A/N: Surprise, I got this posted on time! Got back early 😇

We're rapidly approaching Dawn Treader canon! I forewarn you now, just like with Monachopsis, my silly self thought I'd hit the easy button and just stick to movie canon, but... well, turns out the book suited some of my purposes more, and y'all know I can't resist tossing canon in a blender with my own little twists. Which is why Exulansis is maybe stretching into Chapter 62 as well... If you saw the estimated chapter count jump up to 100, no you didn't 😅

Chapter 59 Content Warnings: brief violence, brief non-OTP relationships

Chapter 59: holding on, letting go

Addie

"By Jove, Addie, you didn't!"

Cheeks burning, Addie buries her face in her hands as Josie's cackle ricochets off the close kitchen walls. It's not funny; saying another man's name in bed was a terrible thing to do, however much John might've deserved it.

"Stop laughing," Addie mumbles into her hands. "It was awful of me."

She was frustrated, trying to make it feel good since he couldn't, even with the buzz of breaking rules heating her blood. The name just… slipped out.

Paper rattles as Josie, still giggling, takes a shortbread from the tin. "Good riddance," she says through a mouthful of biscuit. "The man was insufferable."

Addie lowers her hands to glare at Josie and her bright-eyed, pink-cheeked glee. "John was… respectable."

"He was a pretentious tosser."

"Josie - mmph!"

Addie grumbles around the sudden biscuit intruder, butter-rich crumbs soothing the distant sting of the sudden breakup.

John wasn't terrible, only… harsh, at times. His eyes were blue not brown, his hands were cool not warm, and he had a way of making her feel small.

Not cared-for small. Unimportant small.

Sometimes John looked at her like she was a passing curiosity in a shop window and she didn't like it, but part of her did, because sometimes, sometimes, the wrongness made her remember what right felt like, what he -

Let go. She has to let go. She's twisting herself in knots over a child's imaginings.

I want to know you have someone to take care of you.

John didn't take care of her, didn't even try. He liked kissing her, pawing at her, telling her all about his favourite classics. He expected nothing of her but her silence, her agreement, and her body.

It didn't feel right, but it was a distraction from how hollow she felt. A wrongness she could cut her teeth on.

Josie finishes her shortbread in one bite and arches a perfect eyebrow.

"He talked down to you ever since you started working."

Addie grimaces, mouth still full. "I know."

Addie swallows the rest of her biscuit and washes it down with tea - unsweetened, tan with milk.

"Well, at least it's over with," Josie says, sipping hers - black and syrupy, sweetened with both honey and sugar cubes. "We can get back to normal, just us."

"I'd like that."

Addie startles awake when the world is still inky black and as quiet as London ever gets. The ghostly remnants of her dream flicker in the dark before floating away like mist, as unreachable as ever.

That face. If only she could forget that face. Those eyes as black as new-moon midnight, shining like spilled ink, beseeching and tender and accusing all at once.

Not real, not real; best forgotten.

Addie sits against her headboard, willing the phantom salt on her lips to fade. She dreamed of the sea and a ship and of wanting -

She needs to let this go. A piece of her is reaching, but there's pain there, thorn-sharp and festering, and she needs to forget this, knows instinctively that this temptation is best left alone.

Addie pushes off the bed, the creaky wooden floor cool under her toes, and abandons her empty room.

Addie wraps the patchwork quilt she and Mum made two Christmases ago around her shoulders as she tiptoes into the kitchen and brews mint tea. London springs are beautiful in the afternoon - even with the near-constant rain - but the nights are cold, a last lingering kiss of winter.

Cramped as it is, this kitchen feels so… empty.

Addie shakes off the thought and retreats to the sitting chair angled by the front window. The foggy street lies quiet in the yellow light of streetlamps, undisturbed but for the occasional wanderer braving the chill.

Addie blows on her cup and takes a careful sip. London is best at night, when most of it is asleep. The ghostly streets have a city's lively charm in the sunlight, but nighttime London breathes secrets, the shadows between lamps dark with possibilities. Pickpockets and alley cats too, in the wrong areas of town.

"Can't sleep?"

Addie jolts out of the chair, drink nearly sloshing onto her hand. "Mum! I woke you?"

With a stifled cough, Mum emerges from the hallway's shadows in her nightcap and thick dressing robe as Addie sets her mug on the narrow windowsill.

"Here," Addie says, shrugging off the quilt and wrapping it around Mum before she can protest. "You'll get chilled."

"Addie," she tuts. "I have my robe. Come now, we'll sit by the stove."

Addie takes her teacup from its precarious perch to the kitchen table. The stove fire casts a flickering orange glow over the worn blue tablecloth - hand embroidered, passed down from Mum's mum's mum.

Addie doesn't sit. Mum looked relieved when she said she was seeing someone.

Better to be blunt. Mum'll find out eventually.

"John and I didn't work out." Addie forces a smile, more bitterness than joking. "You're stuck with me a little while longer."

Mum's face softens, furrowed brow smoothing as she takes both Addie's hands and pulls her to sit.

"Oh, love. Tell me everything."

"Not much to tell. I'm…" Mum's probably disappointed, and a better daughter would be contrite and promise to keep looking. Addie swallows reassurances she'd have to lie to tell and chooses honesty instead. "I'm relieved, actually."

Mum squeezes her hands with thin fingers, thumb stroking Addie's knuckles.

"I am too," Mum says with a conspiratorial half-smile. "I wanted better for you."

Addie buries a flinch. She doesn't want better - better means it'll hurt more when she loses it. If she dates enough to ease her mother's mind, better the boys be mediocre at best so when they're too unpleasant or she's not good at being someone's girl, it'll feel like this.

A brief annoyance, like a paper cut. Easily healed.

"I don't suppose I could just forget about courting?"

"Courting?" Mum chuckles, shaking her head as she stifles a cough. "The things you say, Adelaine."

Hopefully, the flickering stove fire will hide her heated face.

"Going steady, then. Seeing someone. Any of that."

Mum pats her hand, callouses rough. "Don't give up yet. John's not the only boy in London."

Wood creaks as Addie leans into her chair and she slips from her mother's hold.

"I'd rather not be with anyone than be with the wrong ones."

Mum scoots the neglected teacup across the table. "How do you expect to find the right one if you don't look?"

Addie sips her tea and savours the bright, cleansing mint.

Better not to find the right one. That way, she can't lose them.

Caspian

Officially, Caspian sets sail aboard the Dawn Treader to find the Seven Lost Lords of Telmar. As far as the kingdom need know, he is surveying the eastern islands - territories once under Narnia's banner. The blustery winds of early spring carry him toward the sunrise, and the cheers of his people serenade him across the waves. Beneath the cloak of his kingship, restlessness akin to wanderlust beckons him eastward.

Unofficially, the castle of his ancestors is full of memories, the Seven Lords will know about his parents, and there is a large swath of unexplored world beyond the horizon. Trumpkin proved a fine regent during the Ettinsmoor and Calormen campaigns and Caspian's trip to Telmar. Narnia is in capable hands until the voyage is done.

Caspian stands on the poop deck, his face to the wind. He is to seek the Lords for a year and a day - more time than he thought he could have, but Trumpkin reassured him Narnia would be well.

In the Golden Age, Queen Lucy sailed many adventures on the sea. It is not irresponsible, Caspian thinks, to indulge himself a little exploration now that Narnia is set to rights. To enjoy his youth while he is still a young man.

But first, diplomacy. Galma is the first stop; with the trade agreements stable, it's time Caspian gave the Duke of Galma's hope of alliance further exploration. King Nain's daughter, Princess Idern, already married the King of Terebinthia, but the Duke's letters have insistently mentioned his daughter.

It has been three years. It's time.

The Dawn Treader makes port to fanfare and a jubilant crowd throwing flower petals, perfuming the sea air with lavender and heather, nectar-sweet hydrangeas and the licorice-pine scent of yarrow blossoms. The Duke throws a welcome feast to remember, a banquet overflowing with blackened water fowl and baked mussels and more roast fish than Caspian can identify paired with rice pilafs and steamed tubers, fresh oranges and decadent soft cheeses.

Naturally, the Duke takes the opportunity to introduce Caspian to his daughter, Larissa. A blonde-haired, green-eyed beauty, Lady Larissa is everything a noblewoman ought to be - demure, dignified, possesssing easy-yet-distant smiles and impeccable manners.

Perfectly respectable.

It's a courtship born from duty on both their parts - well, Caspian hopes. It's not that Larissa is unpleasant; she's an excellent conversationalist. She turns politicking into compassionate commentary and spins everyday interactions with her ladies' maids and fellow courtiers into charming anecdotes. She asks how he found word of the Seven Lords, listens attentively, and asks thoughtful questions to keep the conversation flowing. Larissa is altogether pleasant, pleasing company.

Nothing less, but nothing more, either.

Halfway through the week of feasting and tournaments, Caspian stops in their well-trodden path through the oat grasses and looks into Larissa's sea-green eyes and he can't do it, can't disrespect her time or her heart or risk stoking her hopes.

"My lady," says Caspian, his hands clasped chastely behind his back and his shoulder aching from a jousting hit yesterday afternoon. "What do you desire from marriage? Truly?"

Larissa trails off from her anecdote on the history of daisy stitching, frowning. "An alliance, I suppose," she says carefully. "A man who loves my island and will make it stronger."

Caspian shakes his head. "Not what your father wants. What do you want? From a husband?"

A sea breeze whispers through their hair, the hush-crash of waves a constant companion on the beach ahead. Larissa turns away and lifts her skirts, trekking through the sand with her face upturned to the late morning sun. Caspian follows her, stepping over driftwood and seaweed abandoned by the tide.

"Someone warm," she answers. The roar of the ocean nearly drowns her admission, spoken softly in confidence. "Because the sea is often cold. Someone who sleeps with the windows open to hear the waves. Someone carefree who sails and doesn't mind a summer tan. Someone who makes me laugh."

Larissa turns halfway, her gauzy blue gown rippling in the wind. Her smile is for someone he isn't, her eyes faraway and wistful. "Someone who feels like home."

Caspian swallows the barb in his throat. Eyes drifting closed, he breathes in the salt of the sea and sun-bleached sand. The ocean is cleansing; it helps heal festering wounds.

"I know what you mean," he admits. When Caspian opens his eyes, Larissa is staring back at him.

"You are not home for me, I think," she murmurs. "Nor I for you." She blushes, pink as the coral that washes ashore after a storm. "Please don't tell my father I said that."

Caspian unclasps his hands, stretching out the jousting aches. "Of course."

"You know of such things," Larissa says in the lull between waves, more observation than question.

The knot in his chest returns - a familiar companion these past years, the ache dulled but not faded entirely by the passage of time.

"Yes," Caspian says, breathing through a shallow pang between his ribs. "I did."

Larissa says nothing, expectant. Caspian wonders how far the rumours of his heart, three years broken, have spread.

A screeching seagull draws Larissa's attention. She takes a bread crust from the pouch at her waist and tosses it into the air, grinning as the bird swoops to catch it.

"You're lucky you found it once before. Now you know what to look for."

Caspian considers the throb of old heartache and the wide-eyed innocence of Larissa's hopefulness tinged with sadness. She speaks as if she has never found what he once had.

Is it better to find home and lose it, or to wait years never knowing if it's there to be found?

He would not choose the latter, though he'd be wise if he did.

Two different aches, Caspian decides, and both their own burden. Neither easier to bear than the other.

"I hope you find the love you desire soon," Caspian says. "But please know you will always have a friend in me, should you wish it."

When Larissa smiles, it is beatific.

"Likewise," she says.

She offers him a crust of bread for the seagulls, and they spend an hour by the shore feeding the screeching fowl, alternating threats to cook the noisy birds who snatch the offerings from their fingers and laughter at a morning well-spent.

Caspian leaves Galma with a disappointed Duke's well-wishes, a new friend, and a lighter heart than he has had in a long time.

Addie

At nineteen, she finds Ted.

Well, Josie does.

"I brought a friend," is all Josie says as she blusters in one rainy November afternoon, towing a boy in a conductor's hat. She wipes her wet shoes on the mat and waves Addie over. "And Ted likes stories, don't you, Ted?"

Addie gapes. Josie's been downright tickled to have their usual routine back, and she's not the matchmaking type.

The boy - a young man with close-cut hair the colour of burnt sugar - takes off his dripping hat and extends his hand.

"My apologies for barging in," he says. "I'd rather have met you properly, but Josephine… well…"

"I insisted," Josie says, shaking out her rain-mussed curls. "If we can't be spinsters forever, the least you can do is bring someone decent around."

Has Josie caught a fever? This meddling isn't like her; it's more akin to something Josie's mum would do. The only comfort is that Ted looks as embarrassed as she feels.

Addie takes pity on him and shakes his hand - warm, good grip.

"I'm Addie," she says. "And you've met Josie."

"I'm Ted. Pleasure to meet you."

Her mistake is looking into his eyes.

Dark, almost black. Like new-moon midnight.

All at once, she's not annoyed with Josie. Addie stares at Ted and sees a dimpled chin, full brows, a clean-shaven jaw, tan skin, waves of dark brown hair.

"Addie?" Josie rattles her peace offering - a tin of black tea with lavender. "I know it's short notice, but -"

"It's alright," Addie blurts - too eager, she's being stupid. "I mean, I hope it's not an inconvenience."

Ted answers before Josie can. "Not at all. I'm off work."

"I'll make us some tea." Josie sidles into the kitchen. She pinches Addie's hip in passing, and thank God she does.

Addie's vision clears and yes, she was being silly. This is Ted, a boy she just met, soaked through from the rain and his conductor's hat in his hands, an unsure smile flickering on his thin lips.

She sees why Josie brought him; Ted is nothing like John. He's sweet as a chocolate-dipped biscuit - or he looks like he is.

"Really, if it's a bad time, I'll leave," Ted says. "But if you wouldn't mind, I'm rather curious. Josie told me so much about you. Your stories, that is."

Polite, good manners, doesn't want her to be uncomfortable. Hesitant, but boyishly curious. So much like -

Ted's brow furrows, concerned, and she's seen that before, she's seen eyes like that before.

"Are you alright?"

Say something, she has to say something.

"Sorry," Addie manages, graceless. "You just remind me a bit of someone."

Ted fidgets, turning his hat over once, twice. "A good someone, I hope?"

Addie nods before she can help it. "Yes," she whispers.

From the kitchen, a kettle whistles. Tea's ready, and bollocks, they don't have sugar, only milk. Josie likes hers sweet and what if Ted does too?

Ted offers his arm, his gaze soft and inviting, warm as candlelight.

"Shall we?"

Addie looks into his eyes and takes his arm.

After a few months, they just… fall into it. The same way Josie became a constant in Addie's life, Ted does too. First, as company on every other library outing. Then, as the instigator of park picnics on London's sunny afternoons. Then, one snowy night early in the new year, Ted shows up with an umbrella as she's leaving work.

Addie blinks away snowflakes and hopes her cheeks are only red from the cold.

"You came all this way? Ted, you didn't have to."

She was glad to land a new job keeping records for the district, even though it's almost too far to walk. It's well out of Ted's way; what is he doing here?

Ted shrugs and loops their arms, his brown eyes reflecting the yellow streetlamps. "I wanted to, and you never remember your umbrella."

He noticed?

Addie lets Ted walk her home, lets his warmth stave off the wet chill of snow and freezing rain. It rarely snows in London - mostly, it's rain.

She kisses him at the front door, or he kisses her - hard to tell who moves first, but it's easy and comforting, like shortbread biscuits and hot tea on a rainy day. Not as effortless as time with Josie, but something to grow into.

It's almost like love.

Almost.

Caspian

After Galma, the Dawn Treader sails on to Terebinthia. The island's sovereign sends messengers warning them away, lest the epidemic sweeping the island spread to their ship. Caspian makes a note to send aid and consult with Rainroot upon his return to Narnia, and they continue toward the Seven Isles.

Three days after Terebinthia fades behind them, the lookout calls an alert.

"Sails! Black sails on the horizon, just off our stern!"

Caspian whirls, spyglass in hand, as Captain Drinian asks what he already suspects.

"Pirates?"

"They must have followed us from Terebinthia!"

Caspian peers at the open sea and there she is, a Terebinthian caravel ship with lateen rigging, flying an ill-sewn Terebinthian flag.

Terebinthia is quarantined, isolated by a contagion. These are no merchants.

Over agonising minutes, the sails at the edge of the horizon come closer and gradually become clear through Caspian's spyglass. There's no doubting the lookout's keen eyes: the ship chasing them is large, with two towering masts holding black sails taut against the wind.

And they're gaining.

Caspian turns to Captain Drinian and his first mate, Tavros. "How long until we reach the Seven Isles at our current pace?"

The towering minotaur straightens and brings the offered spyglass to his eye. "If the charts are accurate? Seven, perhaps eight days," he rumbles.

Caspian hums to himself, frowning up at the rigging. All around them, the crew works with quiet tension, nervously glancing astern. They are experienced sailors and capable fighters, but few have fought in a naval skirmish. Even he hasn't.

Yet.

"Drinian, what do you think?" Caspian murmurs. "Two days?"

Captain Drinian looks through the spyglass. "At most," he says. "Few pirates will be as well-armoured as this ship and crew. We're ready for 'em."

"We will be." Caspian leans over the poop deck railing and addresses the crew, who've already stalled in their work. "Keep to your posts and prepare for battle. If this wind holds, we have two days at most before they overtake us."

Caspian gestures to Captain Drinian. A Telmarine who spent boyhood in Galma and sailed to Narnia seeking better fortunes, Drinian has seen his share of sea battles, pirates, and other nautical dangers. As Caspian has spent little time on the sea, no matter his growing love for it, he needed an experienced captain.

"Mind the sails, keep your heads, and ready the harpoons at second dawn," says Drinian. "We'll wait until they're close, then turn on 'em. Until then, rest and make ready."

"We are the beginning of Narnia's navy," Caspian adds. "These pirates will not prevail. I have every faith in you."

It's a brief but fierce battle, won more with crossbows than swords. By the time they board the other ship, the pirates are near surrender. Caspian grits his teeth and welcomes the battle-blank haze in his mind - a similar quiet he finds on the sparring field with every lunge, thrust, and parry.

There is blood, and there is death, and he will not think of it again after today.

Pirates are not loyal soldiers - they are cowards, and like cowards, they will flee rather than die. But with their ship boarded, most choose the sword rather than the hanging awaiting them in civilisation. Less than ten surrender.

Caspian wipes his bloodied sword, accepts their white flag, and locks the survivors in their own brig. With Terebinthia fraught with a plague and the favourable northern wind carrying the Dawn Treader onward, it's most sensible to haul the ship to the Seven Isles, where the pirates will face justice.

"Tavros, take a dozen men and search the ship. It's under your command until we reach Brenn."

The minotaur bows. "As you say, Sire."

The Seven Isles' seat of government, and most of its population, inhabit the capital city of Redhaven on Brenn. Caspian has had little contact with Redhaven, but their government must have dealt with pirates before.

He must ask the government and populace if pirates have long plagued these waters. They can't be allowed to continue taking whatever ships, cargo, and lives they please.

Tavros returns from the ship's hold quicker than expected.

"Sire? We're taking inventory of their cargo."

"And?"

"Gold, food, rum, spices." Tavros' frown deepens. "And… perhaps you should see for yourself."

Caspian leaves Drinian to oversee the surrender and follows Tavros down the creaking stairs to the cargo hold. Rows of barrels greet him, wrapped in sets of four by four. A few stragglers lie toppled in the walkway, and a faun and a Telmarine sailor are digging in two open barrels - one of gold Terebinthian coins, one of white shards.

Grimacing, the Telmarine pulls his hand from the latter barrel.

"It's… bones, Your Majesty."

Caspian frowns. What would pirates want with bones? He wouldn't put human remains past them - pirates are known to be macabre - but these are small, most of them fish-hook thick.

"Bones of what?"

The sailor wipes his hands on his trousers. "I'm not sure, Sire. Some insect or rodent, perhaps."

Caspian ignores his uneasy stomach and scoops a handful. Tiny, brittle, but sharp. Caspian hisses as one pricks his thumb, drawing a tiny pearl of red. On closer examination, he identifies it.

"A fang… these are snake bones."

The sailor shivers. "Grim. Why would pirates need those?"

Caspian turns to Tavros. "What else?"

The minotaur shows him six more open barrels containing shrivelled grey mushrooms, poppy seeds, and dried mint-like leaves. An eclectic collection of ingredients less unsettling than the first barrel.

"Interrogate their captain, or whatever passes for their officers," Caspian orders. "I want to know who these barrels are for, their origin, their price, and their purpose."

Tavros bows. "Yes, Your Majesty."

The Dawn Treader sails into Redhaven's harbour on the isle of Brenn four days later. The Lord of the Seven Isles greets them with a modest retinue of fanfare, glancing warily at the pirate ship trailing behind.

"Redhaven bids you welcome, Your Majesty," he says with a bow, sandy hair blowing in the sea breeze. "I would be most honoured to host you and your crew for a feast tonight and every night until your departure."

A generous invitation, especially for islands this remote.

"Thank you, Lord Stefano. We are honoured to accept." Caspian waves toward the pirate ship, where the pirates are still locked in their ship's brig. "But first, we have captured a band of pirates in need of questioning and justice."

Lord Stefano grimaces. "Their kind have scourged the seas the past two years. I recognise that ship; I am glad to see it brought to heel." The lord snaps his fingers, and a guard missing an eye steps forward. "Captain, take six men and escort the pirates in irons to their cells. They will face trial before week's end."

"My lord." The captain bows and hurries to obey, walking with the bow-legged gait of a lifelong sailor. Tavros and his men still on the pirate ship will help wrangle the pirates.

With the rest of the Dawn Treader's crew, Caspian follows Lord Stefano to his manor, a beautiful villa of white stone surrounded by rippling sea grasses and perched atop a cliff - similarly situated as Cair Paravel, whose restoration had just begun when the Dawn Treader set sail. Every window Caspian passes is open, gauzy curtains dancing in the wind as the crashing waves below echo throughout the manor and carry the briny scent of the sea.

Lord Stefano hosts a lavish luncheon of boiled crabs, roasted half-shell oysters, and grilled water fowl on a bed of sea spinach. The table wine is crisp, flinty, and foreign, an odd pale yellow. Narnian and Telmarine wine, except mead, are typically varying shades of red. Though Caspian limits himself to a single glass only to be sipped with his meal - lest he fall into an old, destructive pattern he has no time for - he can't help enjoying it. The pale wine compliments the meal, brightens it.

He's already experienced so many new things on this voyage. How lovely it would be to share these discoveries with -

With someone.

No, better not to think of that.

Caspian spears an oyster and refocuses on Lord Stefano's polite inquiry of their next heading.

"The Lone Islands," Caspian says. "Does Redhaven maintain trade routes there?"

Lord Stefano tosses back an oyster, slurping the flesh from its open shell. At first Caspian thought him rude, but every other Redhaven native has done the same. Manners differ everywhere.

"Of late? Rarely," says the lord, dabbing his mouth with his cloth napkin. "We prefer to trade with Galma. The Lone Islands trade to the south."

"Terebinthia? I was told a plague has isolated the island." Caspian cuts a bite of bird and chews slowly as vibrant herbs and citrus - Galman lemon, likely - bloom on his tongue.

Lord Stefano finishes his wine and taps his glass goblet with his fork, signalling a servant for a refill.

"No, Sire. With Calormen."

Another Calormen scheme, no doubt.

Caspian washes the sea bird down with wine and schools his features against annoyance. If the Lone Islands have allied with Calormen, the Dawn Treader will not receive a warm welcome. Moreover, that means Calormen has taken over - or at least laid some claim to - former Narnian lands. In the Golden Age, the Lone Islands flew the Narnian flag.

There is always something.

After the meal, Caspian speaks with Lord Stefano in a meeting room facing due west into the sinking sun. A long teakwood table dominates the room, covered in a map of the Seven Isles and surrounded by half a dozen chairs. With Caspian are Tavros, Captain Drinian, and Reepicheep, and Lord Stefano's captain of the guard to discuss the problem of pirates prowling the Eastern Ocean.

Tavros learns from the pirates' second mate that they were paid handsomely to smuggle the barrels of bones, herbs, mushrooms, and seeds from Terebinthia to Muil, the westernmost of the Seven Isles. The pirates either didn't know the seller and buyer or refused to give them up.

"What curious cargo," says Lord Stefano. "There is handsome-enough profit in trading herbs and spices, but bones and mushrooms… strange."

"Indeed." Caspian leans forward and regards the map. "Tell me of Muil."

"Our westernmost island," says the lord. "Remote, sparsely inhabited. Certainly no population in need of the cargo you spoke of."

Drinian clears his throat - quietly, but loud enough Caspian hears. Captain Drinian already made his opinion of the pirates and their cargo clear - puzzling but unimportant compared to the Dawn Treader's mission of exploration and finding the Lost Lords. He's likely right.

Even as king, Caspian is learning there are problems he can't fix, mysteries he has no time to solve. If he chases down every strange happenstance he encounters, he'll never make it past the Lone Islands.

A wise king must choose his battles.

"Duty calls me further east," Caspian says. "Lord Stefano, I must ask you to monitor Muil and send your findings to Narnia each month - more frequently, if possible. Lord Trumpkin, my Regent, will receive your missives until my return, and I will send word that he's to heed your reports."

Lord Stefano agrees easily. "I will see it done, Your Majesty."

A/N: We're almost into Dawn Treader canon now! What do we think of Caspian and Addie each trying to move on, in their own ways? 😏

Chapter 60 Preview:

Queen Lucy and King Edmund have returned. They left through the twisted oak at Aslan's command, they have come back in Caspian's own lifetime, and they've only aged a year in Narnia's three.

Hope finds a crack in the stone castle Caspian has built around his heart.