Somewhere in the Great Eastern Ocean.
2307.
4th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Liliandil.
Liliandil stood high in the crow's nest, her heart racing with the thrill of the wind that tugged at her long braid of silver-white hair. The sea stretched before her, endless and wild, its waves crashing against the ship's hull with a rhythm that seemed to mirror the beat of her own heart. The salt-laden breeze kissed her skin, carrying the scent of distant lands and promises of adventure.
The world felt boundless, a vast expanse of water and sky that whispered of freedom, untamed and unyielding.
The sun shone, bathing everything in a golden light that danced across the crests of the waves, turning them into sparkling diamonds. The sails billowed above her like great white wings, and the ship surged forward, slicing through the ocean with ease.
"Ho, Liliandil!" came a voice from below.
She peered down, her eyes squinting against the sun, and saw Caspian standing on the deck, his face turned toward her. His expression was a mix of amusement and curiosity, as if he couldn't quite understand why she had chosen to take refuge in the crow's nest. The light before her made his face appear almost shadowed, as though the sea itself had created a halo around her. She smiled as she quickly descended the ropes to the deck.
She landed with a soft thud, her bare feet brushing against the cool, rough wooden planks. The sudden jolt unbalanced her, and she stumbled forward. Before she could steady herself, strong hands caught her at the waist, pulling her back from the brink of a fall.
Her heart thudded as she looked up, her gaze meeting his. Caspian's face was close – closer than she expected – and his eyes searched hers with a mix of concern and something softer, something that sent a flutter through her chest and through her stomach. She realized her hands had pressed against his chest for balance, his warmth radiating through the fabric of his shirt.
Her cheeks flared as the world seemed to hold its breath.
She felt it in the stillness around them, in the faint creak of the ship beneath their feet. She could have counted the sooty individual lashes, or the few freckles that dusted across the bridge of his nose – but she could not pull her gaze from his eyes. They were the colour of sunlit earth, deep and steady, with flecks of gold that seemed to glimmer like embers. There was something grounding in his gaze, like a safe harbor in a storm. He leaned in slightly, and her own breath caught, her pulse drumming in her ears.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. A low, rich sound that startled her out of the moment. "Well," he said, his mouth curving into an easy grin, "perhaps I should start charging a fee for catching falling stars."
She blinked, the spell broken, and heat rushed to her cheeks once more. "I – uh – I didn't mean to..." she stammered, but the laughter in his eyes only deepened.
"Don't worry," he interrupted, his tone light and teasing. "It's not every day someone drops out of the sky just to keep me on my toes. Most people avoid the crow's nest. The heights get to them," Caspian said, eyeing her with a grin.
Liliandil snorted, unable to help it, and the moment was gone as she stepped back. "I wouldn't be a very good star if I let something like heights bother me."
Caspian chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're something else, Liliandil." He looked back toward the horizon, the wind ruffling his dark hair.
The sound of footsteps on the wooden deck broke the fragile silence, and Drinian appeared, his boots steady against the sway of the ship. She knew he was not old, but next to Caspian the contrast was stark, though there was but a few years between them. His face was weathered by years of salt and wind, a rugged map of time etched into his features. His eyes, the light brown of ash wood, had an almost sombre quality to them.
She looked back at Caspian, his face so close to her own.
Liliandil's breath caught, her body reacting before her mind had time to catch up. She took a hasty step back, and turned her gaze outward toward the horizon, willing her pulse to slow. Hoping the stern sea captain had not noticed their nearness. The heat of his hands lingered on her waist.
Caspian remained still for a heartbeat, the corner of his mouth lifting as though he had sensed the same unspoken tension. He said nothing, though his eyes never left hers, unreadable.
"Your majesty," his voice was brusque, though she had learnt that his tone was no indication of his emotions. "We have charted the course. We head straight for the Seven Isles, to Brenn. It will be a far shorter journey than our original course, for we're cutting directly through the heart of the Eastern Ocean."
Caspian straightened, his posture shifting into the familiar stance of a king, and his gaze softened for just a moment before he turned to Drinian. "Very well. Let us sail, captain."
Drinian gave a short bow and paused for a moment. His sharp gaze flickered briefly between Liliandil and Caspian. "You'd best get below deck soon, milady," he said curtly. "The wind will pick up soon." And then he was gone, striding away to speak with the crew.
Liliandil stood still, her heart still thrumming with the remnants of their brief touch.
…
Caspian.
His footsteps led them below deck, the passage narrowing as they moved deeper into the heart of the ship. The cool, musty air of the lower decks gave way to the warmth and soft light of the State Room, a space that had once been his alone during the first leg of their journey. Then, Queen Lucy's.
But Ramandu had ensured that his daughter had not boarded empty handed. He had not sent her off into the world with nothing but the clothes upon her back.
And so, Caspian's State Room had been changed once more.
The walls, once barren and imposing, were softened now by the rich tapestries her father had provided. Silk curtains in hues of soft gold and sea blue framed the windows, and the bed was piled high with delicate sheets – cool to the touch he was sure, luxurious, yet inviting. There were books scattered across the small desk in one corner, some open as if she had been reading while the world outside passed by.
It was no longer a place of command, of royal solitude. It was hers, unmistakably, with all the small touches that made it a space where she could feel safe, at ease.
Caspian lingered by the door; his gaze fixed on Liliandil as she made herself at ease in the room. She moved with a quiet grace, her movements fluid. He watched her, his breath caught in his chest, as she eased herself onto the bed, letting her weight fall back onto the silken sheets. The room seemed to settle around her as she smiled – soft, unguarded, a moment of pure, untainted contentment.
There was something deeply disarming about the way she looked, relaxed, her eyes half-closed as she stretched out, her white hair fanning out around her like a halo of starlight. And the smile she wore was completely unfettered.
Caspian stayed in the doorway, unable to tear his eyes away, though he knew he should.
She looked far too good on that bed.
She shifted slightly, her fingers grazing the fabric of the bedspread, and then her eyes opened, catching his gaze. Her smile deepened, though it was tinged with something else, something he couldn't quite place.
He blinked, realizing he had been standing there for far longer than he intended, but it was as though his feet were rooted to the spot, his thoughts tangled in the simplicity of the moment. The way she had let go, if only for a moment, had struck something in him, something he hadn't even realized was there – a desire to protect that which had so long been out of his reach.
"Is everything to your liking?" he asked, his voice soft, breaking the silence between them.
Liliandil's smile widened, and she nodded, her eyes still holding his. "It is perfect, Caspian," she said, her tone warm, and there was something in her voice that made his chest tighten, as though her words carried more weight than she knew.
She propped herself up on one elbow, her gaze never leaving his, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she, too, had felt the quiet shift between them.
He gave her one last look, a small, almost imperceptible smile pulling at his lips, before he turned to leave, though he could still feel the pull of her presence in the room, as if it clung to the air. "I'll leave you to rest," he said, though it felt less like an obligation and more like a lingering promise. "I'll have dinner brought to you later."
The door clicked shut behind him, but even as the sound echoed down the hall, his mind was still in that room, with her, where the weight of the world had seemed to vanish for just a brief, quiet moment.
From the moment Liliandil set foot on the Dawn Treader, Caspian couldn't help but watch her. She moved with an effortless grace, as if the ship itself welcomed her presence. It was impossible not to notice the way her deep indigo eyes widened with wonder at every detail – the way her fingers trailed along the railings, her head tilting back to marvel at the sails billowing high above.
Each night, when most of the ship was lost in slumber, he would catch glimpses of her in the State Room, the soft glow of the lantern illuminating her as she sat surrounded by books.
He often lingered in the doorway, unnoticed, marvelling at how intently she read. She would turn each page with delicate care, as though the stories within were treasures to be savoured. He wondered what she thought of the tales – of Narnia's storied past, of the adventures of those who had come before her.
Did she find them as captivating as he found her?
By day, Liliandil was entirely different. The quiet scholar of the State Room gave way to a woman full of life and curiosity. She seemed to rise with the sun, appearing on deck before most of the crew had even rubbed the sleep from their eyes. Or perhaps she never truly slept.
She laughed easily, a sound like a clear bell, and the crew quickly warmed to her. She took to their lessons with an enthusiasm that surprised him – knots, sails, even the clumsy art of fishing.
Caspian forced himself to turn away from the door, to push aside the pull that kept his thoughts lingering in that room. He had spent too long watching the way Liliandil melted into comfort, the way her smile – unguarded, real – had stirred something in him he was not yet ready to name. There were matters at hand, concerns that demanded his focus.
He walked with purpose, his boots firm against the wooden planks as he made his way back above deck. The salty breeze greeted him, crisp and sharp, pulling him back into the present. Drinian stood near the helm, his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. He turned at Caspian's approach and gave a curt nod.
"We've charted the fastest course to the Seven Isles, but there are concerns," Drinian began without preamble. Caspian had known there had been more that the captain had wanted to say, but had not wanted to alarm Liliandil. "Terebinthia is still stricken with plague. We received word before we set sail, but I don't know how much worse it's gotten since."
Caspian exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "It's troubling. Terebinthia has always been proud, but even they may be in need of aid if the plague is as severe as the last reports claimed." His brows furrowed. "We'll keep our distance, but we must be prepared. If it spreads beyond their shores…"
Drinian nodded grimly. "There's more. The Great Eastern Ocean is not without its dangers. There's also the risk of storms this time of year, and pirates…" He trailed off, his expression darkening.
Caspian frowned. "Pirates?"
"Aye." Drinian's voice was grim. "Rumours speak of new factions rising near the Lone Islands. Raiders with no allegiance, preying on any ship they find."
Caspian sighed. "It never ends, does it?"
Drinian's lips twitched slightly. "Not for kings, it doesn't."
Caspian let out a small chuckle, though his mind remained heavy with thought. He had known the sea would never be truly tamed – there would always be threats, always challenges lying just beyond the horizon.
His gaze drifted to the water, watching the endless stretch of blue unfold before them. For all the dangers that lay ahead, he could not ignore the quiet excitement stirring in him. There was something about this journey, something that felt more like a beginning than anything else.
"I look forward to returning to the Cair," he said after a moment. His voice was softer now, contemplative. "There's so much I want to show her."
Drinian glanced at him, a knowing glint in his eye. "Liliandil?"
Caspian nodded. He could picture it already – walking the halls of Cair Paravel with her at his side, showing her the beauty of Narnia beyond the seas. The golden fields of Archenland, the great western woods, the dancing waterfalls of Glasswater Creek. He wanted to see her eyes alight with wonder, to watch as she stepped into a world she had only ever seen from the sky.
He smiled, the thought warming him even as the wind bit against his skin.
