A/N: A few days late, but here, have a 9k chapter. I have no idea how this one got so LONG but here we are, even after I cut a scene. So, uh, enjoy? We'll be back to some truly nefarious Caslina content next chapter, I promise! (If you hear a cackle of glee from over yonder hill, that is me.)
Chapter 80 Content Warnings: N/A
Chapter 80: impatient and complacent
Caspian
Lion's Mane, what a mess. Caspian swallows a groan as he rubs his aching temples, while the raised voices of his council fight to drown each other out. He'd rather be seeing to the state of his kingdom for himself, clearing rubble and sending healers and comforting his people in person.
Instead, he's been in these dark chambers since well before sunup, with a council that's spent an hour debating the quake's source. Since the quake shattered many of the castle's windows, wooden boards and curtains stand between the interior and the elements, and torches are the only light.
"So what do we know?" Caspian's voice rasps from overuse. At a gesture, a servant pours him more water.
"It was those Giants, Sire, mark my words! They've been troublemakers for years. What's to say this isn't another declaration of war?"
"I doubt even a hundred Giants could have shaken all of Narnia, Lord Duzig," Caspian says.
The dwarf lord of the Western March lost a brother and a cousin to the Second Ettinsmoor War (as some scholars have named Caspian's Ettinsmoor campaign). In battle, the field shook for miles with the Giants' thrown boulders, but Giants alone could not make the ground from Ettinsmoor to Archenland tremble so violently.
"Perhaps Mount Pire awakens," offers Sir Romin, Archenland's ambassador. "According to our legends, the Giant Pire once stalked the Southern Mountains, until King Olvin turned him to stone. Perhaps his distant kin in the north seek to awaken him."
"Very troubling, very troubling indeed," says Gloomreed, the Marshwiggles' representative. "No doubt the Giants will strike again, bury us all in rubble. And if not the Giants, then the dragons. Lion knows they're due to awaken any time."
"Hang the Giants! It's clear who's behind this."
Caspian schools himself against a grimace. That's Lord Cozimo, Narnia's ambassador to Telmar, who winters in the capital. His Telmarine way of thinking makes him an excellent ambassador to Telmar, but he chafes under the capital's predominantly Narnian government.
"It was not Aslan's doing," Doctor Cornelius insists for the third time this morning. "The Great Lion would never rain such destruction upon -"
"The Great Lion is no benevolent god, Lord Chancellor," snaps Cozimo. "You yourself admitted that Lion's voice can shake the world, and has before!" Cozimo stands, fists braced on the scuffed table - though bricks fell upon it, it didn't crack. "There is no witch to blame," Cozimo continues. "Your beloved Lion is punishing us all at the whim of his own fancy!"
"Mind your tongue, my lord!" calls Honeytaster, Trufflehunter's representative when he's otherwise engaged. Whiskers twitching, the badger hops onto the table. "If this was Aslan's doing, rest assured all of Narnia has grievously erred and He saw no other path to correct us. But it must be said, Sir, that Aslan's way is of guidance, not unchecked wrath."
"May I remind you, badger, that this Lion summoned the River God at the Beruna bridge and wiped out a third of the Telmarine army at his own whim!" Cozimo gestures to the boarded-up windows and scaffolds in the ceiling. "What other force could have done this?"
Caspian slams his open hand to the table.
The room quiets.
"Enough speculation," he says. "What do we know of the destruction?"
Lord Gorelvi of Beruna raises a hand. "Beruna and the surrounding villages suffered structural damage. Numerous buildings have collapsed entirely, and hardly a wall stands that hasn't cracked."
"And the people?" Caspian asks.
"Many were injured, but the casualties were few." Gorelvi bows his head. "Some are still missing, perhaps buried in rubble."
Then they need aid and any healers he can spare. Caspian scribbles a note to himself and waves the council on.
Lord Duzig speaks next. "Chippingford struggles, Sire. The market caught fire, and it swept through a third of the town before it was contained. The flames claimed many lives."
Caspian scribbles another note. The healers are stretched thin as it is, but Rainroot must know others she can call on.
Honeytaster raises his paw. "Cair Paravel felt the tremors, but there were no injuries. A tunnel cave-in buried a team of moles, but they dug themselves out alright. The excavations will be slightly delayed and some artifacts may be damaged or lost."
Caspian sighs in relief. No casualties is the best news he's had all day. He'd rather lose artifacts than people.
"And the port?" he asks.
"Damaged, but intact," answers Drinian. "Our ships are seaworthy, most of the docks survived, and the sea wall stopped the worst of the resulting wave. The town only experienced minor flooding."
As good a report as he could hope for. On his voyage, a few Lone Islander sailors mentioned great waves, but always tied them to storms. Yet reports are trickling in of flooding and a tall wave that overtook the sea walls in Galma and the Seven Isles. Lady Larissa, the Duke of Galma's daughter and Caspian's brief, uneventful courtship-turned-friendship, wrote of a wave that ravaged the lower levels of Galma's capital. Caspian authorised a ship of supplies and aid just last night.
Thankfully, Cair Paravel did not suffer such a calamity. The castle ruins sit high a cliff, safe from even the tallest waves.
Caspian wets his dry throat with water and asks about the Northern Marshes.
"Some of our wigwams are still standing, Your Majesty," says Gloomreed. "Not they won't fall to bits or be swallowed up in the bog or flooded in a storm shortly. One wiggle twisted his foot, trying to repair his, but that's to be expected when you're rushing. They'll have it off at the knee, I shouldn't wonder."
The Marshwiggles may need help to rebuild, but they won't need additional healers.
"And the ferries across the Shribble?" Caspian asks.
"We lost two," says Gloomreed. "Smashed to bits on the dock, terrible flood. Though I'll say this, once you dry the wood out, it makes for passable matchsticks."
Caspian thanks him. Two broken ferries mean eastern travels to Ettinsmoor may take longer, but they can continue.
He knows not how Ettinsmoor fared. Lady Opheodra did not receive his summons in time, and Swiftbeak isn't due back until this evening.
Caspian turns to Trumpkin, his capital's steward when he's not acting as regent. "The capital?"
"Damaged, Your Majesty, as much from fear as the quake," says the dwarf, hands clasped on the table. "Several homes partially collapsed, though their light construction made rescue efforts easier." Trumpkin nods at Lord Duzig. "If more healers, moles, and minotaurs are needed at Chippingford, the city can spare them."
"Then send them immediately." Caspian turns to Glenstorm. "Send a company of soldiers with them to search the rubble for survivors."
Glenstorm crosses an arm over his chest, fist to his heart - acknowledging and accepting the order.
"All of Chippingford thanks you," says Lord Duzig.
Caspian turns to the castle steward seated between Glenstorm and Doctor Cornelius. "And the castle?"
"Structurally sound despite shattered windows and fallen stones and mortar," the steward answers, turning his quill over in his hands. The faun is never seen without a quill and paper. "The worst losses were a tapestry from the Golden Age and a partial storage room cave-in. The injured are being tended to."
Caspian drums his fingers on his chair. "How many?"
The faun checks his paper. "Thirty-seven, Sire. None dead."
That is something, then.
With a heavy sigh, Caspian leans back in his chair. The damage fell heavier on buildings and structures than people. He ought to be relieved for small mercies.
"Until the Lion's next calamity strikes." Lord Cozimo stands, chair scraping from the rug to the stone floor. "Next time the Narnian god shakes his mane, we may not be so lucky."
"I doubt this was Aslan's doing," Caspian counters. A lie, but far better than admitting to his entire council that he can't fathom what, other than Aslan, could have shaken his entire kingdom to its core.
With an old man's groan, Doctor Cornelius stands as well. Though he can't match Cozimo in height, Cornelius' glance quiets the discontented lord.
"The people are afraid, Your Majesty," says the Doctor, looking at Cozimo, who slowly sinks into his chair. "Much like us, they are struggling to find reason in this. If we cannot decide on an official cause, superstitions will race unchecked."
Caspian waves him on. "Speak your counsel, Lord Chancellor."
Doctor Cornelius adjusts his spectacles and folds his hands over his belly, as if the council is a classroom of schoolboys. "Hear-tell says Aslan is angry, yet cannot divine what prompted his wrath. The northerners seem inclined to blame the Giants, although the Ettins have not strayed south of the Great Northern River since your campaign. Moreover, Harfang lies a considerable distance from Ettinsmoor, with mountains and a river between them."
Cozimo interrupts. "If not Aslan or Giants, what could have shaken the very earth beneath our feet? Will you now suggest another ancient legend has come to life?"
Stroking his black beard, Lord Duzig suggests someone may have raised the White Witch, or attempted to. "The Wild Lands are full of 'er old devotees," says the dwarf. "It wouldn't be the first time someone tried, as Your Majesty well knows."
A chill races across Caspian's palm and the thin scar he bore for only a day. He banishes the memory and shakes his head.
"If the White Witch had returned, Narnia's winter would be far more bitter," Caspian says.
Duzig taps his hand with a thumb. "Suppose they tried and didn't succeed?"
"Too many unknowns in those frozen north-lands," says Lord Gorelvi.
Cozimo pounds a fist on the table. "Trouble like this is why we should've overtaken the Wild Lands, too! The Giants and gods know what else is plotting our demise, no doubt hatching plans to conquer Narnia when the opportunity strikes."
Caspian's eyes narrow. First Cozimo blamed Aslan, now he blames the Wild Lands. But what could he stand to gain if Narnia invaded further north?
Politics, it's just politics. Cozimo remembers the Telmarine way, and it makes him a good diplomat to Telmar, but his penchant for suggesting war makes for an occasional annoyance at council.
Caspian shakes off his musings and refocuses on the true issue at hand - helping his people.
Over the next hour, he apportions healers, aid workers, and soldiers to the various corners of Narnia, according to need. He will discuss the quake's cause later, with only his most trusted advisor.
Later, after endless meetings, surveying the city, and issuing decrees calling for calm and strength, Caspian sighs at the papers littering his desk - damage reports, casualty counts, pleas for aid, estimates on supplies and trade disruptions - and resists the pull of sleep. The eastern sky is already brightening, and dawn is when Queen Lucy said Aslan is nearest.
Facing the horizon, Caspian kneels at his window, clears his throat, and clasps his hands.
"Aslan," he begins. "If I have displeased you, censure me yourself. I beg you, spare my kingdom. My failings are not theirs."
His voice cracks, and his eyes sting. Privately, Doctor Cornelius hypothesised the quake was a warning from Aslan, though he couldn't divine for what.
I commend what you have done for Narnia. Yet you have taken no queen.
You still have not let her go.
Caspian rests his chin on his hands and closes his eyes.
In failing Lilliandil, he also failed Narnia - failed to give his kingdom a queen, and failed to secure his succession.
Kings can appoint heirs, too, but Aslan must bless any true ruler of Narnia. And there is no one Caspian yet knows who is both younger than he and who would make a suitable heir.
He's leaving Narnia vulnerable. What will become of this resurgent kingdom if he cannot designate a successor?
Perhaps that is the source of Aslan's displeasure.
But how could he ever have married Lilliandil and promised to make her happy, to be a husband as well as a king, when his heart… his traitorous, treacherous heart still lies elsewhere?
Why did Addie not halt their friendly correspondences sooner? Why carry on for months, letting him hope and -
The window before him rattles with a stiff wind. The silence chasing it brings shame, his increasingly familiar companion.
Caspian straightens and tries again.
"Aslan, if the quake was your voice, I could not discern your words. Help me understand. I… if it is for Narnia, there is no command from you I will spurn."
Caspian bows his head and does not think how Aslan has never answered him, and some would call it foolish to keep trying. If Aslan was warning Narnia, he must understand the message.
For his people's sake.
The back of his neck heats.
Caspian's eyes snap open.
As the sun crests the horizon, he tastes spice and sunlight, smells the salt of the sea, and feels a breath on his face.
There one moment, gone the next.
Caspian waits, hardly daring to breathe, hope drumming wildly behind his ribs.
Nothing more.
No wisdom
No apparition.
No clarity.
But when Caspian stands, his legs sing with strength, all traces of exhaustion gone, and his right hand itches for want of a quill.
Strangely, perhaps foolishly, the first letter he writes is to Addie.
Addie,
You must write to me that you are well. Here in Narnia, the earth shook as if struck by a dozen catapults at once. Some of the weaker buildings in the northeast collapsed entirely, and there is hardly a corner of the kingdom that did not at least feel the quake. As you must know, Ettinsmoor, too, suffered some damage.
Please confirm that you are uninjured and safe.
If I do not hear from you within three days, I am sending an escort to fetch you, whether your project is complete or not.
Urgently,
Caspian X
To His Royal Majesty, King Caspian X,
Please see this week's report, attached.
Respectfully,
Adelaine
Addie
In her dreams, she smells incense. The air is thick with it, the comforting, exotic scent overwhelming her senses. Cloying, too much, so sweet her nose burns and itches.
Opheodra…
Her chest contracts, then her throat, and Addie wrenches awake, flinging off bedsheets with a cough, her eyes watering. Her shift clings to her back, sticky with sweat.
Strum.
"My dear Adelaine, at last you awaken!"
Opheodra?
Addie jolts to sit, wincing as her head pounds and the room swims around her.
"Carefully; you've survived a dreadful affair."
Addie shivers in the warm air.
Dreadful affair?
There was confusion, terror, some… realisation, something important… Addie squeezes her eyes shut and thinks, but every time a memory starts to solidify, it curls away like smoke.
She takes another breath. Her lungs burn.
Why can't she remember?
Addie coughs over and over, trying to suck in air and getting only smoke, this incessant, too-sweet, heady incense…
Strum, strum.
"I fear you are not yet well." Opheodra stands from her chair by the fireplace and approaches, her fingers never pausing on her instrument's strings. They blur in Addie's vision, and the music weaves in and out. "Be still and tell me how you feel."
Throat stinging, Addie scoots away as the Lady sits on the bed.
"You… There was a ritual?" Addie flexes her hand, wincing as her skin chafes under the bandages. Her palm smarts with the ghost of a knife and clears some of her doubt. "You - you cut my hand! And the fire -"
Opheodra swoops close, her face scant inches away, her eyes bright and green and piercing. The mandolin's melody echoes in Addie's ears and… she was upset, wasn't she? Her hand…
Opheodra's lips part.
Addie listens.
"Addie, sweet, you must not remember what happened," Opheodra croons. "Have some tea. It will clear your head."
Addie blinks. Yes, a clear head would be good…
There's a cup on the nightstand, but it feels leagues away.
"Here, let me." Opheodra reaches for the cup first, her music quieting.
Addie takes it gingerly and sniffs first.
Herbal, soothing - it smells like healing teas Rainroot makes, with lavender and something else… Despite the pleasant incense, the tea is a welcome freshness.
Carefully, Addie sips. Sweet, floral musk bloom on her tongue, chased by a ghost of vanilla and nuttiness.
Addie drinks, holding the tea in her mouth before swallowing to savour it. This brew tastes like Rainroot's concoctions. A bit sweeter, as if Opheodra added honey.
Fragments drift into her mind's eye - a torch-lit procession, hundreds of sad faces, a crack in the earth, a dagger in her hand. Opheodra speaking in a strange tongue, a glowing circle, and "My realm is in danger, and you must help me secure it."
"The ritual," Addie says, clearing her throat. "What was that?"
"It was a necessary working," says Opheodra. Strum, strum, strum. "You must understand, even such magic was barely enough."
Addie coughs and finishes her tea, missing the comforting herbs the moment the last drop drains from her tongue.
Enough?
"Enough for what?"
Opheodra's brow furrows, and she looks away. "You must be brave when I tell you this, Addie. It may frighten you."
Before answering, Addie steadies her breathing. The smoke isn't so bad; it soothes her throat more than tickles it, and her head is clearing.
Maybe this can wait. Opheodra's been so kind, and her body needs rest…
No! No, something was wrong; Opheodra was… calling something?
She must've meant well.
Didn't she?
Addie curls her bandaged hand, biting back a hiss at the burning sting.
She needs answers. Sleep will wait.
"Tell me," Addie says. "You… I need you to tell me everything. Please."
"As you wish." Opheodra smiles, soft with concern. "I told you my kingdom was in danger, but I did not tell you from whom. Hear me now: there are dark and terrible gods that slumber in the Deepest Realm, in the lakes of fire that lie beneath Underland."
Gods living below? Nothing in her research ever mentioned such beings, but surely Opheodra wouldn't lie.
Then again, she heard nothing about Underland, before Opheodra brought her here.
Addie pulls back her bandage and finds raw, blistered skin mottled an angry red. She remembers smelling sulphur, a red glow…
"Why are they dangerous?"
Strum.
"Because sometimes, as you yourself discovered, they wake."
Fire gods waking from the deep? Did the ritual cause that?
The question weighs in her mouth like undercooked bread.
"But you woke them," Addie forces out. "Your magic, your ritual, it… you woke them?"
Opheodra shakes her head, auburn waves flowing like water.
Strum, strum, strum.
"They have been waking long before I knew to stop them," she says. "Overland has not felt the warning signs, but my realm lies closer, and we have borne many warnings. The earth shakes and cracks, roaring like those terrifying gods below. Did you not see the scaffolds of my city, the unfinished temples and warehouses not yet rebuilt?"
Addie closes her eyes and tries to think, to focus. The music swirls around her head, slips into her ears. "But I… I thought they were just being built."
With a soft, sad little sigh, Opheodra shakes her head. "No indeed. Underland trembled barely a fortnight ago, and much of my city was broken. I have been so worried for my realm, Adelaine."
Worried… Is that why Opheodra passed the voyage across the Sunless Sea alone in her cabin?
Is that why everyone seemed haunted? It was fear of the fire gods shaking the earth that terrified them?
"Are you saying you were trying to stop the gods?" Addie says. Her own voice sounds distant, like her mouth's across the room and she's stuffed wax in her ears. "Make them quiet and save Underland?"
"Precisely." Opheodra smiles, her gaze gentle through smoke blanketing the room. "I knew you would understand."
All is as Her Grace wills it.
"But why did you need me?" Addie asks, tracing her palm through the thick bandage that extends to her elbow. She remembers the stink of sulphur, fire like a forked tongue licking at her hand. "You had your people's blood. Why mine?"
Opheodra tilts her head. The music fades, though she still plucks the strings.
"You, my dear, carry the magic of world-travelling in your veins. Only you could stop them from breaking through the earth and ravaging all of Underland. And surely you can guess they would eventually break out into Overland, too."
"But you're not from Narnia," Addie says, puzzling. "Why not use your own?"
Opheodra's gaze hardens, her eyes like cold emeralds. "I am not a Daughter of Eve. In this world, your kind is where much powerful magic lies."
That makes sense. In King Caspian's rebellion against his uncle, a few followers of the White Witch wanted his blood - something about him being a Son of Adam. A human.
But Opheodra isn't the White Witch. She's doing good, protecting her people - and she needed her help.
Addie crosses her legs and pulls her bed's soft-woven blankets over her lap.
"Why didn't you tell me this before? I would've helped you."
A low, sweet note hums through the air, and then the mandolin falls silent. With the face of a friend appealing for understanding, Opheodra reaches for her. Her delicate hand curls around Addie's good arm, fingertips as cool as the Sunless Sea's dark waters.
"I'm most gratified to know that now," the Lady murmurs. "But you will forgive my secrecy. You see, I feared you wouldn't."
Addie purses her lips, stung. How could Lady Opheodra think her so ungrateful after all she's done for her - befriended her, hosted her, sheltered her from King Caspian's strange overtures? Kindness deserves repayment.
With a ripple of her fingers, Opheodra's music whispers between them, her gaze appraising.
"Do you deny you found such magic… unsettling?"
Addie's face heats, and she tangles her hands in the blanket.
It was more than unsettling.
"No," she admits. "It was… it was frightening, if I'm honest."
It was frightening in the moment, but it was for a good cause, wasn't it? It was the right thing to do.
Opheodra nods, lips down-turned. "Yes, I thought it might be. My realm's need was dire; I could not risk your refusal. We narrowly re-sealed the earth as it was."
But the ritual tore the earth, didn't it?
Didn't it?
Incense curls around her, warm like a beloved's embrace.
Maybe a little nap, just to clear her head…
Opheodra's lilting voice floats to her.
"Fret no more, my dear. You are very unwell; rest now, rest… rest…"
Addie's vision swims, and she's falling, falling -
"Ah!" With a hiss, Addie jerks up again, the back of her head flaring with sharp pain as she strikes the headboard.
Fire, rituals, a knife, a crack across her head…
"Tell me what happened," Addie croaks as Opheodra steadies her. "Just… just tell me everything. I'm still…"
"Are you certain?" Strum. "I couldn't bear to overwhelm you."
"Please, tell me," Addie says, though her tongue feels as thick and dry as cotton.
Opheodra's smile thins.
"Very well."
Before continuing, she rises to tend the fire. Addie shivers in the sudden, oppressive silence. It's loud, this quiet - heavy with uncertainty and the weight of the miles of earth above.
Opheodra stokes the fire with kindling and her incense powder, and the room's haze thickens.
For a moment, Addie holds her breath.
Her chest burns, but if she closes her eyes, she can see the Opheodra that frightened her, feel the cut of a blade, hear the earth breaking -
"Breathe, Addie. You will find it a worthy tonic for what ails you."
Why is she holding her breath?
No, there's something…
Addie's chest expands, the itching in her lungs softens, and an earthy, floral taste teases her throat.
She's being silly; she can't hold her breath forever.
The downy mattress dips as Opheodra sits beside her, mandolin in her lap. Addie sits up, arms around her knees, and resolves to listen.
This time, the melody is barely audible.
With the grace of endless patience, Opheodra begins with a question of her own.
"What is the last thing you remember?"
The ship, the dark sea, a march up a mountain… You can't imagine how delighted I am to have your company.
"We walked through the city after making port," Addie says.
"So we did." Opheodra smooths her skirt and continues. "No doubt you felt the thunder roiling beneath our feet as we processed through my capital."
Thunder… there were marching feet, blank faces, silence… Perhaps there was thunder.
Yes, there was, wasn't there? How could she forget?
"They walked with us," Addie recalls. "Through the city, they followed you."
Opheodra tilts her head. "And you, Addie. Do not forget you were their salvation."
Was she? There was something wrong, a… a breaking and bleeding, a…
"Followed us," she amends absently as her thoughts drift.
World-travelling - Opheodra said that was important. As far as she knows, only she and Opheodra've done that.
"Where are you from?" Addie stares through the haze, but Opheodra looks as human as she is.
"If I told you its name, you would not know it. Now then, we processed to the barren earth behind this castle, where -"
"But everyone looked sad," Addie says. Her own voice sound plaintive and faint, even to herself. "They didn't look hopeful, they -"
"Adelaine," Opheodra interrupts sharply. "Do you want to know what happened or not?"
Addie flinches and shies away. She's just trying to understand, to…
Opheodra must be frustrated - and worried for her people. And here she is, making everything more difficult.
"Sorry," Addie mumbles, the apology spilling like water over stones. "I just… sorry. I'll listen."
With a melodic sigh, Opheodra softens and explains all with saintly patience.
The thunder Addie thought was from feet was the earth trembling, a warning that the gods were coming and it wasn't strong enough to stop them. Opheodra's people - all refugees from other besieged areas of the north - knew only terror, that their last safe haven in the world would soon be torn asunder. The gods are ancient, violent creatures that slumber for hundreds, even thousands, of years. Opheodra believes that building Underland woke them.
"They are creatures of fire," Opheodra says. "And like fire, their hunger is endless. When they wake, they are not sated until they've devoured everything they can reach."
Addie pulls her blankets higher and tries not to think of how close the gods are. "How far can they go?"
The mandolin soothes the anxiety souring her stomach.
"Many leagues," says Opheodra. "In ancient times, they once broke out into Overland. It was they who gave the dragons their fire."
But didn't Opheodra say Overland posed a danger to her realm? Why would Overlanders want to harm Underland, if Opheodra's keeping all their lands safe from the ravages of eldritch gods?
Opheodra strums quicker when she asks, and Addie has the sense to be ashamed. When she opens her mouth, all that seems to come out are accusations.
"Overland has not known these gods as I have," Opheodra says. "They do not remember the danger, and they believe all magic in the north is evil. Be quiet and listen. My tale is nearly finished."
Addie's mouth claps shut.
She listens, but the tale… it doesn't make sense. Can't be true, because she's not…
The Addie in Opheodra's tale cut her own hand and held firm even as the fire gods blasted steam and ash from below. That Addie saw the ground crumbling away and pulled Opheodra from the edge and took a hard fall for the trouble. That Addie was bold, fearless, brave.
That's not her. She's a coward - she runs from pain. How can she have put herself between Opheodra and the fire gods' wrath?
"It was all thanks to you that my working succeeded," says Opheodra, her music singing of impossible truths. "I am forever in your debt."
Addie fists her good hand in the blankets and tries to believe it, because she wants to be the kind of person Opheodra's describing and Opheodra wouldn't lie, but…
"That doesn't sound like me," Addie whispers. "I'm not brave."
Strum, strum.
"And yet, you were."
"But…" Addie flexes her injured hand, raw skin chafing under thick bandages. "Are you sure?"
Opheodra's stare pins her in place, fire-smoke sweet on the back of her tongue.
"Do you think so lowly of yourself that you would doubt my word?"
"No, I - I know what I'm not, is all." Addie picks at her bandages, nail snagging on a thread. "I mean, I thought I did."
She should apologise to Opheodra - for being difficult, for not believing her.
Or, better yet, be quiet. If she can't say the right thing, better to shut up and say nothing.
Yet, an apology slips out, her own tongue slippery as oil with a will of its own.
The moment the words pass her lips, Opheodra beams, all gentle grace and beatific care.
"There is nothing to forgive," she says, her song a soothing hum. "You are tired, and both your body and your mind must heal. Sleep, where sweet dreams and quiet shores await. Sleep, dear Addie. Sleep, sleep, sleep…"
Darkness takes her before her head finds the pillow.
It's a slow recovery, lazy with constant bedrest and so much sleep Addie can't guess how much time has passed. Her dreams aren't often sweet, but they fade quickly, leaving her with only a vague sense of unease, a twinge in her lungs easily rectified by Opheodra's music and the ever-present fire-smoke.
And, above all, Opheodra. Her calming presence and reassuring words are a balm better than any burn salve.
Every time Addie wakes, the Lady is there - with a cup of tea, a bowl of stew, rolls of pillowy bread, a soothing voice, and a kind touch as she changes the bandages herself. Though Lady Opheodra must have duties aplenty, she tends to Addie's every need, uttered or not.
Addie never wakes alone. Never, not once.
She's being a little useless, just laying in bed, and she'll make it up to her friend soon, but Opheodra insists she do nothing but recover and it's…
She's never alone.
Then the bandages come off for good.
Addie watches silently as Opheodra peels back the cloth layer by layer. The pain faded at least a dozen sleeps ago, and during bandage changes, she's seen her skin shift from a blistered, angry red to a leathery tan that peeled into a mottled pink.
Her hand is a patchwork of white and pink, marbled like under-mixed dough and painfully obvious even in the dim room. Any scars from her intermittent kitchen employment are gone, burned away and overtaken by the cost of saving Underland.
It could've been worse. She could've fallen head-first into the fire gods' domain.
"There," Opheodra says, peeling off the last ointment-sticky strip. "Move your fingers - gently."
The skin's tight, itchy, and stings when she curls her pinkie and ring finger too far. Part of her feels like she's lost something, but her hand is functional and that's more than enough.
It'll fade in time. And even if it doesn't, even if the fire'd charred her hand clean off, isn't that a worthy trade for a realm's worth of refugees, of people unmoored from home just like her?
"Excellent. Another week or two and you'll have no more than a scar." Opheodra opens a golden jar from the bedside table and scoops a generous measure of ointment.
Addie sighs in relief as her skin cools. Keeping the burned skin moisturised seems to be the trick.
"Am I off bedrest?"
Not that she doesn't appreciate Opheodra's attentiveness, but she needs to be useful sooner rather than later. She needs to be doing something, anything to prove her gratitude, to repay Opheodra's unending kindnesses.
Opheodra wipes her hands and sets aside the ointment. When her piercing gaze rises, Addie meets it. Though Opheodra's unblinking stares used to unnerve her, she now understands it's an expression of care - an appraisal of need and feeling before Opheodra answers. The Lady never does anything lightly.
"If you're feeling up to it, yes, I suppose I ought to escort you around my city - properly, this time." In a rustle of green silk, Opheodra stands. "Get dressed. There is much to show you."
Underland's capital has exploded with progress. Half the buildings are complete, any damage from the earth's split is fixed, ships steadily enter and leave the port, and above all, the people - so many the streets are choked with too many bodies to count. Nearly every city worker shuffling through the dim streets bears a heavy load on their back or in their arms.
But their forms are… strange, stranger even than the Narnians of Overland. The castle's servants are human, but those below are not. Some are shorter than dwarfs, others are taller than Hallgrim. Their faces are every shape and size - round, long, with trunkish noses and blobs of noses, beady eyes and eyes round as a teacup saucer, plump cheeks and angular jaws, some horned, some warted. But all have skin the colour of chalk dust, and there's a peculiar look in their faces. Something sad and haunted, yet set in united purpose.
Addie clings to Opheodra and wishes they were observing from the safety of a castle balcony.
"What are they?" she wonders aloud, when Opheodra leads her back up the hill, blue lanterns the only barrier between them and the darkness. "They weren't here before, were they?"
Opheodra pats her hand, skin dry and chilled. "These Earthmen are yet more refugees seeking sanctuary in my realm. The gods' fiery wrath fell on them, too, and chased these poor wretches from their home."
"So their new home is here?" Addie says. She's a little like them - she can't get home, either.
"It is," says Opheodra. "They are so industrious, eager to earn their place."
Earn their place… while she's spent weeks of bedrest indulging in Opheodra's attentive care.
"I should, too," Addie says.
"What, earn your place?" Opheodra's green eyes are magnanimous in welcome, glinting with gratitude. "You already have. I couldn't possibly ask more of you."
She can and she should! Opheodra's asked nothing of her for weeks, while Addie's greedily soaked up every reassurance and tender-hearted assistance. Surely she can do more than aiding a single ritual.
"You tended me yourself," Addie counters, careful to soften her voice with gratitude instead of the affront that tempts her first. "And you've given me a place to stay, fed me, taken care of me. I ought to repay your kindness."
"You're so thoughtful, Addie." Opheodra brushes a cool finger up her cheek and tucks Addie's hair behind her ear. "If you insist, I do have another task I would set before you. When you've fully recovered, of course."
Addie flexes her scarred hand. With the ointment shiny on her skin, it barely stings.
"I'm recovered enough. What can I do?"
With a creak and a groan, the castle's double doors open and Opheodra leads her through. The entry hall - framed and guarded by an archway carved with snakes - is brighter than the city, yet cast in those same blue lanterns.
Opheodra's fires are nicer - warm, sweet, comforting, casting flickering golden-orange light that dances serpentine up the walls.
"In good time," Opheodra answers, ignoring the bowing manservants she passes. "A few days more, and I will send you on your way."
Addie stops, heart lurching up her throat and thudding behind her teeth.
"You're sending me away?"
She can't, Opheodra wouldn't… why? Hasn't she done everything Opheodra's asked? Hasn't she been obedient, been quiet and pleasing and obliging?
She never should've stayed in bed so long, Opheodra must think her useless.
"Hush," Opheodra says, not unkindly, but the command snaps Addie's mouth shut. "I will be with you for much of the journey, and when you return triumphant, I shall welcome you with open arms."
Addie's breath steadies. She's not being sent away, then, just sent on an errand.
"Of course," she murmurs. "Anything you need."
Opheodra hums. "You really are so helpful, Adelaine. Whatever would I do without you?"
Heat floods Addie's cheeks. How nice it is to be appreciated!
"What do you need me to do?"
"In good time, my sweet. I will tell you on the way," Opheodra says, palming open the door to Addie's room. A haze lies over it, and Opheodra's fire blazes with green-grey smoke. "For now, rest. You will need all your strength."
Addie crumples onto the bed, sleep dragging her under before she can even kick off her slippers.
Nine sleeps later - Addie scratches a tally into the bedside table each time she wakes - Lady Opheodra bids her pack. Addie leaps to obey.
Not that she's eager to leave Underland, but she hasn't known what day it is for a while and if she thinks too much about the miles of earth and stone packed above her head, she shivers from her fingertips to her toes. Opheodra's assured her they'll travel together for most of the way.
The Lady also said to pack a cloak and travelling boots, which must mean they're travelling back to Overland, which means seeing sky again, sky and clouds and the sun! Even a pale, distant winter's sun will be lovely, its light far-reaching and clear.
The Lady's fires smoke a lot - not a bad thing, but sometimes the incense makes her chest tickle with a cough she can't quite summon.
Addie tucks her square-folded servant dress into her bag and heads to the dining hall.
On the way, she stops a servant girl with a mess of scars covering her right shoulder and asks what day it is.
"I don't know, milady," the girl answers, voice as mousy as her timidity.
Does no one keep time down here?
"Of course you don't," Addie sighs. "And I suppose you don't know the time, either?"
Head bowed, the servant girl whispers an apology Addie waves off as she mutters to herself. "Sometimes I miss the sun."
"The sun?" The girl looks up. "What's the sun?"
Is the girl daft? Trying to make a joke?
Addie regards her, but no mirth sparkles in her young eyes - only a flicker of green. Her features are blank but for the muddled frown twisting her mouth.
"Adelaine, there you are!" Around the corner comes Lady Opheodra, resplendent as ever in her silks and vibrant satins. To the servant girl, she says only, "You are dismissed."
The girl scuttles off and Addie falls into step as Opheodra loops their arms.
"Hurry and eat; we must leave imminently," says the Lady.
"Breakfast?" Addie guesses.
"Luncheon," says Opheodra.
Addie twists to look back and finds an empty hallway echoing with her and Opheodra's slippered steps. The servant girl is gone.
"She didn't know what the sun was," Addie says. "How long has she been down here?"
Opheodra purses her lips. "Ah, the poor thing. Her mind is very fragile, and I fear the terror of the werewolf attacks damaged more than just her arm. She remembers little of her life before Underland - a sad peace, but peace nonetheless." Opheodra pats her hand. "Pay her mutterings no mind."
Addie glances back again. Sometimes forgetting is the best way to survive.
How remarkable that Opheodra's kindness stretches even to servant girls.
A dozen workers join them on their journey to Overland. Addie stays by Opheodra's side, from the Sunless Sea to the long, winding road uphill, while Hallgrim follows at the rear, with the human workers padding wordlessly between them.
This time, after the pale beaches are behind them, Opheodra bears right at a tunnel fork, which soon widens into a cavern lit by a silvery light. An old man slumbers within, his chin and half his torso covered in a snow-white beard.
"Is he a Giant?" Addie murmurs. Her horse flicks its ears at the sound of her voice.
"That is Father Time," Opheodra says. "He was once a king in Overland, and now he sleeps. Some say he will wake at the end of the world."
Lord Belevoz's collection mentioned the City Ruinous, an ancient Giant city of ages past fallen into ruin. Was Father Time once a Giant king?
Opheodra arches an eyebrow and smiles when Addie asks.
"Do you recall the inscription set into the City Ruinous?"
Vaguely, but it'll sound best from Opheodra's lips.
Addie shifts in her saddle. "I'm sorry, not quite. Remind me?"
Opheodra casts a lingering eye on Father Time and recites:
Though under Earth and throneless now I be,
Yet, while I lived, all Earth was under me.
And now he's an old, old man fathoms below the surface, trapped in endless sleep.
Addie shivers and urges her horse onward.
Opheodra leads the way through the next cavern - a sparse, underground forest of spongy trees without leaves, the ground carpeted by moss twice as thick as any castle carpet. The horses' hooves and the people marching behind them make no noise, and even the beat of Addie's heart seems too loud. On the ground, bat-like, draconic creatures sleep, the dim light glinting off their scales and long, sharp fangs.
Addie's grateful for Opheodra's presence beside her, however much she wishes for comforting words or the thrumming of her mandolin.
The blanket of silence, however, is a good thing: the creatures don't wake.
Among them lies a monstrous dragon as long as a castle bridge, its tattered wings and dull scales as black as the Sunless Sea.
Bairroas the Fire-Bringer.
Addie slows her horse and commits the dragon's shape to memory so she can draw it for Cesare later.
After all, she can't bring the boy here and show him. He might disturb the dragon.
After so long underground, even the north's pale winter sun is too bright. Addie squints and shields her eyes as they travel northwest, the sunrise glinting off the snowy moors. Behind them lies the City Ruinous, where even broken columns stand as tall as the Telmarine castle's walls.
Ahead lies a castle atop a steep crag. Its whitewashed parapets are splashed golden in the dawn, and its windows twinkle merrily from within. Unlike the Telmarine castle, even the outer wall has windows, down almost to ground level. The castle looks more like Opheodra's manor than a proper fortress.
Harfang, home of the Gentle Giants.
King Caspian warned her about them, though she can't quite recall what he said.
It probably doesn't matter, if it came from him.
Addie shifts in the saddle, legs sore after days of riding. Some stories say that for all their gracious manners, the Harfang Giants are known to eat most other creatures - including humans.
With a light kick, Addie's horse catches up to Snowflake.
"Opheodra?" Addie says quietly. "Are we going to Harfang?"
Opheodra waves her arm, silken sleeves fluttering in the wind. The air is crisp with the promise of snow, but it hasn't started yet.
"As you see," the Lady answers. "It will be a brief errand on our journey."
Addie casts a wary eye over her shoulder. The people plodding behind them pay her no mind, but Addie lowers her voice anyway.
"Don't they eat… well, people? Humans?"
"Why Addie, what a thing to say!" Opheodra tsks and steers closer, riding beside Addie almost knee-to-knee. "Where did you dream up such a notion?"
"Lord Belevoz's books," Addie says, doubt and shame heating her cheeks. "A few stories said -"
"Ah, I see." Opheodra sighs and sits taller, donning the air of an educator. "Those stories were written by Telmarines, rife with rumours and superstitions. Pay them no mind. Indeed, you of all people understand how hearsay twists truth into fear-mongering and dark fantasies. We will be quite safe."
Well, she'd do better to trust Opheodra over old storybooks, wouldn't she? After all, the Telmarines thought the Western Wood haunted for centuries, and the people of Ettinsmoor hold many superstitions about the Wild Lands.
Father Time had a pleasant look about him. If these Gentle Giants are descended from him, they must be decent folk.
Opheodra wouldn't lead her into danger.
Reassured, Addie thanks her and rides on.
When Harfang's main gate towers before them, Hallgrim calls for Lady Opheodra. Crossbow and broadsword clanking on his back, he murmurs with her and points to the sky.
Addie shades her eyes and peers up.
A bird - maybe a falcon, but it's impossible to tell at this distance - is circling in the eastern sky. It flies near the sun, such that Addie can't look for it too long without the light blinding her.
Lips pursed, Opheodra shakes her head and returns to the gates of Harfang. The portcullis is up, the gate open.
Hallgrim is the one to knock, pounding a thick fist on the door and calling for the Porter. Addie holds her horse's and Snowflake's reins as Opheodra joins Hallgrim.
With a creak, the door opens, and a red-gold glow of firelight floods out, illuminating a ruddy-faced Giant. Clean-shaven, a knot of a nose, and a tall forehead half-hidden behind bristly red hair, the Giant is a bit taller than an apple tree, but nowhere near Father Time's enormous size.
"Greetings, Porter," calls Opheodra, trilling her r's as she did in the Narnian capital. "I bring guests for your Winter Feast, with my salutations to the King and Queen."
The Porter chuckles, the sound a little like distant thunder. "Well then, that's mighty fine of you, Your Grace. Mighty fine of you. Come in, come in, all you little ones! I say, rather a blue lot, aren't they?"
Addie passes both reins to Hallgrim, who ties the two horses beside his own at a post beside the door, and follows Opheodra into the lodge. With a shuffle of scuffing feet, the dozen others enter, in the same silence they haven't broken on the whole journey. When the last one passes the threshold, the door closes behind them with a terrible clang.
"Come in and get warm," booms the Porter, waving them toward a roaring fire even larger than Ettinsmoor's autumn festival bonfires. Each log looks to be half a tree trunk. "Ho there, youngster, inform the King!"
Addie startles and bumps Hallgrim as a smaller Giant she hadn't noticed stands from a dark corner and rushes out a back door, his footsteps trembling the floor. Even Opheodra's workers shy away and huddle closer together a few yards back from the fire.
"There now, much better, eh?" The Porter stoops down and peers at the dozen workers, grinning into a too-wide, toothy grin with surprisingly straight teeth. "Nasty weather coming; it's lucky you arrived when you did."
None of the twelve reply. A young man looks up, only to press closer to his gaunt fellow and hide his pale face.
"Awfully silent lot, aren't they?" The Porter chuckles. "Don't you fret, we'll take proper good care of you, we will."
Again, no reply.
Addie sandwiches herself between Hallgrim and Opheodra. The fire's heat is delicious after their cold travels, but next time, she'll volunteer to stay with the horses.
Gentle Giants or not, one wrong footstep would flatten her.
For God's sake, doesn't she have more nerve than this, cowering behind Opheodra?
Addie scowls at herself. Opheodra assured her there's no danger.
After a few long minutes filled with the Porter's unanswered, booming chatter, the younger Giant returns, holding the door open behind him.
The Porter herds the dozen toward the door, shooing them like children. "Off you go now, little shrimps, follow youngster over there. Hot meals and soft beds await, courtesy of His Majesty the King."
The workers make no protest. They shuffle to the door and pass into the courtyard beyond as a unit.
As they pass through, the Porter counts on his meaty, hairy fingers. When the last one leaves, he turns around, puzzled.
Then his gaze falls on her.
"There you are, duck. Come along, got to stay with your friends, don't you?"
Opheodra lays a hand on her shoulder, and Addie stays put.
"This one's with me, Porter."
The Porter scratches his head. "Looks frightful like the other ones, eh? Come come, His Majesty'll want all of 'em."
Then he bends down, and a hand as big as Addie reaches out.
Addie's mouth goes dry, and she stumbles back. This can't be the task Opheodra meant, can it?
She doesn't want to be a pet of the Harfang Giants, however gentle and harmless they're supposed to be. Her place is with Opheodra, her only friend!
A hiss splits Addie's thoughts in two at the same moment she realises Opheodra's hand is gone.
In a blink, there is no Opheodra. Hallgrim stands to Addie's right, but where Opheodra stood moments ago, a thick, scaled coil as green as fresh spring grass has taken her place.
Slowly, Addie looks up.
A huge snake towers over her, its hood spread and fangs bared. She stands in its shadow.
With a hiss, the snake spits venom and strikes, missing the giant's hand by inches.
Gaping, the Porter jerks away and retreats, grimacing as he wipes his hand on his trousers. "Alright, alright, my mistake. I'm sure Their Majesties will be satisfied with the others." A tense swallow. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace. I'll get the door."
A rustle, and just as suddenly as the snake formed, it shrinks and Opheodra stands tall and proud in its place.
"Very good, Porter," she says, colder than a frozen river.
When the front door opens, the Lady sweeps out like a queen, and Addie hurries on her heels, grateful to have Hallgrim at her back.
Opheodra just… she didn't imagine it, did she? Opheodra transformed into a thirty-foot serpent!
Opheodra said they'd be safe. And she made sure they were.
Addie murmurs thanks as they mount up. Opheodra smiles from atop Snowflake.
"Your place is not here, Addie."
Thank God; she's in no rush to set foot in Harfang again. The Porter was a little too friendly.
As their trio rides under the gate, Addie asks, "What use do Giants have for human workers?"
Instead of answering, Opheodra turns to Hallgrim.
"Does it still circle the skies, northman?"
Hallgrim nods and takes his crossbow from his back. With a click, he loads an arrow, then replaces it on his back. "A spy, no doubt."
Squinting, a hand shielding her eyes, Addie barely makes out the bird circling in the sky ahead. Who would send a bird to spy in the Wild Lands? Maybe it's a watch-bird for Harfang?
"Ride on," says Opheodra. "See if it follows us south." Then, she turns to Addie. "Those we delivered are not here to work, but to rest. The Gentle Giants are generous hosts."
Addie grimaces thinking of the Porter's loud chuckles and overbearing welcome. "Your hospitality is far preferable."
"Yes, I suppose it is," Opheodra allows. "But my servants have earned their respite. Their work for me is finished."
"But mine's not?"
"No, it is not. Are you ready for your next adventure?"
Addie's nodding before Opheodra finishes speaking.
"Yes, anything. Whatever you need."
A corner of Opheodra's mouth lifts. "I think you will find this task serves both our needs. I am sending you south, Adelaine, to the castle of King Caspian. He has kept something precious from you, and I would have you take it back."
He's taken many things from her, not least of all her common sense.
But no more.
Now, she is wiser.
And when Opheodra tells her what she wants, hope rises like a tide in Addie's chest. She barely notices Hallgrim whip out his crossbow and fire a shot, doesn't even care as a small, distant form tumbles out of the sky.
Opheodra is helping her get back home.
Caspian
The earthquake will not spoil Narnia's Christmas. Of that, Caspian makes certain. Without a courtship to tend, he's free to spend every moment tending his kingdom - directing aid, trying to lift spirits with proclamations and plans for a Christmas feast for the entire capital and anyone who wishes to travel to it. The royal treasury will suffer for it, but coin can be replaced. His people cannot.
With a fortnight til Christmas, recovery efforts are slowing. Collapsed cottages and warehouses have been cleared, anyone still living rescued, anyone dead suitably mourned. As winter descends in earnest, a northern wind bringing snow flurries, Caspian's days return to normal.
Unfortunately, this gives his mind time to wander.
Caspian glowers at the stack of identical letters in his hand - seven, all in Addie's hand, all saying the same. Every letter for nearly two months has said nothing but that her report is attached. The reports themselves are underwhelming, a bland repetition of minimal progress with an offhand observation about the ancient Giant kingdom or Jadis - nothing new, all things she could've learned from Doctor Cornelius had she merely asked him.
Yet Addie doesn't falter, as she did in the late autumn. Though her research has unearthed nothing about the rings, and she must be frustrated and discouraged, Addie never betrays it.
Perhaps he should've let her stop writing to him. He's learning nothing from her writings.
Strange, even Addie should have the sense to give up her quest for answers after so little fruit.
At the very least, the Addie he knows would've cooked up another quest by now.
For a moment, he wonders.
A tap sounds from his bedroom window.
Caspian rises and finds Inkwing, one of his messenger ravens, at his windowsill.
That'll be Addie's next letter, no doubt as uninformative and bland as the rest.
Caspian thanks the raven, closes the window to the cold air, and breaks the letter's seal.
To His Royal Majesty, King Caspian X,
I have no report this week, as I've been preparing to travel. By the time you read this, I'll be on the road to the capital already. No need for an escort.
Respectfully,
Adelaine
Caspian reads the letter again to be sure, fighting a surge of something he will not name.
Addie is coming back.
A/N: Finally, I'm getting these two idiots back in the same location! I've been looking forward to the next chapter's shenanigans for literally 2 years, so I hope y'all are ready for some deliciousness 😈 Chapter 81 is going up sometime around next Sunday, so 12ish days. Ish because knowing this story, the next chapter will be much longer than expected just like this one.
Chapter 81 Preview:
He summons them both directly, his usual morning spar be damned. Answers await, and he has been patient for months.
A knock comes, three strong raps - Doctor Cornelius' pattern. Caspian steels himself and bids his old professor to enter.
The Doctor enters first, closely followed by a second figure.
Addie. She's back.