And here we have the end of Arc 1! At last, it feels like it's taken forever to get here...Rest assured I'll be working on Arc 2, but you can expect at least a 2 month wait before the next chapter. I think I've firmed up the plot for Arc 2, but I still have a good deal of writing left to do. Thanks for understanding in advance.

Many thanks to liz-04 and Carrera for reviewing the previous chapter!

Chapter 18

Caspian and Miranda part ways after their little game, both feeling decidedly much better than before. Miranda even finds enough pluck to march back to the seamstress and actually go in this time.

"Well I suppose we might find a place for you, though I haven't the faintest idea what a friend of the king wants to work for," says the head seamstress, an old woman who introduces herself as Esma.

"Thank you," Miranda says. "I just like to keep busy."

That's a phrase she's far overused, but seeing as how she doesn't think Madia will be comparing notes with Esma, there's no harm in it. In any case, it shows consistency.

Once all the details are worked out (Miranda will come in every day at first to learn the trade, and as time goes on and her skills improve she will have one day off of work for every six), Miranda gets started right away. She spends the rest of the day there, learning how to hold and thread a needle, how to sew a sleeve, how to attach a jewel to a bodice, and other such useful things. The work proves to be as good as she hoped; she doesn't think of Bates or Leila or missing her parents until she's on her way to her room to wash up before dinner.

Of course, then she ends up taking twice as long as she should as she tries to shut it out, but in the end it's Caspian who pulls her from the swirling memories.

A knock comes that interrupts her thoughts, and when she opens the door Caspian is standing there and telling her he wants to walk her to dinner.

"Afraid I'd get lost?" she says with a smile as she tries to hide the slight tremor in her voice. Her hand shakes just a little as Caspian tucks it into his arm, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he's kind enough to keep it to himself.

"I wanted to ask a truth of you," he confesses without quite looking at her. That alone makes her nervous.

"Oh?" Miranda is careful that she doesn't give away her apprehension, but she vaguely wonders if he knows anyway.

"If I may," he amends. He looks at her full-on now, and when she sees the sincerity that lays in his eyes she can't quite say no.

"Go ahead."

She still holds her breath waiting.

"Are you to leave soon?" He clears his throat and glances away from her. "You've been exhausted of late, Mira. I can't help but wonder if…"

"Didn't I promise I would say goodbye if I could?" she answers with her heart in her throat. She should have known that's what he would think. And yet, she can't find enough willpower to tell him the truth just yet.

"I am not sure you would know how."

It stings, but it's true, not that she can admit that without admitting the whole ugly, messy thing.

"Trust me, I've been thinking it over plenty." Now she sounds cranky, and while that wasn't entirely her intention it might get the effect she wants anyway.

Caspian doesn't speak after that, not the whole way to the dining hall. She doesn't either, and she hates how cold and empty it feels. Friends aren't supposed to be like this, but how can she just tell him when it's all so fresh? She barely even understands it herself.

Dinner slugs along, and afterwards Miranda is fully expecting that Caspian will have changed his mind about that walk. To her surprise, he asks her again and she's too busy marveling at that alone that she doesn't realize she's agreed until they're walking arm in arm together once again.

"I'm sorry I was sour earlier," Miranda says after the silence stretches between them for too long and she can't bear it anymore.

"Perhaps I should not have asked." He sounds contrite enough, but strangely Miranda doesn't want him to feel sorry. It was a legitimate question, even if she was in no way prepared to answer it honestly.

"I'll say goodbye if and when it's necessary, just like I promised."

This is meant to be reassuring, but Miranda doesn't miss how Caspian's arm tightens around her own and brings her just a little closer to his side.

"You'd know if it was time," Miranda continues, barely taking notice of the closing distance that was already minimal between them.

"Would I?"

He asks it softly, but to Miranda it might as well have been a shout coupled with a rather aggressive shake for the effect it has; she instantly wants nothing more than to curl up into a sorry little ball and blub the whole thing out at once. She doesn't of course, but the very fact that the temptation is there makes her clam up quicker than anything.

"I'm not just going to vanish, Caspian," Miranda tells him a little gentler than her previous statements have been. "I'm not that cold."

He looks straight ahead as he considers what she's saying. Miranda can tell just from the slight pinch of his mouth that he's not entirely convinced, even if he's trying to believe her. He's too worried to do it completely.

Caspian nods once, a quick and abrupt acknowledgement of her words that doesn't hold much warmth. She considers telling him then, just to get it out of the way, but she can't get the words out. She's still not ready, no matter how she much she wants to be in that moment.

And to think that if only she was, this whole issue could be resolved in minutes. For the moment, Miranda hates her inability to say something, anything. How is this fair to him?

Not even that can make her voice work and explain what's really going on, and so the two end up taking their walk in a silence that's just a little too uncomfortable.

Miranda hates lying to him. She hates withholding the truth just because she can't bear to say it out loud.

For a moment, she considers taking him up to that tower where they watched the fireworks and forcing herself to spit the words out. And yet as soon as she does, her skin prickles and her head throbs and a cold shiver runs down her spine.

Why can't she just tell him?

Miranda can't answer that, but every time she glances up at the new king she hates her inability even more.

They talk in short spurts of things that don't really matter as they go along, but each of them are so caught up in their own thoughts that the conversation feels just as flat as it is. But Caspian doesn't bring up his worry again, and Miranda stays as mum as ever.

Before too much longer, they arrive at Miranda's room and then Caspian's saying goodnight. His eyes look heavy and sad; Miranda pretends not to notice, but that look tortures her for the rest of the night. Even when she manages to sleep, all she can dream about is that look in King Caspian's eye.

Miranda is relieved for her new apprenticeship the next morning. Never minding that her eyes have bags and she's so sleepy that she walks straight into the wardrobe door, she instantly feels better knowing she has something to keep her from thinking over the previous night and how worried she's made King Caspian with her stubbornness.

There, that helps; calling him by his formal title keeps it from feeling so intensely personal, and for a little bit Miranda can pretend that nothing at all is the matter. She can pretend that he's somehow less involved than he is. That little bit is enough to get her to Esma's, and from there on she's far too occupied in learning her new trade to even begin to think about thinking of last night.

"Don't forget your thimble!" Esma calls. "Now come here and take care to learn this."

The day is filled with painstaking observation and hands-on learning. Miranda doesn't have time to learn slowly; she has to remember everything they say at once. By the end of the day, they have her hemming and attaching buttons and most of all, mending clothes that have come in for repair. Mending is what Miranda is best at for now - it's relatively simple and only involves pieces of clothes. It's a good place to start, rather than trying to jump straight into sewing from scratch.

When the day is winding down, Miranda finds that even though her fingers are sore and she's pricked herself more times than she can count in spite of the thimble, she's immeasurably glad for the work. It's methodical and tedious but what better to keep her mind off of other things? It's the perfect arrangement.

After supper, Miranda quickly decides that it's no use going to bed early when she won't sleep for a while and when she does it'll be fitful at best, so she heads for the library to catch up on Narnia's history. Well, she begins to, but then she realizes she doesn't, in fact, know where the library is and she has to ask one of the people in the hall where it is. After that minor snag, however, it's smooth sailing and she's easing the door open before a quarter hour is gone.

She's greeted with shelves and stacks that are so orderly they almost look austere. It's intimidating, but she'd rather confront the shelves than her own dreams. Miranda quickly realizes that this is a Telmarine library and so there are no books about Narnia's history, only their own within Narnia and before. Shrugging, she picks up the one that looks the most interesting (the golden binding does look nice against the rich brown cover): A History of Telmar and the Conquering of Narnia. It may be a one-sided story, but maybe she can find a book that tells it from Narnia's perspective later, in another library.

With a determined gaze and a candle in her hand, Miranda picks a remote corner of the library with an armchair she can sink down into and begins.

Crying. Crying that she caused echoes in her ears endlessly, until she wishes she could clamp her hands over her ears and scream just to keep the sound away.

Miranda stands alone in a grassy, slightly hilly field marked by regularly placed slabs of granite. And there in front of her, she can see one of those stones with her name on it. The casket beside it must be hers.

It's a dark wood, shiny and new. She vaguely thanks them for sending her off in such a nice little box. Is that mahogany? It's a deep and rich brown with just a hint of red. It's nice.

The dismal tones of the preacher carry over to her ears on the gentle breeze, speaking those last words before everyone disperses to let the box be lowered down.

Miranda remembers dreaming of the inside of that box and wonders if there are, indeed, pillowy satin walls on the inside.

The preacher finishes his speech as she looks on without quite knowing why or how she's here. When the people gathered (so many; she doesn't remember being that close with that many people) leave with heavy steps and long, tear-streaked faces, Miranda takes careful steps toward her new grave and only barely wonders why some of the mourners passed straight through her and she didn't feel a thing.

She watches as the cemetery staff lower the coffin into the neat hole that's been dug out. She listens when the machine creaks and hears the startling thump of the coffin's jumpstart. She smells the rain in the air and knows it will come before night.

For what could be a thousand eternities, Miranda simply stands, and watches, and listens. This is all she is now. This mahogany box is all that's left of her life at home.

Miranda jolts awake with a cramp in her side and a book in her lap. Is that sunlight peeking through the curtains?

Yes, it is, and she has a sinking feeling she's missed breakfast. The meal itself isn't very important to her, but she is well aware that Caspian will be worried again and may ask her where she's been. This will be just another thing to tally up in his list of strange things, won't it? He'll be weaseling the full tale out of her by sundown.

Now, Miranda knows on some level that he won't do that to her, not really. He's always respected her space when she's wanted it, especially when she's asked it of him. This time will not be different, but she can't help fearing it is. After all, this little secret of hers does affect him this time, and that might change his attitude about it altogether.

A tiny piece of her wonders if she isn't trying to find something wrong with him so she won't care so very much what he thinks.

Moreover, she absolutely does not want to think about the dream. It pops into her head very much of its own accord and with none of hers, so she has to force it down and put the book on Telmarine history back on the shelf (it takes her several minutes to locate its previous position, and a good deal of stretching to get it put back there) to keep the sounds of tears and doleful words of goodbye from echoing in her mind.

It wants to come back the moment the book is in its place, but Miranda starts off to Esma's immediately in the hopes that the work will keep her troubles at bay for another twelve hours or so, at the least. She'd prefer fifteen, but she knows that the others would not appreciate staying so long.

Work is only minimally successful in keeping her mind from that casket. It really was quite a nice wood box, but looking at it or thinking of it makes Miranda think of being buried in it and trying to claw her way out.

What's worse, the night brings another bad dream a-calling, but this time she isn't so sure that it's only a dream.

Miranda now sees herself lying peacefully in that casket she saw last night, but the top half of the lid is open and her face is exposed for all to see. This must be the wake. Why is she seeing all of this in the opposite order that it must have happened?

Leila is here, and so are Miranda's parents. This is the first thing she notices outside of the casket and how perfectly ghastly she looks there with her skin pale as an icy death and an eerie look on her face, calm though it is. She wishes they hadn't put quite so much blush on her face - it looks unnatural and almost garish even in the dim lighting.

Miranda's attention is fully captured when Leila stands and walks up to the open casket. She just catches a flash of paper hidden in Leila's sleeve as the girl approaches the coffin with tears in her eyes that she's clearly fighting very hard to keep from falling.

Leila leans down and whispers something, and if Miranda really concentrates she can just make out the words.

"I know what you meant now," Leila breathes, the first of her tears slipping down her right cheek. "I want you to know that I'm being careful, just like you said." Here Leila laughs a garbled, watery sort of laugh that isn't really a laugh at all. "Even though you know I hate being careful. Doesn't mesh well with us artists, you know."

Leila breaks a little then; Miranda can see the telltale flash of pain in her eyes that signals she's about to give up and put on a detached mask to pretend that nothing is quite as wrong as it is. But before that happens, Leila leans down closer to Miranda's body and the little slip of paper Miranda noticed before slides easily from her sleeve. Pressing the note into the body's folded hands, Leila whispers one last thing before she straightens and goes back to her seat.

"If you're my guardian angel now, help me."

This is the moment when Miranda feels herself being pulled from the scene and returned to her comfortable bed.

When she wakes before first light, Miranda is sure of one thing and one thing only: she has to help her friend. Never mind that it's technically impossible to do so, and never mind that she's died already and can't even get a vague message across. No, she has to a find a way or Leila will pay an awful price, a price no one should ever have to pay for being friends with the wrong person.

Bates can not have her.

Miranda remembers his second visit to her, how he suggested Leila would be a better…well, that she'd be more…

'Cooperative,' the oily voice echoes in Miranda's ear.

It's not Leila he's really after; Miranda's almost sure of this. Either he doesn't know she's dead and is hoping to use threatening her friend to convince her to come back to his place again, or he does know and Leila simply happens to be the closest thing to Miranda herself that he can get to. Either option is sickening and makes Miranda want to simultaneously hide under the bed and never come out and rush out of Narnia to tear him limb from limb, joint from joint, skin from muscle with her own two hands. She does owe him a rather large and to-the-point "No thank you" - what better way than teaching him that he made the biggest mistake in his short life when he first mentioned going after Leila?

Miranda can cope with what he did to her, but what she will not tolerate under any sun or god or heaven is that the same or worse happen to her friend.

She has to stop him. And the only way she knows how is distracting him with what he really wants.

Her.

Miranda doesn't wait for the sun to finish rising to prepare to leave Narnia; she begins at once. There's little to do other than change out of her nightclothes and get her shoes on. She will find Aslan, she will beg him to let her go home, and she won't stop until he sends her back. Nothing can happen to Leila. Nothing.

At the last minute, Miranda remembers Caspian. She can't just leave without saying goodbye, but there isn't time to wait for him to get up. So she does the best she can – she writes a note and hopes that he thinks to look for it. She leaves it on her bed with his name on the front in the hopes Madia will take it to him.

She's out the door and winding her way through the halls she's barely gotten time to figure out before the sun peeks its first ray over the horizon. By the time she finds her way out of the castle, dawn is underway.

Aslan. Where is Aslan?

Miranda quickens her pace in one breathless burst, her feet pounding on the cobblestones and sending dull aches up her legs after a few minutes of the exercise. Her toe hits a corner, and she resists the urge to stop and baby it. But goodness, it stings.

'Aslan,' she thinks, 'if you can hear me, I need you. I need you right now.'

Even concentrating on calling for Aslan is difficult. Leila's image dances across her mind's eye in an endless reel of desperate panic. Miranda is about to fail, and that just can't happen. Only she can pay for her negligence. Not her best friend. Never.

Miranda loses her patience before she gets two bounds from the city gates.

'ASLAN?!' she screeches wildly in her head, the sheer force of it rattling her teeth. The moment she makes it out of earshot of the city, she calls for him out loud. She shouts, she cries, she screams until her throat is raw and scratchy and almost useless.

Where is he?!

"ASLAN!" she bellows one last time, her voice cracking on the last A before it really and truly gives out. The only sound she can produce now is a hoarse whisper, and even that is more than a little iffy.

What is there to do now? She doesn't know how to get out of Narnia, and she doesn't know how to help. What on earth is there to be done? If only she'd held on a little longer, if only she'd not come to Narnia, if only she hadn't even gotten in the car that day! None of this would have happened if she had just driven a little more carefully, if she had just kept her head and stopped herself from panicking and drawing conclusions on a dime. So many things would be alright if only she'd been just a little wiser, a little calmer, a little…better.

She deserves to be abandoned by Aslan, but Leila does not.

"Help her, that's all I'm asking," Miranda breathes, her throat aching. The words seem to hang in the air for a moment before cracking and breaking, shattering into a million pieces she'll never be able to pick up.

Miranda doesn't know how long she stumbles along away from the city begging Aslan to come help her, to help her friend, to keep anyone else from suffering for her mistakes. She heads toward the woods on the wild whim that since that's where she and Lucy found Aslan, that's where she can find him again.

'But he isn't a tame lion,' she reminds herself.

Her feet are starting to drag, but she has to keep going because if she doesn't, then Leila really doesn't stand a chance. Miranda isn't sure what, precisely, she wants to do after finding Aslan; all she knows is that she has to do something. Anything.

If her demon has plans for Leila, Miranda will take every last gruesome detail on herself if that's what it will take.

It's on the heels of that steely thought that Miranda sees him, great and golden just a little ways off. Without another thought, she breaks into a sprint and doesn't stop until she's beside him, kneading the stitch in her side.

"Aslan, please, I have to go back, I have to help her," she gasps out, not even caring that her legs scream in protest at the simple suggestion of being asked to do anything more today.

"If you help your friend, dear one, you will suffer more than you have already. Are you prepared for that?" Aslan's voice sounds heavy, as if he can see what she'll have to do and is sorry for it already.

"I don't care. She's my best friend, Aslan."

"Then go. Go with my blessing and do what you must. I will not abandon either of you."

Aslan looks almost…proud, above the heavy sadness that Miranda is now sure comes from knowing exactly what she's up against and what the result will be.

"Thank you," she says simply. There's nothing else that needs to be said, and so she only waits for his word.

Aslan turns and looks hard at two trees close enough together that their branches overlap and breathes out toward the gap between them. To Miranda's muted astonishment, the branches weave themselves together tightly at the Lion's word, until they form a door shape with the trunks on either side for the doorposts.

Miranda doesn't need the Lion to tell her that she must step through the door. With a deep breath and a final silent prayer to him, she strides forward.

Well, that's Arc 1. What did you think? :)

Review!