Somewhere in the Great Eastern Ocean.
2307.
Two-score and one night til the full moon.
4th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Liliandil.
Liliandil climbed the rigging with ease, the sea wind tugging at her braid as she ascended. The ship swayed beneath her, but she moved like she had always belonged there, her bare feet finding purchase on the worn ropes.
The crow's nest welcomed her like an old friend. She settled onto the wooden platform, drawing her knees to her chest as she gazed out at the endless horizon. The sky, once soft with the blush of dawn, had begun to shift. The clouds were thickening, rolling in slow and heavy.
A storm brewed.
She could feel it. Not just in the darkening skies or the subtle change in the wind – but deep inside her, in the marrow of her bones.
Perhaps it was in the same way that the naiads and the dryads knew when change was coming.
She had spent her existence watching from above as storms raged across the world, lightning splitting the heavens, waves rising in furious peaks.
A thrill ran through her, though she did not know whether it was fear or exhilaration.
Neither were familiar to her.
She grinned, unbidden, as the brisk wind tugged at her clothes and hair.
Liliandil had felt him before she saw him. The shift in the ropes. The subtle creak of the rigging.
She turned her head just in time to see Caspian climbing, his movements effortless, his body fluid as he ascended with the kind of grace that came from years at sea. He moved as if he belonged to the ship just as much as its sails did, his fingers finding holds with practiced ease, his boots sure against the wood and rope.
He was beautiful in motion – steady, strong, unshaken.
The wind tousled his dark hair, sending stray strands across his forehead, and Liliandil realized she was staring only when he reached the last rung. She shifted forward instinctively, extending a hand to help him over the edge.
His skin was warm as his fingers brushed against hers, roughened by years of swordplay and salt air.
He did not need her help – she knew that – but he took it anyway, grasping her hand briefly as he hoisted himself over the side.
And then he was there, beside her, filling the small space as if the crow's nest had never been meant for two.
Liliandil exhaled, though she had not realized she had been holding her breath.
Caspian settled, his knee nearly brushing hers, the breadth of his shoulders crowding the space between them. He smelled of salt and steel and something warm beneath it all.
His dark eyes flickered toward her, but only for a moment. Then he turned, gazing out at the sky. The storm clouds thickened on the horizon, swirling and rolling, the wind shifting with their slow advance.
Liliandil followed his gaze, feeling the storm in her bones.
"You feel it too," she murmured, her voice barely above the whispering wind.
Caspian nodded, his hands resting loosely on his knees. "A storm's coming."
She studied his profile – his strong jaw accentuated by the neatly trimmed beard, the quiet intensity in his gaze.
"I have always watched storms from above," she admitted, her voice softer now. "But never from below. Never like this."
Caspian turned to her, his dark eyes searching hers. "And now that you are here?"
What was he looking for?
Liliandil let out a breath, feeling the sea air wrap around her, the ship swaying beneath them, the storm stirring the very world around them.
"I think I like it," she said, a small, secret smile curving her lips.
Caspian's own mouth quirked, his gaze lingering on her for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. "You're not afraid?"
A small smile curved her lips. "No."
And she wasn't.
Not of the storm.
But of the way his presence filled the space around her – of the way his nearness sent something wild fluttering in her chest?
That, she was not so sure of.
Caspian's frown deepened, but not in displeasure – more in curiosity, in quiet fascination.
"Your freckles…" he said again, softer this time.
Liliandil's fingers instinctively brushed over her cheek, self-conscious under his scrutiny.
"Have they… changed?" he asked.
"Oh yes," she murmured, dropping her hand. "They do that."
He looked as though he might ask more, but she did not elaborate. Instead, she turned her wrist, revealing the faint silver-dusted freckles that adorned her skin. They shimmered subtly in the evening light, not as bright as they would be under the stars, but still there – still shifting, still moving like constellations adjusting in the sky.
"These ones do too," she said simply, offering her wrist toward him.
Caspian hesitated only a moment before reaching out. His fingers skimmed over her skin, barely a touch, but enough to send a shiver up her arm.
She swallowed. He did not look up at her. His gaze was fixed on the shifting freckles, his thumb brushing gently over them, as if testing to see if they were real.
"I have never seen anything like this," he admitted, his voice quieter, as if afraid to break the moment.
Her lips curved slightly. "I would think not."
He exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose, but his touch lingered a moment longer before he finally let her go.
Liliandil pulled her wrist back to her lap, feeling the warmth where his fingers had been.
Caspian looked at her then, his dark eyes steady. Thoughtful. He said nothing for a long moment, only watching her as the ship rocked beneath them, the wind whispering between the sails.
And then, just as she thought he might speak again, a sharp gust of wind swept through the rigging, reminding them both of the storm still gathering in the distance.
And then, Liliandil's breath caught in her throat.
At first, it was nothing but a distant shadow against the roiling clouds. A shape barely distinguishable from the storm itself. But her eyes, could see what Caspian's could not.
Black sails.
Cutting through the rising waves, moving fast, too fast for a simple merchant vessel.
She gripped the edge of the crow's nest, her knuckles whitening.
Caspian, sensing the shift in her, turned sharply. "What is it?"
She didn't answer right away. She blinked, focusing, counting. One ship. No… two, slipping through the storm like shadows given form.
Her stomach twisted.
"There are ships," she said finally, voice quiet but steady. "Two, perhaps more. Coming from the east."
Caspian's gaze snapped toward the horizon, squinting against the evening light. But she knew he would not see them, he could not – not as she could. A Son of Adam's vision could not match that of a star.
The wind picked up, whistling through the rigging, making the ropes groan.
"Pirates?" he asked, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it now.
Liliandil exhaled slowly, watching the way the black sails billowed in the storm wind, the way they moved with purpose.
"I do not think they come in peace," she murmured.
Caspian was already moving. "Come," he said, gripping the rigging. "We need to warn the crew."
Liliandil followed, but not before casting one last glance at the approaching darkness.
The storm was coming.
And with it, an enemy.
A chill crept through Liliandil's veins, settling deep in her bones.
She had seen storms before. She had seen great ships swallowed by the sea, their lights winking out one by one like dying stars. But she had only watched – a distant observer, unfeeling, untouched.
But upon the Dawn Treader, beneath the vast and heavy sky, she felt it.
Dread.
A foreign thing.
A weight in her chest that made it harder to breathe.
Her fingers dug into the worn wood of the crow's nest as she stared at the black sails creeping closer, their presence a stain upon the horizon. They moved with the storm, as if summoned by the very winds that churned the ocean below.
She swallowed, but the feeling did not ease.
"Liliandil?"
Caspian's voice barely reached her through the howling wind.
She turned to him, slowly, feeling the pounding of her own heart in a way she never had before. It was too fast. Too loud.
She was afraid.
Her voice was quiet when she spoke, but steady. "I think I know what fear feels like."
Caspian's brow furrowed, but he did not look away from her. "And?"
She exhaled shakily, glancing once more toward the ships. "I do not like it."
Something softened in his gaze, but only for a moment. He reached for her hand – not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.
"Then let's make sure there's nothing to fear," he said. His voice was firm, certain. Like solid ground beneath unsteady feet.
She nodded, though the dread did not fade.
It stayed with her as she climbed down from the crow's nest.
Caspian caught her wrist just before she stepped away. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding her against the rising tide of fear.
"I will keep you safe," he said, his voice quiet but unwavering. "Like I promised your father."
Liliandil's breath caught.
Her father.
She had not thought of him in that moment – not in fear, not in longing – but now the memory of his steady presence filled her mind. His voice, deep as the ocean, had been full of trust when he placed her in Caspian's care.
And Caspian – strong, noble Caspian – had sworn it without hesitation.
She looked up at him, searching his handsome face. The fierce set of his jaw, the determination in his dark eyes.
He meant it.
And yet, something in her resisted the words. She had spent a lifetime watching, distant and untouchable, apart from the world's dangers.
She did not want to be a fragile thing to be guarded.
She wanted to stand beside him.
Liliandil swallowed, glancing once more toward the dark horizon. The ships were closer. They would have to move soon.
Still, she turned back to him, her voice soft but steady.
"I would rather face the danger with you," she said.
Caspian exhaled through his nose, a quiet huff that could have been a laugh. Or perhaps frustration.
"You are unlike anyone I have ever met," he murmured.
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I should hope so."
A shout rang across the deck. Drinian, calling for Caspian.
The moment broke.
Caspian released her wrist but lingered just long enough for his fingers to brush against hers. Then, with a nod, he turned and strode away.
Liliandil watched him go, then squared her shoulders.
She had never known fear before.
But she would not let it stop her.