Work Text:
Caspian brushed Edmund’s hair back from his eyes. The dark locks were sticky with sweat. Edmund tilted his head to follow Caspian’s hand, and Caspian obligingly began stroking his fingers through Edmund’s hair. Edmund smiled, though it was still half grimace, his lips pressed tightly together.
“How are you feeling?” Caspian asked.
“’m alright,” Edmund said. His voice was rough.
“Mm.” Caspian slipped an arm around Edmund’s shoulders and helped him sit up, leaning heavily against Caspian’s chest. Caspian filled a cup from the water pitcher sitting on the little carved table by the bed and offered it to Edmund. “And how are you really?”
Edmund glared. Caspian just waited. At last Edmund huffed, grabbed the cup—he was so unsteady, Caspian wrapped his hand around Edmund’s so he wouldn’t spill—and drank. He buried his face in Caspian’s shoulder as Caspian put the cup back on the table.
“The room spins whenever I try to get up, and I don’t think my legs would hold me even if I made it. My head’s pounding, my bones hurt, and it’s still freezing.”
A fire was burning in the fireplace, the spring breeze through the open window was gentle and warm, and Edmund was practically buried in blankets.
“Well, you’re still burning up,” Caspian said, going back to stroking Edmund’s hair. He heard Edmund take a breath. “And if you try to apologize, I’m sentencing you to three more weeks bed rest.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Edmund grumbled. “Didn’t know Peter died and made you High King.”
“Peter agrees with me. You won’t get better if you don’t rest.”
Edmund hunched down a little further in the bed. Caspian pulled the covers higher, tucking them around Edmund’s shoulders.
“Do you want to lie down again?”
Edmund shook his head, then made a noise of regret; apparently his head didn’t like the movement.
“No, I think I’ll just stay here. ‘less you have to see to that—”
“The others are handling it, and everything else. I can stay until you fall asleep. Stop thinking about work.”
Edmund sighed, irritated, and snuggled closer to Caspian.
“I just hate being useless,” he whispered.
Caspian pressed a gentle kiss to Edmund’s sweaty hair. Heat radiated off him.
“You’re no use to Narnia with a fever. And you wouldn’t have gotten this sick if you hadn’t pushed yourself after you started feeling ill.”
“Now you sound like Susan.”
“She’s a very wise woman.”
“Just wait till you get sick.”
“If I promise to let you say ‘I told you so’ then, will you try to get some sleep now?”
Edmund made a noise of sleepy protest, but shuffled into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. Caspian tucked his arms more securely around Edmund, and began to quietly sing one of the old Narnian lullabies he’d learned from his nurse. Edmund made a sound of appreciation, a hum Caspian felt more than heard.
“That’s what I’m here for, love,” Caspian murmured. “Just rest.”
Outside the window, the sea shushed rhythmically against the long beach, the world’s heartbeat. Inside, the fire gently popped and crackled, and Caspian sang softly as Edmund drifted off to sleep.