A/N: Welcome to ouch-land! If it's any consolation, this chapter was such a problem child in the drafting process. Hopefully this one is up to standard; I'm in the middle of moving (so! many! boxes!) so I had less time to go over this one.
On that note, I'm sorry to say we won't have an update next week due to said move. My sanity is hanging by a thread as is. 😅 Chapter 45 will go up in 2 weeks on April 24th at the usual time (6pm EST, or thereabouts).
Chapter 44 Content Warnings: brief mention of birth control and sedative
Chapter 44: don't walk away
Addie
She makes the tea at first light.
The cup sits steaming on a flat stone while she stirs a campfire within sight of Caspian's sleeping form, but far enough not to wake him. Addie stokes the coals into a small flame, feeds it with kindling Alfonso gathered last night. She pokes the coals, adds larger logs, coaxes the flame into a proper fire.
And if she glances to the empty ground where her bedroll sat, if she notices a hand stretched there, reaching, it's not on purpose. The wind is blowing upstream; she'd get smoke in her eyes if she faced the other way.
Her eyes are red enough as it is.
Caspian's a restless sleeper, shifting every few minutes, his cloak bunched at his waist. She only draped it over him because she woke up to him wrapped around her and kings shouldn't catch cold.
He wouldn't have been cold if he'd slept in his own royal tent and let her be.
When Addie remembers the tea, the cup is cool.
It's just a precaution.
Every morning for a week, to be sure.
Addie picks up the cup and stares at her reflection.
Caspian's alive. The war is over. And he sent her away with Marcos, and she's here now.
Addie glances at Caspian. He's asleep, brow pinched and mouth tight in a frown, one arm crossed over his chest.
The other reaching, still.
Addie sips and grimaces. The tea's bitterness is stronger, drying, sucking the moisture from her tongue and throat.
No sedative, then.
She gulps the rest down, three swallows so big they stick halfway down her chest, a sharp pain easing slowly as the bubble of liquid continues onward. The tea sloshes into her stomach.
It's a relief, because it must be.
Addie takes last night's stew pot and the cup to the river. Perla's spatula would punish her for washing without soap.
Alfonso didn't say if Perla's alright. He only said Lola's alive.
Fortunately, Alfonso is yawning by the fire when Addie returns with the pot clean and filled with water. River water needs boiling; Rainroot taught her.
"You know the sun's not up yet, right?" Alfonso says, rubbing his eyes.
Addie settles the pot over the fire and stifles a smile. Lola hates mornings, too.
"Almost," she says. "Sky's pink."
Alfonso yawns again. "Doesn't count 'til the sky's blue."
As the sky lightens, the sprawling camp hums to life. Pots boil over fires, saddlebags and rucksacks rustle as soldiers retrieve provisions, and still Caspian slumbers on, his minotaur guard hovering nearby.
Addie pokes the fire with a stick. Let him sleep; he's battle-worn, and Caspian sleeping is Caspian silent.
"How are they?" Addie stirs the water, willing it to boil so she has the distraction of breakfast. "The maids, Perla," she adds when Alfonso looks askance. "Are they alright?"
Alfonso smiles, something sticky in the corners. "Yes, they're safe. Lola and I considered leaving for Ettinsmoor, but the questioning never went anywhere."
Addie almost drops the stirring spoon. "Questioning?"
Alfonso swats a mosquito and watches the pot with her.
"After Prince Caspian disappeared, Lord Miraz convinced everyone the Narnians kidnapped him. We had to question everyone in the castle."
A morning breeze blows smoke into her face and starts a cough. Alfonso grimaces and moves aside, but Addie blinks until the wind passes. When her vision clears, she sees Caspian stir, his hair stuck at odd angles.
Addie stirs faster. That's what Caspian gets for tossing and turning and reaching all night.
"Questioned how?" she asks Alfonso.
Alfonso stuffs a handful of kindling into the fire. "General Glozelle had us question the maids one by one in the courtyard."
Addie's stomach churns. She told them nothing, tried to separate herself from them in the hopes they'd avoid scrutiny.
"I imagine Perla made quite a scene."
Alfonso chuckles. "She did. Luka got a spatula to the hand before he could explain."
Addie's eyes sting, though she smiles at the thought. No doubt Perla had several choice words for the disturbance. She probably kept everyone late to make up for the lost time, and it must've taken days for her to settle down into routine again. Perla's never been a patient woman, but stressed with her usual rhythm interrupted, she's a nightmare.
"I'm not surprised," Addie says. "She doesn't take kindly to intruders. Especially when they make her short-staffed."
"She said as much. Accused us of scaring away her staff and demanded compensation or a new maid within the week." Alfonso shakes his head, picking at sprouts of grass by his feet. "She took a night in the dungeons for it."
Addie's hand trembles. "A night in the dungeons?"
Alfonso shrugs. "It could've been much worse. No one got hurt."
Still, guilt coats Addie's throat, hot and sticky and thick. She should be grateful Perla is alive at all when Anna wasn't so lucky.
Addie swallows. She kept her distance for months trying to keep suspicion from them, and she still failed. She put them all in danger.
"Almost boiling." Alfonso peers into the steaming pot. "It might go faster if you stopped staring."
"Says you," Addie counters, more teasing than bite.
The first bubbles roll to the surface, barely a simmer. Alfonso's friends snore on, loud enough to wake the rest of the camp.
"Caspian's leaving for the castle with a few companies this morning," Addie blurts. "You're coming too."
Alfonso sits back. "My unit wasn't selected."
"Consider yourself reassigned." Addie stirs the pot and stares into the steam. "Lola must be worried about you."
With a frown, Alfonso leans in, arms braced on his knees. "Yes, but -"
"Then it's settled." The spoon digs into Addie's palm, threatening a splinter. Addie props it on a clean stone. "It's the least I can do after…" Addie clears her throat. "I'll arrange it, I promise."
When she looks up with eyes burning from steam, Alfonso nods.
"Thank you."
One of Alfonso's fellow soldiers with a beak nose and hair longer than Caspian's wanders over, scratching his scalp and yawning.
"I've got gruel," he says. "It's bad luck to eat fish in the morning."
Addie stirs the boiling water. "Fetch it then. I'll grind it down like we did for the nobles."
The soldier - she really should ask his name - grins.
"Right away!"
He rummages in his rucksack and produces a palm-sized pouch of gruel. Prepared properly, it'll feed three mouths at most - two soldiers' mouths.
"Bring me some river tubers." Addie gathers her makeshift grinding stones and the gruel pouch. She'll have to water down the gruel to feed herself, Caspian, Alfonso and his three friends, and the two Narnians, and the starchy tubers will thicken it to a palatable consistency.
It's easier to stay busy - pleasant, even. Better to fill her head with cooking and tending the fire and the proper tuber-to-gruel proportions.
She knows how to cook. Hungry stomachs are a problem she can fix.
Or perhaps it's just nice to be needed.
Caspian
Caspian opens his eyes to a pink-streaked sky, the camp humming to life, and the ground to his left empty and cold.
Addie's not here.
Caspian scrambles to his feet, his heart lurching because Addie's bedroll is gone and she can't just wander off with so many soldiers around. He told her she's leaving with him this morning.
She's two campfires over, stirring a pot as she talks with her soldier friend from yesterday - a young man with curly hair and kind eyes. Alfonso, if memory serves.
Caspian steadies his breathing and shakes out his hands, muscles loose from sudden relief. She's alright. She's safe.
Relatively speaking.
She passes the ladle to Alfonso, her foot knocking over an empty cup.
Caspian swallows the itch in his throat. If the cup contained what he suspects, then she's being prudent. That's good.
He tries not to dwell on how Addie left his side before he woke, how she tossed about all night and refused to come with him to his tent.
"You can't force me," Addie had hissed, her eyes reflecting campfire embers, all but daring him to try.
He could have.
He has before, because he cannot trust Addie to care about her safety.
Instead, against his better judgement, Caspian set his jaw, laid back down, and passed a fitful night on the shore, tensing at every night sound and soldier's grumble. Even with his posted Narnian guards keeping watch, they were surrounded and outnumbered by once-countrymen, then enemies, and now countrymen again. The Telmarines aren't his soldiers yet, not truly.
Perhaps they never will be.
He told Addie of today's plans, that he is to return to the castle with a small army and she's coming with him, that his coronation will occur the day of their arrival.
He did not tell her he will need a queen and he's already chosen who he wants. Addie needs time to heal, to understand. And he needs time to set Narnia to rights.
He can wait. Decades of life now stretch before them; he can wait a few weeks, months - even years - if that's what Addie needs.
They have time.
His back prickles with awareness.
Caspian turns to the river and meets Aslan's golden eyes.
He spent most of his time after the battle talking with Aslan, but never alone - the Kings and Queens were always there.
Caspian finds himself halfway to Aslan before he realises his feet have moved. A soft wind curls in his face, warm and fresh as the first light of dawn.
It is so much easier to have faith when the proof is before him, a long-awaited response to prayers he despaired would ever be answered.
"Aslan," Caspian murmurs. "I would ask something of you, if I may."
Aslan hums.
"You may, Son of Adam."
Caspian takes a steadying breath, his head bowed. It's one thing to think the question - to stew in it, more accurately - but it's quite another to speak it aloud to Aslan himself.
But he must know.
"I am grateful you sent the Kings and Queens," Caspian begins. "Truly, I am; we would have lost the war without your help. But so many…"
Aslan blinks, and Caspian falters.
He must know.
Caspian forces the words out. "The stories say your time is not our time. But why did you - all of you - arrive so late?"
Aslan's stare sharpens, and the beginnings of a growl rumble like quiet thunder.
"In the battles before," Caspian hurries to explain, "we - I lost so many. Was that why you didn't come? Is it my ancestry? Is -"
"Son of Adam," says Aslan. Caspian falls silent.
"A good king can lead in triumph," continues the Lion. "A great king leads graciously in defeat as in victory, in war as in peace."
Caspian flexes his left hand at the memory of a hag's knife. The cut was not done to him; he did it to himself in a desperate bid to buy Addie's safety.
He was not a good leader in that moment. He was only a man desperate not to lose the person he loved. Willing to do anything to prevent another loss, another love to grieve.
Certainly not a great king.
"I failed you, then," Caspian says.
Again, the hint of a growl.
"I have told you that you are ready," Aslan says, the rising sun shining fire-bright and gilded behind him. "Do you doubt me?"
"No, I -" Swallowing, Caspian shakes his head. "I'm trying not to," he amends. "But how do you know?"
Can Aslan see the future? Or is his judgement based only on what he's seen?
Aslan's eyes bore into his, twin suns too bright to look away from.
"I know," says the Lion, "because I have seen your sacrifices."
After a hurried breakfast, Caspian gathers his leaders - the Kings and Queens, Lord Scythley, General Glozelle, and Doctor Cornelius, who emerged from the How's rubble unscathed. The Kings and Queens confirm the Narnian companies that will come to Telmara while the rest stay here to tend the wounded and see to the unruly Telmarines imprisoned at Beruna.
"Some of the townspeople agreed to help," Queen Lucy says. "The Telmarine army occupying Beruna was hard on them."
General Glozelle nods. "Not every captain stopped his men from stealing."
Caspian adds reviewing every Telmarine military leader down to the last captain to his mental list. If, Lion forbid, he must fight another war, he can't have his army terrorising the local population.
After General Glozelle and Lord Scythley report the three Telmarine companies are ready, they all move out.
Caspian fills his head with politics, politics, and more politics. He spends most of his morning discussing the remaining lords and the state of the castle with Glozelle and Scythley. When his temples throb with politicking, Caspian discusses logistics with the Kings, Queens, Aslan, and Glozelle. Aslan's right that his coronation should be held the day they arrive, and Lord Scythley agrees to convene the council of lords shortly thereafter. After the coronation in the council chambers among Telmarines and Narnians alike, there will be a royal address from the balcony, a parade through the city, and the council meeting where Caspian will install his selected Narnians.
By afternoon, Caspian's tongue aches from too much talking, and there is still one matter unaddressed.
Addie.
She belongs at his side through all this for more reasons than just him wanting her there - if she is to be his queen, she needs to be visible. He should be seen courting her. Tongues may yet wag when her left hand bears his ring, but less so if they've appeared to adhere to courtly traditions.
Caspian takes a much-needed drink from his waterskin. Courtly traditions are a lot to ask of Addie anyway, but to ask now, when she has not spoken to him all morning, seems ill-advised.
But he must ask these things of her, if their future is to be as he wishes.
First, he must mend this rift. Travelling at speed, they will reach the castle tomorrow. He would not have their next conversation in a chaotic courtyard or city street.
Better to ease her into it. She's met the Kings and Queens and she once conspired with Doctor Cornelius, but she hasn't met Glozelle or Scythley.
Nor Aslan.
Caspian's mouth twists, caught between a smile and grimace. Addie's irreverence for gods and faith used to amuse him, but that was when he thought Aslan a myth. He'd prefer she at least be tactful now.
Even if he doesn't quite know what to make of Aslan himself.
Caspian finds Addie walking with Alfonso, the soldier she sat beside last night. They trade staccato conversation, awkward in the way of people who know of each other better than they know each other.
Then Addie smiles and they don't look so awkward after all.
Caspian shakes off the temptation of jealousy. He's glad to see her smile, and anyone who makes her happy is a friend.
Caspian schools his face into princely politeness, relaxes his shoulders, and approaches.
Addie spots him instantly; her smile freezes, flickering before settling into a forced curl as her eyes betray her.
Lion, he hates that look. Addie meets his eyes with her chin high and her gaze tense and guarded. A hand hovering near her stomach, a glance quickly averted in favour of conversing with the soldier.
Caspian fights a sigh. He can see through her stoic faces now, but it still stings when she uses them. When she tries to hide herself away and present a mere shell to him.
I won't hurt you, he wants to say.
He has.
I will never hurt you again, Caspian tries to tell her with a gentle smile and soft eyes and a slow, careful approach.
In time, Addie will believe that - trust that - again. She must know his betrayal was necessary. That he would trade her trust - her love, even - a thousand times over to guarantee she would live.
Caspian fights the itch to draw himself up to royal posture, the straight-backed facade of polite distance he's used too much with her lately.
He doesn't want to approach her as a prince, as a soon-to-be-crowned king. Only as himself, as he would have her.
Addie's pasted-on smile never falters, but it still hasn't reached her eyes by the time he stands before her. Addie and the soldier stop before he can fall into step, the latter bowing at once.
Caspian falls into manners.
"Good afternoon," he says. The sun shines burnt gold through the trees, already descending from its zenith. "I trust the journey has not been too unpleasant."
Brow shiny, Addie glances into the trees and squints against the light. "It's summer. The day bleeds together."
Has it always been so difficult to converse with her?
Caspian clears his throat and asks the soldier how his unit fares. An abrupt shift, but he knows how to speak to soldiers.
Alfonso glances between Caspian and the passing soldiers.
"Oh, I'm not with my -"
"You were reassigned," Addie cuts in with a sharp look. "Remember?"
Alfonso frowns, though he doesn't correct her.
Caspian's eyebrows lift as Addie's shoulders stiffen and there is some of her old spark. Addie meets his eyes with a clenched jaw, her eyes glinting with a dare.
She must not know that Alfonso's captain informed Glozelle, and Glozelle informed him that Addie requested Alfonso as a bodyguard.
Caspian agreed. Though he'd rather have Falmus watching over Addie, the faun is back at the How mourning his brother, and Alfonso is husband to one of the maids - Lola, he thinks.
Addie stares him down, but when he says nothing, her fight softens.
"This is Alfonso," she murmurs.
"I remember," says Caspian. He turns to the soldier. "I'm sure your wife will be relieved at your safe return."
Alfonso blinks. "Er, thank you. Your Majesty."
Caspian nods to the passing soldiers and squares his shoulders. "I must speak with Addie in private. You have reported to your new unit?"
"Briefly, Sire," says Alfonso. "I'll… right."
With a hurried bow, he falls into line with a cluster of Telmarines. For a moment, Addie's lips part like she'll call after him, but she doesn't.
They're as alone as they can be with eight companies marching past.
Caspian clears his throat again and turns with a slight bow, inviting her to walk with him.
Addie doesn't move.
"There's nothing private about broad daylight," she says.
"Nonetheless," says Caspian. "We must… I would speak with you."
After a moment, Addie silently obliges. Caspian shortens his strides to match her pace.
"Are you well?" he asks.
Addie lifts her chin with a shrug, her eyes fixed ahead. "I'll be glad when it's autumn."
Caspian's already reaching for his half-full waterskin. "Do you need water?"
"No."
Caspian's fingers stall at his belt, his water skin sloshing against his hip.
"Take dinner with me," he blurts, a graceless command.
Addie glances up, frowning.
Their hands brush - a whisper of knuckles, fingers, over as suddenly as it began.
When Caspian glances down, Addie's hand is in a fist, held close to her side.
"I need you to take dinner with me," Caspian says.
Addie's mouth purses, teeth worrying her lip. "Don't you have to talk politics? Plan your coronation?"
"Yes," he says. Why would that dissuade her? Addie has been avoiding him, true, but surely she'd rather be in the know.
It's time he included her more in matters beyond the two of them.
Addie's gaze drifts to her feet as they pass through a patch of ferns.
"I shouldn't intrude," she says. "You're busy."
"I'd like you there," Caspian says. "At my side."
When she hesitates, he nearly admits that he needs her to be seen with him, but more than that he just misses her, he has no idea what he's doing, and he's trying, trying to make small amends.
Trying to open his life to her a little more, to prepare her for what he will one day ask.
Addie looks away, her gaze following the column of troops as it passes through the woods. Her neck is tense, her jaw stiff, her frown sharp as a cut, and for a moment he thinks she'll refuse again.
"Fine," she finally answers.
Silence descends, weighed with everything he wants to tell her and everything he shouldn't - apologies, excuses, explanations, hopes, dreams.
Why can't she understand? Why, when she made such a similar choice, can she not accept his?
When he first brought Addie to the How, when his head was spinning with she's alive and what is she doing here and why, why why, he didn't know what he needed from her. He had her injuries to focus on, an obvious concern and all-consuming outlet. Worrying about Addie's recovery kept his temper contained until she pushed too far. Then, when she chose stubbornness over him, kept betraying his trust day in and day out, all he wanted, all he needed, was for her to stop. To rest, to heal, to recognise the nightmare she put him through - was still putting him through - and take care of herself.
He needed her to love him enough, trust him enough to accept how vital her survival was to him and act accordingly.
Caspian clasps his hands behind his back. For him, Addie taking care of herself - finally listening - helped. Her quiet presence, her steady reassurances when the war went ill. He forgave her because she was trying to do better and because he needed to, because he couldn't help it.
But more than anything, he forgave her because he finally understood. Kneeling in a pool of bloodied water, holding her as she sank onto him, kissing her as the weight of what he knew he must do settled around his heart like a cloak, he at last forgave her completely.
For Addie, it's different. She doesn't have the drumbeat of why to contend with; she must understand why he sent her away, why she was better off far from battle - and from him.
If she doesn't, she someday will.
I couldn't have borne your death, Addie.
But you expected me to bear yours?
Caspian breathes through the memory of Addie's watery eyes, the hoarse snap in her voice. He was so focused on saving her life that he wondered little if he'd ever see her again. Get her out, cried his every instinct. Make her safe.
Above all, don't fail her again.
Addie's voice jolts him from his thoughts.
"When we reach the city, what then?"
"We secure the castle," Caspian answers. "Then, the coronation."
Addie slows, her brow pinched. "Secure?"
Caspian eyes the Telmarine soldiers passing them. Glozelle assured him of their loyalty, but trust has to be earned.
"We don't expect resistance," Caspian murmurs. "But we're prepared."
Addie stiffens.
"It'll be a brief battle, if it comes to that," he reassures her. "I'll protect you with my life."
With a huff, Addie's pace quickens.
"I'm not worried about me," she says, glancing into the crowd where Alfonso disappeared.
Caspian matches her step for step and reaches out on instinct.
Addie stops the moment his hand brushes her back and faces him. He draws her close, his touch feather-light for when she pulls away.
She leans closer.
With his other hand, Caspian traces the curve of her cheek.
"Soldiers against soldiers," he whispers, his throat tight. "The maids will be fine."
Addie's eyes search his. Caspian swallows, voice caught in his throat, his breath scraping, gravelled, and his tongue thick with stillborn reassurances he can't quite speak.
Haltingly, Addie nods.
"Be careful," she says.
Caspian nods. "I will."
Addie shakes her head, suddenly frantic. "No, you… promise me. You have to promise."
His heart squeezes. He's glad she didn't see his state immediately after the battle.
Caspian kisses her forehead, soft and lingering, and pretends not to feel her go rigid.
"I promise."
Addie
Dinner is almost pleasant. Addie doesn't enjoy arriving with nothing to do - High King Peter and Queen Lucy are busy stirring a pot over the fire - but Caspian's smile nearly banishes the itch to be doing something.
It's unfair how wide he smiles, how his eyes light up at the sight of her when she shouldn't be here, doesn't need to be here, intruding. But he asked, and…
Part of her can't help but miss him.
Caspian plays the gracious host, introducing her to everyone as if she doesn't know half of them already. First, the Kings and Queens.
It's easier to set faces to names without blood everywhere.
Addie knows Doctor Cornelius already, but she didn't know he survived.
"My dear," says the tutor and soon-to-be Lord Chancellor. "I'm so pleased to see you're well."
"Likewise," Addie says, her manners bleeding into genuine pleasantness. Doctor Cornelius was a good ally.
Next, Caspian introduces her to Trumpkin, the red-bearded dwarf who arrived with the Kings and Queens. The dwarf starts half his sentences with a riddle, but he too says he's glad to see her alright.
"Easier to meet properly out here, eh?"
Addie pastes on gratitude. Can't someone manage a hello without reminding her they saw her near death?
Just two more people - both Telmarines. No Aslan, Caspian explains; the great lion often disappears into the forest at night, roaming only He knows where.
"It's fine," Addie says. "I'm sure I'll meet him sometime."
Addie meets General Glozelle and Lord Scythley and wobbles through a curtsy. Improper, probably, but who cares what these lords think? Where were they when Miraz tried to kill Caspian? Where were they during the war?
She needn't care what they think of her, and the Kings and Queens are startlingly casual - unsettlingly so. Their easy friendliness aches somewhere deep in her chest, snagging when she breathes too deep or smiles too wide.
Addie smiles through dinner and campfire conversation until her mouth hurts, cheeks aching with manners. The Kings and Queens carry the conversation, spinning grand tales of the Golden Age and Aslan and Narnia as it once was, a land that lived and breathed like it had lungs and a beating heart.
Queen Lucy is the best storyteller of the four. She's as bright as summer sunshine, easy to listen to and even easier to love. She has her own gravity, her every word dripping with joyful secrets spilled among friends. Queen Lucy makes every story feel like a delicious secret, even with eight other people listening.
Caspian listens rapturously, elbows on his knees and dinner growing cold as he forgets to eat. To his right, Doctor Cornelius follows with a scholar's studious interest, scribbling notes with a piece of charcoal on scrap paper and occasionally interrupting with questions. He's probably planning to write some new history tome, or whatever scholars do between lessons.
Addie sips her stew - venison and wild onion, well-seasoned with forest herbs and salt - and nods along. Queen Lucy's spirit eases her sour mood, even with Caspian's presence a heavy reminder beside her.
Addie chews a tender chunk of meat. She wants to curl into Caspian's side until she forgets everything but the easy fit of her head on his shoulder.
She wants to walk away from this fire, this dinner, and these too-cordial royals, and forget everything but the taste of sedative-laced tea.
She wants to steal a horse and ride until she reaches the castle, sees the maids and Perla for herself, and sleep in her own bed with familiar snores there to drown out the rest of the world.
She wants home.
She doesn't know what home is anymore.
Addie finishes dinner as Queen Lucy wraps up her tale of a Narnian summer solstice dance. The others are still eating, and Caspian looks at his bowl as if just remembering its existence.
No gathering the dishes, then. No easy, obvious exit.
"The summer solstice is in a few weeks," says Queen Lucy. "Caspian, it would be such a lovely tradition to bring back."
Caspian smiles, wide and boyish. "Of course, we must. Are there still dryads in Narnia?"
Queen Lucy trades a long look with her siblings.
"A few," she answers. "They were asleep for centuries, but they were ever so happy to see Aslan."
"I say, Caspian," chimes High King Peter. "Why not have a Narnian dance after your coronation? The fauns would be glad to help plan the festivities."
"I'd welcome their help," says Caspian, "and the chance to bring back the tradition. Perhaps a few days hence, to give us time to organise."
Queen Susan sets her bowl aside. "Lu, isn't there a full moon in a few days?"
"Four nights from now, I think," says Queen Lucy, grinning. "That's more than enough time!"
"The night before the assembly," Caspian says. "That will be well."
Addie frowns and shifts, bumping his knee. "Assembly?"
Caspian hums through a gulp of stew - cooled by now. "We sent a proclamation across the kingdom informing all the scattered Telmarines the war is over and Narnia belongs to the Narnians as much as to men. Anyone who chooses to stay under these conditions is welcome, but Aslan will provide another home for anyone who doesn't wish to bend the knee at week's end."
"How does he plan to do that?" Addie asks, fiddling with her empty bowl. How can a talking lion make a home for hundreds of Telmarines?
She wouldn't skip into an assembly ready to take up an offer like that. What kind of home? Where? Why would anyone leave the land they know on the word of a stranger?
King Edmund leans forward, chin resting on his palm. His dark-eyed scrutiny stills Addie's tongue.
"We've spent the better part of today discussing just that," says King Edmund. "I want to know what you think."
"Me?" Addie stops fidgeting, her bowl forgotten. "Why?"
King Edmund smiles, his eyes sharp and perceptive. Not calculating, exactly, but piercing.
"An outside perspective," King Edmund says. "You didn't grow up with Narnian stories. I'm curious what you would do in your fellow Telmarines' shoes."
Addie's answer is easy, obvious.
"I'd stay here," she says. "It's a safer bet than following a… well, than going wherever Aslan's cooked up. Better to stay and adapt."
King Edmund hums and tilts his head. "You're not curious what home Aslan would provide?"
"Nope." Addie's skin itches with awareness, Caspian's stare a question. "You may trust Aslan, but I don't think many Telmarines will. Until two days ago, he was a myth of the wild defeated by our ancestors. "
"Perhaps more than you think," says Queen Lucy with an amiable smile. "It's impossible not to trust him once you've met him."
"Maybe," Addie says, fingers drumming on her bowl. "Most Telmarines haven't."
This time, High King Peter answers.
"Caspian's coronation will bring change," he says. "You're saying the Telmarines will take that chance over Aslan's offer?"
Addie shrugs. "I would."
She can't speak for every Telmarine, but most everyone she knows would choose the same. Better to share your home than give it up entirely.
"I see," says King Edmund. "Why? Excluding your relationship with Caspian, that is."
Addie's face flames at his frankness, her hands trembling. She grew more used to others knowing about her and Caspian those weeks in the How, but the Kings and Queens are still relative strangers and King Edmund has eyes that see too much.
A warm hand covers her knee. Addie finds Caspian's eyes soft and reassuring as his thumb traces slow circles.
There are too many eyes here, so she doesn't move away.
Addie chooses an obvious answer, something she would've said the first week after meeting him.
"I think Caspian's rule will be kinder," Addie says. "I think we could all use a bit of that."
King Edmund purses his lips. "I hope the rest of the Telmarines agree with you."
Addie sits taller. What would King Edmund - any of the Kings and Queens of Old, for that matter - know about the Telmarines?
"Trust isn't the only way," Addie blurts. "To convince them to go with Aslan."
Caspian's thumb stills. Addie meets his quizzical look.
"Go on," says King Edmund.
Addie wets her lips. "I'm sure you can convince some of them, but if there are others you want to leave, you have to…" She falters. What she's thinking is a bit cruel, vicious in a way she'd hate if someone suggested it to her.
Caspian squeezes her knee, an invitation.
Addie continues. "We know a lot of the soldiers fear the Narnians. You can use that against them."
"That sounds harsh," says Queen Susan.
"Narnia is their home," Addie says. "So, make it not home anymore. The Narnians walking the city streets will be plenty shock already - like an intrusion, almost." She shrugs, chewing her lip. "Make sure they know they can either share Narnia in peace, or they don't have a place here at all."
"And then offer them a new home of their own making," Caspian says. "A place they control."
"Exactly." Addie sets down her bowl only to pick it up again. "I know it's cold, but -"
"But it might be necessary," Caspian continues for her. "As a last resort."
Addie follows his gaze to Lord Scythley, who's been largely silent the whole dinner.
"Lord Donnon will need a firm approach," says Lord Scythley, stroking his thick grey beard. "But I wouldn't suggest such tactics on every lord."
"No," Caspian agrees. "Only as necessary. We'll have a better sense when we reach the castle tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Addie echoes. She noticed they travelled fast today, but she thought the castle was farther. Then again, the last time she tried to navigate these woods, she was witless with fever and scouring for any signs of Caspian.
"Likely in the early afternoon," says High King Peter.
"That'll be a surprise," Addie mumbles. "To the entire city."
"Well," says King Edmund, looking at Caspian with an odd twist of a smile. "We've sent runners ahead, but we never thought this would be easy."
After dinner, Addie tries to collect bowls. Caspian stops her before she takes his, shaking his head as he catches her wrist.
"You're not a maid, Addie," he murmurs, quiet enough for only her ears.
Addie keeps reaching, straining against his hold. She'll be a maid if she wants to be a maid.
"Someone's got to do it."
Caspian holds her fast, his gaze searching.
Shouldn't he be politicking?
Caspian's thumb strokes her wrist, the tense set of his mouth softening. Addie hesitates, only because they're not alone and he probably needs to keep up appearances.
Why bother keeping appearances with a maid?
Caspian traces her pulse, almost tender. "We, then. I'll help you."
Addie meets his eyes. Her station can be another shield, if she likes. Caspian once used his as a wall between them; why can't she do the same?
"No need," she says.
Caspian's touch lightens to a tickle, the pads of his fingers disturbing the baby hairs on her wrist.
"Let me," he murmurs.
Addie's frown deepens. Why bother washing dishes with her?
If she refuses, everyone around this fire will know something is wrong.
She shrugs and speaks quietly, a breath more than a proper answer. "You'll be king tomorrow. Do as you wish."
Addie tugs free and decides the chill on her skin is relief.
Together, they gather the bowls. The Kings and Queens are lost in another memory of their Golden Age - only Queen Lucy notices her bowl vanishes, and her momentary protest is easily dismissed.
It's strange to see Caspian carrying dishes. Addie knows he brought her meals when she was fighting the infection and the dishes had to leave somehow, but she never saw it. And when she was well enough to keep her eyes open, she never let him. He was forever rushing off to war-making, too busy to protest.
Now, they walk to the river - within earshot of the camp, if not sight - with a stack of dishes each, and Caspian seems to think this is normal. He even brought soap, a luxury Alfonso's friends didn't have.
Addie scrubs her stack of bowls until her knuckles are raw. Caspian can play at normalcy, but the dishes need doing and Perla would scold her if she returns to the kitchen out of practice, and… and…
And it's better to work her fingers to the bone than to think too much. To feel too much.
She will keep herself busy and distracted and useful because that is what she can do. That is what she does best. Dishes don't dance around excuses, nor stare at her every two minutes, nor weigh the air with expectations. Dishes just exist, dirty or clean.
Dishes do not make her love them just by breathing. Dishes don't have warm hands with sparring scars, and dishes don't betray.
Addie scrubs harder, pride curling in her stomach when her skin tears and lye soap burns the scrape.
The familiar sting is a relief, a reminder of the castle kitchen she'll see tomorrow. This pain has somewhere to go, and this tiny wound will mend itself.
This is pain she can confront. Pain that will pass.
Addie tilts the bowl so Caspian won't see her bloodied knuckles - two now, scraped raw, a gratifying hurt - and prays he will say nothing.
The pain of silence, too, she can bear.
A/N: The scene kinda cuts off, but I had to slice the chapter off somewhere or this thing would've been over 8k and I just did NOT have the time to edit all that this week. See y'all in 2 weeks! Prepare for incoming royal shenanigans.
Chapter 45 Preview:
"I said I was sorry," Addie manages. "I said I was wrong."
Perhaps she only wants Caspian to say he was wrong to take that choice from her.
She wants him to be better than she has been.