A/N: Well, we've made it to November, and I'm back with another long chapter. (Who am I kidding, at this point 6k is normal.) Hopefully that alternate throne room scene (Ch. 8 of the WGCBS Deleted Scenes) tided y'all over. Chapter 70 will probably get us back on the weekly update schedule, assuming Caspian stops being a stubborn idiot. If I need to move the update, I'll update this A/N with a note to that effect. I really do appreciate y'all's patience! Alrighty, on to the forced proximity 😏
Chapter 69 Content Warnings: brief mention of raw meat
Chapter 69: i don't think about you
Caspian
He could not have imagined a better morning. The night's humidity has given way to balmy weather and a stirring southeastern wind - precisely the direction he hoped. The Lily of the River, named for the lily on her prow - modelled after the Silver Sea's lilies at the end of the world - will sail today, sparing the crew hours of rowing. It is, by all accounts, a perfect morning.
Or it would be, if not for one missing member of the party.
His eyes scan the courtyard, brow furrowed and lips set in a firm line.
Turning, Caspian trades murmured good mornings with Lilliandil, helps her mount Sugarhoof - a mare white as snow with the sweetest temperament in the royal stable - and confirms their escort of six guards is ready.
Still, she is not here.
Caspian fights annoyance. It's too pleasant a morning to waste on frustration.
"She knew our departure time, didn't she?" Caspian asks Doctor Cornelius, as a stableboy helps the old half-dwarf mount his stocky pony.
"I'm sure she will arrive soon," says the Doctor.
Caspian checks his supply bags, gives Destrier a sugar cube he stole from breakfast, and briefly confirms their route with Ironhoof (Glenstorm's son and one of Caspian's most trusted captains). One guard will wait here to escort Addie when she finally decides to show -
The castle's double doors creak open, and out sprints Addie with a single bag, pale but for cheeks flushed with exertion.
"Good morrow, Adelaine!" Lilliandil calls. "Do you have everything you need?"
Addie slows as she nears their horses, gingerly slipping between the mounted guards and up to her horse - a sleepy, unflappable bay gelding that barely twitches an ear at her approach.
"Good morning," Addie says. "Yes, I think so."
She ties her bag to the saddle, only to hesitate at the horse's side.
Her time in England must not have included horseback riding.
Caspian nods to a stableboy. The long-haired youth hurries to oblige and makes a cradle of his hands, an offer Addie readily accepts with quiet thanks as she's boosted into the saddle.
"Now then," Caspian says, the moment Addie settles. "If we are all accounted for?"
"By your leave, my king," says Doctor Cornelius.
Caspian swings onto Destrier and banishes his irritation. It is only a brief ride south to meet the Lily's crew on the Great River. Despite the minor delay, everything is otherwise perfect.
After a brief ride south with sporadic pleasantries lit by the sunrise, the Lily of the River lies before them. Captain Drinian, a few years his senior, waits on deck with the mostly Narnian crew. Caspian's fellow Telmarines have mixed opinions on ships - some enjoy travelling on the water, but most despise its fickle nature.
Caspian dismounts first, assists Lilliandil, and hands off Destrier's reins. The guards will return the horses to the castle; the ship's crew of Narnians, Galmans, and a few Lone Islanders and Seven Isle-folk is more than enough protection to sail within the safety of Narnia's borders.
Lilliandil smiles in thanks, only to hurry past him to the gangplank.
"Captain Drinian," she says with a brief curtsy. "I'm so pleased to see you again."
"The pleasure is mine, my lady," the Captain says, bowing from the waist. "Welcome, Your Majesty."
Caspian ascends the gangplank and clasps Drinian's forearm. Drinian was a steadfast captain on the Dawn Treader, and Caspian is glad to sail with him again.
"Good to see you again, Captain."
This familiar face holds nothing but good memories.
Even these few weeks have been too long without the wind in his hair and a deck rocking beneath his boots. His seat of power may reside within the castle of his ancestors, but the water has his heart.
Caspian indulges himself at the bow and lets the southeastern wind blow kingly worries and responsibilities downriver. He will have much to do when they reach Cair Paravel - overseeing excavations, reviewing findings with chief archaeologists, approving plans and restorations presented by the Cair's architects - but for now, his only responsibility is to Lilliandil's care and comfort.
Like him, Lilliandil loves the water. Though not as much as she loves making friends, Caspian clings to the similarity. A shared interest, with memories and stories enough to fill many a conversation.
He needs to open up to her more, he knows. Just… not yet.
Soon.
Caspian leans against the railing, his face into the wind filling the Lily's sails and his back to the bow. Members of the crew - minotaurs, fauns, Marshwiggles, two satyrs, a dwarf, and a few human men - are busy minding the sails, tying knots, and swabbing the deck. Lilliandil is still with Captain Drinian at the helm, likely trading stories of the Eastern Ocean or the Spear-Head, Narnia's brightest northern star. Doctor Cornelius sits in the shade near the cabins, breathing heavily and looking a little grey.
Sea sickness? The Great River is calm, especially compared to the sea; he didn't think anyone would have trouble.
Caspian straightens to check on his old professor, only to stop. Addie emerges from the cargo deck below with a cup and offers it to the Doctor. The two talk quietly out of earshot, but Addie's concern is clear.
She looks a bit green, too.
Caspian flags down the nearest unoccupied sailor and sends the faun to the healer for Queen Lucy's cordial. Lucy saw fit to cure Eustace's sea sickness with it on the voyage.
He would do it for anyone feeling ill.
Addie
At first, she refuses the cordial. Sea sickness isn't life-threatening, just uncomfortable - why waste a drop on something so silly?
But the healer, a badger with kind eyes she already has trouble refusing, insists.
"Only a drop, and you'll be right as rain," the badger says, offering the cordial again.
Addie's stomach rolls as she refuses a second time. "Surely the king wants to preserve -"
"He won't mind, dear," says the badger.
Addie risks a glance at him. Caspian is standing at the bow, eyes closed and face upturned to the morning sun as his kingdom passes by.
He's the most carefree she's ever seen him.
In Addie's surprise, the badger opens her mouth and a drop of fireflower juice coats falls onto her tongue. Addie tastes sunlight and sweet spices, and the nausea disappears.
"Thanks."
The badger pats her hand and turns to Doctor Cornelius, whose complexion has returned to normal. "How are you feeling, my Lord?"
"Much improved," says the Doctor. "Thank you, my good badger."
The healer bows and waddles away, back below deck. With the nausea gone, Addie might well join her. The more she stays out of sight, the better.
Still, it's a beautiful day - balmy, warm, the early summer heat tempered by the wind and water - and surely there's somewhere on deck she can settle in, enjoy the morning. She has nothing better to do, since Doctor Cornelius allowed precious few books with them for fear of damage.
Addie excuses herself and wanders the deck, dodging crew members humming ditties. The bow is out of the question (for one, Caspian, and for another, the ship's rocking is worst there), the stern is occupied by Lilliandil and Captain Drinian, and she can make herself scarce below deck later. She needs somewhere quiet and out of the way.
The deck is split into two levels - raised levels at the bow and stern, and a lower main deck in the middle. The stairs aren't too busy now that the ship is properly underway, but crew members still trod up and down. The shade beside them, however, is empty space.
Addie finds an unoccupied stool beside the right (starboard, she's heard the crew call it) stairs to the stern. A perfectly hidden nook where she can fill out today's diary entry for Josie.
Addie takes her journal and a graphite stylus wrapped in rope - Narnia's version of a pencil - from her pocket and settles in. Later, she'll go down to the kitchen (or is it the galley?) and make herself useful.
Time passes easily in her private little alcove. With the cordial's help, Addie's stomach pays no mind to the ship's rocking, and struggling to write steadily requires all her focus. Now, she's turned to sketching; a willow dryad floated by a few minutes ago, and words can only capture so much.
Addie blows graphite dust from her paper and regards her work. Not perfect, but no worse than her childhood sketches Josie loved.
A pale blue glow taints her periphery.
"You've captured her likeness beautifully."
Addie startles. "What? Oh, um, I think I made her fingers too long, but… anyway. Thanks."
Lady Lilliandil descends the stairs, footsteps nearly silent. "May I?"
Addie flips her stylus around her middle finger. This book is supposed to be just for Josie; no one else has looked closely at it.
What's the harm?
"Sure."
Lilliandil leans over, brightening. "Only on the left hand, but I can barely tell. If you added a slight curve? There?"
"You're right," Addie realises. "She moved with the wind; I made the lines too straight."
"Easily fixed. And perhaps lengthen her nose?"
"I'll do that."
Lilliandil smiles and straightens, but doesn't move to leave. "I'm terribly sorry you were feeling unwell earlier."
Addie shakes her head. "Thanks, but I'm all better now. If this is the fastest way to Cair Paravel, it's worth it."
"If you don't mind a little curiosity on my part, what is the nature of you and Doctor Cornelius' research?"
Shouldn't Lilliandil ask Caspian that?
Maybe she has, and he's said little. He used to do that with her, too.
"Narnia's old dynasties," Addie says, close enough to the truth. "Mainly the Age of Conquest, before the Golden Age or the Long Winter."
"I see," says Lilliandil.
Addie chews her inner cheek. If they were friends, she might say more, but she doesn't know how much Caspian wants Lilliandil to know.
"I guess Narnia's like most anyone," Addie continues. "Even a kingdom wants to know its origins, even if it takes a mess to figure out."
She knows all about that – about messes and making mistakes and digging up the past just trying to find out who you are. Every answer has a cost.
It takes her longer than it should to realise that while she's been staring at the passing riverbank, Lilliandil's gone quiet.
"The excavations," Addie says. She clears her throat. "They're messy. All that digging."
For God's sake. Her tongue's turned stupid since she came back to Narnia.
"I suppose they are," says the star. "But well worth the effort, I should think."
Lilliandil steers the conversation toward pleasantries - how Addie's finding the ship, the capital, how was her journey to the city - all questions easily answered and redirected to the star herself. It's perfectly… amiable.
And if Addie's eyes stray past Lilliandil to the ship's bow, if Caspian glances their way, it means nothing.
Don't worry, Addie wants to call. I'm not telling her anything, you ass.
If Caspian had reservations about Lilliandil and her talking, he shouldn't have trapped them on the same damn boat.
"About Cair Paravel," Addie says, after Lilliandil finishes recalling the Maying festival. "It's the oldest castle in Narnia. We think one of the first kings built it. So, there's a decent chance it has archives that survived the Hundred Year Winter, the Dark Ages, even the Telmarine invasion."
Lilliandil perks up, brightening. "Are you and the Doctor seeking anything in particular?"
Technically yes, but Doctor Cornelius was interested in Cair Paravel's excavations long before the question of the rings.
Addie tucks her journal closer, elbows braced on her knees. "Sort of. The Doctor's been tracking the restoration and its findings for a while, but I'm curious about… some old magic. Or artifacts; I'm not sure if they're the same thing."
"Doctor Cornelius mentioned he's been overseeing the Cair's rebuilding," Lilliandil says. "What artifacts are you seeking?"
"Anything about world-travelling. For the sake of curiosity."
That's more than she should say, probably, but there's no reason she needs to lie to the king's soon-to-be fiancée.
Lilliandil tilts her head and leans closer. "World-travelling within Narnia, or beyond?"
"The latter," Addie says. "Like the Kings and Queens of Old did."
"Ah, the Pevensies!" Lilliandil joins her on the small bench, smiling like they're about to be friends by association. "I had the joy of meeting Lucy, and her brother Edmund. Did you know them?"
If barely a week of acquaintance counts.
"Very briefly," Addie says. "They seemed lovely. Queen Lucy saved my life, actually."
Concern pinches the star's brow, and Addie wishes she'd never mentioned that last bit.
"It was years ago," she hurries to say, swallowing a phantom metallic taste. "I'm sure Queen Lucy saved a lot of people with her cordial."
"Certainly," says Lilliandil, eyebrows still drawn together. "This must have been before King Caspian's voyage?"
Addie almost glances toward the bow before she stops herself.
"It was during the Narnian Revolution," Addie explains.
"A difficult time, I understand."
Addie's throat tightens. "Yes, it was."
Lilliandil nods. Strangely, the simple gesture relaxes the tension coiled in Addie's shoulders. It's been a while since she acknowledged how difficult that time was out loud - much less to another person.
Lilliandil's hand hovers over hers. Instead of moving away, Addie meets her blue eyes and finds a quiet sort of kindness there.
"I wish you the best of luck in your research," says the star.
For a brief moment, Addie touches her hand in appreciation.
"Thanks."
Caspian
All in all, it's a pleasant first day on the water. Lilliandil seems determined to extend her friendship to Addie as much as the rest of the crew, which is… kind, if not a development he relishes.
His past and his future discussing Lion knows what out of his earshot would unsettle any man.
Caspian shakes off the nerves. He can't keep his and Addie's history hidden from Lilliandil forever, but he needn't over-share either. If Lilliandil has questions, it's worth seeing if she'll ask him outright.
If she does, that's an improvement over Addie's sneaking around.
Even if Addie's sneaking is precisely what entangled them together in the first place.
That's all in the past.
Addie excuses herself and scuttles below deck, no doubt using work she doesn't have as an excuse. If he knows her at all - and he knows her less than he thought, he must remember that - Addie will spend the hours until dinner in the ship's mess, because kitchen work is what she knows.
He wonders, fleetingly, if she's ever sat still a day in her life.
He wonders if she thinks the same of him before he remembers Addie's opinions do not matter to him anymore.
Past. Future. His eye must be on the latter, and naught else.
Caspian breathes in the humid breeze, the scent of the freshwater river, and Narnia's sun-warmed forests, and thinks of Adelina - Adelaine - no more.
Addie
After an appropriately deferent curtsy that Lilliandil mirrors, Addie escapes down to the cargo deck, where scents of lemon, dill, and roast fowl waft from the ship's kitchen - galley, that's the word. Only two people occupy the room: a faun and a reedy young man with one hand inside a raw chicken.
"Hi," Addie calls. "Could you use another pair of hands?"
"Thank the Lion," says the faun without looking up from her boiling pot. "If you know what you're doing, I'd be ever so grateful."
Addie grabs a spare apron hanging on the door. "I work in the castle kitchen. What do you need?"
"Feel like groping a dead bird?"
A guffaw of a laugh bursts from Addie's mouth, more surprise than amusement. The boy grins and lifts his right hand, a greased chicken stuck with peppercorns impaled on his fist.
"That looks a bit more intimate than groping," Addie says.
He wiggles his arm, grimacing. "Not how I'd like to spend my evening."
"Colin, that is enough," groans the faun. She must be Hasia, the cook Lilliandil mentioned. "You, ah, what's your name?"
"Addie."
"Addie, if you could either steam those vegetables over there - yes, the carrots and corn - or relieve Colin of his fowl friend, that'd be wonderful."
Colin pouts and holds out the chicken.
Addie steps away, lips pursed. "Much as I'd love to rescue that poor chicken, your hands're already dirty."
"You're no fun."
"Ask me nicely tomorrow."
Addie washes her hands in the steaming dish basin and sinks into the mindless rhythm of peeling carrots, shucking corn, and cutting both into manageable pieces. After the chicken is roasting in the fire-brick oven, Colin fills the galley with sailing ditties, stomping his feet and singing in a rich, low voice that begs for a higher accompaniment. Hasia joins sporadically with high, squeaky notes that trail off as the bubbling pot or hissing steamer steals her focus.
It's not Perla's kitchen, but it's charming.
Caspian
After a dinner made jovial by sailors' songs and ale Caspian partakes in despite his better judgement, he returns to the bow, where the ship's rhythm is strongest. The Great River's calm waters are tamer than he likes, the wind lacking the salt he craves, but it is close enough to his heart's desire to quiet his mind.
Quiet will do him good; he spent a moment too long noticing that Addie was clapping along with the sailors, that a sailor from Redhaven with sandy curls made her blush, and he does not care.
So much the better that Addie has someone to amuse her on this brief voyage. Perhaps the blond, freckled sailor will find her by the starboard railing, where she now lingers, leaning over as if the river holds countless wonders beneath the surface.
It does, but he never thought she would seek them, especially after she was ill for the first hour of this voyage.
Caspian surrenders himself to the dip and swell of the ship as the sunset paints red and orange on his closed eyelids.
Four days.
Perhaps this was not his wisest idea.
Addie
After a restless night in a hammock below deck with the crew's snores, Addie rises early. Hasia politely declines her offer to help with breakfast, saying dinner hour is the only time she needs more hands. Breakfast and lunch are cold foods, especially as the weather continues to warm.
"Really, go enjoy the sunrise. Here." Hasia tosses her an orange and a heel of pillowy bread. "Have an early breakfast."
Addie thanks her and trudges onto the main deck. To her luck, neither Caspian nor Lilliandil are up yet; only sailors occupy the deck. Colin, the boy from the kitchen, is climbing down from the crow's nest.
"Good morning," Addie calls.
"Still haven't forgiven you for leaving me to the chicken, if you were wondering." Yet despite the petulant greeting, Colin wears a lopsided grin.
"I pity the chicken more."
Colin rolls his eyes. "And here I thought you were coming over to make friends."
Addie arches an eyebrow as Colin's gaze measuring her from head to foot and back again. Colin was fun company in the galley, but she has her journal and sketching and a sunrise to keep her occupied if he's genuinely disagreeable.
It's better not to find out. After all, if Cair Paravel has answers, then the fewer connections she makes here in Narnia, the better.
Addie holds up her journal and stylus. "Just enjoying the sunrise."
Colin points to the crow's nest, sand-coloured hair blowing in his eyes. "The view's better up there."
Addie looks up the length of the mast at the crow's nest, high above them.
"I'm alright, thanks."
Addie retreats to yesterday's discreet perch by the starboard stairs to the stern, shadowed and out of obvious sight. Better her feet stay planted firmly on the ground.
"Who's that for?"
Addie's stylus jerks down the page, bisecting blank space she planned to fill with a sketch of the shoreline. She scowls up at Colin, who appears wholly unapologetic as he points to her rough rendering of a hawk soaring through the sunrise.
"What, this?" Addie smudges the horizon line with her thumb, softening harsh lines. "It's for my friend. She likes to travel. Or she would, if she had more time for it."
"No time to travel? Now there's a tragedy." Colin leans onto the ship's railing, ankles crossed and hands fidgeting with a spare length of rope. "Where's your friend stuck at?"
Addie closes her journal, stylus trapped between its pages. "At school. Long way from here."
"Ah." Colin glances at his rope and ties another knot. In less than a minute, he's tied a neat row faster than Addie's eyes could track.
"How do you do that?" she asks.
Colin tightens his latest knot without looking up. "This? They're just sailing knots. Keeps my hands busy - like your sketchbook, I guess."
In the time she's been sketching, the rest of the ship has come to life. From the wheel, Captain Drinian booms an order to trim the mainsail, and Colin jumps to action with five other sailors. They work seamlessly, pulling ropes and letting out the sail until it billows. Caspian, back at the bow with Lilliandil, leans into the wind.
He smiles much more on the water.
Addie forces herself to look away.
Colin returns, whistling a tune Addie doesn't know. "Want to learn?"
"Learn what?"
Colin leans over the stair railing, his sea-green eyes dancing with a challenge. "Sailing. Just the basics, something to show your friend."
Addie grips her journal. As much as she'd love something to do, she promised herself she'd be unobtrusive, at least on the ship.
She nods toward the wheel, though Captain Drinian is momentarily quiet. "Aren't you busy?"
Colin drums the railing. His hands are tan, nails bitten short. He seems about her age, maybe a year younger.
"S'that a no?"
Awareness tickles at her brow. Addie's eyes stray to the bow and suddenly she's trapped in a dark, piercing gaze.
What the devil is he looking at?
Addie stuffs her journal into her pocket and jumps to her feet. Colin's eyebrows lift as she faces him, hands on her hips.
"Lead the way, then," she says.
Colin's thin lips twitch. He hops down from the stairs and bows shallowly, hand extended. "Change of heart?"
"Curiosity," Addie counters, batting Colin's hand away with a smirk and falling into step with him. "And boredom."
"Not my charming smile, then?"
"Who told you that?"
His grin widens, all mischief and no sincerity. "You disagree?"
Addie regards Colin's boyishness, a levity she wishes she could summon for herself. If as many people as she suspects have told him he's charming, he doesn't need her to affirm it.
"I didn't say that," she says. "Just show me a sailor's knot or something."
"Alright, alright." Colin smiles easily, leads her to an organised tangle of ropes and tackles, and begins explaining. It's rushed and clearly meant more to impress than impart knowledge, but it's something to do.
And if her neck itches every so often and she notices movement by the bow, Addie pays it no mind.
Caspian
Addie's made a new friend. The sailor who made her laugh at dinner is showing her around, brimming with youthful flirtation and lopsided grins Addie surprisingly returns.
Not all of them. Just… enough of them.
Addie's probably trying to make herself useful. It took her less than a day to volunteer herself in the kitchen; without something to do, Addie grows restless. She's staying busy, that's all.
Lion only knows why she decided to fill the daylight hours listening to a flirtatious sailor explain knots and lines and riggings. Doesn't she have a journal to keep? She spent most of the first day curled up by the stern castle, stylus scratching for hours.
Caspian's stomach pinches. He cares not how Addie fills her time.
He retreats to the stern and busies himself with Drinian's company. Lilliandil is with Doctor Cornelius, and he'd rather not interrupt.
The stern castle affords a fine view of the river ahead, and Captain Drinian is a man of few but wise words. Caspian often forgets Drinian is only thirty; he runs a ship like a grizzled sea captain twice Caspian's age.
Drinian is also not prone to pointed observations like Doctor Cornelius. Atop the stern castle, Caspian is free to watch the ship's activity or stare into the horizon, and Drinian never comments on his mood.
Drinian's good company.
Caspian rests his elbows on the railing, gaze fixed ahead and not below. If Addie's returned to her dark corner this morning, it's not his concern.
"Still at it?"
That's the boy Addie spent most of yesterday with - Colin, who joined the Dawn Treader's crew on Caspian's return trip, probably seeking the next new horizon. Most young sailors - and young men in general - are.
Caspian himself did the same, though for a nobler purpose than mere wanderlust.
"You made it look easy."
That's Addie.
Caspian's eyes snap to follow her voice - simple courtesy, making sure Colin's advance isn't unwelcome. Addie is indeed back in her corner by the starboard stairs, bent over a length of rope tied to a bannister and twisted into messy attempts at bowline knots. Colin is leaning on the stair rail above her, closer than necessary to supervise her progress.
Addie scowls and yanks her rope, nose scrunching when it jams.
"Easy there," Colin tells her. "Or I'll start feeling sorry for the rope. Let go, I'll fix it."
Huffing, Addie lets Colin detangle the mess. When the rope hangs free again, Colin covers her hands and helps her tie a proper bowline.
Caspian refocuses on the river ahead. By this afternoon, the Lily should reach the Fords of Beruna, where the River Rush meets the Great River. The Fords are also where Aslan summoned the River God and secured the Narnians' victory.
The last battle of the War of Deliverance, as some Narnians have taken to calling it. Some Telmarines still call the war the Narnian Civil War, and others (Narnians, Telmarines, and most Archenlanders) call it the Narnian Revolution.
Lilliandil's been asking more questions about his early kingship, and enough time has passed that Caspian can speak of the war without too much discomfort.
It will be the first time he's seen the Ford since that battle.
More snippets of conversation draw Caspian's attention.
"- not a sailor. No one's judging your knot-tying skills."
"I know, but it annoys me." A pause, then, "I hate anything I'm not good at."
"That's not very helpful, is it? Doesn't make you any better."
"Hence the importance of practice."
Caspian bites back a grimace. Addie was always so stubborn; that part of her has resurfaced in recent weeks.
Better than anyone, he knows that Addie's tenacity is a double-bladed sword.
Caspian turns to Drinian, whose steadfast attention to the wheel is to be admired. If he's noticed Caspian's distraction, he shows no sign of it.
"We'll reach the Fords today, yes?" Caspian confirms.
Drinian meets his eyes with a certain wry humour. "Yes, Sire. I expect we'll pass the River Rush by sunset."
"And the delta in two days?"
"If these winds hold, yes," says Drinian.
The winds have been overwhelmingly favourable; the crew hasn't touched the oars yet.
"Excellent," Caspian says.
When next his attention strays, Addie and Colin are discussing the latter's life as a sailor. Colin was born on the sea, apparently, a story Addie listens to with rapt attention.
"Is that why you came to Narnia?" Addie says. "New horizons?"
"Sure. Who wants to stay where they grew up?"
It's a private conversation, not meant for his ears.
Caspian stares into nothing and listens, the ship's creaking and crew's scattered humming fading into the background.
"Some people do," Addie says.
Caspian hides his fists by crossing his arms and does not think of the twisted oak, of the weight of an axe in his hands and splinters stinging through the fog of wine.
"Don't tell me you're one of those homebody types," Colin says.
"I don't know," Addie says. "Depends how you define home."
Caspian grits his teeth. Addie defines home as her birthplace; she proved that the moment she ran through the tree.
"Home's different for everyone," Colin answers. "For me, it's wherever I want to be for the moment."
A pause, filled by the river rushing by. Caspian holds himself still. At length, Addie replies.
"I think home is the place you want to go back to," Addie says, so quietly he almost doesn't hear. "It's the first place you miss when you've left it."
The boy sailor chuckles - inappropriate levity for such a serious topic. "Guess I haven't found home yet."
Addie responds in kind. "Lucky you. You don't have to miss anything."
As Captain Drinian predicted, the Lily passes Beruna at sunset. Caspian beckons Lilliandil to the starboard railing and describes a sanitised version of the battle's end.
"The bridge was there," Caspian says, pointing. "Aslan and Queen Lucy stood between the eastern forest and the Telmarine army, and there the Lion summoned the River God."
"How extraordinary," Lilliandil says, gazing across the river as if she can see the past playing before her eyes. "Were the casualties very terrible?"
Caspian wills away the memory of his hands caked in blood, his own and others'.
"The battle was over by then," Caspian says, not quite an answer. "The Telmarine army surrendered shortly thereafter."
Caspian!
Are you hurt?
Of course I'm hurt! Not how you mean, but I'm not alright!
Caspian's eyes wander against his will, to the nearest stern stairs.
Addie is staring into the distance, stylus hovering motionless over her journal.
He remembers, still, her breaking voice as she repeated his name like a prayer, how her body shook as he held her, both of them sticky with blood and sweat.
"- must have been a relief for you," Lilliandil is saying.
Caspian pulls himself back to the present, where a Lady of the Stars is watching him intently.
"It took a few days to sink in," he admits. "But yes, it was."
Insofar as the kingship, as Narnia's future as a free kingdom of Narnians again, yes, he was relieved, if terrified he wouldn't be able to smooth centuries-old tensions.
Thanks to Aslan's doorway in the oak and the departed Telmarines, he managed.
Had he only known what loss was looming.
No matter; he bore it, it is past, and he need dwell on it no more.
The river, the Ford, the battle - it was all the hinge-point that made Narnia what it is today. Not a perfect kingdom, but far better than it was under Miraz.
Caspian answers Lilliandil's every question and counts himself fortunate that Narnia's bloodiest days are over.
As the ship sails onward, Caspian idles too long on deck; Lilliandil seeks him out with a reminder for dinner. Somehow, he missed the bell.
"Are you alright?" she asks, sweeter than he deserves.
Caspian finds a smile for her. "Just lost in thought. Shall we?"
Lilliandil accepts his offered arm, but her eyes linger on him all through the meal.
"May I ask you something?"
Caspian turns from the stars above to the star at his side. Her brow is furrowed, her full mouth slightly pinched.
"Of course," he says. "Anything."
Lilliandil hesitates, her eyes cast down. Her hands lie folded neatly on the stern's railing, prim and proper.
Not for the first time, Caspian wonders if courtly manners come naturally to her or if she dons them for his benefit.
"Do you and Addie… know each other?"
Caspian's breath stills.
He wanted more time before discussing this with Lilliandil. He's had weeks to decide how best to explain his and Addie's past, but every prepared sentence has abruptly abandoned him.
If he explains his prior entanglement with Addie, he will also have to explain her return, and any sensible woman would doubt the truth, if only because it sounds too convenient. What are the odds that Addie would reappear the very moment Caspian returned to Narnia with a lady on his arm after four years of celibacy?
He dismisses the brief temptation to lie for the trap that it is. He knows too well what havoc lies wreak.
"Yes," Caspian says, a gravelled confession he says more to the river than to Lilliandil. "I… knew her. Years ago."
Lilliandil's silence beckons him, equal measure invitation and guarded curiosity. From her perspective, his hesitance must look suspicious.
"Growing up, my uncle's castle was a harsh place," Caspian explains. "A lonely place. I suppose we were both just… looking for company. In each other."
More than that - he sought love, belonging, home.
He found it, lost it, and if Lilliandil asks, he still won't be able to explain why.
"You courted?" asks Lilliandil, her tone steady and measured, as if he isn't forcing every word past his lips.
"Nothing quite so formal, no." Caspian picks at a splinter on the railing. As little as he lets himself think of his early kingship, he thinks of his princely days even less. Besides the long, lonely years, there are too many happy memories of a shared bed and an occupied window seat.
"But you were involved? With each other?"
Lover has a lovely ring to it, don't you think?
"We were lovers," Caspian murmurs. "Secretly. My uncle had a terrible habit of doing away with anyone I cared about, so we… no one could know. We kept it quiet until after the war. Even so, it cost lives."
Lilliandil's glow flickers, dimming as she, too, rests her hands on the ship's railing.
"And after the war?"
Caspian sighs, hands curling into fists. After the war…
"It was a difficult transition," he says. "For all of us."
Again that damned silence, both coaxing and understanding, as if all the explanations he can't manage to voice say as much as his short answers.
Lilliandil's hand slides closer, her light cool as river water on his skin.
"What happened?"
"She left."
There really isn't more to it than that. When all else is stripped away, that is what remains.
He loved her.
She left.
That is all.
Caspian steels himself for more questions. Lilliandil must wonder why he never mentioned this before, why Addie is here on this very ship, why he suddenly wanted to go to Cair Paravel, why he -
Lilliandil's hand covers his, a touch so light it tickles.
Caspian meets her eyes and stares into a sea of blue and light and compassion.
"I think you must have loved her very much," she says.
Caspian nods quietly, his jaw clenched. He turns to the river and says nothing further.
Lion, he did.
Perhaps he did not love her well enough, but he refuses to idle on thoughts of regret and what might have been.
"Addie left to be with her family," Caspian adds. "That was the end of it."
Lilliandil's touch grows heavier. Caspian forces his fingers to uncurl and takes her hand.
"It must have been difficult for you," she says.
Caspian swallows. "Yes."
He realises with a start that he does not know if Addie found them, the parents she abandoned him for. Doctor Cornelius never mentioned her family, only that Addie is determined to return to England as soon as possible, and Caspian himself never asked her.
Does it matter?
"She'll return to them soon," Caspian says. "As soon as Doctor Cornelius' research is complete. I swear to you, I had no idea she would be in the capital."
"Caspian."
That's the first time she's used his name.
Lilliandil squeezes his hand, and Caspian meets her gaze again despite himself.
"I have no quarrel with her," she says. "Or with you. I only wonder…"
Caspian intertwines their fingers and prays she does not think so poorly of him as he would in her position.
"Ask me anything and I'll tell you."
Lilliandil's frown softens to a gentle smile without a trace of judgement, though he wouldn't blame her for any suspicion. He should have mentioned his past with Addie sooner.
"There seems to be much pain between you both, still. I wonder, given how many years have passed, if there is some way to lessen it. If there is closure to be had."
Caspian has wondered the same, if only for the sake of his kingdom. Narnia needs more than a broken king, and he's tried so hard to make himself whole.
The only answer he found was on the sea - distance, adventure, and distraction. And on shore, the duties of his crown keep him well busy.
"I once hoped as much," Caspian says. "But now I think there is little to be done."
Lilliandil hums, eyebrows pinching together.
"She'll return home soon," Caspian continues. "That's the best I can hope for."
Lilliandil faces the river, eyes tracking the landscape of trees and midnight as it crawls by.
"I will still hope for peace," she says. "For both of you."
Does Lilliandil ever run out of kindness? Of goodwill? How can she have listened to his stiff confession and wished only peace on both himself and Addie?
"You are too good," Caspian says.
He does not deserve her, this star who judges him not for the messy, painful past affairs of his heart, but he is immeasurably grateful for her all the same.
A/N: Isn't it lovely when we trap characters in the same small space together? 😇 Cair Paravel's up next!
Do we think someone might've overheard Caspian and Lilli's conversation? 👀
Chapter 70 Preview:
No harm in a little adventure.
Addie finds her balance and jumps from rock to rock, bare toes gripping the slippery stone.
"Can you swim?"
"Bloody hell!"