Hi. Sorry I took so long to update, but life got in the way, and you know how life gets. In any case, I'm back with a chapter that I hope is long enough to compensate for the long absence of updates!

The same disclaimers apply to this.


He was excited, to say the least. A party was enough cause for excitement. He set out to find the gathering at precisely 9:45, waiting for sitar music to blast out of the trees. In his eggplant-coloured T-shirt, jeans, and combat boots, he was nondescript and practically hidden by the night. At last, he heard the first part of something Indian-sounding. He followed the sound, and it grew louder as he walked further into the forest. He was unfazed by how sinister the forest was at that hour—he wanted to find the source of the sound. Like Fiera had promised, he had found the clearing, and the party. He imagined the clearing to be beautiful in the day time, a spot directly below the sky and surrounded by trees that danced when the breeze blew through them. That night though, it wasn't as lovely as it would have been if he had been alone with the scenery.

The bacchanal was in full swing; Dryads danced around a massive bonfire to the music, thin coronets of ivy on their heads; Animals, Dwarves, and Naiads danced with one another, a blur of colour and movement all around the circle of Dryads; Royals drank from red cups and swayed on the fringes of the party. He found himself searching for Caspian, or for Fiera, or even that girl Strawberry Fields. He was hopelessly alone, and he didn't feel completely up to socialising. He took a cup full of something that looked potable and braved the crowd. Surprisingly, none of the dancers bumped into him or made rude gestures. Apparently being Peter Pevensie's brother is a good thing around here, he thought to himself, crossing the threshold to get to the other side of the clearing. He was astonished to find that the sitar music was live, and that a sort of orchestra of sitars, drums, tambourines, and other related instruments were the ones producing the sound. He recognised most of the players to be Centaurs based on the all-black garb they were clad in. The sound filled his ears.

Out of nowhere, the music stopped. The drummer played two beats, stood, and announced in a booming voice, "The King of Narnia has arrived!" he looked around frantically and then realised that Caspian came out of the wood right in front of him, resplendent in his close-fitting violet shirt and black trousers. One of the Dryads broke away from the circle of dancers to run up to Caspian and place a gold plastic king's crown on his head. There was cheering, and the music continued. Caspian spotted him looking clueless and grinned; "Ed, you made it!" he blinked, unable to respond. "Come along, then!" Caspian stepped away from his entrance arch of the wood and linked a tanned arm through his. "Have you seen Fi?" asked Caspian, pouring him a red cup of something from the makeshift bar in one corner of the clearing. "No," he replied. Caspian gave him the cup.

"Er, what is this?" he asked, swilling the liquid around. It looked dark and suspicious—then again, he was only basing this on the minimal light provided by the moon and many strategically placed lit tea light candles. "Something blended by the Naiads—I have no idea what's in it, but I'm pretty sure it's something that we'll all be puking up tomorrow," Caspian responded, pouring himself a cup and drinking it, making a face. Eh, what else can I do? He drank it. The liquid went down his throat fast; it was like swallowing fire. "It takes like petrol," he said. "Petrol is fine," shrugged the so-called King of Narnia. They stood there, sipping awkwardly at their cups of the mystery beverage. "Caspian!" called a female voice that he knew didn't belong to Fiera, because it was far too low and soporific. It belonged to a girl with pale blond hair that fell in a shining sheet to her hips, whose powdery complexion was pulled taut over a rather bony face. The moon washed the girl in an odd light. "Lillian," Caspian said curtly. Somehow all the positivity drained from the King upon the girl's appearance.

There was silence, which he spent drinking the mystery beverage. "Well, Caspian? Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?" asked the girl Caspian had called Lillian, with a hand on her hip in a gesture that he imagined was defiance. "I don't have anything to say to you, Lillian; I think you said everything that needed to be mentioned when we broke up," Caspian responded levelly. "Do you really think so, you inconsiderate twat?" Lillian said hotly. "Yes, I think so," there was an edge to Caspian's tone. "No, I don't think you have! I thought we'd agreed that we wouldn't see anyone else for three months after the breakup?" Lillian gesticulated wildly with her hands. "We didn't have an agreement. I let you go gently; you had a fit that was the opposite of gentle, and made a fuss in the middle of the corridor—like what you're doing right now, in the clearing," responded the King. "I just don't understand why we broke up, Cas—we had something special. We complemented each other. I'm the girl everyone wants to be, and you're the bloke that everyone wishes they were or they had. We were perfect," Lillian reached up to touch Caspian's face. "We were boring," at this Caspian removed Lillian's hand. "No, perfect isn't boring," Lillian persisted. "No, Lillian, we weren't perfect."

"What has that immature little twelfth year girl got that I haven't?" Lillian was back in hysterics. "Do you really want to know?" Caspian mimicked his ex-girlfriend's earlier tone. "I'd like to know, yes," commanded Lillian. "On second thought, never mind—this is just another manipulative tactic so you can make something up about how I made the worst decision in the history of mankind when I broke up with you," sighed Caspian. "Perhaps if you stopped overanalysing everything that I say, I could tell you whether or not it's a manipulative tactic!" Lillian retorted. "I'm going to be polite for a second; leave, Lillian," Caspian said through gritted teeth.

Lillian stood her ground, looking up at Caspian challengingly. "Go away, Lillian. I mean it," Caspian reiterated. "I'll leave on my own terms, unlike our breakup," Lillian stated matter-of-factly. Fiera's timing was impeccable, because she appeared by his side right about then. She had a crown of ivies on her head too, but hers was thicker than the other Dryads'. Perhaps he was drunk already and his vision was becoming less accurate, or perhaps Fiera really was wearing what looked like a forties lace gown that had been dyed light green. "What's going on?" Fiera murmured in his ear. "Caspian and his ex-girlfriend are having a row," he replied honestly. "We are not having a row, as you so eloquently put it, Mini Pevensie, Caspian and I are having a discussion," Lillian's eyes darted to him. "Discussions don't sound like that, Lilliandil," Fiera said clearly. "I have you know, the most educated of discussions can end up sounding a lot like this—then again, what would you know about educated discussions, kid?" Lillian snarled at Fiera. "I'm only a few months younger than you, actually, and I take part in educated discussions frequently, so I know that this isn't one," Fiera retorted. "I take great offence at that statement, Lolita," the blonde's eyes widened. "I was merely stating fact," the brunette shrugged.

"That's enough, Fiera," Caspian said. "Tell your Lolita that she shouldn't mess with adults," Lillian scoffed, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and stomped away. "Are you alright?" asked Caspian, cupping Fiera's face in his hands and looking into her eyes. "I'm fine—Edmund, would you like some grass?" Fiera kissed one of Caspian's palms and turned to him. He nodded. Fiera rooted in a pocket that he hadn't spotted on her dress and produced a tightly rolled joint and a lighter. He put the spliff to his lips and lit up. "Thanks," he said as he exhaled. "You're welcome, Ed," smiled the brunette. He chased it with some of the mystery beverage, and found that it wasn't as bad when he had a drag off the spliff first. "Your Majesty," Fiera curtsied to her boyfriend, rising slowly and planting a kiss on Caspian's neck. "Hush, Fi, not in front of the baby," Caspian grinned into Fiera's hair, ruffling his hair absently. "I'm not a baby," he muttered to no one in particular. "It's OK, baby," Fiera pressed her lips to his cheekbone. His skin burned where her lips had touched it. "Did I tell you, newly-minted King Edmund, that Caspian is a beautiful, lyrical lover?" Fiera drawled. "Er, no," heat rushed to his cheeks, "I didn't plan to know, either." Caspian laughed, "See, I told you, didn't I; nothing in front of the baby."

He sighed; "For the last time, I'm not a baby."

TBC