Author's Note: Wow, has it really been two years? I am soo sorry guys. I've been meaning to continue this story, but somehow it never quite happened. Well, at any rate, I'm taking a stab at finishing it now. So, this is a rather short chapter, but it's something. If ya'll wouldn't mind sending in critiques, spelling corrections, and the like, I'd be extremely thankful. Moreover, my plot bunny is currently an emaciated little thing that could die at any moment, so if ya'll want to feed it ideas, I'm sure it would be happy. Just let me know what you think might happen, or what should happen. I'm not making guarantees (mostly because I'd ultimately like to avoid being too predictable), but I might work in some of your ideas. So here it is, after a long hiatus... a chapter that is fairly dark and introspective...

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The cave was narrow, dark. Stalagmites rose from the floor at jagged intervals and shale covered the spaces in between. It was quite obvious that the system had not been formed by human - or even Narnian - hands.

The two kings sat on their horses a couple of yards away from the mouth, just staring at it. Surely Edmund knew that they could not bring the horses in there? It would mean a broken leg for sure, and Caspian wasn't nearly willing to part with good Destrier... not after having lost just about everything else from his old life. "Perhaps we should wait," Caspian said once again, his tone more insistent than it had been in the past.

"No, we're going," the younger king stated, and he began dismounting. "We don't have time to spare. We'll just leave those who can't walk on this sort of ground to guard here."

Caspian had already leapt off his horse when the other boy's words came to his ears, but his expression hardened. "It would not be wise to leave any more troops behind!" he growled, coming face to face with Edmund. Inside he was quaking. A part of him refused to believe that he was genuinely arguing with such a figure of legend, but that could not be avoided. It was apparent that Edmund was not at his best. "I have counseled before that we should get reinforce..." His argument died on his tongue as he saw Edmund staring at him, eyes gone narrow, black, cold; just like the cave. Caspian swallowed.

"I thought you were the one who didn't want to argue any longer," Edmund hissed. Caspian shrunk even more at that and started to fish for something to say, but the king just brushed past him, handing his reins to one of the Narnians that would, apparently, be staying behind.

Where was all this leading? It wouldn't do very well for Alsan to have declared him a king of Narnia just a few days before he died. Surely the Great Lion wouldn't have done that? But this? This foolhardy, dangerous, idiotic - he sighed. There was no hope for it. He knew that. One way or another, Edmund was going to do this, and he'd promised Queen Susan - Susan - that Edmund would return safely. Without another comment, Caspian lowered his head, rounded his shoulders, and ran to catch up with the determined king.

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Truth to tell, Edmund wasn't sure about this whole scheme either. Or at least he wasn't for a fraction of a second here and there. The tactician in him that had ruled over Narnia and helped Peter - Oh Alsan, Peter! - fight all those battles told him in no uncertain terms that this was perfectly stupid. A year ago, or however many years it had been, he would have felt somewhat more confident, he would have known the territory, known this cave, and therefore known exactly what he was getting himself and his men into, but as the River Rushing had proven, the Pevensie knowledge of geography was slightly out of date, and he had no memories of anything even resembling these caverns.

All that only occurred to him in those brief moments, however.

Honestly, how could he even contemplate turning back now? So much owed... so much lost. He wasn't one to dwell on pain. Really, he wasn't. There had been that period of his life when he'd been young and stupid and all too willing to hold grudges, but he'd most definitely learned from that. He'd become someone who practiced righteous rage and nothing more. He'd stopped his anger and pain when all had been righted. But this? How could he forgive this? How could he forget it? There was the aching absence of a brother he'd come to love, Lucy's shattered heart, Susan's forced stoicism, and he - he felt as if he'd been wounded. There was no pain, or very little, but there wasn't a doubt that the life was slowly draining from him. How could he plug it? Better yet, how could a warrior be passive when his family was so horribly broken?

He brushed the few renegade tears off on his sleeve before marching on, one hand bearing the torch, the other resting none-too-casually on the pommel of his sword. He would end this.

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Reepicheep was taking the point position in the foray, of course. Well, twas near enough. He was forced to follow behind those great clumsy brutes commonly called dogs. In all honesty, were it not for their superlative senses of smell, they surely would have been left behind for their cacophonous braying.

When one bludgeoned him in the face with it's tail, he'd had more than enough. "For all beneath the Great Lion!" he huffed, rearing up to stand on his legs and put a paw on his rapier, "Good Sirs! That is quite enough of that! Mind where you're putting your... your... extraneous portions!"

The talking dog in front of him turned it's droopy head to face him, strings of drool dangling like tassels. "My what?"

The Chief of Mice slapped a paw across his face. What manner of incompetents did they expect him to work with? "You're tail, dog, your tail. Stop hitting me with it!"

"Oh... sorry..." Then the dog was bounding off, no doubt in some alien form of competition with it's peers for whatever scent the villains might have left.

Ah! What was he doing? He shouldn't bemoan such simple grievances while regicidal traitorous were on the loose, especially with the two sovereigns in such mortal straights. Every instinct within him warned that this was not a wise action. The two of them were quite obviously emotionally compromised to the discriminating observer.

Wincing as he threaded through the scattered stones, he rebuked himself yet again. Questioning his superiors was far below his dignity. He was proud to serve them to whatever end, and that was that. As that ancient Narnian had once said, 'twas not our part to wonder why, twas our part to do or die.' *

He had just gotten back into the rhythm of things when the dogs began yammering at a whole new volume. Sighing, he ducked his head and ran in earnest, hoping to learn as quickly as he may what had stirred the dogs to a new pitch.

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Caspian wasn't altogether sure he knew how to deal with this situation. It wasn't as if he could walk up to Edmund and talk with him while tracking down his brother's killers. But the fact of the matter was that what should have been a short walk and a hard fight was becoming a very, very long walk. How far back did these caves go anyway?

He glanced to the side and saw a head with horns jutting out of it. Eyes widening, he started to take a step back before he realize it was just a fawn. He was still getting used to that.

Just as he was about to ask the fawn about the caves, he heard a clamor from up ahead. He hardly took a moment to react, emergencies had become far too regular of late for him not to have an ingrained response. Charging forward, he stumbled over the sharp, loose rocks, but still managed to pull abreast of the younger boy. A moment and one bend in the tunnel later, he was pulling himself to a stop just a few feet from a swarm of confused dogs.

"What is it?" Edmund demanded, and Caspian felt a pang of sympathy for the dogs.

A german pointer decided to speak up, large brown eyes looking nothing short of pitiful. "Well, King, the trail goes off this way," he said, lifting a paw and stretching his nose down the main passage. "But it's also coming from over here," he added and trotted off a pace, before pointing into the gloom.

Hesitantly, Edmund lifted his torch to expose another opening in the rock. Caspian winced. What sort of maze had they fallen in? His thoughts were interrupted though by a quiet huff.

Looking down, he saw Reepicheep bowing to both him and Edmund in turn. "If it please Your Majesties," the knight of Narnia said, "I believe an accurate translation would be that our villainous foes have journeyed forth on separate paths. I'm not sure how we'll find which way they've gone, or how to ensure that they won't circle back on us." The mouse turned and looked up to Edmund, waiting for a response.

The younger king paused for a long moment, and Caspian was relieved to see that Edmund was actually considering things for once, not just rushing in, ignoring the costs. Perhaps they would head back now?

"We'll station some of our fastest here, as a rearguard. If the Telmarines attempt to outflank us, we'll have warning. Now which way is the scent stronger?"

The german pointer perked up at that and tested the air and ground once again before going rigid. "This way, Sire!" he called.

"Then let's be off," Edmund said. The younger boy shoved past Caspian and two others, barreling deeper into the tunnel and leading the way for his meager army.

Caspian did his best not to hang his head. So much for a calm and considering Edmund.

* Since this (mis)quote was originally (as far as I can tell) from "The Charge of the Light Brigade" which was written long before 1939 and I figured one of the kids may have imported it to Narnia.