Edmund fell into an uneasy sleep. He never slept well before a battle anyway, and between his wound and the energy it had triggered in setting his body into heat, he was thoroughly exhausted. Proof of this was evident in how little a protest he made when Al deposited him gently onto a bedroll in the royal pavilion and did not immediately join him. If only he'd had the alertness to insist on his presence...
When he awoke, it was nighttime - he hardly knew whether it was the night of the battle, the night after, or the next - and his wound was dressed, his body clean and warm. One of the omega servants must have bathed and clothed him, for he was sure the scent of an alpha would have roused him earlier. He was hungry, but more pressingly, he was hungry. He craved the most primal and intimate of satiations, and nothing else would take away that need but the rut of an alpha.
He scrabbled in the dark through cushions and thick rugs, scenting as much as feeling his way to the entrance, and stumbled out into the night. The rest of the camp was not there. It had been moved - he could smell the distant smoke of campfires, miles away - and only a couple of tents for guards and servants and -
With a jolt, Edmund realized he'd been quarantined from the rest of the Narnians. The shame of an omega King was one thing; the risk he posed to an army full of alphas fresh off the battlefield was something real and potent. He swallowed hard, rubbing his jaw. His next breath in brought the scent of...
"Al." Without thought or plan or reasoning, he found his heels turning and his feet carrying him straight to the rolling pheromones of the one person who could save him from himself. He pressed toward him, hands reaching for him. "Thank Aslan. Al, I need - "
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-02-08 10:20 pm (UTC)When he awoke, it was nighttime - he hardly knew whether it was the night of the battle, the night after, or the next - and his wound was dressed, his body clean and warm. One of the omega servants must have bathed and clothed him, for he was sure the scent of an alpha would have roused him earlier. He was hungry, but more pressingly, he was hungry. He craved the most primal and intimate of satiations, and nothing else would take away that need but the rut of an alpha.
He scrabbled in the dark through cushions and thick rugs, scenting as much as feeling his way to the entrance, and stumbled out into the night. The rest of the camp was not there. It had been moved - he could smell the distant smoke of campfires, miles away - and only a couple of tents for guards and servants and -
With a jolt, Edmund realized he'd been quarantined from the rest of the Narnians. The shame of an omega King was one thing; the risk he posed to an army full of alphas fresh off the battlefield was something real and potent. He swallowed hard, rubbing his jaw. His next breath in brought the scent of...
"Al." Without thought or plan or reasoning, he found his heels turning and his feet carrying him straight to the rolling pheromones of the one person who could save him from himself. He pressed toward him, hands reaching for him. "Thank Aslan. Al, I need - "