27 Tavorhel. The eleventh day of the eleventh month.
‘The prince is still incapacitated?’
‘Yes, your Majesty.’
‘Though his physical wounds have long since been healed?’
‘Yes, your Majesty. I’m afraid he is still bedridden for reasons that, to be frank, even I cannot explain.’
‘Bring me to him.’
The court physician bowed and led King Tavorhel with his entourage of guards and servants into the inner room. Despite the well-insulated walls and the near-excessive amounts of torches and candles, not to mention the ever-burning fireplace, Crown Prince Amovishel was still wrapped tightly in a thick blanket, his hair mildly dishevelled, slightly covering his pale face. His armour and a few ceremonial swords hung and rested near his bedside, an order the king had given a week ago to encourage his recovery. Only his aide stood quietly by his side, bowing when she noticed the king’s entry.
‘Bring me a chair,’ Tavorhel ordered. The aide quickly prepared a cushioned seat beside Amovishel’s bed, the king sitting down with a sigh as he looked at his weakened son.
‘And leave us to our conversation,’ he added. The physician, the aide, the servants and the guards all departed the room, leaving just Tavorhel with his only son.
It was around two months since Esiel returned with Amovishel’s bruised body. The prince had been physically abused while in captivity, and though there weren’t major injuries, it was beyond enough to warrant an extended rest in his palace, with his aide temporarily taking over his administrative duties. The entire court was obviously outraged, though Tavorhel knew it wasn’t purely out of concern for Amovishel’s condition.
It was unprecedented that a Crown Prince of Trelven would be humiliated and beaten to this extent. With the news becoming public, their alliances and treaties with surrounding kingdoms had become shaky, with a few even defecting to Rhinn at the risk of losing Trelven’s protection. The summer campaign at Prentdor grinded to a halt with little gains, only being resumed recently and the plans being extended into winter, perhaps even till next spring. It would be the longest the Trelvenese had gone on an offensive without break since Tavorhel became king.
All this because of a Forester uprising.
‘Open your eyes, Amovishel,’ Tavorhel said. ‘I know you’re awake.’
Sure enough, the prince woke from his ‘slumber’ as he stared into his father’s eyes. ‘Don’t you have more important affairs to attend to, Father?’
Despite his youthful face, Amovishel sounded as if he was aged beyond repair.
‘Those have been attended to. More importantly, when will you be returning to your duties?’
‘I’m still unfit for that, Father. The advisors of the court who have visited me have all reached that conclusion, Traditionalist or Progressive.’
‘Your bruises are gone. You are being treated well by the physician. You are physically fit enough to return to your duties as Crown Prince. Why are you still bedridden with little appetite? Weren’t you angry before that I recalled you from the battlefield, leading to your rash decision to head for the north? Do you not have that same desire now that I’m allowing you to return to the field?’
‘It’s not that, Father. I have the will. It’s just… I can’t.’
‘Why? You cannot just stay in your current position with your Rhinish aide attending to everything that’s yours.’
‘Again, Father, you know Barheila is Trelvenese. You can’t convince me by referencing her parents’ ancestry and an insult to her loyalty.’
‘I thought the battlefield used to be your calling, no matter how averse I was to putting yourself in danger.’
‘Father, I told you it’s not that I don’t have the will to return there and serve the kingdom with all that I have.’
‘Then what is your reason?’
‘The visitors who came to me concluded—’
‘You know the words of the advisors calling you unfit for court is due to their enmity towards you,’ Tavorhel interrupted. ‘In fact, the Traditionalists are proposing that your responsibilities be temporarily split between them instead of focusing all that power on a mere aide.’
‘Barheila is more than capable of the work.’
‘Of course. As king, I refused their request. But you cannot convince the people that a daughter of Rhinish prisoners can do the job of Crown Prince but without the title.’
‘Father, I trust in her abilities. I also trust you in culling these opinions with your absolute power.’
‘But you know the limits of a king without the support of his advisors. One day their demands will become so loud I must give in. By then, even if you return from your rehabilitation, some of your power and respect will already be gone, and with it, your ability to act on your passion for the kingdom. Are you not afraid of that?’
‘And if I return to the court now while I’m not recovered, my power as Crown prince means nothing if I cannot properly use it for the kingdom.’
‘I’ve already risked so much with what I did these past couple of months. The kingdom has cut its trade relations with the Guild, even though it came with great opposition from the Traditionalists. There will be no new Forester mercenaries in our military, and for those that still remain, they will soon disappear. All of this so there may be revenge for the race that harmed so deeply my only son.’
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
‘You didn’t need to do that, Father.’
‘What else can I do to punish them for what they did to you? You are this kingdom’s heir. To hurt you is to hurt the entire kingdom. I’m doing all of this so you can be ready to take to the battlefield again, without the burden of having those green-eyed beasts reminding you of your suffering.’
‘But I’m not ready, Father.’
‘You are already physically fit, Amovishel.’
‘I know. But as I told you multiple times already, Father, I’m not ready.’
‘For what? As far as I know, you still have the ambition to serve the kingdom and have the body and power to support your ambition.’
‘I’m simply not ready.’ The emphasis in Amovishel’s voice was clear, though Tavorhel could hear a tinge of shakiness in the sound.
He sighed as he stood up and headed for the door. ‘It seems I still cannot convince you. But I hope, someday, you will come to your senses.’
‘I want you to convince me, Father,’ Amovishel called out as he sat up. ‘But I just… can’t convince myself that I’m fit to continue my responsibilities.’
The king turned away in disappointment. ‘You’ve certainly changed a lot since you came back, Amovishel.’
----------------------------------------
Barheila returned to Amovishel’s side after a long day of administrative work. After being dismissed from the inner room by the king along with the others, she had been patrolling the estate, doing her usual duties along with greeting other officials who wished to see the prince.
Ever since Amovishel left the palace, she had been the one dealing with letters and reports from his soldiers at the front, even if they were no longer officially under his command. The lessons Amovishel should’ve been taking were instead compressed and compiled into brief notes, the tutors often simply handing them to Barheila due to Amovishel’s unavailability while being tended to by the physician. Recently, she was finally allowed to regularly enter the royal court as Amovishel’s representative, albeit to the disapproval of many advisors and officials. All of this added with her previous work in managing the prince’s quarters took a toll on her young body, a toll Amovishel couldn’t miss when she returned after every day.
‘How was your day?’ Amovishel cordially asked as she entered the inner room. He was at his desk, reading a book while being wrapped snugly in blankets and thick robes.
‘The usual,’ she said. ‘I assume the servants are treating you well?’
‘Yes. Thanks for your management of the female servants, by the way.’ When Amovishel returned, one of his first requests was the relocation of the quarters’ female servants to outdoor tasks and to forbid any dancer from entering the palace, instructing Barheila as the only one who could access the inner room. It was strange at first, considering Amovishel’s previous habits of having dancers to entertain and liven up his work atmosphere. Still, Barheila complied to his orders, leaving the room now eerily quiet.
‘More importantly… Did the king fail to convince you to return again?’ Barheila asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Has the physician found anything that could explain your inability to return?’
‘No. He checked up on me again after Father left, but as usual, he concluded my body was fully recovered and in good condition.’
‘You know… Why don’t you just tell the truth?’
‘Of what?’
‘Your reason for being unable to return despite your father now being more open to you.’ She walked to his side, standing beside a tall floor lamp as she looked at his book. ‘It’s not that you’re physically injured, ill, or even lack the willingness to return to the court and battlefield. Your injuries just go beyond the physical, a scar that no physician can heal.’
‘I can’t just tell that to the physician.’
‘I believe he has already noticed, given how much time he spends here, but for the sake of his career and fear of being punished by the king, he just hasn’t said it. Your father the king on the other hand… He’s too preoccupied with convincing you that he’s missed the core matter in all of this.’
Amovishel closed his book and stood up. ‘It’s not something that can be cured in many months. It’ll probably be made worse if I return to court and show my incapability.’
He walked to his bed fully dressed, covering himself immediately with more blankets as he crawled in. ‘I’d also preferably not think much about this. It gets me tired quickly.’
‘I don’t know what exactly went on during your captivity as you won’t disclose it to anyone, but isolating yourself like this isn’t going to make those invisible wounds heal,’ Barheila said. ‘The king’s trying his best by fighting off voices that want to strip your power and even taking drastic measures with the Guild. Despite not being the best father, he’s already jeopardising so much for your sake.’
‘I don’t need someone telling me what Father has done. I’m aware of it. Silencing the advisors who want my power split, breaking off trade relations with the Guild who used to sell us so many mercenaries, aiming to slaughter every single Forester in this kingdom through battle as revenge for the rebellion of a few… I’m very aware. And frankly, it has done nothing for me. All of these corpses, these unnecessary sacrifices… I can’t help but think it’s my fault in one way or another.’
He gazed at Barheila. ‘Look at my eyes. They’re not angry, sad, jealous, worried… They are simply scared. I know my power and influence is extremely fragile in the royal court without my father. I know what they think of me when they see me lying weakly in bed. I’m just… afraid, you know?’
‘Of the Foresters for what they did?’
‘... Many things. I don’t know how to say it. Whenever my mind becomes free and vacant, it flashes back to a frightening place. I felt so helpless in that moment, seeing that contorted face take control and hurt me in ways I do not wish on anyone, torturing my body and soul… I… It’s just…’
Tears fell from his face as he shuddered. ‘I can’t return to my duties when I can’t break free from that nightmare. Even when there is so much suffering that dwarfs my own, I just… can’t.’
Barheila sat down and gently wiped the tears off his face. ‘I’m sorry for being brash earlier… Continue taking a rest as long as you need. Also, don’t compare your suffering with the suffering you can’t see, and definitely don’t think you’re to blame for anything that’s happened surrounding your pain.’
Amovishel sighed. ‘I don’t know. Maybe if I wasn’t that hasty and rushed off, leaving all my duties to you in my absence, then things would’ve been for the better. Maybe if I was a bit more cautious, Father wouldn’t have to cover for me and add to his pressures. Maybe if I just was more defiant after capture, I could’ve—’
‘Things already happened,’ Barheila spoke softly but firmly. ‘Just focus on getting your rest and recovery, alright? No need to be so hard on yourself, you nineteen-year-old.’
Amovishel chuckled weakly. ‘As if you’re older than that, you seventeen-year-old.’
‘They say laughter is good medicine for your heart,’ Barheila smiled. ‘I say try laughing more sometimes as well, Amovishel. Not tonight though, as rest does come first and foremost.’
She stood up and went to extinguish the many lights in the room. Bit by bit, the room became dimmer until all that was left was the warm glow of the fireplace. Seeing Amovishel now tucked in and closing his eyes, she left for the door.
‘Though I’ll never be able to fully understand what you went through, I’ll keep supporting you as your aide,’ she said. ‘And your friend.’