A/N: Not really sure what happened with this chapter... I looked up after the revisions and it was almost 6k? Oopsie? So far, every chapter rewrite I've done for Part 2 has spat 5k+ chapters back at me. I'm gonna blame it on the heavier balance of plot with all our usual Addie/Caspian shenanigans. So, enjoy the beefy chapters for the next few weeks!
Chapter 27 Content Warnings: occasional mention of physical injury
Chapter 27: is there a place for us?
Addie
Inside the How, it's impossible to tell the time. Addie wakes to the same dim alcove she fell asleep in, her head pillowed on Caspian's arm and his breath warm on her hair. He seems to be asleep.
Good. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Caspian may be sure the Narnians won't think she's dead weight if she rests enough to heal, but what if he's wrong?
I'm sure he won't mind an invalid, 'specially in a war.
Marcos is an arse, but he's a soldier. The Narnians are soldiers too; it stands to reason they'd think the same as he does.
She has no place among them yet. Such things have to be earned.
Addie inches along Caspian's arm and sits up. Rainroot did good work; her shoulder still aches, and that shallow stab wound in her stomach itches, but the itching and throbbing is far preferable to the sharp pangs of before.
Beyond the alcove, distant footsteps sporadically break the quiet. It sounds the same as when they arrived, so perhaps it's just before dawn and everyone's still waking up. Maybe whoever makes the food is starting on breakfast preparations; even one-armed, that's an easy way to help.
She's earned her place before. What's once more? How different can it be, making a place for herself here when she fit into Perla's kitchen?
A day ago, the thought of storybook creatures walking around alive and well would've given her a laugh - a distraction if nothing else. Now, suddenly, humans aren't the only people in Narnia.
It might be a good thing. Gods know Miraz and those useless lords haven't used their power for good, and if the Narnians have survived this long, they're smart. Resilient enough to live on scraps and whatever hope they have after three centuries of Telmarine rule.
Did Caspian's father try to stamp them out? Or were they assumed long gone back then? Caspian speaks so little of his parents.
Addie pulls her knees to her chest. She can't fault him for that; she doesn't speak of hers either.
At least Caspian has an army now. If he's won them over inside a fortnight, he must have a good handle on things. Or the Narnians are desperate.
Both, perhaps.
Addie's teeth worry her lips. She's been desperate before, and it made her such an ugly, feral thing in the streets. Caspian didn't say if the Narnians are out for blood.
In their position, she would be.
She can't blame them if they are, not really. But Caspian aside, Lola and Claudia and Perla and everyone she cares about are still in the castle. If Caspian wins this war, Narnians at his side, what happens to them?
Caspian once promised to help her keep them safe. Surely he'll promise again if she asks.
Addie chews and gnaws at loose skin on her lower lip. Rainroot was perfectly lovely, needles aside. Maybe if she lends a hand around here, she can earn some trust like Caspian has.
"Addie."
Damn.
Addie stretches nonchalantly, but the stitches pull and Rainroot wouldn't be pleased if Addie ruined her handiwork so soon.
"What time is it?" Addie says as familiar fingers curl over her thigh.
Caspian's voice rumbles, sleep-gravelled and rough. "Too early to wake," he says through a yawn.
"Is it dawn? How do you tell time down here?" The dense, humid air hasn't changed since she fell asleep, and the smell of smoke isn't too thick. The shadows on the wall are as dark as before.
"When all the torches are lit, it's daytime." Caspian's hand tugs her leg, tries to guide her back into the hollowed scoop of earth. "Come back to bed."
"How long did I sleep?"
Her hips slide back as Caspian's other arm wraps carefully around her middle. "Not long enough. Rest, Addie."
Addie huffs. "Did you sleep your first night in here?"
Fabric rustles as Caspian sits up, his warm lips trailing kisses from her good shoulder to her neck. "I wasn't injured."
"I can't be the only one a little banged up. Why should I be the only one resting?"
Addie's fingers curl into the coarse, standard-issue soldier's pants. This is a new place among people she doesn't know. She must look like dead weight to them - like a burden. Caspian even carried her around last night, as if she was incapable of walking. Doesn't he understand she needs to be doing something, she can't let them think she's useless, because if they do they'll throw her out in a moment -
Caspian's thumb rubs careful circles below her ribs. "No one else is awake. There's nothing you can do right now."
Addie jerks her chin toward the clopping footsteps echoing from the main tunnel, though it's too dark to make out a shadow. "Someone is."
Caspian sighs almost like Bruna would when Addie brushed off her warnings. Like she's on his last nerve.
"Night guards," he says. "Likely on their way to sleep."
Guards? Inside? Is this Miraz's castle all over again?
No, Caspian's not like his uncle. They must be returning from the watch outside - guarding against intruders, watching for Telmarine scouts. That's all.
Caspian softens at once, his lips pressing behind her ear as his grip strays toward tenderness. "You're safe here, Addie. I promise."
Addie sinks her teeth into her tongue. She can handle unsafe - she survived a decade in Miraz's castle, and the streets of Telmara before that.
She can't handle useless.
But her shoulder really is hurting, and the itching hasn't stopped, and sleep might offer a temporary reprieve. If she woke in the quiet before dawn, the morning's bustling will wake her too.
Addie lets Caspian tug her back into his side, into his warmth and the steady thrum of his heartbeat at her back.
She's missed him.
Caspian
Impossible woman. She's clearly exhausted; Addie falls back asleep minutes after he coaxes her to return to bed. She twitches and mumbles, eyelids fluttering with whatever disquieting dreams she has now.
Perhaps Caspian's ears are still half-asleep, but he could swear Addie mumbles something about Marcos.
Compared to the state of Addie's shoulder and the brewing war, the soldier is a trifling concern. He's under guard, and if he attempts to escape, Arrus will deal with him. Whatever Marcos' motivations, he won't be allowed to betray them to Miraz.
Marcos' eyes linger too much on her, heavy with whatever their history is. He looks at Addie like she's a puzzle he can't quite fit together.
Addie said he saved her life. But why?
Caspian tucks Addie closer against his chest. That soldier did what he could not. By Addie's design.
It's the least of his worries, but the problem of Marcos has the simplest solution. Whether Addie's forgiven him for whatever he did or not, whatever Marcos' reasons for helping her, a former soldier of Miraz can't be trusted in war, not when he has every reason to report back to Miraz at the first opportunity. Marcos will be locked up where he belongs until the war's end.
Caspian buries his face in Addie's shoulder, inhales the tang of her sweat mingled with the clean, mineral scent of cave water.
He should have known. Addie behaved strangely for weeks before the escape. He should have known, should have prepared for anything.
Should have sent her away, left early to see her into the south, damn the risk to his crown. The baby was a boy; the risk would've been worth it.
If only he had known at the time.
If only he hadn't cared about the throne at all. If only there was someone else, anyone else, who could stand between Miraz and the crown.
Caspian's hold tightens, Addie's pulse thundering fast and erratic under his palm. Crown or no crown, he should have looked after her. He promised.
Instead, Addie left. Ran away, broke her promise to stay by his side, to let him protect her. And he, bound by duty to survive to stop his uncle, and then to fight a war after coming face-to-face with facing living, breathing Narnians when he awoke in Trufflehunter's hut.
He should have gone back anyway, before he found the rest of the Narnians. Before he promised he'd give them their kingdom back and they started a war together.
Now Addie is here, alive and injured, and still he can't make her safe. She's thrown herself into a war he may not win, reckless and heedless of the consequences as always. Does Addie ever think before she jumps, or does she always act on only impulse? Her presence here will get her killed.
Unless he wins a war with a scattered, ill-trained army a quarter the size of his uncle's.
Addie jolts, whimpering as her injured shoulder bumps his chest. Caspian steadies her and smooths her hair until her breathing evens back out.
He will never make that mistake again. Next time Addie thinks to do something foolish, he will be ready.
Caspian startles awake to Trufflehunter's kind, fuzzy face. Before he met the Narnians, he never thought a badger could look kind. Or talk.
"Excuse me, Sire, but they're waiting for you in the War Room."
"My apologies," says Caspian as he extricates himself from Addie's fierce grip. Sometime in the early hours, she curled herself around his arm. "I'll be along presently. How is your hip?"
The badger pats the bandage around his rear. "That arrow didn't stand a chance against Rainroot's skill. This must be Addie?"
"Yes," Caspian whispers. "Better not to wake her; I'll see to proper introductions later."
Addie needs all the rest she can get. It's a miracle she's slept through the rising patter of hooves on packed earth, clattering weapons, and the distant thump of knives on cutting boards.
A sudden spike of worry sends his hand to her forehead. Addie's skin is warmer than it should be, but the fever hasn't worsened that he can tell. Yet Addie is curled in half as if she's cold.
Caspian folds his cloak over her before he goes, his hand lingering on her shoulder. After two weeks of not knowing, he will be forgiven for drinking in her solidity, her aliveness, for a few moments more.
His fingers stray to her neck. Addie's pulse stutters along too fast, trilling beneath his touch like a hummingbird's wings. Rainroot warned him she may worsen before she gets better, but Caspian's breath aches in his chest, worry wound tight around every nerve.
He leaves Addie under guard. Falmus, a young faun with eyes as bright and pale blue as river rapids, will be a kind, welcoming face for her to wake up to.
Caspian finds the War Room already full of his generals debating over Queen Susan's horn. He blew it the night of his escape before Nikabrik struck him out cold. Doctor Cornelius instructed him to only blow it at his greatest need, and imminent death seemed a great need. But now that Caspian knows the Narnians believe the horn will summon the Kings and Queens – or Aslan himself – he wishes he'd waited. Caspian suspects their hour of greatest need is not yet here.
"Two weeks since the boy blew that horn, and what good did it do?" Nikabrik waves toward the doorway leading to the Stone Table. "If Aslan heard it, he isn't coming."
"Or he hasn't come yet," says Trufflehunter. "And I'll remind you 'the boy' is the first hope we've had in three centuries."
"You've had," sneers Nikabrik. "Don't go speaking for all of us. And don't forget he nearly had us attack Miraz's castle."
Caspian clears his throat as he enters and stands between Glenstorm, the leader of the centaurs, and Reepicheep, the chief of the talking mice. "If the old stories speak true," Caspian says, "Aslan's time is not our time. I'm certain he will send the Kings and Queens when we need them most."
Nikabrik scoffs, his disdain echoing in the small room. "Supposing Aslan's time comes after Miraz kills us all?"
"Mind your tongue, dwarf," says Reepicheep as he leaps to stand on the stone slab in the middle of the room. "Even if Aslan might suffer your blasphemy, I will not."
Caspian braces his palms on the stone and prays for patience. "Debating the horn is no help to us now. How many more have come?"
"The seven dwarf brothers from the mountains arrived last night," begins Trufflehunter. "They're asking after Trumpkin."
Guilt pricks at Caspian's shoulders. "I'll speak with them. It was my doing that brought my uncle's soldiers to Trumpkin's door."
"Quite so," says Nikabrik. "They'll love hearing that. How strong is your chainmail?"
Caspian ignores him. "Glenstorm, any word from your cousin?"
"No, my Liege," the centaur answers. "Miraz's search parties may have delayed him and his family. Soldiers stray nearer to the eastern forests every day."
Caspian bites back a sigh. Doctor Cornelius believed Miraz would never send his men into the deep forests, but Caspian's uncle must want him dead more than he fears the old legends.
"And the lords, Sire?" Despite his usual politeness, Trufflehunter's muzzle curls like he's bitten a persimmon.
"Bah," says Nikabrik. "I'd rather be fed to Miraz's pups than have his lapdogs for allies."
In this, Nikabrik has a point. Allies who did nothing while Caspian's uncle tried to have him murdered in his own bed are hardly dependable.
"I don't like it either," Caspian admits. "I've received no word."
Nikabrik sits on the stone steps and props his feet up. "Well, isn't that lovely."
This time, Caspian's sigh escapes. No help at all, from neither allies he tried to win nor from the old legends. How do the Narnians still live, but the Kings and Queens and Aslan haven't come to them?
Perhaps they're as mortal as he is.
"Have the search parties crossed the river?" Caspian ordered to ambush scouts or searches that strayed too close to the How, but he can't fault the Narnians if they kill any who stray near their homes.
A voice Caspian knows too well interrupts just as Nikabrik opens his mouth.
"I think they have. Marcos and I weren't even in sight of Beruna when we stumbled on a search party."
When Caspian spins to face the doorway, there Addie stands, her chin set high in defiance. Caspian blinks at her, frowning. Where in the Lion's Mane is Falmus?
The faun scuttles up belatedly behind her and meets Caspian's stare with a hapless shrug.
Caspian's hand fists, crinkling the map's edge. After this meeting, he'll speak with Falmus. He gave explicit orders to allow Addie to do nothing but rest and eat.
Glenstorm recovers first, his stoic features guarding any expression of surprise. "How long ago, my lady? By the time we found them, they were in sight of the river."
Addie stands taller as she marches to his side, cheeks still ruddy with fever. "Yesterday morning. We didn't get a good look, but there must have been at least half a dozen. It was a few hours west of Beruna."
"You must have passed through Dancing Lawn," says Trufflehunter.
"Near it," Addie replies. "I think we were to the south. We never met trouble further west."
"There you have it," says Nikabrik, picking at his teeth. "Miraz knows we're near the river and hasn't bothered with western searches. What's your grand plan now?"
Addie's fingers thread between his as Caspian hesitates. His plan was to survive until help came, wait for Miraz to make a mistake, and strike. With no help and his uncle's temper not yet clouding his judgement, what is there to be done?
If only Doctor Cornelius were here. Perhaps the Doctor would know how else to call upon the Kings and Queens or plead with Aslan. Most of Caspian's knowledge of the Kings and Queens is their fifteen-year rule; the legends say precious little about how they arrived in Narnia. There's an old story about the beavers and a faun named Tumnus and a strange lantern on an iron post -
Caspian stumbles on a rather obvious idea.
"Trufflehunter," he says, "the Kings and Queens entered Narnia near the lamppost, didn't they?"
The badger tilts his striped head. "Yes, Sire, in Lantern Waste."
Fingers fumbling, Caspian unrolls his self-drawn map over the stone slab. "And the four thrones sat in Cair Paravel, on the eastern shore?"
"Indeed," says Reepicheep, the tip of his long paws hovering over the map.
"Charming as this lesson in basic geography may be," Nikabrik cuts in, "Don't we have a war to win?"
Addie's finger joins Caspian's over the eastern shore. "You think they might be there?"
Caspian sets his jaw against ordering her away. It's… good to have her here. Addie understands, and she trusts his judgement.
Up to a point.
Caspian shakes off the bitterness and clutches her hand. "Exactly."
"Which there do you mean?" says Nikabrik.
"Glenstorm, have you any insight?" asks Caspian. The centaur knows the signs written in the stars better than any; if anyone can divine where the Kings and Queens will appear, Glenstorm can.
The centaur's thoughtful silence renders Caspian's council blessedly quiet.
"The stars do not say," Glenstorm answers. "Aslan is said to come from the East."
"As for the Kings and Queens," says Reepicheep. "They disappeared from Narnia hunting the stag in Lantern Waste. Mightn't they have used some secret door set up by Aslan?"
Nikabrik's snort echoes. "Next you'll suggest we split our forces and send a welcoming party to both places."
"An excellent idea." Caspian straightens and regards the lounging dwarf. "If we can't divine which of the two, we must send a messenger to both. One each will do; we haven't many fighters to spare."
"We have no fighters to spare," drawls the dwarf.
"If you cannot mind your tongue, rest assured I will mind it for you," says Reepicheep, one paw on his sword. The mouse may only be a foot tall, but Caspian has been on the receiving end of that tiny sword before (thankfully only once, before proper introductions). If Nikabrik has any sense, he'll mind his tone.
The dwarf sneers. "I won't be threatened by an overgrown -"
"Enough, Nikabrik!"
At Trufflehunter's censure, the dwarf huffs and crosses his arms, but finally holds his peace.
Trufflehunter turns back to the map, one paw hovering over Lantern Waste. "Best send Pattertwig; he'll have twice the speed of anyone else."
Caspian agrees at once. No Telmarine patrol will look twice at a squirrel darting through the trees. As for the ruins of Cair Paravel, perhaps Pattertwig has a sibling or friend?
"Bristletail's itching for an adventure," says Trufflehunter. "I daresay they'll both return within a week if there's any news."
Caspian squeezes Addie's hand on reflex. They can survive another week; Miraz hasn't pinned them down yet.
It is Caspian's duty to make sure his uncle does not.
"You agreed to rest."
Addie arches an eyebrow as Caspian's council vacates the room. Glenstorm and Reepicheep agreed it was far worse to allow Miraz's scouts to roam free through the forest than to chance that Miraz will pin down their location by process of elimination. Nikabrik perked up at the chance to "teach the barbarians a centuries-overdue lesson." Caspian wondered if Addie might take offence or worry about her friends, but if she did, she didn't betray it.
"I rested plenty," Addie answers hotly, her eyes narrow and framed in purple bags. "And you're welcome; no one else knew how close the soldiers are."
No one else in the room has a hole in their shoulder.
Caspian scrubs his hand over his face, his pulse thundering in his skull. "Yes, that helped. But I don't want you caught up in this, Addie."
"I already am," says Addie with a pointed glance at her bandages. "So don't bother trying to keep me out of it."
Caspian works his jaw to one side. "You'll make that impossible, won't you?"
To that, Addie says nothing. Her furrowed brow could be the mark of guilt, or apology, or further frustration. Caspian can't tell, and he is dangerously close to not caring. No matter how Addie feels about it, she should be resting. Healing. Doing the bare minimum he asked of her after she ran off with no warning, nearly got herself killed -
And he, who failed to stop her, to follow her and make her safe.
"What did you tell Falmus?"
Addie lifts her chin. "The truth. I wasn't going to sit around doing nothing, and he could either get out of my way or I'd pop my stitches shoving past him."
Caspian clenches his jaw until his teeth grind together, hands in white-knuckled fists so he won't grab Addie by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.
"Resting is not doing nothing," Caspian manages. "You need to heal."
Addie's eyes flash, a flush darkening her cheeks. "I can heal without sitting on my arse for days on end."
"You spent two weeks in the forest, and you've been here twelve hours."
He's asking so little of her; why can she not do this? If not for his peace of mind, for her own wellbeing? He thought they agreed last night to keep the peace.
Unfortunately, Addie is not a woman who does as she's told.
"Exactly, that's twelve hours I could've -"
"Enough, Addie," Caspian snaps. If they continue this spat, his fragile patience will break.
He doesn't want to argue with her. He just got her back.
Caspian forces a deep breath through his nose and unclenches his fists, tries to soften his features as he meets her fever-bright eyes. "I don't want to fight with you."
Addie's gaze hardens. She starts to cross her arms before remembering her sling.
He can't help but reach for her when she flinches. Caspian trails a cautious hand down her good arm to her hand and tangles their fingers as much for his own comfort as to keep Addie from jostling her right arm again.
Her hand is hot as a candle flame, her palms clammy and grip weak.
Caspian folds her into his arms and presses a searing kiss to the crown of her head.
Somehow, Addie still finds the stubbornness to try for the last word.
"Then don't order me around."
Caspian fights a surge of annoyance. He hasn't.
He changes tactics, pushes aside every complicated thing to look at her like he used to. Like his only fear was what his uncle would do to her, not what she might choose on her own. Addie's honey-brown eyes soften the moment his hands settle at her waist.
"I still have your notes from the Complete Collection. For today, please review those. Rainroot will need the help soon."
Addie glances to the maps spread behind him and then to his saddlebag propped at the nearest wall. "I can do more than that."
"In a few days," Caspian says, his grip tightening. "If only to preserve Rainroot's work. I'm in no hurry to see you in pain again."
Addie grimaces. "Wasn't as bad as getting shot," she mumbles.
Yet despite her attempt at obstinacy, her jaw is looser and her back isn't so stiff.
Caspian's hand strays back to her shoulder, ghosting over the sling before he can stop himself. Addie pulls his hand away, her eyes softer.
"I'm fine."
Caspian grips her hand harder than he ought, hard enough her knuckles turn pale.
She isn't fine. But apparently saying so won't make her listen.
Later, he will ask her why. For now, the important thing is keeping Addie from doing any more damage to herself.
Addie
If Caspian thinks she'll be content with studying, he's a fool.
Addie doesn't correct him; better to sneak about and find where she can help the most on her own. Clearly, she can't rely on Caspian to help her be useful.
No matter. She'll figure it out herself.
Caspian takes her to an alcove near the How's exterior, though he insists she stay inside.
"The woods are full of scouts," he says. "The ledge is too exposed."
Addie inhales the wilder, fresher air and swallows a complaint. The How isn't unpleasant, but the damp, earthy air cut through with torch smoke is stifling. This far from the castle, the air outside is alive, bright with wind-ruffled leaves and wild grasses, cut through with the familiarity of sunbaked stone.
Addie nods to the blond faun standing guard in the sunlight. "So it's just me you worry about?"
A muscle ticks in Caspian's jaw. "You can't fault me for that. You've given me many reasons to worry."
As if to prove his point, Addie's shoulder flares with heat. The poultice replaced some of the pain with an impossible, infuriating itch she can't scratch.
Maybe it's the pain, the itching, that makes her snippy. Addie distantly realises Caspian has reason to be upset, and if they have to talk about it, better to get it over with than let it fester.
It's just that she doesn't want to. He's been short with her since the moment he found her.
Like he doesn't want her here.
Addie drops his hand, never mind that it's childish. "Odds are I saved your life. It's over now, Cas; can't we be done with it?"
In an instant, Caspian's impeccable patience snaps. For the second time since she arrived, Addie looks up and sees Caspian's eyes dark with anger, brow tight, hoarse rebuke snapping past his lips.
"You expect me to pretend it was nothing? You almost got yourself killed! I mourned you, Addie, I grieved. What purpose did you think that would serve? Did you think it wouldn't matter, that I could -"
Caspian's voice breaks with his composure. His hands fist in his hair, his face twisted around grief she never thought to see.
This is her doing.
Addie's chest tightens, as if her lungs are on the verge of collapse. Could she have gone through with it if she'd known Caspian would look at her like this in the aftermath? She was ready to stomach his anger, but not this grief.
Part of her prickles that he assumed she was dead, but what else could he have thought? Two weeks she searched for him. In Caspian's position, she might've thought him dead too.
Dark brown eyes wide and unseeing flash through Addie's memory like a lightning bolt. She nearly chokes.
The betrayal in his eyes is better than that. They will both survive this.
Caspian furious, terrified, even bent in half with would-be grief - all those things are still better than Caspian dead.
Let him be angry. At least he's alive to be upset with her choices.
At least she's here to comfort him now.
But Caspian turns away when she reaches for him, heaving a sigh as he turns his back on her.
It's not like him to deny them both the comfort of touch. The shape of his name dies on her tongue, trapped behind a new uncertainty. Does he not want her touch anymore?
The thought makes the pain in her shoulder seem distant by comparison. Addie stands frozen, staring at Caspian's back as he slows his breathing from shuddering and staccato to a measured rhythm. Like he does after nightmares.
Finally, Caspian faces her again, his eyes glistening. Sinks silently to his knees, the anger bleeding from his face.
Addie's good hand trembles as she rests his brow against her stomach. She coaxes his hands from their fists, smooths the tangles from his hair, sighs in relief when he breathes easier and wraps his arms around her thighs. She whispers that it's alright, she's here now, they're alright.
They'll be alright.
They'll be alright.
When duty pulls Caspian away from her and he leaves without a word, Addie waits all of five minutes before venturing into the sunlight. It's a beautiful day - sunny and warm and windy enough to rustle the trees and her hair. The How's damp air is sticky on her skin, makes her sweat despite the cave's chilled interior.
This tunnel is also deserted, the hum of the day's activities a distant whisper at the edge of hearing. It's too quiet. It invites Addie's mind to wander, to replay Caspian's turmoil and frustration and wonder if the maids are safe, if Miraz would go so far as to -
Addie throws down the notes in a messy stack. There's nothing she can do about Miraz now. No use dwelling on it.
Outside, the bright afternoon sun beckons. Back at the castle, Addie rarely got to enjoy pleasant weather. Sunny days at the castle came with the usual day's work instead of the How's greenery and the unique wildness of the woods.
The weather will be a good distraction.
"Begging your pardon, but oughtn't you be inside?"
Addie startles, heel catching on a loose stone. The blond faun with serious eyes stands stiffly guarding the ledge, peering into the treeline.
Addie frowns at him. Shouldn't he be scouting, not babysitting? Helping keep watch isn't strenuous; it's as mundane as reading her notes.
Addie waves to the open field stretched below the How. "See any soldiers?"
"No," says the faun, "but -"
"So it's fine. If Caspian comes back, blame it on me."
Addie leans against the uneven stones overgrown with ivy and grass. Caspian should've known better than to tempt her with sunshine and say she couldn't bask in it. The lingering fever leaves a near-constant sheen of sweat over her skin, and the caves chilled her. The bright summer sun is a relief as it warms her face, her hands, the column of her throat.
"I'm Addie," she says. "In case you need a name for the fault."
"Vanus," answers the faun, cloven hooves tapping the stone as he paces.
Addie sweeps her good arm at the forest. "What do you look for?"
Vanus paces to the far edge and scrutinises the trees before answering. "Anything out of place."
What about the How makes everyone so impossible to talk to? Caspian's barely filled her in, Addie had to ask four Narnians where he was before a kind-eyed squirrel told her where he was, and now Vanus. Maybe a few centuries of keeping your existence a secret dries up pleasant conversation?
Caspian would be patient. He'd ask another question, gently prod for more information without getting snippy. His methods must work here; he's gone from reading books about these people to leading them.
Addie curls her lips into a careful, casually interested smile, her face still upturned into the sun. "What sorts of things? Miraz's soldiers aren't known for subtlety."
The corner of Vanus' mouth flickers up in a lopsided smile. "No indeed. That is how we've survived thus far."
"That and the stories." Addie glances over and finds Vanus standing less stiffly than before, one eyebrow quirked though his eyes remain glued to the forest. "Did you stoke those on purpose?"
"We kill trespassers as necessary," Vanus answers. "The Telmarines always feared the magic in the forests."
"Almost everyone thinks the forests are haunted. Sometimes after someone vanished, the soldiers said they saw ghosts wandering the forest's edge." Addie shrugs. "Probably sounds silly, but it was effective."
Silence falls, but just when Addie thinks she should give up and find a different ledge, Vanus comes up beside her and points to a fallen tree.
"That would be a good hiding spot - close the How, shadowed by the treeline, safe from arrows."
Addie pushes off from the wall, grimacing as her shoulder twinges in protest, and squints at the tree. Though most its leaves are gone, the slender, criss-crossing branches distract the eye from the shadows beyond.
"Hard to see and hard to shoot?"
Vanus nods. "On the other side, a broken branch provides similar cover."
Addie frowns in thought. "We leave those there?"
"No," says Vanus, "I will clear them this afternoon."
Addie perks up instantly. "Need a hand?"
Vanus stares a moment too long, then gestures at her bandaged shoulder. "It would be wiser to rest your wound."
Addie's face flames. Just because she's injured doesn't mean she can't help.
"Hence a hand," she says, wiggling her fingers. "Not hands."
Vanus lifts a bushy eyebrow. "Prince Caspian gave orders for you to stay inside. The treeline is not inside."
Orders. Caspian should know better than to think her obedient.
Addie tries for earnestness despite the spike of annoyance furrowing her brow. "He did, but aren't we in a war? Everyone has to do their part. I'm trying to figure out mine."
Vanus scans her up and down much like Rainroot did. "Can you fight?"
"I can hold my own." Addie lifts her chin at Vanus' dubious look. She was learning, and it's not quite a lie - she's survived this far.
An awkward silence stretches.
"Not as well with one arm," Addie admits.
Vanus looks to the forest. "Can you whistle?"
Addie blinks and tilts her head. What kind of question is that?
"Like this."
Whistling isn't quite the word for the sound Vanus makes. It's high, slightly shrill, but it ripples and trills like a bird's call.
Addie's first try is… embarrassing. Her second is even more so. It takes three dozen attempts with Vanus' surprisingly patient instructions before she can trick her tongue into flicking behind her teeth fast enough to imitate the call.
"Close enough," Vanus says at last. "I will clear the branches. Stay here, keep watch, and whistle if you see anything."
"I will."
"I won't be long." Vanus disappears into the How, and minutes later emerges from the single door below. On the ledge, he towered fifteen centimetres over her. Up here, Vanus looks small, broad though his shoulders are.
The knot in Addie's chest slowly unwinds as she scans the forest, squinting at shadows and breathing in the wild summer heat.
She can be useful. She can earn her keep. She can help.
At sunset, another faun relieves Vanus of the watch. Addie matches Vanus' odd gait as best she can.
It's not that she's tired, she's just… a little worn out.
Addie catches herself against the wall as her balance teeters. "Mind if I tag along tomorrow?"
Vanus lifts an eyebrow, but there's no displeasure in his face. "If you like. If you're able."
Relief softens Addie's polite, perhaps too-eager grin. "See you tomorrow."
One routine down, two to go.
Mornings with Rainroot to keep the wound healing, then late mornings either helping with the watch or studying those notes, and evenings shadowing Rainroot. Time to heal, and time to be useful. A little fever doesn't mean she has to be a complete invalid.
Caspian doesn't need to know.
A/N: Okay, as much as I love Caspian and Addie's soft moments, I LOVE them sparking off each other. I suspect we'll see a lil more push and pull between spats and fragile peace for a bit... 😇
Chapter 28 Preview:
If Addie won't care for herself, then it falls on his shoulders to do it for her.
"Addie needs to recover," Caspian says. "And I need your help – both of yours – to see that she does."