aaah this is my longest chapter yet at 5,400+ words. Lets GO
After two solid weeks of being thrown around the ship like a ragdoll in the hand of an overly enthusiastic toddler, the storm eases.
It's a slow process, so slow that we all doubt that what we're seeing is real, chalking it up to a collective hallucination brought on by the desperation which had been scratching our bones and nipping our skin until it's all we knew. At the first ray of sunshine several of us were ready to cry. When the rain stopped falling, many of us did. Then finally, with our hearts in our throats and limbs practically shaking with relief, the clouds parted, and we were free.
We cheered and we cried and even Drinian walked around with a grin stretching new lines across his weathered face, but when it came to celebrating properly – a stew and plenty of rum – we were out of luck. The empty shelves in the pantry were enough to dampen any victory.
Six days left.
In a way, the storm had been helping the situation. It served as a distraction for the entire crew but now with that tension lifted, all anybody could think about was their empty stomachs and the distinct lack of the blue star in the sky and land on the horizon. Caspian, though he had been eating more and regaining his colour, was becoming harder to persuade as time went on and has been starting to slip.
Every morning I, and I imagine the rest of the crew did as well, prayed to see land when emerging onto the deck. On the third day post-storm, that prayer was answered.
It was a gloriously sunny day, water nymphs gleefully skipping waves alongside the ship, their waving hands throwing tangles of light across the windows when the sunlight hit them, and even the typical crisp ocean air wasn't enough to stop the summer-worthy heat that basked down upon us. Boots off and sleeves rolled up, it took the edge off our impending doom for a magnificent moment.
For a change, I decided to sit on top of one of the boxes on deck rather than wedge myself behind them, leaning back against the wall with my sketchbook on crossed legs, drawing Lucy who sat admiring the view in front of me. It was ridiculous that I had never asked for her stories before. Having reigned as Queen of Narnia for over a decade, she had so many. I had heard a few second-hand from Caspian, but her tales of their Golden Age were incomparable, and the way her eyes lit up as she spoke of them made for a lively sketch. With her head tilted towards the sky and the sunlight beaming down in return, grin stretched wide and hair blowing gently – it may be my favourite piece yet.
We stayed at the edge of the ship talking long after I had finished, soon joined by Edmund and Marco who jumped at the opportunity to tell their own tales. The nostalgia and longing in their eyes, reminders of simpler days and more enthralling adventures, gave my jealously the strength to crack its knuckles and prepare to take the reins over my mind, but the sheer contentment I felt at just being here – existing with them – was enough to quell it for now. The mere fact that I was here, experiencing this, that it wasn't just a hopeful dream or fantasy to distract me from reality and I had really come here and survived slave traders and storms and learned to fight and made friends was completely and utterly enough.
An enthusiastic cry sounded from the crow's nest. "LAND, HO!" Marco cut off from his story about breaking his leg at 14 (it involved a tree, an anvil and a few tricky fairies) to lean over me and out to the sea.
And there it was, our dream come true. The barest strip of land, easily covered by my thumb if held upright, but it was more than enough. Marco and Edmund, along with many of the men on deck, scrabbled to the rowers to help get us there faster but not before Caspian hastened to the deck to see it for himself. The smile that broke out across his face when his eyes locked onto the distant shadow only made the moment better.
We reached the island in record time, fluttering around the ship preparing with perpetual grins and unable to go five minutes without looking out of a window to see if there were any new details to be seen. When we assembled on deck, my hair tied up so the cool breeze could tickle my neck and sketchbook tucked safely into a pack slung against my right hip and a sword against the left, the atmosphere was teeming with excitement. I caught Caspian's eye and smiled to which he responded to with a grin of his own, looking more alive than he has done for a while with his shoulders held up straight and foot bouncing with excess energy.
When preparing landing parties for the previous islands it was only the lucky handful who were granted the journey, but now we leave behind a skeletal crew. Dozens of men disembark in the longboats laden with casks, canisters, baskets and barrels, ready to scour for enough food to last us through the indefinite future that lies ahead, but our daydreams of fresh fruit and fish dwindle as we draw closer.
From what we can see, there's no nature. Just a singular, curving wall of burnt rock and a wide stretch of sand, with the island itself small enough that we can see both ends clearly even as we approach the bay.
"I doubt the Lords stopped here my Liege, there's no sign of anything living." Reepicheep says, voicing what the rest of us daren't.
"Take your men and search for food and water, the three of us will look for clues." Caspian responds, nodding to himself, Lucy and Edmund. A strangled scoff of indignation escapes my throat, to which he acknowledges with an upwards tug of his lips.
"Drinian," Caspian begins once we've reached the shore and unloaded the boats. When he gets the Captain's attention, he nods to me, watching on not so slyly, "pair Amber with Marco and Kiers." Drinian nods and turns to find the men in question while I prepare a speech as to why I should go with him, Lucy and Edmund instead.
Before I can even begin, he winks at me and grins. "I thought you wanted to be part of the crew?" With that, they cross the rocky terrain to explore, disappearing from sight as I struggle between the urge to grin at how pleased he was to have gotten the best of me and slipping away to explore for myself while I have the opportunity to do so. Before I can decide, there's a basket in my arms and I'm setting off across the island to search for food.
The force of the storm seems to have knocked the land legs out from me completely, and with it, the hope that they will ever come back. Marco and Kiers kindly walk at a snail's pace for my benefit and say nothing as I pause after each step, waiting for the ground to lurch upwards though I know it won't. When we reach a minor incline of rock so vividly orange it's as if chunks of the sun have fallen from space to land here, it takes a good twenty minutes to overcome it – complete with a hurled basket, scuffed hands, a stomach ache and a great deal of blasphemy.
Curving the side of the island takes us between hulks of stone high as houses with the barest patches of shrubbery on their tops. A singular vine leans over the edge of the nearest structure, taunting us.
Kiers attaches his basket to his belt with a strip of fabric before rolling up his sleeves and searching for a side with convenient nooks for his hands and feet. It was frustrating that even though the odds of there being a scrap of anything edible up there were minimal to none, there was no choice but to check. We didn't know this island or the mysterious rules that nature declared be true here, so there may as well be a berry bush up there, or if we're matching the ridiculousness of the rest of this journey, a spout that routinely produced live chickens.
Thankfully, Kiers is a remarkable climber; having been forced into poverty young by the Telmarines he had turned to petty theft to stay alive and over time he had learned to scale any building or structure for easy escapes. When Caspian took the throne and life improved, he said goodbye to a life of crime and instead found joy scaling the ratlines on whatever ship would take him. On the rare nights that some of the sailors decide to put on a short play or musical for those on deck, he also proved himself to be a remarkable singer.
"There's nothing up here, but I can see the start of a field in the East. We can head there." He calls from the top, quickly making his descent and starting off in the correct direction.
We find a convenient dip between two slopes of fallen rock to trapeze through, which guides us through a low canyon made of a darker garnet shaded rock and eventually into a gorgeous valley, complete with a gentle river and fruit trees that look as if they should belong on a different island entirely compared to its desert-esque front.
We separate and divulge the trees of what we can, filling separate canisters up with water until we're physically unable to carry anything else. By the time we're heading back to the shore, I can keep pace with them both with the ground steady under my feet.
"I heard you're the one who got King Caspian to eat again." Kiers says as we make our way through the canyon, walking single file due to the narrow, twisting path. Marco, in the middle of our line, turns around to throw me a brief smirk.
"Where did you…" I trail off from the question, unsure of how to approach this.
"We were growing concerned." He admits. "King Caspian is very dedicated to his people and has a tendency to be…" He pauses, obviously uncomfortable with speaking of his King like this, "…negligent with his own well-being, but it's hard to speak up when the act is selfless. Thank you." He looks me in the eye for the final two words, and that simple action adds a depth to his words I can't skim over.
"He's fortunate to have a friend like you." Marco adds.
My thoughts falter.
A friend.
My first.
This is what I wanted, isn't it? Somebody I cared for who cared for me in return. This is exactly what I wanted.
Then why do I feel so… guilty?
You know why.
He's told me so much. So many adventures and travels and things he's learnt and the tales of those he's met along the way and he never pressured me to provide anything in return, despite the sly mentions that he would like to know. I ignored each and every one, and for what? So I can pretend it, my entire life in England, just… didn't happen? Is that it? Of all people he would be the last to take judgement, and perhaps the first to understand.
Maybe I deserve to have somebody listen. After all, I've come so far. I've been living at sea, I've fought slave traders and travelled to new lands and met fantastical creatures and made real friends and fallen for a King of all people – and I haven't forced a single thing. It's not like before, when I would find a group I desperately wanted part of, changing what I could so my grey would blend with their gold and their peach and their indigo. It had never worked, it was as if I had taken a photograph of them and drawn myself on it in such a way that you could tell I had been trying so hard to match the real thing, but with a hand a bit too heavy. A bit too enthusiastic. I haven't had to draw myself here with the Dawn Treader crew. Not a single line.
If there's anybody I could face the truth with, it's them. Marco. Lucy. Edmund.
Caspian.
"Find anything?" I snap away from my thoughts, brushing the alarming onslaught away like an annoying fly. I don't have to lock everything away anymore, but for now I will. Just until I'm alone.
We reach the shore and approach Talos, who called out to us.
"Plenty of fruit trees, and a stream. I'll assemble a team to take the casks down." Talos nods in approval and we disperse, loading our food onto the longboats while we wait for the others to return from their scavenges.
"Back so soon, Your Majesties?" My head whips around at the sound of Talos calling out once more to see Caspian, Edmund and Lucy returning from the opposite end of the island.
"The Lords stopped here. We found the remains of Lord Restimar and Lord Octesian." He and Edmund hold up swords in a silent explanation, the discomfort of taking them from their rightful owners painfully clear.
Everyone still on the shore, having not returned to the Dawn Treader by longboat or continued to search for food and water across the island, allowed for a moment of silence.
In the distance, far beyond the point the others had ventured to, came a column of smoke. Lucy spins to Drinian and Caspian, both looking equally concerned. "Have either of you noticed a volcano?" She asked. They shook their heads dimly, watching another plume follow.
Above the hush of the waves came another sound – a beating, forceful and unsteady – that had the others drawing their blades. "Back, over there – hurry!" Drinian hissed, ushering our group further along the island behind a half-fallen rock formation.
We – Caspian, Drinian, Edmund, Lucy, Reepicheep, Marco, Kiers, Talos, Rhince, Gael and I – crouched low to the ground and peered towards the sky. The beating grew louder and after a few more agonising seconds in which we remained still with breaths held, the source appeared.
A dragon.
A real, living, breathing, flying, non-fictional dragon.
My stomach was torn between sinking low with dread and fear at the sight of such a famously dangerous creature and leaping high because there in front of me was a dragon – and it wasn't one I drew or painted or crafted from stolen materials – it was real!
Drinian slowly edged to the side of our barrier (the barrier between us and a dragon, my brain added excitedly) and looked across the beach before turning to us.
"It's between us and the longboats." He stated bluntly, face so set in determination its as if I could hear the cogs in his head turning.
Reepicheep turned to Caspian and drew his sword. "Your Majesty, if I may –"
"– You are not fighting a dragon single-handed, Reep."
He reluctantly returned his blade to its holster.
Marco, who had been watching the dragon from a gap in the rock, quickly ushered us back. "It's moving – go! Go!" There was an echoing growl and, from the peeks I could gather, a spurt of flame. Everyone scrambled backwards deeper into the island except for Lucy and me. While I stayed out of mere fascination (and a dash of stupidity, if I'm being completely honest), the small sector of my brain not actively chanting 'dragons are real, dragons are real, dragons are real' could not work out Lucy's reluctance to leave.
"It's writing something!" She whisper-yelled after a few minutes, treading carefully as to avoid detection but keeping the rock currently being scorched in sight. "E…C… Hold on!" She waved a dismissive hand to the others, desperately trying to encourage her to move, and craned her head. "S! E, C, S. But those are initials… Surely not… Edmund – Edmund, I think it's Eustace!" At that, Edmund rushed forward and the others followed tentatively, trying to get a look at the message themselves.
The dragon assessed the crudely shaped letters on the rock and raised a clawed foot to its snout before limping backwards. "It's injured." I say absentmindedly, itching to get closer.
Drinian unlatched the spyglass from his hip and looked through, passing it to Caspian seconds later without a word. "It has a golden armband forced onto its foot. There's a design on it, I can't quite make it out." Caspian murmurs. The dragon raises a clawed foot to its injury, scratching.
"I believe it's a hammer, Your Majesty." Drinian says.
"Like the sign of Lord Octesian?" Caspian asks, handing back the spyglass.
"Exactly that, Your Majesty."
"Of course Eustace would steal something like that." Edmund says bitterly before entering the dragons view. All of us, minus Kiers and Marco who decided to keep their guard up, follow suit.
The dragon retreats at the sight of us, sinking low to the ground in an effort to appear non-threatening.
Up close, it was utterly magnificent.
A giant, golden masterpiece. With the sun still high in the sky, his scales glittered in the light and highlighted just how thin – but still so strong – his wings were, currently half splayed out across the sand. His head, adorned with spines on his crown and below his chin, was twice as long as Reepicheep's whole body, with teeth equally large and impressive. Would I be able to take one? I think briefly. Best not.
Lucy approaches the dragon and removes the armband and after a few moments that lack a spectacular transformation, Caspian decides that a small group will remain on shore with the dragon until morning when they can hatch a plan. Still caught up in the paralysing shock and amazement over the sheer existence of dragons, in a world I thought could get no more surprising, I barely have the capacity to process that the dragon is Eustace. Whatever one-sided conversation they had with him went missed by me, considering I was too busy thinking about how his paws are larger than my entire head. Incredible!
Once the remaining search parties had returned and decided that they did not, for some reason, like the idea of sleeping on shore beside a dragon, they departed back to the Dawn Treader bobbing in the bay (joined by Kiers, Marco and Talos) while those remaining set up makeshift beds around a fire kindly provided by Eustace.
I lay down after a brief dinner and let the stars overwhelm me, fixating on a singular patch until everything else faded away and I could pretend that they were all that existed. I hoped the background of the waves whispering sweet nothings to the shore and the fire crackling near my feet would serve as a lullaby, but with nothing to actively occupy my mind, my earlier thoughts about opening up hummed back to life.
Now, with a dragon a dozen feet away from me, my fear seemed ridiculous. How the idea of honesty froze my heart, but a not-so-fictional humongous lizard that could kill me with a single swipe conjured a cocktail of 70% excitement and 30% dread. I huffed out a laugh to myself.
"What's so funny?" Caspian asks, laying on his blanket beside me. I try to ignore it, his proximity, treating it like I did on Coriakin's island. But it doesn't work.
"Oh, nothing." I dismiss his question with a shake of my head.
Is now the time? Do I tell him now? It doesn't seem right. It's too sudden. My throat closes up at the mere thought of having those words escape my lips after being trapped inside for so long. Instead I wish him goodnight and roll over, pressing my face deep into the pack that serves as my pillow, willing for myself to fall asleep.
After what seemed like an eternity, I did.
Then came the dreams.
Faint whispers that I could only brush with my fingertips, as intangible as air but coiling with displeasure. They blurred together, the distant recollections of misty rain and light hands against my cheek, a glimmer of silver underneath black. There was something more, something new, as well. Everything else I had experienced for as long as I can remember, choosing to infect whatever nights they chose be it days, months or years apart. But now there was a haze of alabaster and a streak of brown, the cloud threaded with the sweet scent of flowers and the sea. Everything remained just out of reach, curving round the shape of my hands when I reached out as if to play a game I knew I couldn't win.
Wind. Faint, barely even noticeable, but warm, drifted over me and I woke. I can't even tell if it came from reality or the dregs of my dream. Nevertheless, I was awake.
The beach, right of course. The dragon. Caspian, who is –
Awake.
"Can't sleep?" He asks, laying on his back watching the stars, head tilted ever so slightly in my direction.
"Apparently not." Not that I particularly want to anymore. Silence descends on us but it's far from awkward. It lent towards the comfortable variety of quiet, like a blanket on a winter night, and yet I was eager to dispel it.
I shuffle onto my side so I'm facing him. "How come you never told me dragons exist here?" I watch his lips tug upwards in a brief smile and he lays his cheek against the sand to meet my eyes.
"I had no stories to tell of them. This is my first time meeting one."
"If we can't find a way to change him back, maybe you could ride him into your next battle." I say with a glance towards Eustace, currently asleep with Reepicheep propped up against his jaw.
He chuckles quietly. "That would be quite the sight." There's no doubt that 10-year-old me and, if I'm being honest with myself, 20-year-old me would adore a story like that. Scenes of chaos and strategy and victory were my favourites, what must it be like to really experience them? I sigh.
"Being a King must be incredible." I say absentmindedly. Beside me, Caspian shuffles and looks back towards the stars.
"I've yet to decide how I feel about it."
"So inconvenient, having willing servants waiting on your hand and foot…" He glares at me mockingly, but underneath I can see something scared. Guilty? Oh dear.
"I'm kidding." I backtrack and rally my empathy, trying to view the circumstances without the childhood whimsy. "I couldn't imagine having that kind of responsibility, and we're the same age, right?"
"Unless you lied to me, yes."
"I'm flattered by your faith in my honesty." I say in a monotone voice. "But I mean it must be difficult, forced into that role so young." He nods slightly.
"I can't say I got much experience about what it means to be young."
"I'm sorry," I know how that feels. "I'll teach you, if there's an opportunity." We can learn together.
"You already have."
"How?"
He glances to me, hesitating with his mouth open ready to speak. He swallows and shuffles onto his side, facing me directly now.
"If you abuse this information, I'll –"
"–Throw me off the ship?" I finish for him. The playful glint is back in his eye, and this feels like comfortable territory. Joking I can do.
"The opposite. I won't let you leave the ship."
I let out an exaggerated gasp. "That's beyond cruel, Caspian."
"Don't think I won't." He grins.
'You already have.' Curiosity tugs at my stomach like an impatient child.
"What's this information I'm unable to abuse, then?"
He shuffles closer and lowers his voice even more. "You," He pauses and restarts. "I see the crew and how they joke with each other, and while they occasionally do the same with me, for the most part I'm treated with a great deal of distance. Respect, too, but it's still quite lonely. It's a constant reminder that I'm expected to be as mature as those twice my age." A sigh. "I like that you don't respect me. It helps me forget."
"Caspian… While that's oddly flattering, I do respect you. I just respect you as a friend rather than a King." He raises his gaze from the sand between us to my eyes and I pray he sees the sincerity, even if I'm understating. I don't think there's anybody I respect more than him.
"Thank you." His eyebrows furrow and he seems to apologise with his eyes before speaking. "Amber, what was your family like?"
Deep breath. You're friends. This is what they do. This is fine. You're fine.
"You don't have to ans –" He begins.
"My family," I cut in before he can finish, knowing that if he gave me an out, I would take it. I can't keep running away. Not now that I know I have people to stand beside me. "was a group of matrons and 20 other children." I spare a glance to his confused expression before fixating my eyes back on the loose thread in my cuff, tugging it with my other hand. "I was left at an orphanage as a baby. Nobody remembered seeing my parents."
Not that that stopped me from searching for them when I was old enough, of course. I got the message eventually, that they didn't want to be found. It only took me five years.
"I'm so sorry." He replies after a pause. Such simple words but I can hear their depth and just how much he means it. My throat closes.
"It's okay, taught me to fend for myself after all." I force out a laugh, though it sounds more like I'm choking. Thankfully, he plays along.
"Is that how you became so stubborn?"
"If I wanted dessert after dinner, I had to fight for it." He laughs for my benefit and I silently thank him for it. The conversation pauses as we listen to the sounds of everybody sleeping.
"20 other children… It must have been fun." He says after a while. I can feel his eyes on me, testing the waters of this new territory, but I keep my eyes on the thread.
"Oh, no. Some of them were nice, but… The matrons weren't parents. There was no one we had to ground us to a good life. Many of the children took their frustration out on each other." All day, every day.
"Did you have anyone there for you, in England?"
"Not really. I lived alone, if I ever spoke to anyone it was about the war."
"War?" At that I look up.
"Sorry, I thought you would have known somehow." Had the Pevensie's never mentioned it? "England's been at war for the past three years, though not the kind you've described to me. Many places were hit by bombs," Another confused tilt of his head. "explosive devices, they cause a devastating amount of damage." Very devastating. "I'm lucky to be alive." I add as an afterthought, more to myself than him.
"Were any of those places close to you?"
"In a way." I nod slowly, feel myself sinking.
Wailing. Dust. Blood.
"I worked at a farm for a year," I begin, though I can barely register what I'm saying. Everything is growing distant. My eyes blur. "it was a long journey there each morning, but the pay was good and I liked the animals. It beat training to be a nurse, at least. I remember one day I woke in the middle of the night to sirens. I remember stumbling through my house and across the garden to get to safety, I ended up stepping on glass and having it lodge in my foot, but I couldn't light a candle to see the wound." The scar… If I lent down right now, I could find it within a second. The pain still echoes. "I just had to wait until morning."
My breath hitches.
Drowning. Drowning. Drowning.
"When I got to the farm, there was nothing left but rubble. Everything had been destroyed in the raid, and they were still picking out bodies."
Mitchie, my favourite horse. I was the only one he let pet his mane.
His speckled grey coat was covered with blood.
The chicken hut was crushed beyond recognition. I remember the year before when two were killed by a fox and the staff put together a funeral to honour them for Graham, he loved them so dearly.
Graham.
The man who gave me my first job at fourteen, who snuck me pieces of his wife's homemade fudge whenever he could, who treated the animals as if they were his children, and who then died alongside them.
"I… I don't want to go back there anymore." The words force themselves out, clawing and tearing at my throat until they're free and can dance across the sand without the worry of being released where they so desperately want to avoid, not a care in the world for the damage they've caused.
The tears come sudden. Hot. Scorching my skin and my eyes and burning the last shred of belief I had for a life where I could live without Narnia.
I can't go back. I can't. I can't. I can't.
My body starts to shake, and I register Caspian moving closer, wrapping his arms around my back and allowing me to fall ungracefully against his chest, soaking the fabric through with an endless barrage of tears.
An officer pulling me away from the scene. Me, kicking and screaming and fighting his hold. The wound in my foot pulsing. Everything comes back in a flood, rattling through my brain and blowing the memory up bigger and bigger so it pushes against my eyes and forces more tears out. They sting and I squeeze them shut, forcing the images back while trying to drag my current surroundings around me for protection.
The waves break through first, the rhythmic hush drowning out the voice telling me to stay back. Caspian's voice is next, reminding me that I'm okay and that I'm safe, steadily overpowering the scream that tore through my throat. Finally, his touch. Hands steady against my shoulder and my back, his chin against my forehead and heartbeat against my cheek.
Heartbeat. Life. Safe.
Safe. Safe. Safe.
After a while, I can't work out how long, I calm.
"I'm so sorry." I hear Caspian say.
Somehow, I find my voice. "I know it's my home, but it's just so terrifying. Any day could be my last, I just –" Breathe. "I'm sorry, this was too much."
"I'm sorry for asking, I wish I could help in some way." I consider repeating his own words back to him. You already have.
"You shouldn't have to take on that burden." He hesitates. I hear how his breathing stutters like a stuck vinyl.
"If you could stay here, go to Narnia and start a life away from the war… Would you?"
"I don't know. I can't say for certain I don't think. Is that strange?"
"Not at all." He answers immediately. The conversation dies naturally, and I use the time to collect myself. Dust away the cobwebs of nightmares and chase my rampaging rhino of a heart back into its cage.
"You should rest, we'll have an early start in the morning." Caspian breaks the silence eventually, voice soft. His hold loosens.
"Can I…?" I trail off, unsure of how to ask, so instead I just awkwardly nudge my head against his shoulder.
"Of course." He smiles and returns his hands, manoeuvring onto his back and pulling me in.
The memories still linger, lurking in the dark corners but curling a singular, clawed hand around the edge of the light so I know they're there. Waiting.
I have to face them at some point, properly, but despite everything tonight was a step in the right direction. I can't deny feeling lighter now it's out there.
I glance towards the sky bursting with stars to remind myself of where I am right now. Then, I let the sound of Caspian's heartbeat and the crackle of a dwindling fire send me to sleep once again.
Phew. That was a lot.
Time to leave the internet for three years bc i'm seeing avengers endgame tomorrow. see u in therapy lads x
