Okay, for all of you who have this story under your alerts list, it seems like I've gone haywire with funky updates. Here's the thing - I am impulsive and over-eager. I thought of moving the one-shots to a whole new story so they wouldn't disrupt the flow of the story. So I moved them. Then I moved them back. I know, I am the worst sort of person. I'm all indecision and procrastination. So, if it looks like your email has been spammed with updates for this story, don't worry. It's just me being an idiot.

Anyways, this is the next story in the original story. This is not the second one-shot. That won't be for another few chapters.

I now pronounce you, chapter and seven!


As the night burned into the dawn, Glozelle kept a vigilant watch over his young charge. He had chosen for her to remain on the beach. A woman, especially one like her, would be shock to the men. And, unfortunately, a welcome reprieve. Though they were allowed women, they had not been to a brothel in quite some time.

It had almost been amusing, watching Caspian hover at the forest's edge as he cleaned and clothed her. Glozelle could not tell if it was out of genuine concern or some misplaced sense of responsibility. More than once, he had to shoo the prince back to the camp. This was not some poor, helpless maiden who had drowned in the river. She had taken a swing at the future king, and accordingly must be brought to justice - even if Caspian had deserved it.

By sunrise, he was exhausted, and, consequently, very crank. The girl, even in sleep, got on his nerves. If not for her, he could have slept through the night. But he did not trust his men to leave her alone, nor Caspian to steal her away. He felt a yawn worm its way through his throat as the morning mists turned the world cold and grey. There was no harm in closing his eyes for a moment, right? She was practically comatose, and his men were not early risers.

He cast one final, bitter glance at the girl, and laid down in the sand, letting the sounds the bubbling brook whisk him away.

When his eyes slowly slid shut, Lucy's snapped open. Who did they think she was, some damsel in distress? What a bunch of pig-headed idiots. Yes, she had fainted. Yes, she had slept for a good portion of the night. But she had awoken an hour before the sunrise, and had kept an eye on the graying soldier. She surreptitiously watched him wear down with the minutes. Though she was sweet and kind-hearted, she was incredibly crafty when she needed it.

And right now, she needed it.

As soon as she felt that he was really out of it, Lucy sat up. It was all she dared to move for one good, long moment. When he did not wake up, she crept over to her bag. The tunic he had given her was well and good, but her skin crawled at the idea of someone else having been in it. Picking through her clothes after she unzipped it, she wondered about what to do.

There was no way she could run and not be caught. Whoever had shot her had very good aim, and there was no escaping six men on horseback. The most she could do at the moment was bathe and put on her own clothes. After that, she would leaves things up to chance.

By God, the tunic smelled like man; not a smelly man, but, still, a man – like musk and leather polish. She was by no means high maintenance, but smelling like a man was just a bit too adult for her. By chance or luck, her clothes were clean; the bag had taken most of the brunt during its trip downriver. They were damp, but not sopping – another small victory. And her uniform shirt was still clean and dry, another plus.

Lucy stared heavily at the tree line. There was no fire burning, no men moving, no motion at all. A good sign, she hoped.

As she sifted through each article of clothing, her hopes of being comfortable sank. She had packed for English weather – jeans, cardigans, some heavy socks, walking boots… nothing that dried quickly. The idea of being cold, damp and uncomfortable almost dashed her spirits. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Or, rather, a clean skirt downstream. But she could not put it on in her current state.

She smelled like a man, her cheeks were tight and salty, and her chest was still crusted with drying blood. The general had done a decent job cleaning up, but he had steered clear of her breasts – something she was deeply grateful for. She had not been mishandled during the night. If it was some inclination of the men's decorum, then she was in honorable hands. Not safe, per se, but honorable.

And since they seemed to be honorable (save for Caspian), she felt confident enough to take a quick, refreshing dip without any prying eyes.

She may have been confident, but her assessment of Caspian had been mostly correct.

He may have been honorable, but he was not blind.


The night for Caspian had been very unpleasant. He did not think himself to be authoritative or vindictive. But his men had crossed the line, in his mind at least. They had all wilted under his glare, but every time he tried to berate them, his tongue turned to lead. They had just been doing what they had been told to. It enraged him, but there was nothing to be said without incurring treason.

Nevertheless, he could barely look at Epaphras without throttling him. Epaphras was young and green, and very overeager. And, apparently, quite the ladies man. It never distracted him from his duties though. But it put all sorts of ideas in Caspian's head – irrational thoughts of his doe-eyed, wounded nymph.

Sleep evaded him, giving him plenty of time to think, and, more importantly, calm down. He realized he had been acting like a wild man chasing shadows through the streets. The poor girl, she was probably scared out of her mind; and mostly due to him, he realized. He had not exactly introduced himself. And, he did corner her while she was undressed.

Okay, so her first impression of him was probably terrible. But she was in their custody, and it was a long ride back to Beruna. There was enough time to repair his image. Or shackle her to his side, whichever came first.

The first step was to apologize to her for his indiscretions. He was a prince, he could be chivalrous and valiant. By the stars, he went to court nearly every day. The false gallantry so valued there turned him into a brilliant actor. But being polite to her would not be a farce. There was just an ulterior motive behind it. What it was, he was not entirely sure. It was whatever brought her closer to him.

As his men slept, he moved stealthily through the trees, intent on making it to the beach. He did not figure Glozelle into his plans. If truth be told, he did not really think of anything besides pleading his case to her.

Because of this, he was completely unprepared for the sight of her bathing. Unprepared, but not repulsed.

She was waist-deep in the dark water, and what skin he could see was completely exposed. He stared at her naked back like it was the first he had ever seen. Caspian could even see her shoulders shaking before she submerged.

"Milord, I just wanted to – whoa!"

Apparently, it was also the first naked back Epaphras had seen in a while.

Caspian snapped like a bow string. With a sound strangely like a snarl, he shoved the young soldier against a tree, his hands fisted in Epiphras's shirt.

"You are going to turn around right now, or I am going to kill you. Do you understand?"

"That's the young girl I shot yesterday?" Epaphras was still staring at the river. "My my, she is a springy young thing, isn't she? A little pallid, for my tastes, but -."

Caspian rolled his eyes and all but tossed the soldier in the direction of the camp.

"Go, now."

Epaphras held up his hands in placating surrender before walking back. Caspian watched him until he was no longer visible. In fact, he spent so long making sure Epaphras did not even peek at the bathing beauty, that he missed Lucy swim away to retrieve her clothing. Nor did he see her return and dress with startling swiftness.

By the time he looked back to the shoreline, she was completely dressed and drying her hair with something from her bag. He was somewhat disappointed, but more elated that her injury was not debilitating.

Caspian seized this obvious opportunity to approach her. No attempt was made to be furtive as he skid down the dunes. She looked up at him through her lashes, still kneeling as she wrung out her hair.

"Good morning," he said amiably as she favored him with a wry glare. "There's need for that."

"Am I anywhere near Madrid?"

Madrid?

"I'm sorry, I've never heard of that town." Her shoulders sagged under some invisible weight.

"Well, then what is the closest town?" She was combing her hair with some ferocity. Every time she vigorously attacked a knot, he winced in pain. The women he knew, even the servants, spent hours oiling and coiling their hair, picking apart tangles with silver pins. A woman's hair was her mantle.

"Would you please stop that?"

"Stop what," she asked with a questioning brow, still tearing into her pretty mane.

"Mistreating you hair like that?" Her tinkling laugh was patronizing and flippant, matched by her deprecating and uncaring smile.

"It's just hair."

"And it is just attached to your head."

She only shrugged as she pulled the brown tresses over her shoulder to braid them. "So, what is the closest town?"

"I believe it is Beaversdam." He peered at her curiously.

"Milady, where do you think you are?"

"Spain," she stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Caspian only shook his head.


Lucy was taken aback at this.

"Well, then, Portugal?"

"I have never heard of such places."

She sat back on her haunches, staring up at him in need of answers.

"Then where am I?"

"You are in Narnia."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the silliness of it all. They were way into role-play. Unless this was some weird, Medieval commune that had shunned society. But no one could retreat so far into the wilderness that they forgot the modern world entirely. However there was something strange going on. In any other place, civilization permeated even the most remote locations. But there was no noise, no pollution. Everything was clean and untouched by industry. Instead of car exhaust, she smelled honey and sun-baked earth. The only sound was the running water of the river, and the cheery morning calls of chattering birds.

Lucy looked over the river, and the forest on the opposite shore. There were birch trees with paper bark and golden green leaves. She could pick out water oaks, maple trees, even a blossoming magnolia. The ground was covered with sweet clover and wild grasses. Lucy could not remember any description of Spanish forests looking like this one did.

"What river is this?"

"The Great River, miss."

"A great river, you say…"

She could hear the sand crunching beneath the man's boot as he came to stand beside her.

"Lucy?"

"I have no idea where I am." She must have looked so lost as she gazed up at him.

"Perhaps if you took a ride to the edge of this forest, you might find your bearings."

She looked up at him with a defiant stare that could have frozen boiling water.

"I have no reason to trust you won't kill me the moment we're alone." He only chuckled, smiling down brightly at her. If this was not a potentially deadly situation, she would have blushed. Comely, masculine men did not smile at her, save for Peter. And brothers did not look at sisters the way Caspian stared at her.

Caspian.

Caspian.

"Caspian, your name is Caspian."


His smile turned positively beaming. "You know my name."

"I heard it said last night."

It was a risk, but he placed his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She stared at it inquisitively before arching a brow at him.

"I'll tell you what. You can ride my horse, while I will take the reins from the ground. If you want to run away, just dig your heels into her side." He did not tell her that Glozelle's black war horse was the fastest in the cavalry.

"You'll take me to the edge of the forest?"

"By my word."


He was surprised by her skill with horseback riding. She did not need his help mounting Doris, and she was quite confident in the saddle.

"You've dealt with horses before?"

"There was an equestrian team at my school."

Any time he tried to converse with her, she answered with a single sentence. She never asked him questions. He could not really blame her. Her gaze was always on her surroundings. She stared at everything and anything with wide-eyed amazement and curiosity. It only confirmed that she was not from Narnia. Fortunately, the silence was almost amiable. The sun was burning away the morning fog, and the forest shined dewy and jade.

He could see the end of the forest approaching. "We're almost there, milady." She did not respond, not that he expected her to. Some fifty feet from the tree line, he stopped the horse, indicating they would travel by foot with a tilt of his chin.

Amazingly, she did not resist when he helped her down. Her hands were on his shoulders as he grasped her waist, sliding her down the length of him until her feet touched the ground. Even more amazingly, she tucked her slim hand into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to lead her. Caspian sensed that it was only because she was unsure of her surroundings.

They walked in silence, their footsteps quieted by the soft grass. He occasionally caught a glimpse of her dark head as she walked beside him. He dared not ruin the peaceful attitude with silly questions.

As they got further and further to the border of the woods, he felt her stiffen. Sometimes she faltered in her steps, nearly knocking them off kilter.

"Well, here we are." And there they were. Beyond the forest was a rolling expanse of green fields, spotted occasionally with boulders and sloping rock hills. It was really lovely, in all actuality. Sometimes farmers would lead their cattle to graze there. But it was obviously not what she expected.

"Holy shit."


There we go! The next 'gift' is a few chapters away. I wanted to get back to the story.

As always, REVIEW!