Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't...
Summary: Practice with my son was more important than practice with my sword that morning.
A/N: This story is part of my A Light in the Darkness universe. Enjoy!
I was supposed to be in the training yard with my fellow warriors and knights but I couldn't get beyond dressing in my heavier outer tunic and breeches. I hadn't even bothered to pull on my boots yet. Instead, I crept on socked feet to peer down at the little bundle in the cradle at the foot of the bed. By the Lion, he was so small.
I was a mite worried about him getting cold though with winter's grasp still fast upon us. My son's little brow wrinkled and he made the tiniest mewing sound. I glanced at the bed but my sweet love slumbered on, exhausted from caring for our son well into the wee hours. My son mewed again and, after the last three weeks of experience, I knew if I didn't do something, he would begin to bawl and wake his mother. With only a moment's hesitation, I reached down and very carefully scooped my swaddled blessing into my arms then retreated to the rocking chair, easing into it as gently as I could. I well remembered what happened the last time I sat down a little too fast while holding him–he had let out such a cry and successfully undid all my efforts to keep his mother from waking.
My son blinked up at me then mewed. I rocked him, humming as quietly as I could, but still he fussed. Worrying about the cold, I loosened his swaddling swiftly then checked his nappy. It wasn't wet…thank Aslan. He mewed again. I looked in despair at the swaddling strewn across my lap. I'd never get him into it properly or fast enough. After making sure he was secure in the crook of my arm, I reached up with one hand and unlaced my outer tunic. Then, before I could change my mind about how wise it was, I moved my son so he was nestled against the soft linen of my undertunic and tucked inside my outer tunic.
I shifted my left hand to hold him in place so I could partially lace up my outer tunic again. Then with my little son held against my chest, I began to hum a lullaby as I set the rocking chair into motion. After a while I tucked my chin against my chest and peeked at him. His little eyes were closed and his small mouth was puckered in sleep. I kissed his downy hair then settled back into rocking and humming until well past dawn when he woke with hungry demands for his mother's attention. I did not make it down to training but all the training in the world couldn't replace how it felt to hold my little boy. Practice with my son was more important than practice with my sword that morning.
A/N: Please Read and Review! So, I came across this adorably squee picture of a daddy cuddling his baby inside his fleece jacket and I just had to write my own Narnian version of the story behind that moment, which is why you have an anonymous daddy cuddling with his little boy. Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.
A/N2: This also happens to be my 150th story posted.