Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, for all of said realm belongs to the wonderful author C.S. Lewis. Additional characters never once mentioned in his books belong to I, the author of this lowly fanfiction piece.

Author's Note: Here is Chapter Three, very logically entitled, "The Encounter". Short, short chapter, perhaps a bit of a turning point. You will actually really get a sense of who Caspian the Ninth is in this chapter and how he and Miraz are quite different. Not a very eventful chapter, I'm afraid. But keep hanging in there! More familiar characters will pop in within the next few chapters. So, enjoy and please review!

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~Chapter Three: Encounter~

"I—I am obliged, father. Truly." Miraz tried to hide his anger and surprise by using a rather twisted face, trying to be serious and understanding, but unsure as to whether his father believed him or not.

The king peered at him quizzically. "Miraz? Are you ill, son? You look…rather pale." He knew it. His father knew he was hiding something. Though he hated his father, he knew he was wise, and could tell when Miraz hid something.

Miraz swallowed hard, trying to find a way to rose his cheeks. His poker face shattered. He felt pale: even his hands were white. "I am fine, father." He swallowed again. "Really."

The king gave a smile that was about as good as Miraz's poker face, his stiff lips not used to grinning. All of his poor attempts were shallow and empty, with no heart in them. This one was no better.

"I am glad." He said with such dryness that Miraz knew that he was not glad. He began his pacing again in front of the prince, watching his feet peek out of his robe at each whisk of a step. Miraz knew this simple motion to signal something. His father was becoming casual, social - he wanted to talk to Miraz.

"I must remind you that there will be a banquet celebrating the knighting of a young squire next week. I expect you to be present and on time, if you want to be respected, that is. Remember what I said about your superiority."

More like your superiority. Miraz's mind stated. But his mouth said, "I will be present and on time, I assure you."

"Good." The king said. He attempted another weak smile. "Well, then, you may be excused to your quarters."

Out in the hall, it was the same as it was before: the occasional hurrying knight or milling nobleman with a high brow. He tried walking tall and straight again to impress them, as he had done before. But he now found out, after that awkward session with his father, he was doing what the king wanted him to do: show off. Boast, be like his brother. Miraz slouched and tucked his thumbs into his belt, covering his gold mount.

"Well, how was your little conversation with father, then, Miraz?" A sniggering voice inquired.

Caspian.

The yellow-haired, fair-faced adolescent stepped out of the shadows, a satisfied smirk on his face. He stood over Miraz with a haughty air of pride, and looked his brother up and down, as if expecting to find more bruises of dirt on his tunic sleeves. After not finding any scratch, dent, or hole, he snorted sarcastically, glaring at Miraz's undignified posture.

"You bear yourself in a very dignified manner, don't you?" He compared Miraz's slouch with his high-backed bearing and superior stature. Miraz glared and surreptitiously slid his hands behind his back and stood straighter.

"What business have you here, Caspian?" Miraz asked coolly, staring straight ahead.

Caspian shrugged. "Oh, I was just—at the right place at the right time, I suppose."

Miraz stifled a snort in a cough.

"Caught a sniffle, then?"

"I suppose."

Caspian paced around him. He's inherited something from father already. Miraz thought icily. "Well, then." Caspian said officially. "I have business elsewhere. Farewell, Miraz." He left rather quickly.

Business elsewhere. Pah! Miraz noticed that he was still standing straight. It's strange. I try to find favor in the eyes of my brother, and yet I want to disobey my father.

Do I regard my brother over my father?

TO, ONCE AGAIN, BE CONTINUED