A/N: Holy ****, y'all. This thing broke 8k. I'm still in shock. I thought it'd be around 6k, but Addie had a LOT to say and Caspian was determined to be difficult. But, here we are. Strap in because oh boy do I have a treat for y'all... Enjoy!
Chapter 76 Content Warnings: some gore and medical treatment
Chapter 76: a tide on your tongue
Addie
The days after the attack bring death and snow.
Werewolf bites claim another four lives by blood loss and infection, beyond the ten dead already. Still others are missing, likely dead. For a village of less than one hundred, the losses are considerable.
Alfonso's mother skirts close to the abyss, but by some divine mercy she survives, pale and unconscious in her and her husband's bed. Alfonso's father hovers by day and paces by night, torn between grieving, hoping, and craving distraction.
As for the others, Ora does her best to run the house and keep seven mouths fed, Lola clings to Cesare, and Cesare clings to Alfonso. The village healer warns Alfonso's wound might fester and prescribed valley herbs Addie has to ask her to describe.
"I've made a poultice before," Addie says when the healer - a weathered, rounded, grey-haired woman with eyes as black as a raven's rings - goes to her shelves and stops short, frowning at an empty pot.
"I can help," Addie offers.
The healer, who lost her apprentice to a werewolf's jaws and whose body still hasn't been found, accepts.
Two days later, a company bearing the king's banner rides into the village. Balancing a basket laden with healing herbs the village healer sent her to gather, Addie watches the arrival from Alfonso's family home.
When they reach the empty square, the soldiers part to reveal none other than Rainroot and a dozen other healers - mostly centaurs, with two fauns and one human boy roughly Sellea's age. Rainroot goes right to the healer's house - easy to spot, with a line of patients outside her hut - and makes introductions.
"The king sent 'em?" Ora says, peering around Addie's shoulder as Cesare bounces impatiently, his whittled sea serpent in hand.
"I'm not surprised," Addie murmurs. "He must've heard about the attack."
Ora harrumphs, hands on her hips. "When's a royal ever bothered with Ettinsmoor? The Lady's the one looking after us, not his Royal Majesty."
"The war with the Ettins?" Addie says. In his letters, Caspian confessed to not knowing Ettinsmoor that well. He spent years travelling elsewhere after defeating the giants; he was busy winning wars and brokering peace and going on voyages.
Ora shrugs, rosebud lips pinched into a frown. "It would've been mighty decent of him to send those troops before the attack."
"He couldn't have known," Addie says. "News travels slowly."
"Attack's've been happening for months," Ora grumbles, huffing as she returns indoors.
"Lady Opheodra's men took care of them without the king's men," Addie calls after her.
Ora grumbles to herself and busies herself tending the hearth. Meanwhile, Addie continues into the village.
Caspian does care about the moors; he cares about everything in his kingdom. He probably hasn't been sleeping well ever since he received word of the werewolves' first attack.
Still, he could've sent reinforcements, as he did when the giants attacked years ago.
Maybe these soldiers are the reinforcements, arriving a few days too late.
Addie lingers outside the healer's hut, basket in hand. Rainroot emerges and directs her team, her face impassive and her serious voice carrying across the square. Several hurry to the village's outskirts and beyond, likely searching for herbs the village healer needs. Others make for the supply carts they brought and return to the sick house with fresh bandages, jugs, and vials. The rest scatter to the waiting patients, changing bandages and administering tonics and tinctures with well-practised efficiency. Their escort of soldiers disperse throughout the village, bolstering watch posts and adding their own.
Rainroot recognises her, surprisingly.
"Adelina," the centaur says, her impassive healer's manner ebbing. "Here, of all places." Rainroot arches a black eyebrow. "I might have known."
Addie cracks a smile. "It's good to see you, too."
Rainroot's tail swishes. "Inside, quickly. We'll need those."
Addie obeys at once. Inside, a man who hasn't woken since yesterday lies on the healer's table, the heaviness of death already creeping around him.
Five minutes later, the man - freckled, red hair, with a pale scar cutting down one cheek and a poultice-stained bandage around his middle - walks out of the hut as if his chest was never torn open.
Rainroot screws a golden lid on the crystal bottle as Addie stares after him. Another centaur grinds herbs behind her, and the air is heavy with the peppery, metallic scent of herbs and blood. The village healer left moments beforehand to assess the other patients in line.
Rainroot tucks Queen Lucy's cordial into the pouch around her waist, hidden, just before the healer returns, her blue eyes framed by dark bags. She stares after the redhead, her face slack with muted shock.
"Where are the other critical cases?" Rainroot asks her.
The healer straightens. "One outside - the little girl - and two in their homes nearby."
"Bring in the child," Rainroot says.
The healer turns to obey, hesitating in the doorway with her grey eyebrows drawn together before disappearing and returning with a slip of a girl. Her left arm is swaddled in bloody bandages, her chest barely rising and falling. Her fingers are misshapen and blackened, one of them missing. She stares between Addie and Rainroot blankly, eyes glassy, like they're not even there.
Rainroot is unbinding the girl's arm before the healer even sets her down.
"While I see to her, fetch the next," Rainroot says. "Quickly!"
If the village healer is offended to be made an errand-runner in her own hut, she doesn't betray it. One of Rainroot's assistants spreads a pungent poultice over the girl's arm the moment Rainroot bares the skin.
Addie tries not to look and focuses on providing fresh cloth, but her stomach flips anyway.
It barely looks like an arm - it's a chewed, bloody mess of scabs, pus, and chunks of gore where flesh and muscle should be. It's a miracle the girl still has her arm at all.
Rainroot takes out the same crystal bottle from its red leather pouch and tips a drop of red juice into the girl's mouth.
Addie stares. This cordial once saved her life, but she's never actually seen it work. There's no mistaking the magic - already muscles and sinew are knitting together, weaving new tissue out of thin air, and the girl's mangled limb takes the shape of an arm again. In the space of three breaths, smooth skin stretches from shoulder to fingertip, and the girl's chest expands. The only sign of injury is her missing thumb, a smooth nub of skin covering the snapped joint.
"Bandages, please."
"Sorry." Addie unrolls more bandages, her stare breaking as the girl stirs.
"Mama?" she whimpers, looking around as the colour returns to her pale cheeks. "Where is Mama?"
"We'll get you back to her in a moment," Addie says. "Can you lie still until we finish your bandage?"
The girl blinks slowly. Her eyes dart around the hut and her body tenses, her shallow breaths quickening.
"Shh, you're alright," Addie murmurs, meeting the girl's wide-eyed gaze. "We're almost done - there, see? How do you feel?"
"Itchy."
Rainroot's assistant hides a smile.
"Don't scratch, little one," Rainroot says sternly. "You must leave this poultice undisturbed until tomorrow morning. Understand?"
Addie takes the girl's hand. "Come on, let's tell your mother. Sit up nice and easy - that's right."
The child - ten, twelve at most - eases off the healer's table and stares at her feet.
"Mama… she told me to run, so I did, but -"
The village healer reenters with another patient. Addie nods at the girl and mouths, "Parents?"
The healer shakes her head takes the girl's hand.
Addie breathes a quiet sigh. The girl is one ill-spoken word from post-battle panic, and losing her parents may be too much for her to handle. Unfortunately, she's old enough to remember what happened, and she'll have to live with those memories for the rest of her life.
There are some things even the cordial can't heal.
The next two critical patients - both unconscious - recover just as quickly thanks to the cordial, but Rainroot never lets them see it, never so much as mentions anything but the poultice, bandages, and any medicine she gives them. The centaur brushes off their thanks and lets the village healer frown and hum and ponder without answering. In a brief lull after the worst-off patients have left, Addie asks her.
"You have Queen Lucy's cordial," Addie murmurs as she scrubs blood off the table. "Isn't it supposed to be in the capital? With Ca-… with the king?"
Rainroot's answer is so quiet Addie struggles to hear it over her scrubbing.
"King Caspian was informed of the reported casualties. It was he who insisted." The centaur glances up sharply at a surge of voices outside. "Do not speak of it."
"Why not?" Addie says. "If they know, they'll come to us."
At least a dozen villagers would benefit from the cordial, and even more soldiers.
Rainroot's tail lashes her haunches, rattling bottles on a shelf behind her.
"Yes, they would. They would flock to it, word would spread, and the whole of the civilised world would descend seeking its aid."
"Then you can save more -"
"This is a finite resource, Adelina," Rainroot says, low and sharp. "Do you think everyone in the world understands the difference between a mortal wound and an injury they can survive?"
Addie crosses her arms and barely remembers to keep her voice down. "Some would."
"But many would not." Rainroot sighs and takes the mortar and pestle from her companion. Stone scrapes stone as she grinds the herbs with the ease of experience. "I cannot save everyone - nor can you. Nor can the cordial. Do not speak of it."
"How many have died because they didn't know you could help them? Or you and the cordial weren't there?" Addie tosses her rag into the wash bucket and shakes off the suds. The table is as clean as it'll get. "That's someone losing a friend, spouse, parent, child, when they didn't have to. That's callous."
Rainroot's gaze hardens. "Call it thus if you wish; callousness and necessity appear the same to inexperienced eyes."
Easy enough to say, when Rainroot didn't face the wolves herself. The royal healers, the king's soldiers, none of them were here - they came too late!
No, that's not fair. Caspian must have sent them as soon as he heard of the attack.
Addie swipes a fresh rag over the table, the worn cloth catching on a splinter. Rainroot looms over her, a stoic presence that grates on her nerves.
"I understand you mean well," Rainroot says. "But stop and think for a moment. How many kings would kill to have such magic at their command? How many assassins and thieves would seek its power for themselves?"
"But -"
"Narnia narrowly survived the last war of genocide," Rainroot continues. "We cannot afford another. You must trust I will save everyone I can by any methods I have, including the fireflower."
Addie lays down a fresh table cover, a tan cloth splotched with brown and rust-red stains. She won't win this argument, not right now. She didn't consider the assassins and thieves and genocide, but wouldn't others help protect the cordial? Caspian's allied Narnia with every surrounding country and territory.
Then again, not every alliance could withstand a temptation like miraculous healing.
"I have a patient for you," Addie says instead. "He almost died saving my life and many others. His leg is almost as bad off as the girl's arm was."
"Bring him, then," says Rainroot. "But understand that a grown man will likely survive such a wound, and if his case is not dire -"
"If it isn't now, it soon will be," Addie snaps - harsher than she should. "The infection will probably kill him, and you might not be here to save him when it does."
Rainroot's eyes linger too long.
"Bring him," she says again. "I'll assess his state."
Addie breathes through a spike of nerves and goes to fetch the tall northman.
"Be careful. And write me the moment you're safely home." Addie clutches Lola, a shared embrace neither of them can seem to break.
The northmen - including the one Rainroot saved, who thanked the centaur twice for restoring his leg - said the werewolf pack is gone, all killed and disposed of. But is it so impossible they might've missed one in the chaos, that one could've disappeared into the night licking its wounds and swearing revenge?
Addie exhales and wills her arms to loosen as the blacksmith's horse and cart rattle up the road - Lola, Alfonso, and Cesare's ride back to the capital. She can't keep Lola here forever.
Even if she wishes she could.
"You be careful, too." Lola breaks the hug first, gripping Addie's arms bruising-tight. "You can make your life here, if you want. Don't forget that."
Addie's half-smile flickers, longing warring with regret, a raw tangle in her throat.
"Careful. Say it enough and I'll start believing you."
Lola's eyes glisten. "Good."
Alfonso emerges from his family's hut, Cesare perched on his hip and his sister Ora following him like a shadow. Cesare's spent most of the last week in Lola or Alfonso's arms, despite his squirming protests. Alfonso's sister hasn't let him out of her sight, and Alfonso's parents are both resting, one from a wolf bite and the other from the exhaustion of terror.
It's been a long week.
"Auntie's not coming?" Cesare rubs his eyes, already pouting. After a frustrating morning failing to corral Cesare and his toy dragon as they packed, Lola gave him a tiny dose of her sleeping tea to keep him quiet on the journey. It works fast.
"Not right now," Addie murmurs, tapping Cesare's nose. "I'll join you soon. You'll be good until then, yes?"
Cesare yawns, showing pearly baby teeth. "But you're always leaving. Why aren't you coming now?"
Addie doesn't meet Lola's pointed glance.
"This time, you're leaving me for a little while," Addie says. "But I'm following you soon, alright?"
Cesare whines and grabs at her, chubby fingers curling around her neckline. When he's not raising all hell pretending to be a knight or a dragon or a sea serpent, Cesare's been clingier, less willing to let his family or her out of his sight.
He's young. In time, he'll forget all about the werewolf attack and whatever he heard, or it'll become a source of childish adventure, fuel for the tip of a wooden sword and imaginary victories. Once they're out of Ettinsmoor, Lola and Alfonso will relax and Cesare will be the curious, untameable boy he was before.
Addie takes Cesare from his father's arms and hugs him close.
"I'll see you for Christmas," she says.
Cesare whimpers crankily. Addie kisses his hair and whispers into his ear.
"Until then, can you help me with a secret?"
Cesare sits straighter, curiosity piqued.
"I want to make your mum something special for Christmas," Addie murmurs. "Can you help me?"
"But it's so far away," Cesare whines. Yet when Lola reaches for him, he barks, "No! Auntie Addie's sharing secrets!" and wraps his arms around her neck.
Lola shakes her head fondly and takes a travel bag from Alfonso. His shoulder is healing well, but Rainroot said he shouldn't stress it for a fortnight.
Alfonso is good at quietly accepting help without carrying on too long about duty or protecting or insisting he's fine when he isn't. He's good at accepting the state of things - and Lola's quiet help when he needs it.
Addie shakes off the thought as Cesare leans close, his too-loud attempt at a whisper tickling her ear.
"What're you making for momma?"
"Well…" She rebalances Cesare on her hip and takes a thin book of blank pages and a stylus from her skirt pocket. "You've seen me draw sometimes, yes?"
"Uh huh. You make the eyes look funny."
Addie stifles a chuckle. She sometimes spaces eyes too close together, but she didn't think Cesare would've noticed.
"I want you to try it with these," she says, and gives him the book and stylus. "Whenever you see something you like."
Cesare tilts his head, a stray curl flopping across his forehead. He's due for a trim, but every time Ora and Lola tried, he squealed and ran away covering his ears. Apparently, Lola accidentally nicked him - once - because he wouldn't sit still.
"Why?" he asks, frowning.
"Because your mama and papa would love to get something you've made," Addie says. "Why don't you start with dragons and sea serpents, like you and your papa's games?"
Cesare brightens and sits straighter. "Would mama like a dragon, too?"
Addie smiles and brushes his hair back. "She will love anything you make. Think you can try for me?"
"Uh huh." Cesare nods, though his face is stuck in rare seriousness. "Are you making a book for them, too?"
"Something like that." She hasn't quite decided; Lola and Alfonso need to replace some of their cookware, but she's already started a few drawings of them and their little family.
Addie returns to the blacksmith's cart, where Lola and Alfonso are waiting, and kisses Cesare's forehead.
"Be good on the trip."
Cesare yawns again. Addie lightly jostles him, and he whines.
"Promise me you'll be good?" she says.
Cesare sleepily hugs her, book in hand. "Promise."
Satisfied, Addie hands him to Lola. Alfonso is already sitting beside the blacksmith, his left arm in a sling.
After Lola and Cesare settle in the back, Cesare curled up on a blanket with his head on Lola's lap as she strokes his hair, the blacksmith clicks his tongue and snaps the reins. Addie waves them off alongside Alfonso's sister. She's a willow of a maiden, always cold and forever forgetting a shawl.
With her mother injured - she didn't get to a hut in time - and her father sick with worry, Ora will be busy keeping the house running until her parents recover.
"Will you be alright?" Addie asks her. Another few days here can't hurt if Ora needs another pair of hands.
The young woman nods. "We'll be alright. Ma's strong."
"Write me if that changes," Addie says. "I'll be nearby until Christmas."
Down the street, her two guards emerge from the village's tiny stable leading three sturdy horses. Addie bids Ora goodbye and goes to meet them.
She's more than ready to be back within the safety of the manor.
A falcon sits perched on Lady Opheodra's main gate, its feathers fluffed and its yellow eyes narrowed.
"Miss Adelaine, I presume?"
Addie halts her horse at the gate. Caspian's letters always came by raven or sparrow, not by falcon.
"Yes, who's asking?"
The falcon spreads their wings, long feathers stirring in the icy wind. The northmen agree Ettinsmoor's first snowfall could come tomorrow.
"I am Swiftbeak, messenger to the King of Narnia, who has sent you several correspondences in hope of your prompt reply." The bird uses his beak to pull a letter from the thin pouch strapped to his chest.
Addie takes the crisply folded paper - it's sealed with Caspian's insignia.
"If I might prevail upon you to pen your response with some haste?" Swiftbeak shakes and spreads all his feathers, from plume to chest to tail. "If I linger much longer in these moors, my tail-feathers may freeze."
Addie invites him inside, but the falcon declines.
"Thank you, no," he says. "The incense indoors is overpowering to my sensibilities. I shall await your written reply in the fresh air."
Stubborn bird.
"Suit yourself," Addie says. "I'll have a letter for you within the hour. If you're in a hurry, come to my window. It's the third one up, fourth from the left, facing east."
"Most excellent."
With a rustle of dark feathers, Swiftbeak catches the next updraft and glides into the air.
The manor itself is far quieter than Addie left it. Gone are the villagers' tents and hastily erected huts, their nervous presence and constant chatter. Despite the terrible circumstances that brought them to Opheodra's grounds, they made the moors feel less empty. Now, an expanse of frosty ground churned into mud and broken by frozen foot- and hoofprints is all that lies between the manor and the wilderness beyond. The garden is brown and barren, forced into surrender by the cold.
Addie leaves her horse to the care of a red-nosed stableboy and goes inside.
The manor's warmth wraps around her like a cloak, comforting and fragrant with pine. It certainly doesn't smell like incense.
"Addie, I was beginning to worry!" Opheodra sweeps from the drawing room in a flurry of green silk and takes her hands. "You're unharmed, yes?"
"Barely a scratch." Addie smiles back at her guards. "I have these men to thank. They protected me and the village valiantly."
The northmen shift in their boots. The taller one dips his head, and the other clears his throat, his ears slightly pink.
"Commendations are in order, then." Opheodra turns Addie's hands over and brushes a scab. "Even with a scratch or two."
"They took much worse on themselves," Addie says. "But at least the wolves are all dead, aren't they?"
Opheodra's gaze sweeps over her again, her lips pursed. "They are indeed. Now then, there is one small matter you must resolve."
At her clap, a servant pads into the foyer with a stack of letters.
"There seems to be some pressing royal business in need of your attention," says Opheodra.
Addie accepts the letters - there must be at least six, plus Swiftbeak's personal delivery minutes ago.
"I've only been gone a week…" Addie flips through the seals - all but one is Caspian's. What on earth happened to make him write so many times? This can't be about the werewolf attack; Opheodra would've written to him that the pack was wiped out and the threat is no more.
"I hope there is no trouble?"
Addie glances up and meets Opheodra's thinly veiled curiosity.
"Oh, ah, no trouble. At least, I don't think so. I'll… sorry, please excuse me."
"Of course," Opheodra says, releasing her and turning to the northmen. "Captain, your report?"
Addie hurries upstairs, letters pressed to her chest.
Seven letters from Caspian, one ordinary acknowledgement of her archival report from Doctor Cornelius. Addie replies to the latter quickly, a perfunctory apology for missing last week's report and a summary of her plans for the week's research.
But what can she say to Caspian?
Two, even three letters making sure she was still alive would be normal enough, but seven, each written in a messier hand than the last? And a falcon, one of the fastest birds in Narnia, waiting to deliver one of them personally? Swiftbeak said he's not to leave unless he has at least one letter from her in his pouch.
Addie dips her quill and writes his title.
To His Royal Majesty, King Caspian X
Too formal, and Caspian doesn't seem to be in the mood for teasing.
Better not to overthink it.
Addie crosses out his title and writes only his name, in neater script than he managed. Caspian addresses her informally - she may as well follow suit.
She keeps her letter brief, just enough to reassure him she is, in fact, alive and back in the manor, ready to return to her work under the watchful eyes of ancient scrolls and dusty old tomes.
And if she writes a little more, tells him Rainroot saved lives and the village was grateful, well, a little polite gratitude isn't out of place.
Caspian,
Apologies for my late reply; I was in Osta, as were Lola, Alfonso, and Cesare. We're all fine, though I think Cesare won't want to return to the moors anytime soon, even with the werewolves all dead. Lady Opheodra's men made quick work of them.
On that note, the village desperately needed additional healers, so add my thanks to the many you must've received already. Rainroot in particular saved several lives that would've been lost otherwise.
As for my research, nothing new this week, for obvious reasons. Next week I'll send my report as normal.
Respectfully,
Addie
Addie,
I'm relieved you and the others are well - or at least, uninjured. In future, please maintain your weekly correspondences or write in advance that you cannot meet them. I understand this was an unforeseen circumstance, but I'd thank you to travel with a quill, ink, and paper.
On the subject of travel, I cannot help but notice that nothing of use seems to lie in Lady Opheodra's library. Perhaps the time has come for you to return to the castle. If you still wish to go to Cair Paravel, I will arrange it.
I will send an escort to fetch you within the week, if you agree.
Caspian
Caspian,
Am I to keep a messenger bird as a pet, too? I could've written letters every day from Osta, but writing would've done no good unless I could send them.
As for the escort, I appreciate the gesture, but I plan to stay in Ettinsmoor until Christmas. Even if the late Lord's library contains nothing useful for our purposes, I'd like to finish the project for Lady Opheodra. She's been a kind and attentive hostess.
My report is attached.
Respectfully,
Addie
Addie,
If I asked you to return to the capital, would you oblige?
Caspian
Caspian,
Respectfully, no, I would not.
My report is attached. Quick question, did you fight the Harfang giants in your campaign, or just the Ettins?
Cordially,
Addie
Addie,
Very well. I will send an escort for you a fortnight before Christmas. That is sufficient time to finish your project, yes?
In the campaign, my troops pushed back all the northern giants - Ettins and Harfangers alike. The Ettins' appearance is much like mountain rock to the untrained eye, but the Harfang giants look very similar to their southern cousins. But make no mistake, they are every bit as brutish as the Ettins. Why do you ask?
Until then, tell me of the harvest, if you would - what you could enjoy, that is. You said Lola, Alfonso, and little Cesare are well?
Warm regards,
Caspian
Caspian,
Again, I appreciate it, but the escort isn't needed. Opheodra assigned two guards to me, and they proved themselves more than capable at Osta. But yes, I should be done sorting these papers by then.
Just curious. I haven't figured out if the Jadis' kingdom of giants were Ettins, Harfangers, or both, so that's been my focus lately. Most books refer to the Harfang giants as the Gentle Giants, so maybe that's just as compared to their rockier cousins - or whatever distant relation they might have to each other.
Report is attached.
Respectfully,
Addie
P.S. Anything from Trufflehunter?
Addie,
Necessary or not, I must insist. I shudder to think what designs Perla would make upon my food were you not to return. It's no imposition, so if that's your hesitation, banish the thought at once. If offence to Lady Opheodra is your concern, I will write to her directly.
As for Trufflehunter, while I do not have the news you hope for, he has found a manuscript describing the founding of Archenland by King Henry V's second son, Col. King Nain is most eager to add the document to Anvard's library, a request I have granted to him. He has already agreed to continue looking in his archives for information that you seek, though he doesn't know the particulars.
Has Ettinsmoor seen its first snow? How are you finding the late autumn countryside?
Warm regards,
Caspian
Caspian,
It just seems excessive. I am, after all, only a researcher.
Please pass my congratulations to Trufflehunter for the find. It sounds like it's further bolstered Narnia's relationship with Archenland.
Ettinsmoor had its first snow… three weeks ago, by now, I think? There's not much to say about that.
I'm sorry if I'm being too brief. After months of nothing substantial, sometimes I think I'll never find anything, and you've made your opinion on experiments abundantly clear. I never expected to stay in Narnia this long.
Never mind that. I'm sure I'll figure something out.
Report's attached.
Respectfully,
Addie
Addie,
If it's any consolation, I too am quite certain you will find a way. You are one of the most tenacious people I have ever known.
But in the event that you do not, you can settle here. Narnia was once your home; perhaps it can be again. There will always be a place for you at the castle, whether in Perla's kitchen, Doctor Cornelius' library, or anywhere else you wish.
Stay warm. Ettinsmoor's winters are famously brutal, and you are unused to the bitter cold.
Warm regards (I intended no irony),
Caspian
Caspian,
Thank you on all accounts, though if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not speak - well, write - about it any further. I'll find answers or I won't, and that'll be that.
Report's attached, as always.
Respectfully,
Addie
Addie gives her letter to Inkfeather - one of Caspian's messenger ravens - and stares at her desk. Caspian's many letters sprawl over the surface, a stack constantly at risk of toppling under its own height.
He's just Caspian in her letters now. Just Caspian in her own thoughts was bad enough, but to see it staring back at her on every paper, every swoop of her salutation and his farewell?
It's no good. It's dangerous, because in ink and parchment, it's too easy to forget Caspian is courting Lilliandil, and they're happy together, as they should be, and -
And as much as she tells herself she's happy for them, some wicked part of her wonders. And Caspian's every letter stokes that flame ever higher.
Don't you start this. Don't you dare.
She's not, she knows better, but sometimes, especially after Osta, Caspian's concern takes a familiar shape - not just his usual concern for any subject.
Concern for her, specifically.
Why else would he send so many letters, make his fastest messenger wait for her, and then practically invite her back to the castle again and again? Maybe it's an echo of the past, where he'd drive himself half-mad trying to make her safe.
Don't even think about it. I don't want you to get hurt again.
Or Caspian is being perfectly courteous, and she's reading too much into it. Maybe she'd be better off making good on her promise to Lola and only sending official reports.
Addie sits on her cushioned armchair - a luxury she's quickly grown attached to - and picks at a hangnail. She knows better.
She knows better.
Caspian is courting Lilliandil. Caspian is going to marry Lilliandil.
And here she is.
Addie exhales roughly.
She's being stupid. She left, and when Caspian finally gives her and Doctor Cornelius permission to use the rings, she's going to leave again, because that's always been the kindest thing she can do.
But why does the thought hurt?
Addie sits straighter. The notion of leaving Narnia only hurts because she got too comfortable and let herself imagine a kernel of hope where there isn't one. Her head isn't clear, it's all muddled with you are one of the most tenacious people I have ever known and there will always be a place for you and -
And she needs an outside opinion. Someone with more sense, someone who doesn't have reason to read good or ill intent into Caspian's letters. Someone removed from all the headaches of the past.
Someone who's proven helpful before.
Addie pads through the manor's halls in stocking feet and her dressing robe. If she showed these to Lola, Lola'd burn them as soon as read them.
But Opheodra… she might understand. Opheodra's never judged her, she knows (by her own word) of men, and she has no stake in her past with Caspian. Opheodra is the closest thing to an unbiased party she has - more than that, Opheodra is her friend.
The sitting room is empty, as is the dining hall, the music room, and the tower.
Addie finds Opheodra on the library's small balcony, staring into the north as the wind stirs her auburn hair. A blood-red sunset bathes her snow-covered lands and the rocky moors beyond in crimson and fiery orange-gold.
"Opheodra?" Addie calls, Caspian's letters clutched to her chest. "Can I ask you something?"
Opheodra turns, haloed by the setting sun. "Of course, Addie. What is it?"
"I need your help," Addie says. Caspian's letters crinkle in her hands. "I mean, if you don't mind. It's a bit silly."
Opheodra tilts her head. "I'd be glad to be of assistance. What troubles you?"
Outside perspective. Unbiased party.
Opheodra's helped her before. This won't be any different.
Addie wets her lips. "Could you look at these? I think… I might be reading too much into them."
"How so?"
The wind gusts, crisp and frigid after last night's snow. Addie goes inside for fear of losing the letters, and Opheodra follows. Addie tells a small, harmless lie - only to keep from influencing Opheodra's opinion.
"I'm not sure, exactly. I just need another set of eyes."
Opheodra regards the letters. "Who are these from?"
"Um, the king."
Opheodra's eyes snap to her and linger.
Addie tangles her fingers together. She already picked that hangnail bloody.
"It's probably nothing, but I'd rather be sure and Lola - my friend - already left, and I'm not sure she'd want to look at these anyway…"
Addie trails off as Opheodra stops her with a hand and a kind smile.
"Very well."
Addie's breath escapes in a rush of relief.
"Thank you."
Opheodra pulls out a chair and sits at the table, taking the stack of letters when Addie offers them. She inspects the outside of the first, examining the broken royal seal, then reads in silence. One, two, three…
Addie turns away and closes the balcony door, chewing her lip and fidgeting with the handle.
Opheodra reads on, one letter after another, paper rustling as the wind howls outside. The northmen think the first winter storm is coming, even though it's not technically winter yet. Apparently, the inch or two of wet snow weighing down the shrubbery is nothing compared to the feet of snow the true winter will bring.
Addie peeks over her shoulder. Opheodra's down to the last two letters. Her gaze skims over the parchment, her face unreadable.
When she finishes the last one, Opheodra sits back and taps her cheek with a delicate finger.
"So?" Addie leans against the door, glass panes cool through her robe. "What do you think?"
Opheodra's eyes stay on the letters, inscrutable. "They are less… formal than I expected."
"I talked to Lola about it," Addie says. "Briefly. She said I might be better off sending nothing but reports."
Opheodra taps the open letters, where Caspian's slanted, messy signature swoops across the page.
"Why did you stop using his title to address him?" she says.
Addie's face heats. She should've kept up formalities, even under the guise of teasing.
"Well he stopped using it, and…"
Opheodra's eyebrows lift.
"I know, I know," Addie says. "I wasn't at first, but then it just kept happening, and…" Addie shrugs, a helpless sting burrowing into her stomach. "And I guess I thought if he wasn't bothering with it, I didn't need to."
"Hmm." Opheodra flips through the latest letters again. "I think your friend Lola is wise."
A sting pricks her finger - she's picking at that hangnail again.
Addie tucks her hands behind her back. "Is it that bad?"
Opheodra pulls out another chair and pats the cushion. Her eyes don't hold judgement, but something nearly as sharp.
Addie sits.
"Addie…" Opheodra slides the letters between them. "Understand this: men dally. And it is always their dalliances who pay the price."
Addie shakes her head. "He's courting -"
"Kings dally more than most," Opheodra interrupts. "Especially this one. I've told you of the rumours. And these letters are quite friendly."
Something in her wants to defend him, defend this. The Caspian she knows is loyal.
"But that could be all, right? Friendliness and nothing more?"
Opheodra frowns. "The king of Narnia is not in the habit of 'friendliness and nothing more.'"
That's true; Caspian is typically rather reserved.
"I should stick to just reports, then?"
Opheodra taps the table. "Why did he insist on receiving your reports? I would think only the Lord Chancellor would need regular updates directly from you. You're his research assistant, not the king's, are you not?"
Shit. That's the same question Lola asked, and there's still no good answer without explaining the rings. That's a secret she cannot share.
"Curiosity?" Addie says.
It sounds as flimsy as it did with a half-formed corn doll in her hands.
Opheodra's lips press into a line.
Addie sags into her chair and stares at the ceiling.
"So I should only send reports?"
"That would be a wise course of action, yes. You'd do well not to indulge him in his… flights of fancy, shall we say."
Addie drums her fingers on the chair. "Wouldn't that seem odd? If he asks about something and I don't reply?"
Opheodra rests her chin in her palm. "Perhaps… In that case, you may consider addressing the issue outright. I think if you say his familiar manner has made you uncomfortable, he will correct himself."
Opheodra is right; the second Caspian reads such words, he'll snap back into royal manners, and he will be nothing to her but King Caspian.
No more just Caspian.
Opheodra clears her throat. "His familiarity is unwelcome, isn't it?"
"Of course."
It tastes like a lie - as acrid as burnt bread.
Addie tries again. If she thinks practically for two seconds, she does mind, if only because Caspian's friendliness is its own kind of torment.
"I'd rather he didn't," Addie says. "After all, he's supposed to be getting engaged."
"Precisely." Opheodra pats her hand. "As flattering as the king's attention may be, it will not serve you to encourage it."
That's sensible.
But then Caspian might think she hasn't enjoyed their correspondence, and -
She's being ridiculous. Caspian should think he overstepped, because he did, and he should've known distance would do them both a favour. He shouldn't know that part of her didn't mind it - enjoyed it, even - because then he'll just… keep at it. Keep whittling away at her self-control, her resolve, her common sense.
She knows better, for God's sake.
"I'll suggest I correspond only with Doctor - Lord Chancellor - Cornelius," Addie says, and tries to mean it. "It'll… save paper."
Opheodra's pursed lips finally relax into a slight smile. "Very good."
"But if Ca- if the king refuses, could you…"
Distance. Distance is what they both need.
Addie continues, words blending together in a rush. "Could you read the letters for me? Tell me anything I need to answer, and leave out anything I don't?"
At Opheodra's flicker of surprise, Addie barrels on.
"It's silly, I know, but otherwise I'll feel like I'm being rude, and…" And I'm not as strong as I should be. "And I should keep my distance."
Opheodra's hand covers hers. Her skin is cool and dry, chilled by the brewing storm outside.
"Of course."
Addie,
As you wish. I meant only to reassure you that no matter your findings - or lack thereof - you needn't worry over your situation. I don't intend to banish you. (I jest; I would never.)
Inkfeather tells me the snows have begun. Does your favourable opinion of the moors still hold in this harsh weather?
Stay warm.
Caspian
To His Royal Majesty, King Caspian X,
The snow is beautiful in its own way; I don't mind it.
In the interest of saving parchment, it would be most efficient if I directed my reports to both you and Doctor Cornelius. I've been writing the same information to both of you for months now.
Give my best to Lady Lilliandil.
Respectfully,
Adelaine
Caspian
What in the Lion's name?
Caspian smooths Addie's letter and reads it again. She acquiesced to keeping both himself and Doctor Cornelius updated; what's changed?
Give my best to Lady Lilliandil.
She's pushing him away - using his title, reminding him of Lilliandil. And a few letters ago, she reminded him she wants to leave Narnia and that he is the one standing in her way.
Oh, Lion.
Addie's doing this for Lilliandil's sake - perhaps for his, too. If word spreads of him keeping such regular, friendly correspondences with a woman not his intended, tongues will wag, if they haven't started already. Addie recognised the poor optics before he did, when he should've thought of that immediately.
Caspian sets Addie's letter aside and rubs his temples. These months, it's true he has taken a more… conversational tone with Addie. He was enjoying their ease of manner after so much bitterness.
Does Addie think he's been disloyal to Lilliandil?
He hasn't. Friendliness and familiarity are not the same as a wandering eye.
But from the outside, perhaps someone would wonder, even if that has never been his intent.
Caspian remembers his frantic missives after the attack on Osta and cringes.
Though he meant nothing ill by his familiarity, a king ought not address a past lover so informally while he courts another. Addie's putting up distance he should have maintained from the start.
Yet, the thought of Addie departing Narnia someday as little more than a stranger to him… it weighs in his stomach like a stone.
A knock comes, echoing in his study.
"Yes?" Caspian calls.
The door groans open to reveal a faun. "Lady Lilliandil awaits you in the garden, Sire."
Damn, he's late.
"Thank you."
Caspian tucks Addie's letter into his pocket and proceeds to the garden.
On the way, another faun delivers a letter from Lord Stefano of Redhaven. Caspian reads it at once; despite the coming winter, Lord Stefano last reported an increase in pirate activity.
The pirates have now turned to the black market slave trade to pad their pockets. While Stefano's captains' efforts to quash piracy in the Eastern Sea have been largely successful, Captain Gopaz recently lost pursuit of a pirate vessel along the shores of Ettinsmoor. Despite combing every cliff-side cave and cove, he was unable to resume the chase and forced to head out to sea empty-handed.
Pirates using Ettinsmoor…
It's odd. Ettinsmoor's single port - and sparse, poor population - would not be half as lucrative as Calormen's coastal cities. Moreover, Ettinsmoor is part of Narnia. The pirates must know Narnia is not a haven for their abhorrent trade.
Problems always lurk Ettinsmoor. As if the werewolves weren't disruptive enough!
Caspian sighs and slows his pace. Rainroot, her team of healers, and the Royal Guard escorting them returned a month ago, and he's glad he sent them.
Initially, Rainroot argued against taking the cordial. She was right, it was a risk, but it was a worthy one he could ill stomach not taking. By the healers' reports and Addie's, they saved lives that otherwise would have been lost.
When he ran the idea by Lilliandil, she agreed.
Caspian slips Lord Stefano's missive into his pocket and enters the garden.
Fallen leaves crunch underfoot, and Caspian's glad he chose a thick overcoat. Narnia has not seen its first snow yet, but it will come soon. He's hoping for a white Christmas.
Lilliandil greets him with a smile from her perch on the fountain, radiant as ever. The water sparkles behind her, ripples turned into ribbons of light by her white-blue glow.
Caspian returns her smile, though the recent news tugs it closer to a polite grimace.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Caspian says, offering his hand. "Ettinsmoor is determined to pose trouble yet again."
Lilliandil frowns as she takes his hand, her own fingers chilled despite her fur mantle.
"What news?"
Caspian sighs and pushes in her chair before sitting in his own. "Pirates, this time. A ship was spotted near the coast and disappeared before it could be apprehended."
"Pirates?" Lilliandil busies herself pouring tea.
Caspian briefly explains Lord Stefano's letter. "It always comes back to Ettinsmoor," he concludes. "Every headache of the last six months."
Lilliandil takes a spiced biscuit. "It must be difficult, watching and waiting for news."
"It's… frustrating." Caspian bites a shortbread, the buttery confection crumbling in his mouth.
A thought strikes him.
"Is this what it's like in the sky, looking down at the world?"
Lilliandil draws her hand back, slowly, a pensive look on her beatific face.
"It is very similar, I think," she says, softly, longingly. "We watch, yet there is little we can do to change anything." She smiles again, her light shining steadily. "But as king, I should think there is much you can change."
Caspian sips his tea. Many days, even with the authority of his crown, he feels his hands are bound by politics, restraint, or indecision. A king can act, true, but he must act carefully.
"To a point," Caspian answers. "Though not nearly as much as I'd like."
Lilliandil smiles delicately. "Hearts are perhaps the hardest to change."
Caspian pauses, his teacup hovering at his lips. "My lady?"
Lilliandil purses her lips and glances away. The fountain reflects her eyes, their cerulean depths suddenly sharpening.
"How is Adelaine?"
Caspian's ears heat, a flush he tries to hide by focusing on his food. "Well enough. She remains focused on her research."
"Has she found anything?"
Caspian breaks another shortbread in half, crumbs littering his place. "Nothing substantial."
With a hum, Lilliandil falls silent, her glow dimming. The fountain trickles, and a breeze stirs the dead leaves scattered around the garden.
"May I speak freely?"
"Of course," Caspian says at once. He didn't think he gave Lilliandil reason not to. "Always. What is it?"
Lilliandil lifts her teacup without drinking, steam wafting from the china.
"You care about her."
Something in her tone makes him hesitate.
"I think…" Lilliandil lowers her cup and meets his eyes. "I think you are still in love with her."
A bolt of alarm shoots through his stomach. He can't be, that's…
Caspian sets his cup in its saucer and clenches his hands in his lap.
He's enjoyed his correspondence with Addie, he's glad they found some small closure on the beach, and he's already resolved not to stand in her way when she returns home. His caution about the rings is for the sake of his kingdom and nothing more.
Too late, Caspian realises the guilt in his silence.
Lilliandil lowers her eyes, and he does not know what to say.
But he must say something.
"So much happened between us," Caspian tries. "Too much. I don't think I could ever…"
Lilliandil abandons her tea, and the look in her eyes stills his tongue.
"Why did you wish to court me?"
That, at least, is easy to answer.
"I admire you," Caspian says. "Your grace, your kindness, your vivacity, how easily you befriend everyone you meet. You are everything Narnia's queen should be."
Despite his list of her virtues, Lilliandil dims further.
"But admiration is not love."
It is a form of love, but that's not what Lilliandil means.
Caspian swallows and lapses into silence yet again as Lilliandil leans back in her chair.
At length, she speaks.
"I am fond of you, Caspian, but if I give you my heart, I would expect yours in return. I do not think you can give me that."
He has tried. Lion, he's tried. He's carved out more time for her than he would've thought to spare before his voyage, he's let his entire kingdom see how proud he is to have her on his arm, and he's looked at Lilliandil and seen a queen.
A queen.
Not a wife.
Caspian's stomach churns. He has been unfair to her, this Lady of Stars who travelled half the world to see his kingdom.
Addie's letter takes on new weight in his pocket, a judgement in its own right.
Addie knew before he did.
"I want to tell you I feel nothing for her," Caspian says. "But that the question even had cause to enter your mind is not fair to you."
Lilliandil nods slowly, sadness creeping over her face.
"No," she agrees. "It is not."
Caspian shifts in his seat. Paper crinkles in his pockets.
Lilliandil turns her attention to her tea and biscuits. She eats and drinks without a word, more composed than he would be in her place.
Caspian can only stare at his plate.
When her plate is empty and her cup is dry, Lilliandil looks up.
"I wish you the best, Caspian," she says. "Truly."
She is too good.
She is better than he ever deserved.
"And I you," he says.
Again, that damnable silence, heavy and cold with the quiet pain of endings.
"You are still my guest," Caspian says. "If you have need of anything…"
Lilliandil smiles, sad but resolved.
"Thank you."
It is she who leaves the garden first. Caspian sits there long after her chair is empty.
A/N: Oof, poor Caspian... I'm so mean to him. But I suspect a few of you won't exactly be sad about this turn of events 😅
Next chapter is coming a in a week-ish. It feels like another long one, so bear with me.
Chapter 77 Preview:
Addie,
Forgive my informal salutation; I will correct it in the next letter if you wish.
I realise now why you sought to reestablish the formalities between us. My familiarity was meant in friendship, but I see now that it was presumptuous and caused you discomfort.
I am sorry.
You should know I spoke with Lady Lilliandil shortly after receiving your letter. There is something I must tell you, before the rumour mill tells you for me.
Our courtship is ended. Lady Lilliandil is my guest and nothing more.
I know you wish to return home, and I will not stand in your way, but we needn't be strangers until you do.
Sincerely,
Caspian