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Prompt: Tell a tale set in Narnia during VDT.
"One hundred and eighteen," Trumpkin murmured.
He carefully chalked a third mark on the back of his bedroom door, already partly filled with neat groups of five. No doubt the maids would pitch a fit if they ever saw it. But since he was a dwarf he had demanded to look after his own housekeeping, which he was after all perfectly capable of doing, and since he was also regent, he had gotten his way.
One hundred and eighteen days gone, and who knew how many left?
They had had an envoy from the Lone Islands, bringing news of Caspian's discovery of one of the seven Lords. He had peacefully re-established the islands as a duchy rather than a state, under governance of said lord, Larimar Bern. The envoy also brought news that King Edmund and Queen Lucy and a disagreeable relation of theirs had been called from the other world to join his quest. Trumpkin's heart ached at this, for though he had not known the Four long, he had swiftly grown to love them, and was sorry he would not see these two himself.
But that envoy had departed some three months ago, and as might be expected of a ship sailing into uncharted waters, no further word of the Dawn Treader had come. Caspian had sworn to sail east for a year and a day, and not a third part of that three hundred and sixty one days had yet passed. Even when it was through, how long might the return take?
It did not bear thinking about. A good regent would send up a prayer for the continued health and safety of His Majesty and the success of His Majesty's voyage, and then turn back to administrating the country. Trumpkin, in his own heart, did not think himself a particularly good regent.
That he had learned much in the three years of Caspian's rule could not be doubted. That he was competent in directing the castle was also true. Yet he harbored a suspicion that others would not keep a running calendar of their beloved king's absence on their door. He suspected he worried overmuch for Caspian—though he had seen enough of young men to know that sometimes even overworry was not enough worry—and it made him even crankier than was his natural wont.
He worried also for Narnia itself. There was peace amongst all its inhabitants, true, and with its neighboring lands. But what if Caspian should meet with misfortune on his voyage? He had no heir as yet save his young cousin, and Trumpkin could not imagine that any true Narnian would applaud Miraz's son taking the throne. And yet the child was the nearest thing to an heir that the country had.
He sighed. Caspian was young still. It was ten to one that he would not marry for years yet. Trumpkin and most of the other folk had no quarrel with the lad, who, under the new castle staff introduced by Caspian, was proving to be quite a bright and happy child. But these things could not be said for the boy's mother, the former Queen Prunaprismia. By all reports she had never liked Caspian in the first place, and she liked even less that he had, in her eyes, stolen the throne from her own son.
After Caspian's coronation, there were those in Narnia who had argued for exiling Prunaprismia and her baby. Caspian had rejected this notion vehemently. His aunt and cousin were to be part of his new court at Cair Paravel, partly because Caspian wished to know what remained of his family, and partly because older minds thought it wise to keep the pair where they could be easily watched.
But although Prunaprismia kept her temper for the most part, she did not make agreeable company, and no one really wanted to live around her longer than necessary. The idea of her child being Caspian's heir for the foreseeable future was...unpleasant.
Trumpkin sighed again. Worry was a great burden, and it weighed him down. He walked to the eastern window. The sun was beginning to set over the ocean. As it cast glittering sparks of reflected light into his room, a breeze stirred the gossamer curtains, and something moved behind him.
He closed his eyes and leaned heavily on the window sill. He was still unsure how he ought to act in this situation, but he had no doubt of who it was.
"Hearken, my weary son," said the deep golden voice, tender and yet strong, "and hear a tale that will give you rest."
"And today before sunset I must visit Trumpkin the Dwarf where he sits in the castle of Cair Paravel counting the days till his master Caspian comes home. I will tell him all your story, Lucy."
