A/N: Finally, a normal-sized chapter! Anyone ready for some more wartime angst? Yes? No? Well enjoy because we're building up to one of my fav chapters in Monachopsis!

Chapter 35 Content Warnings: physical injuries and battle violence, death, medical treatments

Chapter 35: death will come

Caspian

Caspian wakes to a clatter of hooves and Arrus' grave, tired face.

Shame flares up his neck. He only meant to lie down for a moment; how long has it been?

"Suncloud returned. He found this in the hollow tree." Arrus holds out a tight roll of parchment, one end ragged and ill-torn. Caspian takes it with unsteady hands.

Addie's hand smooths up his back, a balm to aching muscles. "Lord Arlian?"

Caspian finds the ink smudged and the letters messy, written in either a rush or distress. It is, indeed, in Arlian's hand.

"What does he want?" Addie asks.

Caspian frowns down at the note. Arlian made it clear he would only support Caspian's claim after a victory. Did he remember his loyalty to Caspian's father and change his mind?

"It doesn't say," Caspian says. The brief note offers no specifics - wise, in case of interception. "Only that he may have a solution. He wants to meet a few miles from the bridge before dawn."

Addie nudges closer and rests her chin on his shoulder. "Can you make it to the river by then?"

"If I may," Arrus interjects. "This lord would not support your claim a few days ago. This is likely a trap."

Caspian regards the note, weighing the odds in his head. Arrus isn't wrong, but perhaps the battle put a dose of reality into Arlian's calculations. Perhaps he sees that the kingdom falling to Miraz - or Sopespian - is an inevitability unless he finds a spine and backs the rightful king.

"Perhaps," Caspian admits. "But we can't afford another defeat, and we can't continue on our own. We… I lost too many. If Lord Arlian will offer support, I must accept it."

With a bow, Arrus dismisses himself. Addie slides her hand into his, her eyes heavy.

"I think Arrus is right," she says quietly. "Why would he want to meet again? His condition hasn't been met."

"Perhaps he's reconsidered."

As unlikely as it is, he can't let any possible assistance go ignored.

Addie's hand tightens. "You're injured and you're exhausted. It's too big a risk."

Every one of his overtaxed muscles agrees with her, but caution could cost him aid. "I have to try, Addie."

Still, she presses him. "I don't think you should go. What help are you to anyone if you're dead?"

With the pad of his thumb, Caspian finds her pulse thrumming in her wrist. He intends to calm her, to soothe the sharp edge of her breathing. His touch has the opposite effect; with every stroke of his thumb, Addie's heartbeat quickens.

"I've survived this long," he reminds her.

"You've had help." Addie's mouth barely puckers as he kisses her, her brows pinched where their foreheads rest together. "Cas -"

He silences her with another, firmer kiss. If Addie keeps speaking she might convince him, and then what hope will the Narnians have left? He won't - can't - fail them again.

Nikabrik is right.

Aslan, the Kings and Queens… the old magic is gone. No help is coming from the horn.

They're on their own.

"I'll return soon."

Addie is still frowning when he pulls away and gets to his feet. Caspian turns to go, because he's never been good at seeing her upset and he doesn't have the luxury of time or ways to ease her mind, but Addie tugs him back and throws her good arm around his neck.

"I love you," she whispers. Her eyelashes are damp as they flutter against his skin.

It's been too long since he said the same.

Caspian throws his arms around Addie's hips and buries his face in her shoulder.

"I love you," he echoes. The words seem paltry on his tongue - a fraction of this tumultuous tangle of warmth and dread and desperation and regret in his chest. "I'll return soon. I promise."

Caspian arrives at the meeting spot well after midnight; dawn will be here soon. As before, Glenstorm, Astus, and Turra lie hidden in the shadows.

Another storm is on the way. A humid wind rustles the trees as Caspian peers through a thicket of ferns, the river murmuring nearby and covering his breathing. If fortune is on their side, the storm will cover the tracks from their retreat and buy them a few days before Miraz's scouts find the How.

Ahead, Lord Arlian paces at the foot of a twin-trunked alder tree, scanning the dark night.

Caspian checks the sword and dagger at his belt before emerging from the underbrush. A shiver courses down his arms the moment his palm brushes the sword hilt. He wishes now he'd listened to Addie and rested more.

Lord Arlian's gaze snaps up as he steps from the shelter of the ferns to watch Caspian's approach, his posture stiff. A sliver of moonlight glints off his signet ring and the sword sheathed at his waist.

"I'm glad to see you alive, Caspian," says Arlian. "Nasty business, that battle. An unfortunate turn of events."

"Yes," Caspian agrees, stopping a short distance away but within earshot. "It was."

Lord Arlian faces him fully, brow creased and tense. His presence this close to Beruna suggests he and his men were part of the battle, but if Arlian fought, he left the field unscathed.

"It was a terrible waste," Arlian continues, "all that bloodshed. I should think you'd wish to avoid such unpleasantness again."

Caspian's frown deepens. Three nights ago, Lord Arlian touted the importance of a decisive victory, a full-scale battle for Caspian to prove he's worthy of the crown, and now he speaks of avoiding bloodshed?

The wound on Caspian's arm itches as caution roils in his stomach.

"I would," Caspian admits. The Narnians won't survive another defeat like the last. "But the time for avoiding battle has passed."

"Perhaps." Arlian steps closer, his features softening with something akin to pity. "Perhaps not. I believe we both know how this war ends if you stay your current course."

The shadows grow cold on Caspian's neck. "Speak your counsel, Lord Arlian."

Arlian continues his slow, deliberate approach until he's within reach of a sword stroke. "You can end this bloodshed now. Surrender, order your army to lay down their weapons, and tell the council what Miraz has done. You may yet be spared."

Caspian's breath sharpens in his lungs. He never counted on Arlian's bravery, but this? How little this man must think of him, that he would abandon the Narnians he pledged himself to barely a month ago.

Telmarine mercy is for Telmarine men. The Narnians would be given no such amnesty.

"Out of the question," Caspian answers firmly. "I'm surprised you would suggest such cowardice."

"Survival," Arlian counters, scowling. "If you continue this war, you and those creatures you call your army will die and Miraz will have nothing between him and the crown. Is that what you want?"

Caspian tenses, his muscles as taut as an overdrawn crossbow. What leader would give up now, throw up his hands and let his people extinguish the Narnians as if they mean nothing? As if they aren't Narnia's last hope to break free of Miraz's treachery?

Caspian shakes his head and rests his hand on his sword hilt. "You disappoint me, Arlian."

Arlian grimaces, stretching to peer into the thickets behind Caspian as he, too, grasps the hilt of his sword.

"All this for monsters and ghost stories? They are not your people, Caspian. They're not even human!" Arlian's gaze hardens, his voice rising to a shout. "You turn your back on Telmar! On your own people!"

Caspian is backing away before Arlian finishes. "You tried to wipe out an entire race. You abandoned my father," he says, his throat burning in disgust. "And you abandoned me. You are not my people."

His mistake is turning away. In Caspian's hurry to disappear into the forest, to leave behind Lord Arlian's wheedling and any remaining ties he has to the Telmarine people he once called his own, he exposes his back.

In those precious seconds of quiet, a kernel of hope flares under Caspian's breastbone that Arlian will prove him wrong. That there are still lords who would choose honour over treachery.

Hope is a dangerous thing.

Lord Arlian's rushing advance is loud, graceless, and fuelled by desperation, and Caspian knows by now the sound of betrayal.

Caspian draws his sword, whirling as he throws himself to the side. He throws his left arm up to ward off the incoming blow, and Lord Arlian's sword glances off his vambrace rather than severing his head from his shoulders.

The motion buys him time to clear his sword from its scabbard, but something tears in his arm. The pain weakens his grip and throws his upswing off-balance at the wrong moment. Caspian grits his teeth and wills his grip to hold as his blade clashes with Arlian's in a scraping grind of steel on steel.

Arlian steps out, blade raised and flashing silver in the moonlight. An arrow whizzes past Arlian's shoulder. Caspian dodges too slowly, barely enough to avoid catching the arrow full in the throat.

Caspian grunts as the arrow cuts his neck, blood wetting his collar and seeping between his fingers as he clutches the fresh wound.

Deep enough to bleed, but not fatal. Another arrow hisses past, but this one isn't meant for him.

When Caspian looks to Arlian, he finds a Narnian arrow buried in the lord's chest. Four men spring from behind the trees, armour glinting as they sprint through the moonlight. None get the chance to avenge their lord; Turra's arrows fell two, and Astus and Glenstorm charge from the thicket and dispatch the others before Caspian reaches them.

Sword raised, Caspian waits for more soldiers to come. Four men aren't much guard, and Arlian wasn't the sort of man to chance these midnight meetings without ample protection. But the night is quiet again, broken only by the distant rush of the river and humming crickets.

And Lord Arlian's death rattle.

Caspian approaches carefully, sword at the ready. Lord Arlian wheezes, his eyes wide and unfocused.

"Why?" Caspian asks, though he knows the answer.

He needs to hear it.

Arlian coughs up blood, gurgles as his chest heaves trying to breathes.

It's a small mercy, dragging him to the nearest tree and sitting him up. It's a delay on the inevitable; Arlian's lungs will fill with his own blood anyway.

Nonetheless, Caspian does it. It's not the Telmarine thing to do, but Arlian was kind to him before the war.

"If you had a family," Arlian rasps, "you'd have done the same."

And then, with a final shudder, Lord Arlian breathes his last.

Caspian sets his jaw and closes the betrayer's eyes. He thinks of his mother, and of his father.

He thinks of Addie, waiting for him at the How.

"No," Caspian murmurs. "I would not."

At sundown, their party of four reaches the How just when the sky splits open and a furious deluge threatens to turn the forest into a swamp. Trufflehunter is the first to ask. Caspian mumbles the unfortunate news and continues on to Rainroot. The cut stopped bleeding hours ago, but if left unattended, it'll reopen in the next battle. The strip of his nightshirt torn into a makeshift bandage is soaked through from the rain.

Addie spots him first. She abandons the mortar and pestle at once, her relief hardening into a frown as she runs to him.

At the last moment, Addie skids to a halt, her eyes trained on his neck. She stops him with a palm to his chest before he has the comfort of her in his arms.

"What happened?"

Caspian's eyes linger on Addie's injured arm and the long braid draped over her shoulder.

"Lord Arlian proposed surrender," he answers, his hands straying to her waist. "I refused."

Addie's breath shudders before her features firm and her good hand finds his. "Good."

One of these days, perhaps he'll return without needing patching up - without deepening those worry lines across Addie's forehead. For now, at least he's kept his promise.

He always comes back. Until the war is over, that will have to be enough.

When Rainroot finishes re-stitching his arm and bandaging the cut on his neck, Addie orders him to bed with one hand perched on her hip.

"Time to rest," she says. "I'll bring you dinner soon."

Caspian purses his lips. There is so much to do, battle plans to draw up, strategies to discuss with his war council. Miraz would be a fool not to press his advantage, and as many things as Caspian would accuse his uncle of, being a fool is not one.

Caspian turns away from Addie as his mind whirls with thoughts of home, of his parents and Lord Arlian's parting words.

You turn your back on Telmar! On your own people!

Addie's eyes flash. "Miraz will have a far easier battle if you're exhausted out of your wits. You need to sleep."

Caspian shakes his head. "I can't, not now. I need to -"

Addie grabs his shoulder. "Remember last time? You were on bedrest for three days."

Caspian hesitates. Addie's… not wrong. When he glances at Rainroot, the centaur lifts dark eyebrows.

"The laws of healing apply to you as much as anyone, Sire."

Caspian sighs. Perhaps it's best to catch what sleep he can. There will be no peace now, and the Narnians can't afford any more of his mistakes. He will rest only as long as his body needs to function as it ought.

He can't fail them again.

Addie hovers as he follows her into their alcove and eases onto his cloak.

"Don't get any ideas about sneaking off," she says, busying herself with arranging the saddlebag as a pillow, smoothing the cloak, tugging off his boots only to fold the cloak's edge over his feet. "If you're not here when I return, I'll carry you right back myself."

Caspian lets her guide him onto his side. "You'd open your stitches."

Mouth pinched tight, Addie plucks at his bloodied collar. He never expected his nightshirt to survive unscathed, but Addie's frown deepens the longer she looks.

"Probably," she replies absently. "So stay put. Don't suppose you brought an extra shirt?"

Her fingers linger on the bloodstain. Caspian takes her hand, tangling their fingers so perhaps she'll meet his eyes again.

"My extra supplies were with Destrier," Caspian answers with a tired kiss to her wrist. "I imagine he's returned to the castle by now."

Addie mutters something unintelligible.

"What?" Caspian traces gentle circles on Addie's palm.

Addie blinks. "Sorry, I don't… I'll be back soon."

With a soft kiss to his brow, Addie slips her hand out of his grasp. Caspian tries to stay awake for her, but his eyes drift shut before her footsteps fade.

If you had a family, you'd have done the same.

It's an uneasy sleep that finally drags him under.

Addie

Stubborn, impossible, fool of a prince! Goes out, nearly gets himself killed, and for what? Some greasy lord busy lapping water from the bowl at Miraz's feet?

Addie storms straight to the dining area where the Narnians are gathering for the dinner hour. She shouldn't be seething in public, among near-strangers, adding to the scandal of their earlier arguments, but Tash's blood he could've died and then where would they all be?

Addie fumes and kicks at a pebble.

Where would he be? Some distant afterlife while she'd be stuck in this hole, mourning him for the rest of her numbered days? Mourning the Narnia that could have been under Caspian's rule?

At the castle, she gave Caspian's kingship so little thought. There was him and her, a young man and a young woman, tangled in bed as often as they read by candlelight. The crown, the war, the lords — all of it was only important in that it threatened their peace together. It was just… politics.

That's still true, but Caspian is different here among the Narnians. He carries himself taller, speaks firmly, gives everything of himself to these strangers. Fairy tale creatures, remnants of a bygone era.

Demons, to hear the soldiers tell it. Monsters under-the-bed from children's tales and whispered rumours.

Among kind-hearted beasts and so-called monsters, Caspian acts like a king. He's more himself, somehow, even with the burden of war and fighting, as always, to survive.

And he could've thrown it all away, not least of all himself, if that lord's aim had been slightly better.

Or if Caspian had been slightly worse a fighter.

Fool! He's injured twice over now, and that's twice the disadvantage in the next battle. Will the next time he leaves be the time he doesn't come back?

Addie stops.

Is this how Caspian felt when he found her in the forest?

She shouldn't have blamed him for fussing.

Addie banishes the thought and takes her place in the food line.

Addie tries to breathe in counts of four as she waits for the night's victuals (a lump of hard cheese, salt-cured meat, and wilted turnips). Tries to keep her back straight, her shoulders firm, her chin high as she carefully makes her way through the tunnels.

A droplet of water plips into the rough earthen mug balanced on the plate. Addie slows, her feet stalling.

Her own face stares back at her, the water's reflection dim from the sparse torchlight.

Her cheeks are wet, her eyes reddened.

She's crying.

With her hands full Addie can't wipe her cheeks, and she can't sob and risk dropping Caspian's dinner. Hopefully he's half-asleep now and too exhausted to notice her state. She'll clean herself up before waking him.

It's ridiculous, crying about it. Crying won't fix any of it, won't make Caspian any safer or mend the cut in his neck or his arm. Won't erase the war, or win it, or end it.

It's useless, crying over things she can't fix.

By the time Addie returns to his side Caspian is indeed asleep, and she's light-headed from too many shallow, barely controlled breaths. The full plate and mug rattle as she sets them down, and Caspian stirs before she has time to wipe the wet trails from her face.

He sits up in a hurry and cups her face before she can pretend, his thumbs wiping the traces of tears from her cheeks.

"It's alright, Addie," he murmurs. "I'm alright."

Something in her chest cracks.

Addie swallows so hard her throat burns and pushes it down. Caspian's injured; he shouldn't be the one doing the comforting.

She guides his hands away and settles the plate on his lap.

"I know," Addie says. "Eat up. Rainroot's orders."

Caspian's gaze doesn't stray from her eyes. His scrutiny makes her skin itch. He should be eating and resting. How many times did he insist as much for her?

How many times did she ignore him?

Addie tries to find a smile for him. Her mouth flickers upward into… something. Not quite a smile, but enough that Caspian's concern softens. A little.

"Eat," she tells him again. "It'll help."

Caspian keeps one hand tangled with hers and eats with the other, and if she tucks her fingertips to the pulse thrumming at his wrist, well, it's just the responsible thing to do. She's monitoring.

For health reasons. Naturally.

When half the plate is clear, Caspian squeezes her hand. "Have you eaten?"

Addie's stomach churns.

"I'm fine."

Caspian's thumb strokes her palm, warm and sure and there.

"You're still on the mend," he says.

Caspian is so very good at making her want to be honest with him. Coaxing her, quietly, with his earnestness.

"I don't think I…" Her throat tightens, and Addie knows she shouldn't let her face screw up like that, shouldn't be so damned obvious about it.

"I couldn't keep it down," she admits.

Eyes impossibly gentle, Caspian holds a piece of cheese to her lips.

"Just try," he murmurs.

Addie's lips part, and the cheese lands on her tongue - salty, rustic, dense with age. Her stomach rolls threateningly, but when she swallows, the cheese stays down.

It's something. But from the look on Caspian's face, it might have been everything.

When the plate is empty and the mug is dry, Addie tucks him in and ferries the dishes to the washing tubs. She helps Sproutbringer wash dishes and apologises for not doing more. She searches every supply cave until she finds Caspian a fresh shirt - slightly too long, but passable. She stops in to see Rainroot and recites the recipe for an anti-inflammatory poultice and the warning signs of a festering wound.

And if she wanders the How until she finds a private corner in an abandoned tunnel, if she pulls her knees to her chest and sobs with Caspian's new shirt balled against her chest, that's no one's business but hers.

Caspian is alive. And he has enough to worry about.

The How is dim when the cry goes up. Shadows race along the tunnels, hooves of every shape and size clambering to and fro.

Caspian jolts awake and sits up. In his hurry, Addie loses her hold on his wrist.

She's spent these last few hours counting heartbeats, and now -

"Sire, Miraz's army, they're attacking!" In runs Trufflehunter, panting frantically.

Caspian's on his feet and strapping on his sword before Addie's legs cooperate, firing off order after order as Addie scrambles upright.

"Get the fauns and the dwarfs to the ledges," he yells, already running down the tunnel. "Minotaurs and satyrs to the door, centaurs behind -"

The main tunnel is chaos - choked with bodies rushing past with swords and bows and axes in hand or paw, dodging around each other like a half-coordinated dance. Scattered calls of "For Narnia and for Aslan!" aside, there's little yelling. Their faces are grim, but where Addie expected panic, there's only focus. Determination.

The Narnians seem composed. And her heart is in her throat, her hands shaking, and Caspian is almost out of sight -

He spins, seizes her hand before the crowd sweeps her into its current.

"Stay with Rainroot," he says, half-yelling to be heard over the clatter of armour and hooves. "She'll need you."

Caspian's eyes dart to the side, distracted and undecided.

Addie finds her voice. "What else?"

His jaw works to the side, but something decides him. "Some cannot fight. Can you see anyone without healing skill to the Stone Table?"

She's nodding before he finishes. "They'll be safe there?"

Caspian hesitates, and she hears what he doesn't say.

As safe as they can be.

Addie squeezes his hand, memorises the contours of his face. The warmth of his skin, the exact shape of his hand in hers.

"Go," she says.

"If you can't get to the Table, take anyone with you into the deepest tunnels. Cave it in behind you if they breach the How."

Addie's throat tightens, but she promises.

"I love you," she says.

Caspian kisses her, short and fierce, and then he's gone.

There's no time to watch him go.

After Addie's seen any stragglers who can't fight or heal to the Stone Table, she sprints to Rainroot's new station just off the main cavern. The wounded trickle in steadily as the battle echoes beyond the How. Some are patched up quickly and others are witless from pain, a mess of blood and fur and skin.

Addie sticks to Rainroot's side, tearing bandages and grinding poultices and holding down thrashing patients as Rainroot stitches and sets bones in splints.

And, sometimes, holding a hand as they pass.

Death is a cold, lonely thing.

Outside, the crash and cries of battle edge closer - muffled by the How's thick walls, but echoing ever louder.

"Are they at the door?" Addie asks a clear-eyed faun who rushes in with a dislocated shoulder.

"Not yet," says the faun. "Praise Aslan, their catapults aren't here."

Yet.

Addie swallows and smears on the anti-inflammation poultice the moment Rainroot snaps the joint into place.

She can handle the blood. The puncture wounds. The sight of muscle slashed to the bone. But bones - the wet crunch, a dislocated joint popping back into its socket… she'll never get used to that.

Addie winds a bandage around the faun's shoulder, barely tying it off before he sprints off, hooves clattering as he dodges a wolf dragging a dwarf by his collar.

She trades a look with Rainroot. The dwarf isn't moving, and the hole in his chest is too deep.

Rainroot checks his pulse anyway, kneels on her front legs and hovers her hand under his bloodied nose. The wolf whines at her side.

Rainroot straightens. Shakes her head.

Addie doesn't blame the wolf for howling. The ricocheting sound of grief is better than the cries of the wounded.

It is hours of waiting.

Hours of bandaging and herb-grinding and wiping blood from skin and fur. Hours of asking anyone coherent for news, hours of the same answers.

"We're holding them off."

"They won't breach the How."

"No catapults yet."

No Miraz, either, Addie learns from a minotaur missing the ends of two thick, calloused fingers. He sent his infantry and a small cavalry, but couldn't bother to show his face.

"Coward," spits the minotaur, teeth bared as Addie presses wadded bandages to the stumps of his fingers. She can't do anything for his missing horn.

She agrees. Caspian isn't in here hiding, he's out there leading and fighting and he could die and –

Addie bites her lip until she tastes blood - hers, someone else's, she can't tell. There's nothing she can do. If Miraz's soldiers break past the Narnian line, she has to take everyone further in. Caspian asked her to.

She promised.

She can do that much for him.

A/N: Anyone remember how Addie's first thought when she couldn't find Cas in Chapter 34 was when was the last time she told him she loved him? And now anytime he leaves she makes sure she says it? 😇

Chapter 36 Preview:

Perhaps Aslan is a deity, and he's busy elsewhere across the Eastern Sea.

Or, perhaps, Aslan knows everything happening in Narnia and he does not care.