Before the Dawn
the second night after leaving the Lone Islands, Lucy's stomach cramps.
she had slept thoroughly on their first night, exhausted from the farewell feast Lord Bern had insisted Caspian held. but now, she goes up on deck and stands at the stern-rail, sicking up into the Dawn Treader's wake.
a sentry comes to her. tanned and dark-eyed, with curly hair and probable satyr blood in him, she thinks.
"my queen," he says, concern cutting through his voice. definitely part-satyr.
she wipes her cheek with the cuff of her night-dress.
"i'm fine, i'll be fine," she insists.
"can i –"
she turns to go, wanting to be left alone, but realises he could help.
"just… would you fetch me some water?" she asks the sentry.
he nods; does so. the water barrels on the deck are nailed together, with a hinged lid. he ladles some out into a tin cup and brings it to her.
"thank you," she says, taking it from him.
has a sip, rinse out the acrid aftertaste. another sip and spits it over aft.
"thank you," she repeats herself. "i – i don't know your name."
Lucy realises that she hasn't even seen the man before.
"Gilion, ma'am," he says.
"thank you Gilion."
"are you ill, ma'am?" Gilion asks. "or is it the sea?"
"no, it can't be," Lucy reasons. "i was fine all the way to Felimath. and it's so calm tonight."
Gilion nods.
"maybe it's just how long we stayed in Narrowhaven," she says to herself, determined it can't be anything else. "i just need to get used to the ship again." it can't be nerves, it can't be bad food, it can't be –
"or maybe heat-stroke," Gilion suggests.
she takes another sip.
"or maybe it is King Capsian?"
her heart jumps into her mouth and she blushes, both at the sentry's impropriety, but also at the thought of it.
"how dare –" she stammers. "sir, you cannot say that, you cannot – !"
Lucy is flustered by how easy he sees through her. she thrusts the tin mug back at him, hoping that if he takes the mug back he will take back what he said too.
he doesn't move, doesn't blink his large dark eyes.
i'm not a part of this crew, remember? his presence seems to say, refusing to break the silence.
she breaks eye contact, looks away, out back westwards.
"how could you possibly…" she whispers.
"i know things like this, for all of you. at Beruna, i saw the waters destroy Miraz's army. in Tashbaan, i felt it as the new Tisroc fell for the Sencine princess. on Terebinthia, i whispered in the king's ear to leave land behind and strike for the utmost east."
beat.
"i do all of these things for you."
she looks back to him.
"who the fuck are you?" asks Lucy, afraid.
no one.
"don't fall in love with a foreign king," Gilion warns her. "don't waste your time. not because you are not worthy, but because he is not yours to judge."
it's then Lucy realises how alone, how far from home, how alien this all is. she isn't a queen, she isn't meant to fall in love with – whatever Caspian is to her.
and how alien the satyr-man standing opposite her is.
"you will meet someone more worthy," he mutters simply, turns, and goes back below.
she is left standing there in shock.
when day breaks, she rises and goes back up to the stern. Drinian insist there is no man named Gilion on his ship. Lucy insists to herself there was none certainly before the Lone Islands.
yet the spilt tin mug lies there on the deck, water quickly evaporating in the morning sun.