A/N: I felt like writing something, but only had time for one short snippet when Caspian was younger…

Caspian's cheek stung where his father's blade had cut it. It was his own fault, he knew. They'd been training and he'd gotten distracted, just for a moment. It was long enough for the blade to cut his skin, before he could push it away. Even though he was young, he would not cry or flinch, his chin raised as he waited. The only time he reached up a hand to his cheek was to wipe some blood away that had dripped down to his chin.

His mother was to return that day, and he and his father had gone to wait once their usual training session had finished. She was gone often – although he had not kept count of the time – and he wondered sometimes whether she was gone for longer than she was there at the Unseelie. What drew her to leave her home and explore the unknown for such long periods? Caspian didn't understand, for he had not yet ventured outside the Unseelie's borders. She was very dedicated to her job, was what his father always told him.

A familiar dark bay horse whinnied in the distance, and Caspian straightened, knowing to look presentable. He had grown since she had seen him last, and he couldn't help but feel a little proud of that fact.

As she approached, Caspian raised his gaze to meet hers. She wore her riding cloak and gloves, her hair a little windswept, although it was tied up in a bun. Coming to a stop, she slipped down with ease, and her horse seemed to know what she wanted, starting back to its usual grazing spot to have a rest and a drink.

She came over to him first. Scanning him, her gaze lingered on the cut on his cheek. Her hand reached out to grasp his chin, tilting it to the side. "And?" she asked, "How did you do this?"

While he sensed his father ready to answer, she held up her free hand to stop him. "I want to hear you answer, Caspian." Her hand moved from his chin, to run her gloved fingers over the cut. It hurt when the rough material touched it, and he hissed, although he didn't flinch or move away.

"We were training and I got distracted," he muttered in a reply finally, unable to speak anything but the truth.

Her eyes were intent on his. "And what happens when we get distracted?"

"We get hurt," he answered, trying not to look away and to hold her gaze. "Or we die."

There was a certain grace as she inclined her head, her eyes glittering. "Exactly. You know we must not let ourselves get distracted. Especially not in a fight. You will be taken advantage of." Her focus turned to his father. "You will take him out to train again. He needs to learn."

His father seemed to hesitate, when Caspian glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "We have trained today, for a decent time. He needs a break."

"Not yet, he doesn't," she said, and she then began to speak to his father in an ancient faerie dialect that he hadn't learnt yet. He had only just started on learning his second one. Caspian felt annoyance that they'd purposely made it so he couldn't understand, but he stayed silent and watched as they argued. It wasn't often that they did so, in front of him, at least.

One thing his father muttered was in the dialect he'd started to learn, and all he managed to catch was something along the lines of; "You must trust me as his trainer," before he was unable to follow any more.

Finally, his mother turned back to him. "You are not tired, are you?"

He knew it was a question he must answer carefully. He was tired – exhausted even – so he had to get around it without lying. "I can go for longer," he answered simply, and he licked his lips. It was true really – he had fought for longer periods, and he had survived.

She looked satisfied with his answer, and his father seemed to sigh. "We will have one last round," he said, and Caspian nodded.

His mother ruffled his hair lightly, before lowering her hand. "You are a true Altridge, and I know you will make us proud and pass on our legacy. One day when you have children, you will understand."

Caspian merely frowned a little, too young to have even thought about children, finding the idea strange. But, he followed his father as they started away, back to the training grounds. While he tried to glance up at him subtly, he found he couldn't read his father's expression.

Blinking back his weariness, he wiped the blood away from his cheek again, rubbing it off onto his cloak, before picking some daggers off the ground, to start again.