Another Release of Creative Frustration

What a welcome home present. Twelve years at war, and he came back to this. It was a war all its own, Deryk thought.
"How long has she been asleep?" he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed. He took Rhia's hand, his worried gaze tracing over her face. She was so pale. Paler than usual. Her scars looked even deeper and even more permanent than when he'd left.
"Seven years." The boy - no, he wasn't a boy any longer. It had been twelve years since Deryk had left his son with his wife to go fight. He was sixteen now.
"Cayule...Tell me what happened." His hazel eyes turned to look at Cayule.
The young man released a slow sigh and sank into the seat he'd brought over to the side of the bed. "Late one night, a few looters attacked the estate. They were after the horses. Mom...She tried to fight them off. She almost did, too, but..." He closed his eyes, hands curling into fists. "There were too many. They came all at once. She fought off all but three of them...They impaled her with their swords. I don't know how she survived, but she did. She's still alive...Though she's never woken up since then. They made off with the horses, took some of our things from the house, then just left."
Deryk's face had twisted into a look of pure hatred, empty hand curling into a tight fist, so that his knuckles turned white. "Charles...He'll pay for this..." He got to his feet in a hurry, but when he tried to let go of Rhia's hand, he found he was unable. Her fingers had curled around his hand.
"Don't...go..."
Deryk's and Cayule's eyes both went wide and turned to look down at Rhia. To their amazement, her eyes began to drift open. She looked up at Deryk, the all too familiar pleading look he could never say no to coming onto her face. "It wasn't Charles...it wasn't anyone you know, or would want to know. Please...Just stay..."