A/N: Happy New Year! No one touch anything, we'll just go into this year nice and quiet and try to come out the other side in one piece. In all seriousness, I hope y'all had a great holiday season and you safely got some time with loved ones.
Apologies this chapter is coming in 2 hours late; between the holiday travel and the Muse Not Being Nice, I was editing this chapter down to the wire. Send good vibes for Ch 32, lol she's the next problem child giving me fits.
Chapter 30 Content Warnings: mentions of physical injury
Chapter 30: so far away from you
Addie
"I didn't think you'd pull it off." Marcos stretches, taking a deep, satisfied breath of summer air. On such a humid day, he can't be enjoying the smell of sun-baked metal, sweat-soaked leather, and the brewing thunderstorm. It's just for show.
Addie adjusts her sling, tucking the knot behind the slim muscle between her shoulder and neck so it won't chafe. This iteration covers most of her arm, rendering it immobile. One of Rainroot's many conditions for even setting foot on the training field. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Marcos grins, squinting against the blazing noon sun. "I'm not insulting you. I'm impressed."
"How flattering."
If her attitude bothers him, Marcos doesn't show it. He strides across the swaying grass to the pile of training weapons and picks out two dulled swords - one the length of his arm, the other barely six inches.
When he holds it out to her, Addie hesitates. Falmus isn't here yet, and Caspian…
"Having second thoughts?" Marcos looks down at her, twirling both weapons with practiced ease.
Addie eyes them with a scowl. "Short sword? Really?"
She's spent a decade handling kitchen knives; a real sword can't be that different.
Marcos nods toward Arrus. The faun isn't hovering, but he's watching. "Don't think my bodyguard here wants us using the real thing."
Train with Falmus.
With a glance at Arrus, Addie steps away. "I'm not the only one who needs your help, you know."
Marcos narrows his eyes, resting the tip of the longer sword in the grass. "That wasn't the deal."
Addie tries to cross her arm before the sling stops her. Grimacing, she clenches her hands into fists. "I'm supposed to train with Falmus."
As if on cue, the faun trots out from the How with his damp curls plastered to his forehead.
Marcos scowls. "You want me to train your nursemaid?"
Addie shushes him, her cheeks heating on Falmus' behalf even though he's too far away to hear.
"Falmus is training me." Addie scans the sparring fields and finds a cluster of young Narnians - mostly fauns and centaurs - swinging dulled swords at each other down a grassy knoll. A minotaur with a grey-specked muzzle shouts instructions as he rushes from student to student, shaking his massive bull's head after every correction.
Addie nods toward the haphazard group. "They might need an extra hand."
With a snort, Marcos leans over his blade. "Or several."
Before Addie musters an admonishment or an apology to Arrus for Marcos' attitude, Falmus trots up. His amiable smile stiffens the moment his hooves still.
"G'morning," Falmus says carefully as he plucks a training blade from a nearby pile. "Addie, you're sure Rainroot approved this?"
Addie gestures to her new sling - an added nuisance, but hopefully worth the trouble and extra cloth. "With caution, but yes."
Technically, Rainroot said an hour and no more. Rainroot also isn't here, and both Falmus and Arrus report back to Caspian. In theory, if they don't know Rainroot's exact orders, she can fudge her obedience enough to make a proper day's progress.
Maybe she can make decent progress just with Falmus. She's pushed Caspian so much, hasn't meant to but she has, and he looked heartbroken in that split second before he tucked it all away behind his princely mask.
Addie reaches for the short sword in Marcos' grasp and scowls when he holds it out of reach.
"You won't mind if I watch," Marcos says, infuriatingly calm. "Gotta make sure Falmus knows what he's doing before I turn you over."
"Not necessary." Addie grits her teeth as Marcos dangles the sword again. "You're acting like a child."
Falmus slides between them with two short blades in hand. "Never mind; take this."
Bless Falmus. Breathing comes easier as Addie takes the faun's peace offering and puts distance between her and Marcos again. For his part, Arrus stares dispassionately on, his hand falling away from his sword.
Falmus leads her to a flat patch of grass down the hill. Addie pretends not to hear Marcos following them.
"Right, stance first," Falmus says. "Have you held a sword before?"
Addie's cheeks burn as Marcos snorts.
"A dagger," Addie mumbles. Both Caspian and Alfonso introduced her to using a small dagger in the last weeks before the escape. "Other than that, just kitchen knives."
Falmus's smile is a kind, welcome counterpoint to Marcos' hovering.
"That's good; any experience helps. Try taking a stance."
Instinct brings her right shoulder forward with her right foot - the exact opposite of what she should do, and useless with her new sling. Addie repositions herself, exchanging for a left-forward stance. The sword's weight makes it… awkward. Her arm feels twisted in its socket, her hips out of alignment with her feet and shoulders.
Marcos huffs a chuckle as Falmus purses his lips.
"Tash help us."
"It's a good start," Falmus counters, waving off Marcos' commentary. The faun's hands hover over Addie's shoulders, his blue eyes soft and understanding. "May I?"
Addie agrees instantly, as much to save time as to annoy Marcos. He's standing taller, nostrils flared and arms crossed, when she risks a glance from the corner of her eye.
Falmus' gentle hands make careful work and fitful progress of moving her body into place. He touches her as lightly as possible, especially anywhere near her wound. Impatience tempts Addie's limbs, but she holds herself still and focuses on fixing her stance. She'll take Falmus' soft-touched approach over Marcos' lingering hands and snide commentary any day.
"Your elbow's still wrong," Marcos says.
Falmus ignores him and nudges Addie's good shoulder back.
"That's better," Falmus says at last, stepping back to survey his handiwork. "How does it feel?"
Addie flexes her good shoulder, her back popping as she stretches out a kink. "Awkward."
Falmus nods in approval. "At first, it will. Now, try to strike at me. Shift your weight onto your right foot, step onto your left, and extend your arm - not fully, keep your elbow a little bent."
"Watch that shoulder," Marcos calls.
Addie ignores him and shakes off Falmus' momentary concern. "I'm fine."
She shifts her weight back, breathes to centre herself, and lunges.
Or she tries to. The moment she moves, Marcos surges forward as fast as an arrow and strikes her blade from beneath, sending it flying a meter away.
"Ow!" Addie stumbles back and shakes out her sore wrist, her back throbbing in warning. "What the fuck?"
"Marcos!" Arrus steps closer and fixes Marcos with a dirty look as Falmus appears at Addie's elbow, asking if she's alright.
Addie massages a small scrape cutting across her palm. "I'm fine," she says.
Annoying as raw skin is – for the sting as much as the possibility Caspian will notice and order Falmus to keep her inside again – the flush spreading over her face and neck is worse.
How easily Marcos disarmed her. Made her look a fool.
"Piss-poor grip," Marcos says, ignoring Arrus's glare. "Don't make a fist."
"Inside," Arrus snaps, stepping closer again. "Now."
Marcos lifts an eyebrow and spins his sword effortlessly, like an extension of his arm. "You want her to die on a Telmarine sword?"
"You think hijacking my training is any help?" Addie snaps. She wanted Marcos' help, still does, but Caspian -
She softens her features into apology when Falmus retrieves her weapon and patiently arranges her fingers in the proper grip – thumb on top, similar to a kitchen knife.
Marcos runs his tongue over his teeth. "I think your would-be trainer is treating you like a glass doll. You can drill stances and basics until you collapse and it'd be no good."
Addie takes her stance again, correcting her limbs until Falmus nods approval. "Is that so?"
"Lady Adelina is injured," Falmus says, standing taller with his chin high. "Aggravating her condition will worsen her chances in battle."
Lady Adelina? This is the third time someone's called her a lady.
"Just Addie," Addie says.
Marcos's lips curl in a sneer. "Lady Adelina won't stand a chance against any Telmarine if you coddle her. You think Miraz's soldiers will be careful with her? If you want her to survive, you have to attack like they will."
When Addie lifts her sword, ready to strike, Falmus' gaze stays on Marcos.
"Like you would, you mean?" Addie blurts.
Marcos hesitates. The sporadic breeze feels cooler against her skin in the momentary silence.
"Yes," Marcos answers.
"How reassuring." Addie lunges in a clumsy swing that Falmus easily deflects. The faun's block is measured, using only enough force to change her blade's trajectory.
Another strike, another deflection. Falmus pauses to correct her form, and Marcos interjects yet again.
"Check your grip. Blade's wobbling."
Addie scowls. Of course the blade's wobbling, she's using her off hand and it's awkward and she feels stupid –
"Don't you have someone else to bother?" Addie says. "They could use your help down the hill."
Marcos lazily points his sword at her. "Not as badly as you do."
Addie turns her back on him again. How is his commentary helping? Even with Arrus' glares holding him in check, Marcos' every word drips with… disdain? Condescension? Concern? How can she make sense of Marcos when he acts like this?
Addie lowers her sword and turns halfway back to him. "What do you want, Marcos?"
The air itself brightens; when Addie looks over her shoulder she finds Marcos smiling, lips curled like a sentient cat.
Marcos glances at Arrus, still boring a hole through the Telmarine with his eyes.
Addie sighs. "Really, it's fine, Arrus."
The faun doesn't relent right away; only when Falmus nods too does Arrus let out a breath and turn away – slowly, as if it pains him.
Addie doesn't blame him. Marcos pains her too.
Marcos' smug smile when Arrus relents is almost enough for her to regret saying anything.
"You asked me to train you," says Marcos, arms thrown wide before he rests his sword tip-down in the grass with both hands braced atop it. "Let me train you. Invite your friends if you want, but until lunch hour, you're mine."
"Out of the question," Arrus says immediately.
Addie fights a shiver. She might have been tempted to bargain if only he hadn't said –
"Try again," she says.
Marcos lifts a thick eyebrow. "You asked what I wanted. Don't ask if you don't want to know."
Addie shifts into her stance and waits as Falmus corrects her again.
"I saved your life," Marcos calls. "Got you out of the castle, kept you alive long enough to find him." When Addie looks back, Marcos stands with his arms thrown wide. "I'm a prisoner here for you."
The sword weighs heavier in her hand.
"I'm not asking much," Marcos continues. "Don't you want to be useful?"
Addie grits her teeth. She does, he knows she does, but Caspian said to train with Falmus, and he sounded like she cracked his heart when she… she didn't defend Marcos, not exactly, just said what he would and wouldn't do.
Perhaps to Caspian, it sounded like defending.
Marcos' measured steps sound behind her, his presence a stifling cloud.
"You came to me because you know I'm your best chance," Marcos murmurs, quiet enough to reach only her ears. "Your prince won't listen; his beasts will just coddle you. Who else do you have but me?" A pause, then: "So let me help."
At times, she hates him.
Especially now, when his words ring true.
Down the hill, a minotaur's frustrated growl breaks the tense quiet. A quick glance shows Addie a semicircle of young students murmuring among themselves, their cheeks red.
"Not just me," she adds as Marcos extends his hand.
Marcos follows her gaze downhill. "I have you until noon," he repeats. "After that, I'll train whoever you want. Deal?"
It's a bargain she shouldn't make, no matter how much she wants to. Addie tastes bitterness in her mouth, the sting of defeat and the knowledge that Caspian would hate this. His silence last night was bad enough; what will he say now, when Arrus and Falmus tell him she's training with Marcos after all?
Addie clenches her good hand into a fist and stares at Marcos' hand, wracking her mind for another option - for a deal Marcos would take that won't hurt Caspian like this will.
What else can she offer him? Arrus moved him into normal quarters this morning, and he has food and clothes the same as anyone else. Would the privilege of leaving the How be enough? Thus far, he's only been allowed outside today for training.
Arrus speaks before she can.
"My lady, he asks what you cannot give. Prince Caspian gave explicit orders -"
Orders, again?
"To what?" Addie snaps. "What did he command, exactly?"
It's too easy to forget temperance and understanding when, yet again, Caspian's giving orders and wrapping her up in them like she's just his subject and not his -
Are they still as they were? Are these orders Caspian's way of telling her she's not his lover anymore?
In strictly technical terms, perhaps they aren't. This isn't the longest they've gone without having each other, but it's the longest they've ever fought.
Perhaps this thing between them is breaking. Perhaps it's broken already, and he can't stomach acknowledging it.
She can't either.
Addie's nails bite into her palms.
"- see you inside the moment you tire," Arrus is saying in a soldier's monotone recitation. "And that Marcos may only train those who ask him specifically."
A clever condition, Addie realises, designed to keep Marcos sidelined. No one will approach a Telmarine soldier to ask him for training.
"Why would anyone ask," Addie says, "if they haven't seen him fight or train anyone?"
This time, Falmus answers.
"No offense," says Falmus, "but you're in no shape for a demonstration."
Tash, must everyone here treat her like some breakable bird to be contained?
"Aren't I?" Addie seethes, because will no one listen to her, she's trying to help them and don't they know part of her hates the idea of giving so much of her time, of herself to Marcos but what choice does she have, what else can she do when Marcos is the last person here who doesn't coddle her -
She only went to Marcos as a last resort. Regretted it the moment she saw Caspian's face again.
"Don't get cocky," Marcos says, interrupting Addie's tangle of frustration and guilt. He steps toward a nearby pile of training swords - real swords with dull edges. "Sit back and watch. Consider it lesson one."
Addie crosses her left arm. "Watch what?"
Marcos plucks three training swords from the pile and returns, swaggering over as if he isn't a prisoner. "Demonstration."
He drives two swords point-down into the grass.
Arrus lowers his sword, but neither faun moves to take a hilt. Arrus is looking down his nose at Marcos, disdain written across his features.
Fine then.
Addie strides up and reaches for the nearest one, only to have Falmus take it at the last moment. After a pause, Arrus follows suit.
Marcos' grin gleams like a wolf's teeth, triumphant and cocky. "Give it your best, now."
Addie barely gets out of the way before Falmus and Arrus descend in a flurry of flashing blades and complementary strikes.
By the end of the spar, both fauns are disarmed, Marcos is sporting a split lip, and a dozen Narnians have gathered to watch.
It's a good thing; this ensures Marcos has met Caspian's condition and that he has permission to be on the training fields.
His toothy grin, however, neatly spoils it. Only four Narnians stick around to ask to spar with him, but it's enough that Marcos stands taller - chest puffed out, shoulders square.
Marcos takes on each Narnian in a one-on-one spar. Only a satyr manages to knock him down, and even then the spar ends in a draw.
Maybe it's skill. Or maybe it's because Marcos rushes in at the first hint of retreat, never gives his opponent space to breathe or think. Maybe it's the savagery in his strikes, his merciless hacks at inexperienced defences.
There's a skill to that, Addie muses.
Falmus sticks to her side the whole time, murmuring advice and pointing out feints and moves.
"Watch how he circles," Falmus says, pointing to Marcos pacing around a teenage centaur. "He keeps the same angle, ready to strike."
Addie winces as Marcos feints, strikes, and hits the centaur's back legs, upsetting the teen's balance. Neither Alfonso nor Caspian were ever this rough with her.
Their methods also left her unprepared to face down a company of soldiers, however good their intentions.
"Is this what battle's like?" Addie tucks her arm tighter around her chest.
Falmus shifts from hoof to hoof. "As close as training can get. Most of us don't spar so aggressively. Marcos fights like he's on the field."
The centaur recovers and lands a swing to Marcos' hip. Grunting, Marcos pivots with surprising dexterity for a man on his fourth spar and hammers down a rain of reckless strikes - attacks borne more of frustration than calculation.
If Addie didn't know how dangerous it is when Marcos loses his temper, she might enjoy seeing him this ruffled.
"Is that a bad thing?" she murmurs.
Brow knitted, Falmus sighs as the centaur gives ground to Marcos' advances even with his height advantage.
"Only if Marcos doesn't know when to stop."
With a snarl and an uppercut, Marcos disarms the centaur and earns his third victory of the day. Two draws, three wins… he's even better than Addie thought.
Marcos turns his back on his last opponent and strides over, wearing his victory like a royal mantle and panting as he wipes the sweat dripping down his nose.
"Three wins," he says, smiling wolfishly at Arrus and Falmus. "No losses. I'd say I've more than earned the right to choose my next challenger."
Addie meets Marcos' gleaming eyes as they slide toward her.
Arrus is already shaking his head. "His Majesty's orders -"
"You've seen how I fight," Marcos interrupts. "You need my skills - on this field as much as in battle." He bends at the waist in a mocking approximation of a bow, left hand stretched toward her. "You know my condition."
You came to me because you know I'm your best chance.
Addie's stomach churns. If she agrees to this, is Marcos saying he'll fight with the Narnians? Fight under Caspian's banner? Train his soldiers and train her?
She can do this for them. For Caspian.
For herself. So the next time she faces off with Miraz's soldiers, she'll be ready and she'll never have to see Caspian's grimace swimming in her vision as a stranger stitches her up.
"Alright." Addie ignores Falmus' hand hovering by her elbow and steps forward. "Deal."
Again, Arrus objects. Isn't he tired of saying no to everything?
"As I have said," Arrus says firmly, "Prince Caspian's orders were for you to train with Falmus, my lady."
Addie turns to the faun. If only she were taller; Arrus has four centimetres on her.
"Caspian also said Marcos can train anyone who asks," she says. "I'm asking."
Almost too late, she realises she's snubbing Falmus. Irksome as his constant presence can be, Falmus has been nothing but kind and welcoming and he doesn't deserve to be tossed aside like mouldy turnips.
"Falmus," Addie rushes to say. "I want you to train me for the first hour or two. A lesson before the test, if you will. I need your perspective."
Falmus hesitates, sharing a glance with Arrus. "His Highness -"
"This meets all Caspian's conditions," Addie snaps. Haven't the Narnians lived under a monarch before? Don't they know the best way to follow orders is in appearance only?
Frustration tempts her tongue with curses, but Addie pushes them aside in favour of imitating the voice Caspian uses on her so often now - a low, stern tone that itches in her throat.
"I'm not asking," Addie says. She bends down to pick up the nearest training sword, the leather-bound hilt a stiff weight in her left hand.
She expects Falmus' advance, arms outstretched as he moves to corral her. She even anticipates Marcos' answering step that brings him to her side, hovering like a bodyguard.
Addie wills herself to stand tall and steady and betray none of the nerves wound tight under her ribcage. Turns to face the two fauns and holds her chin high.
"Well, well," Marcos mutters by her ear. "Look at you."
For the fauns, he finds a darker tone.
"You heard Lady Adelina," Marcos calls. He towers behind her shoulder, a reassuring presence only because this time, he's on her side. Has her back.
If not for their fraught history, it would feel like old times - Marcos looking out for her, backing her up when she upset Perla. Having her back in moments no one else did.
Addie stands tall and lets Falmus and Vanus see her determination, stares them down with a confidence that rushes through her blood like a drug.
She tries not to betray her shock when Arrus and Falmus both hesitate, trade a glance. They stop, breaking eye contact before she does, and the moment tastes sharp as blue cheese, heady like wine. Bright like victory.
Falmus turns away first, heading straight for the How without a word.
That's fine, Addie decides. Let him tattle.
She'll do some good here one way or another, even if she has to thwart every babysitter and would-be bodyguard and Caspian himself to do it.
When she's sure Arrus won't try anything, Addie retreats from the almost-confrontation with Marcos and takes her stance, gripping her sword until her fingers ache in protest.
"Promise not to coddle me?"
Marcos' chuckle echoes darkly, a promise of everything she knows he's capable of. "Never."
Marcos pushes her from spar to merciless spar until high noon crests and Addie can't walk straight.
"Tired?" Marcos hauls her up from her knees and steadies her with an arm slung low around her hips. "Good. You'll feel like this in a battle. Learn to push through."
Addie squints against the sun glaring from behind Marcos' head. "Now?"
Marcos' hand tightens. "No. That waits until you're fully healed."
Small blessings. Addie stumbles over nothing as she looks for Falmus. Arrus is here, but where is -
Ah, there, conversing with a badger.
"Falmus," Addie calls, "is there a stream nearby?"
Rainroot will have her hide - or sedate her again - if she shows up covered in sweat and dirt and bits of grass. The sling is stained beyond all help now, despite her best efforts to fall only on her left side.
Falmus trots over in a hurry, his clean-shaven face a blur of ruddy cheeks and bright blue eyes.
"A few hundred yards past the treeline," the faun answers, sliding up to support her other side.
As Addie leans into Falmus, Marcos pulls her closer. Addie shoves him away.
"You've had your time," she mumbles. "See you tomorrow."
"You're welcome."
Grumbling aside, Marcos lets go and Addie breathes easier as Falmus guides her off the training grounds and into the trees.
A splash and soap-less scrub in the cool stream brings clarity. Addie thanks Falmus for what feels like the hundredth time as he helps her sit on a fallen tree near the stream's edge.
"I'm guessing Caspian already knows?"
Falmus' silence is answer enough. Addie nods once and stares into the forest. One more thing to fight about, then.
"For what it's worth," Addie says, wiping her face with her sleeve. "I'm trying not to let him down. Like I did at the castle."
Falmus offers his waterskin. Pride, that poisonous cousin to independence, keeps Addie from accepting it.
She knows it's foolish. She also knows the stream is steps away, and she's perfectly capable of scooping up water for herself without draining Falmus' supply.
With a shrug, Falmus drinks and ties the waterskin back onto his belt. "How do you mean?"
Addie wiggles the fingers of her right hand, grimacing down at her grass-stained sling. All the scrubbing in the world couldn't make it clean again.
"If I'd known how to hold my own in a fight, been stronger and smarter," she explains, "this never would've happened."
"Perhaps," says Falmus. "I wasn't there, so I don't know. But I can tell you the next time you face off with Telmarine soldiers, you'll be even worse off if you keep up this pace."
Addie rests a foot on her sitting boulder. There's truth in what Falmus says. Her every muscle is already aching from all morning on the field, her head swimming with the temptation of taking a nap instead of lunch.
"It's not about the moves," Addie says after a pause. "It's the perspective."
"Perspective?"
Falmus finds a small pebble in the dirt and tosses it over the gurgling stream. Addie watches the stone arc down and disappear among the ferns.
"I can't make up years of training in weeks," she says. "I can't wish away this sling. But I can learn to think how they do. How to strike without caring what I leave in my wake."
Falmus unearths another stone and cleans off bits of dirt and grass.
Addie chews her lower lip. "I can't out-spar a Telmarine soldier. Thinking like they will is the only defence I have."
She looks to her companion, finds blue eyes staring back.
"I can't think like that when Caspian's in front of me," Addie says. "Or you, or Arrus, or anyone here. Not with anyone but Marcos."
Falmus turns the stone over in his hands, frowning. "Because Marcos is Telmarine?"
"Because…" Addie's good hand plucks at her pants, seeking a loose thread she doesn't find. "Call it bad blood. He knows how to be merciless - how to make me as merciless as I need to be to survive this. I know he'll push me to my limit on that field to maximise what little chances I have."
The cleaned stone flies from Falmus' hand in a high arc, smacking through leaves and bouncing off a low-hanging branch before thumping to the ground.
"You can't match Telmarine soldiers' brutality," Falmus says. "No one can. You can only outsmart them."
Addie picks grass remnants from her knees. "I don't have to. I just have to surprise them."
Caspian
He's en route to the dining cave when a badger hurries up with news from Falmus that Caspian has dreaded all morning.
Addie is on the field with Marcos.
Caspian dismisses the badger with murmured thanks and an ache in his throat as concern wars with fire in his chest.
He hoped, he so hoped she wouldn't.
Part of him knew she would. What good were his hopes against her damned stubbornness?
Caspian leaves the dining cave with one stew bowl in hand. His stomach is tied in too many knots to manage a meal; the simmering frustration burning acrid across her tongue would turn any food to ash in his mouth. But Addie needs to keep her strength up.
Caspian braces himself for another fight as he makes his way to their alcove, drafts orders he knows Addie will hate with the bowl hot against his fingertips. She can't have walked off the training field unscathed, not that she'll admit it if he asks.
She can hate his orders all she likes; Falmus will see them carried out.
Addie's already shuffling through her botany notes. Her wet hair hangs in a braid down her back, ends dripping onto her white shirt and leaving a translucent trail down her lower back.
She spins around when Caspian clears his throat, abandoning her notes in a scattered pile.
Caspian holds out the bowl. "You were to train with Falmus."
Addie's gaze slides away, her cheeks flushing red. "I am," she says. "Technically."
In the seconds before she gingerly takes the stew bowl, Caspian spies a scrape cutting diagonally across her left palm.
He purses his lips. Addie's sling is streaked in grass stains, her clothes are damp, and her shoulders hang low. She's exhausted - by her own doing, again.
Still, he can't help but ask, his tone terse to keep the fire from spilling past his lips.
"Are you hurt?"
Addie blinks, brow furrowed, and shakes her head.
"No," she answers softly.
Another lie; Addie favours her left leg as she stands. What new bruises lie hidden beneath her clothes? What new cost of Addie's defiance of everyone's wishes but her own?
Caspian clasps his hands behind his back, fingers aching and itching to hold her, to peel off her clothes and take inventory of her bruises himself so he wouldn't have to wonder. His nails dig into his palms.
He stays where he is.
"Have you been to Rainroot?"
Addie nods, short and jerky. "I went this morning."
Caspian breathes through a spike of irritation - his constant companion this past week. "You should see her again. You're moving stiffly."
A tense beat of silence, broken only by Addie's hesitant nod.
He should leave before this disquiet devolves into another fight. Before his patience snaps again and drives her away further.
Yet, Caspian asks because part of him needs to know the damage - to know if Addie has once again worn herself down enough to require days of bedrest amid a resurgent fever.
"How long were you on the field?"
Stew ripples dangerously close to the bowl's edge as Addie leans against the earthen wall and avoids his eyes.
"Until I tired. As ordered."
As ordered, as though it was his wish to see her exhausted and bruised.
A knuckle pops as Caspian stretches his tense hands. "And how long was that?"
Addie exhales, head tilting back as she stares up at the ceiling. "As long as I needed to get a decent start."
Caspian tracks Addie's careful readjustment, shifting weight off her left leg. "How long, Addie?"
Addie swirls her stew without sipping. "Four hours, give or take."
"You shouldn't have," Caspian says. "Two hours will suffice."
Addie's knuckles tint pale as she clutches her bowl, still untouched and full to the brim. "And if I disagree?"
Caspian forces a slow exhale. What does it matter if she disagrees? As far as he cares, the only concern is whether Addie is healing properly and posing no undue risk to herself. It matters very little – if at all – how she feels about it.
Somewhere in this tangled headache of finding her and watching her inert with fever and recovering only to tempt the infection to return, Caspian learned not to care. Learned he cannot care until Addie is healed again, because if he leaves these decisions to her, she'll never recover.
"Rainroot's opinion is the only agreement I care for."
A belated curl of regret hooks in the base of Caspian's throat, half-hearted though it is.
Part of him still cares what Addie wants, of course he does, but…
The days he might have let her destroy herself just to give her what she wants have passed. Addie has to heal, has to survive this war and this ill-advised entanglement. She can hate him for it if she likes, so long as she survives.
Caspian swallows the press of conciliatory reassurances that he didn't mean it like that, he still cares, please don't think he doesn't care. Clenches his teeth so he won't mutter an apology he only halfway means to keep the peace.
Addie clears her throat - a soft, wet sound - as her thumb traces a half-circle on the belly of her untouched bowl.
"Do you want me to move my things?"
Caspian's eyes flash up. "Do you wish to?"
At last Addie meets his gaze, unblinking yet unsteady, her stare flickering between each of his eyes. "Should I?"
Everything in him wants to cry out no, of course she shouldn't, surely this thing between them hasn't broken so completely.
Has it?
Caspian's answer comes out rougher than he intends. Hoarse with a rising onslaught he thought buried, because what use has it been, lately, to allow himself to feel with her? When have his feelings – or Addie's – brought them anything but strife and discord and fights he's so tired of having?
Addie will sleep the same whether she's in his arms or not.
Perhaps she'll sleep better elsewhere. Perhaps he would, too.
This, he will not fight her about.
Caspian gestures to his rumpled cloak – another of his attempts at care Addie has rejected.
"If that's what you want, then do as you will."
He looks away at once, sure he imagined the tremor in Addie's breath, the new sheen in her eyes. There's no use regretting the words now that he's said them.
Lion, he never should have agreed to her training in the first place if this is where it leads.
No, the training may save her life in the battles to come. For that alone, it is worth this stinging heartburn – this forced acknowledgement that the care between them has changed, morphed into bitterness and grief and resentment he has no words to express.
When Addie doesn't answer, Caspian turns away. He's done all he can; duty will be his solace now, as it was when he thought her dead. He has no time for distractions of the heart.
"Two hours on the field," he reminds her. "No more. Falmus will escort you inside."
If Falmus cannot then Caspian will do it himself, even if he must carry Addie inside kicking and swearing. Her health, he will fight her for.
Anything beyond that… what's the use? What will pushing for more accomplish? He's clearly driven her away.
And she, him.
Caspian's gone four steps when Addie calls him back, voice cracking around two words.
"It's not."
He stops, boots stalling in the tunnel.
"It's not what I want," Addie says, so quietly he almost misses it.
He ought to continue to the war room, to the familiar headache of strategy and war-making.
Instead, Caspian spins on his heel and strides to Addie's side as he tries to swallow the coil of relief clogging his throat. He reaches out before he thinks better of it and relearns the curve of Addie's cheekbone with his thumb, the warmth of her neck with his fingertips. He lets himself forget, for a moment, the disconnect between Addie's words and deeds.
"Nor I," he whispers – a foolish confession, because nothing has changed. These tremulous admissions will not mend the fissure between them.
Addie leans into his hand, her lips ghosting over his wrist.
Caspian swallows. The heat of Addie's skin sears his palm as her hazel eyes blink up at him through damp eyelashes.
What harm is there lingering in this precious moment of certainty, when the doubt will return the second he walks away? If only for a fleeting heartbeat, he wants to feel secure with her again. To pretend that knowing she wants an end to this fighting as much as he does is enough.
Caspian glances to stew bowl between their chests. "You should eat," he says. "Keep your strength up."
Addie's breath warms the tender flesh of his inner wrist. "You should too."
At once, Caspian's stomach twists. After this morning's tumultuous emotions, he couldn't stomach a meal if he tried.
Addie's gaze hardens. "I'm not eating until you do."
It's different, Caspian tries to insist, because she's still healing and please, he manages not to say, please can they avoid a spat just this once?
"You need your strength too," Addie says.
In the end, Caspian stops arguing and fetches his own bowl. He eats silently with Addie in the dining cave with the quiet hum of the Narnians' chatter for company.
As always, theirs is a brittle peace one breath away from shatterpoint.
A/N: Okay I know we're still in ouchie territory, but I promise we're getting to a catharsis soon. 😇
Fun note, shatterpoint is actually a concept originally from Star Wars canon. I'm using it here like a Prince Rupert's drop analogy - bulletproof at one end, but shatters into nothing if you strike the one weak spot.
Chapter 31 Preview:
"Fine," Addie manages through gritted teeth - not half as placating as she should be. "Any other orders?"
Caspian stands tall and straight, as immovable as a statue and just as cold.
"Don't do anything reckless," he says.