"Would he be alright?"
"Shhh, Caitlyn, be quiet."
"Mother! He's waking!"
Breathing. Strange of it to occur so importantly to him. Light pierced his sight as he cracked open his eyes.
"Halt!"
He could see Caitlyn over him, her anxious face relaxing when she saw him groan.
"Damn."
He saw his mother's expression turn to horror, but he kept repeating it. He felt nasty, like there was somebody - somebody very heavy - sitting on his chest. It made breathing difficult. It felt worthless to keep doing it.
"Stop that," his mother told him, her voice stern. "I'm glad to see you awake, dear. I'll go alert the Healer."
"Wow, Halt." Caitlyn said as soon as Hazelle walked out of the room. "It's been a day since Mandar said you were going to be fine. You slept through all of it."
"What?"
"You were unconscious for three days, Halt. Aren't you-"
Halt's stomach rumbled.
"-hungry?"
"Yes." Groaning, he turned onto his side.
"I'll bring some porridge. You hate porridge, but that's the only thing you can eat now."
"Caitlyn?"
"Mm?"
"...I hate shrimp."
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