A/N: Back to weekly uploads! I really appreciate y'all's patience last month ā¤ Right then, who's ready for a little midnight swim? š
Chapter 70 Content Warnings: sorta kinda partial nudity?
Chapter 70: it's just a question
Addie
The last two days onboard the Lily drag on. Addie keeps tedium at bay with Colin's exuberance. His playfulness is contagious, his carefree flirtations a distraction she grows to enjoy.
Anything to keep her from thinking about the conversation she shouldn't have heard is welcome. Addie'd scrub every inch of the ship to a pristine polish if it would banish the whispers not meant for her - she left and it must have been difficult for you and she will return soon and that is the best I can hope for and that strained tone, as if her very presence pained him.
Colin's antics are unburdened by the past. Colin is fun. He laughs at mistakes without judgement, merriment chasing away embarrassment and frustration. His off-key singing coaxes her from her sketchbook to the railing or the sails or - once - to the crow's nest, where Colin points to Cair Paravel in the closing distance.
Addie allows Colin's light touches on her waist, his fingers on hers, firm with the confidence of youth. As Caspian and Lilliandil look into each other's eyes and look every bit the happy couple, Addie drinks in Colin's tales of a childhood on the sea, of learning how to trim a sail before he learned to walk on land and singing sailors' ditties before he learned to speak.
"You'd like Redhaven," Colin says. Cair Paravel looms large ahead, the end of their journey in sight. "Never a dull moment - merchant ships, tall tales, pirates. I'll probably wander back in a few weeks."
Addie smiles into the wind. "Didn't you just land in Narnia?"
"Almost two months ago," Colin bumps her shoulder and leans onto his elbows, braced on the railing. "Ship could use someone like you in the galley. Wouldn't be hard to get you a spot onboard, if you want one."
Addie hums. Lola suggested moving out of the capital, but she's already decided not to stay in Narnia. Besides, without Queen Lucy's cordial, she'd be useless with seasickness.
There's Beruna, Ettinsmoor, Chippingford, Cair Paravelā¦ pick any of them, anywhere else.
"I'll think about it," Addie says. "But don't wait up on my account."
Colin grins and looks to the horizon. "I don't wait for anyone."
Addie almost falls over when she steps onto solid ground again, accustomed as she is to the ship swaying beneath her feet. Colin catches her with a chuckle and a wink as her knees buckle.
"You'll get your land legs back soon," he says.
Addie grimaces and grips his arm, willing the earth to steady. It's not rocking, but her mind hasn't caught up with reality yet.
Meanwhile, Caspian and Lilliandil are steadying Doctor Cornelius, who looks at the land beneath his feet like Aslan himself blessed it. The Doctor kept to himself on the trip, sequestering away in his quarters amidships. He doesn't share Caspian's love of sailing - or his stomach for it.
Slowly, Addie's balance steadies. Beyond the dock, the port bustles with activity - human and Narnian sailors are securing riggings and lines, tying off at the dock, rushing to obey their captain's orders. Gulls screech overhead and swoop to steal fish scraps from decks. The docks stretch in either direction, most with a ship tied there - river boats, towering galleons, sleek ships with triangular sails. Colin points out ships from Galma, the Seven Isles, the Lone Islands, Narnian ships, even a Calormen ship. For a small island, it's far busier than she expected. She almost loses Doctor Cornelius while she's gawking.
Addie tugs Colin's sleeve. "I thought Narnia was only recently getting into seafaring?"
"The port's grown fast," Colin says, waving to a group of sailors wandering the street ahead. "Trade, and the town sprang up when the Cair renovations started. Anyway, if you get bored up there, I'll be at the tavern."
Colin points to the busiest building in sight, where sailors and townsfolk alike are entering and leaving in a steady stream, though it's the middle of the day.
Addie waves him off. Colin might while away the day soaked in ale, but she has excavations to assist and archives to scour.
"Have fun," she calls.
"Always do. Come join me later, yeah?"
Addie purses her lips, hiding a smile. "Maybe."
Colin grins wide and bounds off into the crowd, apparently dismissed from duties for the day.
The scent of sea brine heavy in her nose, Addie squares her shoulders and follows Doctor Cornelius, Caspian, and Lilliandil to the horses waiting in the street, four of them mounted by guards. Get to Cair Paravel, find the archives, search until she finds something - anything - about the rings or world-travelling.
Simple enough.
Cair Paravel itself is a sprawling ruin of packed dirt, creeping ivy, and stacks of white stone blocks. A cream-coloured tent and three tables of varying heights longer than Addie is tall dominates what must have been the throne room hall. Workers - mostly Narnian - are busy assembling stone walls under the direction of centaurs holding maps, moving wheelbarrows of grass and dirt, or bustling to and from underground passages lit by torches. As the four of them make for the main tent, the workers slow and bow, calling quiet greetings as their king passes by. Caspian calls quick hellos and good mornings, but his gaze is fixed ahead. Lilliandil takes longer, almost falling behind for how many small-talk conversations she starts.
The lead archaeologist is a dusty badger consulting with a half-dozen Narnians under the tent, all of them bent over a spread of maps and blueprints. The badger has a vaguely familiar face, but Addie can't quite place him.
Caspian rushes ahead and calls a greeting, his usual royal stiffness forgotten outside the capital.
"Trufflehunter, it's good to see you!"
The badger is already beaming and hopping down from his wooden stool. "Your Majesty! We welcome your return."
Caspian reaches back, and Lilliandil takes his hand.
"You remember Lady Lilliandil, yes?"
Trufflehunter bows. "My lady."
Addie looks away.
It's a good thing. Caspian should make his future bride visible, facilitating introductions and greetings, andā¦
And being proud to have her publically on his arm.
It's a good thing. She's happy for him - for both of them.
Addie nudges Doctor Cornelius. "The site we're interested in is near the southeastern quadrant, right?"
"Patience," says the Doctor. "Trufflehunter may have additional findings for us to review."
Addie's nails dig into her palms. Can't she disappear into the background without all this ceremony?
Caspian makes quick work of the rest of the greetings, and Doctor Cornelius greets Trufflehunter like an old friend.
That should be the end of pleasantries, her cue to blend into the background, but Trufflehunter's gaze falls on her next.
"Hello, my dear," says the badger, beckoning her forward. "Have we met before?"
Addie makes herself stand tall as she takes Trufflehunter's paw.
"Briefly," she says. "It's been a few years."
Trufflehunter's dark eyes brighten with recognition. "Yes, of course! Adelina, isn't it?"
"Adelaine," she corrects quickly. No matter how much she sometimes wishes to be Adelina again, she isn't. "I mean, just Addie. I heard you found another storage room in the east wing?"
"Indeed we have," says Trufflehunter. "You're welcome to look, though we've only catalogued Golden Age artifacts so far."
Addie murmurs thanks and leaves the rest of the conversation to Doctor Cornelius - where the archival materials are stored, the library remains unearthed just this morning, the probable locations of older records. So far, the excavations have only turned up one room of pre-Golden Age records, but Trufflehunter thinks more lie deeper within the earth, buried under two thousand years of earth, dust, and stone.
That's fine. If any record of the magic rings exists, they'll find it.
Cair Paravel's mouldered archives are less promising than she hoped. All but one room is from the Golden Age.
"There is still much to discover," Doctor Cornelius comforts her, with more optimism than she can muster amid a headache after hours poring over archaeological maps looking for clues.
Addie doesn't doubt that Trufflehunter knows what he's doing, she just needs to see it for herself. The badger said she's welcome to suggest additional dig sites if she finds evidence of more buried rooms. So far, no luck, though Doctor Cornelius has continued investigating aboveground.
Addie stifles a cough and rubs her eyes, stinging from dust and torch smoke. At Trufflehunter's suggestion, she chose one of the deepest excavations to start her search. The underground is dusty, dim, and full of the deafening rings of hammers and chisels. As the crew cracks open rusted-shut chests and delivers records and artifacts, she catalogues and tags everything according to Trufflehunter's system. Addie skims anything that looks older than the Golden Age, in case it mentions the rings.
It's the first week; she can't expect miracles.
Caspian
As the days pass, Caspian establishes a pleasant routine. He breaks his fast with Lilliandil on the beach, reviews Trufflehunter's latest findings from late morning to tea time, then answers any missives from the capital in his room at the inn. The rest of the day is freedom: to swim, explore, spar when he's restless and walk the shore when he isn't.
Caspian spends every spare moment by the sea or with Lilliandil - often both at once. She learned much about his past on the journey here, so it's his turn. Questions he would have held back for fear of pushing too far or too fast, he voices now - questions about her father, her life, the sky, what she wants. Not only what she wants to see of Narnia, but what Lilliandil wants for herself.
Adventure. Exploration. Life, the immediacy the sky lacks. She wants to search and see and feel, the opposite of the isolated observation that defined her old life.
Wanderlust aside, Caspian does not understand these desires of hers. His feelings have long been his enemy. Four years ago, his heart nearly destroyed him. He is a king, and he cannot rule well if he allows himself to feel too much.
For the first time, Caspian admits a little of that - not all of it, not even a quarter of his heartache, just enough to explain why he looks at Lilliandil like she's speaking another language when she says she wants to experience the depth of feeling sung in legends and poems.
No storybook, poem, or song Caspian has found ever captured the depths he sunk to when he lost Addie.
He has not seen shape nor shadow of Addie in days. Doctor Cornelius reports that she's working feverishly underground, poring over new materials almost as fast as the crews unearth them.
That's for the best. He dreamt too often of tree-felling on the ship.
"It can't all be wonderful, of course, but to feel so aliveā¦" Lilliandil's eyes drift closed, her porcelain skin glowing gold in the sunset. "I've always longed to experience such things. To feel something so acutely I know not what to do."
Caspian clasps his hands, leaning elbows on his knees, sand shifting under his bare feet. "The notion is far more tolerable in the storybooks, I assure you."
Lilliandil looks at him askance. At times, the look in her eyes makes him wonder if she sees far more than she says.
"I suppose it's all a matter of perspective," she muses. "And experience."
Caspian agrees and digs his toes into the sand, cool from the retreating tide. He hopes Lilliandil never feels the heartbreak he has known. She doesn't deserve it.
But then, did he?
Addie
After nearly two weeks, she finds something. When the crew finishes clearing debris and collecting artifacts, Addie stays behind to finish cataloguing a tapestry collection. It's delicate work - the tapestries are hundreds of years old, delicate and stiff with age. They're beautiful, if faded.
A bubble of hope rises in Addie's chest when she unrolls a depiction of an orchard surrounded by a grassy wall and guarded by a phoenix. This tapestry is more worn than the others, frayed and riddled with moth-eaten holes. She can't read the old Narnian script sewn on the bottom, but this doesn't look like the Cair's apple orchard.
Old Narnian scriptā¦ this could be something. Addie squints and tilts her head this way and that, but she only recognises a few letters - a blocky "G", an "o", a very slanted "t". The script appears to be a mixture of letters and symbols; she can't read it.
Everything from the Golden Age, she can read. The Kings and Queens of Old were from England, and records during and after their rule are written in medieval English. But it's possible Narnia's first age used a different alphabet entirely.
Addie smooths the tapestry over her work table, a long, sturdy wood thing lit by two lanterns hung nearby, close enough to illuminate but not so close that lantern oil will drip on the artifacts.
It's an apple orchard, the fruit stitched in silver thread. These are apple trees!
Addie's hands shake as she carefully rolls up the tapestry and takes off running.
"The same tree?" says Doctor Cornelius. "You're certain?"
Addie nods, a giddy smile straining her lips. "Yes, I'm sure. I recognise it."
The ring box was carved with a single tree and any silver on the apples had long worn off, but the likeness is unmistakable.
Trufflehunter hops onto the table, careful that his claws don't touch the tapestry. "How marvellous. You found this in the eastern dig site?"
"That's right," Addie says. "The deepest one, to the northeast."
Doctor Cornelius leans over the unintelligible script, peering through his magnifying glass.
"This is indeed Old Narnian script, late second or early third century. I have not seen language this ancient in a long time."
"Queen Swanwhite's tale wasn't written in the old script," Addie says. "I could read it just fine."
"I believe it was a translation," says the Doctor. "I believe all the castle's records predating the Golden Age are either translated materials or transcribed oral histories, passed down through the centuries."
Trufflehunter hums, a claw tapping his muzzle. "The spoken language has not changed nearly as much as the old script. I expect this writing system was adapted so human hands and certain animals alike could write it with minimal trouble."
"Can you read it?" Addie asks.
Trufflehunter shakes his head. "Unfortunately, no. Well, not yet. If we find more examples, we'll have a better chance of translating."
Addie bites her cheek. This is solvable - keep looking, find more artifacts or, better yet, a collection of old records.
"I'll keep looking," Addie says. At least now she knows these long hours underground aren't in vain.
Finding the tapestry is good progress that justifies a little self-indulgence. So far, Addie's spent every waking moment at the dig sites, eating, or sleeping. Tonight, she wants to see the beach.
After all, she promised Cesare a sea shell.
By the time Addie makes her way to the shoreline after dinner with Colin and his rowdy friends, the half-moon is shining overhead and the beach is deserted. She stayed late at the tavern; it's Colin's last night before setting sail on a merchant ship bound for Redhaven, and therefore likely the last time she'll ever see him.
Colin offered again to help her secure a job in the ship galley. She declined. The timing's all wrong, and jumping on a ship is just another way of running in the wrong direction.
Not running to, just away. Nothing waiting for her on the other shore.
Addie takes off her shoes and stockings, wiggles her toes in the sand, and breathes in the salty air. At first, she didn't like the briny smell, but it's growing on her. The ocean smells much better without the town market's overwhelming fishy odour.
She wanders closer to the waves until the sand is damp and cool. Lilliandil suggested looking for sea stars at sunset; it's well past that and the moonlight barely illuminates her path, so instead, Addie strolls the shore and listens to the waves' rhythmic crashing.
That's her favourite part of the sea, so far. The sound. When the streets aren't too loud, Addie's taken to sleeping with the window open. The sound of waves lulls her into deep, dreamless sleep.
Addie's aimless meandering takes her to a rocky outcropping that cuts off the sand and continues into the water. A series of stones worn smooth by time extend into the sea, surrounded by frothing water. This might be the sea caves she read about.
She finds them too dark to explore at night, and half-submerged in the high tide.
It'd be wisest to either go to bed or content herself with her toes in the surf and the promise of further explorations in daylight.
And yet, the rocks ahead beckon.
Addie glances around and finds no one, no witnesses or fellow midnight wanderers. She passed a pair of boots where the docks met the beach, but never saw their owner.
She's alone.
No harm in a little adventure.
Addie leaves her dress, shoes, and stockings in a pile on a dry piece of driftwood, out of the water's reach, and wades into the sea in nothing but her shift. She holds the thin fabric out of the water as she climbs onto the first rock. A careful jump, then Addie finds her balance and hops from stone to stone, her skin cooled by a breeze and calves sticky with sea salt.
Josie would love this. Cesare would love this, though Lola would never let him on these slippery rocks. Alfonso would wade into the ocean with Cesare on his shoulders and Lola hovering at his side, ready to catch her son if he so much as wobbled. Addie would coax Lola towards the first row of breakers, and Cesare would shriek as the waves crashed and sea spray flew around him.
Addie knots her shift at her thighs and skips onto the fifth, sixth, seventh rock past the breaking waves. Maybe she can stay long enough for a seaside trip with them. A slight delay can't hurt, and why shouldn't she make memories with Lola?
False hope; that's why. Would it be cruel to indulge in happiness with Lola and her family knowing full well she'll leave afterward?
Are good memories worth it if they're chased by loss?
"Can you swim?"
"Bloody hell!"
Addie flails, registers sea foam splashing over her feet and tries to correct her balance, but it's too late. She tumbles, cursing again, her hip hits slick stone, and water closes over her head. Addie barely registers the burn of salt in her eyes and nose before powerful hands lock around her waist. As quickly as she fell, air hits her skin and her arse plops onto cold rock.
Addie coughs up seawater and fights for breath. A hand claps her back to clear her lungs, help she'd appreciate if it wasn't coming from the same idiot who startled her.
"- hells were you thinking?"
What was she thinking?
"Fucking hell, I'm fine," she says. "No thanks to you."
When her eyes clear, it's Caspian by her on the rock.
She knew his hands the moment he touched her.
Caspian's jaw tightens, eyes dark with the frustration he reserves especially for her.
"In a stronger current, you would have drowned. You shouldn't be this far out."
Addie coughs again, chest burning with effort and adrenaline, and she does not notice that King Caspian apparently left his shirt on the beach somewhere, that his chest is bare in the moonlight.
"I was fine until -"
"The sea is treacherous," Caspian continues sharply. "Stay close to shore if you can't swim."
Addie shoulders off his hand. Who does he think he is, scaring her and then blaming her for it?
"I can swim," she snaps. She had plenty of practice swimming in the river near the Shaws' farm. The sea's currents are unfamiliar, true, but she could've managed if Caspian hadn't scared her out of her wits.
Caspian's frown deepens, a prelude to royal orders. "If I hadn't been here when you fell -"
"I wouldn't have fallen if you hadn't startled me!"
"If you'd stayed on shore, I wouldn't have startled you."
"If you -" Addie coughs again, lungs still sore. Caspian pats her back, gentler this time, his hand a warm reprieve from the chill breeze.
He hasn't touched her sinceā¦
Since before.
She should go.
Caspian asks her something, but she doesn't quite hear him over the waves and the pounding of her own heart. Water droplets glisten on his eyelashes and roll down the slope of his nose.
"I'm going, I'm going," Addie mumbles as she stands and Caspian's hand falls away. A chill settles between her shoulder blades where his palm rested.
Addie wobbles as she hops onto the next rock, because her bare feet are still wet and so is the rock and honestly, what was she thinking, wandering out this far?
"Careful!"
"I am!"
Addie half-turns to snap at him, this damned king who treats her coldly and then tags along on research trips, and finds his dark eyes wide and face flushed. Caspian averts his gaze, coughs, and she realises why too late.
Her shift is stuck to her body, white fabric translucent from her unexpected dip into the sea, and the moon is bright enough to see more than vague silhouettes. She might as well be wearing nothing at all.
Shit.
Panic makes her stupid, brings her into a crouch on the rock, arms wrapped around her knees in belated modesty. Her balance teeters again.
Well. It won't be quite so obvious in the water, right?
Addie slips into the sea on impulse, reckless in the face of embarrassment, and of course it's the wrong thing to do.
"Addie!"
A splash, then Caspian's beside her again, as if she isn't already clinging to the rock as seawater smacks her shoulders.
"How deep is it?" she asks. At Caspian's silence, she flaps a hand toward the shore. "I might as well swim from here. How deep is it?"
Caspian clears his throat. "Not very. But the currents can be strong."
Better to take her chances in the water than give Caspian an eyeful while she hops to shore.
"I can manage," Addie says. She pushes off and paddles into the water, gentle waves buoying her.
Caspian follows. Not touching, just hovering.
He'll still get an eyeful when she reaches the shallows.
"Really, I'm fine," Addie says, neck straining as she keeps her chin above the water. "Sorry to interruptā¦ whatever you were doing."
Caspian says nothing. He's back to being the stoic, brooding king.
That's fine.
Fortunately, he's right about the depth; her toes find sand before she reaches the line of breakers. She can walk the rest of the way.
Addie angles her back to him and stands, the sea lapping around her shoulders.
"Did you find them?"
Addie stills.
When she half-turns, Caspian is closer, water dripping down his chest. His shoulders are broader than she remembers, thick with muscle.
"Your parents," he clarifies. "Did you find them?"
Addie hides her clenched fists underwater, bracing for the resentment she knows is coming. Caspian's treated her to nothing else since she returned.
Not that she doesn't deserve it. It justā¦ stings. Doesn't exactly invite honesty, especially when the truth won't be much comfort to him.
For Caspian, withholding the truth is usually worse than telling it.
"I found my mother," Addie says.
"And your father?"
Addie shrugs, a forced nonchalance she's perfected over the years.
"He never came back from the war."
"And brothers? Sisters?"
"It was just me and Mum."
Caspian comes closer, not openly bitter yet, but Addie stiffens anyway.
His anger will come, cold and sullen. It always does.
"You're trying to get home to her?" he asks, a statement morphing into a question halfway through.
It would be easy to lie. So easyā¦
What will Caspian think when he knows the reason she left no longer exists? Will he, like Lola, ask what she's trying to get back to?
She'll return home soon. That's the best I can hope for.
No, he wants her gone. This is just closure for him, or polite inquiry, orā¦
Addie looks at the water so she won't have to look at him.
"My mum died," she says. "A few months ago."
The hush-crash of the sea fills the silence between them, and she's not quite brave enough to meet Caspian's eyes. He isn't cruel enough to find satisfaction in her grief, but the last time she told him a painful truth, he cast her aside.
If Caspian accuses her of lying -
"I'm sorry."
Two words, the simplest expression of sympathy in a softer voice than Addie thought him capable of around her, and her eyes fill.
Addie wills her tears to retreat and swallows a pinch of irritation. The pain of missing Mum, like memories, belongs to her. No one else. She still hates to share it, to even admit to it, and every expression of sympathy tells her she's failed, that Mum's memory is not a private thing she can hold close and untouchable.
She doesn't want Caspian to see her grief.
"Is that why you came back?" Caspian says.
When I have gone, don't stay here.
I need you to be happy, Addie. The happiness that makes your heart burst.
She had that, then she ruined it, and then she ran.
Addie bites her lip and tastes salt. Caspian's not asking about the rings.
"I knew I wasn't supposed to be here the moment I recognised Narnia. I spent hours telling myself to put on a yellow ring and go back. I know I should have."
When she straightens, grateful for the water that shields her body, Caspian is closer again. Not close enough to touch, but enough her breath catches.
"But you didn't," he says. Not an accusation, though it could've been.
"No," Addie agrees, soft with apology. "I didn't."
She could stop there. She could wave off her return as ill-advised curiosity and the weakness of nostalgia, and say nothing more.
Yet, for some reason -
No, this is the reason:
This is the first time Caspian isn't angry or dismissive and part of her still wants -
Shh, can't think things like that, can't even whisper the suggestion in the privacy of her own mind. She knows better than to invite trouble.
Caspian's calm, careful facade flickers into frustration, and he retreats until the water laps at his hair.
He expects her to lie. Caspian thinks she hasn't changed, that this is just one more thing she won't tell him.
And she shouldn't. There are a thousand reasons she shouldn't, every one unspoken even to herself.
Wanting to prove him wrong might trump all of them.
"Growing up in England, everything in Narnia felt like a dream," Addie begins. "I missed it, but it wasā¦ it was like a broken mirror missing half its pieces. Fragmented bits of a reflection. When I was younger, I kept looking for it - for Narnia. But then I got older, and I couldn't keepā¦" She sighs, her hand tickling with the ghost of a pencil. "I had to let go. I couldn't keep chasing some fantasy and still live my life there."
Caspian's face is unreadable, moonlight shining from behind him.
Addie lets her feet sink further into the sand, water lapping at her shoulders, and continues.
"Then Mum died and everything was justā¦ nothing felt right anymore. Not the city, not the countryside, nothing. But when I fell in here and realised I hadn't dreamt it all upā¦" A breath of a laugh, at her own foolishness. "I think some part of me always knew. And when it was right in front of me, all those pieces clicking in place, I just wanted to see everyone."
Caspian still says nothing.
Addie swallows a helpless shiver and presses on.
"I wanted to see my family here. To see Lola and Perla were happy and their lives were good before I left again."
"Only them?"
Is that anger or brittleness roughening his voice?
No, it's not anger - Caspian's anger is a steady simmer of royal distance and disapproval.
Addie swallows. "Not just them."
Something flashes across Caspian's face, too quickly to decipher.
She's already poured out too much. What's one more confession?
"And you," Addie whispers. "I wanted to see you were happy, too."
Anger flares to life in Caspian's eyes, accusation she's struck to life like a match.
"I wasn't," he says. "For a long time, I wasn't."
He was destroyed. I don't know him that well, and even I could tell.
Rumour has it a proposal may be imminent. After so many whispers of his broken heart, it's understandable his kingdom wants to see him happily settled down.
Addie wraps her arms around her middle, the motion hidden by the sea.
"But you are now?"
It should be an easy answer, and Caspian should relish giving it to her.
Yes, he should say. I am happy and it is not with you, and I am glad for it.
Addie waits for the blow she deserves, a hurt she will tuck into her heart and cradle there when she's back in England and the guilt and heartache of losing Caspian is all she has left of him.
Pain is memory. It's the one thing time can never fully take away - dull, yes, but never erase.
She learned that when she left him.
Addie waits.
And waits.
And waits.
The blow never comes. Caspian stands there with unbroken waves rolling up his neck and says nothing. Even when she strays a step (then two, then three and four) toward him and the water almost reaches her chin, Caspian merely watches her.
Of course he's happy; he's soon to be engaged.
Why isn't he saying so?
"Rumour has it celebrations will be in order soon," Addie says.
Still nothing.
"If it's true, then congratulations. Lady Lilliandil's lovely, and youā¦ you seem good together. Happy."
Addie offers an unsteady smile, caught on uncertainty she prays doesn't seem insincere. She is happy for him - for both of them.
They're a good couple. Lilliandil's kind nature matches Caspian's inherent gentleness, and her propensity for making friends of everyone will pull Caspian out of that kingly aloofness he uses to hide himself.
Finally, Caspian speaks, words almost drowned by the waves.
"Thank you."
Relief loosens Addie's limbs. This is a more amicable parting, something closer to closure.
It's a good thing. She can leave with a clear conscience.
Addie wades back toward the beach and pretends not to feel the weight of Caspian's gaze.
"Was it worth it?"
Addie stops.
A quick succession of splashes, and then Caspian's voice is louder.
"When you left, was it worth it?"
What kind of question is that?
What kind of sick, twisted, cruel question is that?
Water lapping at her waist, Addie shields her chest with her arms and risks a glance back. Caspian is unwavering, unapologetic, a harsh rawness in his face.
"That's not fair," she says.
"Answer me." His dark eyes blaze, but Caspian's voice breaks on a softer "Please."
He doesn't know what he's asking. Her answer won't comfort him.
Addie digs her fingers into her sides and answers anyway, because he asked.
"I'm glad I found my mum. My dad never came back from the war, and if I hadn't eitherā¦" Addie wades deeper. Mum's grief over losing Dad was bad enough; losing them both would've been too cruel. "I'm glad I went back. I wouldn't change that. But the way I leftā¦ there are things I regret."
That silence again, not quite resentment - something breakable, fragile as the sea shells hidden in the sand underfoot.
Addie ignores the nerves willing her to be quiet, shut up, you're making it worse. Caspian asked, so she'll answer as best she can. She owes him that.
"I wish Aslan told me sooner," Addie continues. "I wish I'd believed him. I wish I'd never forgotten, that I'd always known where I came from and that my parents wanted me. I wish I'd found a better way to tell you, to explain." I wish I'd been the kind of person you could've trusted. Addie's throat tightens. "But I didn't. And I'm sorry for hurting you."
"But it was worth it?"
Addie's heart drums against her ribs. It was, and it wasn't.
"I'll always be grateful for the time I had with Mum," she says. "I can't imagine living my entire life without knowing that my parents loved me. I didn't know that until I went back."
Caspian's gaze darkens. "It sounded impossible that you hadn't known. And to hear such things on the very night Iā¦"
Did he ask?
He didn't get the chance.
"I know," Addie says. She could blame Aslan for his timing, but she was the one who panicked and ruined the happy evening.
"It seemed too convenient," says Caspian, voice gaining strength. "You have to understand how it sounded. I thought you were running again. And then you did."
Do as you will, Adelina. Run.
Addie's face tries to crumple, remorse she narrowly stifles.
"Caspianā¦ you told me to go."
His face twists, and all at once the heart she broke is bare before her.
"I didn't think you actually would," Caspian murmurs, rough with hurt.
Addie stills, incredulous at such a confession. She's not sure which is crueller - daring her to go thinking she wouldn't, or knowing she might.
"Then why did you say that?"
"I don't know," he answers, halting and hoarse.
Yes he does. He just doesn't want to say it.
Caspian's almost close enough to touch, now, this king she loved who wears regret so plainly Addie can't fathom how he's hidden it so well for this long.
She thought he was just angry. That he blamed her, hated her, and that was all.
His name slips from her lips, and she starts to reach for him. Caspian breaks eye contact, and despite knowing better, despite the passage of so much time and the sting of broken things, in this moment, she'd give anything to comfort him.
Addie forces down the impulse. She doesn't get to do that anymore.
"I am sorry," Caspian says. "For my part in that day."
Don't cry. Don't cry.
"I'm sorry, too," Addie whispers. "I am. Butā¦ you should know that looking back, I wouldn't change leaving."
Caspian clenches his jaw, sudden and harsh and familiar in its loathing.
It is loathing, isn't it?
"I regret how I did it," Addie continues, before Caspian devolves into hating her again. "I always will. But you can't ask me to look back and say I would've been content to never know my parents. You can't."
As Caspian's silence simmers, Addie lets herself imagine it, though she's just tormenting herself.
Had she gathered her wits and talked to Caspian properly, explained better, maybe he would've believed her. If she decided sooner Aslan was telling the truth and realised that the smallest chance of knowing the family she was born to was a temptation she couldn't ignore, Caspian might have understood. Even if he hadn't, she could've left him on kinder terms, borne his suspicion and heartbreak with more grace. Their parting would have been a heartbreak of circumstances, of different worlds and family ties, rather than the anguish of failing each other too many times.
Painful, but more bearable.
Caspian exhales, and brittle stoicism shutters over his features. For once, Addie's grateful for the royal distance.
"I am glad you found your mother," Caspian says, every word deliberately chosen. "Had I realised you were telling the truth, I -" His voice falters, but Caspian lifts his chin and carries on. "I think I could not, in good conscience, have kept you from her."
They're your family; I won't come between you.
Addie's breath trembles.
She believes him.
If only she'd been wiser. If only he'd been kinder. If only they could undo the past.
But they can't.
Addie straightens. Her and Caspian are the past, and there is nothing to be done about that now. He has Lilliandil.
He will be happy.
"Goodnight, Caspian."
Caspian's mouth tightens into a hard line.
"Goodnight."
Addie waits until he turns around - a delayed but appreciated gesture of modesty - and makes her way back to shore, thinking of nothing but her clothes and whether she can walk barefoot to the inn.
She does not look back into the waves, doesn't turn to see if Caspian is still there. She's given him answers, and that's the best she can do.
Tomorrow, she will return to Cair Paravel's excavations, continue her research, and let the shadows shield her as Caspian finds happiness with the Lady of the Stars.
Caspian
That night, he does not sleep. Caspian floats among the waves long after his fingers prune, until the velvet-dark sky shifts to grey.
I'm sorry. But you should know I wouldn't change that I left.
Addie's answer is no comfort, though he shouldn't have asked at all. Why poke a scab expecting it to do anything but bleed?
Some things never heal. He knows that, more intimately than he knows the shape of his next breath.
And stillā¦
I wanted to see you were happy.
Caspian closes his eyes and submerges himself, letting the water carry him where it wills.
Could he have borne Addie's departure had he known from the start she was telling the truth? Could he have let her go had she been running toward her family, instead of away from him?
Does it matter?
Caspian exhales, bubbles tickling his nose.
It does matter, and it shouldn't.
But to think, if he'd known Addie would return, that she only wanted to know her parents' love, if he'd just listened -
If only Addie had been more honest from the start. If only she never broke his trust.
If only he had truly forgiven her.
Even now, he's not sure he can. Some losses are too painful. Some betrayals cut too deep.
They share the blame. If Caspian was uncertain before, he's convinced now. He ought to have been more patient, more understanding, more willing to forgive and move forward. In turn, Addie should have told him everything and never hidden things from him. She should have stayed by his side from the beginning.
Caspian's lungs burn.
There is no comfort in re-imagining their history.
Caspian breaks the surface and gulps air greedily with the encroaching dawn as his witness.
The past is the past, and forgiveness on his or Addie's part would be years too late. Addie is the horizon, where blue sky meets churning ocean - a siren call of possibility and almost and what if, but ultimately unreachable. She is the white sand meeting the great wave at the world's end.
A shore he cannot walk again.
Caspian retreats to the shallows and watches the sunrise alone.
A/N: A good talk at last! Do we think this counts as closure? š
Chapter 71 Preview:
"We shall," Lilliandil says, accepting his arm. Then, inexplicably, she turns back. "Addie, won't you join us?"
Caspian's pleasant smile freezes. "I'm sure Adelaine has other plans."
Addie's eyebrows jump. She was readying the same excuse until Caspian butted in like an ass.
"I wouldn't want to intrude."