The Suns Heir: A War of Two Kings

Fynn: The Half-Born.

As the dawn rose overhead and the sun banished the darkness that Fynn had laid beneath. He could scarcely move. His muscles had seized, and pain echoed throughout his entire body. An attempt to stand was made, though it was in vain. As quickly as he had sat up, he had fallen back to the ground. The pain rippled as he dropped back to the ground.

It took every ounce of strength for him to crawl through the gate, each pull through the mud was a greater effort than the last. The pigs squealed as he moved, mocking him... at least that's how it felt, that's how it always felt.

Finally, he made it out of the pen and to the fence outside. The workers had begun to take to their duties, two, three maybe even four passed him. None said a word. They never did.

As Fynn sat up against the fence he began to gently bring his fingers to his face. It was bloodied. His face had been a canvass, his body too. It had become a piece of red and purple. He had no doubt he was grotesque in this moment. Bloodied and covered mud, at least he hoped it was just mud, but that was wishful thinking.

Already his left eye had begun to swell, and his jaw ran slack, spilling out saliva-coated with blood. His abuser had told him his outside now reflected his inside. Revolting. That's what he was to his attacker, disgusting, vile, a stain on the earth. It had been that way since he was small.

All of a sudden, he found himself in all the more pain. "Hey, girl." He winced. His hand moved, shaking as it did. It found its way onto the grey coat of the hound and rested there for a moment.

Timber had already begun to nuzzle against him, and lick his wounds. It stung, but at the same time it brought about a happy feeling. He took comfort in the fact that not everybody and everything in Hart's Haven hated him. He had Timber...

"Oi, half-born. Get to fuckin' work."

The voice had caused Timber to jump up and Fynn to simply cower into the fence. He couldn't take any more blows.

"Did you ere' me half-born." The stable hand had begun to approach him. As the distance between them, Fynn felt a blow meet with his leg. "I said you be getting to work now, half-born!"

Half-born... The word stung more than the beatings. Half-born, how he hated when they called him that. As if he needed reminding every day, every hour, every minute. He was Fynn Royseson, son of lord Royse Hart, but he was not of the clan, he was not a Hart.

Timber had begun to snarl at the farmhand, she'd positioned herself between them, her teeth flashing at the man. In moments like this, when his one friend would race to his protection, she looked to be a wolf, rather than the mutt she was.

"Timber, calm." Fynn spluttered. He had begun to grip at the fence, pulling himself to his feet. "I'll go to the stables."

The farmhand a look of disappointment on his face. He had probably hoped for Fynn to resist. For him to remain on the ground. It would be another reason to ridicule him. Not that they were short of reason. Half-born, whore's son, and his favourite, Sur Fynn. He had made the mistake of being caught playing with a stick one day, he had revealed his boyhood dream of knighthood. Now, every time he heard his 'title' it reminded him that he would never be a knight. It was a punch in the gut.

"Look at the poor lad, e' will change first. E' be no good to yer like that." Of course, it was the kennel master. He'd likely been looking for Timber. "Come ere' lad. You'll work in the kennels today." Hugh had always been kinder than most. He occasionally took part in the name-calling, but on days like this. When Fynn could seldom breathe, let alone tend to a horse or shovel pig shit, the man would take pity and save him.

The farm had a look of anger looming, but there was nought he could do about it. The kennel master outranked him.

Fynn began to hobble after Hugh. Every step was made in agony. His movements were jerky, and there was far from any grace in his stance. "Thank you, you don't have to keep doing that." He said as he struggled to keep pace with the kennel master.