A/N: What's this? A whiff of actual plot in this chapter? Perish the thought! No but for real, enjoy these character moments because we're creeping closer to the kickoff of my Very Evil Plans. And maybe I gave us a pinch more of Caslina Pining, because of course I did.

Chapter 71 Content Warnings: N/A


Chapter 71: never ready

Addie

Days bleed together, a blur of dust and records and cataloguing. No more midnight, shoreline indulgences - just work. Work is safe. Work is predictable. Work doesn't startle her by moonlight or notice her state of dress or undress.

Addie handles dozens of archaeological findings, skims pages more than a thousand years older than she, and finds some success - more letters, scraps of words on cups and rugs and chests. Trufflehunter is slowly puzzling out the Old Narnian script. Fortunately, it's only a matter of translating letters, not another language entirely. The quicker she works, the sooner they can decipher the old records into something understandable.

And the sooner she can go back to England.

Addie brushes dirt off a small gilded chest, her latest project. The fchest is engraved with depictions of Old Narnians and their script, so its exterior is just as important as its contents. The carvings depict a pegasus flying two children over a waterfall, the same orchard from last week's tapestry find, Aslan standing on an unbroken Stone Table surrounded by animals, a king leading a group of Narnians into the mountains, and an apple tree (like on the ring box) by a lamp-post.

Only the lamp-post is familiar - it's the one in Lantern Waste, the same that marked the Kings and Queens of Old's entry and exit from Narnia. Every legend and story speaks of the lamp-post as a permanent fixture in Narnia, but Doctor Cornelius couldn't say if it predates the Long Winter. Aslan atop the Stone Table addressing the animals references the Age of Conquest; he wasn't seen in Narnia during the White Witch's rule until the Kings and Queens arrived. He sounds like a god who was fascinated with his world at first, but lost interest over the millennia.

Addie makes a careful rubbing of the chest's symbols, charcoal staining her fingertips. If only Aslan hadn't taken notice of her those years ago. She was so happy, they were so happy, until -

No, what is she saying? Without Aslan's interference, she'd never have known her mother. Returning to England was the right choice, however reckless and tainted by heartbreak it was.

She just wishes Aslan had chosen better timing.

Addie huffs, blowing dust from the rubbing. Aslan's shit timing and blunt revelations and her choices are in the past. No changing them now, so it's no use wallowing.

The rubbing finished, Addie stands and stretches her sore back. One more collection of symbols for Trufflehunter.


Half a month of reprieve, and the one day she emerges aboveground before sundown, King Caspian and Lady Lilliandil are under Trufflehunter's tent with the badger and Doctor Cornelius. Trufflehunter, Doctor Cornelius, and Caspian are bent over the table, scrutinising blueprints while Lilliandil hovers behind, clearly listening but not quite part of the conversation.

Addie squares her shoulders and marches over. Lilliandil notices her at once and meets her halfway.

"My lady," Addie says with a curtsy.

"Addie," says the star, smiling pleasantly. "I hear your efforts have been rewarded of late."

"Not mine, technically," Addie says. She offers Lilliandil the charcoal rubbings. "The crew finds everything. I just document. Anyway, we've found more examples of Old Narnian writing. Trufflehunter's working on deciphering it."

Lilliandil peers at Addie's papers, her glow brightening. "How fascinating. It makes sense; a paw holds a quill differently than a human hand."

"True," Addie says. "According to the Doctor's records, this language disappeared during the White Witch's rule."

"Ah, Addie." Trufflehunter waves them over, cordial as ever, while Caspian finds new fascination in the Cair's blueprints. "You've found something?"

Lilliandil returns the rubbings to Addie, who passes them to the badger.

"A few more symbols," Addie says. "Do we have a full alphabet yet?"

Trufflehunter skims her papers before giving them to Doctor Cornelius. The Doctor adjusts his spectacles and hums.

"Very soon, I think," says the Doctor.

Addie picks at her cuticle and almost doesn't ask, but she needs to know. The sooner Trufflehunter and Doctor Cornelius decipher the script, the sooner she can read the records and artifacts.

"How soon?"

"Within the week, I should think," says Trufflehunter.

Caspian, who hasn't seen fit to speak a word since she approached, straightens and faces her so suddenly Addie startles.

"You've made quick progress," Caspian says, hands clasped behind him. "Quicker than I expected."

For a moment, Addie forgets to breathe at the shock of Caspian actually speaking to her in daylight. His eyes blaze black with…

She doesn't know what to call it, this simmering fire in Caspian's gaze. Irritation, maybe, that she interrupted his meeting?

Addie clears her throat and nods at the badger. "Thank Trufflehunter and his crews, and Doctor Cornelius. I'm just trying to keep up."

She's lucky to be here. Doctor Cornelius could've kept her in the castle for months waiting for Trufflehunter's reports. Luckily, the Doctor is as eager to see her gone as she is.

"You've done quite a bit more than that, my dear." Trufflehunter smiles up at her, so kind she wants to disappear into the ruins underfoot.

"I understand you've identified new dig sites, Sir Badger?" Lilliandil says.

"Ah yes, we have!"

Trufflehunter waddles back to the table and climbs onto a stool. Addie follows, brushing past Caspian to see the plans.

He smells like the sea - like salt and sand and sunlight. Perhaps he's been swimming again, in the grey light of dawn. No; as a prince, Caspian never rose early if he could help it.

Focus, Addie.

Addie follows Trufflehunter's claw to a cluster of red markings surrounding the site where she's spent almost two weeks cataloguing artifacts. It's been a productive site; a third of her findings have something to do with the Age of Conquest. No records yet, but the treasure room has been enlightening in other ways.

"We haven't found an archive predating the Golden Age so far," says the badger. "The moles noticed the northern wall is thin. I'm hopeful there's another room beyond this one."

Addie smiles in relief, hope bubbling in her stomach. Perhaps it could be a store of records? Archives should include inventories, and if the rings were ever in a royal's possession, there might be a record of them.

Caspian's presence looms behind her. Addie keeps her eyes fixed downward, as if she can find the royal archives by staring at the map long enough.

"Thank you for your continued efforts, Trufflehunter," Caspian says. "Until tomorrow."

He comes every day?

She could keep more regular hours. Does she truly need to hide below ground like a criminal?

Ridiculous thought, that. The less she sees of Caspian, the better. No matter what she might want, distance is the best thing. Work, find answers, leave. Nothing more.

There is no fixing the past. She left, he's moved on, and she is happy for Caspian and Lilliandil both.

That's all there is to it.

"Until tomorrow, Sire," says the badger, a farewell Doctor Cornelius echoes.

Caspian refocuses on his bride-to-be and offers his arm. "Shall we to dinner?"

"We shall," Lilliandil says, accepting his arm. "Won't you all join us?"

Trufflehunter pats his papers. "Thank you, my lady, but I'd like to decipher these symbols before dark."

"Quite alright. Perhaps another time," says the star. "Doctor?"

"I suppose retiring early is no great crime," Cornelius says, rising from his chair with a grunt. Caspian moves to help him the same moment Addie does, but the Doctor waves them both off.

"Excellent." Then Lilliandil turns to her. "Addie?"

Caspian's pleasant smile falters. "I'm sure Adelaine has other plans."

Addie's eyebrows jump. She was readying the same excuse until Caspian butted in. She should be grateful he said it first, however cold it sounds.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," Addie says. She wouldn't be averse to getting to know Lilliandil better, but not with Caspian right there. That's too…

She can't do that.

"Not at all. We'd be delighted, wouldn't we, Caspian?" Lilliandil says, either oblivious or insistent for reasons beyond fathoming. In her shoes, Addie wouldn't want to talk to Caspian's ex-lover.

Then again, Lilliandil makes friends wherever she goes. And if the star is curious about Caspian's younger years and he hasn't told her much, maybe Lilliandil thinks Addie will offer answers if plied with enough friendship. But wouldn't a solo conversation be more efficient for prying?

Addie banishes the thought. Lilliandil isn't crafty or conniving. She's just kind, so kind it strains believability.

Foolishly, though Doctor Cornelius is right there and watching the exchange with poorly disguised interest, Addie glances to Caspian - of all people - for help. He must relish the idea even less than she does, and his penchant for etiquette must've given him a library of excuses.

Instead, he surprises her.

She hates when he does that.

Caspian smiles down at Lilliandil and agrees with her.

"I suppose," he says.

Doctor Cornelius coughs. "Adelaine, won't you help an old man?"

"Of course." Addie hurries to oblige, relieved (it is relief) when Caspian and Lilliandil lead the way downhill, every inch the royal couple.


Caspian

A strange, fluttering tightness grows in his chest with every step into town. The salty air should soothe him, the slap of water on the pier, calls of fishermen, creaking ship hulls and wind-stirred sails - these are the marks of home and the peace he finds by the sea. And yet there is a snag of awareness he can't shake.

Lilliandil, Lion bless her, fills in the conversation, skillfully smoothing over his reticence with questions about the dig sites, the Old Narnian script, where Addie and Doctor Cornelius will focus next.

"The royal archives," Addie answers as she follows them inside, interrupting herself to murmur thanks to the faun holding the door. "When we find them."

"I have every faith in Trufflehunter's excavation teams," says Doctor Cornelius. "I'd be heartily surprised if we aren't standing in an archive by week's end."

"That is soon indeed," Caspian says.

Sooner than he thought.

"The sooner the better," Addie says.

Caspian doesn't reply.


After a brief respite to freshen up and wash off the Cair's dust, the four of them follow the innkeeper - a portly man with a close-trimmed beard, weathered skin, and few words - to the private room in the back. Caspian's only used it a few times these past weeks, when Lilliandil wished to. Otherwise, he eats in his room accompanied by missives and reports from Trufflehunter and Trumpkin. The kingdom is well, but the summer solstice and Caspian's coronation anniversary draw near, and there are celebrations to prepare.

Celebrations which would be far easier to plan were Your Royal Majesty here in the capital, Trumpkin repeats in more than one letter. Caspian wrote promising his return no later than a week before the anniversary feast and ball.

If Addie and Cornelius' research continues this quickly, they could find the Cair's archives by then.

"Will you both return to the capital for the celebrations? I understand it will be a week of festivities for Caspian's coronation anniversary and the summer solstice." Lilliandil asks as Addie helps Doctor Cornelius into his chair.

Addie's neck tenses, shoulders tight as she takes the last empty seat across from Lilliandil.

In the pause, Caspian reaches for the basket of golden rolls, offering it to Lilliandil before he takes one himself. He has not attended a summer solstice dance in four years.

"I dearly hope Adelaine and I will have completed most of our research by then," says Doctor Cornelius. He sips his water goblet and pats his moustache dry. "I expect we can make the journey."

Addie makes no protest, but no agreement either.

Caspian eats his roll - buttery, hint of cinnamon, sweeter than the castle's bread - and steers the conversation back to the artifacts. Addie mentioned finding an ornately engraved chest today, and there is no bitter history there.

"I understand you found a chest today?" he says.

Addie hesitates before answering in the pragmatic tone he's come to associate with her - flat, unwavering, concerned only with conveying information. Yet sometimes Addie's face betrays her in a quick blink, a slightly pinched mouth, a tiny furrow in her brow.

"Yes, very ornate. The sides and top were engraved with scenes from legend," Addie says. "There was a pegasus flying two human children over a waterfall; I was thinking it's the Great Waterfall. On the other sides, there was a lion standing on an unbroken Stone Table surrounded by animals, like he was preaching -"

"Aslan, no doubt," says Doctor Cornelius. "The oldest legends speak of Him visiting Narnia far more frequently in the Old Days."

Aslan?

Caspian leans back as servants bring in dinner - steamed mussels, scallops over roasted vegetables, and a baked fish crusted in herbs, breadcrumbs, and candied lemons. At the capital, he also missed the food of the sea. The castle sits in northern Narnia, where venison and chicken and wild boar are common and fish or crustaceans would not survive the journey north.

Beneath the table, Lilliandil touches his hand, a gesture of comfort.

"The Great Waterfall lies in the west, and the Stone Table near the middle of Narnia," says Lilliandil. "What other scenes did the chest portray?"

Addie covers her mouth, still chewing a bite of fish. Her face betrays neither pleasure nor displeasure; if she enjoys the sea's bounty, he can't tell.

"Cair Paravel," Addie says after swallowing. "A king leading his people into the castle, maybe when they finished initial construction. That was on the lid. The other two sides showed a walled apple orchard guarded by a bird, and a similar apple tree by a lamp-post."

"An apple tree in Lantern Waste?" Doctor Cornelius leans back, stroking his beard. "It could be the Tree of Protection."

Both Lilliandil and Addie look quizzical.

"From Narnia's creation story," Caspian explains. "In the first age, it stood guard over Narnia until it fell, and the White Witch buried Narnia in snow and ice."

"Didn't it fall?" Addie's fork stands on her plate, tines buried in her forgotten fish.

"Yes, and that is how the White Witch subjugated Narnia," says Doctor Cornelius.

Frowning, Addie hums and twirls her fork, oblivious or uncaring that her elbows are on the table.

"We intend to visit Lantern Waste in autumn," says Lilliandil. "Caspian and I will gather any information to be had there."

Doctor Cornelius wipes his mouth with his napkin, his plate already clean. "So late? My king, surely you can be spared after your coronation anniversary?"

Caspian fills his mouth with a full-sized scallop. Trumpkin might have his head if he gallivants off yet again. He has responsibilities. Duties.

"Perhaps," he answers, washing down the seafood with a long draught of table wine - white, tangy, and floral, like Redhaven wine. "But I cannot always be on holiday."

"Not quite a holiday," Lilliandil says after finishing her vegetables. This time, there is no soothing brush of fingertips. "It would be official business, at least in part."

"I suppose Trumpkin can be convinced," Caspian says.

"I daresay he can," says the Doctor. "Now then, if you will pardon me, these old bones insist I retire for the night."

Lilliandil smiles graciously. "Of course, Doctor. Rest well."

Addie perks up, wolfing down the rest of her food as Doctor Cornelius bids them goodnight and departs. She's barely swallowed when she stands too, the chair scraping in her rush.

"I think I'll do the same," Addie says. "Early mornings, all that."

Lilliandil dims at once and leans across the table. "So soon? I had hoped to hear of your homeland."

Caspian finishes his last bite of dinner - a bread roll dipped in lemon sauce. He told Lilliandil everything about Addie's origins and the true nature of her research this morning, and the star asked a litany of questions about Addie's world. Unfortunately, Caspian's knowledge of England is limited to the Pevensies' stories and his brief, ghostly encounter with Addie, the farewell promised in Coriakin's spell book that Addie's return has rendered an awkward, passing encounter. He couldn't bring himself to mention that meeting to Lilliandil.

"Homeland?" Addie echoes. She grips her chair like a shield, knuckles white and face fixed in thinly veiled confusion.

"Of England," Lilliandil murmurs. "That's where you've come from, isn't it?"

Addie's gaze flits to him.

Caspian nods at her chair and takes Lilliandil's hand - atop the table.

Slowly, Addie sits, as if every movement pains her. She hides her hands in her skirt, but when she looks up, she's covered nerves with calm distance.

"Alright. What do you want to know?"


Never has Addie been so forthcoming. Compared to her old self, Addie is more than obliging, answering Lilliandil's questions with little hesitation.

His questions, she skirts.

Addie mentions playing with Josie, a fellow evacuee. Caspian remembers the young woman and man - boy - Addie embraced by the train.

"You must have grown close," Caspian says of Addie's playmate.

Addie nods without meeting his eyes. "Yes," she says.

"Josie must have been a lovely friend," Lilliandil says, a prodding lilt to her voice. "And the boys? Ollie and… forgive me, what was the other's name?"

Addie's pinched mouth softens a little. "Henry. He was the stealthy one. Mrs Shaw had a devil of a time finding his hiding places."

"You must have remained friends," Caspian says. "After the war."

"Just with Josie." Addie shrugs, as if commenting on the weather. "We stayed in touch when we got back to London."

From there, Lilliandil asks about England's transportation, Addie explains trains and cars and airplanes - all metal, faster than horses, running on steam or something Addie calls gasoline. Lilliandil latches onto airplanes, asking questions as fast as Addie can answer.

Caspian schools himself into silence and forces down his questions about train stations and goodbyes and dear friends who held Addie like they loved her.

Was Josie the woman with Addie? Who was the boy? Henry? Ollie? Someone else Addie hasn't mentioned?

"- don't know much more than that," Addie is saying. "I didn't befriend any pilots."

Lilliandil flickers as she stares into the rafters. "It must be a happy medium. To so easily fly through the sky and walk the earth in the same day."

A shadow darkens Addie's eyes. "As long as you're not a fighter pilot, sure." She shifts in her chair and twirls her fork on her empty plate. "Anyway, the war's over. So I guess most flying is for travel, fun, or business."

Lilliandil hesitates before her next question. "The war?"

Caspian blinks away flashes of soldiers wounded and dead in front of the How and the River God and Addie running through the river, bloodied and yelling his name. Lucy and Edmund spoke of a war, too, a great war that engulfed over a dozen countries. That war is what Addie speaks of.

She's lived through too many wars.

But then, hasn't everyone? Hasn't he?

Addie explains England's war much like Edmund did - perfunctory, brief, an overview of politics and battles and evacuations with so little feeling he would mistake her detachment for callousness if he didn't think of his own wars the same way.

Lilliandil keeps Addie talking long into the night, about the war and London and her years there. Only when Addie mentions rainy afternoons in a neighbourhood library does Caspian realise she spoke of her time in the countryside like she was a child and London like she grew into adulthood there.

"How long were you in England?" Caspian blurts.

Two pairs of eyes snap to him. He might have interrupted.

Addie's throat bobs, but she answers. "Thirteen years."

By the Mane. She lived more than half her life over again?

"Thirteen?" Caspian parrots the number, his stare fixed on Addie's pale cheeks and pursed lips.

"Yes," Addie says.

Caspian's gaze falls to her hands. There is no thin scar on her left thumb, no puckered burn mark on her index knuckle, no white line by her right pinkie. The heels of her palms are smoother, lacking the callouses he knew.

Thirteen years she lived in England, while only four passed for him?

Little wonder she moved on. She lived an entire life without him. He shouldn't have blamed her for… for what? For meeting his ire with measured caution, his heartbreak with distance? For moving on when for so long he could not?

Lilliandil and Addie's conversation continues, but Caspian hears little of it and asks even less. Addie tells Lilliandil about London's constant rain and fog, factories staining the sky with black smoke, underground trains Addie calls The Tube, streetlamps kept alight with gas or electricity - remarkably similar to the lamp-post in Lantern Waste.

Thirteen years.

Why, if Addie moved on with a boy from her world she still hasn't named aloud, are her eyes still haunted when she looks at him, like she remembers all they were and all they failed to be?


Addie

Next time, she will find an excuse. Had she known Lilliandil planned a polite interrogation, she would've returned to the dig site and worked past dinnertime.

Caspian could've warned her, instead of leaving her to stumble through cautious answers that told Lilliandil what she wanted to know of England without mentioning the rings.

Addie sighs out the weight of her oversharing and steadies her diary on her thigh, stylus scratching absently. Outside, the waves crash and recede, an endless, soothing rhythm. If only the past were so easily washed away. If only she hadn't said thirteen years. In Caspian's position, she'd hate such a surprise being dropped on her in front of other people.

She only admitted it because Caspian asked and she didn't think he would care. Why should he?

What's done is done. Caspian saw fit to tell Lilliandil she's not from Narnia and she's trying to get home to England. Lilliandil was curious, and Addie indulged her. A simple satisfaction of curiosity.

It changes nothing. No matter Caspian's obvious shock at her years in England, no matter Lilliandil's concern that he shook off like a chill in spring, the circumstances are the same.

Caspian is courting Lilliandil. Soon, Caspian will propose to her, and Narnia will be overjoyed to have a queen. Meanwhile, Addie's research will continue, and hopefully before the royal wedding, Doctor Cornelius will let her use the rings to return to England. Home, where Christmas is three weeks away and Josie and Ted are waiting. Where there are no kings and no broken hearts, only the long stretch of almost but never quite.

Josie is her family. Ted is her friend. That is enough. It's far simpler than the mess here.

It won't hurt so much when Ted finds his lifelong lover. Addie will be truly happy for him, and she will spend her spinster's life with Josie, trading shortbread and storybooks and sisterly love grown over more than a decade.

She will be content. She will.

Addie puts the dinner from her mind, breathes in the sea's salt, and sets aside her stylus. She'll write to Josie tomorrow.

Her mistake is glancing down, doodles she assumed were nothing taking sudden shape.

Caspian's face stares back at her in shades of grey, every feature of his current self accurate but for his eyes. These dark eyes hold no contempt, no pained past, no heartbreak soured into enmity. This Caspian looks at her like -

No.

Addie slams her diary shut and crawls into bed, where the sound of the waves washes away her longings and the man she loved feels as distant as the farthest shore.


In less than a week, they find it. A mole calls Addie from her lantern-lit table covered in an archaeological map marked with possible archive sites, courtesy of Trufflehunter.

Last week's treasure room yielded no further connected rooms; this is a new site to the east, dense with clay and stone worn smooth by years of underground water flow. Slower to dig through, but it might have been worth it.

"Here, Miss Addie, look!"

Addie skids to the tunnel's end, kneels, and there it is - Old Narnian script carved into a fallen piece of curved marble. Thanks to Trufflehunter, she can read this. He finished translating the last of the alphabet they've found just yesterday. Hands shaking, Addie pulls the translation sheet from her pocket.

Records of _ Reign of His Maj_ _ Frank I-_

Parts of the inscription have broken off, but the contents of this room date back to King Frank I, the first king of Narnia. Ahead stands a doorway filled in with rocks and clay.

They've found it.

"The room's caved in," says the mole. "We'll have it cleared out in no time."

Addie's smile shakes on nervous, fluttering hope and something else she won't name. "If I can help, please let me know."

Already, the team of moles are clawing at the earth as dwarfs and badgers fill wheelbarrows with dirt.

"Careful," says a red-bearded dwarf, tone gruffer than he actually is. "We'll need more support beams."

"I'll see to it."

Addie hurries to the surface on tremulous legs and sends two minotaurs down, each carrying four support beams under each burly, furry arm.

"By the Mane, Addie, have you found something?" Trufflehunter calls over a cacophony of hammers and chisels.

"An archive, goes back to King Frank the First!" Addie waves, smiling as she has not smiled in weeks, and follows the minotaurs underground.

This is her best hope yet.


Caspian

"An urgent missive from the capital, Your Majesty."

A raven carrying a scroll interrupts Caspian's picnic lunch on the beach with Lilliandil. Caspian smiles a silent apology to the star and unrolls the letter.

It's from Trumpkin, on behalf of Lady Opheodra. A pack of wolves is plaguing Ettinsmoor's northwestern border, and her captain has not yet caught the beasts. Were Caspian sure these were ordinary wolves, he would think little of it. A wolf pack in the north is no great anomaly.

However, dark mountains lie in the northwest; rumour whispers of surviving White Witch adherents - hags, boggles, werewolves, harpies, goblins, and the like - lurking in the mountains between Ettinsmoor and Telmar.

According to Trumpkin's letter, two children went missing in the foothills, and Lady Opheodra's captain warned of wolves running on two legs - werewolves.

Caspian met his first at the Stone Table, and he would just as soon never meet one again. He had hoped they were extinct; his army never saw them in the Ettinsmoor War three years ago.

"Thank you, Sir Raven." Caspian tucks the scroll into his overcoat pocket. "Tell Lord Trumpkin to expect my return within the week."

The raven bows. "Sire."

"What's wrong?" Lilliandil asks as the raven takes off.

"A pack of werewolves haunts Ettinsmoor. Two children are missing, possibly at their hands." Caspian sighs. "I'm sorry to cut our trip short, but I must return to the capital. If Lady Opheodra needs reinforcements, I must ready them."

Lilliandil finishes her cluster of grapes and sets down her plate. "It's regrettable timing, with your coronation anniversary so soon, but I hope the children are found safe."

Next week, in fact. Strategically, Narnia's enemies (what few remain) may think it an excellent time to test Narnia's defences. With the kingdom busy celebrating, actors of ill intent could see an opportunity.

Caspian tells Lilliandil as much, with less attentiveness than he ought; what room has he for reassurances and courtships when his kingdom is threatened?

"Ettinsmoor is under my protection," Caspian continues. "If Lady Opheodra's soldiers cannot stop the wolves, I must send the crown's men."

"Of course," Lilliandil says, with every appearance of acquiescence though her dimmed light tells a different story. "How soon must we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," Caspian says. Werewolves are no trifling matter, but it is not so pressing he must drop everything and ride through the night. Lady Opheodra is expected to depart soon, though most of her soldiers are already in Ettinsmoor.

Lilliandil is already gathering their interrupted luncheon. "I will be ready."


After escorting Lilliandil back to the inn to pack, Caspian ascends to Cair Paravel, the scorching afternoon sun his witness and companion. He finds Doctor Cornelius fanning himself under Trufflehunter's main tent, which stands in the Cair's overgrown throne room. When the excavations have finished, these fallen limestone columns will stand tall again beneath a glass roof. The old scholar stands and bows shallowly, his face ruddy.

"My king."

"I must return to the capital, Professor," Caspian says. "Trouble rises in Ettinsmoor again."

Doctor Cornelius sinks into his chair, frowning. "Ettins?"

"Werewolves," Caspian murmurs, sitting beside him. "They've killed two children."

The Doctor strokes his beard. "The northern mountains are Witch Country. I did not think the Witch's straggled survivors would cause trouble; their numbers are too few."

"Then either their numbers or their boldness has grown." Caspian shows him Trumpkin's letter. "Lady Opheodra's soldiers are hunting the pack. Lion willing, they will wipe it out soon. But if not, Ettinsmoor will need reinforcements. There could be more."

Doctor Cornelius adjusts his spectacles, skims the letter, and returns it. "Be careful, my boy."

Caspian nods. He usually is, and it is not him in harm's way. Caspian taps Trufflehunter's blueprints. The badger is directing a crew at a new dig site in the western wing.

"Have you found an archive?"

"Just this morning," says the scholar, eyes twinkling as they do when he begins a tale of the Old Days. "It caved in long ago, but the crew is clearing it. Adelaine found an inscription dating the records to Narnia's first king."

So soon?

A heaviness settles in Caspian's stomach - a consequence of a recent meal and summer's heat, surely.

"Where?"

Doctor Cornelius' eyes narrow, and he doesn't immediately answer.

"Professor," Caspian says. "Where?"

With a sigh, Cornelius relents, tapping a new dig site to the east and then pointing the way.

"Enter the second tunnel down the eastern stairs," says the Doctor. "Follow it to the end."

"Thank you." Caspian is already walking.


By every interpretation, this is excellent news. Addie's prompt departure is all he's hoped for since her return, a desire complicated only by the dangers the rings pose to his kingdom - and to Addie, Doctor Cornelius, anyone who might use them. Now the archive has been found, Doctor Cornelius will soon solve the mystery of the rings and the Wood Between Worlds, and then Addie will be gone.

Lion, he should be happy.

He is. He must be, because Lilliandil awaits him and Narnia needs him and what is one more goodbye when he has survived dozens already? Why should Addie's departure be anything but cause for celebration? This is the end of his struggle. He gleaned what closure he could from Addie; their goodbye is merely a formality.

He did not get a goodbye before. That must be why Caspian fights to keep from jogging as he returns pleasantries to the moles with dirt-covered snouts, dwarfs whistling and toting pickaxes, badgers and foxes digging into the earth, and fauns carting away wheelbarrows of earth and clay. Every breath is heavy with the damp, cool air and hazy torch smoke. His ears ring from the sounds of hammer and chisel, shovel and pickaxe. He is here out of curiosity.

He is here to see this newly discovered archive and to look upon Addie knowing he will not have to see her again.

He will not see her again.

Why is she leaving? Why return to London, to that war-scarred, industry-choked, stinking city he could tell she hated? Why go back to the English countryside with cows and foggy moors and trees that can't dance? She isn't returning to her family. She lost them; they're dead, like his own.

"Excuse me." Caspian bumps into a faun and keeps going.

Addie must love England in her own way. She forged thirteen years of ties there. She has Josie, a friend she's had for two-thirds of her English life. Josie must be the young woman Caspian saw embracing Addie at the train station.

Is she returning for the boy? The boy she didn't mention last night - the boy who kissed her cheek and told her not to fret?

Caspian exhales. He's moved on; he has Lilliandil. He can't begrudge Addie for doing the same.

He will see Addie's progress, lay eyes on the archive himself, and then he will return to the castle of his Telmarine ancestors. Ettinsmoor awaits his aid, and his coronation anniversary is the week after next. When Addie and Doctor Cornelius return to the capital with their answers, he may well be in Ettinsmoor; he needn't stomach seeing her don the rings and leave.

Caspian squares his shoulders and rounds the bend, trying not to think of the weight of earth above him. These tunnels reach deeper than the How.

After Addie leaves, he will wed, if not for love, then for his kingdom's sake. Caspian will pry open his heart, offer Lilliandil what scraps remain, and pray it's enough for her. He will marry, he will produce heirs, and he will be content.

The tunnel's end greets him, a flurry of activity. Moles and a fox (its white-tipped tail peeks from a hole) are busy clawing through dense clay and shovels and hammers ring from an arched marble doorway etched with Old Narnian symbols. Fauns and dwarfs emerge hauling barrows of stone and rubble.

"Your Majesty," says a passing faun, one of many greetings Caspian briefly acknowledges.

"Is Adelina here?"

"If you mean Addie, then yes. She's in there." The faun trots to the doorway with his empty, squeaky wheelbarrow. "Addie, His Majesty the King is asking for you!"

Caspian waits to the side - he's here to observe, not disrupt their work - until Addie emerges, hair dusty and falling in wisps over her flushed cheeks. Their eyes lock and her brisk walk falters momentarily, only to quicken anew, her chin held high and her back straight.

Addie curtsies. "Your Majesty."

She's using his title again.

Caspian clasps his hands at his back. "Doctor Cornelius tells me you've found a records room?"

A smile lifts Addie's mouth, her gaze softening and posture relaxing. "Yes, we found the archive. Well, an archive, there might be more. We're not sure yet."

A smudge of greyish clay mars Addie's collarbone, and one of her cuticles is bleeding.

Caspian forces his gaze toward the archive and steady parade of rubble-laden carts and barrows. "And you think you'll find answers?"

Addie glances over her shoulder, but everyone else is focused on their work. "If we'll find them anywhere, it's likeliest to be here. Shouldn't be long now. The room caved in a long time ago, but as soon as we clear the debris and stabilise the roof, we -"

"You must be happy," Caspian interrupts, with the most obvious observation he could have made. "This is everything you've been working for."

Addie blinks up at him. "I… of course I am. I'll be home soon."

"To Josie?"

Addie nods, yet something in her eyes wavers. Again, she checks for eavesdroppers that don't exist. Though she finds none, her answer is practically unintelligible.

"When I left, it was nearing Christmas," Addie whispers, leaning closer. "We were going to spend the holiday together, Josie and…" Addie hesitates, then seems to shake it off. "Josie and Ted and I."

Something twinges in his chest. Caspian grits his teeth and wills it to quiet.

"Then I hope you find what you seek soon."

Addie smiles, slightly forced. "Like I said, it won't be long now."

How long? Days, a week, more?

Caspian lets the noise and bustle of the crew wash over him, the fauns' whistling and the dwarfs' occasional chants.

He's not sure why he speaks again. There is nothing left to say between them.

And yet.

"I saw you," Caspian murmurs. "All three of you, at the train station."

It's a well-founded inference; Addie's eyes widen, proof he guessed correctly. The young woman was Josie, and the boy was Ted.

"They must miss you," Caspian says.

"They probably do, but…" Addie's eyes have gone distant and dazed, staring past him into nothing. "You… I thought I was seeing things."

"It was a faulty spell," Caspian says. It was not, after all, a farewell, and it was a moment he was not meant to see - a window into Addie's life he shouldn't have stared into. "On my voyage east."

Addie's eyes slowly focus again, though her lips are still parted in surprise.

"I suppose we're even, in a way." Addie's mouth flicks into a smile when he tilts his head. "We both dropped in somewhere we shouldn't have, though mine's been harder to fix. Bit of a mess, really."

A chuckle escapes him. "A bit," Caspian says, fighting a bubble of amusement. Addie's very good at making messes - at causing trouble. In that, she is the same Addie he knew.

"I'm returning to the capital tomorrow," Caspian says, without knowing why. He's technically under no obligation to explain his presence or upcoming absence to her. "Ettinsmoor is causing trouble again. Lilliandil and I ride with the dawn."

Addie's smile melts away. "Giants?"

Caspian shakes his head. "Werewolves."

Addie steps away, widening the scant distance she had closed. "Safe travels, then - both of you. Be careful."

Caspian thanks her. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he says more.

"You should come with us. Back to the capital."

Addie appears as confused as he, eyes sliding up as Caspian closes the distance again.

"Why?" she says. "We're making good progress. Better than good."

Caspian catches her gaze, watches the torches flicker in their gold-brown depths.

"To say your goodbyes - unhurried," he says. When last she left, Addie rushed out, and she told him on the beach that she regretted it. "Trufflehunter's team can finish here."

Slowly, Addie shakes her head. Then faster, firmer, resolution pushing through confusion.

"No. No, I'm staying here, I have to… this is my mess, the…" She taps her ring finger. "I used them, and I'm not supposed to be here. So I have to fix this."

"You said it was an accident. You didn't come here by choice."

"But I lingered. I saw what I wanted to see. I need to…" Addie lifts her chin and stands straight and tall. Her head barely reaches his chin. "I can't leave when we just found the archive."

Caspian says nothing. Addie has not openly defied him since she returned.

He…

He missed it.

Addie mistakes his silence for brewing displeasure.

"I know you must be frustrated," she whispers. "I know the research has taken a long time - too long. But I swear, we're so close, and this archive could have everything, all the answers we need. Ask Doctor Cornelius if you don't believe me, he'll tell you the same."

How he despises that note of pleading in her voice, desperation creeping over determination. It's a consequence of his last words before she left, of how cruelly he doubted her.

"And if those records hold no answers? If they are damaged beyond salvaging?"

"Then I'll keep looking." Addie continues, every word faster than the last. "A few days more, maybe a week, and that's all. It'll be done with and I'll be gone and you'll never have to see -"

"Addie, stop."

The word is out before he thinks it through, a command whose meaning he knows not. Caspian draws closer and watches Addie mirror the opposite, retreating a small step for every one of his.

"I'm not angry with you," Caspian says. "You don't need to rush out again."

Addie flinches.

Caspian grips his hands so tightly a knuckle pops. If Cair Paravel holds no information on the rings, Doctor Cornelius will suggest experimentation once again. It would be dangerous.

He is king. How easily he could forbid using the rings at all, for safety's sake. He could order Addie to return to the capital and mete out proper farewells she didn't see fit to give last time.

Caspian could, but he will not. More importantly, he should not.

"I can't leave the work now," Addie murmurs. "Just… just let me fix this."

Caspian swallows a bitter twist of should and mustn't and so stubborn, she is still so stubborn. Addie's place is here, and his is in the capital to ready the celebrations and prepare reinforcements should Ettinsmoor need them.

It is time he and Addie each return to where they must be.

Caspian retreats.

"Do as you must."

Yet as he flees the dark underground and emerges into the sunlight, Caspian wishes he'd said something - anything - else.


A/N: Soooo, do we think Addie will actually find enough info to use the rings? Caspian wouldn't mind, would he? 😈

Chapter 72 Preview:

Cool sand shifts beneath her bare feet as the waves crash ashore, a constant cycle of foaming advance and hushing withdrawal, endlessly retreating and returning.

A bit like her.

Addie cradles her gift for Cesare - a half-conch shell washed up and half-buried in a sea cave - and fills her lungs with a last taste of the sea air. She didn't always love the smell of salt and sand, but she will miss it.

She'll miss a lot of things.