Ahren must have sobbed so much on the day his father left that it really had made him sick. He woke the next day to an itchy throat and heavy eyes. Othello had sighed upon finding him with a fever. "You can't go and see prince Caspian if you're sick", he stated grimly. His tone firm despite the gentle concern on his face. The guard taking the time to gently drape a wet cloth over the boy's forehead.

Ahren whined, cheeks flushed and eyes watery. "But he's going to be lonely".

"You can see him when you're better. I am sure that he will understand if you miss a day or two. If your fever lessens tomorrow then I will let you write a letter. Until then you need to sleep and recover". He tucked the blankets gently around Ahren's aching body. The seven year old pouted.

"But I want to see him", he said pathetically, eyes filling with water. "I want Caspian. I want my dad".

Othello sighed deeply, sadly. "I know Ahren", he soothed as he brushed his fingers through sweaty hair. His touch was soothing. Ahren sniffed, tears trickling down his face. He always cried when sick and he hated it. "How about I read you a story?" Othello tried to cheer him up. He stood and began to look at the books on his little bookshelf. There weren't many, not as much as his father had in the study, but there were enough for a lord's son. Books were expensive after all.

"What about this one? It's about the kings and queens of old". Othello pulled out a small brown book with gold detailing in the warm brown leather.

"Like what Caspian tells me?" Ahren asked, tears stopping for a moment as he blinked in sleepy curiosity at the cover. Othello smiled and his face was so much warmer when he did.

"Yes. I found this in your father's study. I thought you would enjoy it". He held open the book and flicked through the pages so that Ahren could see the illustrations on the pages. Two women and two men riding horses through a forest. A centaur, half man and half horse, stood on top of a  hill with a bow in one hand. A satyr with a red scarf under an iron lamp. A mighty lion floating over a broken stone table illuminated in light. Each drawing was a colourful dream given illustration.

At Ahren's quiet curiosity, Othello smiled. The man pulled off his boots and his armour until he was in nothing but his breeches and his shirt before he sat up on the mattress next to the sick child. Ahren curled up comfortingly at his side as he set the book on his lap where the boy could see the pages. "Comfy?" Ahren nodded in answer and Othello ran a hand over his dark curls. He cleared his throat. "Once, a long time ago when the lands of Narnia were ruled over by the White Witch, a prophecy was born. It was said that two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve would arise when the occupants of Narnia needed them the most"-

The next day, his fever still had not broken. Ahren spent the whole day in bed again as they waited for his fever to lessen. A doctor was called in and he was prescribed horrible medicine that tasted like mud and weeds. He hated it but Othello bribed him into taking the doses if they were followed up by a teaspoon of honey. On the third day, his fever finally broke much to Othello's relief. Still, it had left him weakened and Ahren spent most of it sleeping.

It was the fourth night that the fire started. Ahren had been feeling a bit better that day and had been allowed outside for fresh air. He had also written a letter to Caspian, which was going to be sent off the next morning. Even so, that minimal amount had tired him out. He was dead asleep when the fire began to fill the air with smoke. He did not wake when it began to trickle into his room. What did wake him up was his door banging open as Othello burst in.

"Ahren!"

He was blinking groggily, weak and exhausted from his fever, as Othello grabbed him and hauled him up. The boy latched on reflexively, arms linking around the man's neck as his legs clung to his waist. It was only when he was secure that Ahren smelt the smoke. That woke him up further. "Is there a fire?"

Othello grunted, one arm wrapped around him while the other drew his sword. Feet carrying them from the room and into a smoke filled corridor. Ahren began coughing and buried his head into Othello's shoulder. "There are soldiers blocking the exits. Men in black. I believe them to be working for the regent".

Caspian's uncle? Ahren had heard enough of his fathers rants about the man to know that Miraz was not the benevolent man he portrayed himself to be. "Is he trying to kill us?" He didn't need to hear the answer. The answer was clear enough.

Othello stopped briefly to peer through a window. It was one of the few big ones. Satisfied with what he saw, he pushed it open and tugged a rope from his belt. He had to let go of Ahren to sheath his sword, but the boy just clung on like a pack, face curled into the man's shoulder as he tried to breath. There was a clang as the man latched the rope to something before testing it. "Hold tight", Othello commanded and Ahren tightened his grip. Then the guard was climbing out of the window and swinging them down the rope until his boot hit grass.

"Ahren, you have to listen to me". Othello's breath dusted his hair as he spoke urgently and softly. "They are guarding the stables. You are going to have to hide while I grab a horse. Then we are going to run. Okay?" Ahren forced himself to nod. He loosened his hold and let the man put him down. The grass was wet with dew under his bare feet and the night air was cold through his trousers and night shirt.

"Follow me". Then Othello was jogging around the building under the light of the moon. Ahren tried to keep up. Heart pounding from terror and exertion. When he glanced over his shoulder, half the house was in flames. He could see orange light pouring from windows all across the south of the manor. The crackling of it loud enough to disguise their footsteps as they reached the edge of the wall. "Stay here". Ahren stiffened at the order. Then his guard as slinking off into the night.

For a few moment that could have been one minute or ten, Ahren was alone in the dark. His hand were clammy with sweat from fear and his head was pounding. He was fighting the urge to cough and his bones ached. He wanted his dad. He wanted Caspian. Then there was distant shouts and clangs of steel. Horse hooves thudded on earth. "Ahren!" Othello called and he looked over to see the man pulling a horse round the corner.

The guard was a bit battered. There was blood splattered across his armour and a bruise colouring under his eye. Ahren scampered over to him and the man wasted no time in hauling him up onto the beast before swinging into the saddle behind him. "Hold on!" He called as they took off into a full gallop.

Ahren had never ridden a horse at full speed before and he almost lost his grip before he managed to cling to the saddle. Behind them he could hear the sounds of pursuers. A crossbow bolt whizzes past them as they broke out through the village. Horse hooves on cobbles, then mud, then grass again as they shot past houses and out into the fields. Ahren cried out as another bolt shot past. Othello grunted above him as he steered the horse away from the roads and towards the river. The river leading from the capital and into the forests. The forests were the narnians supposedly lived.

They were almost in the shelter of the trees. The horse running like mad beneath them. When the third bolt got lucky. Ahren almost missed the thud and the gasp from above him. He did not miss the shifting of weight as Othello leaned to the side and slipped from the saddle. He screamed, turning back over his shoulder as the body hit the earth and lay still. A crossbow bolt sticking out of his back and green eyes empty under the moonlight. Ahren clung tighter as the horse hit the forest and the moonlight was suddenly blocked by branches. Behind him, the sounds of his pursuers stopped. Only a few stray cross bolts following him into the trees.

His horse rode on however. He did not know how to make it stop. Legs too short to meet the stirrups and the reins hanging loosely. He could only cling on as it continued to run further and further into the trees. The forest growing more wild as they travelled deeper into narnian territory. Ahren wasn't aware of this. It was all he could do to cling on and not pass out. Tears stung his eyes and the cold cut him right through. Slowly, as dawn began to break on the horizon, the horse slowed to a trot, then to a walk. As the light began to break through the branches, it found a stream and finally came to a stop.

As it bent it's head to drink, Ahren finally gave up on his battle against unconsciousness. He vision swam and he was dimly aware of tumbling from the saddle. There was pain as he hit the earth. A distant and annoying thing. He simply had no energy to care as he watched sunlight begin to touch the leaves.  Just as his vision faded, he thought he saw a man with the legs of a goat creeping around the edge of a tree.

unedited

Ahren deserves a hug so bad.

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