A/N: Fun fact, the last scene of this chapter was one of the nascent ideas I had before this story was even a story. It changed a lot in revision but the kernel is still there. It's funny how the writing process works...
Chapter 11 Content Warnings: choking (non-sexual context, but then Addie Feels Things), performative prince-servant dynamics, pregnancy mention
Chapter 11: bury my love for you
Caspian
Not long after his late night with the Ship constellation, Caspian comes to his lessons only to find Doctor Cornelius terse and short-tempered.
"You have need of another astronomy lesson," the Doctor greets, holding out two fresh rolls of parchment with no other preamble. "See that you get to bed early tonight."
Caspian promises, and the day drags on. Instead of the scheduled lessons on old Telmar, however, Doctor Cornelius turns back to Archenland history - though they finished that lesson several months ago. Unfortunately, the material isn't fresh in his mind and so Caspian's mistakes are more plentiful than usual. It sets up his mood poorly for his equations.
Doctor Cornelius isn't quite snappish, but he spends little time on correcting Caspian's mistakes. He breezes past, muttering something about addressing it later, but that Caspian must make up for it in his homework.
When the day's lessons conclude, Doctor Cornelius reminds him again. "Your astronomy lesson, my prince. Don't forget."
"I won't," says Caspian.
Something's wrong. It's not only the Doctor; the soldiers fall quiet when Caspian passes them in the halls, servants give him a wider berth and whisper when he's passed, and Caspian's sword master dismisses him a full hour early. The entire castle feels tense, like an arrow tight on a crossbow.
Despite the sword master's dismissal, Caspian lingers in the training grounds and spars in melees until his fingers cramp. Perfecting his swordsmanship knots his muscles, but it works out his nerves. If something is amiss, he'll need all the practice he can manage in battling and warfare.
On his way back to the castle, Caspian squints into the afternoon sun as the occasional golden ray breaks the cloud banks. He can't see Tarva and Alambil in the daytime, but perhaps night will show some progress. Perhaps he'll see them moving apart. Or perhaps Doctor Cornelius will assign half a morning of astrolabe calculations whose mathematics will show the opposite.
Caspian should prepare for either scenario.
Doctor Cornelius waves off the second half of his lessons, so Caspian returns to the training grounds to drill with the sword and the crossbow alike until dinnertime. His training masters offer minimal praise and even less guidance, but the clash of his sword still helps ring away Caspian's anxiety. While the air of waiting before a storm lingers, Caspian's tired muscles take the edge off. At least he's not wholly unprepared.
Caspian spends a lonely evening among his school books; Addie must have been held up, as sometimes happens. As much as he loathes Perla's quirks of schedule, Caspian can't deny the resulting victuals are always impeccable - when he can stomach eating them with his uncle in the room.
When Doctor Cornelius wakes him half an hour after midnight, Caspian checks the study with his coverlet in hand.
The window seat sits empty, both the pine-green cushion and the stack of books undisturbed.
She's alright. It's only another late night. He can't expect her to come to him every night.
Caspian rubs away the itch behind his neck and joins the Professor on the North Tower with the coverlet wrapped tight around his shoulders. It's nearing spring, but the wind on the parapet carries a late winter's bite.
There's no mistaking it now; Tarva and Alambil shine above the treetops, impossible to miss and half the width of his thumb nail closer. Another few months and their light may bleed together.
"You were right, Professor," Caspian murmurs. He should have known better than to doubt his tutor of the past decade.
"My boy, what news have you heard round the castle?"
Caspian frowns as the day's tension creeps back between his ribs. "News? Nothing."
Doctor Cornelius gestures to the Lord of Victory, shining beside the Lady of Peace. "You'll know soon enough; it will be announced before the end of the week."
"What announcement?"
"Lady Prunaprismia is with child."
The air flies from Caspian's lungs. How is this a great good coming for Narnia? If his aunt bears Miraz a daughter, Caspian will remain the only viable heir. But if she bears him a son…
Doctor Cornelius continues as if he'd commented on the weather. "What have I told you of the Kings and Queens of Old?"
Caspian has to swallow and clear his throat thrice to find his voice. "A good deal, Professor. But I wouldn't mind hearing a tale again."
"And so you shall." Doctor Cornelius smoothes his beard, folds his hands over his belly, and just like that Caspian feels like a boy again, snuck away to some forgotten turret of the castle listening to forbidden stories from the same tutor who is never quite satisfied with Caspian's mathematics.
"Recall, if you will," begins the Doctor, "that at the world's beginning, the Great Lion Aslan sang every rock, tree, and animal into being. He sang the stars into the sky and waters into the sea, and a stretch of land for his walking creations to make as their home. And when Aslan had finished the song of creation, he found there were creatures in Narnia he had not sung into being. These were Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve. From among them, Aslan chose the first King and Queen of Narnia - King Frank, if you recall, and his wife Queen Helen. He tasked them with the care of all Narnia's creatures, that they might be ruled by a just and gentle hand. And this is how man came to rule in Narnia by the will of Aslan."
Caspian hasn't heard this one for a few years. Doctor Cornelius' deep baritone lulls him into that blessed state one sinks into when listening to a master storyteller at work.
"King Frank began the Old Dynasty, and Narnia was well under the shade of the Tree of Protection. But one day the tree fell, and the witch Jadis was no longer kept from working her evil magic throughout Narnia. Her reign brought a hundred years of winter."
"With no Christmas," Caspian chimes in.
"With no Christmas," echoes Doctor Cornelius, a smile easing the seriousness that's weighed on them all day. "For many long years, Narnia was a cold and desolate place under the thumb of the White Witch, as she came to be called, for her visage was as pale and terrible to behold as the power in her staff. But in Narnia's darkness, there came hope even still. What was that hope?"
"A prophecy," says Caspian. "When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone sit in Cair Paravel in throne, the evil time will be over and done."
Doctor Cornelius nods, the grey wisps of his beard just brushing the top of his wrinkled hands. "Indeed. So it came to pass that two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve found their way into Narnia from a land called Spare Oom. Though they were but children, none ordained by Aslan to bring good to Narnia fail under his guidance. But no sooner had they all arrived in Narnia than the youngest brother found himself caught up in the Witch's snare. By Aslan's will King Edmund was returned to them, for though he had betrayed his brother and sisters by going to the Witch, there is no crime Aslan cannot forgive.
"The Witch stormed into Aslan's Camp, for through the Deep Magic any betrayer's blood belonged to her. With great sacrifice, the Great Lion himself went in King Edmund's place to the Stone Table and there paid the blood debt owed to the Witch."
Caspian's grip on the coverlet eases. "That's when the Kings defeated the Witch, at Beruna."
Doctor Cornelius arches a bushy eyebrow, but after years of Caspian's interruptions, the tutor continues unaffected as Caspian schools his tongue against spoiling the rest of the tale.
"Indeed, though not only through their own might. Recall, my prince, the Deeper Magic."
Caspian fumbles; he never remembers the exact words, and he's debated accurate terminology for the Deep Magic with his Professor to no conclusion. "Because Aslan committed no treachery, death itself worked backwards. But, Professor, was it truly Deeper Magic or did the Witch only misinterpret the Deep Magic and Aslan knew the truth of it?"
"A good question and worthy of debate," says the Doctor, "at another time. For now, remember only that at Narnia's greatest need when the Witch's sword was tight to High King Peter's throat, Aslan returned to wash away all wrongness. The victory at Beruna began those noble years of peace under the Kings and Queens - the Golden Age. And perhaps Narnia will find such days again."
Doctor Cornelius has told Caspian this tale a few times over the years, but the ending rings differently now that Caspian is well and sure he and Narnia could find themselves eliminated for Miraz's ambition. Caspian knows his Professor's story is one of hope. He also knows, as difficult as it is, he must hold on to such dreams as hope.
"I feel you're trying to tell me something, Professor," says Caspian. "But I am afraid to hear it."
"You hear what you must," says Doctor Cornelius. "And you will be ready when you must."
Caspian fidgets behind the coverlet's safety. Doctor Cornelius must know fear isn't so easily purged, that it is a sharp thing tangled up with his attempts at courage. Time is at last running out, and he is utterly unprepared for how quickly the sands fall through the hourglass. With his back braced against the turret wall, Caspian slides down and rests his arms on his knees. He's been preparing for this all his life, so how does he have no idea what to do with the moment closing in on him?
What would his father do?
Caspian exhales, scrubbing his hands up his face and sweeping back the hair forever in his eyes. His father would meet the fear head on. He would make use of every lord and lady with a shred of loyalty and not rest until he had their pledged support. He would pray to Aslan, perhaps. Caspian isn't sure if his father knew of Aslan but he hopes he did. His parents' absence seems almost bearable if only Caspian can believe they're with Aslan now.
"You must be ready, Caspian," says the Doctor. It may be the first time he's ever used Caspian's name; it's always been "my boy" or "my prince" or "Your Highness."
"I'm trying, Professor," Caspian says. "I won't fail you."
"Very good."
Caspian accepts his tutor's wrinkled hand and pulls himself to his feet. There will be time later for fear and doubt. For now, he must plan.
Caspian leaves the tower feeling infinitesimally lighter. Resolve won't fix everything, but he needed the temporary dose. He needn't despair yet; he may yet have allies enough to stop his uncle from overtaking him entirely.
When Doctor Cornelius sends him off, movement down the hall draws Caspian's eye.
It's not a soldier; soldiers aren't so quiet. But the figure is familiar. Caspian takes off running despite his Professor's hissed warning and the echo of his boots on stone.
Roaming the castle at night with his uncle's soldiers forever patrolling has always held its dangers, but Caspian made his peace with it. Doctor Cornelius taught him the secret paths through the shadows, and Addie must know more to have snuck to his study so often.
Seeing her out in the halls at this hour is quite another matter.
"You'll wake the whole castle!"
Caspian ignores the Doctor's second harsh whisper, because what is she doing out in the halls like this, wandering where any soldier could see her, know she's outside the servants' quarters, know she's near his -
Caspian's boots find the thin navy rug down the hall's middle. It muffles his steps only a little, but then Addie launches herself through the air and he has to stop to catch her.
"It's not astronomy day," she whispers into his neck. It takes Caspian longer than it should to realise how badly she's shaking. "You weren't… I -"
"What were you thinking?" Caspian buries his face in her neck, breathes in the acrid scent of smoke thick in her hair. She must've finished her long day at the hearth. "This isn't a servant's passage."
She sniffles; a second later, warm tears tickle his skin. "Tell me next time, you idiot. Leave a note, something. You have to tell me, I thought -" Her arms tighten around his neck.
"It isn't safe," he murmurs, "being out like this."
"And here you are. You arse." Whatever harshness she's trying to muster drowns in the wet wobble of her voice. "Arse," she repeats, the insult catching on her sob.
Perhaps he is, but she can curse him when they're safely in his rooms or at least hidden in a nearby passageway. If Miraz's men were dangerous before, they'll be worse now with his uncle's probable heir on the way.
"Come on," Caspian whispers into her hair, his hands nestled in the curves of her waist. Doctor Cornelius has, wisely, already disappeared. "We can talk in the study."
Addie shudders, but she slides down and gets her own two feet on the ground. In the same breath, she seizes his hand, her index finger looped awkwardly around his thumb. He could ask her to loosen her grip, perhaps, but it's not far to his chambers and she must need the comfort. Caspian tugs her along, pausing every few steps to listen for approaching patrols. He has to shorten his strides so Addie can keep up. Just a bit farther and they'll be in another passageway, safe from most anyone.
Caspian's mistake is worrying. He spares a moment too long looking at Addie, making sure her trembling is fading, and by the time Caspian listens again it's far too late.
Booted footsteps, and two voices he knows well. His uncle and Lord Sopespian are just around the corner. The passageway is past this intersection; there's nowhere to go.
Caspian freezes as Addie falters at his side. Her fingers slacken. She glances down the hall, then back to Caspian, and her grip tightens.
"Choke me."
What in the name of the Lion?
When Caspian whips to face her, Addie's already backed the closest thing to shadow this hall has with so many torches. There's not a single alcove dark enough to hide them. Addie pulls him beside a tapestry and settles his hand around her throat.
"Are you sure?" Caspian whispers, even though they don't have time for anything else.
"Yes." Addie's whisper strains past her lips as she tightens his hand until her pulse thumps hot and heavy beneath his fingers.
No time, no time. Those are indeed his uncle's rough tones, answered by Sopespian's slippery weaselling.
Caspian shoves her against the wall. "How dare you?" he hisses. "You've crossed too many lines, servant girl."
From the corner of his eye, he sees Miraz and Lord Sopespian round the corner.
"It's alright," Addie mouths as she gags.
It's convincing enough Caspian checks his grip before he can summon words a cruel prince might say in anger. He takes care that it's the sides of her neck he's pressing, not too high under her jaw and not into the front of her throat. She can breathe, and with the assurance, so can he.
"Next time, you'll sleep in the dungeons. Perhaps that will improve your attitude?"
Addie lets loose with all manner of choking noises as she scrabbles. She strains onto her tiptoes, giving him enough leeway to shift his arm as though he's lifting her off the ground.
"Ah, nephew. What a surprise." Miraz approaches the scene casually, hands clasped behind his back as if examining a peculiar specimen under a magnifying glass.
"Uncle," Caspian answers. "Lord Sopespian."
Addie wheezes, her hands grasping weakly at his arm. Is she alright?
As if she can read his mind, her chest expands as deep a breath as she can get away with. Her hands guide his fingers tighter though the touch is so well-timed it looks the opposite. Her shudder is something beyond his interpretation.
"And who is this?" asks his uncle.
Caspian's throat constricts. He can lie. He has to lie. Miraz can't know she means something to him.
Two things happen at once. The first is a string of words Caspian hopes are sensible and vicious enough to convince his uncle that he's truly happened to lose his temper. The second is a sudden, entirely obvious realisation.
He can't lose her at all.
"Why Caspian," declares Sopespian, "I didn't know you had it in you."
"It seems my nephew is full of surprises." Miraz steps away as Addie lets out a feeble gargle. Her frantic grasp for freedom slows, like she's losing consciousness.
When they get back to his rooms, Caspian will thank her every way she'll let him. She's saving both their lives with this performance, more than he is.
Caspian vaguely realises that Miraz and Sopespian have moved on down the hall, muttering amongst themselves. How easily they walk the castle plotting, as if it already belongs to them.
When he's sure they're well along and unconcerned with either him or Addie, he turns back to her and pulls his hand away.
Or, he tries to. Addie's grip on his arm hasn't loosened. She's still crushing his fingers around her throat, disrupting his careful rhythm of squeeze-and-loosen to ensure he didn't cut off her breath or her pulse.
Caspian is wholly unprepared for the look on her face. It must be fear, this strange light in her eyes. It must be a trick of the flickering torches, of the shadows dancing across her face.
"Addie?" he whispers.
She blinks, and the spell breaks. Addie lets go of his forearm and slides down the wall, back to her usual height up to his cheekbones. Her breathing seems too fast, but what would he know? He's never had someone's hand around his throat like that.
Caspian ghosts his hands over her cheeks. Addie's breathing like she just ran half the length of the castle. Did he squeeze too hard? Caspian lifts her chin with gentle fingers and searches her neck for an imprint of his hand. Her skin appears unmarred, but it could bruise by morning.
"We should, ah…" Addie jerks her head sideways toward the passageway beyond the corner. She speaks strangely, as if his hand is at her neck still.
"Of course," Caspian manages.
Thank the Lion for empty hallways. At least now he's free to guide her, to touch her back and her shoulders and try to rub away her lingering shivers.
Perhaps she was right - a note would have been wise. But she shouldn't have gone traipsing about the castle looking for him either. Not like this, with her hair loose and free from her cap and her apron nowhere to be seen. Someone with an eye for detail might even notice her lack of petticoat, or undershift - that's what she called it. There's no white peeking from beneath her skirt.
Lion, she was terrified. Caspian realises belatedly that she's never cried in front of him before. Not even when she stood before him, proud and tall and breaking as she asked him to bring Marcos back to his former position. Even guilt like that didn't bring her to tears like tonight. They lingered thick in her voice, but they never spilled over.
It takes entirely too long to reach the door in the back of his wardrobe.
"How many of these do you have?" Addie muses, sounding nearly like her old self as Caspian pushes the door with a creak and sends her in first.
"Only the wardrobe and the bookshelf," he answers. He slides the bolt into place, sealing them in the room. They're safe now. Safe enough.
Caspian is on her in an instant, running his hands up her arms, across her shoulders, and then whispering over her neck. It's already reddening. The moment his fingers graze the irritated skin, Addie gasps.
"I'm sorry, Addie, so sorry," he murmurs, over and over until the apology is more like a prayer galloping over his tongue. "Are you alright? I'm so, so sorry."
Addie's hands wrap around his hips, her thumb tucked against the shallow divot beside the bone. "Sorry for what? I told you to."
That strange light is back in her eyes. If Caspian didn't know better, that glow, that flush, would remind him of entirely other circumstances.
He realises then how quiet the room has become, save for the unsteady rise and fall of their breathing.
"Caspian, I'm fine," says Addie, something like understanding dawning across her features. "You didn't hurt me - quite the opposite. I'm… more than fine, really."
Caspian blinks down at her. Fine or not, her neck must hurt now, echoing with such rude treatment for his uncle's benefit.
"Tash's talons, Cas, look at me."
The moment he obeys, Addie's mouth collides with his, her tongue pressing at the seam of his lips.
For his part, Caspian is too flabbergasted to properly respond in kind. His mouth falls open, more in shock than anything else, as his mind pieces together the scenario.
Addie went looking for him, and she was frightened for him. Reasonable enough, given the castle's mood today. Then Miraz and Sopespian took them both by surprise. The choking was her idea, and she seemed shaken after the fact. But to hear her tell it, she's perfectly fine. More than fine.
That's impossible. Addie always likes to be in control, not the other way around. And Caspian is more than happy to oblige her.
Yet, the more he thinks of it, Addie didn't seem afraid. She seemed… flustered.
Caspian brings his right hand to her neck. He strokes experimentally along the side of her throat. Addie shudders exactly as before.
The pieces slowly click. Caspian has the distinct sense of a man waking from being knocked unconscious. That wind-knocked-from-his-lungs feeling is quite familiar by now; he should have recognised it sooner.
One of these days he'll figure her out. But not, apparently, tonight.
Chapter 12 Preview:
"Keep going and you're both more vulnerable. Keep going and you're both in more danger." Bruna pauses and breathes deep, closing her eyes like a woman praying for patience. When she takes back her rag, she rests her hands square on Addie's shoulders. "If he cares about you and you care about him, you're his weakness. And he is yours. Do you understand?"