A/N: Hi beautifuls. I am so back, and I am so rocking out.

You know why I got myself into gear, don't you? Because Prince Caspian will be out soon, and the guy who got cast as Caspian is hot. (As he should be, might I add.) But you know what this means.

CASPIAN SUES YAY.

NB: I do not have anything against Mary Sues. In fact, I am incredibly fond of them. The thing is, much like children, flatulence and kareoke attempts, they are so much more fun when they're your own. So I thought I'd finish El Tango now, while people still think Lucian isn't weird, because when the film comes out people will not want anyone sharing gooey looks with Caspian except themselves (and who can blame them?), or think I'm a sick deviant for pairing Georgie Henley with Caspian because she's probably still all young and cute-as-a-button-ish. No, that is not an invite for you to call me a sick deviant. Although I suppose you can if that's your bag.

Anyway, I know it's been a while. As Whitney Houston says, "I just want you to know, I love every single one of you." Well, okay, after she said that she was bottled for being an hour late onstage, but the sentiment is there. I really do.

xx


El Tango de Lucian


There was a door, heavy oak on hinges that had rusted through disrepair. Imagine the scene; in the sleepy courtyard behind, four guards with ill-repaired armour dozed in wine-fuelled dreams. Horses shuffled lazily in their stalls, jackdaws cawed softly from the ivy.

With a crash that sent the unfortunate birds shrieking into the air and the guards leaping muzzily to their feet, the gate shook violently; once, twice, and a third time before the rust gave way and the oak was flung wide. One hung from its ravaged hinge for half a minute before tumbling spectacularly to the flagstone floor.

The sergeant was halfway across the courtyard when the sunlight cascaded through the open port, half-blinding him. There was shouting outside, trumpets, and then through the flood of light at the door, a silhouette appeared - the figure's hair blazed like a halo around his head, and for a mad moment the sergeant thought it was the mane of a lion, and shrank into the wall.

But as the surreal moment passed and the figure strode into the courtyard along with a troop of others, the captain realised it was a normal man; richly dressed, but devoid of any supernatural qualities. And he noticed two things immediately.

The first was that the man was young. Not man; boy, even. The sergeant was not quite out of his twenties, but he would have guessed that the blond apparition was at least ten summers fewer.

The second was that, young though he was, the sergeant would rather put his head between the jaws of a bear than stand in his way. There was something about his eyes that was deeply unnerving. There was a hint of fear in their blue depths, but fear that was masked with a cold, biting fury that sent the sergeant's heart racing, and his hand to his scabbard. Too late, he realised that there was a golden circlet on the young man's fair hair.

One of the soldiers – a dark-haired man of the captain's age, dressed for seafaring – strode to the front and drew his sword with a long, loud and very definite scraping sound.

"Three cheers for the king," said Captain Drinian, for he it was. "Now take us to the Governor."


Lucy had an impression of filtered light, and straw on the floor, and hundred of voices talking all at once.

They were being led into a low, long hall. A rough stage had been erected at one end, and the men and children from the hold had been lined up – the bidding was near to starting. Straining, she caught sight of Edmund, but Eustace was nowhere to be seen. The now-constant gnawing of fear in her stomach gave a little jolt; had he been sold before the official opening? Or worse? Reepicheep, too, was not on the stage.

Now that they were here, so close to being sold and moved on to somewhere they had no control over, the passive fear in Lucy began to mould and take shape. A spark of courage started to grow in her mind. Wasn't she Queen? Wasn't she? And then there was Aslan, of course. Surely he wouldn't want harm to come to her? But she had a feeling no-one, not even the Lion himself, could help her if she didn't at least try herself first. That was what it was all about, wasn't it? Taking your destiny into your own hands. She remembered the girls in the cabin, the blood on their legs. Her anger began to grow. That was good; she could use it. .

She was manacled to a long line of the women, each of them attached to the same chain. That would mean that if she was sold, her hands would have to be freed in order to be passed to her new owner.

And if her hands were freed – she was light, she was fast, she was young. Run. Anywhere. They would try to catch her, of course, but it was crowded in here and she could slip through the muddle more easily than they could. There was no time for a more sophisticated plan. Just run, and pray the Dawn Treader was nearby.

The Dawn Treader… oh, Caspian! Why wasn't he here? It almost made the fear conquer the courage again – had something happened to him? The old man who bought him had seemed kind enough, but who knew? Caspian couldn't have claimed his freedom unless he revealed his identity, and that was a hugely dangerous move to take. If the old man hadn't been a loyal subject, Caspian's get-out card could have turned into a death sentence in the blink of an eye.

No. No, don't think about that. One step at a time. Wait until the manacles come off, first.

He'll come for us. I know he will. He must…

Caspian…


The crash reverberated around the dusty hall as the Governor's desk-table was overturned by Drinian and Lord Bern. Documents and correspondence flew haphazardly into the air like panicked doves before falling limply to the flagstones. The Governor himself was as white as his parchment as he was plucked from his chair of office and set neatly on the floor.

Caspian sat on the chair before him, unsheathed his sword very deliberately, and laid it across his knees.

"You shall have three minutes of my time," he said quietly and dangerously. "Three minutes. At the end of which, you will have granted my requests, and I shall be on my way to see they are carried out. Do you understand?"

"Nothing about it in the documents," the Governor stammered. "We have not been notified-"

"Do you understand?"

The Governor took one look at the cold fury in the young King's eyes, and his hands began to shake. In a rare moment of wisdom, he said the most sensible words possible.

"Yes, your Majesty."


Standing on the platform, like a piece of meat on show at a butchers, was something Lucy would remember in nightmares for many years to come. It was so… sordid. Lucy's fear had now turned fully to rage; she seethed. Her grey eyes were cold and hard with hatred.

Edmund, standing nearby, regarded her with something between apprehension and terror. He had never seen his sister look like this before. Or had he…? There were faint images, fuzzy memories, from a very different time long ago… when they were kings and queens, and a Calormene Prince had taken Susan prisoner against her will… Lucy marching to war, every arrow-tip deadly… yes, perhaps he had seen that expression before…

His reverie was broken when Lucy half-turned, moving an inch or so closer to him – not enough to be noticed by the slavers, but enough to hear her whisper.

"They have to unshackle us to sell us. Once they're off, run. It doesn't matter where. Caspian must be close."

"And then?" he murmured back.

"We come back for the others."

Edmund's heart beat faster. Now it was so close, his insides were writhing with anticipation, but he made himself still and fingered the manacles around his wrists. She was right. They were joined to the others; they'd have to be unchained.

Lucy turned back to the crowd. The bidding had started; Pug was presiding over it, taking preference orders. One by one, slaves were released from the chain and presented to the purchasers. Before she knew what was happening, Lucy's arms were grabbed by the nearest slaver. To her grim delight, Edmund was pulled forward too – they were to be presented as a pair. Brother and sister were pushed roughly onto the podium.

"Lot five, siblings, in their teens, strong, healthy!" Pug's voice rang out through the hall. "Opening bid for the pair, two hundred crescents! Yes, my good man, is that two hundred and fifty? Turn them about, Janin!"

At Pug's request, Lucy felt rough hands turn her slowly on the spot, exhibiting her to the crowd.

It was at that moment, turned like a hog roast on a spike, that her hatred settled into a solid, palpable force. She hardly noticed the winning bidder come to collect his purchase. She only felt the manacles slackening and dropping off her wrists. She looked around and saw an earthenware jug of beer on the nearest table. In one fluid motion, she grabbed it, pitched it forward, and hurled it with all her vicious anger into the slaver's face.

The jug shattered in a catastrophe of clay shards, beer and blood. The slaver stumbled back with an incoherent cry of agony, his hands over his face. The hall was silent for one shocked moment.

Then all hell broke loose.

Lucy grabbed Edmund's hand and ran.


Caspian's feet pounded on the hot road.

True to his word, the Governor had been dealt with in three minutes. Caspian had not even waited for the others as he had dashed out of the hall, although he knew Drinian was following some way behind. An all-consuming fear had gripped him, and his strained nerves simply could not take any more waiting around. The administrative business was done with, as far as he was concerned. There was a time for action, and this was it.

As he rounded the bend to the docks, he could see the long low building he had identified earlier as the market hall. His blood ran cold as a roar erupted from within its walls. Something was happening.

He had a pretty good idea of what it was. He knew his other-wordly companions well enough by now to guess that, at least. He felt a fierce stab of pride as he thought of Lucy's defiance, but the ice closed in again as the likely consequences of rebellion rose to his mind. What if he was too late?

He drew his sword with a metallic ring, and ran on.


Chairs were flung aside, tables were turned over, people scattered as Lucy and Edmund careered through the hall, blind to any damage caused. Just one hand would be enough to slow them, and if they slowed down, they were done for.

The door was ahead. A wild, frantic hope rose in Lucy – would they really make it? Once outside, there were dozens of escape routes, a hundred hiding places, and if they were especially lucky the Dawn Treader would be nearby…

The sudden burst of optimism was snuffed out like a candle when something blotted out the light from the door, and both siblings smashed headlong into a body that had suddenly appeared from the left. Before she could even scream, an arm grabbed Lucy round the waist and she was lifted bodily from the ground, only to be flung through a door into a side-chamber.

She fell hard against the floor, her wrist immediately collapsing beneath her and sending a sharp pain up her arm. A sprain. Beside her, she felt Edmund land with a gasp, all the breath knocked out of him.

The door slammed.

She knew what she would see as she looked up. Pug stood there, his teeth bared in a grimace of fury, drawing his dagger.

"You weren't worth the trouble," he snarled. "I've no use for disobedient slaves. A leopard never changes its spots."

With lightning quickness, Edmund seized a discarded chain from the floor and slashed it towards the man – it hit with a clash and a spray of blood. Pug reeled back, a jagged welt on his cheekbone, and then Edmund was on him like a terrier – fists, knees, elbows, anything he could find with an explosion of ferocity. But the slaver was too big, too strong, and Edmund was only a boy... In one great sweep of his arm, Pug dashed his attacker against the wall, where he lay motionless with blood pooling on the ground beneath his hair.

Lucy's world went red.

She thought she remembered screaming – whether it was Edmund's name, or anything else, she couldn't say. She scrabbled for the chain, fingernails breaking on the stone floor, and lashed it with the inhuman strength of desperation – but although it hit its mark, it wasn't enough. A hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her clear into the air, slamming her back into the wall and choking her into blackness.

Pug's breath came in gasps. "You – filthy –"

She was panting, struggling, fighting for breath, her feet kicking uselessly in midair against the wall. Her sight was failing; lights were bursting in front of her eyes, her lungs were screaming, she was blacking out, she was dying –

And then like something out of a dream, the door crashed open, and a golden figure was surging towards them, and there was a terrible ripping noise, and then silence…

Pug dropped her.

With vision blurred almost to blindness, Lucy looked up. The slaver stood there, features frozen in pure shock as he looked down at the blade-tip that protruded from his heart.

He swayed and fell. Behind him was King Caspian the Tenth, and his face was blazing with fury.

He flew to her. She was struck dumb; her voice was useless, nonexistent. He lifted her tenderly, his face inches from hers, his crystal blue eyes alive with vengeance, triumph, fear, and… something else?

Lucy fainted.


A/N: Epilogue to come.

I am more grateful than you know for every single one of your reviews, and I really mean that from the bottom of my heart.

Animus Wyrmis: Here is your happiness, your conclusion and your fluff. And you shall have more in the epilogue.

AngelOnFire: I agree with you entirely on the philosophy of fanfiction, although I have room in my heart for Mary-Sues and crazy crackfic AUs, too. But I really do cherish the fics that fill in gaps and expand existing characters, working on their potential. Thank you so much for your encouragement!

Pachinko: Yes, I do like Star Wars! In fact, it was the thing that first got me into fanfiction and internet fandom. With... yes, you guessed it... a Mary Sue! Bless her.

To every other reviewer: Your feedback, questions, ideas and kind words really touched me and spurred me on, so thank you so much. It really brightens up my day when I get a notification in my inbox, because I usually just assume these stories have fallen into the blue and no-one really reads them any more. You've all taught me otherwise, so thank you so much for that. Oh, can you feel the love in here! I think I need some chocolate.

xxxxxx