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Chapter Text

When Caspian wakes on what he thinks is going to be an ordinary day, he takes a few minutes to lie there and enjoy the quiet of his room.

It’s a sunny day in Narnia, the bright rays of her sun shining through the arched windows, warming the wood of the furniture. This is Caspian’s new bedroom, switched shortly after the successful battle against the Telmarines; his last bed, after all, was shot and splintered into pieces. He had no desire to wake up in that room again, and so was given this one, instead.

He likes this room. It’s spacious, more so than he needs, but it has a wonderful view of the surrounding courtyards and forests. The ceiling that greets him when he opens his eyes is carved with intricately made patterns, swirls and shapes that he lets his gaze lazily trail over as he comes to.

It’s a peaceful morning. He’s hoping the day will be just as kind.

When he feels as though he’s rested enough, he gets up and stretches out his limbs before getting dressed. The two guards posted outside of his room greet him politely as he emerges. This is something he’s had to adjust to since becoming king. He had guards as a child, yes, but he never saw their presence as a comfort, nor something that would actually protect him. If anything, a part of him always worried that they would be the ones to attack him one day. He was proven right about that, in the end, and so it takes him a lot of trust to allow these guards to man their post all night. But he keeps his sword by his bed, a dagger or two below his pillows, and his wits about him. 

He might like to sleep in, but he’s a light sleeper now. Any sudden noise might wake him.

He feels a little tired this morning, his body sore in various places that he rubs at absently as he walks through the castle halls. Last night was one of many sparring sessions he’s had with Peter. Caspian always looks forward to those for several reasons, one being that he does need to better his swordsmanship. The other is just to spend time with his friend. Peter is much more skilled than Caspian, having roughly thirty years (give or take a thousand) more experience, but Caspian is improving, and even bested him on more than one occasion last night. He’s still not quite sure how, but it’s an achievement he takes in stride.

He doesn’t feel a sense of competition with Peter like he did when they first met, and in the time leading to the Telmarine battle. This is partially because Caspian is now king, officially and legally, and so any real or fictional competition has already been won by him. 

But the real reason that feeling stopped is because him and Peter resolved those differences. Sure, there are moments where they disagree on a certain policy or how a king should be doing things, but since Caspian’s coronation, Peter has let him have the final decision every time, with seldom arguments. A sarcastic comment or two, sure, but no fighting. Not anymore. 

Their dynamic is new now, shifted and ever shifting, often unnameable. They are friends, Caspian thinks, but they were also rivals not too long ago, and yet also veterans of the same battles. A king and a consort. Their dynamics change often, speaking as colleagues one moment and generals the next. It’s hard to keep track of, all this change. He finds himself lingering on it often.

He’s reflecting on it now as he walks the familiar path to Cornelius’ study. It’s incredible to think of how much his life has changed in these past months, and even more so since becoming king. He usually feels like he’s struggling to catch up, his life moving faster than he can keep pace with. Even with the Pevensies’ near-constant guidance and the new support of his trusted advisors, he does not feel ready to be king. 

Perhaps if he could slow down time, just for one day…or maybe a few. Just enough for him to catch his breath, get his bearings, and take a moment to himself. Stolen moments like this morning are all he gets before the whirlwind of his life kicks up again. He wishes, silently, that it could all stop, just for a little while. 

Caspian shakes himself out of these thoughts once he reaches Cornelius’ door. He knocks.

“Come in,” he hears from the inside.

He opens the door and finds Cornelius looking out of his own window. He looks calm, present, ever sturdy and reliable. In all of these months of change, Cornelius has been the one consistent, the one thing that has always been there. 

(It’s that consistency that made Caspian so insistent that he change the raid’s plan to rescue him. He does feel guilt for that failed invasion in many ways, but he never regrets saving Cornelius. He probably never will.)

“Professor,” Caspian greets. Cornelius turns to him with a smile.

“My king,” he says. “Good morning. What brings you by?”

Caspian shrugs as he walks further into the room, eyeing the familiar shelves of tomes. 

“Just saying hello.”

“Well, that is always welcome.”

There’s a minute or so of silence as Caspian walks around the room, observing the environment. There’s been some changes made to the study since Caspian’s coronation, most notably that Cornelius no longer has to hide his Narnian artifacts and scrolls — he’s even been lending some books out to the Pevensies, mostly Edmund, since they are some of the few items left standing from their time. Caspian can tell they appreciate it.

It’s a reflection of the castle as a whole, the changes within. The staff populating the premises are no longer only Telmarine, but Narnian too; dwarves, fauns, and humans all sharing the same space. It has not been an entirely smooth transition, with some infighting and occasional protests from both sides. But they are making progress. 

Caspian pushes these thoughts to the side as he sits down at Cornelius’ desk. He did not come here to dwell on the state of things. He just came to talk with a friend.

And talk they do, at least for as long as they can before someone inevitably comes looking for one of them. Most likely Caspian. The whirlwind continues. 

“I will get it,” Caspian offers when there’s a knock at the door. He opens it to find Lucy there, smiling wide when she sees him.

“There you are!” she exclaims. “I’ve been looking everywhere!”

Caspian raises his eyebrows, perplexed but amused. Lucy has a sort of quality to her that makes everything she says seem good and exciting. Blossoming his friendship with her has been one of the great joys of his new life. She is often able to break him out of any slumps or bouts of depression he feels. He imagines that’s true for many, not just him.

“Really?” he asks. “And why is that?”

“Well, I was thinking. We haven’t really sat and had breakfast together for a little while, since we all tend to wake at different times, and we’re all so busy. Today feels special, so I thought we should eat together!”

“It feels special?” Caspian leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. 

“Yes. You can’t feel it?”

Caspian takes a second to really try and feel what she is. Lucy has often suggested that he try to “listen to Narnia” now that he is king, but he has never really been able to.

“I am sorry,” he admits. “I do not.”

Lucy shrugs. “That’s alright. Most people don’t.” She looks past Caspian and into the room. “Good morning, Doctor!”

Caspian turns to see Cornelius perk up, bowing his head.

“Your majesty,” he says. 

“Would you like to come to breakfast, too?”

Cornelius seems to ponder this for a moment before looking at Caspian, who would love to have him join them for a meal. But for whatever reason, seeing Caspian seems to change Cornelius’ mind.

“I am honored,” he starts. “I think your siblings and Caspian should have a nice morning together.”

Caspian tilts his head, curious but not enough to say anything. Lucy takes this without offence.

“Alright,” she hums. She then grabs Caspian’s hand before he can protest. “Come on!”

Caspian chuckles as the much smaller Lucy pulls him along the castle hallways, as if he does not know how to get there, or perhaps how to walk. He lets it happen, and he watches as the various servants and passers-by in the halls smile at the sight.

Their destination, the lower hall, is a very spacious room, mostly meant to host large dinners and other such gatherings. Tall stained-glass windows on the back wall bathe the room in swathes of colored lights. In the center of the room is an exceptionally long table, Edmund and Peter already seated across from each other in the middle, having what looks to be a passionate dispute. They stop and turn in tandem when they hear Lucy and Caspian enter.

“Hullo,” Edmund greets. He glances at Peter after he speaks, who is looking at Caspian slightly strangely, his eyes trailing along his outfit. 

“Good morning,” Caspian says with a nod. 

Peter startles slightly. “Morning.”

Lucy pulls Caspian towards the table as if he doesn’t know how to sit down. She makes him take a seat across from Peter.

“I’m going to find Susan,” she announces. “Don’t start eating without us!”

She then prances out of the room before anyone can respond, the three of them left smiling in her wake. As was common.

“What were you two discussing?” Caspian asks lightly. “It looked like an intense conversation.”

Edmund’s smile morphs into a smirk. 

“Would you like to tell him, Peter?” he offers. 

Peter blanches, his blue eyes going wide. 

“I—” he starts, then stops. He scowls a bit. “It was stupid. Nothing you need to bother hearing about.”

Edmund snickers to Caspian’s left. 

“Alright,” Caspian concedes. “If you wish.”

Peter’s face softens. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t trying to sound crass.”

“It’s fine.”

“I was just—” Peter huffs. “I was admitting to Edmund that you bested me during sparring yesterday.”

Caspian chuckles in amusement and surprise.

“It is a very rare occurrence," he admits. “It felt like a fluke even to me.”

“Nonsense,” Edmund waves a hand. “You’re a young, fit king who bested an old man out of the prime of his life. Makes perfect sense to me.”

“‘Out of my prime’?!” Peter repeats in dismay.

Caspian sits back and enjoys watching as the two brothers continue to bicker. When he first got to know them, he wasn’t sure what to make of these moments of fighting. At first, he thought them fully serious, every confrontation filled with genuine contention and anger. Without having siblings, or really friends, to grow up with, he didn’t know this kind of meaningless argument could exist. The more he spent time with them, the more he realized most often, these exchanges were just their own special ways of expressing their love for each other.

And much like Caspian has adjusted to that, he’s also come to know Edmund’s sense of humor; the dry wit, the blunt comments, the teasing remarks. Similarly to how Lucy is able to bring Caspian out of moments of despair, Edmund’s jokes or plain honesty often snap Caspian back to reality, helping to put his jumbled thoughts into perspective. 

He watches them continue to debate for a little while before Lucy comes back into the room, her face slightly red as she talks breathily.

“I couldn’t find Susan,” she frowns. “She’ll probably be here soon.”

“Are you sure?” Caspian leans forward in concern, ready to stand. “If you need help, we can go look for her.”

“It’s alright,” Peter assures, sounding genuine. Caspian looks back at him. “This has been a habit of hers lately. Disappearing in the morning for a while, I mean. We just leave her to it. She’s the smartest of all of us, really. She’ll be fine. She knows what she’s doing.”

Caspian nods. “Right.” On that point, he could not disagree.

It takes a bit longer for Susan to finally arrive, with Caspian’s stomach beginning to growl, but she does. She looks elegant and beautiful, the teal on her dress matching Caspian’s shirt. Her hair is almost perfectly curled, rivets rolling down to her shoulders. She smiles when she sees everyone.

“I was told you were all in here,” she explains as she makes her way to the table, sitting next to Peter. “It’s nice to have breakfast together again.”

“Let me guess,” Edmund drones, “you were in the woods?”

“Yes, if it matters so much to you. I was practicing my archery.” There’s a brief pause before she looks over at Caspian. “We need to continue your lessons, Caspian. You’re getting better, but you could still use some work.”

This is true. Much like Caspian has sparring sessions with Peter, he has archery lessons with Susan. With how hectic their lives have become, both are great excuses to be able to spend time with the other person. They all often end up just talking more than anything else.

Which is fine, since he rather enjoys talking to Susan. She’s very easy to talk to, the two having a natural rhythm and flow. They have a lot in common, more so than he realized when they met. She is a great confidant, someone he often turns to for advice or just to get something off of his chest.

And, well. Talking with Peter is nice, too.

“He managed to best Peter a few times with a sword last night,” Edmund cuts in, an evident teasing tone in his voice. “Isn’t that right?”

Peter gives Edmund a pointed look. 

“Are you going to tell the entire castle?” he comments in annoyance.

“Probably.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Last time I tell you anything.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Edmund gives a smile that declares him the winner of the conversation, Peter biting back a smile of his own as he concedes and leans back in his chair. 

Soon after, the servants are coming in and filling the table with a wide array of food options. Most are Telmarine dishes, since they still make up the majority of the kitchen staff, but the Narnian chefs have started to introduce some of their cuisine to the menu. Caspian watches as the Pevensies naturally gravitate towards those dishes, even if the recipes are probably from hundreds of years after they ruled. 

They sit there for a little while, eating and talking. It is nice, having them all together like this in something outside of a formal meeting. Caspian often feels his most alive, his most at purpose, when he is with all of them. In truth, he seldom sees himself as the solitary king of Narnia; whether the four siblings admit it or not, they are as much active rulers of the land as he is. They are strongest together. 

When their plates are cleared and the meal is nearing its end, Caspian feels before he sees Aslan come into the room. The legends and stories about him all seem to be as true as were written, unlike the ones about the Pevensies, which were only accurate some of the time. Aslan is every bit as grand, mystical, and intimidating as the old words said. 

Everyone instinctively stands and bows their heads when he comes into the room; except for Lucy, who gives an excited squeal and runs over to him. He leans affectionately into her hand as she rubs along his mane, and the sight is both familiar and perplexing, the lion tamed by the child. Something Caspian has seen before, but never accustomed to.

“Hello, dear one,” Aslan greets Lucy before looking towards the others. “And good morning to you all.”

“Good morning,” the remaining four say.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen you,” Lucy laments. “What were you doing?”

“Do not worry,” Aslan nods. “I did not stray far. I was watching you all continue to grow, and continue to help Caspian grow into his new role. You have all done a wonderful job. You should be proud.”

Caspian bows his head again, feeling both relieved and unworthy. 

“Thank you,” he says with a nervous exhale.

“Young king,” Aslan continues, now addressing Caspian directly, “I came back because there was something important I wished to discuss with you. With all of you.”

Any relief Caspian just felt immediately gives way to anxiety. He tenses up, but tries not to let it show.

“What is it?” he asks.

Aslan walks further into the room, making long strides with his enormous paws.

“The integration of the Telmarines and Narnians into one culture has been going smoothly,” he begins. “However, we do not want to force the Telmarines into our land like we were forced into theirs. Not every Telmarine citizen was a proponent of the invasion, even if they did benefit.”

Caspian nods, not seeing any fault in his words. As if that could ever happen. 

“What do you suggest?” Peter asks in the beat of silence.

“I have the ability to create a portal that will give the Telmarines passage to the land of their forefathers,” Aslan explains. 

Caspian pauses, suddenly confused. 

“What land do you mean, exactly?” he questions, keeping his tone gentle so as not to sound accusatory in any way.

“Your ancestors come from the same world that your fellow kings and queens do.” He looks over at the Pevensies with soft eyes. (Soft for a lion, anyway.) “They were sailors, sea-farers, who were eventually stranded on an island. That island had a rare and magical cave that was able to transport them here, to Narnia.”

Caspian looks down as those words sink in. It’s quite something, to realize that the heroes he looked up to all his life originate from the same land that he does, that all of his people do. The Pevensies only continue to become more alike him with time and knowledge.

“Incredible,” Caspian whispers. He sees Peter look over at him after he says this, and only briefly catches his eye before looking back at the lion.

“I can bring them back to that island,” Aslan continues. “Any who wish. It is their right. But as king, Caspian, you are the one who must make this decision. Not I.”

Caspian almost laughs. It’s quite humble and kind of Aslan to treat Caspian like he carries more power than him, or like his words hold more meaning. Anyone paying attention knows who the real ruler of Narnia is. Still, Caspian can play along.

“I wish to know what my advisors think,” he answers. “They understand being brought from one land to another.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Lucy cheers. “Everyone should have a choice.”

“They should,” Edmund adds, “but it might cause a bit of a problem if a large portion of our population is suddenly gone. We would have to plan for that.”

“I’m not sure that many people will leave,” Peter counters. “The Telmarines are experiencing real liberation for the first time. Even under Narnian rule, the more conservative might still want to stay.”

“It could look like a lack of faith in Caspian’s leadership if people would rather leave than be ruled by him,” Susan mentions. “Yet he’ll also appear as a just king for given them the option. So I see no reason not to.” She pauses, pursing her lips. “But what do you think, Caspian? The Telmarines are your people, after all.”

Caspian nods, knowing that she’s right. He does appreciate their input, but Aslan ultimately wants to hear him make the decision. 

“I think,” he begins, “that you are all correct. Some extremists or doubters might leave. Some may see that and think me a weak king. But most will see the truth of it, that we are offering them a choice to make their own destiny.” His eyes meet with Aslan’s. “It’s a wonderful idea. Thank you.”

Aslan smiles. “I am glad you think so.” He turns to where Lucy and Edmund are standing. “If you two would not mind, could you help Caspian prepare everyone? Have everyone gather by the square when you are ready.” He then turns to the opposite end of the table, where Susan and Peter are standing. “I should like to have a moment with you two alone, if you’d please.”

At first, Caspian is not phased much by Aslan saying this; there’s nothing inherently wrong with him wanting to speak to the eldest Pevensies. But when Caspian sees the way the two of them look at each other, a sort of unspoken fear and understanding passing between them, he suddenly becomes nervous. How do they already seem to know what Aslan is going to tell them? And why do they seem afraid?

“Of course,” Susan responds for both of them. “We’ll see you all later.”

They smile politely, yet strained, the energy in the room clearly shifted. There is a moment before Peter turns to walk away where he catches eyes with Caspian, and the gaze lingers for longer than expected. Caspian wishes he could read the expression there, hear whatever it is Peter is thinking. But as it is, all he sees is a face suddenly etched with regret. And Caspian has no idea why.

The two royals and Aslan leave, leaving the remaining three standing there in a room that suddenly feels far too large and empty. If the younger ones noticed the difference in their siblings’ energy, they don’t comment on it.

“So,” Lucy hums, “should we begin?”

Caspian takes a long exhale, trying to have his nerves leave with it. He now has a lot to do today. 

“Let’s,” he says.

The three of them spend the next hour or so planning for the meeting. It’s not particularly exciting, mostly filled with logistics on how to gather everyone, what Caspian should say, and what steps they should put into place depending on who leaves. Not all kingly work is adventurous — in fact, most of it isn’t — but it is important work, and doing it with two of his friends makes it a lot more enjoyable.

Caspian doesn’t often get to spend time with just Edmund or Lucy. He sees them both once a day, at least, but they also have their own duties and responsibilities to tend to. Yes, neither are technically acting rulers of Narnia anymore, and have free will to go about as they wish, but they also know Narnia is in a transitionary period, and they help out wherever they can. With Peter and Susan, he can disguise spending time with them under the excuse of lessons. He’ll have to come up with something similar for these two.

When they all look out the castle window to see the crowd gathered in the distance outside, they know their work is complete.

“I should find Peter and Susan,” Lucy mentions. “I thought they’d be back by now.”

Caspian notices the undertone of nerves in her voice. Maybe she did sense the strange energy from them before, but put her duty first.

“I’ll go,” Caspian finds himself offering. “I’ll meet you down there, with the others.”

Lucy looks unsure, but eventually nods, Edmund throwing an arm around her shoulder and leading them away. 

Caspian heads down to where he saw Peter and Susan last, exiting the back way of the lower hall. In the last hour, they could have wound up anywhere, but somehow he doubts Aslan would have taken them too far. 

It takes him a bit of wandering around the courtyards, but eventually he does come across them. They don’t notice him at first, clearly deeply involved in an intense conversation. Caspian steals a moment to glean their emotions.

Aslan, walking between the two royals, has a purposeful yet slightly resigned look to his features, humanizing him in a way that is hard to explain. To his left, Susan frowns, is perhaps even crying, her face scrunched up yet still graceful. To Aslan’s right, Peter looks as emotionless as a statue, completely straight-faced and unflinching. He holds Rhindon out from his hip, his hand firmly grasped around the pommel; a habit Caspian has picked up on. Normally done when Peter’s nervous, or thinking, but right now he seems to be neither, just a calm and composed king.

It’s a stark contrast to how Susan is appearing, and it makes Caspian shiver to wonder what Aslan could have possibly told them to gain such different reactions.

He’s only realized he’s stared without speaking when Aslan calls his name, the three of them turned and now looking at him expectantly. Even though they are a few paces away, their eyes might as well be directly against his own, that’s how close they feel. Aslan seems curious; Susan, even more upset; and Peter, still devoid of emotion. If anything, seeing Caspian makes him straighten his shoulders that much more.

Caspian clears his throat. “We are ready. Everyone has assembled."

Aslan and Peter nod. Susan looks at the ground. None of them say anything more.

Feeling awkward, Caspian turns and walks away, not knowing what else to do.

A short time later, Caspian and the others have met up with Edmund, Lucy, Bultitude, Cornelius, Trumpkin, Glenstorm, Trufflehunter, Reepicheep, and thousands of Narnian and Telmarine citizens who wait for Caspian to speak.

Seeing them all gathered together like this, facing forward and staring at him, does bring Caspian some pause. The last time they were gathered like this was for his coronation, a day that was filled both with great joy and anxiety. The ceremonies had been a purposeful blending of Narnian and Telmarine customs, a symbolic merging of their cultures. At the end, he recited several vows said by Peter before being crowned by him, and then bowed to — firstly by Peter alone, and then everyone. 

(Caspian has been bowed to his whole life, being a prince and all. The coronation was the first time it felt strange, felt almost wrong. And seeing Peter bow to him was the strangest of all.)

Now everyone is being gathered to possibly send some Telmarines away. He still thinks it is a good idea, and necessary, but recognizes the slight irony here. A subtle anxiety sends goosebumps down his arms.

He didn’t get a chance to talk with Peter and Susan — or Lucy and Edmund — after arriving here. Aslan got everyone into their places and roared to signify the gathering had begun. Caspian has thought about what to say all morning; he hopes he does it right.

“Thank you all for being here,” he begins. “It has been an honor and a privilege to be your king for these last months. I want to thank all of you, both Narnian and Telmarine, for helping make this new era a hopeful one. I know it has not always been easy, but I have seen the strides we are making every day to give Narnia back their land while honoring the rights of Telmar’s citizens. And it is Telmar that I wish to speak on today.”

He stops there and lets the crowd process what he’s said so far. They vaguely nod in agreement, so he continues speaking.

“Aslan is offering the Telmarines a choice. Narnia belongs to the Narnians just as it does to man. Any Telmarnies who want to stay and live in peace are welcome to. And for any of you who wish, Aslan will return you to the home of our forefathers.”

“It has been generations since we left Telmar,” a soldier pipes up from the crowd. Caspian’s heart skips, fearing what other trepidations are about to be vocalized. He opens hs mouth to respond when Aslan speaks first.

“We are not referring to Telmar,” he explains. “Your ancestors were sea-faring brigands, pirates run aground on an island. There they found a cave, a rare chasm that brought them here from their world, the same world as our kings and queens.” He takes a moment to gesture at them with his head, and Caspian can’t help but wonder again what conversation happened this morning. “It is to that island I can return you. It is a good place for any who wish to make a new start.”

There’s a few, seemingly long seconds of silence where no one moves or speaks. Caspian briefly considers the possibility that no one will take Aslan up on the offer, which is something he hadn’t considered until now. But that idea is quickly squashed when Glozelle makes his way forward.

“I’ll go,” he announces. “I will accept the offer.”

Then Caspian’s aunt, Prunaprismia, stands besides him, holding her son in her arms. Another soldier — her father, actually, Lord Scythley — joins them.

“So will we,” she adds, a hint of sadness to her voice. 

Caspian is surprised to see her. She had become somewhat of a recluse after the last battle, likely grieving the death of her husband and the loss of her crown. He imagines it would be a lot to deal with while also raising a newborn. Is it possible Glozelle and Scythley had been helping her with that? He’s a bit ashamed to admit to himself he doesn’t know, but his relationship with his aunt was never great, and was recently tainted with blood, some of it his own.

He doesn’t think to speak up when the four of them walk towards Aslan, watching it happen in a sort of awe. Aslan greets them without judgment. 

“Because you have spoken first, your future in that world will be good.” Then, surprisingly, he blows out a breath of air, which comes out like a great gust of wind. Caspian feels nothing, but he can see the way it effects them, as if the Deep Magic has settled into their bones. 

Even more astounding, the tree next to them twists apart, two halves splitting to form an ovular opening in the middle of their trunks. Caspian hadn’t paid any mind when Aslan told them to gather everyone here, assuming it was just a notable landmark, but now it makes sense. He hadn’t pictured what the portal would actually look like, nor where it would be, but it’s fitting that it would be in a tree, part of Narnia herself.

The portal is seemingly invisible — the opening in the tree can see straight through to the other side, with no visual indicator that there is anything special in the middle. Still, the three Telmarines understand as they turn and slowly walk forward towards the tree, into the opening and…

Disappearing from sight. All at once, faster than Caspian can blink.

A gasp runs through the crowd, mirroring the shock Caspian feels at the sight. He turns around in a panic as he hears the people begin to erupt in protests and concerns.

“They disappeared!” they scream.

“Where did they go?” more ask.

“How is this possible?” many wonder.

“How do we know he is not leading us to our deaths?!” one voice stands out. 

Caspian flounders, suddenly feeling powerless and not like a king at all. In truth, he himself does not know how the portal works or what lies on the other side. He trusts Aslan, but he feels wholly unequipped to give an answer, let alone one that would satisfy the mob. 

Reepicheep then steps up, always so brave despite his size.

“Sire, if my example can be of any service, I will take eleven mice through with no delay.”

Aslan doesn’t answer him, instead waiting for the Pevensies to speak, a hopeful look on his face. Caspian follows his gaze to see that Peter and Susan are looking at each other, communicating silently amongst themselves. 

A horrible feeling of premonition shivers down Caspian’s spine. He feels as if he is standing on the edge of a very sharp and narrow cliff. He somehow knows that once Peter steps forward, Caspian will too, over the edge and into whatever after his life is about to become.

“We’ll go,” Peter declares, sounding so bold and noble, and there it is. Caspian’s heart dropping, the fear in his body becoming real, made manifest. All this morning, and then again now, he felt it, maybe somehow knew it, but was denying the truth. 

He always knew the Pevensies were going to leave again. Whether by accident or choice, it just made sense. It is part of their story that they do not get to stay, in their timeline or the next. Caspian had only been hoping he would have gotten more time with them before it happened. 

“We will?” Edmund retorts, seeming confused. 

“Come on,” Peter urges softly, looking at his two youngest siblings. “Our time’s up.” The words make Caspian flinch, as if Peter’s been given a death sentence.

“After all,” Peter continues, suddenly turning and fixing his eyes on Caspian. His eyes stay there, glued and intense, as he walks over to him, slowly unsheathing his sword from where it’s been faithfully at his side. He holds it out pointedly, clearly, to Caspian, in view of the entire crowd. “We’re not really needed here anymore.”

In this moment, time seems to completely stop, Caspian barely able to comprehend what is happening. He’s already been delivered the blow that the Pevensies are leaving, and now Peter is handing over his sword — Rhindon — for Caspian to take.

Caspian is not ignorant to what this gesture means. Rhindon is from the Golden Age of Narnia, one of Peter’s few prized possessions left in existence. And this sword in particular not only represents Peter, but his role as king, Narnia’s king. To give it to Caspian in such a public display is Peter’s way of saying he trusts Caspian to rule over the land in his absence, and that everyone else should trust him, too.

He feels profoundly honored, more so than he could probably ever express. This symbol means more to him than anything Peter has done previously, including the coronation. Despite all of their struggles, all of their fighting and competition and blind rage, Caspian has managed to earn enough favor and good grace in Peter’s eyes to be seen as someone able to care for Narnia and keep it safe. 

Caspian doesn’t know what he’s done to earn that. He finds it hard to believe that he has. 

But looking at Peter now — or rather, seeing the way Peter is looking at him — he knows it must be true. The expression on Peter’s face is complex, multilayered and impossible to fully read, but what is undoubtedly there is trust, confidence, and faith. In the bright rays of Narnia’s mid-morning sun, he looks absolutely golden, radiant, one last glance of the Magnificent before it falls over the horizon line once more. Caspian takes a selfish moment to drink it in, grateful that he’s able to be in its presence.

(Peter is no longer a legend to Caspian, now a human being. But sometimes…sometimes. His greatness cannot be denied.)

When Caspian feels as ready as he’ll ever be, he takes the sword, the two of them holding it together for a brief, shining moment. It feels strangely more intimate than if he was to hold his hand. 

“I will look after it until you return,” Caspian promises, his voice steady. 

“I’m afraid that’s just it,” Susan cuts in, her small yet remorseful voice seeming to cut right through the center of them. “We’re not coming back.”

Now Caspian’s world has really come to a standstill. Yes, he always suspected the Pevensies would be leaving Narnia again, but he always imagined they would come back. Hopefully not another 1300 years later, but still. They would come back. They always come back. What good is Narnia without the promise that her kings and queens will one day return to her?

Caspian feels like he can’t breathe, his vision suddenly going dark at the corners. These four people are the first real friends he’s ever had. Sure, he made brief friends of visitors from other lands who came to the castle, or children of the soldiers, but none of it ever lasted. He was far too guarded, too royal. These were the first people who ever really understood him, who ever stayed. At least, apparently, for a little while. And not only that, but their knowledge of ruling Narnia was invaluable. Caspian turned to them every day for some sort of advice or consort on what to do in his new position. What is he meant to do with four of his best advisors now gone?

Peter said they weren’t needed here anymore. Caspian hates to think that he’s wrong, yet he can’t help but to feel it. He can’t ever imagine a world where the Pevensies aren’t needed in Narnia. The peace they are in now is inevitably going to end. Some new threat will rise, with them needed to save the day. Or even just in their daily lives, helping usher in this new era. How could they not be needed?

Caspian hasn’t realized Peter has let go of the sword and walked away before he hears him speak again. He blinks himself into awareness, looking down at his reflection in the metal as Peter talks.

“At least, I think he means you two,” Peter is saying, responding to something Caspian didn’t hear. He’s looking towards Lucy and Edmund.

“But why?” Lucy asks Aslan. “Did they do something wrong?”

Aslan shakes his mane. “Quite the opposite, dear one. But all things have their time. Your brother and sister have learned what they can from this world. Now it’s time for them to live in their own.”

Caspian can barely process what’s being said. Learned what they can? What does that even mean? How could Narnia be done teaching them?

“It’s alright, Lu,” Peter says, his voice almost achingly gentle. “It’s not how I thought it would be, but it’s alright. One day, you’ll see too. Come on.”

Peter then takes her by the hand and leads his siblings towards the line of people standing across from them; Cornelius, Glenstorm, and their other allies. Caspian watches, feeling helpless and numb, as they say their polite goodbyes to everyone. He thinks maybe he should say something, say goodbye to them too, but he finds he cannot speak. And for whatever reason, they do not come over to him. 

But they do look at him, all of them. They all look pained in different ways, but trying to conceal it. Lucy is the most emotional, sniffing away the tears she freshly shed hugging Trumpkin. Edmund looks regretful and surprised. Susan has calmed herself from before, donning a saddened acceptance. And Peter looks across at Caspian with a mouth that opens and closes a few times, uncertainty lining his features. But he doesn’t move forward, and neither does Caspian, the great line of their destinies dividing them. 

Caspian’s hand is in a vice grip around Rhindon’s pommel, and he can feel the rivets its leaving in his skin. He finds himself recalling when he helped Peter up after sparring yesterday and felt scabs lining the curve of his palm, and realizes with a sudden clarity where they came from. 

With Lucy taking one last, lingering look behind her, the four of them walk through the portal, there in an instant and gone the next. It’s almost insulting how fast it happens, how quickly the life and fire of the royals are snuffed out. There was no proper sendoff, no parting celebration, just a quick lineup of goodbyes to the people standing closest to them before making a few small steps forward, small steps that nevertheless took them away from Narnia, of which half would never return.

The silence that follows after the Pevensies are well and truly gone is deafening. 

It’s not just the lack of sound, but a feeling; thick, unsettling, and almost smothering, as if the air that Caspian’s breathing in is too hot, getting stuck in his throat. He’s not the only one affected. Everyone seems to be bound and paralyzed to the spot, fixated on the opening in the tree. Caspian stares into it as well, the empty space there almost pulling him in.

Even Aslan, who Caspian has never once seen even so much as flinch, looks alarmed, glancing at the Telmarines with something like worry on his face.

A chill suddenly blows by with a pronounced wind, Caspian’s arms prickling. He looks up to see the skies filling with clouds faster than he thought possible, daunting in how quickly they change from open and blue to heavy with grey. There’s no rain, but lightning flashes in the distance, with a low grumbling like thunder making its presence. The crowd gasps and murmurs in worry.

“Everyone remain calm,” Aslan declares. “There will be no storm. It will not rain upon you.”

Caspian has no idea how Aslan knows this, but he said it confidently enough that he knows not to question him. Still, it’s hard to shake the feeling, or threat, of rain that hangs over everyone’s heads, as if the clouds could break open at any moment. He finds himself tensing his shoulders, bracing for an impact that never comes.

“Now that you have seen that the passage is safe,” Aslan continues, “any others who wish to go through it are welcome.”

The crowd falters, seemingly concerned not for the safety of the portal, but the storm that threatens to spill. Caspian turns to Aslan, who does not look at him, just waits patiently as he gazes over the Telmarines. Caspian thinks he still sees an undercurrent of worry in Aslan’s eyes, but he hasn’t seen it before, and shouldn’t now.

Eventually, someone does step forward; Caspian recognizes her as the daughter of one of the Telmarine soldiers, but is saddened to say he doesn’t remember her name.

“I’ll go,” she announces, her voice definitive and a little deep. She steps forward, walking with a mix of confidence and sadness. She seems unafraid, but something is clearly troubling her.

Caspian will never know what, because she’s soon gone through the portal as quickly as she came, her father rushing through the crowd and following after her, not wanting to leave his daughter behind. More people slowly trickle in afterwards, not enough to significantly decrease their population but enough to leave noticeable gaps in the crowd. Caspian is not sure whether this is something he should be proud or dejected about. 

When it seems like everyone who would want to leave has left, Aslan motions for Caspian to dismiss them. He hesitates, once again instinctively grabbing Rhindon’s pommel to steady himself, perhaps a part of him hoping that Peter’s influence is lingering within, that his strength can travel back here all the way from England and help Caspian find the right words to speak — or, really, any words at all.

He clears his throat. The Telmarines wait expectantly. 

“Thank you,” he begins, “for choosing to stay. There is no shame in leaving, but I am honored that you wish to continue living in Telmar, and now Narnia. I promise you, as I did when I was crowned, that I will continue to do everything in my power to make you proud of this choice. The kings and queens taught me much before they left. I will do my best to carry on their legacy.”

The crowd vaguely applauds, then turns around and begins the somewhat rushed journey back to their homes, the skies still heavy and grey overhead. Aslan walks over to Caspian.

“You did well, son of Adam,” he compliments. Caspian bows his head. “I know you were not prepared for them to leave.”

Caspian swallows. “I think I always knew they would, somewhere inside me.”

“You are very perceptive. In time, I am sure you’ll understand my reasoning.” He then glances at the sky around them, his smile fading. “You should get back to the castle.”

“I thought you said it was not going to rain.”

“It will not. But the land is grieving. It would be wise to give her some space.”

Caspian sort of nods, only somewhat understanding what he means. Aslan nods back before pouncing off into the distance, making great strides across Narnia’s hills. His speed is alarming, and he’s gone before Caspian can process what he’s said.

Cornelius comes up and puts a comforting hand on Caspian’s shoulder, bringing him to attention. His expression is easy to read, filled with both pride and pity, and the fact that he knows exactly what Caspian is feeling makes him almost start to cry. They share a silent moment before Cornelius speaks.

“What will you do now, my king?” he asks, the words gentle.

Caspian doesn’t answer. He has no plan. Not for right now, not for tomorrow, not for anything. His mind is swimming with thoughts, but the one that’s shouting louder than the rest is that he has a deep and unstoppable urge to run. 

He often thinks he hasn’t stopped running, really, since the day he left the castle: running from Miraz, running from the Telmarines, running towards the Pevensies, running away from the Pevensies (well, mostly Peter, but still), running back to the Pevensies, running back towards Miraz, running back towards the castle. And between it all, running away from and towards his destiny to be king. He has never quite settled himself on how he feels about it, and today has made him more uncertain than ever. His friends and most trusted advisors are now gone. How is he meant to lead Narnia? How is he worthy of this, of the sword in his hand?

“I…I do not know,” Caspian finally admits, and he can hear how broken he sounds, flinching at his own weakness. “I need to get out of here. For a little while.”

Cornelius opens his mouth, clearly wanting to protest, but something in Caspian’s voice or expression must change his mind, because his mouth closes as he takes a step back. He hesitates before speaking.

“Be safe, Caspian,” he urges with love. “We cannot replace you.”

And I cannot replace the kings and queens , Caspian thinks.

But he nods, even if its small, because no matter what has happened to him, he cannot let Cornelius down, cannot hurt him with purpose. 

He starts by just walking, getting away from the remaining Telmarines until he finds himself on the outskirts of the grounds, the open fields of Narnia in front of him. The air still feels heavy, like he’s moving through smoke, and suddenly walking is not enough, he’s not far enough, and so he finally runs. 

He runs for a while, feeling the weight of Rhindon in its scabbard as he moves. The further into the wilds he goes, the more angry Narnia seems to become, as tears sting Caspian’s eyes with wind that grows in intensity. Thunder roars all around, and he swears the ground is shaking beneath his feet, almost in time with his steps. The trees shake madly, leaves flying everywhere. More lightning flashes in the distance, sickly sharp and jagged, and Caspian knows he should be going inside, should listen to Aslan, but he feels more at home here, in the chaos of the wild. He has a need to scream, so he does, and the sound is drowned out by the noise encircling him, the storm the only thing able to match his rage.

At some point his eyes glaze over, not even taking in what he’s seeing, losing himself to the raw physicality of running. He no longer thinks specific thoughts, but is instead engulfed in simply feeling , regret and grief tearing apart his ribcage. It blinds him to his surroundings until he trips over some vines in the ground, sending him stumbling forwards and onto his knees. He’s barely able to keep himself upright with his hands, which sting with impact as they’re scraped by dirt and rocks. 

He takes a moment to catch his breath, which is heavy with the weight of a long, labored run, and grips his hands into the soil, feeling the tactile coolness there, damp and grounding. He realizes then that the storm suddenly is far away, still there but in the distance, as though he was in some circle of protection. The thunder has stayed with him, though, lodging itself in his body, his limbs shaking as he blinks away his teary eyes, the clouds of his vision clearing.

When he finally stands several minutes later, his body struggles with the effort, but he manages. It is dark around him, very dark, any potential light covered by layers of clouds and tall, leafy treetops. The wind doesn’t reach them here, it seems, and everything around him is almost painfully calm, as if he has been plucked out of reality. 

His eyes adjust eventually to see that a pond or maybe a lake is close by, the lack of light making it appear like an endless pit. It looks like he could fall into it, if he wanted. He does want to, a little bit. Maybe a lot. It could be peaceful there.

He settles down and lies on his back, looking up at the canopy of trees, which appear like a quilt draped over the sky. He lets his right hand lay in the water, not expecting it to be as warm as it is, and lets his body go very, very still, all of his manic energy and misplaced anger feeling drained.

This outburst has done nothing to quiet the storm in his heart. The thoughts he were able to briefly shake off come back and race wildly through his head, none of them staying for long but leaving him increasingly frustrated, restless, and unsatisfied, with no avenues of which to do anything about it. He can barely move, his hand dead like a stone in the water, and the darkness around him feels enveloping, sinking on top of him.

It’s wrong , he thinks, or maybe hears someone say. The voice doesn’t seem quite his. It’s all wrong.

His eyes close.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

When Caspian first wakes up, he doesn’t notice what he should.

He comes to without opening his eyes, pulling himself out of the realm of slumber by slowly reciting facts about his life, grounding him: I am Caspian the tenth. I am the new king of Narnia. I was crowned by Peter Pevensie. Peter Pevensie is no longer here. All of the Pevensies left. I am the new king of Narnia.

The thoughts bring him to reality with an unpleasant taste, as if when he was in that half-state between awake and asleep, he did not know the events of the day before, and has now unfortunately reminded himself. It makes him feel like his chest has a hollow in it, and his hand instinctively reaches to it, clutching at nothing. 

This hollow feeling is familiar in a dreadful way, and Caspian realizes that he had forgotten, for a time, how horribly accustomed he was to being lonely.

It takes several moments of parsing through these emotions with his eyes still shut before he realizes that there is a bed beneath him, and not the grounds of the woods. He drops his hand to the right, feeling air instead of water, while his other hand goes to his hip to find Rhindon missing, his sleeping clothes on instead of the more formal outfit he was wearing before.

This gets him to finally open his eyes, looking down at himself in horror, even though he is perfectly safe in bed. Sun comes through his window and filters beautifully into his bedroom in the castle. He looks around in alarm despite the serenity before leaning his head back against the pillow, sighing and retracing his steps.

He concludes that he must have passed out in the woods, then somehow was found, bathed, changed, and brought into his bed without him waking up. His cheeks burn in embarrassment and shame, wondering who found him and what they must think of their new king. He certainly doesn’t think very highly of himself right now. What kind of king runs away from his problems, screams into the wind, and passes out in the wilds without any kind of protection? He was not thinking of his people, he was only thinking of himself. What a horrible start to his time as a leader without the Pevensies to guide him. 

Caspian lies there in bed for what feels like a long, long time, staring at the ceiling and the intricate patterns carved there. He never thought about how tall the ceilings were until now. How out of reach. He wishes he could reach up and trace the indents of the patterns, feel the grooves in the stone. 

Eventually, when the hollow in his chest settles into something a little less sharp, a little more like a dulled throbbing, he finds the strength to sit up.

He rakes a hand through his hair before begrudgingly standing and moving towards the window. Narnia is vibrant today — surprisingly so, considering how it was yesterday. The trees hardly look damaged at all, as if they never lost a single leaf. The sky is wide, cloudless and strikingly blue, the sun bright and shining. It is a picturesque day, almost mocking in its perfection.

Caspian didn’t think the land would heal this quickly. He knows he certainly won’t.

He looks out at what is now his kingdom and tries to build up the courage to leave this room. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen today, doesn’t know what sort of consequences he’ll face for his cowardly actions. He knows he has to leave, has to fulfill the duties and obligations that the royals, and Aslan, bestowed upon him. Narnia is their gift, and Caspian has to handle it well.

He just doesn’t know how to do it without them.

We’re not really needed here anymore, he hears Peter saying. It felt so untrue, but Peter said it with such a steadfast conviction that it would have been wrong to deny him. 

Still. The feeling lingers.

Caspian’s just heaved a sigh and resigned himself to turning around to get dressed when a flash of movement grabs his attention. His eyes dart to the source, squinting until he makes out the features of a familiar girl.

A familiar Pevensie.

“Susan?” Caspian mumbles to himself, his heartbeat quickening. He holds a hand to the window, suddenly feeling rather dizzy and unstable. “Susan!”

She doesn’t hear him, because of course she doesn’t. She’s yards away and separated from him by glass and walls. It doesn’t stop Caspian from banging on the window a few times, calling out her name in varying tones of dismay, joy, and fear, watching with a panicked confusion as she makes her way through the courtyard towards the woods, blissfully unaware. No one else pays her any mind as she passes minus a friendly wave or polite nod, as if her mere presence there wasn’t a miracle.

And when has the Pevensies’ presence ever been short of a miracle?

With his heart hammering in something he refuses to call hope , Caspian whips around, throwing on his clothes with clumsy abandon and stumbling his way out into the hall. He quickly steadies himself when he sees the concerned looks he earns from the servants and guards nearby, and is again ashamed of his actions yesterday, wondering what they must be thinking. But he needs to hurry if he wants to catch Susan, so he turns and briskly walks away, ignoring the stares it gives him.

With each winding hallway, he finds himself cursing how large the place is, how almost needlessly expansive. He knows exactly the fastest route to leave, but the journey feels impossibly long, stretched out in ever-increasing passages, the exit always just out of reach.

He nearly falls with how fast his feet stop when he sees Peter.

Peter stands down the hall looking out of a window, drinking from a cup with the casual air of someone who’s only recently gotten out of bed. He seems calm, the bright Narnian sun sending rays of light through his golden hair, making the whites of his clothes almost reflect outward, like a glow. The sight makes Caspian’s breath hitch, his knees shaking as he stops his momentum and regains his balance, and all the while Peter just stands there, sipping his drink, as if his mere presence wasn’t a miracle.

By the time Caspian manages to speak Peter’s name, it comes out of his mouth all garbled, half a question and half a prayer, his tongue choking on it. Peter jumps slightly, as if brought to attention, and turns to Caspian with a brow raised. He smiles when he sees him, but it quickly falls.

“Caspian,” he states, putting his cup down on the window’s ledge. He takes a few steps closer. “What’s wrong? You look frightened.”

Caspian sort of laughs at that, a bit maniacal. Peter pauses.

“Frightened?” Caspian echoes. “Frightened, I—what are you doing here?”

Peter tilts his head, a tenseness filling his body, as if going into a defensive stance.

“What do you mean?”

Caspian fights the urge to laugh again. “What do you think I mean? You left , Peter. All of you. Susan said you were never coming back.”

Peter’s face blanches at that, his mouth gaping.

“Left…where?” he asks, his words careful and slow.

Caspian fights the urge to strangle him.

“Left Narnia ,” he spits. “Through the portal in the tree. You said…you gave me your sword.”

“My sword?” 

“Yes. Why are you acting like you don’t remember?”

Peter’s expression shifts from caution to concern, his posture softening.

“Because I don’t.” He hesitates before reaching a hand out to grab Caspian’s shoulder, and the confusion of this whole situation is the only thing that distracts Caspian from the way his touch feels like a brand. “Explain this to me. All of it.”

Caspian sighs, his shoulders shuddering under the weight of both Peter’s hand and his gaze. It feels like his mind and chest are being split in two, parallel visions playing out over his eyes. He was convinced the last image he would ever have of Peter was him walking through that portal, but here he is now, handsome and breathing and alive and here and waiting for Caspian to speak, patiently and surprisingly kindly, and he’s here, he’s here, he’s here .

“Yesterday,” Caspian starts, feeling as though he must be going insane, “we spoke to Aslan at breakfast and decided to offer the Telmarines a passage back to their homeland. Then Aslan took you and Susan aside to talk. Later, when Aslan offered the portal to the Telmarines, you and your siblings left in it, and you said you were never coming back. Not you and Susan, anyway. But now…now you’re here. And you are telling me you don’t remember any of that?”

Peter watches him talk with an increasing look of worry on his face, the strong and stable expression he had fading. He looks as though someone’s told him a horrible ghost story, and his eyes are wide by the time Caspian’s finished, his hand slinking down Caspian’s shoulder and landing somewhere loosely on his elbow.

“Caspian,” Peter finally says, his voice low, “we haven’t had any gathering with the Telmarines. No one’s left.”

Caspian blinks. He blinks again. Peter’s hand falls completely from his arm, and he leans forward slightly, inspecting Caspian like he’s a doctor’s patient.

“Your eyes look bloodshot,” he observes. “Have you been sleeping?”

Caspian scoffs, or something close to it. “Are you suggesting I hallucinated?”

“Well, I…” Peter stops. He straightens, taking a breath. “I don’t know.”

They stand together for a moment, silently observing each other, as if with one wrong move the other might crack and crumble into dust, only they’re thinking that for very different reasons. Caspian feels frayed, like his nerves are loose at the edges, with his center of gravity weakened, now untethered to the earth. He senses a headache forming.

After a while, Peter seems to reach some sort of conclusion in his mind, his face settling into a kind of frown. It’s not quite that he’s sad , more that he’s…disappointed, perhaps.

“Maybe you had a prophetic dream,” he speculates, the words almost bitter as he says them.

“Prophetic dream?” Caspian parrots, a bit stupidly.

“Yeah. Lucy’s gotten them a few times.”

Caspian looks down and considers it. A prophetic dream . A possibility, certainly. But…

“It felt so real,” he thinks out loud, unable to hold back the emotion in his voice. “It was a whole day of my life. How could that be a dream?”

Peter’s frown deepens. He attempts a shrug, but it’s weak.

“Yours could have been more elaborate. I can’t think of another answer. Can you?”

Caspian doesn’t respond, doesn’t have anything to say. He wants another solution, almost too desperately. If it really was a prophetic dream, then he has to relive today all over again, and watch the Pevensies leave Narnia for the second time. He’s not sure he has the strength to do that. He barely did the first time, the shock of it all being the main thing that carried him through, the breakdown only happening after, when he had time to think.

“No,” he responds eventually, the word barely audible. His eyes brim with unshed tears. “I don’t.”

Peter nods, mostly to himself. He looks out the window before speaking. 

“So we’re leaving, then,” he says quietly, very quietly.

Caspian realizes then what he’s just done, telling Peter that he’s leaving before Aslan could. A brief chord of fear strikes him, as if he’s gone against Aslan’s wishes, or ruined some sort of plan. But it can’t be taken back now.

“If my dream is to be believed, then yes,” Caspian answers, standing next to him by the window’s ledge. “I am sorry.”

“ You’re sorry?” Peter remarks, a bit bewildered and a bit humorous, but mostly sounding annoyed. “You’re not the one kicking us out, mate.”

Caspian pauses. “No. I guess I’m not.”

They watch the world outside for a minute without speaking. Narnians and Telmarines walk by, some saying hello to each other while others make a conscious effort to not interact. Caspian sighs, his breath fogging the glass. They’ve come so far, yet they still have so far to go. He questions, once again; how could the Pevensies leave now?

“Did he say why?” Peter asks after a while, his words hushed and his head hung down, like the question in and of itself is a secret. 

Caspian hesitates. “He said you and Susan had learned everything you needed to here, and now you had to go live in your world.”

Peter hums, maybe scoffs, maybe coughs at that, it’s hard to tell. 

“Anything else?”

Caspian hesitates. How much should he divulge? Is this betraying Aslan, somehow?

He almost doesn’t answer, but there’s a desperate kind of look to Peter, Caspian briefly making eye contact with him and finding a scared earnestness in there that he has to turn away from before speaking.

“You said you weren’t needed here anymore,” Caspian admits. “Before you gave me your sword.”

Peter keeps his head down. He says nothing, but his hands squeeze tightly against the window’s ledge, his knuckles turning white.

Caspian wants to say something, and probably should, but finds when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. His head is swirling in confusion, the memory of yesterday clashing with the reality of today, mixed with fears of what his knowledge has caused, if anything at all. Has he made it harder for Peter to leave, now? Or easier?

A few seconds later, Caspian hears an enthusiastic set of footsteps behind him, and he knows without turning around that it’s Lucy. His heart quickens again with an unstoppable, and a little pathetic, joy to be seeing her again.

“There you are!” she chirps, her voice slightly strained as if she had been running around, the unawareness in her tone almost making Caspian break a sob. “Come on, we’re all going to have breakfast together.”

At the sound of his youngest sister’s voice, Peter’s grip on the ledge loosens, and Caspian watches the way he morphs his face into a practiced, too-natural-looking smile before turning around, looking down at Lucy fondly. Only someone who knows to look would see the way the façade isn’t quite there, the way it’s cracking at its edges.

“That’s a great idea, Lu,” he comments, his tone far too jovial. He gestures an arm out. “Lead the way.” 

Lucy beams before taking his hand and skipping down the hall, pulling him along. Peter faces Caspian and shares one quick, silent look with him before getting yanked away. In that flash of a glance, Caspian understands; Peter is not going to tell her. He’s not going to tell any of them.

On one hand, Peter could be doing so because he doesn’t really believe Caspian, or that what he experienced was a prophetic dream. Caspian can’t really blame him. This sounds mad. It is mad.

But more likely, Peter does believe Caspian, does believe that he’s received an image of the future, likely because it’s happened to Lucy before, and he doesn’t want to pass the burden of knowledge onto his siblings. The look he gave Caspian when he found out — the look of disappointment — makes it seem like this was an outcome Peter had predicted, but hoped would not come true. Like this was something he had been preparing for. 

Caspian watches their backs as they walk away, and it takes a moment for him to remember that he’s supposed to be going with them, too. He looks at Peter’s drink, forgotten on the window’s ledge and smelling vaguely of blueberry. He thinks about grabbing it, but doesn’t.

Lucy leads them to the lower hall. It’s quiet except when she speaks up, mentioning some tidbit or the other about what they might do today or something Reepicheep said, but it all goes unheard to Caspian, phasing through him like smoke. He knows he should be soaking this all in, reveling in this second chance to get one more day with the Pevensies, something he silently begged for many times yesterday. But getting his wish actually granted is too strange, too alarming. He didn’t want it to happen like this.

Once Edmund and Susan arrive, they begin eating. Breakfast is awkward for Caspian, who is still unable to find any words to speak that feel right. The Pevensies chat as usual, Peter keeping up his façade and joking with his siblings like his entire world isn’t currently crumbling beneath his feet, and he’s so damn good at it that Caspian’s heart breaks a little. 

When Aslan comes into the room, seeming like he’s about double the size that he really is, Peter and Caspian freeze in tandem, parallel movements across the table. Aslan seems to not notice, however, and strides over to them with his head high, Lucy again squealing and rushing to give him a hug. 

“Hello, dear one,” Aslan greets Lucy before looking towards the others. “And good morning to you all.”

Caspian sits in a measured stillness as Aslan says the words he’s already heard, finding himself having to pantomime his reactions as if they were genuine. It feels deeply wrong, as if he’s lying to or deceiving Aslan, but the prospect of revealing his dream to him seems worse, and would go against Peter’s wishes.

“What do you think, Caspian?” Susan asks like clockwork. “They’re your people, after all.”

All four Pevensies and Aslan turn to him in unison, and the sight of all their eyes upon him suddenly feels searing, as if no one person was meant to be under the weight of it. Only Peter, whose gaze is usually the second harshest of them all to bear, looks at Caspian with some softness, his expression caught between a wince and a frown, not quite pity or acknowledgement but something close, something in-between.

Caspian swallows, trying to remember what he said before.

“I think they will appreciate the right to choose,” he answers. “I imagine some might refuse to live under Narnian rule. Either way, it is their right.”

Aslan bows his head. “Then it is done. We will gather by the square when it is time. Caspian, Lucy, Edmund, would you make the preparations? I would like to speak with Susan and Peter for a moment.”

At the sound of his name, Peter turns to Caspian with wide eyes, unable to hide his fears anymore. Caspian just stares back, suddenly feeling paralyzed and mute. He wishes he could save Peter from this fate, from this impossible conversation he already knows the outcome of, but he has no means to.

Susan nods to Aslan, then turns to Peter expectantly. When she sees the stricken expression that’s come over his face, she frowns, hesitating. The two of them meet eyes, Susan seeming to communicate to him with only a look. Peter dismisses whatever she’s trying to say and rises quickly from his chair, walking towards Aslan. She swallows her frown away and follows.

Caspian continues to do nothing, watching Peter and Susan leave with a heavy dread settling in his chest. He was so unaware the first time he saw this, so clueless. Now it’s all too real. 

He finds himself sighing once Aslan is out of the room, relieved about nothing in particular, but feeling a weight has been lifted, if for a moment.

“Shall we go?” Lucy asks, looking towards the boys, and it takes everything in Caspian for him not to say “No, don’t go, please. Not again.”

But that’s not what she’s talking about, so he just smiles as best as he can manage, trying to emulate Peter, and says “Let’s.”

The rest of the morning is like he’s living an echo.

Even if it’s not exactly the same, the day feels so close that Caspian might as well be retracing his own footsteps. It makes him feel like a puppet, saying the same lines he did in his dream as if he’s following a script, only Lucy and Edmund don’t know they’re on a stage. He has a sense of guilt about this, filled with the burden of knowledge of what is about to happen to them that he cannot, and will not, share. 

While he’s with them, he tries to enjoy their presence, tries to revel in this second chance, but there is a looming, ticking clock in the back of his mind, and it’s getting louder.

A small part of him, a childish and hungry part, hopes that what he told Peter this morning will make the conversation between him and Aslan change. Perhaps Peter, like Caspian before, was so shocked by the news that he didn’t have time to properly think and reflect, and instead went along with what was happening without so much as a protest. Maybe having even an hour to register the news would give him the mental capacities to work up a counter argument, make Aslan see that the Pevensies are still needed in Narnia, possibly now more than ever, and that Peter and Susan could still learn so much from this place.

But it’s foolish to think something like that. Aslan is never wrong. It was the one consistent thing across these last months of chaos, reflecting the stories of olde. If Caspian was to start questioning Aslan now, he might as well give up his throne. Selfish thoughts can only lead to selfish actions. 

Once the Telmarines have gathered and they’re making their final preparations, Caspian breaks from his script and pulls Lucy aside, desperate for some sense of clarity. The echoing thought of Why? has been repeating in his mind all morning, wondering what could cause him to have a prophetic dream, and he can’t stop himself from asking her about it.

“Lucy,” he starts, somewhat cautiously, “is it true that you’ve experienced prophetic dreams?”

Lucy scrunches her face up, as if surprised and a little delighted at the question.

“How do you know about that?” she asks lightheartedly.

“Just came up in conversation with Peter, is all.”

Lucy hums. “Hmm. Well, yes, I have.”

Caspian’s heart skips a beat, the possibility of an answer exciting him.

“What were they like?”

She looks down at the ground, reflecting.

“The only one I’ve had in Narnia this go around was right before we met you. I woke up before the others and the land had come back to life, like it was in our time. The trees were awake and the dryads were dancing. I followed them until I found Aslan, and he spoke to me. But then I really woke up before it could finish.”

Caspian frowns, unsatisfied. “So…it did not last an entire day?”

“A whole day? Goodness, no. Why?” She turns up towards him, her bright eyes seeming to know everything about him, all at once. “Has something happened to you?”

Caspian suddenly feels utterly exposed, like he’s already said far too much. Lucy’s kindness and warmth often felt like a veneer that distracted people from just how cunning she was, how perceptive and aware.

“N-no,” he stammers, unconvincingly, “I was just remembering some stories Cornelius used to tell me.”

“I see,” Lucy says, not pushing it any further, though her tone is enough to tell Caspian she doesn’t quite believe him. Since she’s already suspicious, he decides to keep asking questions, still needing some sort of an answer.

“What did Aslan say to you? In the dream, I mean.”

“I told him he’d grown. Then I asked him why he hadn’t helped us.” She hesitates, and it’s unlike Lucy to show any kind of shame or regret, but there’s a flash of it, quickly passing. “He said, ‘Things never happen the same way twice.’ Then the dream ended.”

Caspian pauses, reflecting on what she said. Her experience sounds vastly different to his, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they both didn’t have a prophetic dream. Things never happen the same way twice.

“So that is how you knew where to find Aslan,” he connects. “You went back to where you saw him.”

“Yes. I didn’t tell anyone about the dream before because they didn’t really need to know. They just needed to trust me.”

Caspian nods. If there’s anyone in Narnia you can trust, it’s Lucy Pevensie. 

What does this mean for me? he wonders. Am I supposed to do something?

Lucy looks back up at him with a mischievous eye. “How did this come up in conversation with Peter, anyway?”

“I don’t remember,” he lies, breaking away from her gaze. “It was a few days ago. I have been meaning to ask you since.”

Lucy lets out a breath, not a sigh but similar, and allows the topic to pass.

“Alright,” she says. “Well, I’ve got to find Trumpkin and Glenstorm so we can head to the square. Everyone else is there already. Can you find Susan and Peter?”

“Of course,” Caspian agrees, although the last thing he wants to do right now is bring them somewhere he knows they will not return from. “I will meet you there.”

He splits off from Lucy and makes his way out of the castle. He’s so caught up in replaying his conversation with her that he barely realizes when he’s found Peter, Aslan, and Susan.

He still says nothing, much like before, watching the three of them with unease coursing through his body. Based on the expressions on Susan and Peter’s faces, the conversation has not strayed its course. Susan, beautiful and tragic in her perfectly curled hair, looks at Caspian with a lost expression, as if she’s nearly about to break. Peter is stonewalled on the other side of the lion, a resignation etched into his features, his hand gripped tightly around the pommel of his sword. Him and Caspian lock eyes across the way, and Peter’s expression shifts, the mask lifting just slightly, and Caspian knows that Peter certainly believes him now, if there was ever doubt before.

Though, for once, he would much rather not have been believed, would rather his dream been a false prophecy. It would be a mercy to be mad.

“Your Majesty?” Aslan calls when he notices Caspian, and it sends chills down his spine. He straightens himself, not wanting to look weak in front of any of them. 

“We are ready,” he announces. “Everyone has assembled.”

He hears himself say that twice; once as he speaks it now, and once in his mind, in the voice of his dream. He felt cautious back then, laced with a tension he couldn’t place, but was ignorant as to the source. 

How different things are now. Aslan (seemingly, at least) doesn’t know that Caspian knows what is about to happen. Neither does Susan. Only Peter, still and unmoving next to them, shares in Caspian’s dread. It feels like they are closer now than they’ve ever been, yet there is also a thousand miles between them, uncrossable and vast. 

In reality, it’s only a few steps of stone cobble. Caspian could cross it if he wanted to, could reach out to Peter and grab his hand and tell him I’m sorry , or I shouldn’t have told you , or I didn’t want to be right. But he doesn’t, and Peter doesn’t come towards him. They’ve known their roles since this morning, and have been rehearsing all day. It’s time to play the part.

The gathering with the Telmarines barely changes, but there are some differences.

Caspian doesn’t want to risk disturbing Aslan’s plan any further than he already has, so he tries to remember everything he said in his dream and go through the same motions. The only change he makes is that, before the gathering begins, he takes a moment with Glozelle, his aunt, and his cousin. 

Glozelle was never a man that Caspian was close to growing up in the castle, but he was never an enemy, either. Glozelle’s guilt of sending his crossbow into what he thought was Caspian’s sleeping body clearly had weighed on him, since he ended up sparing him during the final battle. Caspian doesn’t feel as if he owes him, exactly, but there is an odd level of respect between them now, and he’s become somewhat of a surrogate uncle if he’s going to help raise Caspian’s cousin. 

Caspian thinks that maybe a part of him should detest his cousin, whose birth alone was nearly the cause of his death. But in a way, his birth was also the cause of the kings and queens coming back to Narnia, and helping to finally give the land back to her people. Those circumstances were all beyond a baby’s control. It would be wrong to hate him for it.

And though his relationship with his aunt is tainted at best, she holds his cousin right there in her arms, and the two of them are the only family Caspian really has left. Of course, they are about to leave, too, much like everything in Caspian’s life, so he takes a moment to say hello to them, which they don’t know is really a goodbye. It’s tense and a little awkward, Caspian feeling a phantom pain where his aunt’s crossbow pierced his shoulder, but his cousin coos up at him somewhat lovingly, as if knowing who Caspian is, and that makes the moment worth it.

When the three of them and Lord Scythley walk through the portal, the same concerns rise from the crowd. Peter speaks up when the time is right. 

(The time is never right.)

“After all,” he says, walking up to Caspian and holding out his sword, “we’re not really needed here anymore.”

Caspian’s jaw clicks when he sees Peter with the sword. Yesterday, or in his dream, Peter held out Rhindon with a confident conviction, a decision made out of trust and belief. Now he does with something unreadable on his face, not quite disappointment but something close. You were right , his eyes seem to say, about all of it. 

Caspian takes the sword in his hand, which did not get easier to do, and thinks about what he should say. He should probably say what he did before and continue the illusion that this is all news to him, that he hasn’t seen this once already. 

But an opportunity has now presented itself. The last words he said to Peter in his dream were “I will look after it until you return.” They were the last words he said to any of the Pevensies, suddenly becoming mute and rigid once he learned they wouldn’t be coming back. Regret had wrapped itself around him as soon as they left, wishing he had said anything else, so maybe now is the chance to undo that mistake, to loosen a small knot of that regret.

“Thank you,” he starts, succinctly. He never felt like he said it enough. Then: “I will not forget you.”

That cracks the armor Peter’s been holding himself up with. It’s subtle, unseeable to anyone who isn’t Caspian, but it’s there. His face falls, his eyes searching Caspian’s for something. He swallows once, hard, and Caspian fights the urge to watch his throat move, then doesn’t think about the fact that he wanted to.

Before Peter can say anything, Lucy speaks up from behind them.

“You’ll see us again,” she assures, then turns to Aslan with a childlike hope. “Right?”

Aslan shakes his head, with an expression that could be mistaken for sorrow lining his features. “King Caspian will see you and Edmund again, but Peter and Susan will not be returning.”

“But why? Did they do something wrong?”

Aslan begins explaining, but Caspian doesn’t listen. He’s heard this already. Only this time, Peter stands in front of him, his hand grasping the empty space where his sword was moments ago. He looks like he desperately wants to speak, but can’t seem to find the words. Caspian understands. 

So he just holds Peter’s gaze, hoping that he’ll will find whatever he’s looking for there. Peter seems to, because his eyes stop their trembling, and he stands up like the king he always was. Always will be.

“Thank you,” he says back, quietly, once Aslan has finished speaking. “And I, you.”

Caspian’s breath catches, but Peter has already turned, moving towards Lucy.

“It’s alright, Lu,” he assures, less convincingly than before. “It’s not how I thought it would be, but it’s alright. Come on.” He doesn’t say the last part; One day, you’ll see too. Caspian wonders what changed.

The four siblings fall in line as they say goodbye to Trumpkin and the others. This time, Caspian makes sure he’s one of them, getting a hug from the sisters and firm handshakes from the brothers. It’s still not as grand of a goodbye as he would have liked, but it’s better than the nothing he got before.

When they’re done, Caspian takes his place next to Cornelius, who gives him a sad smile, and he has to look away.

Like Peter always did, and like Caspian himself did in his dream, he instinctively grabs the pommel of Rhindon tightly in his hand as he watches the Pevensies go through the portal for the second time. The heaviness that weighs after is not any lighter, and, if anything, is now heavier. 

The dark, heavy clouds fill the sky just as they did before. This time, Caspian does not run away, but he does hide himself in the castle, trying to keep himself busy, and he feels the woods calling to him the entire time.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

He sees Susan in the window the next morning.

At first, he’s certain he’s just convincing himself that some other girl in a light blue dress is actually her. But he knows Susan too well, and when he sees her walking through the courtyard with the same nonchalant gait as yesterday, he feels his insides growing sick with panic, collapsing against the window’s ledge as his vision swims.

There are only two possibilities at this point. Clearly, whatever he experienced was not a prophetic dream. Something much worse is happening; either the Pevensies and Aslan are pulling some sort of terrible, cruel trick on Caspian, perhaps as a test, or he has well and truly gone mad.

‘Mad King Caspian. Leader for a few short months before losing it all.’ What a legacy that would be to leave behind.

Perhaps Aslan changed his mind , Caspian finds himself thinking, maniacally and desperately. Maybe he decided they shouldn’t leave, after all, and he’s brought them back.

It doesn’t sound right, but Caspian needs an answer, any answer rather than the two he’s torn between. Fighting back several screams, he once again pulls on his clothes with haste as he rushes out the door, looking for…

Who could he turn to in this situation? Peter is out of the question; if Caspian went up to him spouting delusions about a cruel test, it would just get him a punch to the throat. Edmund would probably think Caspian is just trying to be funny. Susan would send him to a medic. Lucy would maybe be understanding — but the truth is, Caspian doesn’t want to speak to any of the Pevensies right now, for the first time in his life. And the last thing he needs is for Aslan to question his ability to lead, or even to function.

Cornelius must know something. Cornelius seems to know everything, at least to Caspian, so surely, he should know something about this.

Now decided, Caspian rushes his way through the castle, purposefully avoiding the route he went last time, not wanting to risk seeing Peter or Lucy there. He has no idea where Edmund might be right now, and prays to the stars that he will not emerge, either. Caspian does not know how he would react upon seeing any of them.

After what feels like a small eternity filled with the concerned stares of many (which is becoming an alarming consistency), he barges his way into Cornelius’ study, sending the door slamming into the wall, creating a cloud of dust. Cornelius jumps to attention, and Caspian would feel a bit guilty, if he wasn’t currently having a crisis.

“My king,” Cornelius greets, the color draining from his face. He walks forward with a hurry. “What is wrong?”

The momentum Caspian had suddenly leaves as soon as Cornelius gets closer. There’s something grounding about the professor, the only person who has always been there and never left, making Caspian feel a bit more sane, more attuned to reality. It takes the adrenaline of panic out of his body, and he’s left feeling exhausted and helpless, like a small child.

“Professor,” Caspian mumbles, looking sheepishly towards the wall. “I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”

“It’s alright. The door will recover.” He closes the door to give them some privacy, then puts his hands on Caspian’s arms, forcing them to lock eyes. “Tell me. What is the matter?”

Caspian sighs as he looks into the professor’s patient gaze. How could he explain himself without sounding mad?

“You’re not going to believe me if I tell you,” he admits.

Cornelius smiles at that. “I told you already that I believe in you, always. Plus, I have heard and seen many wild things in my years. I’m certain I can handle this.”

Caspian almost smiles back, but doesn’t quite make it. 

“Alright—but first, tell me something; did the meeting with the Telmarines happen yet? Has Aslan offered them passage to our homeland?”

Cornelius’ eyebrows raise. “Why, no. I was not made aware that was even happening.”

Caspian sighs, clenching his hands at his sides. He has to look away before he explains himself.

“In that case, I…” He falters, struggling to verbalize this strange experience. “This is the third time I am living this day, and no one else can remember it but me.”

That naturally gets Cornelius to pause, but he gestures for Caspian to continue.

“Two days ago, I helped plan the Telmarine gathering. Then I found out the Pevensies were leaving, and I watched them go.” Cornelius’ eyes widen when he hears ‘ Pevenvies leaving.’ “Afterwards, I went into the woods to think, and I must have fainted in there, or fallen asleep. Then I woke up in the castle and they were back, and they had no memory of any of it. Peter thought I had a prophetic dream, so I went through the day and watched them leave again. Now I have woken up for the third time to see Susan outside of my window, with no one remembering anything.”

Cornelius doesn’t respond at first, clearly stumped by Caspian’s words. He takes a step back and looks around the room, as if the contents in there would somehow speak to him and give him the answer he needs.

“Well,” he starts, “you are right that it is hard to believe.”

“So you do not believe me?”

“No, no!” Cornelius holds out a hand. “I believe you, my boy. You are not in the habit of lying. But this is…difficult to understand.”

He walks towards the center of the room, clearly deep in thought. Caspian watches, feeling awkward and exposed, and shifts on his feet.

“What do you think has happened?” Cornelius asks after a minute. “What are your conclusions?”

Caspian swallows. “My first thought was that this was a test of some kind. That maybe Aslan was sending everyone back to…I don’t know. To test me, somehow. Make sure I am a worthy king.”

“They have already crowned you,” Cornelius counters, shaking his head. “If Aslan doubted your ability to rule, I’m certain he would have intervened by now. He’s not one to trick people like this. And I doubt the kings and queens would agree to something so cruel. I certainly wouldn’t.”

Caspian nods, relieved. A part of him did think the notion sounded ridiculous, but it’s reassuring to hear it come out of another’s mouth, to hear it rationalized away.

“Okay,” Caspian agrees. “But the second option is not much better.”

“Which is?”

Caspian pauses. “I’ve gone mad.”

Cornelius makes a dismissive gesture. He walks forward and cups Caspian’s face in his hand.

“Nonsense, my king. You speak like a man who has their wits about them. I have seen mad men. You are not one.”

“But what else could it be, Professor?” Caspian retorts, frustrated. He breaks away from Cornelius’ touch and strides across the room. “I am running out of options.”

He starts frantically looking around at the books strewn across Cornelius’ desk, which were always a comfort to him in his youth. They’re opened to various pages as they lay on their spines. One of them has a manuscript of the Pevensies, drawn as angels with halos above their heads. Caspian is unsure what the related folk tale might be, but the imagery causes him to reflect on a conversation he had once with Edmund.

“Oh, no!” he realizes with a gasp. He holds his head in his hands, fingers scraping through his hair. “I have died. I died in the woods, and now I’m in Purgatory. This is just like their stories…”

“Be calm, Caspian,” Cornelius hushes, gently guiding Caspian down until he’s sitting in a nearby chair. He barely registers it as it happens. “What is Purgatory? Explain this to me.”

Caspian takes a few breaths, trying to maintain some sense of composure.

“I asked Edmund one day to tell me about England, and we came on the topic of religion. In their world, after you die, there is a Heaven, a Hell, and a Purgatory. Purgatory is where the lost souls go, forever trapped between two lives. That is what is happening to me. I am trapped in the same day for eternity!”

He hears the increasing panic and hysteria in his voice as he speaks, but he can’t really help it, nor feel he could be blamed. He’s on his third run of living the same exact day, one of the worst days he’s experienced, and everyone around him is completely unaffected. For someone who has been alone his whole life, never has he felt more isolated.

Cornelius takes a moment before he responds, carefully considering what Caspian said. Caspian doesn’t really look at him, instead darting his eyes around on the floor, the room feeling as though it’s spinning. 

“I do not think that is what’s happening,” Cornelius finally says. “I feel very much alive. I’m sure everyone here would attest to that.” He pauses. “But I suppose you have no proof…”

“I have no proof of anything!” Caspian blurts out. “What am I….what am I supposed to do?!”

Cornelius sighs, standing upright from where he’s been leaned over comforting Caspian. He walks over to his bookshelves, eyeing the large expanses of tomes collecting there.

“Have you considered,” he begins, “that things are waking up in Narnia that have been asleep for over a thousand years?” Caspian shakes his head, sniffing once. “The longer you are king, the more you will see Narnia begin to shed its layers, revealing the beautiful Deep Magic and mystery underneath. It is possible that some of it has already started to affect you.”

Caspian lets out a shaky breath. “So…you are telling me that Narnia itself is doing this to me?”

“If we are to believe you are neither dead nor mad, then yes. And I still do not believe Aslan or the royals would test you in this way. Something bigger than them is happening. Perhaps bigger than all of us.”

Caspian wants to scoff, but holds it in, the somewhat devout earnestness of Cornelius’ words giving him pause. What could possibly be bigger than the Pevensies? Than Aslan ?

“Then what am I to do?” Caspian asks again, his voice at least a little steadier, though not any stronger. “What does Narnia want from me?”

Cornelius shakes his head sadly. “That I do not know, my king. It is something you will have to discover for yourself.” 

Caspian doesn’t answer, letting his head fall in his hands. The idea that he will keep repeating this day until he does whatever Narnia will be satisfied with is a daunting one, to say the least. His body suddenly feels heavy with an invisible weight as he slouches forward in his chair.

“If I may suggest something,” Cornelius continues, “you could start in the woods you said you fainted in. The answers might lie in there.”

Caspian reflects on that as he picks his heavy head up and glances out the window. Technically, he can’t go to the forest right now — he’s already late for breakfast with the Pevensies and Aslan as it is. They’ll be needing his help to plan the gathering.

Although, now that he thinks about it, what’s the point of helping them at all? They’re just going to be back here tomorrow, as will the Telmarines that leave. No one is going to be able to go home for good until Caspian figures out whatever is happening; not just to him, but to everyone. Even if he’s the only one who knows.

“Okay,” he mumbles. He stands up, the dizziness he felt before starting to fade. “I will go there. Thank you, Professor.”

“Be safe,” Cornelius smiles, empathy at its edges. “I hope I remember this tomorrow.”

“As do I.”

Caspian turns and leaves the room, still feeling lost and confused but at least having one goal, one step he can take towards solving…whatever this is. He’s still not entirely convinced he hasn’t gone mad, or that he isn’t dead, but if Cornelius doesn’t seem to think so, then he won’t, either.

He traverses the back halls of the castle as he heads toward the stables, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention. A few people stop him, as is the usual, but he manages to fend them off quickly enough that he isn’t disturbed for too long.

He makes his way down and grins when he finds his horse Destrier, one of the few constants in his life apart from Cornelius. Destrier has been there from the start, Caspian remembering when he was just a foal, and he was also there for the start of Caspian’s entire life being upended when he rode him out of the castle. Even though Destrier kept running after Caspian collapsed, this horse was responsible for saving his life on more than one occasion, and for getting Lucy to Aslan. That’s something Caspian will never forget.

He greets Destrier with an apple he plucked on the way and a loving stroke of his mane, his black coat shining warm and wonderfully in the sun.

“Good to see you again, old friend,” he murmurs. Destrier leans into Caspian’s hand as he caresses him.

He begins his preparations to mount the horse when he hears his name being called.

“Caspian!” Susan says again. He turns to find her approaching, lifting her skirt so it doesn’t trail. That’s right , he remembers with a panic, she’s been outside my window every day. 

He attempts to smile casually at her, though internally he is burning with conflicting emotions of anger and joy at seeing her. Twice, now, he’s had to watch her go through the portal and think he’s never going to see her again, only for her to show right back up. It’s both relieving and taunting.

“Susan,” he greets, trying to keep his voice calm. “Good morning.”

“What are you doing out here?” she asks with a bemused chuckle. She seems in good spirits, like a certain lion hasn’t altered the entire course of her future just yet. 

“Um,” Caspian starts, suddenly unsure. How could he explain to Susan that he has to go look for some woods he ran away to after an event that hasn’t happened on a day she won’t remember? “I was going to go for a quick ride. I have not done so in a while.”

Susan’s smile resides somewhat, but doesn’t disappear, her expression slowly morphing from lighthearted curiosity to a more calculated sort of confusion, her nose wrinkled.

“Are you alright?” she asks after a moment. “You don’t seem yourself.”

Caspian has to fight to not laugh, though it’s not a statement he actually finds funny. It’s just that her saying that is so absurd to him. Of course he’s not himself. How could he be?

He sighs and holds tighter onto Destrier’s reins. 

“I’m alright,” he lies, his throat tight. “These last months have just been weighing on me. I thought a ride might clear my head.”

Susan considers that, pursing her lips. He’s not sure if she really believes him or not, but she eventually concedes with a nod.

“Okay,” she exhales. “Well, make it a quick one. We have a lot to do today.”

If this had been a better day, a normal day, Caspian might have joked here about how she is ordering her king around, or something to that effect. But as it is, he just nods, mounting his horse.

“Where will you be going?” she asks him.

Caspian hesitates. He has a general idea of where he ran to before, but he doesn’t want Susan to know where he’s going. 

“I think I’ll head to Beaversdam,” he lies again. “It’s a good place to think.”

Caspian’s never really had to lie to the Pevensies before all of this started happening, and he doesn’t like the way it feels when he does it. He tries to tell himself it’s for their own safety. He’s doing all of this for them , after all, to make sure this cycle breaks and they can live the rest of their lives.

“It is,” Susan agrees. She walks forward and gives Destrier a loving pat. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Caspian grins, and it feels like a grimace. “See you soon.”

The world looks so different now than it did when Caspian was running through those cloudy and windy hills. Everything is so clear today, the skies so calm and the air so still. It’s disorienting, the vastly changed landscape making it harder for Caspian to attempt to retrace his path.

It feels like hours before he finds what he’s looking for, but truthfully, he has no real grasp of time anymore. Regardless, he can tell he’s heading in the right direction when the trees start to thicken considerably, the ambient noise of Narnia fading to a dulled hum as he ventures further inward.

It’s not as dark as before, but it is noticeably darker in this area of the woods, the full leaves shading the area, leaving the temperature distinctly cooler. Caspian slows Destrier to a walk and looks around, though he’s not sure what he’s actually looking for. He notices more details of the environment now that there’s more light, like where there are birds’ nests in the trees or where footprints have been made and then hardened into the ground. 

It’s a beautiful place, but other than that, there seems to be nothing special about it. Caspian frowns.

He dismounts Destrier and ties him up to a tree, feeding him another apple before turning and approaching the pond he found two nights ago. (Or, was it the same night, two sleeps ago? Caspian cannot figure out how to think of his life now.) It is larger than a pond, actually, and deeper, too, perhaps closer to a small lake. It doesn’t look like a void as it did before, now reflecting the sagging branches above, occasionally rippling from a loose pebble or a falling leaf. Caspian dips his hand into the water, which is surprisingly cool. Confused, he takes his hand out and shakes it dry, watching the droplets land on a nearby rock, staining the grey. 

“Is this it?” he asks himself, his voice quiet. “How will I find the answers here?”

Feeling himself becoming frustrated, he sits on the ground and tries to get himself into a calmer mindset. Lucy always told him to open himself up to Narnia, to take the time to sit and listen , and let the magic come to him. He hasn’t had much time to try that since becoming king, and he’s not sure how to begin. But he does try, closing his eyes and focusing on the noises around him, letting his body weight sink into the earth.

Caspian listens. He sits and he listens for a long time. He hears many things: the buzzing of insects, the occasional huff from Destrier, the trees swaying in the light breeze, the passing steps of a squirrel, his own breathing. He opens his eyes and observes what he can see: the varying colors of leaves on the trees, the moss and rocks growing at the bottom of the lake, the broken twigs around his feet. He smells the strong scent of pine, tastes the freshness of the air on his tongue, feels the dirt underneath his hands. He is present in every conceivable way, as open to Narnia and the land as one could possibly be, and it brings him absolutely nothing.

The absence is deafening. His body and mind are alive with sensations that pass meaninglessly through him, leaving him feeling in a vacuum despite the clear evidence of life all around him. With each passing minute, and possibly each hour, he grows more and more desperate, unable to stand the thought of watching the Pevensies leave again. He will do whatever needs to be done to break free of this, if he only knew what it was. If Narnia could give him even just a hint, just a push of a direction, then he would gladly follow it with haste. But all it gives him is silence.

He looks down to see his reflection in the water and finds the rippled visage of a broken king, one who was entrusted to lead Narnia into the future only to be cursed to relive the same day, never making any progress. His eyes shake and brim with unshed tears that he forces not to fall.

“What do you want from me?” he asks, almost growls, to no one at all. He grips his own knees tightly. “Tell me what to do, and I will do it. Please.”

Nothing. Somewhere in the distance, a frog croaks. He hangs his head.

“There you are.”

Caspian startles upright, his heart pushing hard against his chest. He sniffs and blinks a few times before turning around to see Peter on his own horse, looking at him with a mix of worry and relief from across the clearing before quickly dismounting.

Caspian stands clumsily, attempting to look presentable and probably failing. His muscles are half-numb and his clothes are covered in dirt. He even spares a glance to see that Destrier has fallen asleep while waiting for him.

“What are you doing here?” Caspian questions, and he wonders how many times he will say that to Peter before all of this is through.

“What am I doing here?” Peter echoes as he walks forward, almost offended at the question. “Looking for you, clearly. Everyone is.”

Caspian turns away, a familiar guilt coursing through him.

“How long have I been gone?” he asks, even though that’s something he would know himself, if he was of sane mind. Which he likely isn’t.

He turns back and finds that his question has clearly given Peter pause, the annoyance on his face shifting to concern.

“Hours,” Peter answers after a tense second. He takes a few careful steps closer, like Caspian is some kind of wild creature, ready to bolt again. “Aslan was going to offer the Telmarines a passage to their homeland, but he wouldn’t do it until we had your blessing.”

“Oh. I am sorry.” Caspian hesitates. “How…how did you find me? I told Susan I was going to Beaversdam.”

Peter glances away, as if slightly uncomfortable.

“We did look there, first,” he explains. “Then we split off when we couldn’t find you. I thought maybe you had gone near the Lantern.”

The Lantern. Something Caspian has seen multiple times since becoming king, but never stayed at for too long. There was something magnetic about it, and about its woods as a whole. Of course he would have ended up here.

“Well, you were right,” he says quietly. He’s not sure why, but he gets a strange and peculiar feeling after saying that.

This is a common occurrence with Peter. There has always been… something there, between them, unnamable. At first, it was a kind of hatred, a disappointment, a rivalry rooted in misplaced grief. From there it morphed to acceptance, a partnership, an understanding of the greater good. Once the chaos of battle was behind them, it changed again, only Caspian doesn’t know what it is now, just knows that it’s always there, almost like static in the air between them, settling between every word they speak, every glance of their eyes. He feels it even now, even in his current state of madness and despair, when it’s likely the last thing he should really be focusing on.

Peter doesn’t respond, instead continuing to tread tepidly towards Caspian, who looks away and slowly sits back down, unable to hold his own weight. Peter sits next to him, the two staying there for a minute in silence, watching the lake ripple. Caspian feels not unlike when he was a child, and was caught snooping somewhere in the castle where he shouldn’t have been.

“Why are you out here?” Peter finally asks, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Did you know about the meeting with the Telmarines? Are you worried about them leaving?”

Caspian shakes his head, those fears seeming so far removed to him now, like they were the thoughts of a stranger.

“No. I’m not. I already know who will be leaving.”

He’s not sure why he says it as he does; there’s no route of this conversation that doesn’t end in him sounding crazed. But the words came out, with little energy left in him to attempt to stop them. 

“How do you know that?”

Caspian hesitates. “You will not believe me if I tell you.”

“Try me.”

That gets Caspian to look up. Peter seems certain and unphased, saying those words without hesitation. He almost sounded teasing, like when they’ve had banter in the past, or exchanged words during a sparring session. 

Caspian scoffs a chuckle despite himself, despite his situation, and turns away once again, still feeling Peter’s eyes on him when he does. 

“Have you talked to Aslan yet?” he says first.

A pause. “Aslan?”

“Yes. Have you spoken to him?”

“Um,” Peter starts, clearly taken off-guard, “yes. About the Telmarines, and then finding you.”

“Not about that.” Caspian locks eyes with Peter, who somehow is now the scared one out of the two of them. “About you leaving.”

Peter’s mouth gapes, but he closes it quickly.

“How do you know about that?” he questions, sounding a little angry. “Did he tell you before he told us?”

“No, he never tells me. It’s always a surprise.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrow. “What are you talking about?”

Caspian sighs, dreading what comes next.

“This is the third time I have lived this day,” he begins, not sure why he’s bothering to tell Peter this. “It sounds impossible, but listen. I know Aslan took you and Susan away this morning. He told you you weren’t needed here anymore, and you had to go and learn in your own world.” Peter doesn’t answer, but Caspian knows he’s right. He swallows. “I have seen you and your siblings leave Narnia twice now. When I wake up the next day, you’re all back, and no one remembers but me. Tell me, you were thinking you would give me your sword today before you left, yes?”

Peter’s eyes widen, and that seems to be the moment where it clicks, where he realizes that there’s some truth to Caspian’s words, and that he knows more than he should. Yes, Aslan could have told Caspian his plans, but there was no way for Caspian to know Peter’s own internal thoughts. Based on this reaction, it’s likely Peter never told anyone he was going to give Rhindon to Caspian, not even Susan.

Peter doesn’t speak, which is reasonable, and instead sort of stares dumbfounded at Caspian for a minute, then starts looking him over as if hoping to find some kind of visual disease that will explain it all.

“Have you been sleeping?” Peter asks, not for the first time.

“I am not sleep deprived, I am not seeing illusions, and I am not mad,” Caspian rebukes. Then he actually laughs, which does not help his last point. “I am not fully convinced I’m not dead, though.”

“Why would you be dead?”

Caspian shrugs. “Edmund told me about Purgatory once. I thought that might be what’s happening.”

“Don’t talk to Edmund about religion,” Peter advises. “You’re better off not knowing.”

It seems like hardly the point right now, but Caspian nods anyway. There’s an awkward silence before Peter speaks up again.

“I will say, you don’t sound mad,” he admits. “Well, I mean, you do, but not really. Does that make sense?”

“It makes more sense than the truth.”

Peter frowns, eyeing Caspian in a way that makes him want to bury himself in the dirt. 

“What do you think is causing it?” Peter carefully asks. “An effect of the White Witch’s magic, somehow?”

Caspian flinches as he remembers that day, the scar on his palm stinging.

“Cornelius suggested that it is Narnia’s doing.”

“Narnia?” Peter echoes with an empty amusement. “You think Narnia’s making you relive the same day and remember it? Just you alone?”

“It could be happening to someone else,” Caspian mentions and realizes. “I have not thought to ask anyone.” Right after he says it, though, he knows it can’t be true. Something in his gut and soul tells him that he is unique and alone in his suffering. Much like he always has been.

“Maybe,” Peter mumbles. He looks away from Caspian and down at himself. Caspian hesitates before speaking.

“You do not believe me.”

Peter grimaces. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. I wouldn’t believe me.”

Peter sighs, then his eyes go a little fuzzy as he seems to reflect on something.

“‘If she’s not mad, and she’s not lying, then you must assume she’s telling the truth’,” he quotes quietly.

Caspian squints. “What is that?”

“Something our Professor said when Lucy first discovered Narnia. We didn’t believe her then, and we looked like proper fools. And it happened again only a short while ago, when she said she saw Aslan.” His jaw clicks, and his hand tightens around Rhindon. “I won’t make the same mistake a third time.”

Caspian is unsure of what he means, but he feels a glimmer of hope start to emerge on the horizon of his heart. After a moment, Peter looks up at him with conviction.

“I believe you,” he states. His face suddenly feels incredibly close, Caspian able to see the faded freckles lining his cheekbones. “Or, I believe that something has happened to you. I just don’t understand what it is.”

“Neither do I,” Caspian exhales. The sympathy and trust in Peter’s gaze is suddenly too strong, and he breaks contact. “The first time I lived this day and you left, I…” he falters, not wanting to expose his weakness, “...I ended up here, and I fainted. Cornelius thought that maybe I would find answers if I came back. That Narnia would tell me what to do.” His mouth contorts into a frown as he fights back cries that claw at his throat. “But I have not heard anything. I haven’t felt anything. I do not know what I am supposed to do.”

Tears start to fall, Caspian no longer able to contain his sobs. They’re stilted and half-choked out as he still attempts to keep himself stable, not wanting to break down in front of the High King. He grips his hands tightly into the ground, using them as anchors, but his arms shake with the effort, his chest spasming.

Peter hesitates next to him, watching in silence, and Caspian can sense the tenseness in his body from here, the unease holding him together. He leans forward slightly, as if on the edge of a cliff, his hands flexing out and then retreating back inwards. 

Caspian understands. The two of them never touch, not really, not outside of kicks and blows in their sparring sessions, and then helping the other up afterwards. Often times, Caspian felt the space between their bodies like a palpable energy, fragile and almost waiting to be broken, crackling with life and sending his hair on edge. It’s there now, that energy, heavy and beating and dark as stormclouds.

Peter does break into that space, reaching out and cupping a hand across Caspian’s neck, his thumb resting along the bend of Caspian’s jaw. The touch makes Caspian involuntary shiver and hitch his breath, but he’s able to disguise it as a sob, or hiccup. 

Neither of them speak at first, Peter just sitting there and holding the base of Caspian’s neck as he rigidly cries, his fingers entangled into the roots of Caspian’s hair. Caspian refuses to break fully, even now, though he desperately wants to, perhaps needs the release. Peter’s hand on his neck and his thumb steady against his trembling jaw are both a comforting blanket and a weight pushing him down.

“Why don’t we head back to the castle?” Peter eventually suggests. “You’ve been out here a while. You should rest.”

“No!” Caspian snaps, hearing the roughness of his voice. Peter recoils slightly, but doesn’t move. “I have rested enough. I need to find a solution.”

“Okay,” Peter reluctantly agrees. “Alright, you don’t have to rest. But we should still go back. Me and Sus can look for answers in the library. There might be something there that can help you.”

Caspian shakes his head, his vision blurred with teary eyes. His neck feels hot and clammy.

“You do not have time to help me,” he counters. “You still need to go home.”

“Surely, Aslan will delay it, if you explain the situation.”

Caspian just continues to shake his head. He could never ask that of Aslan, would never dare to imagine it. He’s not even sure if Peter believes so as he says it. Who were they to interfere with Aslan’s plans, simply because of Caspian’s madness, or whatever has afflicted him? He’s not above Aslan. He’ll have to solve his problems on his own, like he always has.

“You need to go home,” Caspian repeats, his voice broken and small. He tries it again with more authority. “You need to go home.”

He says it not just for Peter, but for himself; he needs Peter and his siblings to go home, and he needs to break this cycle so they can truly fulfill Aslan’s plan. He can’t risk Narnia’s wrath by changing things for himself. He has seen what Narnia can do to Telmarines who hurt her for too long.

Peter doesn’t respond, uncertain and biting his lip, his thumb lightly tracing the outline of Caspian’s jaw, the movement feeling unintentional. 

“Caspian…” he starts, the sentence hanging unfinished. He shifts ever slightly closer, and his entire being seems to be on the precipice of something, only neither of them know what. 

“Peter, you need to go home,” Caspian says one more time, his words defeated yet definitive. His face contorts after he says it, scrunching in on itself, and he feels on the brink of collapse, barely holding himself together, with nearly the slightest push being enough to send him off the edge.

Peter’s expression settles, then, the uncertainty leaving him and replaced with something calmer, something familiar, his gaze both solid and comforting on Caspian’s shivering frame. He shifts his hand from Caspian’s neck to his shoulder and pulls Caspian into him before he can even realize what’s happening. 

He blinks a few times, noticing his head is now nestled against Peter’s shoulder, which feels sturdy and strong underneath him, thrumming with life and warm against the coolness of the forest air. A familiar scent hits his nose, and he realizes Peter’s tunic is actually Caspian’s own shirt, recently borrowed. Something about that combined with the weight of Peter’s arms wrapped around him is enough for Caspian to finally collapse, breaking embarrassingly childlike sobs, his nose brushing up against where Peter’s heartbeat flutters in his neck. 

They stay like that for a while, Caspian feeling like the sun itself is embracing him as he cries into Peter. He’s uncomfortably alive; his eyes sting, his head aches, his cheeks feel flushed red, and his breaths are spasmic, his body trembling. But Peter is there throughout all of it, his steady hand on Caspian’s back dulling the worst of his shakes, the other combed through Caspian’s hair, massaging slightly at his temples. 

Caspian doesn’t cry often. It’s a habit he trained himself out of, learned quickly when he realized that Telmarine men were not supposed to be seen as weak, even as children. Any time he did cry, he kept it controlled and coiled up, letting only the minimal of tears spill, until the feelings were pushed down enough to pass. 

So to be able to fully break down like this, to not worry about how he looks and how he’s posed, to let himself go limp and press his entire weight into another human being, feeling the warmth of life glowing between their bodies…

It is a type of relief Caspian has never felt.

No matter what his circumstances are now, no matter what is forgotten tomorrow, no matter how many more times Caspian has to endure this day, he cannot deny this relief. Perhaps the tears being shed and the cries turning to screams are not just for the last few days, but for the last several weeks…no, the last months of rapid change and tests of faith that Caspian hasn’t had the time to sit down and process since becoming king. 

He remembers Cornelius telling him once, in a not so subtly encouraging way, that crying in Narnian culture was seen as an honorable act, a way to show that one was in touch with their own emotions and found no shame in expressing them. Caspian dismissed it then, the old stories of an extinct species not enough to overpower the influence of his own culture, but the words have new meaning now. Perhaps pushing down his feelings to the point of collapse was not the most healthy way for a king to behave. Perhaps Peter knew this, maybe lived through this realization himself, and that’s why he holds onto Caspian with such little hesitation, why he waits patiently against Caspian’s sobs without so much as a word of judgement. 

Or, perhaps comforting someone is something that just comes so naturally to Peter, the eldest of the Pevensies, that he cannot help himself.

After an unknowable amount of time has passed, Caspian takes stock of himself and realizes his breathing has finally begun to steady, his face muscles relaxed and no longer twisted into a grimace. He feels spent, his body sagging and lacking energy, tired without it being entirely unpleasant. Both of Peter’s hands are now on his back, very softly rubbing small circles at his shoulderblades, and the feeling makes Caspian let out one final, long, shuddering breath against Peter’s neck. When he slowly blinks open his swollen eyes, he thinks he sees goosebumps trailing there.

He starts to shift enough that Peter knows he’s going to sit up, and so Peter leans back and pulls his hands away, giving Caspian the room to move. There is an immediate chill that hits Caspian once they’re no longer connected, the breeze of the woods cutting right through him. He hates the way it makes him want to crawl right back into Peter again, to feel that warmth embrace him. His cheeks burn even more red than they surely already are, and he finds that he can’t meet Peter’s gaze for what seems like a long while.

There’s a moment where the two of them sit now separated, the rawness of the moment thick and humming in the air around them, Caspian afraid to so much as breathe too heavily. It feels strangely profound. Peter is an icon of Narnia, sent from a prophecy, High King the Magnificent, and Caspian similarly is from a line of ten, his arrival written in the cosmos, the proclaimed bringer of peace. They have both become legends bigger than themselves, but right here, alone in this forest, despite everything that has passed between them, they are just two boys stuck in the grips of something unknowable, a magic beyond their control, forcing them to both leave and stay, over and over again.

“Th-thank you,” Caspian finally mutters, his throat tight and voice hoarse from crying. He still hasn’t felt like he’s said that enough. “I am sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Peter refutes sincerely. Caspian barely manages to make eye contact with him, looking up from where his head is tilted down, and finds that Peter’s eyes look slightly red as well, though noticeably dry. “You’re clearly going through a lot. No one could blame you.”

Caspian tries to nod, or maybe shake his head, but he’s feeling weak, so it gives him a wave of vertigo. He pinches the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes tightly. 

“We should go,” he manages to say, the words strangled. He stands quickly, but he’s still dizzy, his legs a little numb and his center unbalanced, so he stumbles. Peter scrambles to his feet and holds his arms out in case Caspian were to fall, but he manages to right himself.

“You can ride with me,” Peter offers, seeing Caspian’s state. 

“I’m fine,” Caspian groans, as if he didn’t just rip himself open. He walks over to Destrier with unsteady steps. Destrier wakes with a huff, slightly annoyed, and Caspian waits for him to rise. “I can meet you there. You do not have to wait for me.”

Peter says nothing, Caspian only hearing the vague sounds of him shifting his feet in the dirt, some loose twigs being crunched. After a few minutes, Peter walks over to his own horse, but just continues to wait for Caspian to be ready, eyeing him from where he stands.

Caspian stays with Destrier, using his reins as an achor to help steady his body and bring himself back to reality. He takes a big, deep breath and straightens his shoulders, trying to let the vulnerability of the moment pass. He still needs to get through the rest of the day, as uncertain as it now is.

When Destrier is finally up and ready to ride, Caspian mounts him with some effort and takes one last, lingering look at the woods, still silent and ungiving to him, even now. 

Am I unworthy? he questions. Must I prove myself to Narnia to be free? 

He frowns, turning away from the water and urging Destrier forward, Peter matching his pace. They ride silently back to the castle, and that ever present something between them feels changed, but Caspian still does not know in what way, though it doesn’t and won’t really matter. Not to Peter, anyway. 

If it ever did at all.

Caspian has to practically beg Peter not to mention what he said to anyone else when they reach the stables, right after they dismount their horses.

“I do not want anything held up further because of my actions,” he explains, trying to sound more like a king. “We should proceed with the gathering.”

Peter’s face scrunches.

“We need to help you, Caspian,” he rebukes. “ Something is happening to you. I can’t leave knowing that. None of us could.”

“I will figure it out on my own. I shall not upset Narnia or Aslan by preventing you or anyone else from leaving. Even if you are back tomorrow, I will not stop it. This is his will. Narnia’s will.”

Peter stares at him, clearly conflicted, one hand gripped tightly on horse’s rein. He stands with one foot forward, one back.

“You said the day always reverts to the beginning?” he asks. “Like nothing ever happened?”

Caspian swallows, the words sounding even more deranged when being spoken by another.

“Yes. And no one else remembers.”

Peter reflects, looking down at the ground.

“How many times have I left already?” His voice is low.

Caspian hesitates. “This will be the third time, today.”

“And you think that’s what Narnia wants? For us to leave?” There’s something hidden in his words there, like there’s a parallel question that Caspian can’t hear. There is pain there, though, that much is noticeable. 

“I do not know,” Caspian admits, trying to mend Peter’s hurt. “All I know is that I will not disrupt what is meant to happen, even if it is doomed to repeat. This could be the last time. I cannot risk it. And I am prepared to step down as king if I am proven wrong.”

Peter considers those words. Caspian wishes there was a way for him to remember this all tomorrow, the thought of their moment in the woods being lost to Caspian’s lone memories a deeply saddening one.

“Alright,” Peter finally says. “I’ll do it.” He points a finger to Caspian. “But if I end up back here tomorrow, you need to tell me what’s happening again so we can help you. Do it twenty times in a row if you have to, I don’t care.”

Caspian winces. “I really wish you would stop acting like you believe me.”

“I do. I don’t know what I’m believing, but I know I do.” 

Those words feel more revealing than Peter might have intended, and it takes Caspian aback.

“Have you heard of this before?” Caspian chooses to ask instead. “Was there ever any sort of…strange, Narnian magic like this in your time?”

“Not that I know of. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” He looks away. “Narnia’s changed a lot since we left. Things are coming back differently.” He pauses, his hand going to Rhindon’s pommel. “You know things you shouldn’t be able to know. That counts for something.”

Caspian tentatively nods, finding it hard to accept Peter’s belief, or his help. He isn’t used to so much kindness, and it’s almost overwhelming, especially from someone he has such a storied past with, notably not built on kindness.

“So,” Peter continues, “if what you say is true, and I’ll be back again tomorrow, tell me what’s happening. Do you promise?”

Peter’s tone is suddenly grandiose in that moment, light enough to be compassionate but strong enough to be a command. Caspian finds himself fighting an urge to get on a knee and swear an oath, as if he was truly a knight to the High King back in the Golden Age. 

“I promise.”

“Good.” Peter ties the horse up. “Let’s find Susan. I know she was worried sick.”

After spilling many humble and half-lie apologies to the Pevensies (and one particularly gruesome one to Aslan, who was frustratingly accepting in response), along with several hugs and a medic visit, they concede to proceeding with the Telmarine gathering. 

It’s dusk when they do, the sky settling into a muted green, the summer night’s breeze cool on Caspian’s skin. The Telmarines grumble and complain about being gathered in the evening, and Caspian hears a few rumors flutter about how he was missing for several hours, but he attempts to dismiss them off, knowing that this will all be forgotten soon.

(Although, there is the distinct possibility, as he said to Peter, that Narnia will decide to break the cycle, for whatever her reasons, and Caspian will wake up tomorrow with the Pevensies truly gone, Caspian’s reputation in shatters to clean up, with Peter thinking he’s left a madman to run his kingdom. It’s a possibility that leaves Caspian stricken with fear, but that strange feeling comes back and tells him No, this isn’t over, and you will know when it is, if ever. )

He goes through his usual speech, and he tries to sound as strong as he did the first two times, but feels near to passing out from exhaustion, and it doesn’t hit quite as hard as it probably should. Aslan swoops in to put the grand exclamation on it, though, always there to pick up the messes Caspian leaves behind. 

Glozelle and the others volunteer to go first again, Caspian locking eyes with his cousin one more time, silently apologizing for the way he will not age until this is over.

When Peter steps forward to deliver his lines about leaving and not being needed, handing his sword over to Caspian for the third time, he’s clearly unsettled. There’s been a half-comfort, half-curse given to Peter in the knowledge that, if he does really believe Caspian, he is not truly leaving, but is destined to forget. This is twice that Caspian has burdened him with this knowledge alone, his siblings saddened and unaware behind him, and Caspian swears to prevent it from becoming a pattern.

“Tomorrow,” Peter says quietly, too quiet for anyone but Caspian to hear. Yet the word feels loud, booming, a promise made against his own reality. “Either way, she’s yours.” 

Caspian isn’t sure if he means Rhindon, Narnia, or both, but the fact that he still trusts Caspian after today is somewhat horrifying. Peter walks over to Lucy before Caspian can respond. 

“You two will be coming back. At least, I think he means you two…” The conversation continues, Caspian feeling like an audience member to his own life.

When the Pevensies leave, it is not any easier. It still hurts, and Caspian wonders if it will ever stop hurting, no matter how many times it happens.

The most shocking part is when the the skies darken even further right after they go, the wind picking up. With Caspian lost in the forest, a part of him assumed that this must have still happened while he was gone. He knows now that this rapid change of weather is connected to them leaving, and it feels like a profound revelation, but he has no idea as to how.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

Caspian wakes. He turns to his dresser, which is where he left Rhindon last night as a test. No one should be able to get in or out of this room but him, so if the cycle has broken, it will still be there.

The sword is gone. Of course it is.

With something that’s neither disappointment nor relief, Caspian sighs and walks over to the window, standing and waiting until Susan makes her voyage across the courtyard, that damned light blue dress becoming a sore sight. She’s as nonchalant as she always is, and at this point Caspian could probably track her exact footsteps before she takes them, if he wanted.

He sighs again and lets his forehead rest against the glass, hitting it with a soft thunk. He plays the events of yesterday in his mind, remembering how warm Peter was against him, how raw and visceral the connection felt between them, an important furthering of their friendship that is now only one-sided. Caspian feels almost guilty to be the sole bearer of this memory, as if he holds some sort of power over Peter by repeatedly putting him through experiences he will not remember. But it’s out of his control, and there’s no use wasting another of these days moping about it. Instead, he recalls Peter’s words: Tell me what’s happening again so we can help you.

The thing is, Caspian doesn’t want to. He doesn’t really want to tell anyone. The more he speaks of this aloud, the worse the situation seems, and the more insane he feels. He’s not even sure if this is something Narnia wants him to tell others about, or keep completely to himself.

He’s also not entirely certain if this is Narnia’s doing at all, but with a lack of alternatives, he sticks to that story.

So Caspian stands there at the window, contemplating what to do. Even if Peter won’t remember his promise, Caspian knows that he would feel dishonorable if he were to break it. He made a vow, and he is not going to become an oathbreaker, certainly not to the High King.

But he also doesn’t want to go to Peter without having a better grasp on what’s actually happening to him. He feels a need to do further experimentation, or research, or really anything so he can put proper words to it, know what he’s actually asking for help with. 

He will tell Peter, he will — just not right away.

Peter did have a good suggestion to start with, though; Me and Sus can look for answers in the library. There might be something there that can help you. Perhaps there is evidence somewhere in the towers of tomes that allude to this happening before, or something similar. It could take a while to go through all of the books, but. Well.

Caspian has nothing but time.

Before he goes to the main library of the castle, he heads to Cornelius’ study much like he did yesterday morning, only this time he is slightly less frazzled, at least on the outside.

(On the inside, he’s yet to stop panicking since this whole ordeal began, and he wonders if the quiet shaking that seems to be trapped in his bones is ever going to cease.)

He knocks on the door instead of slamming it open, entering the room with a measured calmness, not wanting to worry Cornelius any more than he already has, even if he can’t remember that.

“Professor,” Caspian starts, “I have an odd request of you.”

“Oh?” Cornelius hums. “What is it, my king?”

“I need you to go through all of the books you have and look for anything about a day repeating itself.”

Cornelius’ eyebrows furrow. “A day…repeating itself?”

“Yes. Any stories or legends that are about one person living the same day over and over again, with no one else aware or remembering that it happens.”

Cornelius contorts his mouth, looking down with an odd expression.

“That is an odd request. What are you hoping to find?”

“Anything on the subject. I am not picky.”

Cornelius hesitates before walking over to one of his bookshelves and skimming over the titles on the books’ spines.

“Why are you curious about this?” he asks. “Has someone told you a story?”

“Something like that,” Caspian half-answers. He hasn’t lied to the Professor since he was a child, when he was feeling lazy and not wanting to do his coursework. “It is a favor for a friend.”

Cornelius quietly chuckles. “I shall like to meet this friend.” He pulls out one of the books and wipes off the cover. “Give me some time.”

“Of course,” Caspian bows. “Thank you, Professor.” He smiles and leaves the room before he’s questioned further.

He knows there isn’t much time before Lucy gathers everyone for breakfast, so he rushes to the library as fast as he can without causing suspicions. 

When he walks in, he gives himself a moment to take in the room’s beauty, watching the sunlight shine through the stained glass windows. He takes a deep breath, the smell immediately welcoming. This was always one of his favorite places in the castle when he was young. Even though the more fun books filled with Narnian stories had been hidden away in Cornelius’ study, the library still had plenty of other stories to offer, or interesting things for Caspian to learn. What he lacked in socialization, he made up for in books, and they feel like old friends as they sit on their shelves, waiting.

Caspian is almost too distracted by this to notice a snoring Edmund to the right of him, his face smushed into a wooden desk and his hair awkwardly matted. A book is laid open in his hand, clearly abandoned where he was reading it, and the sight of the scene makes Caspian have to suppress a laugh. Even in his uncomfortable-looking pose, Edmund actually looks serene, and Caspian has a surprising brotherly instinct to reach over and pluck the book out of his hands, prop up his head and give him a pillow.

(It’s a strange thought to have about someone he’s seen butcher several of his fellow Telmarines in battle, someone who is centuries older than him and considered a walking legend, but those facts don’t make what he felt any less true. It just makes it  strange.)

So, walking quietly to not wake him, Caspian sneaks his way into the recesses of the library, eyeing the labels on the shelves to see which section might best suit his needs.

There’s not many people in the library this early in the morning, but those that are there seem to not notice him. It’s unsurprising. Caspian learned early in his life to make himself invisible, realizing that the less he was perceived, the less he could be reprimanded for — or the less likely he will be assassinated in his sleep, perhaps. While it is harder for him to go unseen now as the new king, it is not entirely difficult, either.

He eventually settles on a section of folk tales, taking a stack of books into his arms and lumbering over to the closest desk he can find. He picks the first one and starts skimming through it, the specificity of what he’s looking for making it a bit easier to parse through what isn’t relevant. Many of these stories are familiar, mostly being Telmarine legends he heard of growing up, and so he gets through several books in the stack rather quickly. He gets into a sort of trance doing this, only breaking out of his focus when he hears a soft voice speak ahead of him.

“Your Majesty?” 

He looks up, expecting to see someone standing there, only the person who spoke is actually farther away. They’re a faun servant — Caspian thinks her name might be Diordanus, though he’s ashamed to admit he isn’t certain — cautiously peering over Edmund, watching him with a worried eye. 

Edmund wakes with an adolescent sort of grunt, picking his head up and squinting against the daylight. 

“Hrm?” he mumbles. He registers the servant’s presence with a tired smile. “Oh. Hi, Diordanus” 

“Hello, sire. You fell asleep here again.” 

Again? Caspian notices.

“Right,” Edmund clears his throat, sitting straighter. “Thanks.”

The faun hesitates before pointing towards the book. “ Wild Blue Yonder. I can’t blame you for being unable to put it down. It’s a real page-turner.”

“Thank you!” Edmund exclaims, now suddenly awake. “Pete said it was rubbish, but he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m surprised he can even read, honestly.”

Diordanus laughs, the sound bubbly and sweet. Edmund always has a knack for making those around him laugh, Caspian included. It’s one of the many differences in the castle since the Pevensies returned — more laughter.

“Well, I can’t say that,” Diordanus dismisses, “But it’s a great book. Enjoy your reading. I’ll be over here if you need anything.” 

She bows her head and walks away. Edmund waves, then simply continues to read his book like he never fell asleep, or has anything better to do. Caspian raises his eyebrows in surprise.

He debates going over to Edmund and speaking to him now that he’s awake, but he’s not sure what he would say. So he just moves onto the next book in his pile, frowning when there’s nothing of relevance inside.

Another few minutes pass before the echoing sounds of familiar joyful footsteps are heard bouncing off the library walls. Caspian instinctively hides his face behind his book as he watches Lucy pounce her way into the room, her face lighting up when she spots Edmund.

“There you are,” she greets her brother. “Come on, it’s time for breakfast. We’re all gonna eat together again.”

“Alright. If you want.” Edmund snaps his book shut, not bothering to mark the page he was on.

“I’ll meet you there. I’ve found Peter, and I’m sure Susan’s on her way, but I still have to find Caspian.”

Edmund chuckles. “And you didn’t find him with Peter this morning?”

That gives Caspian pause, though he isn’t quite sure why.

“Edmund,” Lucy says with caution, almost a warning.

“What? I’m just asking.”

“I knew what you meant. I wasn’t always nine, remember?”

“It certainly doesn’t seem like it.”

“Oh—” Lucy’s attempt at sternness is cut off by her own giggle. “You’re ridiculous. And you know that Peter is never really going to do anything as long as…well, as long as he stays like Peter.”

Do anything about what? Caspian can’t help but wonder.

“Yeah,” Edmund sighs, the humor in his voice fading. “Don’t remind me. He’s going to be miserable about it forever, and we’ll have to deal with it.”

“Be nice to him, Ed. He can’t really help it.”

“He really could,” Edmund grumbles.

Lucy sighs. “I’ll just meet you there.” 

Caspian watches the two of them split off, leaving the library. He freezes in his chair. Should he go with them? He’ll have to meet with them and Aslan eventually; he’s not going to run away again. But he feels as though he’s barely made leeway with these books. He went unnoticed by them — perhaps he has a chance. The library might be the last place they look. 

So he decides to stay where he is, continuing to go through these Telmarine books in the hopes that anything close to his situation will appear in the prints. 

Nothing does. At least, not in this stack. It’s just similar stories repeated in slightly different ways, many of them seeming to be rewrites of Narnia’s history. Caspian frowns. He needs to find a way to get more Narnian books into this library. Maybe he can convince Cornelius to move some of his from his personal study.

With a sigh, Caspian heaves the books back up onto the shelf, then goes one row down and brings those books over to his desk. They let out a light cloud of dust when they settle onto the table, clearly not being read for some time. He opens the first book and begins to skim.

Several stacks of books later, Lucy comes back into the library, this time Caspian unsuccessful in hiding himself before she notices him.

“Finally!” she sighs in relief. She rushes over to him, weaving her away around the desks. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?”

Caspian gestures vaguely to the pile of books alongside him.

“Here.”

Lucy squints at the table. “What are you doing? Some research?”

“Catching up on my history.” He rubs his eyes, his head aching slightly.

“Well, it’ll have to wait. I’ve gathered everyone for breakfast. It’s been too long since we’ve all eat together.”

Caspian lets out a long breath, simultaneously relieved to be away from these books yet knowing this will only deter him from what he needs to do. He wishes he could just tell Lucy what’s happening without sounding like a maniac.

He reluctantly gets up and puts the books back on the shelf, taking note of where he left off. Lucy grabs his hand and drags him enthusiastically through the castle halls, which she apparently will do every time, and the humor of that is enough to keep Caspian’s spirits up, for the moment.

When the two of them reach the lower hall, Edmund, Susan, and Peter are sitting at the table, turning when they enter. Caspian feels a little sheepish, not wanting to be a burden that holds everyone up, but this slight will be forgotten tomorrow, anyway, so why should he care?

(Yet, still, he cares.)

“Apologies,” he says. “I did not know you were waiting for me.”

“You’ve done worse things,” Peter comments sarcastically, flashing a wide smile. Caspian is surprised to find his heart skip at the sight. “Come on.”

Caspian walks over and takes a chair, giving the three Pevensies an acknowledging glance as he does so. He catches eyes with Peter for a moment longer than the others, his mind flashing the image of their faces mere inches apart as his tears dried, but Peter just blinks back, unaware and unaffected, and so Caspian says nothing and sits, feeling a blush forming. 

Breakfast goes as it should, including the part where Aslan comes in and Lucy rushes over to him. He begins his speech that Caspian has heard multiple times at this point — three? four? — and he tries his best to be an active listener, nodding when appropriate and miming the facial expressions of someone hearing new information. If this ordeal ever ends, he could consider a hobby in acting, he might get so good at it.

When the conversation reaches its natural end, Peter and Susan dutifully stand and follow Aslan out of the room, this time with Peter unaware of what is about to come. Caspian isn’t sure which way he prefers it.

“Shall we go?” Lucy suggests. 

Caspian opens his mouth, then shuts it. The last thing he wants to do right now is go over the details of a gathering he knows will amount to nothing. 

“Actually,” he begins, “what you saw me working on in the library was rather pressing. I hate to ask, but would you mind going ahead without me?”

That gets Lucy and Edmund to pause, looking at each other with something similar to surprise on their faces. It’s rare for Caspian to ask for something like this, or really to ask for anything. He’s already burdened the Pevensies enough. 

(What they don’t know is that he is currently shouldering a burden for them, a massive one, and by requesting this he’s only trying to help them further. But he can’t say any of that.)

“You know the Telmarines better than we ever could,” Edmund counters. “What are you working on that’s so urgent?”

“It is a very long story,” Caspian says. “I will have to ask you to trust me. The Telmarines are not as complicated as you may think. I will be there. I just need to take care of something first.”

The two siblings look at each other once more, then share a nod.

“Alright,” Lucy agrees. “We trust you. Do you need any help?”

Caspian shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. I must do this alone. But I will meet you later. I promise.” 

(He’s making a lot of promises lately. How many will he be able to keep?)

“See you then,” Edmund replies.

Caspian bows before turning around and walking as quickly as could be considered normal to the library. When he’s back inside, with the day now somewhat open ahead of him, the library suddenly seems huge and looming, much larger than it ever was even when Caspian was a small child, with a seemingly endless labyrinth of bookshelves. The reality of what he needs to do suddenly makes Caspian dizzy, and he briefly has to support himself on a nearby pillar. 

For them , he thinks as he steadies his legs and walks back to where he left off. I need to do this for them.

About an hour later, Caspian is still exactly where he started.

He ran through the Telmarine folk-tales until the shelves were picked clean, then started making leeway through the proper history books. Those were denser, harder to skim through, and so his progress slows considerably. 

When it’s close to the time he needs to meet everyone at the square, he puts his latest stack away and heads over to Cornelius’ study. Luckily he’s still inside, sitting at his desk and similarly going through his own stack of manuscripts. 

“My king,” he greets. “Welcome back.”

“Hello, Professor. Have you found anything?”

“I am sorry, but I have not. Your story is a peculiar one indeed.”

Caspian tries his best to hide his frown. This situation isn’t Cornelius’ fault, and he doesn’t want to put any pressure on him. But it doesn’t make his disappointment any easier to manage.

He glances over to one of the bookshelves, seeing which section has been emptied onto his desk.

“Which books did you read, exactly?” he asks. “Surely you could not get through all of them.”

Cornelius chuckles. “No, I could not.” He gestures with his hand. “I finished those two shelves you see there. I was just about to go to the next row…though I do believe we must be going.”

“Yes,” Caspian says with a barely concealed sigh, “we must.”

“I will continue to look tomorrow,” Cornelius assures as he shuts his book, standing up with a grunt. “Hopefully with better luck.”

Luck. What a funny word, that is. Caspian has never been sure if he is a lucky or unlucky person. By some people’s standards, he has the best luck of all — being born into royalty. One does not become king without an unfathomable amount of luck. 

And yet, look where he is now. Is it bad luck that has brought this plight upon him, Narnia’s way of balancing out the audacious chance that was Caspian’s birth? As if losing his father and mother at such a young age was not enough, as if living as a ghost in his own home was not enough. It is a fitting pattern that once Caspian’s life finally started to become good, it was taken from him again, in some way or the other. 

Even a king, Caspian decides, can have bad luck.

He keeps this all to himself as he follows Cornelius out of the castle and towards the square. This is the first time he has gone without being the one to tell Aslan, Peter, and Susan that everyone is ready, and a part of him wonders who did that today instead. Was Susan still crying? Was Peter as silent as he always is? Did their conversation change at all?

When Caspian and Cornelius arrive, almost everyone else is there. The Pevensies are lined up next to the tree, and Caspian can tell even from a distance that Peter and Susan are not any more comfortable than usual. 

Cornelius takes his spot on the left as Caspian approaches the kings and queens. He starts with Lucy and Edmund.

“Thank you for taking care of this,” he says. “I assume everything went well?”

Edmund nods. “Yup. Wasn’t as complicated as we thought.” He smirks.

“How did everything go with you?” Lucy asks. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Caspian hesitates. Lucy looks up at him so innocently, yet he never technically told her he was looking for something, just that something needed to be done. How did she know? How did she always seem to be able to look right through him? 

(Lucy Pevensie is like fireworks above a castle; bold, loud, colorful and warm, lights dancing across your vision, beautiful and inviting — but when you get closer, you realize there’s something dangerous here, and a little wild, and maybe you shouldn’t have let yourself walk so close without thinking first.)

So Caspian plasters a smile like he’s holding a shield. 

“Yes,” he lies, “I did.”

Lucy does not believe him, and he can tell. But they’re in a crowd, so she doesn’t push it, probably thinking she can do so later. She knows much, but there’s two layers of truth here that she doesn’t know — she will and yet will not be back here tomorrow. The thought makes Caspian’s head ache.

He’s about to speak to Susan when Aslan appears beside him.

“Young king,” he begins. Caspian bows. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir. I believe I know what to say.” I’ve done it four times. Five? Three?

“As do I,” Aslan agrees. Where Aslan gets his faith in Caspian, he’s never known. “Come. Let us begin.” He guides Caspian to the front of the tree and gathers the attention of the crowd. 

The rest continues as it usually does, with small changes that don’t really matter, but are present. The first group of Telmarines leave, and the guilt Caspian has over his aunt being trapped in this cycle is beginning to override the pain he feels in his shoulder every time he sees her.

And of course, the other consistency is Peter offering Caspian his sword. No matter what Caspian seems to change during the day, this part remains alarmingly similar. 

He takes a moment to look at Rhindon, really look at it. They say a sword is an extension of the one who wields it, a physical embodiment of the owner’s soul. Caspian hasn’t been able to hold Rhindon for more than a few hours before losing it again. It is in a state of limbo; it both is and is not Caspian’s. 

He looks up at Peter, who is also stuck in this limbo, both relinquishing Narnia and trapped within it. What a shame, that Caspian’s bad luck always has to effect more than just himself, has to warp others into its orbit. 

Oddly, something in Caspian begins to stir, standing there in this repeated moment with Peter. Is he really that unlucky? He alone was given the horn, and the Pevensies came to him when he called. In the grand timeline of Narnia’s history, the kings and queens were only a small part of it, even more so this time around. When they leave, truly leave, they will be lost to half-memories and stories told from unreliable narrators, warped into misrecreations. Very few will ever be able to say they knew the Pevensies, actually knew them, knew that they were real people you could laugh with, eat with, or even argue and fight with, rather than the untouchable legends most see them as. 

Caspian is one of those few people.

With this new perspective, he takes Rhindon from Peter’s hand, and he feels the way their hands brush as he does, Peter so wonderfully alive and human just in that brief contact. He looks into Peter’s eyes and sees the conflicting emotions there that will never properly be recorded in any stories, the hair that will be carved too short or too long in future etchings, and a face both so beautiful and broken that Caspian has been given seemingly endless chances to see, and maybe he’s finally gone mad from what he’s endured, but the sight is enough to make him think Yes, actually, I am the luckiest of them all. And I will find a way to free you.

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

Caspian’s newfound determination makes the next several versions of this day pass in a blur.

Each time, he follows the same steps: Check that Susan is at the window. Go to Cornelius and tell him which section of books he should look through next to find what Caspian needs. Fend off Corenlius’ questions of how Caspian knows which books he shouldn’t check. Read as much as he can in the library before Lucy finds him. Learn nothing. Sit through the meeting with Aslan. Ask Lucy and Edmund to handle the preparations without him. Go back to the library. Read as much as he can before he has to go back to the others. Learn nothing. Check in with Cornelius. Learn nothing. Go to the gathering. Make a speech. Receive Rhindon from Peter. Watch the Pevensies leave. Go back to the library until he falls asleep. Learn nothing. 

Repeat.

No version of the day is exactly the same, but they start to blend together, Caspian quickly realizing he has lost track of how many iterations have passed. And most frustratingly, he has not gotten any closer to achieving his goal. He took one brief break for his own sanity (and curiosity) to instead read a copy of the book he’s seen Edmund with every day, but otherwise has been doing the same process to no avail. Telmarine books are of Telmarine history, and there is a distinct and purposeful lack of magic in the pages, Caspian possibly being the first of his kind to ever be affected by Narnia in such a way.

So one day, whichever number he’s now on, he breaks from his routine and takes a seat across from Edmund, who still does not wake despite the sound of movement near him. Caspian hesitates for a moment before reaching out and lightly jostling Edmund’s shoulder.

“Hm?” Edmund raises his head, squinting his blurry eyes. “Caspian? That you?”

“Good morning,” Caspian greets with a laugh, the fact that he’s doing something different brightening his mood. “I see you fell asleep here.”

Edmund briefly looks at his surroundings. “Oh. Yeah, that happens.”

“You are still reading Wild Blue Yonder ?”

“Rereading, technically. It’s amazing that Cornelius had it. There’s not a lot of books left from our time.”

“He took care to preserve as much as he could. I only wish we had more for you.”

Edmund waves a hand dismissively. “It’s not your fault.”

Caspian thinks back on Nikabrik and the other Narnians in the forest, willing and ready to blame him for all of Telmar’s crimes, and he’s not sure whether they or Edmund are right. He clears his throat instead of answering. 

“It is a great book. I understand why you were so eager to read it again.”

Edmund raises an eyebrow. “You told me last night you had never even heard of it. You can’t have read it all this morning, it’s huge.”

Caspian pauses, the memory of what to Edmund was yesterday feeling like a small lifetime ago. What did he even do, before he was forced into this one day? He knows he had a sparring session with Peter, and an archery lesson with Susan, but can’t remember much outside of that. It was just another day in his life. If only he knew then how much he would come to miss it.

“Um,” he stammers, caught off-guard, “I must have misheard you. I thought you said a different book.”

“No, it was definitely this one.” Edmund frowns, looking Caspian up and down. “Are you alright? You look like you haven’t slept much.”

If only that was the problem, Caspian laments.

“I’m fine,” he lies. “It is just hard to explain.”

“It’s hard to explain that you read a book?”

“No, it’s…nevermind.”

Edmund hesitates. “Alright,” he says after a second. He opens his book, prepared to continue reading. Caspian probably should let him, but he’s been reliving the same conversations with the same people for days now, and this is his first real touch of humanity in far too long, so he feels desperate to hold onto it.

“Edmund,” he calls, somewhat rushed. Edmund looks up from his book expectantly. Caspian falters, not actually knowing what he wants to say. He surprisingly settles on this; “Have you ever thought about leaving Narnia?”

Edmund looks a mix between confused and insulted.

“Leaving Narnia?” he echoes. “You mean on purpose?”

“Well, I—yes, I suppose so.”

Edmund furrows his brows. “No, not really. I mean, we never meant to leave the first time, anyway. Far as I’m concerned, we’re back where we belong.”

Caspian’s heart breaks when he hears that. Edmund has no way of knowing that he’s left Narnia probably close to a dozen times already, and that Caspian is actively working to make sure it sticks.

“What if you had to leave?” Caspian continues. “What if you didn’t have a choice?”

Edmund tilts his head, not aggressively but something close. 

“What are you getting at, Caspian?”

Caspian swallows, not really knowing what he’s getting at, himself. But he doesn’t actually feel very nervous, the consequences of awkward social interactions starting to feel a bit archaic to him, problems of a former life.

“I guess I am just worried,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “that you will have to leave again, and I will be left to run Narnia without you. I do not know if I am ready for that.”

That gets Edmund to shut his book completely, his posture changing from combative to calm. He leans forward slightly, encroaching Caspian’s space.

“What’s making you think we’ll have to leave?” he asks. “Has someone said something to you?”

“Let’s just call it an intuition.”

“Well, even if we did have to leave, for whatever reason, I feel fine leaving Narnia in your hands. We didn’t do all this work to crown you for no reason, you know.”

Caspian’s hand clenches. “You crowned me so I could use my power as heir to give the Narnians back their land. Any of you could now vie for the throne, and you would be within your rights.”

“It’s not our time anymore. We’re here to help you, sure, but we don’t know this place like we once did. You’re meant to rule. Besides, I’m honestly enjoying myself a lot more now than I ever did when I was king.” Edmund leans back in his chair, stretching out his arms. “I could never fall asleep in the library back then.”

Caspian chuckles. He feels a little foolish, something about the simple honesty of Edmund’s words making his worries seem silly, though he knows they aren’t. He wonders if this is what having a younger brother feels like.

“You are saying…you do not want to leave?”

“No. Not at all.”

Caspian nods, looking down. Other than Lucy’s meager protests, all four of them always seem so willing to leave Narnia, so compliant, that he never really stopped to think about what they truly feel, if this is something any of them are actually content with, rather than something they’re agreeing to because they have to. 

He recalls Susan’s teary eyes and Peter’s controlled expression when he sees them with Aslan. He knows they’re upset in the moment, but maybe that sadness never leaves, maybe they just put up a front for their younger siblings to do what needs to be done.

“I see,” Caspian finally says. He feels guilt twist his stomach, but their circumstances are beyond either of their control.

Edmund eyes him tentatively for a moment before he speaks.

“Have you talked to Peter about this?” he asks.

Caspian blinks. “Peter?” He hasn’t had a full conversation with Peter since their moment in the woods, only brief glimpses and hellos and We’re not really needed here anymore.

“Yes,” Edmund answers succinctly. He doesn’t elaborate.

“...about what, exactly?”

Edmund frowns. “That you’re worried about him leaving.” He speaks with an almost annoyed tone, like what he’s saying should be obvious, but Caspian is lost.

“I—” Caspian starts, then stops himself. “No, I have not mentioned this to him. Only you. Why are you asking?”

Edmund just sort of gives him a look , and Caspian has no idea what it’s supposed to mean but he realizes that he can still feel social awkwardness, actually, and gets a flush of embarrassment for unknowable reasons. 

“Caspian,” Edmund starts, both carefully yet pointedly, “if you think Peter is going to leave, then you should talk to him about it.”

Caspian stares at him, not sure how to respond. He doesn’t just worry that Peter is leaving, he doesn’t just think it’s going to happen, he knows it will. It would be a bit odd to confess that at this point in the conversation, when he’s already dug this lie for himself.

When he continues to not say anything, Edmund sighs again.

“Honestly, maybe I shouldn’t be okay with leaving Narnia in your hands, if you’re going to be this dense,” he comments. Caspian winces, and Edmund softens. “I’m joking.” He lowers his voice a tad. “Mostly.”

“I am sorry,” Caspian says sincerely. “I will speak to Peter if you wish.”

Edmund holds up a hand, looking remorseful. “It’s alright. Forget I said anything, okay?”

Caspian hesitates before nodding. What Edmund meant lingers in the back of his mind, but he has more pressing concerns.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Edmund asks, moving them away from the sensitive moment. “I usually don’t see you in here, especially this early.”

Caspian bites his lip, glancing around at the shelves of books that have been read through. There’s very few left that might help him, and he’s convinced that he won’t find anything of relevance in those, either. Cornelius has already gone through all of the few Narnian manuscripts he has to no avail.

“I was doing some research,” he decides to say.

“On what?”

Caspian hesitates. “Have you ever heard of a day repeating itself?” he tepidly questions. “I heard a legend of it once, but can’t seem to find any proof.”

“No, I don’t think so. Is this a Narnian legend, you mean?”

“Yes,” Caspian lies. “Cornelius mentioned it to me, though it is not in any of his books. I was…curious.”

“And you didn’t find anything in here?”

“No. These are all Telmarine books. I have to work on changing that.”

“I think Cornelius has all the Narnian ones left.” Edmund looks down, contemplating. “If it’s an old Narnian legend, the only people who would know it are me and my siblings. And if I don’t know it, they surely don’t.”

“Of course,” Caspian hums, feeling disappointment even though he predicted this response.

“Although,” Edmund says after a long pause, which makes Caspian perk up, “I guess there are some others from our time who might know that are still around.”

Caspian leans forward, barely managing to contain his interest.

“Who?”

Edmund shrugs. “The trees.”

“The trees,” Caspian parrots, a bit deflated.

“Yeah. Some of them are thousands of years old, even before our time. If Aslan’s woken them up, they might know what you’re talking about.”

“And you can just…ask them? I have never tried to speak to a tree.”

“Well—yes and no. Not exactly.” He huffs. “You should really ask Lucy. She’s the one who knows them best.”

“Good thinking. I will do that.” Caspian stands, anxious at the possibility of even being a bit closer to an answer. He turns to leave.

“Caspian?” Edmund says, causing him to turn back around. “Why are you so interested in that story?”

He falters, not sure how to answer. 

“I enjoy learning about Narnian history. I am her king now. I should know such things.” What he said isn’t entirely untrue.

“Sure,” Edmund replies. “Right.”

Caspian goes to walk away when Edmund speaks up again.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he starts, “about you being dense. That was uncalled for.”

“You were joking. I am not offended.”

“Still. It was a bit cruel.” A pause, then; “I would still think about talking to Peter, though. But not because I told you to.”

Caspian feels his heart skip a beat, not quite knowing why, and nods.

“I will think about it.” He gestures towards the book forgotten in Edmund’s hands. “Enjoy your reading.”

“Eh,” Edmund jokes. “I already know how it ends.”

That makes two of us, Caspian thinks.

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

Lucy is a hard Pevensie to find.

Once he left the library, Caspian remembered that the first time he relived this day, Lucy dragged him and Peter to breakfast. But by the time Caspian got to where they had been, both of them were already gone. When he went to the lower hall, she wasn’t there. The two of them seemed to go in circles around each other until Lucy found him and brought him to the others.

“What were you doing this morning?” Caspian attempted to casually ask as they walked together.

“Oh, lots of things,” Lucy answered, unhelpfully. “I wake up much earlier than the rest of you.”

Caspian did some mental calculations. “Well, what were you doing an hour ago?”

“An hour ago?” She pursed her lips, thinking. “If you must know, I think I was sharpening my dagger. You know, they won’t let me carry around a real sword until I’ve grown bigger again.”

(Caspian realized, then, that he’d never seen Lucy with a sword, and he shuddered to think what she could do with one, if able.)

“In fairness, most swords are almost as tall as you are.”

“I can handle it. Oh, here we are.”

The rest of that day continued as it had been, Caspian breaking off from Lucy and Edmund to finish his last remaining section in the library. When the Pevensies left later, he found himself lingering on Peter as he walked through the portal, Edmund’s earlier words echoing in his mind. Why did he want Caspian to tell Peter he was worried about him leaving? What did he hope that would accomplish? The thought haunted Caspian as he drifted to sleep. 

Though, in a strange sort of way, knowing exactly what was to come when Caspian awoke was an odd comfort compared to the uncertainty around Edmund’s request. It was a fleeting feeling, but it did happen.

Now awake in this new-old day, Caspian makes a mad dash through the castle halls, heading straight to the forge. Thankfully, and with a bit of a winded sigh, he finds Lucy hunched over a whetstone, scraping her dagger against the material, making a high pitched shing! with each stroke. Caspian has to actively remind himself that there is a woman much older than nine hiding in that body of hers, because otherwise the sight of a child sharpening a deadly weapon makes him feel a bit too sick.

(How old were the Pevensies, when they first fought for Narnia? Caspian knows they were younger than they appear now, but how much younger, he isn’t certain. The stories never say an exact age, or a consistent one. Was Lucy barely eight when she was given her dagger? How old was Edmund when he first sliced his sword? When did Susan fire her first arrow? Who was the first person Peter ever killed, and how old was he? Was he much younger than Caspian is now? How much of a difference does it really make?)

Lucy seems to sense Caspian’s presence, because she looks up at him with a wide, toothy smile. He freezes in the entryway.

“Caspian!” she greets. She dries off her blade before sheathing it and rushing over to him, effortlessly maneuvering between the dangerous bits of machinery and weaponry that make up the premises. “What are you doing here? I never see you in the forge.”

Do you come here that often? Caspian wonders. It is true, he’s rarely here — even though he’s competent with a blade, he seldom wishes to wield one, or even be around them. Sparring sessions with Peter are the only times he’ll willingly do so now, devoid of the real consequences of war and the real Telmarine blood that still stains his hands. 

And, of course, he’s willing to hold Rhindon, but that’s something else entirely.

“I was looking for you,” he admits. “I need your help with something.”

Lucy lights up, as if thrilled to be needed. “What is it?”

The clashing scents of water and steel fill the air, hitting Caspian’s nose all wrong. He starts leading the two of them out of the room.

“I have been told you are great friends with the trees.”

“Oh, yes,” Lucy answers with a sigh. “It’s lovely that they’re awake again. I dearly missed them.”

“Is it true that some of them are thousands of years old? Even older than you?”

She giggles. “Yes, it’s true. They’re some of the wisest creatures you’ll ever meet. Have you met any of them?”

Caspian’s mind flashes a vision of Glozelle being yanked around by massive vines, his body going limp as his head smashed against the ground.

“Only in passing,” he chooses to say. “That is why I need your help. I am trying to—” He stops, not wanting to reveal his true intentions just yet. “If I am to be the king of Narnia, I need to not only know her people, but the land. I would like to be able to communicate with the trees, to learn from them and get their blessing. Could you help me?”

Like he realized with Edmund before, Caspian knows he’s not entirely lying. This had been a floating idea in the back of his mind before all of this started. His only attempt to really try and listen to the land like Lucy once told him was that moment in the Lantern Woods, and that got him nowhere. Maybe he needed her help to begin.

Her face falls slightly. “Well, you should know, the trees are...they were asleep for quite a long time. Even though they’re awake and moving again, they have thousands of years of memories coursing through their roots, all shared between them. They lived through the time we were away; they were just dormant. So a lot of what they remember is buried really deep. It might not be so easy.”

“Oh,” Caspian mumbles, feeling another twinge of disappointment, another lead lost. “I see.”

“I’ve been trying to speak with them a little bit every day, right at dawn. It’s a slow process. Some are more awake than others. Aslan can only do so much.”

Caspian, who still does not really understand how Aslan woke up the trees at all, simply nods. 

Lucy continues. “But if you really want to talk to them, I’ll try and help you. They might feel more comfortable if I’m there with you.”

Caspian smiles down at her, her optimism spreading to him.

“I certainly hope so.”

She leads him outside to a quiet clearing away from the castle. There are several large trees here, almost overwhelmingly tall, their leaves full and green in the light of the day, sparing some shade upon the ground. Their trunks are sturdy and thick, and though they sit idly in the breeze right now, Caspian knows that they could get up if they wanted, sprout legs and arms and maybe even hair and walk from here to the next woods in no time at all.

“Here they are,” Lucy gestures towards them. She skips over to one and glances up towards the top, beaming as if seeing an old friend. She closes her eyes and rests her forehead against it, putting up one hand to the bark. “Hello again.”

Caspian bows his head. He has no idea if the tree can see him, and if it can, where it would even be looking from, but he wants to be respectful, anyway.

“Good morning,” he says. He pauses, then turns to Lucy. “Can it actually hear me when I say that?”

“It can hear you. It just doesn’t really understand you. But it can sense your tone. It knows you’re being friendly.” 

“Interesting. So…how do you talk to it, then?”

“You’re not really talking. Not out loud, anyway.” She takes a breath. “Let’s try it together.” She grabs Caspian’s hand and guides him over to the tree, laying his palm flat against the wood. It’s smoother than he expected it to be, and a little warm. “You have to be connected to it. You want to try to feel through to the inside and down to the roots, to the very core of its being.” She puts her own hand on the tree next to his.

“And how do I do that?” Caspian asks timidly.

“It’s not easy to explain,” Lucy admits, shrugging. “Just be open to it. Close your eyes and let it see you, every part of you. And in turn, you’ll get to see them.”

Caspian nods, closing his eyes. He tries to relax his body, letting go of any tenseness he might have, and takes a large breath, imagining that he’s spreading open the doors of his ribcage, letting his beating heart be exposed. 

I am King Caspian, he thinks rather loudly , the tenth. I come from a people that colonized Narnia and led you to slumber, and for that, I am terribly sorry. I have used the  privilege of being born into royalty to give the Narnians back their land, and remove your roots from the clutches of my ancestors. I am hoping to be a good king, and I want to do right by you, for all of you. It would be my honor to speak with you. 

He waits for a minute or so, trying not to think anything else and instead focusing on the feeling of his palm against the tree, which is still radiating with a surprising amount of heat. He remembers what Lucy told him to do and wonders what it would really feel like to sink his fingertips into this trunk, to reach and crawl his way down the tree until he was in the soul of the earth, of Narnia herself, becoming so entangled in the roots that he was no longer sure where they ended and he began. It’s not a comforting idea, his breath coming a little fast when he envisions himself being buried underground, but he knows that he’s safe up here, that the tree will stay sturdy beneath his hand and not drag him into its depths.

Another minute passes in silence before Caspian feels anything. It’s not words, and the tree isn’t exactly speaking to him, but there’s a…humming, almost, a vibration that isn’t physically happening but he can still feel, making the skin on his hand tingle. His head glitters in a similar sensation, as if Narnian magic is coating the surface around his body, and he can sense a presence within himself, beyond himself, that is carefully knocking on the door, or taking a slow step into unknown waters.

“Can you feel it?” Lucy whispers. Caspian is tempted to open his eyes and look at her, but he keeps them shut, not wanting to disrupt the moment. “I can feel you in there. It’s learning your voice.”

Caspian swallows. “Yes,” he whispers back, feeling both nervous and exhilarated. It’s almost like a test, as though he was holding out his hand to a wild beast to give it his scent, and to approach something this ancient and foreboding with all of his being leaves the consequences rather looming. 

The tingling feeling starts to recede, Caspian at first panicking that he’s failed the test and the tree is rejecting him, but the sensation is replaced with a warmth that spreads from his palm to the rest of his body, like his skin is being wrapped in a blanket. The presence of another in his mind is gone, leaving in its wake a lingering buzzing in his nerves, like every cell in his body has come alive at once. It’s invigorating, making him feel more awake than he has in days.

“It’s going back to sleep for a little bit,” Lucy explains. She gently places her small hand over Caspian’s, squeezing once. He slowly opens his eyes, blinking repeatedly until he grounds himself back into reality. Lucy looks up at him, quietly pleased. “I think it liked you.”

“I think so, too,” Caspian agrees, his words breathless. He looks down at his body, almost expecting to see some visual effect there to translate what he’s just experienced. “I felt…warm.”

“That’s good! You started to open yourself up.”

Caspian blinks a few more times, feeling slightly lightheaded. 

“How long did it take you to figure this out?” he asks. 

“About five minutes. But that was over a thousand years ago. It was different then.”

Caspian grins, but his smile fades as he looks at the tree. He has a feeling this is going to take him much longer than five minutes. The problem is, if he’s not talking to this tree by the end of the day, his progress will all be for nothing. Surely, not even a tree would be spared from the effects of the day starting over. It is bound to forget, as well…

“Do you want to try again?” Lucy asks. “Not with this tree, but another one.”

“Give me a moment,” Caspian requests, rubbing his forehead.

Lucy nods. “Of course. Take your time.”

Caspian almost laughs at that, but he holds it in.

After some time practicing, they were eventually found by Edmund, who tells them that Aslan has gathered the other Pevensies and requests a meeting. Caspian returns, nodding politely and going Yes, of course, send the Telmarines to their homeland like it is a new and novel idea. 

He manages to convince Lucy and Edmund that him talking to trees is more important than him helping them with the gathering. How, he’s not really sure, and they seemed uncertain even as they agreed, but they did agree. Perhaps in their minds he’s earned some favors from them. It’s not true, but that might be what they think.

He left them and went from tree to tree in that little grove, each time holding his hand to the trunks and repeating a similar greeting. The reactions were varied: some were empty and silent, either refusing to speak to him or refusing to wake; some acted similarly to the first tree, giving him a vague sense of warmth that felt like a hello ; and others were very enthusiastic, though what they tried to tell Caspian was lost beyond layers of language barriers, and his mind was left swimming. 

When he’s back at the gathering, Lucy gestures him over before he starts his speech.

“How did it go?” she asks, her voice a mix of sad and hopeful. “Did you hear them?”

Susan and Edmund talk to themselves, but Peter looks between Lucy and Caspian in slight confusion and intrigue.

“Yes, in a way,” Caspian answers. “You were right. It is a slow process. But I will keep trying.”

Lucy smiles, a bit relieved. “Good. It’s nice knowing they have someone to talk to besides me.”

Peter’s face shifts then, seemingly understanding what they’re talking about. He squeezes Lucy’s hand before looking up at Caspian and giving him an affirming nod, his gaze warm but intense. It makes something inside of Caspian glow, like he’s received a seal of approval, and he’s not sure if the moment of him receiving Rhindon is just losing its splendor after so many times, but this gesture means far more to him.

After they leave, Caspian bares the grey and cloudy hills to go back to the trees, desperate to get an answer before the day’s end. But any time he tries to ask them a question, he either receives silence in response, or strange hums and vibrations that don’t translate to anything. He feels little twinges in his mind, like something is trying to get in, but they can’t break through. He doesn’t know how to let them.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

This becomes Caspian’s new routine.

Since the library gave him nothing, he needs a new objective to work towards, and this is it. He knows Narnia wants something from him, and what better way to find the answer than by asking the roots of Narnia themselves? 

He starts with Lucy every morning, heading out to that same first tree and offering a greeting. Then, when it goes back to sleep, he moves onto the next, and so on as it was. It seems to get a bit easier, Caspian getting used to the feeling of the trees trying to communicate with him. They begin to become familiar, Caspian able to denote the differences in each one, the frequencies at which they hum or the way their presence feels in his skin, or even the echoes of other trees lingering underneath their songs. You are never truly talking to just one tree; they are all listening together, a system so vast it is beyond Caspian’s comprehension. 

He tries to open himself up as much as possible, making his mind a blank slate and letting his body go limp. He can feel the spirits of Narnia’s magic in there, and he knows the trees are trying, but something still separates them.

“I am not sure what more I can do,” he admits to Lucy one day. 

“Well, you’ve only just started,” Lucy says, which to her is the truth. “Give it some time. They’ll come around.”

I do not have time , he wishes to say. Well, yes I do. But I do not. Oh, this is truly madness!

“What do you say to them?” he decides to ask. “I mean, what do you talk about?”

“Oh, everything, really,” Lucy shrugs casually. “How their day was. How my day was. They’ve been filling me in on what happened while we were gone as they remember it.” Her shoulders slump. “It wasn’t very nice.”

Caspian’s shoulders also slink down, the weight of his ancestors bearing upon him. 

(He thinks this is a burden that will never be lifted, and he hopes it never is. The amount that is to be repaired will far surpass Caspian’s lifetime. If he no longer feels indebted to Narnia, he has become a delusional king indeed.)

He suddenly has an idea. “Perhaps you could ask them a question for me. If you would be willing.” 

“I could,” Lucy responds, “but I thought you said you wanted to learn to ask them yourself?”

“I do! I do. It’s just…” He sighs. “Maybe if I know the answer to these questions, it will help me understand them, and I will have an easier time communicating. Can you trust me on this?”

Lucy purses her lips as she looks at Caspian. He gets the sense that her trusting him is not what’s giving her pause, but the request itself. 

“Alright,” she finally concedes. She places her hand back on the bark and closes her eyes. “What do you want to ask?”

Caspian swallows, hesitating. There’s been a fear looming in the back of his mind since this all started, and he needs to say it. 

“Does it feel as though I am a good king? Am I fit to rule Narnia?”

Lucy winces. Her face relaxes as she listens, her head tilting this way and that. 

“They don’t really know you well enough to answer,” she replies, the collective of trees seemingly speaking to her at once. “But they don’t think you’re bad. You have a positive energy.”

Caspian lets out a breath, his fear not released but subsided for the moment.

“Thank you,” he says to Lucy and the trees. 

“Was that all?”

“No, I—there is a story. Or a legend, perhaps. I want to know if they remember it.”

Lucy hums. “Okay. What is it?”

“Have they ever heard of a day that repeats itself? So when it ends, it starts right back at the beginning as if nothing had occurred. And no one remembers except for one person. Has this happened in their lifetime?”

Lucy keeps her hand on the tree but opens her eyes, glancing at Caspian incredulously. 

“That’s awfully specific,” she comments. “Why do you need to know that?”

Caspian blinks. “Uh. Well, I don’t need to know. I just want to.”

“And this will help you talk to them?” 

“...yes?”

Lucy takes her hand off the tree and walks closer. Even though she’s looking up at him, she seems about seven feet tall.

“Caspian, is this hypothetical story happening to you?”

Caspian’s face falls. He’s avoided telling anyone about his situation since the day with Peter in the woods. He still plans on telling him again eventually — he has a promise to uphold. He only wishes he was closer to understanding his situation before he does.

Still, he can tell by the look on Lucy’s face that she already knows the truth, so there’s no point in lying to her.

“Would you even believe me if I told you it was?” he asks anyway. 

“It would explain how weird you’ve been acting all morning. I didn’t want to say anything and sound mean, but you seem…off.”

Caspian shakes his head. 

“That is putting it mildly.”

“Well, tell me about it!” She takes Caspian by the hand and drags him down until they’re sitting in the grass. “How long has this been happening?”

Caspian rubs his temples, letting out a sigh.

“I do not know. Longer than a fortnight. Perhaps a month?”

“Goodness,” Lucy whistles. “No wonder you seem so tired.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, the light breeze rustling the leaves over their heads. Now that Caspian is more familiar with the trees, it sounds different, like a very quiet drum. If nothing else comes of this, he’s happy to have done it.

“So what happens?” Lucy asks cautiously. “I mean, what have you been living through every day?”

He leans against the tree, which feels warm through the fabric of his shirt, and looks up at the sky. It’s never natural to explain this aloud.

“It depends,” he begins. “It changes based on what I do. But most things stay the same.”

“Like what?”

He takes a breath. “Well, if I had not found you this morning, you would have gathered us all for breakfast. When that doesn’t happen, Edmund brings us back to the castle. Either way it goes, we end up talking with Aslan, and he proposes that he opens a portal to offer the Telmarines passage to their homeland, which is actually in the same land you are from.”

Lucy’s eyes widen. “I never knew that! That’s a great idea.”

“It is. But when he opens the portal, you all leave. You go back to England.” Lucy softly gasps. “Peter and Susan are not supposed to come back. And yet every time I wake up, you are all here again, like nothing ever happened. No one ever remembers but me.”

Lucy takes in his words, looking away and out at the Narnian countryside, her rolling hills and sprawling skies. She glides her hands along the grass.

“We leave Narnia?” she questions, mostly to herself. “So soon?”

“Yes,” Caspian mumbles, not sure if she actually expects him to answer. She tilts her head down, the wind making her auburn hair look like a wispy fire around her face.

“And we leave every time?” she continues. “We’ve left Narnia every day for a month?”

“Every time.”

“Oh.” Lucy frowns.

“I am sorry. I did not want you to know.”

“It’s alright.” She turns back to Caspian with a small smile. “Compared to what you’re going through, this is nothing.”

“It is not nothing,” he counters. “But I find it hard to accept that you believe me. It is an absurd story.”

Lucy waves a hand dismissively. “I’ve been brought back through time. I mean, just look at me! I’m nine. If it’s happened before, I know it can be done again.” She glances back at the tree they sit near. “You must not know why this is happening. That’s why you want me to ask the trees for you.”

“If they can remember anything similar, anything at all, it might help me know what to do to stop it. I have tried looking in the library, but I found nothing. Not even the professor’s books are helpful.”

“I know I’ve never heard of any story like that.” She pauses, then places her hand back on the tree, closing her eyes. “I’ll ask.”

“Thank you,” Caspian whispers. 

He waits patiently as she talks to the tree. He’s tempted to place his hand on the trunk as well, to maybe try and hear what a real conversation could sound like, but he doesn’t want to disturb them.

After a moment, Lucy nods, then pulls her hand away and opens her eyes.

“Well?” Caspian probes, eager for answers.

“It didn’t know anything,” she reveals. Sensing Caspian’s disappointment, she keeps talking. “But this is just one tree. Like I said, there’s thousands of years of memories all tied up in their roots. Some hold more than others. If we keep asking, I’m sure we’ll find one who knows something.”

Caspian looks behind Lucy at the large collections of forests that surround the castle, plus the expansive acres of land even beyond what was Telmarine territory, and he has to suppress a scream. She’s offering to help him — he can’t respond by expressing his frustrations.

“I hope so,” he says instead. “I am afraid I’m running out of options.”

“We’ll do it together.” She stands, offering him her hand. He takes it and rises. “This could be fun, you know. We should spend more time together.”

“I have spent the last several days with you,” Caspian retorts. “You just do not remember it.”

Lucy grins. “Well, when I start to remember again, let’s have a picnic, or something. I am your friend, after all. I’ve been feeling rather left out, you know, you spending so much time with Peter lately.”

That sentence leaves Caspian so startled that he doesn’t reply right away. His life before this mess seems so long ago, he truly doesn’t remember spending more time with Peter than any of his siblings. 

“I—” he starts, unable to get any more words out before Lucy is speaking again, yanking his arm over to the next tree.

“You’re going to love this one!” she exclaims, as if what she just said meant nothing at all, and Caspian can’t help but to smile, pitying himself for all of the years he grew up as an only child without a younger sister to call his own.

They don’t get too far before Edmund finds them.

“Aslan wants to meet with us,” he explains. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh, I’m so stupid,” Lucy groans. She pulls on Caspian’s sleeve. “Why don’t we just ask Aslan? He’s older than the trees. If anyone is going to know, it’s him.”

“Ask him what?” Edmund questions.

Caspian freezes. “I am not so sure about that.”

“Well, why not?” Lucy counters. “Have you asked him already?”

“I have not.” Caspian looks tentatively between the two siblings, Edmund confused and a bit impatient. “I fear that if he knows about my…situation, that he will see me unfit to be king. I think perhaps Narnia wants me to solve this without his help.”

“Solve what ?” Edmund echoes.

Lucy ignores him. “The last time I waited too long to go to Aslan, it cost us innocent lives. What if he knows exactly what you need to do?”

“Then I will have learned nothing. This is a test from Narnia, or something similar, I’m certain. If I go to Aslan for all of my problems, then I will have no leadership abilities of my own.”

“Are either of you going to tell me what on earth you’re talking about?” Edmund interjects.

“In a minute,” Lucy dismisses. She turns back to Caspian. “So, what, you want me to lie to him?”

“You are not lying. You are just…not saying what you already know. It’s what I have been doing.”

Lucy frowns. “Caspian. You really should tell him.”

“How about we start with telling me?” Edmund sarcastically suggests. “And then we can all start walking back to the castle together.”

Caspian and Lucy share a tentative look, neither of them wanting to speak first. Lucy has a silent but urging expression to her, as if trying to tell Caspian what to do, and it reminds him of when Peter first planned the raid on the castle all those months ago, when Lucy wanted him to wait for Aslan instead. Based on how that went, they probably should have listened to her. He sighs and turns to Edmund.

“I have been reliving this same day repeatedly for a month straight.”

Edmund blinks in a stupor. He looks between the two of them.

“Okay, fine, don’t tell me,” he finally says, putting up a hand. “Keep your secrets.”

“Ed, he’s serious,” Lucy defends. 

Edmund pauses, his hand hovering in the air. “How do you know?”

“I can just tell. He seems off.”

Edmund lowers his hand, squinting at Caspian as if trying to read his mind.

“I know it sounds hard to believe,” Caspian explains, “but it’s true. Each time the day ends, I wake up and it is as if nothing happened. No one else can remember but me.”

Edmund continues to look incredulous. “And you said that’s been happening for a month?”

“Something like that. I have lost track of the days.”

“He knows what’s going to happen at the meeting,” Lucy mentions. She nudges Caspian in the side. “Tell him.”

Caspian swallows. Just like it never gets easier to watch the Pevensies leave, it never gets easier each time he tells them they’re leaving.

“Aslan will propose that he offer the Telmarines passage to the land of our forefathers. When the moment comes, you all leave through the portal and go back to England.”

Edmund leans back slightly, as if wounded, and turns to Lucy in disbelief.

“That can’t be possible,” he says. “If we leave Narnia, we shouldn’t be brought back unless we’re called.”

“But you are,” Caspian continues. Edmund looks over at him. “I also know that you were in the library this morning. You fell asleep there, but Diordanus woke you up. You were reading Wild Blue Yonder , and you joked about how Peter couldn’t read.”

Edmund gapes. “W—were you watching me?”

“He’s been with me all morning,” Lucy adds. “You have to believe him.”

Edmund hesitates, crossing his arms. Eventually, he concedes with an exhale.

“Alright. You haven’t lied to us before, it doesn’t make sense that you would start now.”

Caspian’s heart flutters, feeling gratitude that he gets to know such understanding people. He’s not sure if he would believe them, if the roles were reversed. 

(Yes, he would. Of course he would.)

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Were you saying you want him to tell Aslan?” Edmund asks Lucy.

“Wouldn’t you? Aslan would know what to do.”

“I am sure he would,” Caspian interjects. “But please, let me figure this out on my own. I will go to him if I am out of options, but not before. This is effecting me alone for a reason. What that is, I do not yet know, but I intend to find out.”

Lucy pouts, clearly uncertain. Edmund walks closer and stands next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s Caspian’s right not to tell him,” he explains. “We can’t make that decision for him.”

Caspian gives Edmund an appreciative nod. He waits for Lucy to speak.

“What are you going to do, then?” she questions. “What’s your plan?”

He takes a breath, scanning the horizon. “I will continue to speak to the trees. I am certain one of them knows something that can help me. If this is Narnia’s doing, then this is the closest way to talk to Narnia herself.”

“But what about the rest of the day? We have to go back to the castle.”

Caspian weakly smiles. “I have been doing this for weeks now. I will take care of it. Do not worry about me.”

Lucy makes an exasperated face, as if to ask her not to worry about him is a ludicrous request. Edmund gently squeezes her shoulder. 

“We need to get going,” he says. “They’re waiting for us.”

Lucy takes one last, pleading look at Caspian, as if she opens her eyes wide enough she will be able to change his mind. But it doesn’t work, so her face falls.

“Fine,” she huffs. She takes one hand from each boy. “Let’s go.”

The morning meeting is more awkward than usual, the three of them giving stifled looks to each other as Aslan speaks. Caspian can see how uncomfortable Lucy is, clearly not in the habit of keeping things from Aslan, but she respects that it’s not her story to share, and keeps quiet. 

When Aslan pulls Peter and Susan aside, the younger siblings watch them go with a saddened gaze, and it briefly makes them appear to have switched roles, as if they were suddenly the older ones, and that they understood something previously unknown to them.

“I am going to go back to the trees,” Caspian explains to them once the others have left the room. “You two can prepare the gathering.”

“Oh, nice,” Edmund jeers. “That’s a pretty good excuse you got to skip work.”

“Edmund!” Lucy exclaims.

Edmund rolls his eyes. “I’m joking. Apparently we’ve done this about thirty times by now, so it should be light work.”

Caspian laughs, which is rare for him as of late, and he enjoys how it feels. 

“The Telmarines are not as complicated as you might think,” he replies, repeating what he said some iteration ago. “Besides, if this all goes poorly, none of you will even remember.” 

It’s actually kind of nice for Caspian to be able to talk openly about his situation, now that the hard part of actually explaining it is through. If he didn’t have to get past that every time, he might confess it more often.

“Well, let’s do it right, just in case,” Lucy cracks a smile. 

Caspian spends the rest of the day trying to talk to the trees, asking any who will listen if they know anything about his story. It’s unhelpful, the conversations incomplete and half-full, and his frustration builds back up. He’s certain the answers lie here, if he can only find them.

When he goes back for the gathering, Lucy and Edmund pull him aside.

“How did it go?” Lucy asks earnestly. “Did they know anything?”

“Not the ones I asked,” Caspian exhales. “I am still getting the hang of it.”

“Try again with me tomorrow. We’ll go through the whole forest if we have to.”

Caspian shakes his head. “I think this is also something I need to do on my own.”

“You sound like Pete,” Edmund grumbles. “ ‘You have it sorted.’ ”

Caspian would normally love to be compared to Peter, someone he deeply respects, but he knows that what Edmund said is not a compliment.

“This is different,” he rebukes, remembering the feeling of the White Witch’s stare. “Besides, I talked to you two about it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, a month in.”

Caspian opens his mouth to respond when Peter walks up to them.

“I think we’re about to start,” Peter explains. His gaze lingers on Caspian, looking a bit concerned. “Are you alright? You seem…off.”

Why do you all keep saying that? Caspian wonders. Is this having that much of an effect on me?

“I am fine,” he lies. “Just had a long day.”

Peter nods, seeming doubtful. “Alright.” He looks at the three of them before taking his place next to Susan on the right. Caspian absently lifts a hand out, wanting to stop him and say something, but having no idea what. His mouth shuts when Aslan makes a gesture to Caspian, inviting him to begin the gathering.

When he’s done with his speech and Peter has handed over his sword again (though, admittedly, with slightly less confidence than he usually does), Lucy gives him a second glance before she walks out of the portal.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispers. 

“What was that?” Susan asks.

He can hear Lucy starting to diffuse her worries before it’s abruptly cut off, their beings gone in-between blinks. 

“See you tomorrow,” Caspian says quietly to himself. He already knows he’s not going to tell either of them what’s happening again, at least for as long as he can help it. Her words don’t make him feel any less alone.

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

Caspian might be losing his mind, but it’s starting to feel like the trees are remembering him.

He’s getting more and more used to listening to them, and being able to articulate what their hums and vibrations actually mean. He can speak to a tree in one grove and hear the echoes of a tree that’s miles away, but is listening in. Yet more impressively, or concerningly, he is, somehow, getting the sense that the trees are becoming acclimated to him, and understanding his frequencies. But by all accounts, they should be meeting him for the first time every day.

It only further complicates the nature of Caspian’s problem, but there’s little he can do about that.

He still finds it difficult to actually have a conversation with them, to ask a specific question and get a concrete answer in return. He believes he’s being as open as he possibly can, but there is a barrier he can’t seem to break that leaves a filter in their interactions, the words and meanings all fogged. 

Still, he tries. He feels as though he’s getting closer to something, that the more he familiarizes himself with Narnian magic, the more likely he will be to uncovering her secrets, the answer to this puzzle. Each morning, he explores a section of woods, then goes back after the meeting, and again when the Pevensies have left. It’s repetitive like the library was, but the books weren’t alive, so this is an improvement.

He’s decided to explore the woods outside the castle’s archery field one morning when he hears some rustling in the distance.

On instinct, he freezes, pressing himself flat against the nearest tree, hearing a hello quietly thrum up his palm. He sends what he thinks is hello back before squinting into the shaded forests to try and parse out the source of the noise. It sounded human.

He takes some tentative steps closer, knowing how to avoid being heard. He hears a noise again. Definitely human. A cry, maybe? It was sharp before cutting itself off. Someone being kidnapped? He places his hand on the hilt of his dagger, wishing he had equipped himself better before coming out here. Has this attack been happening every day, with him none-the-wiser? Has there been violence in Narnia’s own woods, right under Caspian’s nose?

Shuddering at the thought, he continues to slink forward until he manages to make out the form of two figures in the distance, and…

Well. That’s Susan, alright. Caspian would recognize that light blue dress anywhere; it’s been the burden of his every waking morning for weeks now. Even without it, he knows her, knows the curls of her hair and the quiet echoes of her laughter.

The person with her, and what they are doing…that’s a different matter entirely.

At first, he genuinely can’t tell what’s happening. There’s Susan, as seen from behind, and then there’s a girl who Caspian can’t quite see but looks somewhat familiar, who is flush against her chest, the both of them pressed against a nearby rockface. For the briefest of seconds, Caspian assumes there’s a struggle occurring, some kind of fight, but it becomes clear that’s not the case. One of Susan’s hands is covering the girl’s mouth, who Caspian can tell is smiling underneath it, and her other hand is—

He looks away sharply. Oh , he thinks. He did not hear a cry. Just something very similar.

With his face burning, even though he was not spotted, he turns around and attempts to make a stealthy dash out of the woods, but the shock of the moment has him a bit out of sorts, and he instead hits his head on a nearby branch, much like he did the night he escaped the castle.

“Ow,” he groans, closing his eyes and rubbing his head. 

“What was that?” Susan whispers in the distance, just loud enough for Caspian to hear. He freezes again, thinking that maybe if he stands still, they will not investigate further.

“It was probably a squirrel,” the other girl says, her voice breathy and a bit ragged. “I think they have a burrow somewhere nearby. I see them sometimes.”

“Sounded louder. Like something’s in the trees.”

“Do you want me to check for you?”

Susan laughs. “Always so chivalrous. No, you wait here. You’re not exactly in a state to be walking right now, anyway.”

The other girl doesn’t reply, and Caspian can hear the sounds of Susan’s footsteps in the leaves. They’re not very loud, Susan herself an expert hunter, but he can hear them, and he knows she’s getting closer. 

Time seems to stop (more so than it already has) as Caspian rapidly tries to decide what to do. His options seem to be: run away and pray that Susan does not spot him or catch him; stay hidden and pray that Susan does not see him; or, the possibly worst option, make himself known before Susan can find him.

In a moment of sheer panic, he goes with the last one.

He turns around and starts walking closer, keeping his hands up in a gesture of peace. When Susan rounds the corner and spots him, she jumps, startled.

“Caspian!” she yelps. “I was—I could have killed you, you know.” It’s at that point Caspian realizes she’s had her bow and arrow at the ready this whole time.

“I am sorry,” he stammers. “I was trying not to frighten you.”

Her shoulders fall, but she doesn’t seem any more relaxed. She frowns.

“Were you…” She glances around him. “Was that you I heard?”

“Probably. I hit my head on a branch.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Really? Again?”

“Sorry,” he repeats, even though this isn’t something he actually needs to apologize for. Something about Susan just makes him feel like he’s in the wrong — or, more importantly, that she’s in the right. “I will leave you be.”

“Wait.” She holds out a hand, stopping him. She takes a tentative look behind her and opens her mouth like she’s going to speak, but doesn’t.

Caspian sighs. “Yes,” he answers before she can ask, “I saw you. But not for long. I hit the branch because I was trying to leave in a hurry.”

Susan turns back to him and makes a sort of grimace, though it’s less pained and more annoyed. 

“I should have known,” she says, mostly to herself. She awkwardly shuffles a bit, her bow and arrow still in her hands. “Sorry. That you saw, I mean.”

Susan apologizing does not sound natural coming out of her mouth, especially to Caspian.

“It is my fault. I shouldn’t have been here.”

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” she asks. “I don’t really see many people in these woods, let alone you.”

“It is a very long story.”

Susan is about to reply when the girl calls in the distance.

“Who’s that? You haven’t shot them, so they must be friendly.”

Susan cracks a smirk. She yells over her shoulder.

“Your king.”

There’s a beat, then: “Oh.” It’s quieter, possibly a bit embarrassed. 

“I should really be going,” Caspian assures. 

“No, hang on,” Susan counters. “Stay there.” 

She walks back over to the girl, Caspian listening and staying where he stands, fiddling with the strings of his shirt. Susan and the girl speak softer this time, where Caspian can’t hear. It takes a minute before Susan comes back, this time with her arrows sheathed. 

“We have time now,” she exhales. “Want to tell me that long story?”

Caspian hesitates. It’s been probably another week or so since he last told Lucy and Edmund about his predicament. Since he’s no closer to an answer, he hasn’t wanted to tell anyone else. But he’s also mainly been talking to trees for a while now, and he does miss Susan’s company. 

“Sure,” he nods, not sure what he’s actually going to tell her even as he says it. He just wants to talk.

“Walk with me,” she instructs. He falls into step with her, Susan leading them out of the forest. 

At first, neither of them speak, the humility of what Caspian walked in on hanging in the air between them. It’s rare that Caspian ever feels tongue-tied around Susan, now that he knows her. She has a wit and a banter to her that’s fun to match, and even in their more serious discussions she’s easy to talk to, or to seek advice from. They flow so naturally together that there was even a brief, very brief, moment in time where Caspian considered courting her, simply because it seemed like the natural thing to do. But he found that his heart wasn’t in it, and quickly dismissed the idea entirely.

Which, reflecting on what he just saw, was the right choice.

It takes him a bit to build his courage back up, but when he does, he dares to ask what should be a very simple question;

“Who is she?”

Susan keeps her eyes to the forest floor. 

“Sayen,” she says quietly, a hint of fondness to her voice. It feels restrained, though, like it could be warmer. “She’s a Telmarine, one of the soldier’s daughters. I’ve been teaching her archery, too.”

When Susan mentions Sayen’s father, that’s when it finally clicks, when Caspian realizes how he recognizes that girl. She’s the one that leaves shortly after the Pevensies do, her face always hardened and her father chasing after her in a panic. Truthfully, he had not paid much attention to this moment after the first time, since it lost any importance it might have had, but now it has been brought fully back into focus, with a whole new meaning to place it in perspective. 

“I see,” he chooses to say, trying to keep his tone neutral. He must fail, though, because Susan glances up at him in bemusement. 

“You see , do you?” she teases, though again, the humor is not fully there, almost feeling forced. She tilts her chin up, as if the words pose a double meaning as a threat.

“I—well—” he stumbles. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, Caspian.” She nudges her shoulder with his. “I’m just messing with you.”

Caspian swallows. “Right. Of course.”

They continue to walk in silence, Susan bringing him back to the archery field. She grabs a spare bow and set of arrows and hands them over to him.

“We might as well get some practice in, since you’re here,” she explains.

“You did not have to send Sayen away just for me,” Caspian counters as he readies an arrow. “I do not wish to intrude into her time with you.”

Susan shakes her head. “Forget about that. Tell me what you were doing out there. But hit the black ring first.”

Caspian winds back the arrow, letting it fly. It hits right between the white and black rings on the target board. 

“Close,” he mumbles.

“Close.” She says nothing else, waiting expectantly. Caspian bites back a sigh.

“If you must know, I was talking to the trees.”

Susan raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s not a very long story.”

“Well, we do not have that much time.” He fires another arrow, this one hitting the white ring only. “Breakfast will be soon. Lucy wants us to eat together.”

“Then you better keep going,” she suggests, half-joking. “Why were you talking to the trees? I’ve never seen you do that.”

“It was Lucy’s idea,” he begins. Then, realizing, he retracts. “No, sorry. It was Edmund’s idea. But Lucy was helping me.”

Susan looks behind him, her eyes widening. “Was Lucy out there with you?!”

“Oh no, no. She’s back at the castle.”

Susan exhales, clearly relieved.

“Alright,” she says, measuredly. She takes another breath. “Well, why did Edmund give you the idea?”

Caspian doesn’t answer at first. This is the moment in the conversation where he needs to decide if he’s telling her the truth or not. Based on how weird he’s already made her morning, he decides not to.

“If I am to be Narnia’s king, I should be able to speak to all of its inhabitants,” he answers. “To know the trees is to know the land itself.”

Susan purses her lips, considering his words. “You still haven’t hit the black ring.”

Caspian playfully rolls his eyes. He aims another arrow, this time managing to get it into the black ring, but just barely.

“Ah!” he cheers. 

“That’s not exactly a cause for celebration,” she counters. She fires an arrow of her own, it landing right next to his. It seems effortless, like everything she does, only Caspian knows quite a lot of effort goes into her every action, every word, like she’s thought about it one thousand times in the span of a single second. But her grace makes it look effortless every time.

There’s a calm beat of silence between them before Susan speaks again.

“How’s that going?” she asks. “Talking to the trees, I mean. I haven’t really tried since we got back. That was always more Lucy’s thing, anyway.”

Caspian lets out a breath.

“It is interesting,” he says. “They have the bleariness we feel after waking up, but on a much larger scale. Sometimes I think I can feel the fogginess in them. It is hard to tell.”

Susan nods thoughtfully. She looks at Caspian with something that isn’t a smile, but almost is. 

“You sound like you know them well,” she comments. She fires another arrow, landing it on the other side of the black ring. “Try hitting there.”

Caspian draws back his bow, then hesitates, glancing at Susan out of the corner of his eye. He might know the trees well by now, but he also likes to think he knows her by now, too, and he can tell that she’s been deflecting this entire conversation. He turns his focus back to the target board, purposefully keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“You are keeping Sayen a secret,” he states, not asks, before firing his arrow. It lands mostly in the black ring, but a part of the arrowhead bleeds into the red ring.

Susan clenches her jaw, then swallows.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she replies, her voice surprisingly quiet for one usually so outspoken.

“Then why have you not mentioned her?” Caspian puts his bow down and turns so he’s facing her, and he can see the way her whole body has tensed. “If there is someone special to you in your life, I should like to meet them. I am sure we all would.”

He realizes after he’s said that that he used the collective we to refer to himself and her siblings, and is promptly shocked at his own gall. Since when has he earned the right to lump himself in with their highnesses? This repeating day is getting to him more than he possibly realizes.

His words make Susan soften, however, some of the tenseness leaving her shoulders. As if to displace it, she rapidly fires an arrow, which lands at a random point in the board, like she didn’t bother to aim. She stares at the arrow for what feels like a long time before finally answering.

“There’s nothing to mention,” she mutters. She makes a sort of scowl before looking back over at Caspian. “Go on, then.”

Realizing she still means archery, he readies another arrow, using this as an excuse as to why he can’t look her in the eye as he talks.

“I would politely disagree,” he retorts. His arrow hits the desired mark perfectly. Susan flinches at the impact.

“You’ve hardly seen enough to have an opinion on the matter.”

“It’s the fact that I saw anything at all.” He finds the courage to look again at her, watching the light breeze swaying the hairs that have come undone from her braid. She stands as if on the precipice of attacking him or fleeing. “You are not one that gives up so much of your time so easily. And if you do not like someone, you are not shy in letting them know it.” Susan almost cracks a smile at that, but maintains her composure. “You spoke with this girl rather comfortably. I…” He looks down. “I envy that.”

Susan sighs. “You don’t know what it is you’re envying.”

“Then what is it?”

She bites her lip, her hand fidgeting with an arrowhead. 

“Hit the bullseye first,” she commands. “Then I’ll tell you.”

Caspian almost makes a face to her at that, but he can see how serious she’s now become, how sensitive this topic apparently is to her. But she’s offering him a door, a chance to be let inside, and he won’t squander it.

He readies his arrow, letting out a steadying breath as he looks at the target board. 

If I miss this time, a voice in the back of his mind thinks, I can always try again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

He fights an urge to shake his head. That’s not the point. He can’t manipulate his way into getting the conversation he wants; he either earns it now, or it was not meant to happen. It would be wrong to try otherwise. He cannot let his situation weaken his morality.

So he straightens his shoulders, tightens his grip, and feels the steadiness of Narnia beneath his feet. Perhaps his time with the trees has taught him more than he realizes, because he can almost feel Narnia’s magic in the air, as if the wind would carry the arrow to the board of its own accord. He would just need to trust it.

He exhales and lets go. The arrow hits a perfect bullseye.

Susan frowns. “Shit.”

“You didn’t think I would hit it?” Caspian raises an eyebrow.

“Clearly not,” she drones. “I was sort of counting on that.”

He can’t help but to smile at her, enjoying this rare moment of besting his mentor, and his friend. 

“Have some more faith in your teachings,” he says teasingly. 

Susan rolls her eyes. Caspian gently places the bow and arrows down.

“Come,” he gestures. “We can talk on the way to breakfast.”

Susan hesitates before nodding, sheathing her arrows. They begin a slow and leisurely climb up the hill towards the path to the castle.

“So…” Caspian starts, prompting her. 

“So,” she huffs. She looks up at the sky, as if hoping to find the words there. It’s a cloudless day. “Me and Sayen.”

“You and Sayen”

“You know, why are you so interested in this, anyway?” she asks, the words rushed and a bit high-pitched. Deflecting again. 

Caspian chuckles. “You are my friend.” He doesn’t say anything else.

She sighs again. “Well, it’s…I told you, there’s nothing to mention. Nothing to envy.”

“You really believe there is nothing special between you two?”

“Not the way you think.” She pauses, twisting her hands together. “I don’t—I can’t— want what she wants. Romance, I mean. Courting, professing vows, and…” She shakes her head at herself. “I’ve never wanted that. And I’ve let so many people down because they do. No one ever wants to just be with me, and let it be that.”

Caspian considers her words. He can’t say he relates; he knows he’s a very romantic person. He’s always had fantastical daydreams about golden knights (or, really, just one golden knight in particular, but that’s not important right now), rescuing maidens from towers, being rescued from a tower, giving a singular rose and taking a knee. He’s even, now shamefully, thought about courting Susan. So he can’t understand what she means, but he can understand the feeling of thinking that you’re wrong , that something about your being is fundamentally incompatible with everyone around you. It is a feeling he only recently began to shake, before this all started.

“Have you told Sayen this?” he tentatively asks after a moment. 

Susan scoffs. “Sort of. Kind of? I don’t really know. I was just trying to enjoy our time together. Before…”

“Before what?”

She lets out a very, very , long breath, and finally turns to look Caspian in the eye.

“Before we leave.”

This makes Caspian’s whole world go on pause. He has the timeline of this day mapped out pretty well by now, and by all accounts there’s no way Susan should already know that she’s leaving. Unless she’s known every time, this whole time, and has simply been acting like she didn’t. Were those tears Caspian saw just for show? None of this makes any sense!

“You…” he starts, exasperated, “you know?”

She turns away. “Well, I don’t know. I’m just fairly certain.”

Caspian shudders an exhale, relief flooding through his chest.

“Oh,” he hums, though he’s not relieved for the reasons she’ll think he is. “Why do you think so?”

She composes her thoughts before speaking. “We wouldn’t have come back this time if you didn’t blow my horn. It’s possible we were never meant to come back at all. That our first time was to be our only time.”

“But you are here,” Caspian counters instinctively. “So that cannot be true.”

“I suppose,” she says, unconvinced. “I guess it’s just a feeling. We aren’t the ruling kings and queens, and we’ve trained you enough to know you’ll be able to lead without us. If we aren’t needed anymore…” Her words trail off, and Caspian hears the echo of Peter in her words, the similarity in their voices. 

“You will always be needed,” he says and believes. He thought it the very first time he saw them leave, all those eons ago. “You’ve seen what happens to Narnia when you are gone.” 

“Things are different now. If we leave, it won’t be an accident. And we know Narnia’s in good hands.” She meets his gaze, a mix of pride and sadness in her eyes. “There’s no point in wanting something that will never happen.”

Caspian recognizes the dual meaning to her words; there’s no point in wanting to stay in Narnia, or wanting to be with someone — in her case, Sayen. He finds himself wanting to argue against this, hating to see how pessimistic she has become, but he’s burdened with the truth. In less than an hour, she’s going to find out that all of her suspicions are correct, and that she won’t be getting anything she wants. It would be more hurtful to try and make her feel better, or to give her a false sense of optimism where there can be none. 

He hadn’t realized how much of a kinship they shared until this moment, how afraid they both are of things leaving. For Caspian, it’s been a constant his whole life; first his father, then mother, then friends, then a string of would-be lovers that fluttered into the castle and were gone as quick as a smothered torchlight. Before he learned the Pevensies were leaving, a part of him always feared it, deep down in places he dare not touch, but he knew the feeling was there. Susan has had this same fear, has possibly been waiting for the bad news to come since the moment she arrived back in Narnia, and it’s that fear that has kept her engaged with only one foot in the door. 

Caspian suddenly wishes against everything he could find a way to deter this fear, to take the reality they are both about to face and change it. It is above him in several ways, but if only he had the power to…to make her stay, to make all of them stay. Susan has given so much to Narnia. It’s only fair that she be given something in return.

But her words ring true. There’s no point in wanting something that will never happen. He should be focusing on getting them all home permanently, where Aslan and Narnia wish them to be, rather than deluding himself with fantasies of them getting to stay. There’s not much conviction behind the thought, but he knows it’s what he should do.

“Susan…” he starts, thinking for a moment that he should tell her what he knows, to rip the bandage off before Aslan can, to possibly soften the blow. Perhaps it would be better to come from him than the lion. It could give her more time to prepare, to grieve.

She just stares up at him with her big, blue eyes, aged suddenly far beyond the body that holds them, and something about her expression brings Caspian to silence. How does Aslan do this? he wonders. How does it not hurt him?

So he says nothing, just giving her hand a light squeeze, and they walk the rest of the way to the castle in silence.

Caspian’s heart breaks twice that day.

The first is when Aslan pulls Peter and Susan away after breakfast. Susan turns to Caspian with such a profound look, a conflicting mix of I told you so with I didn’t know it would happen so soon. Peter notices this, of course he does, scrunching his eyebrows as he glances between the two of them, probably suspecting something much different from the truth. In the moment, Caspian can’t be bothered to linger on that, nor to care. The despair in Susan’s eyes is too overwhelming, as if admitting her fears so recently made them more real to her, unearthed them closer to the surface.

He doesn’t bother going back to the trees afterwards, his energy feeling quite deflated. He quietly finishes the preparations with Edmund and Lucy, and he can tell by the way they act around him that they still think he seems “off,” but they’re kind enough not to say anything. They ask him to find Aslan, Susan, and Peter to announce that everyone is ready, and he doesn’t object.

When he finds them, his heart breaks for the second time. Rather than the crying girl he was prepared to see, Susan instead stands as a parallel to Peter — two unmoving, unfeeling statues shadowing the lion. She turns to Caspian, and it’s almost as if nothing is actually looking at him, eyes that are seeing yet vacant, a woman completely closed off from herself. He isn’t sure how their conversation changed the course of this so vastly, and the silent stare that bores into him makes him shiver.

Even shortly after, when Susan says, “I’m afraid that’s just it. We’re not coming back,” it loses its usual saddened grace, replaced instead with a dull and almost bitter monotone. Caspian sees the way her eyes flitter briefly, very briefly, towards the crowd, and he knows who she’s looking for. He realizes then she had never looked before this time. Never even spared a glance.

The heavy, grey clouds that shadow the skies as they do every time the Pevensies leave suddenly seem like an extension of Caspian’s own being, his inner feelings manifest. His vision, his brain, and his heart are filled with grey, and a thick fog that makes his every action seem slow, every thought darkened. 

He lumbers his way back to the castle and lingers on each royal’s empty room, hands grazing the belongings left abandoned there. He finds himself wondering how even inanimate objects can carry such an aura of grief.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

Caspian wakes the next morning with that fogginess still in his bones.

He feels profoundly heavy, as if even to lift his head from his pillow would require tremendous effort. He mustn’t feel this way, because truly, he has much work to do. While he’s made strides in learning the language of the trees, he hasn’t come closer to getting an answer from them, or from Narnia, about what it is he must do to break free. Until he does, he cannot rest. Everyone around him is being forced to relive this day, tortured without knowing it; but torture is still torture, and it is Caspian’s duty — burden, perhaps — to stop it.

Drawing every ounce of strength he can muster, he does get out of bed, groaning with the movements. He doesn’t bother to wait and check if Susan is at the window. He knows she will be, and it might break his heart a third time to see her again, back to being so unaware. He does blush slightly when he realizes what she’s been going to do each time he sees her, but the feeling passes.

He gets dressed and hesitates for a moment in front of his bedroom door. He should go back to the forest and keep talking to the trees…but there has been a guilt nagging in the back of Caspian’s mind, and something about the events of yesterday has made it much more prevalent.

Tell me what’s happening again so we can help you, Peter had requested — at this point, weeks ago. Caspian had thoroughly not done so, in fact was accidentally avoiding Peter ever since. They have not had a proper conversation outside of the Telmarine gathering since that day, at least from Caspian’s perspective. 

Perhaps I should ask him for help, he thinks. He might have a better plan than the one I’ve got.

Settling his decision, he takes a breath and leaves his room, nodding politely to the guards outside instead of just rushing off like he usually does. He knows exactly where Peter is going to be, and it isn’t too far.

When he finds him, he gets there a little earlier than the last time they met here. Peter is smiling at a maidservant who pushes a cart through the castle hall, lined with various cups and kettles of steaming teas, a pungent mix of scents filling the air.

“What would you like, sire?” the servant asks. “I know you usually prefer black tea, but I do have a wide assortment available.”

Peter hums as he looks at the selections. Like before, the bright Narnian sun shines on him through the nearby window, creating a golden outline of his frame, making his smile seem even more radiant than usual. He glances over the teas casually, as though he has all the time in the world to make this decision, and it’s both charmingly unlike him and hauntingly ironic.

“I am feeling rather adventurous today,” Peter admits with a quiet amusement. His hand flutters out over several of the kettles.

“Is that so?” the servant probes.

“It is. I had a rather fun day yesterday. I should like to continue that.” He makes a little noise when he finds the tea he wants. “Blueberry, yes?”

“Yes, your majesty. Would you like some?”

“I would love some. Thank you.”

The servant dutifully pours him a cup. Caspian makes the connection that this is a Telmarine servant, not one of the new Narnian ones, and seeing the way the two of them interact so warmly makes his heart skip. There is still much animosity between their two peoples to be worked through, but this gives him some hope.

Peter graciously takes the cup and gives a polite nod.

“Thank you,” he says again. He’s about to try a sip when his eyes catch Caspian’s across the hall. His mouth spreads into a slow and pleasant smile, and something inside Caspian glows. “Well, good morning to you.”

Caspian swallows and walks closer, giving the servant an acknowledgement as she pushes the cart away. He eyes the steaming cup in Peter’s hands.

“Blueberry?” he asks, as if he didn’t already know.

“Don’t tease me,” Peter chuckles. “I was feeling rather bold.”

Caspian raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? What has your spirits so high?”

Peter shrugs with one shoulder. He blows on his tea to cool it before answering.

“No reason,” he chooses to say. Caspian knows it’s a lie; he just heard Peter say it was because he ‘had a fun day yesterday.’ He wonders what that means, but doesn’t push it, instead watching Peter take a sip of his drink. 

“Well?” Caspian asks. “How is it?”

Peter makes an odd face, staring down at the tea leafs swirling in the water.

“It’s…interesting,” he answers, his tone wavering. “I don’t know how I feel.”

“At least you took the chance,” Caspian comments.

“I guess so.”

They stand there for a moment after that, lightly smiling at each other. The sight makes Caspian realize, deeply and all at once, that he truly has missed Peter, missed having banter with him or even just seeing him outside of the same two scenes he always does. He wasn’t aware that it was possible to miss someone that he talks to every day, but he knows too well now that it is.

He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is air. He knows what he’s supposed to say next; something along the lines of I need your help. It will be hard to believe me, but I have to tell you what’s happening to me. He still needs to fulfill his promise, still needs to figure out a way to get Peter home permanently. 

But Susan’s face is suddenly flashing over Peter’s, their features morphing into each other, and the motivation to say what he should is gone. Caspian remembers how Peter reacted when he told him he would be leaving Narnia, back when they thought this was all a prophetic dream. Peter had seemed so disappointed, like he had deeply wished for his suspicions to not be true, and it was only Lucy’s appearance that had snapped him out of the depressed stupor it had sent him in. 

Caspian doesn’t want to see Peter go to that dark place again. So he finds himself asking before he can even think about it;

“Do you want to take a ride with me?”

Peter blinks, then does a half-chuckle, titling his head a bit.

“What?” he asks simply.

“Do you want to go for a ride with me?” Caspian repeats. “I’ve been thinking a ride out in the countryside might clear my head. I would not mind the company.”

Peter doesn’t answer right away, looking at Caspian with an unreadable expression, somewhere between curiosity and intrigue. He taps his fingers on the side of his teacup.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?” he asks, his tone teasing and unserious. “We didn’t make you king so you could ride horses all day, you know.”

Caspian smirks. Yes, he really has missed Peter.

“Not all day,” he counters. “Just part of the day.”

Peter hums. “Well, you make a fair point,” he concedes, as if he didn’t need much convincing. He leaves his drink on a nearby table for the servants to clean up. “I’m not exactly dressed for it. Give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you by the stables.”

Caspian nods as Peter goes back into his bedroom. He’s about to walk away when he remembers what’s meant to happen next; Lucy. She’s bound to come by any minute and try to whisk Peter away to breakfast. 

He considers that he should invite Lucy to go for a ride with them too, now that this is apparently what he’s doing this morning. But for some reason, a reason not even Caspian himself knows, he does not wish to have her come along. Perhaps it’s because he’s spent so much time with her recently. Yes, he decides, that must be it , and chooses not to question himself further.

When Lucy rounds the corner into the hallway just a few moments later, her eyes light up in surprise at finding Caspian there. She half-skips over towards him.

“Hi, Caspian!” she greets warmly. Caspian smiles, truly never tired of seeing her, despite what he’s just thought. “I’ve decided to have us all gather for breakfast.”

“Ah,” he hums, eyeing Peter’s door. He pauses, figuring out what to tell her. “Thank you, but…I promised Cornelius I would eat with him this morning.”

“He can join us. I don’t mind.”

Caspian exhales. “Yes, of course. It’s just that this is a private meeting for us. He’s still my professor, after all.”

“Oh.” Lucy’s brow wrinkles. “Well, alright.”

Caspian’s heart sinks, hating to disappoint her, even if it’s only temporarily.

“How about tomorrow?” he offers, spilling impossibilities. The word tomorrow means something very different to him at this point in his life. “Is that okay?”

Lucy softens. She gives his hand a squeeze.

“Of course it is.”

She continues to stand there innocently, holding his hand and smiling up at him. It’s a sweet gesture, really, but Caspian’s eyes keep darting back to Peter’s door, just waiting for it to open and ruin this whole morning. Now that it’s happening, the idea of breaking away from all of this madness and going for a simple ride with Peter sounds delightfully appealing and exciting.

“You know,” Caspian begins, somewhat mischievously, “I think I saw Edmund asleep in the library. You could probably spook him awake, if you get there fast enough.”

Lucy’s grin spreads, equally mischievous. If there’s one thing Caspian can count on, it’s the Pevensies’ love of teasing their siblings.

“I’m on it,” she whispers. She then rushes off past Caspian, darting down the hall filled with quiet giggles. Maybe being made into a child again is not so bad, if it gives one as much joy and whimsy as Lucy has.

Caspian exhales once, then makes his way down to the stables, grabbing some carrots from a nearby supply. Today, he decides, will be different — he will not waste this time with Peter crying into his chest, as relieving as it was. He will relax, take a nice ride, enjoy the sunshine…and then, perhaps, after all of that, he will ask Peter for help, finally.

He greets Destrier with a loving pat before feeding him a carrot and getting his riding gear prepared. He’s distracted enough by this that he forgets what he knows is about to happen.

“Caspian!” Susan calls in the distance. He groans to himself, briefly hiding his face in Destrier’s neck. 

He hears Susan walking closer and turns to face her, plastering a smile. He glances behind her to see if Peter is nearby, which he seems not to be.

“Susan,” he says with a breath. “Good morning.”

“What are you doing out here?” 

What are you doing out here? he almost rebuts, but manages to restrain himself. 

“I am just going for a quick ride,” he starts. Then, realizing he needs his story to be consistent, he quickly adds “—with Cornelius. He should be meeting me here soon.”

Susan quirks an eyebrow, looking not incredulous but something similar. 

“Seems awfully early for that,” she comments.

“He always told me a good king makes the most out of his day,” he lies. Cornelius has never said anything like that, but it sounds like something he would. “It is never too early to start.”

Susan chuckles. She looks at Destrier and strokes his mane fondly.

“Don’t be gone too long,” she instructs. “We have a lot to do today.”

“Of course,” Caspian nods. “I will see you later,” he tacks on, trying to encourage her to leave.

“See you,” she replies with a smirk. She turns around and starts walking away, though Caspian notices that she’s still walking towards the archery fields, rather than the path back to the castle. He humorously shakes his head to himself, wishing he could tease her about this without it causing her such emotional distress. If she could stay, then he would…

His head shakes become serious, trying to lodge his own thoughts out. No . Don’t think like that.

He takes another breath and focuses back on getting Destrier ready for riding. He works on this for a few more minutes before he hears the noise of leaves crunching, turning to see Peter nonchalantly heading down the hill leading to the stables.

The sight surprisingly makes Caspian’s breath catch in his throat. Now out in the full sunlight, Peter seems impossibly brighter than before, walking with such a lightness that Caspian would believe the ground itself is bouncing his feet back up, helping him move along. He’s wearing an outfit Caspian’s never seen him in; it’s familiar yet new, looking like something out of Cornelius’ old manuscripts. It’s unlike anything the Telmarines have ever worn, clearly Narnian in every stitch, possibly an old riding ensemble. 

It is — well. Peter looks rather fetching in it, is all.

Caspian blinks into focus as Peter makes his way into the stables, smiling when he notices Caspian. He walks closer and gives Destrier a once-over.

“Nice to see Destrier again,” he comments. He pulls a carrot out from one of his pockets, offering it to the horse.

“Oh, I already gave him one,” Caspian mentions.

Peter scoffs. “So? What’s one more?” Destrier gobbles the carrot happily. “We should all get to live in such abundance now. That’s what we worked for, right?”

He turns and locks eyes with Caspian, something more profound than his lighthearted words filling the air between them. It’s that same something , the thing Caspian always feels but doesn’t have a name for, that makes many of their interactions feel charged, makes the hairs on his skin stand on edge. Is it the resigned rivalry of two kings? The unsteady allegiance of newfound friends? Or something else entirely?

Caspian remembers he needs to respond and swallows once, looking away from Peter and towards nothing in particular.

“Right,” he agrees with a tight throat. 

He sees out of his peripheries as Peter walks over to his own horse, and the two of them take a few quiet minutes to get prepared. The strange tenseness that Caspian felt loosens as he goes through the familiar motions of saddling up Destrier. 

He wasn’t often permitted to leave the castle grounds as a child — Miraz wanted to know where he was at all times, keeping him close and alive until it was no longer convenient — but occasionally, he would be allowed to go for a ride with someone keeping guard. He would break away as far and fast as he could without getting in trouble, and those rare moments of the wind flying through his hair and the stomping of Destrier’s hooves on the ground made him feel, very briefly, free .

Of course, now that he’s king, he should probably still have someone watching him, keeping guard to make sure he does not become injured or attacked somehow while he is out riding. Narnian royalty, however, seems to work differently to Telmarine rule, and so he is not nearly as restricted as he expected to be. Which is a good thing, otherwise this repeating day situation would be much more difficult to manage.

Caspian sighs to himself as he’s again reminded of the reality of his life. Whatever him and Peter are about to experience will inevitably be lost, with Caspian alone left to remember it by. It’s unfair, but the need for him to get out and do something different is more powerful than his guilt, so he pushes the thought down and tries to just enjoy the moment, as fleeting as it may be.

Once the two of them have their horses ready, they lead them out of the stables and stop at the edge of a hill, looking up at the sprawling landscape in front of them, open and ready for the taking. Caspian inhales a deep breath of the morning air, a hint of dew still lingering on the grass.

“Where shall we go?” Peter asks, turning to Caspian in curiosity. 

Caspian pauses, realizing then that he’s unsure.

“I do not know,” he admits. He holds out an arm. “Would you like to lead? I am sure you are much more experienced riding the Narnian lands than I.”

Peter makes an odd face at that, similar to a flinch. He flicks his eyes away.

“I was,” he starts, his voice low, “about a thousand years ago. So much has changed.” He tightens his hand around his horse’s rein. “I almost got us lost just trying to find you, even though I knew what way I was going. I’d rather not risk that again.” He finally meets Caspian’s gaze, softening. “You should lead. You’ll know more than I do, now.”

Caspian lightly shakes his head. “I must admit, I have not traveled much outside of the castle. I wasn’t allowed to. My memory of these lands might not be so great.”

Peter purses his lips, accepting Caspian’s words as his truth, and not an argument. He glances at the mountains outlining the horizon.

“Alright,” he says after a second. “Well, we’ll just find our way together then, I s’pose.”

Caspian smiles, finding himself feeling emboldened but also a little electric, a jolt of sudden and manic energy shooting through him. He mounts Destrier quickly and with ease, Peter doing the same beside him. They take one affirming look at the other before nodding once and setting their horses off.

At first, they ride in silence. It’s not unpleasant, with Caspian becoming awakened as the sun rises on the Narnian soil. This is the first time the two of them have ridden next to each other since the failed invasion of the very castle they’re now leaving, and the circumstances have changed so incredibly that it leaves Caspian feeling briefly dizzy. 

But it passes, and soon the two of them are in sync with each other, even their horses almost galloping to the same beat. What ends up happening is that neither of them truly lead the way; rather, they simply end up navigating the land as one, letting their horses’ instincts or their own knowledge guide them forward. 

As they ride, Peter shares some memories and facts when they pass certain landmarks.

“That way is where Mr. Tumnus lived,” he mentions, Caspian recalling him from stories Lucy has told. Then, later; “I think there used to be a river around here. I nearly drowned in it once, actually.”

Caspian tells what little stories he has. 

“One time, I went so far into a nearby forest that I got lost. But the Telmarines were very superstitious about going into the woods, and the guard I had would rather have risked losing me than going in there to find me.” He laughs. “I did not mind. I got to spend the whole day in there, finding my way out. I had almost wished I hadn’t.”

Peter turns and looks at him, their horses slowed to a more reasonable trot. “You had quite the time growing up under Miraz, didn’t you?”

“That is one way of putting it.”

Peter looks back at the landscape in front of him. He deliberates before speaking.

“Are you glad that he’s dead?”

Yes, Caspian thinks immediately. No. I do not know.

“I am glad I was not the one to kill him,” he finally answers, his voice a little quiet, and that’s that.

They continue riding like this for a while; how long, Caspian isn’t sure, and he doesn’t quite care to find out. By the position of the sun, he suspects that it’s longer than they meant to be out here, but neither of them mention it. Perhaps Peter simply hasn’t realized, but Caspian knows his own reasons; he’s having fun. As he’s already discovered, yet only keeps becoming clearer, he’s missed spending time with Peter. Hearing all of his tidbits and stories, memories of his past life here, but also joking with him, or doing brief races that mean nothing…it makes Caspian feel much lighter, like there is no burden weighing him down, no undoing of this that awaits him. 

He feels, for the first time in over a month, normal. Fine. Content, even.

When both of their stomachs start rumbling from a breakfast that’s been abandoned, they silently agree to stop by a nearby apple orchard. The pleasant scent here reminds Caspian of the orchard overtaking Cair Paravel, somewhere he’s visited only a handful of times since becoming king. It’s clearly a complicated place for the Pevensies to be, a visual representation of the death of their past, yet it is also the place that holds the most history and proof of their time in Narnia, and must be treasured despite its damaged state. The trees that grow through the cracked stone there bare sweet apples, though Lucy insisted they were more tart when they first arrived back.

The two of them dismount their horses and take two apples each, sitting against the trunk of a nearby tree that faces a flowing river. On instinct, Caspian lays his hand palm-first against the trunk before sitting, sending a polite greeting of which he receives a pleasant hum in response. Peter watches him do this with a raised brow.

“What was that?” he asks.

“Huh?” Caspian mumbles. “Oh. Lucy has been teaching me to talk to trees.” 

Technically, this is a lie; by this day’s timeline, Caspian hasn’t even asked Lucy about it once. But to Caspian, it’s the truth. The duality makes his head start to ache, and so he stops thinking about it.

Peter makes a surprised noise. “Really? I didn’t know you were interested in that.”

“I am Narnia’s king. The trees are some of the oldest parts of her. It makes sense to me I should know how to speak to them.”

Peter looks at Caspian for what feels like a long, quiet moment, contemplating something in silence. 

“You do a better job at that than me,” he admits eventually, somewhat deprecatingly. “What do they say to you?”

“Nothing, yet,” Caspian admits with a sigh. Then he corrects himself. “Well, I think I know what they are trying to say, but I cannot fully understand them. It’s like something is blocking us from truly communicating. I do not know what it is. Lucy said I have to open myself up, and I am. But it’s not enough, I suppose.”

“Keep at it,” Peter says with a nod. He takes a bite of his apple and speaks through a half-full mouth. “Narnian trees are wise. I’m sure they’ll like you.”

Caspian finds himself noticing, then, that the juice from the apple has coated Peter’s lips, shining reflectively in the sunlight. Something about that holds his gaze for several seconds too long before he turns away, forcing his eyes back on the downstream current of the river. He hopes he isn’t blushing.

“Thank you,” he replies quietly. He takes a bite of his own apple so the conversation can end there.

There’s a few minutes where the two of them say nothing, just eating and enjoying the serene atmosphere around them. The river provides a constant thrum of noise, but the trees also rustle above them in the light breeze, with a bird occasionally letting out a chirp or song. Peter taps his boots together absently. 

Peter has been so casual this entire morning, the weight of what is to come not yet brought upon him. Caspian likes seeing him like this, free of the reality of his situation and to just enjoy another day in Narnia. Even though Peter is viewed (and greeted) as a king to many people, he does not have to do the work of one. Yes, him and his siblings have been helping Caspian adjust to his new role among other things, but at the end of the day, Peter can do what he wishes here, possibly for the first time. 

When the Pevensies discovered Narnia, there were but a scant few days where they were not responsible for the entire kingdom. And from what Caspian has been told, even that brief time was filled with a treacherous journey. Yes, kings and queens are allotted leisure time, but Caspian connects in this moment that only now, a thousand years and a few months later, are the old royals finally allowed to enjoy Narnia in all of her splendor, much like any other animal or civilian would.

Well. Temporarily, anyway. 

Still, the thought makes Caspian want to stretch this moment out, let it linger for as long as can be reasonably allowed. Who knows — maybe Caspian will solve this tonight, and this will be Peter’s last day in Narnia. He might as well make it a good one.

“I wanted to ask you about your outfit,” he mentions casually, breaking their silence.

Peter raises a brow, then looks down at himself.

“This?” he questions. “It’s a Narnian riding outfit. I found it in Cair Paravel, with the rest of my things.”

“I thought you said those clothes did not fit you anymore. That is why you had to borrow some of mine.”

Caspian might imagine this — maybe a trick of the sunlight — but after he says that, he thinks he sees Peter’s ears redden.

Peter then clears his throat. “No, that’s true. But since your coronation, I’ve had the laundress work on mending what was there. This was the first one he finished. I haven’t had a chance to properly wear it yet.”

“Ah,” Caspian says, his eyes trailing down the uniform. Up close, he’s noticing small details he couldn’t before, like the intricate patterns in the stitching, or the texture of the fabric. He fights an urge to run his hand along it, just to see how it feels.

“Does it—” Peter suddenly asks, then cuts himself off. Caspian’s eyes snap back up to his and find a surprising vulnerability there. “I know it’s old. Does it look silly? Like I’m playing dress-up as myself, or something.”

Caspian pauses, considering Peter’s question. The answer is obvious and immediate; No. Of course it doesn’t look silly. But he gets the sense that those words alone would not comfort Peter’s insecurities. 

“You look like High King Peter,” he answers instead. Peter does appear quite regal in these clothes, even if it’s just a riding ensemble. It makes him seem older, more attuned to his skin. 

Peter swallows, his pupils dilating slightly.

“The Magnificent,” he finishes, barely a whisper. Then he scoffs, looking down at the space between their bodies. “You know…I’ve been thinking about something.”

“What is it?” Caspian asks, his heartbeat oddly increasing.

“When we first met, you said we weren’t what you expected.” Peter picks his head back up, looking at Caspian directly. His gaze is intent, yet softened at the corners. “Is that still true?”

Caspian blinks a few times, processing what Peter has said. The day that they met feels like a few lifetimes ago; it felt as such even before Caspian started reliving this day. He does remember that first moment of realization, holding Rhindon in his hand and seeing the inscription there, that gave him the conflicting feelings of relief and utter confusion. He was never disappointed in the Pevensies, could never be — but it was true that they hadn’t been what he expected. 

In some ways, there were similarities. Susan was gentle, Lucy was valiant, Edmund was just. They were all as clever and experienced as the legends made them out to be, their presences radiating with an aura unlike anything Caspian had experienced before. Yet more than all of that, they were human. They were fallible. And that made them all the more interesting.

So Caspian speaks honestly, if for no other reason than it feels as though there are no consequences to what he says anymore. But he does it because Peter deserves the truth.

“Yes,” he starts. “It’s still true. I grew up hearing about you, about your siblings. The way that you were remembered, the stories they told…you were larger than life. When I thought about Peter the Magnificent, I imagined a knight in armor made of solid gold, standing seven or eight feet tall. He was chivalrous, and kind, and perfect in every imaginable way.”

“And…?” Peter drags out the word.

“And you are not that. Not even close.”

Peter’s face falls. “Oh.”

“You are brash,” Caspian continues. “You are combative. You are stubborn. You can be sarcastic, and rude, and occasionally annoying. You are only right some of the time. And you are shorter than me, by just a hair.” 

“I think I get the point,” Peter gruffs, starting to move away.

“Which is to say—” Caspian interrupts, placing a hand on Peter’s elbow to stop him from moving. He does, eyeing Caspian cautiously. “That I much prefer the real Peter, who is magnificent in his own ways.”

Peter’s eyes widen at that, the apple he was casually eating dropping and landing with a soft thud in the grass. He’s frozen, trapped under the featherlight weight of Caspian’s touch.

“I do not want perfection,” Caspian confesses, feeling spurred on to keep speaking by something bigger than himself. “You are far more interesting than any of those stories tried to make you. They don’t know half the things about you that I now know. Like how you hold Rhindon’s pommel when you’re anxious. That you don’t like blueberry tea. Or how you once almost drowned in a river.” Caspian chuckles at that, and it looks like Peter tries to, but he sort of grimaces, instead. “So, no. You are not what I expected. But I am more than fine with that.”

Peter doesn’t respond, as if spellbound by what Caspian’s said. His mouth opens and closes a few times, attempting to find words that never come. He searches Caspian’s eyes, possibly looking for the words there, but it only leaves him more lost, grasping his free hand in the air instinctively, as if wishing for something concrete to level him.

Caspian himself is a little spellbound. He feels an intense vibration shooting up his side where he’s leaned against the tree, who is trying to say something to him quite loudly. The wind around them sends the scent of apples wafting through the air, coating the moment in a honey-thick sweetness, enveloping them in a blanket. Everything seems slow, fuzzy, as if they are moving through a haze; or the two of them have been plucked out of time and placed somewhere new, somewhere beyond burdens, responsibilities, consequences, and fears. Caspian feels as if he is teetering on the edge of something very precious, yet thrilling and exciting, with no idea as to what it is he might uncover, if only he were to peer over and see.

“Peter,” he says after a long moment, coaxing and hushed.

Peter swallows. “Yes?”

Caspian doesn’t know what he’s going to ask until he asks it.

“What awaits you in England?”

The question makes Peter flinch, just slightly, as if the word England came at the end of a pointed blade. But he doesn’t move, still pinned like a butterfly to the tree. 

Caspian’s fingers lightly trace along the fabric lining Peter’s elbow, and the texture of the material is softer than he imagined. He waits, surprisingly and a little desperately needing the answer to this question he didn’t know he always wanted to ask.

“What do you mean?” Peter responds after a few tense seconds. Their eyes have sparsely left each other’s for several minutes by now.

“You said you all lived back in England for one year, yes?” Caspian elaborates. Peter nods to confirm. “A year is a long time. Surely, you have family who would want you to return. Friends.” He hesitates briefly. “Someone special.”

“Oh,” Peter hums, nearly inaudible. He looks a little bit like a frightened dog. “No, there’s—there’s nothing. No one.”

Caspian’s brows furrow. “No one? That cannot be true.”

“Well it is, alright?” Peter counters with an empty laugh. He leans away from Caspian for a moment, frowning to himself, before leaning back in. “England’s not our home anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

“But…” Caspian mutters, perplexed, “what about your mother? Your father?”

“We grew to adulthood without them,” Peter mentions, resting his head against the tree trunk, his angled neck now exposed to the bright sun. Caspian keeps his eyes straight ahead. “Our father’s still at war and our mother looks at us like we’re the ghosts of her children. She knows something’s wrong, but she doesn’t know what. She couldn’t.” He bites his lip. “I lived an entire lifetime without her. I love her, but I don’t need her anymore. I don’t think any of us do.”

“But no friends?” Caspian pushes.

Peter gives a sarcastic smirk. “Have I given you the impression that I make friends easily?”

Caspian can’t help but to smile back. 

“No, I suppose not.”

“Exactly. So, to answer your question, nothing awaits me in England. Nothing at all.” He says those last words softly, and it feels like an exhale.

Caspian lets out a breath of his own. “I see,” he says. And those two words are so simple, yet there’s so much behind them that Peter doesn’t know. 

Because Caspian suddenly feels himself on the precipice of hope, and the dangers that hoping inevitably accompanies. He slowly begins to realize why he asked what he did. The undeniable intimacy of this moment between them has him acting impulsively, saying things without thinking first. Maybe it’s just everything he’s been through causing that, but he thinks it’s something else, something that’s both familiar and unknown; something that’s always in the air between them, in the glances that they share, in the brief passing of their swords.

Peter has been one of the few consistencies in the madness that has become Caspian’s life. He always, always offers Rhindon to him, offers his sword and his kingdom and his home for Caspian to hold and to protect. There has been a heartbreaking peace in that.

Right now, Peter’s staring up at Caspian, watching him look at him and allowing it to happen. The sun is always shining on Peter, glued to him like water to the tide, and his hair is exceptionally vibrant today, as if it was really made of solid gold. He looks like a statue, something that is meant to be studied and revered, but there is an energy and warmth radiating from him that makes him undoubtedly alive. 

And yet despite this strong, beautiful frame, he’s also leaning against the tree as if needing it to support his weight. His neck is angled outward — leaving him exposed, his pulse lightly thrumming — and his hands are twisting in the grass. He’s taking shallow breaths as if to overcome a rising panic, and his eyes are wide and as blue as the sky above him. 

His lips are still coated in the juice of the apple.

Oh, Caspian thinks. Oh, this. 

One of the other consistencies in Caspian’s life is that he wants to kiss Peter. He has thought about it every day, at least once, for as long as he has known him. Actually, he’s thought about kissing Peter since he was a child. He never lingered on that much, nor felt shame about it. Peter is a beautiful boy, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to kiss a beautiful boy.

But the deeper truth, the truth that is now unearthed and heavy on his back, is that Caspian wants more. Much more. He thinks he’s wanted more from Peter this whole time, back even when their swords were clashing with the high-pitched clangs of shared grief and guilt. He dared not think of it then, in fact did not even acknowledge it. 

He thinks now that he became more aware, somewhat, when he became king, when their dynamic morphed from whatever it was to whatever it is . It was all so new then, so frayed, that he could not take a wrong step and risk everything they had all worked so hard to build.

Caspian’s feelings for Peter were — are — something unstable and volatile, a danger to his health. This whole time, without his knowing it, he’s feared if he so much as look at it for too long, it would erupt, alerting everyone nearby to its presence and leaving burns on anyone who noticed.

He finds himself suddenly and sharply shifting away from Peter, pulling his hand back in case it were to brand him. He looks out towards the river, and he swears he sees a glint of metal hiding beneath the water’s surface, an old Telmarine mask left floating through the currents, abandoned and forgotten. 

Reality comes crashing down around him, hard and fast. There is nothing for Caspian to do with this wanting. Perhaps, before all of this started, before Narnia placed him in this endless day, there was a small window of time where his feelings would have been fine. Where, if he was delusional enough to think Peter wanted more from him, too, he could have let those feelings erupt, let that want be known, and it could have been returned to him, for the first real and honest time. 

As it is now, Caspian knows the end to this story. He has lost track of how many times Rhindon has passed through their hands, how many times he has watched Peter walk out of that portal. There is nothing for Caspian to do with this wanting but what he has done his whole life, which is to keep it tight and close to the chest, forever rigid, leaving his daydreams about kissing Peter Pevensie to his childhood self. 

While Caspian takes this all in, having a silent and internal crisis as he stares out into the roaring rapids, he hears and vaguely sees Peter shifting next to him, sitting up to match Caspian’s pose, with a look of concern passing over his face.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks, very tepidly. 

Caspian fights the strong urge to laugh. It wouldn’t be a pleasant one if he did; it would be maniacal, bitter, laced with venom and spewing it out at the innocent bystander. Peter does not realize how loaded a question that is, how impossible and time-consuming it would be to answer. And, ultimately, how pointless.

“We should be heading back,” Caspian chooses to say. “They’ll be expecting us.”

There’s a long pause, then, Peter looking at Caspian while Caspian forces himself to continue staring ahead. He’s searching for that glint in the water, that Telmarine mask, but if it was ever really there, it’s floated away.

“Caspian, what’s wrong?” Peter asks again, his voice painfully gentle. There’s an almost imperceptible grazing of his fingertips on Caspian’s arm, and it makes him nearly hiss.

Instead, he takes a tight and controlled breath before he speaks.

“Find something to love in England,” he says, his voice measured. He turns and manages to look Peter in the eye, finding a bewildered expression there. “You will have to.”

Peter frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Caspian glances down, watching the way Peter’s hand flutters over Caspian’s arm, as if dancing on a borderline. 

“You are leaving Narnia,” he blurts out, feeling as if his whole being is empty. He stands quickly, moving towards Destrier.

“What?” Peter remarks belatedly. Caspian can hear him scrambling to his feet behind him. “Who told you that?”

“I had a prophetic dream,” Caspian lies as he starts to undo Destrier’s ties. His mouth keeps moving without his brain able to stop it. “Like Lucy has. I saw that Aslan was going to tell you today. That’s why I asked you to ride with me.”

For a few moments, all that fills the air between them is the rushing of the river, which almost sounds faster in its current, as if agitated on by something. Caspian keeps himself hyper-focused on Destrier, using the warmth of his black mane as a grounding mechanism, and ignores the way that the sweet scent in the air seems to have turned sour.

“That’s why you were asking about England,” Peter realizes, quietly, after what feels like several hours. 

Caspian doesn’t speak. He feels stripped bare, with very little energy. The fact that he’s even managing to mount Destrier seems like it’s coming from muscle memory rather than any active decision making. He’s not even sure why he’s said anything he just did; perhaps it was to rid himself of this moment, to get away from Peter before the overflowing wanting in his chest spilled out and got swept away with the river’s current.

He can see that Peter is watching him from where he stands next to the tree, having not moved any closer to his own horse. When Caspian gives him no acknowledgement, he turns and looks out at the still unexplored Narnian landscape ahead of him. His hand twitches at his side, looking for a sword that isn’t there.

“When are we leaving?” he finally asks, barely audible over the roaring of water, the shaking of trees. 

“Today,” Caspian answers in a monotone. He should be compassionate, but there is no emotion in him left to pull from. It’s been buried somewhere, dark and deep. 

He turns to see Peter grimace, his face pinched. 

“Have you told the others?” Peter questions.

“Just you.”

Peter sighs. “Right.”

Allowing himself to look at Peter again starts to bring some emotions to Caspian, pulling him back to reality, shaking him out of the stupor he set himself in. He can’t continue to be so careless to him, simply because he himself is having a horrible revelation. It wouldn’t be fair.

“I am sorry,” he says sincerely. “I should not have told you, I…”

Peter shakes his head, holding up a hand. “Save it. I might have done the same if I were you.”

Caspian hesitates, his hands tight on Destrier’s reins.

“Still. I am sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Peter spits through tight lips. He walks over and starts preparing his own horse to ride, though his movements are stiff and quick, a bit too aggressive. 

Caspian thinks he should say something here, to bridge this gap he’s created between them, but finds that no words come out. He tries to tell himself, as a sort of sick comfort, that none of this will matter, that the chances of him solving this situation today are quite slim, and so this will not be remembered. 

But Caspian will remember. Anything he ever says or does to Peter, he will have to hold onto. There is no way he could hurt him, on purpose or otherwise, that could ever be forgotten or erased. It will stay with Caspian, always. 

The two of them make an uncomfortably silent trip back to the castle. Peter does not seem mad at Caspian by any means, but the blow of this news has clearly taken the wind out of his sails. He has a deep frown on his face the entire time they ride, and Caspian can only imagine what he must be thinking.

When they return, Aslan, Susan, Edmund and Lucy are waiting in the lower hall, their plates long since cleared of breakfast. Susan crosses her arms and smirks when she sees the two of them enter.

“Cornelius looks different,” she comments sarcastically. Only her tone quickly falls when she sees the expression on Peter’s face, watching the way he marches over to his chair and sits down quickly, saying nothing. She and her siblings follow him over, concern etched on all of their faces. Caspian stays lingering in the doorway.

Aslan looks between Peter and Caspian with an intrigued expression. He can’t know that Caspian has told Peter he’s leaving; he has no reason to believe Caspian himself knows that. But he can clearly sense that something has happened with them, and he seems…disappointed, almost. 

“What’s wrong?” Lucy quietly asks, Caspian turning to see the younger Pevensies swarming Peter like a loyal hive, shielding him. 

Peter just shakes his head, his jaw trembling. Caspian watches with widened eyes. I’ve told Peter this news before. Why now is it effecting him so deeply? 

“King Peter,” Aslan calls, his voice booming through the lower hall, “What has distressed you?”

Peter meets eyes with Caspian from across the room. The look on Caspian’s face must show something, because Peter doesn’t fully tell the truth.

“I was telling Caspian about a prophetic dream I had,” he starts, his voice low. He sniffs once. “It was a vision of us leaving Narnia.”

“So soon?” Lucy questions. She and the others turn to Aslan in tandem, a range of emotions lining their faces. “Could it be true?”

“Yes, young one,” Aslan admits with an exhale. “I was going to tell your eldest siblings separately, but I suppose I should explain it all now.”

The four royals’ eyes stayed glued to the lion, and Caspian might as well not exist. He’s used to this feeling, and for once, he doesn’t mind. He desperately wants to leave the room, knowing what is going to be told next and having no need to hear it again. He also can’t bear to see Peter sitting there, nearly on the verge of tears, all because of what Caspian told him. As if he hasn’t burdened the Pevensies enough with his problems.

But he has to stay. It would seem awfully rude if he were to turn around and leave now. Even if this day gets erased to time, Caspian still has to live it, and he would rather avoid more shame or guilt if possible. 

So he stands by the doorway, not daring to move any closer, and he listens to Aslan explain to the kings and queens what he must usually tell Peter and Susan alone. It’s mostly the same as to what he always says in the square; their time in Narnia is up, they have learned what they had to, they need to go live in their world, they are not needed here anymore. And this should perhaps feel like a vote of confidence in Caspian, to hear the lion say that Narnia is in capable hands, but all it leaves him is dread. Not even Narnia believes that to be true. If she did, she would not be forcing Caspian into this predicament.

That thought gives Caspian an idea. It’s not a pleasant one by any means, but it hits him, entering his brain like a sharp and jagged arrow, lodging itself into his brain. 

Why today, of all days, would Narnia choose to have Caspian relive, and him alone? Why are the events of today being undone until the correct outcome is made? What is it that Narnia needs Caspian to fix?

Well, today is the day the Pevensies leave Narnia. Today is the day Peter gives Rhindon to Caspian, gives the kingdom to Caspian. 

This must be a rare circumstance in which Peter is wrong. Narnia is refusing to allow the Pevensies to leave with Caspian alone to rule over her. She must be forcing Caspian to begin the day again until he is no longer king, until a Telmarine is not sitting on the throne.

The solution is simple. It has been, this whole time. 

Caspian must give up his crown.

It’s not something he wants to do. Despite his conflicting feelings about his bloodline, destiny, and being shoved into the role of king, he has enjoyed ruling over Narnia, and has found it incredibly fulfilling. It’s only been a few months (not counting reliving this day) since his coronation, but in that time he has learned so much about what it means to be king, about exactly what damage Telmar had done to Narnia and what he could begin to do to fix it. To repair that damage felt like Caspian’s purpose in life, but if the true way to heal the land is to remove himself from the throne entirely, then that’s what he will do.

As he watches Aslan speak to the Pevensies, he makes his decision. Tonight, after they leave, he will select the new king or queen of Narnia. Tomorrow, when everyone is inevitably back, he will abdicate his throne. 

He swallows down the burning feeling this leaves in his throat.

Later that day, at the usual gathering in the town square, Peter walks over to Caspian with Rhindon in his hands, and it takes all of Caspian’s power to not refuse it right then and there.

“Narnia will be alright without us,” he says both to the crowd and Caspian. That conviction that’s always in his eyes is still there, but the sadness breaking through it is vivid and harsh. “She’s in good hands.”

Caspian’s hands tremble as he takes Rhindon. Now that he’s let his own feelings for Peter become known to himself, he’s found it difficult to think of much else any time the two of them so much as lock eyes. He longs deeply to toss the sword aside, pull Peter’s hands into his and tell him I do not want you to go, I have seen you go countless times now, I should have told you that today but I couldn’t, I don’t know if I ever can again, I don’t know how many times I can watch you leave, would you kill me if I said I loved you? Would you run me through with that sword? Peter, please don’t go.

“I…” Caspian starts, then closes his mouth. They all know Peter will not be returning, by their perspectives. What should he say instead? “Thank you,” he settles on, still never feeling that he’s said it enough. “It is an honor.” And that’s still the truth, even if he plans to abandon this all tomorrow.

Peter nods affirmingly, but hesitates before walking over to his siblings. His eyes dart briefly to the crowd, then back to Caspian. 

“About what you said before,” he begins, quiet enough that only Caspian should hear. “I don’t think…” He stops, eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if even he doesn’t know what he’s going to say next. “It won’t ever be the same there. Do you understand?”

Caspian blinks, taken aback. Peter has an intense yet vulnerable look in his eyes, and his words feel more profound than he seemed to intend them to be. There’s a hidden meaning underneath the surface that Caspian can’t quite reach, but he feels as though he desperately wants to, perhaps needs to. It should be obvious; of course England won’t be the same. There’s no magic, no sprawling hillsides filled with dancing dryads. But that’s not it, that’s not what Peter truly means. 

Whatever he does mean is lost, because Caspian has said nothing and Peter is walking away, back over to his siblings, who greet him with sympathetic eyes and gentle caresses of the arm. They’re already moving and saying goodbye to everyone else, Caspian left standing there, alone and dumbfounded, his hand growing numb where it’s wrapped around Rhindon’s pommel.

He spends the rest of the night deciding who should rule Narnia.

It’s a complicated decision to make. Narnia is currently in a transitionary period, bridging the gap between Telmarine rule and liberation, and the rules of monarchy have become somewhat muddled. 

Obviously, there is no heir for Caspian to pass the throne onto, so he must choose a successor. He lingers over the possibilities; Cornelius always seemed rather kingly to Caspian, knowledgeable and wise, and he recently learned that he’s half-dwarf. But the other half of him is Telmarine, and if Caspian’s worries are to be believed, no one of Telmarine blood should be on the throne for this to be fixed.

So someone fully Narnian, then. His first thought is Glenstorm, the centaur who convinced the remaining Narnians that Caspian was the one who would bring them peace. This means people look up to him, and will listen to him. He has a calm, collected mindset, but is strong in his beliefs. Would he be king, if Caspian asked?

He runs through some other possibilities in his mind: Trumpkin would stoutly refuse, but he has potential; Bazysmus the faun has been a trusted advisor as of late, stepping up and helping after the Pevensies leave, so she could become queen; or perhaps it should be a Beast, to truly bring Narnia back to her roots. It could be Aslan himself. Who better to return Narnia to glory than her symbol?

Caspian thinks and thinks and thinks on this until his eyes go cross and his heart grows weary. He runs his fingers through his hair and pulls, feeling the tension in his skin. His shuts his eyes hard and tight, taking a controlled and prolonged breath, forcing himself to relax on the exhale.

Maybe he shouldn’t be the one to make this decision. If Narnia wishes for him to no longer be king, than she should know who she wants in his place. 

The thought feels as right in his mind as it could. He takes one more breath and opens his eyes, the darkness of Narnia’s night greeting him through his bedroom window.

It’s settled. Tomorrow, which is always today, he will let the Narnians decide who will be their king. 

And he will force his heart not to break when they choose who to replace him.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

The next morning, Caspian rises with a weight like lead hanging off his shoulders. He gives himself one moment on the bed, sitting on the edge and staring at the wardrobe across from him, before getting up and preparing for what might be the hardest day of his life.

Which, given how his life has been as of late, is saying a lot.

After he’s dressed, he turns to leave, then stops and lingers on his crown he keeps nearby in a glass case. It’s large, heavy, and a bit gaudy, leaving it impractical and unnecessary to wear for his everyday kingly duties, mostly meant for more formal occasions. Caspian debates bringing it with him, to show how serious he is about what he’s going to say, but chooses to leave it behind for now.

With another shaky breath, he leaves his room. He goes and gathers every advisor he can find that isn’t a Pevensie, asking them to meet him in one of the cabinets. He knows it’s inevitable that the kings and queens discover what he’s doing, but he thinks it will be much easier for him to start the process without them.

Once he’s found the last advisor, they walk together to the room and find the others waiting inside. They stand anxiously as they wait for Caspian to speak, the urgency of the called meeting clearly bringing them concern.

“We’re all here, your grace,” Bazysmus explains. “What is it you wished to tell us?”

Well, now is the time, Caspian thinks. Suddenly nervous, he finds his hand reaching for a sword that hasn’t been given to him yet, and he realizes harshly that it probably never will be again. It sends a wave of loss through his body that he fights hard to push through.

“My counsel” Caspian begins. “Thank you for meeting me so early, and so abruptly. What I am about to say may surprise you, but I ask you to please listen to me.”

Several pairs of eyes stare back at him, filled with anticipation. He forces himself not to frown as he speaks.

“There has been…” he starts, then stops. From last night through to this morning, he still has not figured out how he is going to justify why he needs to resign. He settles on this; “For reasons I cannot fully explain, I feel that I am no longer fit to hold the throne of Narnia. So, effective immediately, I am abdicating my position as king.”

Silence. His advisors are clearly shocked, their eyes widening and jaws dropping. There seems to be a very long and tense moment where no one can speak, including Caspian. It’s as if time itself is frozen, suspended, and it’s such a strange energy that it has Caspian manically thinking yes, this is it, I have solved it. I have done what Narnia needed. The desperate relief it brings is enough to temporarily overpower his heartache at what he’s just pronounced.

“What reasons?” someone, Glenstorm, finally asks. He takes some careful steps forward, and speaks as if he represents the group. “Whatever it is, we can work through it together, my king.”

Caspian flinches when Glenstorm calls him that. The whole point of this is that he won’t be his king anymore. He won’t be anyone’s king.

“I am sorry,” he tries to counter, hearing the uncertainty in his voice seeping through, “but I really cannot explain it.”

“You must try, sire,” Bazysmus adds. “This is not something to be done lightly.”

“Caspian,” Cornelius chimes in, walking closer. He keeps his hands to his side, keeping his position as Lord Chancellor, but Caspian knows if they were not surrounded by others, he would be cupping Caspian’s face right now. He can feel it there, a phantom touch. “What is troubling you?”

Caspian bites his lip as he looks out at the sea of concerned faces. He should have known they wouldn’t just let him give up his crown without good reason. He sighs, his hand fiddling with the string of his shirt.

“I have reason to believe Narnia no longer wants me as king,” he says. “She has been…testing me, it seems. Subjecting me to…” His voice trails off. If he sounds like a madman, they might dethrone him on the basis of insanity. But Caspian doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life seen as a maniac. “You will just have to believe me. My role in Narnia’s history is over. I liberated her from Telmar’s rule. Now it is time for someone else to take charge. Someone more qualified, someone Narnian.”

There’s another awkward silence, his advisors looking amongst each other tepidly. Maybe Caspian does sound crazed, despite his efforts not to. There’s no easy way to say what he needs to, but as long as he is not king, he will be satisfied.

“What is Narnia subjecting you to?” another advisor asks. “Visions? Nightmares?”

Caspian gives a small nod. “Yes,” he lies. He’s had to lie so much lately. “She does not went a Telmarine to rule her after all the damage that has been done. I have seen it. I can feel it.” That last part, at least, is true. He feels this to be the answer as deeply as he’s ever felt anything.

“And who would you have rule in your place?” Glenstorm questions. He sounds uncertain, but willing to listen. You , Caspian almost says.

“It should not be up to me,” he explains. “Or any of us. If we are to give Narnia back to her people, we should let them decide. We can put it to a vote.”

“A vote?” a voice calls from the left — a voice Caspian recognizes.

He turns to see all four Pevensies strolling into the room, Peter leading the way. He’s the one who spoke, and the look on his face is one of confusion and slight insult. The sight makes Caspian’s heart stop as he watches them approach, nerves freezing him into place.

“What are you doing here?” he finds himself asking, a bit stupidly.

Susan raises her eyebrows. “‘What are we doing here?’ We’re still your advisors, aren’t we?”

“I—” Caspian stammers. “Well, yes, but I did not ask you to come.”

“I did,” Bazysmus mentions. He turns to her in bewilderment and betrayal. “I assumed if it was a meeting of the advisors, we were all meant to be here. Did I overstep?”

Caspian stares at her for a moment, briefly regretting the thought he had that she could rule Narnia. It’s a selfish and juvenile thought, and it passes quickly, but it does happen.

“No,” he says eventually with a breath. “No, you are right. They should be here.”

“Then why didn’t you call for us?” Edmund asks. “And what are you talking about, anyway? We heard something about a vote.”

“And something about someone ruling in your place,” Peter finishes, an angry and measured tone to his voice. He stares into Caspian as if his mere gaze could split him in two and expose the truth. It probably could. It would not take Peter much for Caspian to break under him. “Care to explain?”

Caspian swallows. The four siblings look back at him with expressions ranging from concern to confusion to bitterness. The advisors watch on around them.

“I am sorry,” he begins, this explanation now exponentially harder, “but I have reasons to believe Narnia does not want me as her king. I was never meant to be more than a means of her liberation. It is time for a Narnian to rule Narnia. Not a Telmarine.”

“What reasons?” Lucy asks after a beat. She peers up at him with a scrunched face, worry evident.

“It is hard to explain. But I have had…visions,” he continues lying, “and nightmares. I can feel what Narnia is trying to tell me. A Telmarine is not meant to rule Narnia.”

The Pevensies glance amongst each other, communicating silently. Caspian finds himself wondering if he’ll ever know a kind of closeness where he can speak to someone without saying a word. 

“We’ve had those, too,” Susan begins. “The nightmares, anyway. It’s a normal part of being a king. A part of you will always think you’re unworthy. That just means you want what’s best for the kingdom.”

Caspian shakes his head, feeling the authority of this conversation slipping out of his grasp. The royals have such a way of speaking that anything they say just seems so right , so true. He can see his advisors nodding in agreement with Susan’s words.

“It’s not like that,” he counters, his voice shaking. “It’s not an anxiety, it’s…” He looks down, wishing he could just say the truth without sounding insane. “I know what Narnia wants. It is not what I want, but it is what I will do.”

Susan, Edmund, and Lucy turn to Peter in tandem. They move to the side, letting Peter take a step towards Caspian, who fights the dual urges to move closer and further away.

“I thought so, too,” Peter admits, almost too quietly for how many people are in the room, as if the words are for Caspian alone. “But Narnia isn’t cruel. I know you’ve been told this before, but Narnia is at its best when a son of Adam is king. And right now, the best son of Adam we have is you.”

Caspian fights the dual urges to kiss Peter and push him back. His tone there was frustratingly gentle, in a way Peter usually doesn’t speak, and it cuts through to the core of Caspian, where his anxieties and fears lie, coaxing them to silence for the briefest of moments. 

“You were the last son of Adam to be king,” Caspian mentions, his voice oddly hushed. It feels like there is no one else in the room but the two of them. “That was a long time ago. Things are different now. Someone else can rule. Glenstorm, perhaps.”

Peter frowns. He makes a gesture with his head, and the Pevensies step forward, shouldering him. Caspian feels his hand get squeezed and looks down to see Lucy’s snuck her way in.

“Whatever you think Narnia is trying to tell you, it’s not true,” Peter says with conviction, sounding an awful lot like a king. “We want you to rule Narnia. They ,” he points to the other advisors, “want you to rule Narnia. Even if we did go out there and take a vote, everyone would just vote to have you stay.”

Caspian breaks away from Peter’s stare and finds his mentors and advisors nodding at him, belief etched in their features. It makes his heart swell with hope, and then sink into despair. 

None of these people know what he knows. They haven’t lived what he has lived. Their belief is misguided, and ignorant.

“I…” Caspian starts, unable to get any words out. He can already tell any attempts to further resign will be refuted, which means this entire day is a wash. He wishes there was a means of just skipping to tomorrow, where he knows he’s going to try again, but that isn’t possible. He feels himself deflate, dreading the pointless day ahead.

Peter senses Caspian’s exhaustion and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. The touch feels white-hot. 

“It happened to all of us,” he says in a low voice. “You’ll come into your own. I know you will.”

The warmth and sincerity of Peter’s words, however unearned, are enough to make Caspian smile, even if it’s a small one. Perhaps the day is not entirely pointless. Whenever this all ends, the Pevensies will be gone for good. Caspian reminds himself that any additional day he can spend with them is, in its own way, a gift, a small reprieve amongst the madness.

Before he can respond, whether to confirm he’ll stay on the throne or not, Aslan comes into the room. All eyes turn at once towards the lion, who greets them with a look of slight surprise but friendliness.

“Well, hello,” Aslan says bemusedly. “I did not expect to see you all here.”

Everyone bows. When Caspian picks his head up, Aslan is looking right at him. It gives him a brief jolt of something; not quite fear, but close.

“King Caspian,” he greets, with him calling Caspian ‘king’ feeling like the final word of the debate, “when you are done here, I should like to speak with you and the other kings and queens.”

Caspian swallows, straightening. “We can talk now.” He nods at his advisors, as if to dismiss them. “Thank you.” He wants to say more, like sorry for scaring you or sorry for wasting your time , but he doesn’t want to let Aslan in on what they were talking about. The advisors catch on, politely leaving without a word.

The conversation goes about how Caspian expects; Aslan proposes his idea to offer the Telmarines passage to their homeland, Caspian agrees, Peter and Susan are whisked away. Caspian stays back and ‘plans’ the meeting with Lucy and Edmund, though at this point it’s less him planning anything and more him telling them exactly what they need to do. They look very impressed when he does, as if this is the result of natural leadership and not the result of a man forced to live this day more times than he has kept track of. 

When the Pevensies go to leave, and Peter brings Rhindon over to Caspian, there is a slightly different expression to him this time. That’s not saying much — despite the consistency of this gesture, it’s never happened exactly the same way twice, with whatever variables of the day leading to changes in how Peter hands over the sword. But Peter’s expression now is not one Caspian has seen yet, and he doesn’t know quite how to describe it. The closest he lands on, perhaps, is empathy.

“We’re not really needed here anymore,” Peter says, putting great emphasis on the words. He practically forces Rhindon into Caspian’s palm. “Narnia is in good hands.” 

His eyes feel as though they’re boring into Caspian’s, seeing through to the core of him. He’s not, because if he was, if he really knew what Caspian was feeling right now, he would be reacting very differently. Caspian wishes he could tell Peter the truth, but now is neither the time nor place. 

So he takes the sword, as much as it pains him to, and he wishes that all of this: Aslan’s trust, his advisors’ urges, Peter’s symbol — could be enough to convince him that this is not the answer he seeks. That there is something else Narnia needs rather than abdication.

But Caspian is exhausted. He looks into Peter’s eyes and sees the past versions of today flash over his face in great succession, each one making Caspian’s shoulders seem to sink further down. Peter has no idea how many times he’s done this. None of them do. It’s not right, everyone being forced to live this way. This has been going on for too long. Far too long.

Caspian needs to stop this. His plan failed today, and it might fail when he tries again tomorrow, but he needs to keep trying. 

No matter how many times it takes.

Later that evening, Caspian sits quietly in his room, on the bed where this nightmare begins every morning, and holds Rhindon in his hands.

The sun is beginning its descent on the horizon, shining rays of golden light through the window. It’s uncomfortably bright, the radiant southern sun almost blinding Caspian in its glory.

As soon as the Pevensies left again, he started thinking about how he could relinquish his crown in a way that would stick. Looking in the library again for past examples of abdication was of no use; Telmarine leaders were not men that would abandon power. Caspian would be the first of his kind to even try.

(Caspian seems to be the first of his kind to do a lot of things. He’s not sure how he feels about it.)

Instead, he reflects back on this morning and tries to figure out where his plan went wrong. In actuality, he didn’t think he really needed a plan beyond saying “I’m relinquishing my throne” and having it be true. Surely, if he’s the king of Narnia, then he should have unsanctioned rule over his own job. It should be his decision.

His advisors fought against it, for reasons he can’t entirely blame them for. But it was Peter and his siblings who interrupted the conversation and ultimately steered its course. It’s entirely possible that, if they hadn’t arrived, his advisors would have been forced to concede to Caspian’s decision, and make the necessary arrangements.

Caspian then comes to a horrible realization.

The Pevensies are never going to let him abdicate his throne. They have poured too much of their time, knowledge, energy, and blood to putting him there, and there are no acceptable reasons, in their minds, to reverse that. While this is a huge gesture of trust and respect, which is flattering yet undeserved, it is also a huge problem.

To do what needs to be done, which is for Caspian to no longer be king of Narnia, he cannot step down while the Pevensies are still here.

He has to do it after they leave.

The thought brings him an instant and dizzying wave of sickness, causing him to actually drop Rhindon on the ground as he leans over the side of his bed, suddenly feeling faint.

Caspian knows that giving up this sword, and what it symbolizes, so shortly after receiving it is going to seem incredibly rude. Perhaps ungrateful, poorly timed, selfish. He can only imagine what the history books will say, how they will paint the short lived legacy of Prince Caspian the Tenth, mistakenly trusted by the kings and queens. 

He can’t afford to care. Cornelius told him, so long ago, that whatever Narnia is doing is bigger than all of them. Bigger than Caspian, the Pevensies, even Aslan. If it costs Caspian’s reputation to end this, then fine. He’ll do it. He might have even caused this, without realizing. 

It is also true that each time he watches the royals go through the portal, a part of him is chipped away, something unnamable that he can’t reach. He’s not sure how many more days he has in him before it becomes cracked entirely, in ways that can’t be repaired. 

Maybe Caspian wants this to be the answer. Wants to be absolved of Narnia, the kingdom, the crown, the sword, the Pevensies themselves. All of it. Something that he thought he loved — and in ways, some one — has become a source of grief. There is something tragically appealing about leaving this and everyone behind, raising his hands dried with old blood and saying There, it is done, let me live on as some text on a page. Let it burden me no longer.

Caspian shakes his head, forcing himself to sit upright, controlling the wave of nausea that came upon him. He gently picks Rhindon back up and places it on the spot on his dresser where he’s put it every night, his new ritual. Whether he wants to be absolved of the throne or not is irrelevant. What matters is that he does not let himself succumb to a madness.

If he comes undone, everyone is stuck in this day. No one ever really goes home. Caspian needs to be strong for their sake, not his.

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

Caspian can barely look the Pevensies in the eye the next day.

He knows he should, because if his plan works, this is the last time he’s ever going to see them. It doesn’t matter how many unexpected extra days he’s had already; the actual last one will always hurt when it happens. It hurts him every time even when he knows they’re coming back.

But it is profoundly more difficult when he knows the immense way he is about to disrespect them, Peter most of all. He would like to take comfort in the fact that they’ll never know he did this, but even that isn’t true; Aslan says every day that Edmund and Lucy will someday return to Narnia. It seems inevitable that whenever they do (presumably long after Caspian is gone) they will learn about what Caspian did, yet never know why. Then they’ll carry that knowledge back with them to England, and Peter and Susan will join them in feeling betrayal and disappointment. 

Caspian can’t even be spared the mercy of ignorance.

He tries to think of something he can say to each of them, something that will possibly lessen the blow of his future failures, something that they can keep with them to remember him by. Yet no words seem good enough. How could he possibly convey what they mean to him while withholding the true intent of his actions? It seems an impossible task.

So he just tries to play the day as normally as he can, as close to the original version of events as possible, like steering a ship back to its charted course. It doesn’t feel entirely successful, since he must seem unwell; Susan gives him a funny look at breakfast that he ignores, Glenstorm asks if he’s feeling fine, and Edmund and Lucy share concerned glances as they plan the gathering. He’s perhaps not as good as an actor as he thought he was becoming.

When it’s time for what Caspian hopes (well, not hopes, but there’s no other word for it) is the last time the Pevensies will leave, he finds it difficult to face the crowd of Telmarines and Narnians to make his speech. It was never an inspiring one to begin with, but now it feels as though he must say something profound to them, something that will be remembered along with his sudden departure, to possibly paint him in a slightly better way.

But again, no words seem right. If he cannot explain the real reason of this decision — the insanity of reality — than any speech he gives will seem hollow. Better to leave quietly and with as little room for disgrace as possible than to make a further mockery of himself.

When Peter steps forward and says “We’ll go,” with his usual refined dignity, Caspian’s heart seems to sink like a stone to his feet. Each step that Peter takes towards him feels agonizingly long, as if time itself has been slowed down, forcing Caspian to take in each second in its full detail. Although he knows this well enough by now that he could see it clearly with his eyes closed, if he wanted to.

Don’t say it , he silently begs. Just this one time, don’t say it. Don’t do it.

“After all,” Peter continues, because why would it change now, “we’re not really needed here anymore.”

Rhindon is held between them like a sharp line dividing two nations. The sunlight reflects off it in a similar way to how it always seems to shine on Peter, showing that the sword is truly an extension of its owner.

Caspian, in a very strange internal moment, finds himself thinking on that sentiment, that a sword is an extension of the owner. It’s something he’s known to be true in Narnian culture — and in different ways, Telmarine — but never lingered on. The passing of Rhindon to Caspian was always clearly seen as a symbolic passing of the crown, a way to show the mixed crowd of onlookers that their new king has received a blessing from the last true king. It was a message of trust, that Peter’s home is now Caspian’s to protect. He always saw it as that, and nothing more.

While all of that is still true, another meaning arises; Peter is offering me part of himself. What that part is, Caspian can’t say for certain. Some have gleaned the sword to be like an extension of the arm; others say part of the heart, others the soul. Some even say it’s the blood of the owner, forged in steel. Whatever it may mean to Peter, he is asking Caspian to keep it safe, so that a part of him may forever live in Narnia. He thinks that part of him will be secure in Caspian’s hands. He could have left the sword in a vault, or for Edmund to take once he came back.

He did not. He chose Caspian. He’s choosing Caspian, over and over again, without fail.

Caspian’s heart swells as he looks at his reflection in the sword, his breaths suddenly shallow. This realization has led to the thought he has every day; I want to kiss him. 

And then, a subsequent new thought; Does he want to kiss me, too?

This is almost the worst time for Caspian to be thinking about this, but he does. Only now, in this one, hopefully final moment of goodbye, does the possibility make itself known. Is there much more to this gesture than Caspian ever allowed himself to believe? And not just this alone, but all of their past conversations and experiences which suddenly race through Caspian’s mind in rapid succession, layering over each other until his thoughts turn rosy red. 

In all of the times Caspian has thought about kissing Peter, he never thought about how Peter would feel about it, or react, if it were to really happen. Caspian has grown some confidence in these past months, but never did he think that Peter Pevensie — the Magnificent, the boy of the prophecy — would ever feel the same about him. Could ever. Sure, he’s no longer the untouchable legend Caspian once saw him as, but he is still beyond incredible, and Caspian is…well. He is not the same. 

But Caspian looks up from Rhindon — Peter’s home, arm, blood, heart, and soul — and sees the way Peter is looking at him, and the new perspective of it all makes Caspian almost have to take a step back. He’d be delusional to call what he sees in Peter’s eyes love , but… something is there, and it’s prominent. And it makes Caspian feel a bit like a fool to think he has been blessed with this every day, consistently, and has only just now begun to take notice. If this strange situation had never befallen him, he would never have known. He could possibly have kissed Peter every day, always for the first time, until he got it just right. 

He could try it now. A part of him, which is growing and hungry, desperately wants to test if he’s right, or if he’s succumb to a new level of exhaustion and delusion. If this is truly to be the last time he sees Peter, now would be his last chance. He either kisses him now, or spends eternity wondering.

He still has yet to take the sword. He’s unsure how much time has passed since Peter held it out; the thoughts came so quickly that it might have only been a few seconds to everyone else. But Rhindon stays there in the air between them, pointed and waiting. 

Caspian grabs it, gently and tentatively. He tilts it slightly, sensing its weight, and it suddenly feels wrong in his hands, too sharp. 

Everything he has just thought does not change the outcome of what happens when the Pevensies leave. He is still going to give up his crown, and this sword, in service of Narnia. What good would it do to kiss Peter and then immediately betray his trust the moment he’s gone? What good would it do to kiss someone he hopes is never coming back?

It is a humorless irony that Caspian has been given dozens of chances to find out if Peter wants him, and still did not manage it. He fights back a very bitter laugh, because Peter is looking at him and waiting for him to speak. Everyone is.

“I will…” he starts, then stops himself. He will not look after this sword until Peter returns, as much as he’d like to. Narnia will not allow it. “I will do what needs to be done.”

The words are vague enough that Peter cannot know the true intentions behind them. It’s accidentally deceitful, yet true, and the paradox makes Caspian’s head swim.

Peter is none-the-wiser, turning around and explaining to his siblings and the crowd that he and Susan will not be returning. Caspian tries to listen, but his ears start ringing, vertigo running through him. The reality of what is about to happen, what he is about to do, and what he has just let go of threatens to pull him under in a tide of grief. He grips onto Rhindon’s pommel so that the piercing grounds him back to reality, long enough to watch the Pevensies leave for what should be the last time.

If he holds onto the sword tightly enough that his hand bleeds, that’s no one’s business but his own. 

Caspian sets his plan into motion.

Once everyone is settled back at their homes or at the castle, he starts the necessary preparations. This time, he is leaving no room for doubt or error. His sentiments will be clear and unignored. When he goes to sleep tonight, he will not be king of Narnia. And when he wakes up, this nightmare will finally be over, and everyone can get on with their lives.

How he will get on with his life after this ends is a foreign concept, one he can’t imagine now. That’s a problem for tomorrow, or the day after.

Once he’s ready, he gathers all of his advisors together, much like he did yesterday, and gets straight to the point, having little time to waste.

“I am relinquishing my throne,” he says quickly, authoritatively. He tries to keep his shoulders straight. “Effective immediately. I want the Narnians and remaining Telmarines to put a vote on who they want to rule in my place as soon as possible.”

Shocked and agape faces stare back at him, a silence filling the room that is so noticeable it might as well be its own person. The atmosphere feels incredibly fragile.

“My king,” Glenstorm speaks up, “what has caused this decision? You accepted the sword from High King Peter just this morning.”

The sound of Peter’s name makes Caspian flinch, and he curses himself for being unable to conceal that.

“I know what I did,” he retorts, his voice low and remorseful. The words feel like poison leaving his mouth. “But my reasons are my own. If I say I am no longer king of Narnia, then I am no longer king. This is not a point of discussion.”

“Well, it is,” Bazysmus mentions, stepping forward. She tries to speak with composure, but some anger slips through. “It is Aslan’s will for you to be king. Glenstorm saw it in the cosmos. You are a son of Adam. These are all matters that cannot be taken lightly, or swept away without explanation. The kings and queens did not leave you with Narnia for you to give it up the same night.”

Vague sounds of agreement are made by the other advisors, who start to rally in support. Caspian understands the reaction, but he can’t help hating it. Even when he tries to sound more forceful, it doesn’t make him any more powerful. How did Miraz do this? How was everyone so afraid?

“It is not something I am taking lightly,” he counters, trying to sound both understanding yet unrelenting. “I love being Narnia’s king. Do you think I would be doing this so suddenly if I did not have good reason?”

The group considers this before someone speaks.

“Have you been threatened?” Cornelius questions, making his way through the crowd. This time he does not hesitate to reach out and cup a loving hand on Caspian’s face, despite the others. “Is someone making you do this?”

The gentle touch of Cornelius’ hand sucks out whatever passion or authority Caspian had been trying to muster. He finds himself sinking his head into the touch, letting Cornelius carry his weight for a moment — a weight far heavier than Cornelius knows it to be. 

“Not someone,” Caspian answers, his voice now quiet. Then, realizing everyone needs to hear him, he speaks up. “Some thing . Narnia.”

A sound like a gasp rumbles through the room. Cornelius pulls his hand away, his expression saddened.

“The time for Telmarine rule is over,” Caspian continues, strengthening his voice again. “In all ways. I have done my part. It is time for Narnia to fully be given back to the Narnians. It is her will. I have heard it so.”

The advisors look amongst each other in uncertainty. Caspian fights back a groan, sick of repeating the same points. This could all be done forever, if they would just let him do this.

“Heard it where?” Glenstorm asks. “I know what I saw in the skies that day, when we met. Tarva and Alambil had not met for centuries. I was right to follow their guidance then. You are meant to lead Narnia. If you have heard otherwise, you must tell us.”

More nods of assent from the advisors. What good is being the king if you do not have unquestioned authority over your own throne?!

“It is complicated,” Caspian concedes. “What matters is that I know what Narnia wants. I will no longer rule over her. It is final.”

In an attempt to truly make his decision final, he turns and abruptly walks out of the room. Unfortunately, his advisors decide to follow, a cacophony of noise behind him as they shoot questions at his back while he storms through the endless labyrinth of castle halls.

“How long have you been planning this?”

“What did Narnia show you?”

“Who would you have lead in your place?”

“How can you expect us to agree to this?”

“How do you suggest we put it to a vote?”

“If you will not be king, what will you do?”

“What did the kings and queens say about this?”

That last question finally gets him to stop moving, his followers skidding to a halt. Caspian takes one, two, three deep breaths, trying to compose an answer. The silence seems to say it for him.

“You did not get their blessing,” Glenstorm questions aloud. 

Caspian tries to look over his shoulder at them, since he can’t seem to find it in him to turn around, but all he manages is a slight tilt of the head. His eyes cast downwards. 

“How could you do this without telling them?” someone says, almost shouts. The other people in the hallway slow and watch with concern. “After everything they did for you?”

Caspian grimaces. No, the history books will not remember him well at all.

“I told you,” he gets out through his teeth, “I have my reasons. Narnia does not want what they want.” He starts walking again, the others scrambling to follow.

“And when do you plan on saying those reasons?” Bazysmus adds, letting the full extent of her annoyance come through. Caspian normally appreciates her forthcoming and honesty, but finds it all too biting right now. “We don’t know what that even means.”

“Glenstorm sees the future in the cosmos. Trufflehunter remembers. Lucy spoke to the trees. We all have ways to talk to Narnia. Mine are private.” 

There’s a few more moments of silence, the advisors clearly struggling with how to respond. Caspian keeps his eyes focused ahead, hating that he has to hurt them along with everyone else.

“Was it Aslan?” Cornelius asks, very quietly and with much trepidation. “Does he have some sort of plan?”

Caspian falters. He’s never considered the possibility that this somehow could be Aslan’s doing, but it would make little sense for that to be true; he seems to be as effected by this as anyone, and just as unaware. 

“No,” Caspian answers after a second, “this is not Aslan’s doing.” 

“Then what have you seen?” Glenstorm asks again. It’s the most emotion Caspian has ever heard in his voice. 

Caspian takes a moment before slowly turning around to face his advisors. He can feel the stares of not only them, but everyone else in this hallway. He chooses his words very carefully.

“I have received visions,” he lies, “of what will happen to me if a Telmarine remains in a Narnian throne. I will not go into the details, but believe me when I say it is a fate none of you want to be stuck living.” He puts an emphasis on stuck that will forever be lost to them. It burns on his tongue. 

This answer, surprisingly, makes Glenstorm seem to calm down, as he starts nodding solemnly.

“The visions,” he repeats with understanding. “The kings and queens had those too, when they started. It is a well-known Narnian legend.”

“No,” Caspian all but groans, not wanting to hear about the Pevensies’ nightmares again, as if they are the solution to any of this. “No, this is not what is happening. You have to believe me.”

“You’ve been through a lot today,” Bazysmus offers, stepping forward kindly. Caspian’s false confession of visions seems to have sent a wave of empathy through his consorts. “We’re all hurting at the shock that they’re gone. But now is not the time to make rash decisions, especially from something as subjective as a vision. Let us talk it over tomorrow, when we are all rested.”

Caspian pauses, then forces a smile. This is not exactly how he wanted this to go, but it will have to do.

“Perhaps you are right,” he says. “I am sorry for my outburst. I will…think this over in my chambers. Goodnight. Please, rest well, everyone.”

The group hesitates before wishing him goodnight, clearly thrown off-kilter by his behavior. But they let him go, Caspian attempting to casually make his way to his bedroom.

Once he’s inside, he begins the backup plan.

He was originally going to leave the castle with a proper goodbye to everyone, but evidently, that will not be allowed. He’ll have to sneak to the stables instead.

He pens a letter formally announcing his abdication and secures it in a parcel. When he makes it to the stables, he gives it to the young stable hand who cleans the stalls at night.

“Demas,” Caspian says, greeting him with the upmost authority and respect he can muster. “I must be taking my horse out, but I have a very important task for you.”

The boy lights up, surprised at Caspian’s presence and his words.

“Yes, your grace?”

Caspian slides the parcel into the boy’s hands. 

“Do not open this. Bring this to Cornelius and tell him only to read it when Peter’s constellation is seen in the sky, later this evening. He will know what to do.”

Demas seems a bit confused by the request, but he nods vigorously, pleased to please his king.

“Of course,” he responds. “Right away, sire.”

He puts his tools down and sets off towards the castle without so much as a question as to Caspian’s true intentions. Satisfied, Caspian moves over to Destrier and pats him lovingly, tying the satchel of supplies he’s brought to the reins. Once everything is set up, he guides the horse out of the stable, pausing and taking one last look at the castle behind him.

The sun is almost set at this point in the night, the sky coated in a dusty haze of greens and purples. The castle is a large, blocky silhouette that towers over Caspian like a monstrous shadow, yet the windows inside are illuminated with glowing orange lights, symbols of those still wandering within. He is filled with conflicting emotions at the sight, and finds himself looking away harshly.

“Goodbye,” he whispers to the air, to no one, to the Pevensies that have already left. He mounts Destrier and sets him off.

Due to the nature of horses, Caspian’s escape is not as grand as he would hope.

He needs to cover as great a distance as possible, which means extending Destrier’s stamina with alternating gallops and slower trots, plus occasional breaks. But Destrier is a healthy and fast horse, so they manage to cover some solid ground in the nighttime hours.

Not only was Caspian’s plan to abdicate his throne, but he also decided he needed to leave Narnia entirely. With his letter formerly declaring his resignation and his now disappearance, the Narnians will have no choice but to elect another king to rule, and Narnia herself should have no reason to drag Caspian back, and possibly be unable to even reach him.

The idea is a tad crazed, perhaps. But it is the best plan Caspian’s had so far.

Once they’re as far as Destrier can go, he ties him to a tree to keep him secure while he sleeps and works on setting up camp. He didn’t bring many supplies, but he has enough here to form some semblance of a tent. With this area of the woods in — he’s not entirely sure, actually, but it’s probably Archenland — he doesn’t think there will be much wildlife to worry about, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

He also has a sword with him for protection. It’s not Rhindon; he left that on his bed along with his crown. The sword he has now is his own, and yet he suddenly has the strange sensation of it feeling foreign in his hand. The pommel is far too smooth, the metal too light. Still, he’ll have to get used to it again. This is all he has, now.

Once he’s all set up, he allows himself a few moments before bed to sit against a nearby tree and look up at the stars. He’s far enough away from Narnia that the trees here can’t, or won’t, speak to him, and the silence he feels is startling. Looking up at the night sky doesn’t bring any comfort, either, as everything looks slightly off. He should still be able to find his usual constellations, or perhaps Tarva and Alambil. But he can’t find anything. He is, in every conceivable way, lost.

Fitting , he thinks to himself. It was always meant to be this way. I was destined to be alone.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

When he wakes up, his bedding is soft. Much softer than a tent laid hastily on a forest floor should feel.

He bolts upright in a shot of panic, opening his eyes to see that he is back in his bedroom in the castle, his crown secured in its glass case and Rhindon nowhere to be seen.

“It’s not possible,” he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. He slaps himself a few times for good measure, in case this is a dream of some kind. Nothing happens. “No, no, this can’t be possible…”

Needing to make sure, he rushes over to the window and and grips his hands on the ledges, staring wide-eyed into the courtyard below. Narnians and Telmarines mingle by without a care in the world, and the sun is as full and shining as it always is.

The sight makes him feel sick.

When Susan arrives in her blue dress, Caspian screams into the glass, his breath fogging his view. 

“No!” he cries. He lets his head fall against the window, and then bangs it several times, each one more forceful than the last. His entire body is trembling. “No, no, no, no, no! How is it…”

He finds himself slinking down until he’s sort of crumbled in a heap on the floor. Outside, his guards start knocking on the door, clearly hearing his screams and becoming worried. 

“King Caspian,” one of them calls, “are you alright?”

Caspian should respond, but finds that his throat is suddenly too tight for him to speak. He opens his mouth to try, and all that comes out is a choke. Tears stream down his face in a silent river, and he has the brief thought that the last time he cried was in the forest with Peter.

He would wish Peter was with him now, but that would only partially be the truth. Because Peter is here, and Caspian knows exactly where, when he should be home. Susan should be, too, and Edmund, and Lucy. But they are all still here, which means Caspian’s plan didn’t work. 

He shakes his head, feeling his vision going blurry as his eyes continue to well with tears. All of his years of discipline in controlling his emotions have all gone to the wayside. He feels completely adrift, alone not just in his bedroom but in all of the world, with absolutely nothing for him to anchor onto. And more so than that, he feels like an absolute failure.

How have I been brought back here? How could it not have worked? 

Caspian abdicating and leaving Narnia seemed like the absolute perfect solution. Why else would Narnia be torturing him if not as penance for some great misdeed? How else could he right any wrongs that he has committed, knowingly or otherwise?

Bodies surrounding him bring Caspian back to reality. He blinks his eyes into focus to see that his guards have broken down his door and come inside, kneeling over him with concern in their eyes. A few more guards have joined the brigade as well and seem to be checking the perimeter of the room for any possible assailants. 

“King Caspian,” the one nearest to him greets. Kadmiel, he’s pretty sure. “What’s wrong? You were screaming, then went silent and wouldn’t answer us. Were you attacked?”

Caspian swallows as he looks slowly around the room, seeing the mess he’s made of his knights. Surely, they have more important matters to attend to than his sorry self.

“It’s—was nightmares,” he sort of slurs out, his body feeling detached from his brain. “Nightmares, that’s all. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

Kadmiel hesitates, which makes sense. The nature of his job is to sniff out doubt and make sure all securements are in place. But in this moment, Caspian wishes he could just believe him and go.

It’s not like what he said was entirely untrue. It was a nightmare. He just woke up into one, rather than out of one.

“Are you certain?” Kadmiel asks. He glances at the other knights, who continue to investigate. “The nightmares were not…attacking you?”

Caspian makes a noise that in a better state would be considered a laugh, but as he is now, it’s a strangled sound.

To have that luxury , he almost says. He stops himself, only just.

“Nothing was attacking me,” he repeats. He attempts to sit up straighter. “I am fine. Lost in my own head. I should have answered you.” He puts a hand on Kadmiel’s shoulder with as much sincerity as he can muster. “You have done your job well, checking on me. I feel quite safe.”

Kadmiel gives a small smile back before standing up and reconvening with the other guards. When all is cleared, they file out of the room, with him left lingering in the doorway. Caspian has managed to stand enough so that he’s leaning against the windowsill, but it’s something. Kadmiel pauses before speaking.

“Do you want me to close the door?” he asks.

Caspian raises an eyebrow. “Can it even still close? After…you know.”

Kadmiel looks at the door, which has been busted off of its hinges. He winces.

“I will tell the builders to make you a new door.”

Caspian waves a hand. “It’s not a problem,” he tries to say, but the guard is already off and racing to the builders, clearly seeing this as the highest priority. Caspian sighs. He has no reason to believe it will not just be back to normal tomorrow morning.

With that interaction somewhat calming him down, he now has the question of what to do with the rest of today, and what his next plan of action is. 

The question that is louder than that, actually, is how exactly this predicament he’s in even works. He’s never thought to question the logic or rules of it, just allowed himself to be subjected to its whims. 

He thought that if he went far enough away from Narnia, he would not be able to be brought back to this castle. Evidently, that’s not the case. So what is Narnia doing? How is the day being brought back to its beginning?

Suddenly, an idea strikes Caspian. It doesn’t bring him hope , because at this point that is a foreign concept to him, but it does provide some intrigue. Each night, perhaps like a fool, he has been going to bed quite normally. He thought getting a good night’s rest would help him be in his best state to try and solve this the next go-around. He’s never tried anything different.

What happens if he doesn’t fall asleep? The idea has occurred a few times that this is somehow related to sleep or dreams. If he simply refuses to allow the day to end, what would happen? Would it keep going beyond the confines of the day he’s trapped in? Or would some new hell await him?

With Caspian running out of ideas, he decides it’s as good a plan as any. 

He just needs to get through this day and watch the Pevensies leave.

Again.

When he truly convinced himself yesterday that that was the last time he would ever see the kings and queens, he did not do himself any favors.

It’s like he’s back to his first few days of this torment, when watching them leave was freshly painful. He cannot let himself get comfortable with the idea of this being over, lest it find new ways to hurt him all over again.

Once he gets himself dressed and looking somewhat presentable, he decides to just skip straight to the lower hall and wait for the others to arrive for breakfast. He’s the first one there, the room looking unnecessarily large and foreboding. The table is already set, yet no servers are in sight. 

Caspian slowly walks over to his usual chair and sits down, all of his movements feeling slowed. He wishes deeply to be done with this day and yet finds he has little energy to actually get through it with. Which doesn’t bode well, considering he’s going to keep himself awake for as long as possible. He should probably ask the servers for some coffee when they come by.

A few minutes later, Peter walks in, and it shouldn’t take Caspian by surprise since he has the timeline of the day’s events memorized by now, but it does. Perhaps it’s just the sight of Peter himself that makes Caspian’s breath hitch, despite seeing him every day. Perhaps it’s the sting of seeing him for the first time after thinking this would not happen again. Or maybe he’s just truly going mad, and his own reactions cannot be predicted. Either way, Caspian startles in his chair, slightly, when Peter enters.

Peter smiles in surprise when he spots Caspian, as handsome and unaware as ever. He slides into a chair across from him rather than his usual spot.

“Didn’t think I’d see you in here,” he mentions. “Lucy said she wanted to gather everyone for breakfast, since we hadn’t done it in a while. But she said she still needed to find you.”

Caspian shrugs, pointedly looking away from Peter and out at the arched, stained-glass window on the far end of the hall. The morning sunlight filters through it, casting the walls in a glow of colors. It makes the room seem more comforting than it feels.

“Call it an intuition,” he replies. “I thought she might say that.”

Out of Caspian’s peripheries he can see Peter reflecting on that, then ultimately deciding not to comment, thankfully. It does lead, however, to a somewhat awkward moment of silence as the two of them sit alone in the large room, with no food yet to otherwise prevent them from talking. 

“So,” Peter hums after a few seconds, sounding uncharacteristically shy. “Did you…sleep well?”

He must not have heard about me screaming, Caspian realizes. If Peter wasn’t leaving today, he probably would have found out eventually through the rumor mill. Luckily, Caspian seems to be spared this embarrassment, at least. Small victories.

“Fine,” he chooses to say. “You?”

Peter rolls out his shoulders. “Had some trouble sleeping on my side, thanks to you,” he jokes with a cheeky grin. “Next time we spar, I won’t let you get away with that.”

It takes Caspian probably too long to figure out what Peter is talking about before remembering the day before this one he’s trapped in. Yes , he recalls, our sparring session. As routine as all of their other ones had been, only that time Caspian got the upperhand more often than not. The details are a bit fuzzy, now that so much time has passed for him, but he remembers Peter being a bit off his game, and a little winded.

“How did I beat you again?” he asks, turning to face Peter. It’s a genuine question, but in the context of the conversation from Peter’s perspective, this will come across as teasing, so Caspian tries to mirror his smirk. “My memory is not so good.”

Peter’s smile widens, but he rolls his eyes playfully. 

“Very funny. Look, it wasn’t my proudest moment, but even a master swordsman slips up every now and then. I’m only human.”

“ Master swordsman?” Caspian repeats in amusement. “We are quite full of ourselves for someone who was recently beaten by a sheltered prince.”

“Sheltered king. Give yourself some credit.”

“Sure,” Caspian chuckles, “sheltered king. Either way, you overestimate yourself.”

“There was a pretty bird in the sky behind you,” Peter continues, looking away. Either he’s blushing, or the light from the stained-glass windows is shining on him. “I got distracted, that’s all.”

“Of course. I’m sure it was very pretty.”

The corner of Peter’s mouth twitches. “Very pretty,” he says, oddly quietly. 

I had a rather fun day yesterday, Caspian remembers Peter explaining to a servant. I should like to continue that.

“It was rather fun,” Caspian finds himself saying. Those words make Peter turn back towards him, his eyes slightly wide. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Peter lets out a quick breath, as if to express disbelief.

“Yes,” he nods. He smiles again. “Yes, I would.”

Caspian smiles back, allowing himself a moment to look at Peter. This brief conversation they’ve just had has been a beacon of light in what has been an unsuccessful series of days for him. Peter seems to be rather good at that.

It has also reminded Caspian of what he thought about yesterday — how Peter potentially feels about him. Since this is not over after all, the chance to find out has been brought back to possibility. Perhaps Caspian should say screw it all , reach across the table and drag Peter in by his shirt collar for a kiss, just to see what would happen. If it goes poorly, no one would ever know but him.

The thought suddenly feels very wrong. Upon inspection, Caspian senses there would be…moral complications to kissing Peter while in the grips of this repeating day. Peter would wake up tomorrow with no idea that it had happened. It seems invasive, in a very strange and unique way. Caspian doesn’t think he could bring himself to do it, no matter how badly he wishes to know how Peter feels.

It’s quite ridiculous. Even when he is trapped in an infinite loop with Peter, he still cannot bring himself to kiss him. If this situation could not make it possible, than there is truly no reality with them where it would be so. It’s such a disappointing yet baffling realization that Caspian has to work very hard to stop himself from laughing out loud.

He really is going mad.

Hours later and four Pevensies shorter, Caspian asks a servant to make him several cups of coffee. 

What he is about to attempt sounds a bit silly, but it is necessary work. In fact, this probably should have been done way back when this first began, to test the bounds of what is possible within this constriction of his life. 

He decides to keep himself busy by practicing his swordwork out in the fields, under the blue lighting of the moon. He has yet to try this with Rhindon as his primary sword, and it’s fascinating how it feels in his hand. He’s held it enough at this point that the movements come more naturally than he expected. 

Every now and then, while he practices, he closes his eyes and imagines that he is High King Peter, back in Narnia’s Golden Age, leading the charge into a battle, the admiration and cries of his people cheering him on. It is something Caspian will likely never know, but this at least gives him a glimpse of what it could have been like.

It also makes him feel as though he understands Peter on a more personal level than before, even though he is not physically here. Maybe part of his soul does live in his sword, as the legends say, and it is guiding Caspian’s hand as it moves. 

When he’s worked himself up into a sweat, he takes a few more swigs of his cold and unpleasant coffee and sits on the grass, catching his breath. He looks up towards the stars he has spent so many hours studying with Cornelius, the constellations and stories that gave him hope and wonder in a time where he was all too desperate for it. He looks among them now, hoping they can guide him as they did then. 

Tonight, which is every night, the sky is full and shining, with the stars so crystal clear it feels as though Caspian could grab them, if he wished. He starts searching for familiar patterns, finding better luck than he did last night in Archendale.

He spots a couple smaller ones. A hammer, a faun, a heart. Above those, he finds Peter’s constellation, The Magnificent, shining high in its crest. Then, surprisingly, further away but close enough, Caspian spots Susan’s constellation, The Gentle, beginning its ascent on the horizon, ushering in the autumnal season. This transitionary period between summer and fall means that, for a brief period of time, both Peter and Susan will be visible in the night sky.

The realization makes Caspian take pause. With how much time has passed, surely Susan’s stars should be further in their path by now. This night air should be much chillier, the leaves more brown than green. Peter’s stars should be losing visibility, and yet they are as clear as ever, next to the full and illustrious moon.

It doesn’t make sense. None of this ever did, but this particularly so. It makes the royals’ presence above, which for many years was a comfort to Caspian, suddenly feel looming and dangerous. What does it mean, that he can still see them?

Caspian leans back and collapses fully onto the grass. He closes his eyes, exhaling a long and saddened breath. He’s not tired — the coffee has made sure of that — but the constant deliberation over his situation leaves him mentally drained more often than not. He allows himself, for a brief moment, to not think about that, or anything at all, leaving his eyes shut.

It lasts only a second. Maybe two.

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

When he opens his eyes, he’s in his bed, and the sun is shining through his window.

He scrambles less than gracefully upright in a confused panic, his limbs slapping out every which way as if hoping to find grass when they make impact. He looks around with wide eyes, his breaths quickening.

He knows that in the small second where he closed his eyes, he did not fall asleep. It was barely longer than a blink, and yet in that time he was somehow brought back here again, with absolutely no sensations to indicate that he moved an inch. He didn’t feel a thing. No pain, no dizziness or nausea, no prickling of the skin to show that Narnian magic had touched him. It was instantaneous and non-invasive.

Somehow, that’s the scariest part of all of this. The absolute power over him that’s conducted with an imperceptible touch, an invisible and untraceable threat. Narnia is truly more than he ever thought she was.

How? he finds himself thinking, over and over again, with a lack of a better thought to latch onto. How could any of this be possible?

In that one small closing of the eyes, everything was reversed. When did it happen, and what triggered it? Is it the same each night? Does it change depending on where Caspian goes? 

So that night, desperate for answers, after the usual heartbreaking events of the day have occurred, Caspian goes back to his bedroom, pulls up a chair, and stares at his clock.

He sits. And he stares. And he thinks. And his eyes grow very tired, so he drinks the coffee he had made without looking away from the clock’s hands, and he keeps staring. And thinking. And slowly going mad.

Truthfully, Caspian has been going mad since this began. It would be impossible not to, given the circumstances. He’s been managing to find things to hold onto that keep his motivation in tact; his friends, new and old, that he wishes to see live a new day; Cornelius, his mentor, who is the only one that has always been there; the Pevensies, who are never allowed to go home; and Narnia itself, a land that Caspian loves being the king of, and wants to see thrive under its new freedom. 

All of these things are, with each passing version of this day, starting to not become enough to keep Caspian’s sanity and courage in place. 

But everyone deserves to have their own future.

I was thinking of a career in medicine, Caspian remembers Peter saying, the memory triggered. It was said as a half-joke before the duel with Miraz, through the voice of someone who was very certain they were about to die. Obviously he did not, which the possibility of a career in medicine is now open to Peter, if he wishes to take it.

He’ll never get the chance if he’s trapped here. No one will get to do anything if they’re trapped here with Caspian.

So he continues to sit and watch the clock, holding onto his sanity with an iron-tight grip, and imagines Peter listening to his heart.

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

He’s sent back exactly at midnight.

The moment the second hand hits the number 12, Caspian is face-up in his bed, staring at the ceiling. This time, he didn’t even blink, the change happening while his eyes were still open. The sun suddenly hitting his vision makes him squint and hold up a hand, adjusting to its light after staring into the darkness of his room for so long.

His body shudders at the strangeness of what just occurred. He had accepted that the day he has been living in is repeating itself, but he always assumed that time was still passing, somehow, just with everyone being effected by the same magic. But if the day is started again exactly at midnight…

With a strange sense of foreboding, he slowly lifts his undershirt to see that the purple bruise Peter gave him during their sparring session, which to Caspian feels like a lifetime ago, is still there, fresh as the day it was given, not even beginning to heal. And if what Peter said yesterday is true, than the bruises that Caspian gave him have not healed, either.

This should be impossible, but it’s true. Not only that, but Caspian can’t remember the last time he even bathed, yet he’s as clean as he was when this all started. The full moon he saw last night has been a full moon every night, never changing its phase. Peter and Susan’s constellations are forever trapped in that late-summer sky, the seasons never making their full transition. 

Narnia is not merely causing Caspian to experience the same day repeatedly; she is actively reverting time. Everyone is trapped in this day not just in its sequence of events, but down to the very minute of midnight, with their memories being erased each time. Except, of course, for Caspian.

This realization, as obvious as it perhaps should have been, sends a shock through him, causing him to slip down from where he’s been pointlessly staring out the window. He just manages to right himself before he falls.

A flash of blue movement catches his eye, and he looks back out the window to see Susan making her stroll across the courtyard. She always walks with such an effortless royalty, an easy elegance, yet her face is still so youthful. She’s been immortalized at this age, just like her stars.

Caspian realizes, then, that he’s finally starting to understand the Pevensies — or at least a part of them that, until now, felt entirely out of reach. Something happened to them, something unique and horrible. They have lived two lives, almost three. They were kings and queens for years, grew to adulthood and learned the lessons and had the experiences one does along the way, and then had it all stripped from them, reverted back to their younger selves, both inside and out. 

On one hand, yes, the Pevensies are older, technically around thirty or forty years old if you count all the years they’ve lived. But they were brought back to the age of children, and the minds and bodies that go with them. Yet the memories stayed, the knowledge stayed, leaving themselves fragmented, a mind split in two.

Caspian understands, now, the way that a person can feel bigger than the space their body has to give. He has lived this day more times than he can count and yet physically he has not changed. Bruises aren’t healing. Clothes never dirty. His hair hasn’t grown an inch. There is no evidence that Caspian’s aged a day, yet he feels it in his very soul the way this has aged him. His skin feels full to bursting, like his body is resisting a metamorphosis, halted midway in the stage of an evolution. There is more to him than he could ever possibly contain, but he has nowhere to purge the excess, no way to expel or vent or make room. He is both too old for his own frame and too young to do anything to stop it. 

It is a wonder all of the Pevensies never went mad. How do they still carry themselves with such grace, after everything they’ve endured? How do they hold on to all that weight?

( Perhaps , Caspian ponders, the weight is alleviated when it is shared among four people who can lift each other up. A truly foreign concept to one as lonely as him.)

When Susan is out of eyesight, Caspian lets out one very long, shuddering breath. Everything he has just come to realize feels like a hot shawl along his back. Is there a limit to how long Narnia can reverse time? Will he eventually be like the Pevensies, someone who is decades older than their body?

The thought makes him tremble. No , he thinks vehemently. I cannot let that happen.

I love the Pevensies, but I do not wish to have the same fate as them.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

The realization of just how powerful Narnia is makes Caspian more afraid than he’s ever been.

A place that he has come to know as his home has become his biggest tormentor, and is willing to bend the laws of time and logic just for him. So naturally, Caspian wants to get as far away from Narnia as he can. He does it in the hopes that maybe, somehow, Narnia’s magic will not be able to reach him, and this curse , as he’s calling it now, will be broken.

Each night, he tries again, leaving the castle secretly like he did when the beginning of his new life first began, running away from Miraz’s soldiers. Only this time, the force chasing him is invisible. 

He still makes sure the Pevensies leave before he does; he doesn’t want them trying to find him instead. So he only gets a few hours every night, pushing Destrier as much as can be healthily allowed. 

He starts with the northern lands, like Ettinsmoor. No luck. Then he tries going back south to different parts of Archlenand, but it’s no use. He can’t quite reach Calormen, and he has no boat of which to try and set sail on the ocean. No matter where he goes, no matter how far he gets Destrier to gallop, he is always yanked back to where he started, alone in his bed with a brain full of impossible memories.

He’s back there now, staring up at his unfortunately familiar ceiling and all of its carved patterns. As much as he now hates this bed, this room, and what they symbolize, he feels completely glued to the mattress. Even though he’s physically fine, since any effects of him running are just reversed every morning, he feels mentally exhausted. There’s been only a few moments of reprieve since this started where he hasn’t felt exhausted in some way — usually with one of the Pevensies, who were always great at raising his spirits. Otherwise, it’s been a constant onslaught of questions, guilt, failures, and dread.

Today is no different. It has probably been about a week of him trying to literally outrun this curse, and he’s out of places to go. The thought leaves him deflated, lying as still as a statue. 

Each time he thinks he’s found the solution to all of this, it isn’t so. Cornelius had told him, all those days ago, that he did not know what it was Caspian had to do, and that Caspian had to figure it out himself. 

Well, this is just another way he’s failed his professor. He hasn’t figured it out. It seems like he never will.

The reality that this curse is simply never going to end begins to creep on him, making the edges of his vision go black and blurry as he starts to panic, his breathing becoming rapid. His limbs feel numb, unable to push himself off the bed in an attempt to possibly calm himself down. He shuts his eyes, as if by not seeing what’s around him, he could also not see the truth of his situation. It does little to help, and the blackness now filling his vision fills his very soul, the bed beneath him seeming to almost sink him down, down, down…

Quick knocks on the door bring him to life.

“Caspian?” Lucy calls from the other side, her voice always so full of warmth. “Did you sleep in again?”

The comforting sound of Lucy’s voice pulls Caspian out of his depressed panic. He slowly manages to open his eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the light. He turns his head over to face the door, the motion taking a tremendous amount of effort, as if his head was much heavier than it is. 

“I—I’m awake,” he stammers, his throat feeling swollen. He looks down at himself. “But I am in bed.”

Lucy gets the message. “Oh, alright. Well, I decided to have everyone come for breakfast, since we haven’t eaten together in a while. Would you like to come?”

The simple earnestness of her question almost makes Caspian cry. It’s a nice gesture, of course, to want everyone to gather for a meal. But it’s also quite mundane in a way Caspian suddenly finds appealing. He’s still been having breakfast with the Pevensies every morning, but to be asked — just the innocent question of it — it tugs at his heart in an odd way.

“Sure,” he manages to croak out.

“Great!” she cheers. “Meet us at the lower hall when you’re ready!” He hears her feet stomping off before he can respond. 

That’s as good a reason as any to get up, he thinks. I probably would have kept laying here otherwise.

It takes him another minute or so to get the feeling back to his body, but he’s eventually able to rise out of bed and get dressed before heading to the lower hall like he usually does. When he arrives, the Pevensies are waiting, chatting amongst themselves with bright smiles lining their faces. Edmund teases Lucy across the table, which Peter intercepts, that then leads to a sarcastic remark from Susan.

Caspian watches this quietly for a moment before they notice him. One of the reasons the Pevensies always interested him as a child was the mere fact that they are siblings. Growing up an only child (not to mention a lonely one) meant that siblings felt like something foreign and strange, something he could never quite understand. Making friends with the royals has made it easier for Caspian to grasp. Watching them now, it’s easy for him to imagine that they are not in the castle, but back home in England, sharing a breakfast before school with their parents on either side of the table. It would be just one of many breakfasts they share together, but the comfort of that, the routine and familiarity, is what would make it special. 

Even if Peter claims there is nothing for him back in England, he will at least always have this waiting for him every morning. It would be a dream for Caspian to wake up to a family to eat breakfast with rather than the same grey ceiling that always greets him in the day that never ends. 

All of Caspian’s thoughts suddenly come to a halt as they hone in on that singular idea — the idea of waking up in England instead of Narnia. He thought he had nowhere left to run, but maybe that isn’t true. Each day, he’s been watching as the Pevensies leave Narnia in the tree’s portal, being transported all the way to England. Yes, they also get brought back every morning, but maybe it wouldn’t happen if Caspian was there, too. 

Perhaps it is not enough to simply be as far from Narnia as he can; Caspian needs to be in an entirely different world. 

The idea brings him wholly conflicting feelings of excitement and grief. Grief because leaving Narnia would mean leaving everything he has ever known, especially Cornelius. As much as this land has become torturous for him, there are things and people within it that he still loves, and it would be painful to abandon them entirely. 

But there is also an undeniable excitement. The Pevensies always speak about England as if it’s a rather boring place compared to Narnia, but Caspian has never thought of it as anything less than magical. The technology alone sounds amazing; he’s heard stories of things like trains, cars, radios, and something called a telephone . Sure, there are no talking centaurs or walking trees, but England helped create the kings and queens, so there are wonderful creatures to be found there, certainly. A part of Caspian has always dreamed about visiting, wishing he could see it for even just a day. To live there, possibly with his friends, would be almost too good to be true. The pain of leaving Narnia behind would bitter it, but perhaps that would be lessened with time. 

Regardless of how Caspian feels personally about it, it seems like the only solution he has, and right at a time where he thought there were none left. He forces himself to not get too excited or hopeful, as doing so only seems to make the inevitable failure worse each time — but his mind does begin racing with preparation, and how to make this plan even work.

“Caspian?” Susan calls out to him, breaking him out of his thoughts. He looks up to see the four royals staring at him. “Are you going to sit down?”

“Oh,” he mumbles. His eyes flicker over at Peter to see him chuckling. “Y-yes. Sorry.” He walks over and settles into his usual chair. Lucy slides over a plate with some food on it.

“This is yours,” she explains happily. 

“Thank you.” Caspian says, looking down at the food. Could life be this simple? 

“You know, we were never allowed to sleep in that late when we were ruling Narnia,” Edmund mentions teasingly. 

“ You weren’t,” Peter retorts, “because you would stay up until the late hours of the night instead, and want to sleep until midday. The rest of us were normal.”

“I got the same amount of sleep you did! Just at different hours of the day.”

“Well Narnia didn’t run on your schedule, Ed.”

“Narnia doesn’t have a schedule!”

The two boys continue their sibling banter, Caspian watching with a bemused smile. Susan leans over to him and whispers so to not interrupt.

“Must be nice to be the only one who’s king,” she comments. Caspian raises an eyebrow. “So you don’t have to deal with all this. It’s better for Narnia, I think.”

Caspian nods, but he finds his smile fading, Susan not noticing as she turns her attention back to her brothers. How could he forget such a crucial part of this idea? The Pevensies will never allow Caspian to go through the portal with them for the same reason they would never let him give up his throne. To them, it would be a complete betrayal of everything they worked towards. And they would be right, in their own way — but that doesn’t change what he has to do.

He could maybe wait until they all go through the portal, and then leave when the other Telmarines do…but truthfully, he does not wish to go with them, wherever they end up. Nor does he want to be alone. If he has to leave Narnia, then he wants to be with his friends, to visit a land he’s always wanted to see. It would be but a small gift to compensate for everything that has happened. He likes to think he’s earned that much.

So while the royals continue to talk and eat all around him, his mind begins to plan for his grand escape, and what he can only pray will be his final day in Narnia.

It turns out that planning what to do when you’re traveling to a different world is a lot more complicated than Caspian realized.

He had started working on a packing list for about thirty minutes before remembering that none of the Pevensies have any items with them when they leave. He knows it’s not for lack of advance notice because Peter and Susan don’t bring anything. Even the one item Peter has — Rhindon — he gives to Caspian every time. Caspian doesn’t know how the portal actually works, but this gives him the impression that anything Narnian he brings with him would not make it through the journey, and thus would be pointless.

So then he had to work on essentially a living will to declare who gained what items of his in the event of his sudden departure from this realm. It made the extensive letter of his resignation as king even lengthier than the past versions of it he’s made, which at this point he has done about a dozen times. 

(As a child, he never imagined he would ever actually live long enough to become a king, let alone one of Narnia. And he certainly didn’t imagine he would try to resign from being king repeatedly.)

After what feels like hours but isn’t, his preparation work is done, having left Lucy and Edmund to organize the gathering. He spends what little time he has remaining going around and giving everyone his unofficial goodbyes; unofficial because they do not know that’s what’s happening. The only person he says the real words to are Destrier, down in the privacy of the stables.

“I have left detailed instructions on how to care for you,” he explains, as if Destrier can understand him. “They will know just what foods you like, and never to scratch you on your left legs.” Destrier gives a little huff in response, Caspian pressing his face into the warmth of his mane. “I will miss you, my friend.”

He’s not even able to bring himself to tell Cornelius the truth of the situation as he had before. He knows he wouldn’t try to stop him, but the pain…it would be too much. But he does take a moment with him in his study before meeting with everyone by the tree.

“I wanted to speak with you, professor,” he starts, attempting to sound casual.

“Of course, my boy, anything.” Cornelius gestures for Caspian to sit, which he does. “What’s on your mind? Are you nervous about the gathering?”

Caspian nods and lies. “Yes. Yes, that.”

“I thought you might be.” Cornelius sits down across the desk. “I am sure some people will leave. Especially after everything that Telmar has done to Narnia. It might be best for some to have a fresh start.”

Caspian hesitates. “You would not blame them? For leaving Telmar behind? Everyone they love?”

Cornelius takes a breath, looking at Caspian for a long moment. The professor often seemed to know Caspian better than he knew himself, and there are a few tense seconds where it seems like Cornelius will figure everything out. But he doesn’t, instead folding his hands across his stomach in the way he so often does.

“Sometimes, one must leave the place they are from, and the people there, to go where they can become their best selves. It is not an easy journey to take, but it is often necessary.” He turns and looks out the window at the horizon. “My father left the northern mountains so that we would not be hunted by the Telmarines, and our mother could remain safe on her own. It was a painful decision, but the best one we could make.”

Caspian doesn’t answer at first, letting the words sink in. He rarely asked Cornelius about his past, as he never shared much of it himself. 

“I see,” Caspian says, his voice quiet. Cornelius looks back at him, then smiles softly.

“Do not view this as a failure of you as king. When you freed Narnia from the Telmarines, you also freed the Telmarines from living under a tyrannical rule. Both peoples are now allowed the choice to carve out their own destiny. You helped give them that freedom. Remember that.”

Caspian tries to smile back, warmth and heartbreak filling his chest. There is a sense of irony here, that the supposed great freedom-bringer is forever trapped in this day, and trapping everyone else along with him. Perhaps if leaving for England works, with Narnia satisfied that he is gone completely, then he can make that title true, in some way or another.

“Thank you, professor,” he replies, giving the man’s hand a squeeze. “You always know what to say.”

When everyone is gathered at the tree, Caspian is so incredibly nervous that he finds it hard to believe he isn’t visibly shaking.

His plan is in motion; he’s prepped his letters on his desk, along with his crown, and he’s said as many goodbyes as he can. Now all that’s left is for him to get through the portal into England without being stopped. He has a plan for this, too, but that doesn’t make him any less nervous. He’s not even sure if the portal will actually take him to England at all. It might just spit him back out.

While making his usual speech to the crowd, he decides to pepper in some of Cornelius’ words, mostly to comfort himself.

“We are all now free from tyrannical rule,” he repeats, “Narnians and Telmarines. Whether you choose to leave or stay, your destiny is now yours. That is true for all of us .” He pauses, letting the words have their effect. Hopefully they will lessen whatever reputation as deserter he will now get. “To honor this, Aslan will return any Telmarines who wish back to the land of our forefathers.”

“It has been generations since we left Telmar,” the usual lord chimes in, like clockwork. 

Aslan continues his explanation, the normal events beginning to unfold like they should. Caspian eyes Glozelle, his aunt, her father and his cousin as they go through the portal. They’re going to the same world as England. Perhaps there is a small chance they could meet again. It would be nice to see his cousin grow up.

When the crowd begins their outbursts of fears, Caspian tenses. The moment is drawing nearer for him to leave, and it is only seeming more impossible a feat with each second.

“We’ll go,” Peter chimes in nobly. It always has an undertone of heartbreak, and this time Caspian can empathize with the feeling, in a new way than before. “After all, we’re not really needed here anymore.”

Caspian eyes Rhindon offered up in Peter’s hand. There is no easy way to do this.

He takes the sword and does not look Peter in the eye as he speaks.

“There are many here who will care for Narnia in your absence,” he states, his words carefully measured. He has thought all day about what to say here, and this was the best he was able to come up with. 

“Good,” Peter continues. “Because…we won’t be able to come back here, if we’re called. Ever.”

“What?” Lucy questions. “We’re not coming back?”

“You two are,” Peter corrects, walking back towards her. “At least, I think he means you two.”

“But why?” Lucy looks at Aslan in confusion. “Did they do something wrong?”

Aslan turns towards her. “Quite the opposite, dear one. But all things have their time. Your brother and sister have learned what they can from this world. Now it is time for them to live in their own.”

That hardly seems true, Caspian finds himself thinking, not for the first time. Narnia is such a wide and expansive world. It seems impossible to imagine one could ever truly learn everything they need to here in one lifetime, or even two. Caspian himself feels he’s barely scratched the surface of what Narnia could teach him. Then again, who is he to question the great lion? 

“It’s alright, Lu,” Peter comforts his sister. “It’s not how I thought it would be, but it’s alright. One day you’ll see, too. Come on.”

Caspian waits as they say goodbye to Glenstorm, Trumpkin and the others. When they take their last moment to stand and look out at Narnia, Caspian walks up to them, which garners looks of surprise.

“I wish to see you out,” he requests politely, looking at each of them in turn. 

Lucy flashes a beaming smile, grabbing his hand. “Of course!”

Caspian smiles back at her, then looks up at her siblings. Edmund gives an acknowledging nod, and Susan shares a bittersweet glance. Peter is the only one who looks a bit unsure, his face slightly pinched. But after a second, he nods as well.

Caspian takes one brief look behind him, trying to soak everything in as quickly as he can; the castle looming in the background, the Narnian hills, the crowd of his people. Cornelius. He suddenly has the feeling that his legs will not move, will not allow him to leave all of this behind, and he is left in brief wonder at how the Pevensies are able to do this at all. 

They are always amazing and surprising him, even in a day he’s lived dozens of times.

He turns back before anything seems suspicious and watches as Edmund leads the way into the portal. He goes through and disappears…then Peter…then Susan…and then Lucy is left, still holding Caspian’s hand. She doesn’t release it, instead looking up at him and waiting.

“It’s alright,” she whispers. “You can let go.”

Caspian fights a laugh. He’s let go of her, and all of them, more times than he ever would have liked to. (He would never have liked to even once, but still.) And more than that, he is decidedly going to do the opposite of this advice very soon.

But he does let go of her hand. She takes another lingering look behind her, as if she herself is not ready to let go, before going through the portal.

Caspian is right at her heels.

He gives himself maybe half a second to collect his nerve before dropping Rhindon on the ground and taking the small steps forward through the tree. He can briefly hear a chorus of cries and gasps behind him when he does, and someone calling out his name — he’s not sure who, yet thinks he knows — but it is all cut off very quickly as his environment changes before his very eyes.

He’s now in what he can only describe as some sort of tunnel. It feels underground, the air around him thick and damp. There’s several lamps overhead that shine brighter than any torchlight he’s ever seen. After a second or two, an incredibly loud and fast-moving carriage bursts into frame on the left, making Caspian jump. He can only guess it’s a train based on what the Pevensies have told him. 

Those Pevensies are in front of him, and he watches as their outfits magically transform from their Narnian clothes to blue and maroon coats and pants with strange emblems on the chest. Blinking rapidly, Caspian looks down at himself to see that his clothes have changed, too, now wearing a blue suit of his own, the material feeling foreign and slightly itchy against his skin.

All of these things happening at once makes Caspian feel incredibly panicked, hie entire world both behind him and completely transformed too quickly. Everything is so strange, loud, and new , his senses overwhelmed. Seas of people pass by them, making a cacophony of noise, and it takes him quite a bit of time to realize the Pevensies have been speaking to him — or rather, yelling at him — for a while.

“What’s the matter with you?!” Peter is screaming while being held back by Edmund. Caspian tries to focus on his face but finds it very hard to, his vision too bright and blurred. “You can’t just leave Narnia after everything we’ve done!”

“We don’t know what happened!” Susan counters, watching as Edmund struggles to restrain Peter. “Someone might have pushed him in. A Narnian extremist, or something!”

“He came in right behind Lucy. Who could have gotten to him without being stopped first?”

“Look, Cas, can you tell us which it is?” Edmund asks, sounding mostly annoyed. “If I can just let him go, I’d like to.”

“Stop it, all of you!” Lucy cries out, which gets everyone to freeze, turning towards her. “Look at him. He’s not exactly able to talk right now.”

Caspian watches as their eyes move from her to him, and it only makes him even more panicked than he already is. His heartbeat is so loud he can hear it in his ears, muffling out the rest of the sounds, and there’s a heavy vibration shooting through his feet and up his whole body from the movement of the train. He looks between the siblings manically, trying to focus in on any of them, but it’s like his eyes suddenly can’t work, and they all just become shapes and colors.

“Caspian?” Peter seems to say. It could be Edmund, it’s hard to tell. “Are you alright?”

“Obviously not,” Susan huffs. Caspian feels two sets of hands guiding him over to a nearby bench and helping him sit. A very strong scent is filling his nose, but he has no idea what it is. It smells unnatural as he tries to control his breathing, which fails. “Let’s give him a minute.”

The other Pevensies slowly sit down next to or in front of him as he attempts to bring himself to reality. He can feel Lucy holding his hands, balling them together into her own and squeezing them very, very tightly. Susan places her hand on top of the pile. Edmund and Peter sit on either side of him, not touching him besides their shoulders and elbows brushing, the warmth and presence of their bodies a comfort in their own way. 

Eventually, the train comes to a stop in front of them, opening its doors. Some people in similarly dressed clothes walk on, one of them being a boy in a striped scarf who looks at Susan in obvious concern.

“Phyllis?” he calls, eyebrows scrunched. “Who is that?”

This only adds to Caspian’s confusion, seeing as Susan answers to this other name. Her siblings, at least, seem equally confused.

“Um,” she starts, clearly flustered, “that’s my—our cousin. He’s not from around here.”

“Oh,” the boy mumbles. “Well, aren’t you getting on?”

Susan turns and looks at her brothers, her eyes slightly wide.

“If we don’t get on now, we’ll miss school,” she explains.

“School?!” Edmund retorts. “I think we have bigger problems than that.”

“He could come with us!” Lucy suggests. “It could be fun!”

“I’m not sure that’s such a great idea, Lu,” Peter comments gently. Caspian barely perceives the glance Peter gives him after he says this. “I mean, you said it yourself, he can’t even talk right now.”

Susan takes a nervous look back at the train. The boy watches on in bewilderment. 

“Now or never,” she says, her mouth a thin line.

There’s a small pause as the Pevensies communicate silently amongst each other. Caspian watches this unfold as he continues to sit very rigidly in his seat. He’s only slightly managed to calm his breathing.

“Let’s go,” Peter announces. He then lifts Caspian by the elbow and begins leading him out of the station, the others dashing to catch up. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow!” the boy yells from the train car, the doors closing as his sentence finishes. Susan doesn’t spare him another glance.

Being lightly pushed by Peter, Caspian stumbles through the labyrinth of halls and tunnels that compose this… train station. His hands have been set free by Lucy, a lingering clamminess left on his skin. There’s so much coming at him as they walk that he’s barely able to take in, like signs with large letters (something about ‘ABLE-BODIED MEN’ ) or snippets of conversations that make little sense without context. And he really hates how these clothes feel on him. It’s like they’re made of a material he’s never known, far rougher than the softness of Peter’s Narnian clothes. 

Peter’s hand on his arm gently yet firmly guiding Caspian along would normally feel like a very charged touch, but right now it’s the only thing giving him any sense of direction and stability. He fights an urge to just hold his hand, instead.

Eventually they make their way out of the tunnels and into the sunlight, whose brightness and warmth is far more welcoming than whatever lit the way down there. The air above is not much cleaner, feeling a bit dirty as Caspian breathes, but it’s still an improvement. 

Peter pulls Caspian to the side so they aren’t blocking the entryway before finally letting go of his arm. He stands in front of him and looks deeply into Caspian’s eyes.

“We’re not in the tunnels anymore, alright?” he says slowly. “We’re in London. England. There’s nothing to be afraid of here. We’ve told you about it, remember?”

Caspian attempts to nod, but his eyes keep flicking away from Peter to stare at the environment around him. (It takes much to pry Caspian from wanting to look at Peter, but this is a special circumstance.) The buildings here aren’t as tall as a castle, but they’re much taller than Caspian expected, and all next to each other in domineering rows. The road that divides them shines with random puddles and wet patches, looking like an inky black river. What Caspian thinks are cars drive by — very sleek carriages that are automated without a horse or donkey pulling them. They occasionally let out a loud screech as people run past. Street merchants yell for someone to buy the paper. To the left, there’s a stationary car that actually looks like several cars combined together into a very tall one.

Most surprising of all, Caspian turns to his right to see a large statue of a lion. It’s obviously not Aslan, couldn’t be — but the sight sends a chill down his spine. He looks away sharply, taking another few deep breaths.

“I don’t think this helped him very much,” Edmund mentions, eyeing Caspian with worry. 

Peter sighs. “Just—give it a minute, Ed. You remember what it was like when we found Narnia. Imagine that, but times a hundred.”

“And probably a lot smellier,” Lucy comments, wrinkling her nose. “I always forget how yucky cities are when we’re away.”

Susan steps forward and lightly shoves Peter to the side, placing a hand on Caspian’s shoulder.

“Caspian,” she says sternly. “Are you feeling any better? Can you talk?”

Caspian blinks at her a few times, processing what she’s said. He’s still very overwhelmed, but enough minutes have passed that he’s starting to not feel so panicked. It helps to be out of the tunnels and surrounded by the presence of his friends. Even if they are mad at him.

“Y-yes,” he stammers. “Yes, I…I am fine. I think.”

Susan nods in subtle relief. She purses her lips, clearly thinking.

“Why did that boy call you Phyllis?” Caspian asks, finding that it’s the first thing he can think of to say.

“Yeah, why did he?” Edmund chimes in. 

Susan shakes her head. “That’s not important. What matters is figuring out what to do about Caspian.”

That sentence makes Caspian deflate, his shoulders sinking. He sounds like such a burden. Just as I always was to them , he supposes.

“Well, first, we need to know why he’s here ,” Peter remarks, the last word pointed and bringing back his anger, though now subdued. He crosses his arms, as if holding himself back. “Do you think you feel well enough to tell us?”

Caspian swallows nervously as he watches the Pevensies watching him. He perhaps should have thought about this when he had the idea to jump into the portal, but truthfully, he did not. He wasn’t even sure if he would be with them when he came out the other side.

“I—” he starts, then stops. What should he tell them? He could say something similar to what he told his advisors when attempting to abdicate; the lie that Narnia gave him visions and made him feel as though he had to leave. It’s close enough to the truth that it might work. 

But…if Caspian is to believe that this time, Aslan willing, truly sticks, and he is out of the curse for good, then he should not start his new life with a lie. He’s here with the Pevensies, after all, for whatever that entails, and they deserve to know why that is.

So he takes one final, shaky and shuddering breath, and tries to explain as best he can.

“This is going to be hard for you to believe,” he begins, “but I ask you to trust me.” When there are no retorts, he continues. “For the last…I’m not sure how long at this point. Maybe a few months. For a few months, I have been stuck reliving the same day, over and over again. This day, the one we are in now. At midnight, Narnia reverses time itself, back to when the day started, as if nothing ever happened. I am the only one who can remember, and I do not know why. I have tried…” His voice catches as he finds himself becoming emotional. “...I have tried everything I can imagine to make this curse end. I tried giving up the throne, I tried running away, I asked Cornelius for help, I looked in the history books. I even learned how to talk to the trees. But nothing’s worked. I’ve just been stuck in this day, forever!” 

Stunned faces stare back at him. He’s not surprised, but it doesn’t make the sight any easier to see. He tries to keep talking in hopes that they will understand.

“So I thought that…maybe it is not enough for me to leave Narnia and go to a different land. Perhaps I needed to leave that world altogether. And that’s why I…that’s why I am here.”

He finds himself out of words, so he stops talking, waiting for one of them, any of them, to say something. The time he waits is agonizingly long, or at least seems to be, and his face begins to burn red with embarrassment. He hasn’t told anyone about this for weeks at this point, and it has not gotten any easier with time. He has yet to figure out a way to do this where he does not sound insane, which is what he’s certain they’re all thinking right now.

Eventually, finally , Peter speaks up.

“You said…this is a curse?” he asks. “That’s why you’re the only one who can remember?”

“Yes,” Caspian exhales. “I think so. I can’t think of another reason.”

The siblings look between each other, clearly unsure on what to say next. 

“Why do you think you would be cursed?” Edmund questions. “You haven’t exactly done anything wrong.”

Caspian shakes his head. It’s a question he’s asked himself often lately. 

“My Telmarine bloodline, perhaps. To pay for the crimes of my forefathers.”

“But you liberated Narnia,” Lucy counters. “So why would you be cursed for that?”

“Lucy, we all know that you four are the real reason Narnia was freed. I am just a figurehead.” Caspian sighs. “I do not claim to fully understand what is happening to me, but this is my best guess. I wish I had a better answer for you.”

There’s another few moments of silence, the siblings assumedly deciding whether to send him to the nearest medical facility or not.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you…” Susan starts, “but you are right that this is hard to understand. Could you maybe…”

“Prove it?” Caspian finishes her sentence.

She frowns. “Well. I wasn’t going to say that, but. If you think you can.”

Caspian thinks for a few seconds. “What if I tell you all everything you did this morning, in detail? Even though you know I was not with you. That way you would know I have lived this day enough times to see it all.”

Edmund gives a half-shrug. “That could work.”

“Alright.” Caspian swallows again. “Edmund, last night you fell asleep in the library reading Wild Blue Yonder. This morning you were woken up by Diordanus, and you made a joke about how Peter can’t read. Then you kept reading until Lucy found you and told you to come to breakfast.” 

“Are you telling people I can’t read?” Peter chastises.

Edmund snickers, proving what Caspian said to be true.

“I said I was surprised you could read. Not that you can’t.”

Peter looks like he wants to protest, but holds back, rolling his eyes instead. Caspian waits a beat before speaking.

“I’ve read Wild Blue Yonder , by the way. It’s quite good.”

Edmund raises an eyebrow, his mouth slightly agape.

“You told me last night you had never read it, since Cornelius kept it locked up.”

“Yes, I did. And then I had many days in which to read it that none of you remember.”

Edmund pauses, looking Caspian up and down.

“What happens at the end of the book?” he tests.

“Maris unites the seven swords to bring peace back to the kingdom.”

“That’s right.” Edmund looks at the others. “I guess I’m convinced.”

“Slow down,” Peter says, raising a hand. “Someone could have told him all that.” He takes a step closer to Caspian and stares into him. “What was I doing this morning?”

Caspian finds himself looking at the freckles lining Peter’s cheeks. Somehow, there seem to be less of them when he’s in England.

“You asked the Telmarine server for blueberry tea to drink. You said yesterday was fun and you were feeling adventurous.”

Peter’s eyes widen at that. He quickly glances at his siblings, as if slightly embarrassed. 

“And—” he stammers, “—did I like the tea?”

Caspian actually smiles. “You did not. But you did drink it by the window for a while until Lucy came and found you.”

Peter hesitates. “Right,” he says, the word a bit choked. 

“You were very calm,” Caspian continues, unsure why even as he says it. “The sun was sort of…shining on you, warming you up. You kept closing your eyes as you stood there. It was maybe the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you.”

Caspian doesn’t realize he’s started whispering until the last words leave his mouth. He clears his throat, seeing that Peter’s face in front of him is rather red.

“Good grief,” Edmund mumbles behind them.

“Right,” Peter repeats. “Well, that’s all true.” He steps back quickly, gesturing to Susan. “Susan, what do you think?”

Susan quirks a brow at him, but doesn’t comment. She turns towards Caspian.

“Do you really know what I was doing this morning?” she asks, her tone hard to read. She looks vaguely nervous, and Caspian knows why.

“Yes,” he answers, very pointedly. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. “I do know. You were out in the woods.”

He leaves it at that, but the way he answered and the prolonged stare he gives her seems to tell her everything she needs to know. Now her face is the one that’s reddened, mirroring her older brother as she, too, steps back.

“Okay,” she hums. “What about Lucy?”

“What, that’s it?” Edmund comments, not one for subtly. “He didn’t even say what it was.”

“You two believe him, so do I,” Susan defends, her voice tight and restrained. She places an arm around Lucy’s shoulders. “But since we’re checking. What did Lucy do this morning?”

Caspian crouches down to meet Lucy’s height. She looks at him with patient and knowing eyes, a slight smirk on her face.

“You wake up much earlier than the rest of us,” he echoes her words. “But when I first see you, you’re sharpening your dagger in the forge. Then you have the idea that we should all have breakfast together. You find Peter first, then Edmund, then me.”

Her smile widens. “That’s right!”

“And you are the one who taught me to speak to the trees. We spent a lot of days together, just sitting with them and talking.”

Lucy looks down for a moment, her face scrunched.

“I wish I could remember,” she admits. “But I feel like it’s true. I can’t explain it.”

“I’ll tell you all about it,” Caspian promises. “They were good times.” He stands up and takes a second to glean the Pevensies’ expressions; the looks of anger or caution they had seem to be gone, replaced with resignation. “So…that is it? You all really believe me?”

Edmund shrugs. “Well, we’ve seen stranger things. And you haven’t exactly lied to us before.”

“You do know more than you should,” Susan adds.

“And besides, think of who you’re talking to,” Lucy contributes. “We’re much older than the bodies we live in. We know what it’s like to be brought back in time. Who says you can’t also be trapped in it?”

These words make Caspian exhale in relief, unable to contain the feeling. Yes, he’s told three of these people about his situation before, and he was believed each time. But the anxiety of telling the truth never lessens when he does it. Hopefully, this will be the last time he ever has to.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice light. He feels, very briefly, unburdened. “I—I do not know if I would have believed me. It is hard to explain.”

Peter nods, mostly to himself. “So…since we are believing you, that means…we’re trapped in this day, too. And we have been…for months?”

Caspian’s heart sinks. “Honestly, I’ve lost track. But probably, yes.”

“Have you told us about this before? Surely, we would have figured out what was happening.”

Caspian hesitates. “A few times, yes. You had good ideas but—well. I am still here.” He glances at the lion statue. “I also think this is something I am meant to solve on my own. Hopefully now, I have.”

“And what exactly do you think has cursed you?” Susan asks. “Maybe some lingering magic from the White Witch?”

A chill runs through Caspian’s skin, as if her winter magic really is coursing through his veins. His mind flashes an image of her holding out her hand, then being burst into pieces. He instinctively looks at Edmund for answers.

“I’m not sure,” Caspian admits. “Could that be possible?”

Edmund makes a face, his voice defensive. “I know as much about her as any of you. But…no, I don’t think so.”

“Right.” Caspian looks away. “Well, when I told Cornelius, he suggested that this was Narnia’s doing.”

“Narnia?” Peter echoes with an empty laugh, Caspian feeling as if this has happened before. “You think Narnia has cursed you?”

“I—yes. It is my best theory.”

“For…what did you say, your Telmarine bloodline?”

“Does that not make sense?”

“Not really, no.” Peter frowns. “Like Lucy said, you freed Narnia. Your ancestors’ sins are not your responsibility to bear.”

“I’m not so sure,” Caspian retorts, hearing the bitterness in his voice. He tries to rein it in. “I thought…I thought my purpose in life as Narnia’s king would be to repair the damage that was done by Telmar. But perhaps the damage was too great. My presence on the Narnian throne had to be undone, with me gone completely. If this works, and I wake up here tomorrow, we will know that is the truth.”

Peter continues to frown, his siblings mirroring the expression. They look amongst each other uncertainly, communicating silently again. They do this often enough that if you told Caspian they could read each other’s minds, he would believe you.

(It would not even be that strange of a concept at this point in his life.)

“Tomorrow…” Lucy repeats, her tone cautious.

“Exactly,” Susan says.

Caspian looks at the two of them, trying to read between the lines. Peter senses his confusion.

“Caspian,” he starts, “when you went through the portal…what was your plan for what you would do on the other side?”

“Um…” Caspian mumbles. “I must admit, I did not have one. I was not sure where the portal would take me. All I cared about was being out of Narnia.”

Peter bites his lip. “You didn’t happen to bring Susan’s horn with you, did you?”

Susan slaps Peter on the arm. “ Peter. ”

“You want to send me back?” Caspian realizes, his heart breaking.

Peter flinches, and not at Susan’s slap. “I don’t want to. But…are you really meant to live the rest of your life here? In England?”

“It does not have to be England. I can go somewhere else, if you wish.”

“That’s not—” Peter cuts himself off with a sigh. “I just want to be sure this is the best thing for you. For Narnia. If we can go back and find another way—”

“There is no other way!” Caspian yells, weeks of frustration bursting out of him all at once. The Pevensies freeze, their eyes widening. “I have tried everything! Do you think I would have left Narnia behind if I thought there was another solution?”

Peter grimaces. “No, I suppose not.”

Caspian leans back, looking away. He’s not sure what to say next. 

“He’ll need somewhere to sleep,” Lucy mentions. She tugs on Peter’s hand. “Mum’s been keeping the guest room tidy.”

Peter’s face blanches when Lucy says that, as if she’s suggested something horrible. 

“What are we supposed to tell her?” Susan questions. “That we skipped school so we could bring a strange boy to live in our house?”

“We don’t have to go back right away,” Edmund suggests. “She doesn’t need to know we skipped school.”

Why does that even matter? Caspian wonders. You are kings and queens, not schoolchildren. 

“Sure, but then what?” Susan continues. “How will we get her to let Caspian stay?”

“We don’t ask,” Peter suddenly speaks up, his tone uncomfortably vacant. He looks among his siblings with confident eyes. “We just tell her he’s staying.”

Susan frowns. “I know you got used to being a king again, Peter, but we aren’t adults here. We can’t act like we are.”

“What can she do about it?” Peter turns towards her, his face a mix of regret and authority. “You’ve seen how she’s been around us since we came back. She won’t say no. She can’t.”

A chilling silence runs through the group, with a hidden implication and history in Peter’s words that Caspian can’t fully know.

Our mother looks at us like we’re the ghosts of her children , he remembers Peter saying. She knows something’s wrong, but she doesn’t know what.

“Alright,” Susan agrees after a tense moment. “But we’ll need to find some other solution down the road. He is another mouth to feed.”

“It’s alright,” Caspian interrupts, feeling like a burden once more. “I can find somewhere else to stay. I do not wish to trouble you any further.”

Peter waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll be sorted.”

Caspian wants to object, but finds he has no basis to. He nods, instead.

“So…” Edmund hums, raising his eyebrows, “what do we do now?”

The siblings then strangely look to Caspian, waiting for an answer.

“Don’t ask me!” he raises his hands. “I already told you, I did not have a plan beyond leaving.”

“Well, I’d like to know a bit more about what’s been happening to you,” Peter mentions. “If we’re not going home yet…why don’t you explain it to us for a while?”

“Can we do it at the park?” Lucy requests. “It’s all stuffy over here. Besides, there’s so much we can show Caspian now! Like…like ice cream!”

“Lucy, it’s nine in the morning,” Susan says in amusement.

“You know what I mean! If Caspian’s going to be living here, we need to teach him about our world. Why not show him around?”

“Sounds good to me,” Edmund answers, sounding non-plussed.

Susan fakes an annoyed sigh. “Well, if we’re already out here.”

Lucy turns to Peter with hope. “Pete?”

Peter looks down at Lucy, his expression morphing from seriousness to a youthful smile, unable to say no to his youngest sister.

“This is not how I thought this day would go,” he admits. “But I guess we can walk and talk.”

Chapter Text

London is a very big place.

Caspian learns what feels like a lot in a very short time, though they are actually out for several hours. They take him to a park, as Lucy requested, which is not what Caspian thought it was and is instead a grassy area with structures for children to play on and fields for picnics or other activities. Lucy forces Caspian to explain the further details of his curse while pushing her on a swing , which is such a strange situation that he can’t help but to laugh a bit as he talks.

He recalls as much as he can remember without holding anything back. (Well, mostly. Some details he keeps to himself.) He tells them about the first day it happened, Peter suggesting it was a prophetic dream; he tells them about going through books and books of Telmarine history, and even Cornelius’ manuscripts having no such mention of a similar situation; he recalls how Lucy taught him to speak to the trees, and how he’s gotten very far with them but seems to be stuck somehow; and then he explains his attempts to abdicate the throne or run away, and how none of it worked. 

By the time he’s caught up to the present, they had also taken him to some merchants’ stalls — or stores, rather — and shown him such a variety of odd items that he kept losing track of what he was talking about. They took him to some very fancy buildings of which have much historical importance he couldn’t quite comprehend. Lucy very badly wanted Caspian to “watch a movie” but was denied this since he apparently “couldn’t talk during it.” Eventually they just ended up walking along some of the quieter living areas, filled with more greenery and hills, which calmed Caspian a bit after all the excitement of everything new.

As strangely fun as this day has been, with Caspian getting to fulfill a dream of seeing England, what he has been telling the Pevensies is obviously all quite daunting; recalling days and days of memories that he claims they all have lived but he alone has memory of is an unsettling situation. He can tell it begins to effect them, their demeanor becoming quiet as they travel along the roadside, the happy moments of the day fading behind them.

They also all get more tense the closer they seem to be getting to their destination — their home. Caspian watches as Susan and Peter talk quietly amongst themselves, Edmund and Lucy staying in the back. 

“So, Caspian,” Lucy starts, balancing on the raised sidewalk. “What do you think of London?”

“It is not what I expected. But I’m not really sure what it was I expected, either.”

“If you don’t like it now, you might in time.” She hops off the sidewalk. “Of course, it’s no Narnia. But if me and Edmund are to be brought back one day, perhaps you’ll come back, too.”

Caspian flinches. “That will not be a good thing. I’m certain everyone there now sees me as a deserter, or a traitor.” He looks down. “I suppose I am.”

“We’ll set the record straight,” Edmund assures, smiling warmly. “They’ll believe us.”

Caspian nods, wondering what it must be like to know you have a legacy so beloved that you have certainty people will take you at your word, no matter what.

A few minutes later, the royals slow their pace as they come upon what must be their house. Caspian hates to think this, but it is nothing spectacular. It is very…square, built with harsh straight lines and blocks. The roof and sides are drab shades of grey and brown, with windows boarded up and blocked by curtains. In short, there is nothing remarkable about the house at all, nothing to differentiate it from the other similarly plain houses lining the streets. It’s hard for Caspian to accept that this is where the royals grew up, and what sheltered and raised some of the most magnificent people he’s ever met.

“This is it,” Edmund says dully, mirroring Caspian’s thoughts. “It’s not exactly as spacious as your previous living arrangement.”

Caspian swallows. “That is fine,” he answers, which is the truth. He often thought the castle was too large, especially as a child. “I am not exactly picky.”

“Mum’s home,” Susan mentions, nodding her head towards a car sitting idle on the pavement in front of the house. She and Peter exchange another nervous glance.

“She’ll like Caspian,” Lucy adds, shuffling her way between them. She holds both of their hands. “This could be good.”

The two older siblings smile back at her, but Caspian can tell they don’t quite believe it, the smiles not reaching their eyes. Guilt burns at him once again; no matter what he does, he can’t seem to escape harming or burdening someone.

Peter leads the way inside, the front door unlocked. Caspian shuffles in behind him, observing what’s there.

The interior of the house, at least, is nicer than the outside. There’s an entryway floored nicely with a dark, amber wood, as well as a decorative runner. A few tables and cabinets line the halls, adorned with varying small items Caspian fights an urge to investigate out of curiosity. To the left is a staircase leading to the second floor, while the right hallway seems to lead to three more rooms. It’s a decent size, in actuality.

“We’re home, Mum,” Peter calls out, though it seems to be lacking in the warmth Caspian thought he would hear. After a second, a woman steps out from a room on the right, at first smiling before realizing there is an extra person there she does not recognize, her face falling slightly in something like surprise.

Caspian does not know what he thought the Pevensies’ mother would look like. He never much pondered on it, but perhaps somewhere in his mind he assumed her to be just as grand as the rest of them, radiating an aura of royalty and possessing a unique beauty that was unrivaled. 

This does not describe the Pevensies’ mother. She is, without a nicer word to say it, a plain woman.

She’s skinner than Caspian expected, maybe skinnier than a woman of her height and age should be. Her facial structure is bony, with notable wrinkle lines and a sharp jaw — the face of a woman who has lived through harsh times. The only feature she has that lets Caspian believe she is related to her children at all is her curly brown hair, which flows to her shoulders similarly to Susan’s. 

“Welcome home,” the woman greets, putting her smile back on. “Who is this?”

“I am—” Caspian starts.

“He’s a friend from school,” Susan interrupts. For the best, because Caspian might have said I am king Caspian out of sheer habit. Or possibly I am prince Caspian, which occasionally slips out still. “His name is Caspian.”

Their mother — Helen, he thinks he remembers being told — raises her eyebrows.

“What an interesting name,” she comments. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“Caspian will be staying with us for a while,” Peter announces, silencing the room. He in no way sounds like a son as he speaks, nor a child; he is in every way the king of Narnia through his voice. “In the guest bedroom.”

Helen is understandably taken aback by this, blinking in shock. She looks between Caspian and Peter quizzically. 

“He is?” she replies. She doesn’t sound like she’s questioning Peter’s authority, but more so the strangeness of the situation.

“He needs a place to stay,” Peter continues, keeping his shoulders straight. “We have a bedroom.”

Helen opens her mouth to respond, then closes it. She looks at Caspian for a long, odd moment, and he wishes he could leave.

“I do not wish to intrude,” he blurts out, which he can see Peter frown at. Then, acting on some impulse, he walks across the hallway towards their mother and holds out his hand. “It is lovely to meet you. I will not stay long, if you will allow me.”

Helen reasonably hesitates before shaking Caspian’s hand. 

“My name is Helen,” she confirms. “I…you seem very nice. We would be happy to help you.”

Caspian tries to smile warmly at her, to show his gratitude, but he can’t help noticing the trepidation in her voice, as if the sentiment is not entirely her own. She glances briefly over his shoulder.

“Thank you. I promise, you will barely notice me.”

“Nonsense,” Edmund jokes, stepping forward in a probable attempt to add levity to the room’s tense atmosphere. “We expect you to be just as annoying as you usually are.” He claps Caspian on the back for good measure.

Helen gives the lightest of chuckles, Edmund’s humor bringing a hint of relief to her features. She waits for a second before speaking.

“I was just about to start making dinner,” she explains. She looks back at Caspian. “Do you like shepard’s pie?”

Caspian, who has no idea what that is, nods excitedly.

“Yes, that sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

Helen nods back, then awkwardly makes her way into the room at the end of the hall, which Caspian can see from here must be the kitchen. When she closes the door behind her, there is an odd moment before Caspian turns around to face the others, feeling literally and figuratively stuck in the middle.

“Have you ever had shepherd's pie?” Susan asks incredulously. 

Caspian lets out a breath. “No. Is it good?”

“Mum’s are. Though, they were better before the rations.”

They stand there for another moment in silence, the newness of the situation leaving them all unsure on what to do next. Neither Caspian nor them thought he would ever be here.

“Should we show him around the house?” Lucy suggests. 

Peter runs an affectionate hand through Lucy’s hair, back to being a boy instead of a king. “Sure, Lu. That’s a great idea.”

Lucy smiles before walking forward and past Caspian into the room on the right, him following behind.

“This is our sitting room,” she introduces. 

They spend the next hour showing Caspian around all the different rooms of the house. It’s a slightly bizarre experience, with him never expecting to learn the inner details of their childhood home like this. It’s a new type of connection with them that he feels blessed to experience, despite everything.

The Pevensies seem to find much joy, as they have all day, in showing Caspian various objects that bewilder him in different ways. Like something called a phonograph, which runs a needle along a large disc that somehow projects music out of a strangely-shaped hole. 

“It is like the…radio,” Caspian recalls as he almost sticks his head into the device. “Which I still do not understand. But the music is lovely.”

“We’ll play more for you later,” Peter promises. 

One unexpected thing is when they bring him into the bathroom and he finds a much fancier chamberpot. You just pull a lever and a great force takes all of the water away. And better yet, you can pull a different lever and have fresh water come out at great speed, whenever you’d like!

“Now this is magic,” he hums, much to the Pevensies’ amusement. 

Upstairs they guide him through the bedrooms, minus their parents’. The boys and girls share rooms respectively, of which they seem to have mild annoyance.

“A bit smaller than your previous living arrangement," Caspian jokes, repeating what Edmund said. “At least I’ll get my own room.”

“That’s a good point,” Edmund muses. “You know what, I think me and you will switch rooms, actually. You can stay here with Peter.”

Caspian laughs, assuming he’s not serious, but turns to find Peter has frozen, the tips of his ears turned red.

“We’re not switching rooms,” Peter says between his teeth.

“Oh, come on. I’m sure there’s a way you two could save some space in here. You know. Moving furniture, maybe the beds. Making room.”

“That’s enough , Ed.” Peter glances nervously at Caspian. “Come on. We’ll show you the girls’ room.” He whips around and leaves before anyone can object, the other siblings left snickering behind. Caspian secretly deflates, missing the joke and wishing he could have seen more of Peter’s side of the room.

The girls’ bedroom is not very exciting, just two beds placed perpendicularly with a white wardrobe in the middle. What does catch Caspian’s interest, however, is a strange little object sitting on Susan’s nightstand. He tentatively reaches his hands out to grab it, picking it up carefully.

“What is this?” he asks, his voice hushed.

“That’s a camera,” Susan answers, sounding charmed. “The stuff you saw on the telly earlier was made with a bigger version of this. But this one just takes still photographs.”

Caspian rotates it in his hands, his eyebrows furrowed.

“How does it work?” 

Susan lets out a breath. “It’s sort of complicated. There’s this…we call it film. You put it in there, and when you hit that button, this curtain opens for a very quick second to let light pass through the circular part in the middle. When that light hits the film, it creates…you could call it an imprint of the light. Then when you’ve used up all your film, you put it in some special chemicals that can reveal the images…does this make any sense at all?”

Caspian nods, though still perplexed.

“Alchemy,” he concludes succinctly.

Peter lets out an unexpected and very warm laugh. 

“Sure, Caspian. Like alchemy.” He gently takes the camera from Caspian’s hands, their fingers briefly brushing. He holds the camera very close to his face, squinting one eye as the other looks through a glass viewfinder in the middle. “Here, give us a smile.”

Caspian hesitates before feeling the other Pevensies leaning in closer to him, sparing a glance to see that they have all put on wide smiles. The sight helps him to smile as he looks where he thinks he’s supposed to, the big circle at the front of the camera.

There’s a few seconds of them all standing there and smiling before Peter presses a button on the camera, which he does quickly, as if suddenly startled to take the action. He pulls the camera quickly away from his face and sets it down on the table.

“Well, we’ll see that in a few weeks,” he comments, his voice oddly tight. Caspian hides the disappointment this makes him feel.

“It is a bit different than sitting down for a portrait,” he mentions. 

“I don’t miss doing that,” Edmund grumbles. “That’s one point England has over Narnia.”

Shortly after, they walk down to the end of the hall and gesture into the last remaining room.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” Lucy explains. “The guest bedroom.”

Caspian pokes his head inside. It’s a simple room, clearly devoid of personality since it’s meant to have a rotating cast of residents. There’s just a bed, a chair, a small nightstand with a clock, and a writing desk. A window behind the desk looks out into the back garden, which Caspian can see is starting to glow in the orange embers of sunset.

“It’s nice,” he says politely.

“We know it’s not very special,” Susan counters. “But we’ll make it as comfortable as we can. If you need anything tonight, just let us know. I remember struggling to sleep on my bed after coming back the first time.”

“I’m sure I will be fine,” he replies, the thought of not sleeping in a tent in the wilderness or the same bed that he’s forcibly brought back to every morning actually being quite appealing. “Thank you.”

After that, they head back downstairs and into the kitchen, Helen looking over her shoulder from the oven as they walk in. She gives them a friendly yet clearly uncertain smile.

“Hello, darlings,” she greets. She turns her eyes to Caspian. “Did you get a good look at the house? Your room seem okay?”

“Everything is wonderful,” he answers genuinely. “I am most grateful.”

The smile on her face seems a little less uncertain after that. She pauses before gesturing towards the cabinets.

“Peter, could you and the others help set up the table, please?” she asks.

“‘Course, Mum,” Edmund answers instead. Caspian watches awkwardly as the siblings file past him and effortlessly move around each other to set up the table, ducking back and forth as they grab plates, cups, and cutlery from all different parts of the kitchen, assembling them without so much as grazing another person. Caspian wishes he could help, but he didn’t get to tour the kitchen, and doesn’t know where anything is.

Helen turns off the oven and brings the food to the end of the table, preparing to cut what must be a shepherd's pie into pieces. The siblings start to sit down, Caspian realizing with a panic he does not know where to go. After a second, only one chair is remaining; the one across from Susan, and to the right of Peter, who sits at the head of the table. Meant for his father, Caspian realizes. Was it tradition for Peter to sit there in his father’s absence? Or some sort of instinct?

Caspian takes his place in the chair, realizing then that he did not sit at the head of the table in Narnia when they ate breakfast this morning, nor any time before that. This was mostly because that table is so extravagantly long that to do so would place him far away from the others, which he did not want. Still, the realization does surprise him somewhat. No one’s ever commented on that.

Once Helen has distributed the food and drinks, she sits down at the other end of the table and holds both of her hands out. The others chain their hands together until it reaches Caspian, with Lucy and Peter left with open palms on both sides of him.

Caspian observes this for a moment in great confusion. To his right, Lucy has a gentle and understanding smile, encouraging Caspian on, while a glance to the left shows Peter with an almost pained expression, his face awkward and pinched. Still, Caspian does take both of their hands, which is a bit of a strange feeling. Their palms are both rougher than one would expect those of their ages to be, but they were wielding swords and daggers just this morning, an entire world ago.

(Caspian has held Peter’s hand before, technically, in brief moments where they help the other up when they’ve fallen in battle, or simply during sparring. This moment is the longest they’ve ever held hands, and Peter’s feels purposefully rigid in his own.)

“Thank you, Lord, for the food we are about to eat here today,” Helen begins, an indescribable tone to her voice. “Please let it nourish us and provide us strength for the night ahead. Thank you for keeping us safe throughout this day, and continuing to watch over our beloved Christopher and the other soldiers. Please protect those above who are not with us.” She pauses, Caspian’s eyes staying shut. “And thank you for bringing us a new friend in Caspian. Please watch over him tonight as we protect him in this space. Amen.”

“Amen,” the siblings echo out, Caspian unfortunately not knowing he had to say it too. He hopes Helen didn’t notice, or is not insulted.

He feels Peter and Lucy’s hands leave his and opens his eyes to see everyone has begun eating. Peter looks pointedly down at his food while Lucy gives Caspian a brief nod, as if to acknowledge that he did the right thing. He nods back at her, still a bit nervous, then turns towards his dinner.

The food on the plate in front of him smells delicious. It’s obviously nothing he’s ever had before, but the ingredients are close enough to what’s in Narnia that it has somewhat of a familiar scent. It is distinctly homemade, by someone who is not a professional but put a lot of time and effort into the dish.

Caspian suddenly realizes the difference in what he’s smelling, and now tasting; he has never had a small, family meal like this. He has never had a meal made by anyone other than the castle chefs. He’s not even sure if his mother or father knew how to cook before they died. These thoughts briefly fill him with sadness, but it seems superficial to be feeling upset about having guaranteed meals by professional chefs for his entire life. It’s hardly something he has the right to cry over.

Still, it helps him appreciate the food he’s having now. It’s hearty — maybe lacking some of the flavor it might have if England was not under the rations he learned about earlier, but still more than edible. He loses himself for a few minutes in eating the food before remembering he should probably look at the others, or maybe speak.

Because the dinner has been silent since Helen ended her prayer. Caspian imagined family dinners would include much chatter, people asking questions about each other’s day or simply musing over life. Perhaps, in better circumstances, that would be happening here. But the room feels…not tense, necessarily, but off, as if the normal dynamic has been shifted. 

At first, Caspian assumes this is because of himself. And maybe it partially is. But the longer he looks out amongst the Pevensies, he notices how stilted they all look, how practiced, as if they are putting on the performance of eating a normal family dinner. Helen watches on with concern, her mouth occasionally twitching as if she is about to say something.

It is like they are all eating dinner with a stranger. Only, it is not Caspian who is the stranger. Was this what dinner was like the entire year they were back in England after their first rule?

Feeling an intense desire to break up this energy somehow, Caspian clears his throat and speaks.

“I saw some of the garden,” he says, “through the upstairs window. It is beautiful.”

Helen perks up at this, as if surprised she is being spoken to. She gives a small smile.

“Thank you.”

“Did you plant it yourself?”

“Yes, mostly. I had some help from Lucy.”

The tree-talker, Caspian thinks to himself. Figures. Only, Helen does not know that, could not know that. He wonders why they never tried to explain Narnia to her. Maybe with Caspian here, they eventually will. It could be easier than lying.

“That is nice,” he replies. He glances at the others, and they all watch him with curious eyes, Peter looking slightly stilted. “I would be glad to help, if you need it.”

“That’s sweet of you, Caspian. Thank you.” She seems like she wants to say more; Caspian imagines she wants to ask him questions, like Where are you from? or Where are your parents? or What happened to you that you need a place to stay? It’s what Caspian would be asking in her position. But she doesn’t, just going back to eating her meal in silence. 

He concludes that this must have been a very different family before Narnia. Caspian wishes he could have seen it.

After the somewhat awkward meal, Caspian attempts to offer to help with cleaning up and is stoutly refused.

“Your first night here, you are a guest,” Helen assures. “Perhaps in time.”

She does, however, ask to speak with Peter privately as she washes the dishes. Caspian is all too certain the conversation will be about him, making his exit from the room that much more pronounced. A part of him wishes to listen in, but he knows it would be rude to eavesdrop. Plus, the others would see him do it.

They instead shuffle back upstairs and help Caspian prepare his room for the night, shoving extra pillows and blankets into his arms. Edmund then takes some of Peter’s clothes out from his wardrobe while he’s still downstairs and lays them out on Caspian’s bed.

“You’ll have to wear some of his clothes tomorrow, and for now,” he explains. Caspian has the brief thought that he seems to be hiding a smirk. “We don’t have any extra lying about.”

“Not a problem,” Caspian replies, remembering that Peter left Narnia wearing one of Caspian’s shirts. “I will manage.” He hesitates for a moment. “Thank you, again. All of you. I know this day has not gone how you expected.”

“Compared to all of the days you’ve seemed to live, this is light work,” Susan comments. 

“Right,” Caspian’s face falls. The threat of midnight creeps up on his back. How will that even work? Does midnight happen the same time here as in Narnia? Then, after a second; no. That does not matter. I will not be going back today. This must be it.

“It’s alright,” Lucy assures, squeezing his hand. He wonders where her penchant for holding hands comes from. “If what you said is true, you should be with us from now on.”

“I hope so,” he admits with an exhale. “I am quite tired of this.”

Susan gives a sad smile.“I’m sure. You should get some rest, then. We all should. We can figure this out more tomorrow. We’ve been awake for much longer than a normal day.”

Caspian nods, realizing she’s right. When they left Narnia, it was in the afternoon, but when they arrived in England, it was early in the morning. The thought briefly makes Caspian dizzy, as if he has not already been in a complicated relationship with time. He realizes how tired he really is.

They all say their goodnights and head to their respective rooms to relax for the evening. Caspian closes his door behind him and looks down at the clothes on his bed; one set of pajamas , as the Pevensies call them, and two day outfits. All Peter’s. 

He sighs before getting out of his new school uniform and into the pajamas. They’re a bit softer than he expected. On a curious impulse, he holds a sleeve to his nose and inhales. It smells like Peter, but not entirely, in a way Caspian can’t fully explain. He glances around the room after he does that, as if someone might have seen him.

Once he’s gotten the rest of the clothes put away and added his new bedding to the mattress, he hesitates. The exhaustion he just felt suddenly seems to have faded out of him, replaced with a potent anxiety. Lucy tried to reassure him that the curse would be broken today, but she has no way of knowing that. Caspian doesn’t either; he only hopes. Or, rather, not even hopes, since that concept has been beaten out of him. He simply has no other alternative. He needs this to be the end. 

He glances at the clock sitting on the nightstand and watches as the second hand goes by. Feeling compelled, he finds himself slowly moving towards the edge of the bed and sitting down so he’s across from the clock. His entire body tense, he leans forward, staring at the numbers plastered there.

Some time later, there is a knock at his door.

Caspian jumps when he hears it, having been lulled into a sort of hypnotic trance by the rhythmic ticking of the clock. He glances towards the door and sees the shadow of someone on the other side, and wonders how long they stood there before knocking.

Swallowing, he stands and walks over to the door, opening it to find…Peter.

He’s not sure who he expected; there were a limited number of options. But for some reason, seeing Peter there is the most surprising of all.

Peter opens his mouth to speak, then looks down at Caspian’s clothes with surprise and an odd expression.

“I didn’t see you after dinner,” he starts, eyes trained on the clothes, “and I saw that your light was still on.”

Caspian glances down the hall to see that the other doors have no light emitting from underneath them.

“Oh,” he hums. Peter’s gaze trailing along his body feels like a harsh light. “Um, Edmund gave me these. I hope that is alright.”

Peter scoffs. “Of course he did. Well, it’s no matter. I wouldn’t expect you to sleep in that uniform, anyway. Harsh thing. Not very comfortable at all.”

“I thought so, as well.”

Peter nods, then clears his throat. “Why are you still awake?”

Caspian pauses, unsure of what to say. In keeping with the standard he’s set so far today, he settles on the truth.

“I am nervous that this curse is not really over,” he confesses. “So I was staring at the clock, waiting for midnight to hit. Though, I am not sure how it works now that I am no longer in Narnia.”

Peter makes a funny face at that, a mix of amused and pitiful.

“‘A watched pot never boils,’” he quotes. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself if you sit there waiting.”

Caspian shrugs. “There is not much else to do. I cannot sleep.”

“Me, neither.” Peter’s eyes dart behind Caspian, and he smiles. “Do you want to see something?”

“Yes,” Caspian answers instantly, perhaps too quickly. 

Peter’s smile grows, almost a bit wicked in the low light. He passes Caspian and enters the room, then climbs on top of the writing desk. Caspian watches with wide eyes as Peter pushes the window behind the desk open as far as it will go. He then crawls outside the window, Caspian rushing forward in instinct when he disappears from sight before Peter’s hand emerges.

“Come on,” he calls from outside.

Caspian hesitates before climbing onto the desk, seeing from here where Peter has placed himself; a large tree branch that reaches the side of the house. Caspian takes Peter’s hand and is hoisted onto the branch. Peter then lets go and turns around, grabbing the roof’s edge that is now above them. He gets himself up effortlessly, Caspian mimicking the motions.

He follows Peter where he climbs the slight incline of the roof before sitting down on the flattened part at the top, reclining back and looking up towards the night sky above. Caspian sits down next to him the same way.

“Not as many stars as in Narnia,” Peter says, his voice a bit hushed, “but it’s still a nice view.”

Caspian agrees but says nothing as he looks at the stars and unknown constellations lingering overhead. It reminds him of being back in Archendale that first night he tried to abdicate the throne, realizing he no longer recognized the stars above. At least this time, he has more than a horse to accompany him. (No offense to Destrier. But he cannot talk.)

“Do you come up here often?” Caspian asks after a few moments.

“Sometimes,” Peter answers. “I didn’t for a while after leaving Narnia. It was too strange, not knowing the sky anymore.”

“I can understand.”

He feels that Peter is now looking at him, and he finds he has to keep his gaze skyward in fear of doing something rash.

“You do get used to it,” Peter assures. “In one way or the other.”

Caspian swallows. He didn’t sound fully convinced.

“Hopefully.” A few seconds go by. “You were talking with your mother for a while. I am sure she is concerned about me being here.”

Peter makes an odd noise, a sort of chuckle. 

“I had to make up all kinds of things,” he tells. “I don’t enjoy lying to her, or bossing her around. I tried to give her some explanation as to why you were here.”

“And what did you say?”

“Well, I killed off your parents, in a matter of speaking. And I had to ensure you had no other close relatives you could stay with.”

Caspian shrugs. “That’s not really a lie.” It’s something he’s thought to himself many times over these past months.

“I suppose.” A beat. “You know, Caspian, there’s a lot we’re going to have to figure out if you’re really going to stay here in England.”

Caspian finally looks over at him. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, you don’t actually exist in this world. As in, you aren’t a citizen. You have no records of any ancestry. We have to figure how to make you… legally a person.”

“That does sound complicated,” Caspian frowns.

“If we manage that, we’ll have to get you enrolled in school. You won’t get far here without proof of education.”

“Of course.”

“And there’s…” Peter shakes his head, looking away. “There’s just a lot. A lot we have to teach you, a lot you have to learn. You have a whole future you’ll need to plan out.”

“I’ve heard there’s promise in the career of medicine,” Caspian comments, something close to a joke. It does get Peter to crack a smile.

“Perhaps,” he says. “I still need to figure that out, myself.”

There’s a minute or so where they sit there looking up at the stars, simply sitting together. It’s nice. Caspian hasn’t had a quiet moment, or any moment, alone with Peter since — well, he’s actually not sure. But he missed this, just being able to feel Peter’s presence next to him, the warmth from the brief brushing of their shoulders.

“There is—” Peter starts, his voice a bit pinched, “there is one thing you should know. About England.”

Caspian turns to Peter, ready to listen. Peter’s pupils dilate slightly, and he swallows. 

“So, I know you…” he starts, then stops. “Susan mentioned…” He bites his lip, clearly struggling to say what he wants. “Things are different here. People are more strict, you see? There’s certain…rules. Things you can’t do.”

“Yes, I would imagine so,” Caspian nods, slightly lost. “What kind of rules?”

Peter falters again. “It’s like…how should I say this…”

“Perhaps quickly,” Caspian suggests.

Peter takes that literally. “You can’t be seen with a man here,” he spits out.

Caspian blinks. “‘Seen?’” he echoes.

“Yes,” Peter exhales. “You know. Um. Romantically.”

“Oh,” Caspian mumbles. He furrows his eyes. “That’s—not allowed?”

“No. Men have to be with women, and women with men. Nothing else.”

Caspian stares at Peter for what is probably too long as he processes this. Peter looks more than a bit embarrassed, but also cautious, as if he has said too much. 

“...why?” Caspian eventually asks. 

Peter barks out a laugh, not of humor. 

“What a question that is,” he comments, looking down at the garden below, the rainbow of flowers shaded in the night. “Let’s just say it has a lot to do with religion. That’s the easiest way to explain it.”

Don’t talk to Edmund about religion, Peter told him in a long-past version of this day. You’re better off not knowing.

“Alright,” Caspian concedes. “But it sounds rather foolish.”

“It is,” Peter says. “It is.”

Their words lull into a bit of an awkward silence. Caspian has never previously thought about whether or not Peter knew he had past relations with men — and women. It’s never something he talked to him about, for reasons he only recently figured out. If it ever came up in conversation with Susan, it wasn’t significant enough to remember, but she must have passed the information along. Now Caspian understands the significance of why knowing that would be important; that attraction means something very different here than it does in Narnia.

Caspian does not know if Peter has had relationships with men. He doesn’t know if he’s had relationships with anyone. The old stories never said anything; Lucy was rumored to take many lovers, but the other three siblings are notably absent in the romance aspect of history. He knows Susan has her reasons, but wonders about the brothers, and what happened with them.

He doesn’t say any of this aloud, however, this moment feeling somewhat fragile between them. He wonders why Peter thought this information was important enough for him to tell Caspian now.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Caspian chooses to ask. 

“Lots,” Peter says with a breath, as if relieved the topic has passed. “But we can save it for now.”

Caspian nods. “Sure.”

Another couple seconds tick by. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots. 

Caspian glances down to see that Peter is fidgeting with his hands again, in the way he so often does. His right hand is clenching into a fist repeatedly, and Caspian recognizes the motion. It brings him a wave of guilt and grief.

“I am sorry,” he starts, “that I had to leave Rhindon behind.”

Peter startles towards him, lips parted slightly. His hair is almost silver rather than blonde in this moonlight.

“It’s alright,” Peter gets out, slightly choked. 

“It’s not,” Caspian shakes his head. “I had to drop it, knowing it would not make the journey. It—it means much to me. Every day, you give me that sword. I know what it means to abandon it. It is not something I did lightly.”

Peter’s eyes impossibly widen. 

“Every day?” he repeats. “Each time you live this day, I give you my sword? No matter what?”

Caspian stares deeply into Peter’s eyes, trying to amplify his words.

“Every day,” he confirms. “Without fail. It is one of the few consistencies of this curse.” 

“So…you knew I was going to? Before I did?”

“Yes. I know it is hard to hear.” Caspian looks down. “I still do not grasp how you all believe me.”

Peter hesitates before placing a reassuring hand on Caspian’s knee. The touch is a shock, and Caspian tries not to still under it.

“You’ve told us enough today that proves something is happening,” he says. “Even if it’s not something we understand. You’ve never lied to us.”

Not that you can remember, Caspian thinks.

“Right,” he replies, the word small.

There’s a second or two before Peter speaks again.

“You know, Caspian…” he begins, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I really thought I was saying goodbye to you today. When I gave you my sword…I never thought I would see you again.”

Caspian barely manages to look up, but he does, finding a softened set of eyes staring into his own. I want to kiss him, he thinks, for the hundredth time. It’s a thought as common as breathing.

“I know,” Caspian answers, almost a whisper. “I’m sorry."

“That’s not—” Peter replies, laughing softly. “That’s not something you need to apologize for.”

“Sorry,” Caspian says again. “I mean…”

“You can be quite ridiculous sometimes.” Peter is smiling now, though its saddened at the corners. “All I’m saying is…well. The circumstances aren’t the best, but for what it’s worth, I’m happy you’re here.”

Caspian freezes at that, the sentence feeling much more profound than Peter possibly meant it to be. It’s hard to imagine that some time ago, they were holding swords to each other’s throats, their differences and similarities clashing so strongly they nearly sabotaged the liberation of Narnia. Caspian berates himself for ever thinking of Peter so negatively, even if for a brief period of time.

(And it needn’t be said, but it’s true; even in that brief period of time, Caspian wanted to kiss him.)

Then Caspian is thinking, really thinking, about kissing Peter now, to show that he’s happy that he’s here, too. The atmosphere is romantic enough, with Peter glowing and vulnerable in the stillness of the night. If Caspian is living here now, the pain of kissing someone who will just leave him is no longer there, so that shouldn’t hold him back. Forget what Peter said about being seen with another man; this would be worth it.

But…that if. That pesky if , of Caspian still not knowing if this curse is broken, echoes in his mind. He cannot under any good conscience kiss Peter Pevensie until he knows that it is a kiss that will be remembered by both of them. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be right — if Peter wants it at all, that is.

So, instead, he says back “I am happy I’m here, too,” and leaves his lips where they are. 

For a few interesting seconds, neither of them speak, but they continue to look at each other somewhat intently, feeling out the moment. Peter’s hand is still on Caspian’s knee, for whatever reason. Caspian doesn’t move away.

“This curse of yours…” Peter eventually speaks. “It removes our memories each time the day is sent back?”

“Yes. Unless you are all lying to me.”

Peter chuckles. “Yeah, we’re all in on it.” His grin falls a bit. “So there are things that I’ve told you that I can’t remember telling you?”

Caspian nods, his stomach twisting.

“Some things. A few stories, maybe.”

Peter tilts his head. “Like what?”

“Well, we went riding one day. You told me about how you almost drowned in a river, and some fights you had with the English boys.”

Peter flinches and smiles at once.

“Not too embarrassing,” he comments. “It could have been worse.”

Something about Peter’s smile makes Caspian feel a little daring, so he says;

“If there is something in particular you want to know if you’ve told me, you need only ask. I will answer.”

Peter freezes, looking as if he has somehow been caught doing something wrong. He doesn’t speak at first, glancing over Caspian’s face as he thinks on what to say.

“Somehow, I doubt it,” he eventually murmurs quietly, mostly to himself. 

“But you are thinking of something?” Caspian pushes, feeling as if he is on the precipice of something very important. 

Peter hesitates. “Well, I—yes. I am.”

“Then you should ask.” Caspian’s voice has gotten rather quiet, and has he leaned closer to Peter’s face, or Peter closer to his? “Maybe I already know.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“Then tell me now.”

Peter swallows. He is looking at Caspian, but not at his eyes. 

“I shouldn’t,” he says, lacking conviction. 

“Why not?”

“Because I shouldn’t,” Peter answers simply. He looks a bit frightened, and Caspian realizes he’s seen this before, this same look. It’s the one that happens anytime Caspian gets too close, any time they’re too alone. He’s not sure whether this should make him feel hopeful or dreadful. 

Debating for a moment whether to do it or not, Caspian then places a very gentle hand on Peter’s chin, tipping his face upward with his thumb until their eyes meet again. You would think Caspian has his hand around Peter’s neck with how he reacts, his body going rigid as his face blanches. 

(Perhaps Peter would be more comfortable if that were the case, if Caspian was truly choking him. Perhaps violence is easier than gentleness.)

“You asked for a reason,” Caspian says assuredly. His thumb briefly brushes Peter’s jawline. “Just tell me.”

Peter takes a shaky breath, his hand trembling where it still lies on Caspian’s knee. Caspian says nothing further, his entire body feeling as though it is on the edge of a cliff, and he waits, letting Peter make the decision himself.

“Caspian—” Peter starts, voice ragged.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

The ceiling greets Caspian with silence.

“Peter!” he calls out instinctively, desperately, pathetically. He finds his eyes darting around the ceiling in disbelief of what he’s seeing, and hoping it will change if he perhaps blinks enough times. After a moment, he realizes he’s also blinking away tears, the tragedy of the moment weighing down upon him.

He would think, at this point in his life, that he would be used to his ideas failing — it’s certainly happened enough times. But this time feels different. And there’s multiple reasons why this hits especially hard; he was enjoying his time in England, he no longer had the responsibilities of being king, and he did not have to leave the Pevensies forever. If staying in England was to be the answer, it would have been one of the better ones, all things considered.

And yet the pain of losing what Peter was going to tell him hurts most of all. He can never know for certain what it was going to be, even if he has (hopeful, delusional) suspicions. Whatever it was, it was clearly important to Peter, emotional, and he will never know what it was. Even if he repeated the exact same steps as he took today, and ended up in the same conversation, he still does not think he would know. His moment has slipped. He knows it.

Caspian continues to silently cry, his face in a grimace as his tears roll down the sides of his cheeks and onto his pillow. Lost , he keeps thinking. Lost, lost, lost. So much is lost. Peter’s secret, days of memories, Caspian’s sanity. Any ideas, any hope of an escape. It is all lost. If Caspian cannot leave, yet he cannot stay, what is left for him to try? What does Narnia want from him?

A ray of sunlight coming through the window glints off Caspian’s crown in its glass case. He sniffs as he looks over at it, the large and gaudy thing. And despite its appearance, it is something that was gifted to him, allegedly earned by him, crowned by the last true king of Narnia. Aslan gave his blessing, as well, stating that Caspian was ready for the throne even if Caspian did not believe it so. 

Aslan. Someone Caspian has seen every day of this curse, yet seldom spoken to. He can’t help but to be greatly intimidated by the lion, by everything he is and everything he represents. Even before this all began, he found that he avoided speaking to Aslan unless it was absolutely necessary, not wanting to burden him or waste his time in any way.

These are some of the reasons he has not told Aslan what is happening. Cornelius had said to Caspian, so long ago, that whatever all of this was, it was something that Caspian needed to figure out on his own. Caspian tried that. He tried that for a very long time. And when he did occasionally mention his problem to others, it never went anywhere. 

Perhaps Aslan is the answer that has been waiting in plain sight all along. Maybe this was never about Caspian figuring it out on his own. He tried for weeks to learn to speak to the trees, to attempt to learn the language of Narnia herself, but in doing so, he skipped straight over the closest link to Narnia that he has. 

Truthfully, even now he hates the idea of going to Aslan and asking — maybe begging — for help. All he’s ever wanted to do as Narnia’s new king is prove himself capable, and worthy. This will make him look weak and helpless. 

Caspian is weak and helpless. He has no choice. He has nowhere else to turn.

He lies in bed for a few more minutes until he’s gradually able to stop crying. Once he does so, he stands, getting dressed and attempting to lessen the swelling in his face. Then he heads to the lower hall, since he does not know where Aslan is before breakfast, but he knows he will be there soon.

Like the last time Caspian got here early, Peter eventually comes in first, smiling in surprise when he sees Caspian. The sight makes Caspian’s heart ache, the reminder of where the two of them were just shortly ago too fresh. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Peter comments, sitting down. 

“Hello,” Caspian greets, his voice low and quiet. He taps his foot impatiently, increasingly nervous for Aslan’s arrival.

Peter furrows his eyes, as if noticing Caspian’s discomfort.

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

As with anytime this question is asked, Caspian forces himself not to laugh.

“I am fine,” he lies. You never lie to us, Peter said before. “Just did not sleep well last night, is all.”

Peter smirks. “Yeah, I had trouble sleeping on my side, thanks to you. It won’t happen next time.”

There won’t be a next time. We’ll never spar again.

Caspian attempts to smile. “We’ll see.”

They exchange some idle small talk that Caspian barely has the energy for until the other Pevensies come into the room. They begin to eat breakfast, Caspian staring down vacantly at his plate. None of them have any idea that he’s eaten dinner with them and their mother. He’s tasted her cooking. He slept in their house. These are all milestones in their bond that have been completely severed. It is a very strange feeling.

As they talk amongst each other, he tries to figure out what he is going to say to Aslan. He’s never figured out the best way to explain his situation, no matter how many times he tries. And to explain it to Aslan of all people…it is quite the daunting task. He has a feeling the words will simply spill out of his mouth when the time comes, no matter how much he is to plan.

When Aslan does enter the room a few minutes later, Caspian freezes in his chair, suddenly finding himself unable to talk. How is it that the lion seems to get bigger every time he sees him? Factually, it can’t be true, but it feels so.

He ends up sitting there through the rest of breakfast working up the nerve to speak. He says his usual lines about the Telmarine gathering, words that he’s memorized, but beyond that, he can’t say what he needs to. He doesn’t want to interrupt; he doesn’t want to be rude.

But when the conversation is nearing its end, and he knows Aslan is going to pull Peter and Susan away, he knows he has to act. Before he can stop himself, he pushes himself out of his chair in one fast motion. 

“Sir,” he calls out, hearing the nerves in his voice. Aslan turns to him, slightly surprised. “Before you say what you are about to…I need to speak with you in private. It is an…urgent matter.”

His words clearly take Aslan off-guard, most assumedly the implication that Caspian knew what he was going to say. But after a very brief second, Aslan nods.

“Very well,” he agrees. “Walk with me.”

Caspian hesitates, seeing the Pevensies all watching him with curious and confused eyes, Peter most of all. But he moves past them, following Aslan out of the room towards the back hallways of the castle, where he takes Peter and Susan every day.

“What is on your mind, dear king?” Aslan asks, sounding both gentle and coaxing.

Caspian lets out a breath, the warmth of Aslan’s tone doing nothing to assuage his fears. He’s unsure if they’ve ever really been alone together for a prolonged period of time.

“Something is happening to me,” he begins. “Has been happening to me. And I have tried to fix it myself, but I do not know how. I am getting desperate.”

Aslan takes a long look at Caspian, trailing his predator’s eyes up and down Caspian’s body. He sniffs once, twice, then nods to himself.

“The Deep Magic lingers on you,” he comments. “I can sense it. You have been touched by Narnia, and heavily so.”

That oddly makes Caspian light up.

“Yes,” he replies. Having a confirmation that Narnia’s magic is the cause of this after all is something he hadn’t realized he needed so badly. “Yes, that is what I thought, as well.”

“I see. What is it that has happened to you?”

“It is…rather difficult to explain,” Caspian warns. “Or to believe.”

Aslan gives a sort of chuckle. “You forget, young one, that I have seen many things across my lifetime. There is seldom you could tell me that would seem strange.”

The two of them head outside the castle into the courtyard surrounding it. Caspian briefly imagines himself as Peter, being told he is never going to be here again.

“I suppose not,” Caspian concedes. He takes another breath. “Well. For several months, now, I have been trapped in this day, the one we are living right now. I live the day out however I please, but when the day ends, I am brought back to the beginning as if nothing had occurred. No one else can remember but me.”

Aslan’s face perks up in interest. 

“Really?” he hums. He looks away from Caspian and toward the Narnian hillsides surrounding them. “I shall admit, that is rather strange.”

Caspian fights a laugh; his situation is so bizarre that he perplexed the great lion. What an accomplishment, indeed.

“I have tried everything I can think of to stop it,” Caspian continues. “I looked in the library to see if there was a record of anything similar happening. I found nothing. Then Edmund suggested I learn to talk to the trees, to speak to the land itself, so I tried that. When that did not work, I tried to abdicate my throne, as if this was a great punishment for my lineage. That failed. I left to other lands, I did not stay. I even went to England yesterday, and that did not matter. I am always brought back.”

Aslan looks down thoughtfully. “And so you came to me when you believed you had no other solutions to turn to.”

“Yes,” Caspian admits, feeling shame. “I would have come to you sooner, but…Cornelius once suggested that Narnia needed me to do something. He said it was something I had to figure out on my own. He has never been wrong before, so I tried to do what he said. I failed.”

“You did not fail,” Aslan shakes his head. He turns and looks Caspian in the eye. “You have been wise to follow the teachings of your professor. I do not blame you for doing so now.”

Caspian exhales, a sense of relief filling his chest. Perhaps the guilt of not coming to Aslan sooner had been weighing heavier on him than he realized.

“Thank you,” he says.

“It is interesting that Narnia has chosen you to fulfill her task. I have no memory of having lived this day before, so it is you that she trusts to do what she needs.”

“I am not so sure Cornelius was right about that part,” Caspian admits with a frown. “Lately, I have started to feel like this is actually a curse.”

Aslan stops walking.

“And what makes you think that?” He tilts his head. “Why would Narnia wish to curse you?”

Caspian swallows. “Perhaps for my Telmarine heritage. The sins of my forefathers staining the Narnian throne.”

Aslan looks saddened at that. 

“Is this what you truly believe?”

Caspian hesitates, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. The implication of his words make it seem like he believes Aslan, and the Pevensies, made the wrong decision in crowning him king. He does not wish to insult them.

“I do not know,” he mutters. “I’m not so sure of anything, anymore.”

Aslan considers this, taking a moment to decide what to say. 

“There are times in each of our lives,” he beings, sounding resigned yet profound, “where we must go through our own trials. The kings and queens before you had their own trials. Many of the people you rule over have had their struggles. I, myself, have been tested by the Deep Magic.”

Caspian reflects on that, wondering what he means, before remembering one of the most iconic stories of Aslan; the Stone Table. He was killed, sacrificing himself to save Edmund from the blood debt of the White Witch, before being brought back to life, and ultimately saving Narnia. It is hard to imagine the breathing, radiating, grand lion in front of Caspian was ever killed, but he knows it to be true. 

“It must not have been easy,” Caspian mentions, “knowing that you were to be killed.”

“It was not. But I had faith in my loved ones, and in Narnia, to know that her future would be secure. And I knew that my faith in the Deep Magic would allow me to come back.” A pause. “The Deep Magic controls all of our fates, and governs our destinies. It can be hard to understand, but your professor was right. This is something you will have to face on alone.”

Caspian’s heart sinks like a stone. No, he thinks repeatedly. No, you were my final answer! I have tried to face this alone!

“I am afraid I don’t know how,” Caspian counters, his voice now broken. He wishes he were stronger for Aslan, but he can’t be. There’s nothing left. “I have tried everything I could. You were my last hope.”

Aslan’s face falls, regret lining his features. It’s not dissimilar to how he looks when he tells the Pevensies they are leaving.

“I am sorry,” he says genuinely. “I know you were hoping I would have the answer. But I cannot know what Narnia needs from you. Only you can know that.”

Caspian looks away, biting his tongue and clenching his hands. He has everything and nothing to say.

“Look within yourself,” Aslan continues. “You cannot have tried everything, or this would be over. There is something yet that Narnia still seeks from you. Give it to her, and you shall be free. We all will be.”

Caspian doesn’t respond, can’t respond. Whatever hope there was left in him, if there ever was any at all, has been completely drained. Aslan looks at him tepidly.

“I must go and speak to Peter and Susan,” he explains. “I am sure you know why.”

Caspian gives a very small nod. “I know.”

Aslan nods back. He turns and leaves without saying anything further.

When the lion is gone, Caspian stands there for a long, long time. It’s quiet, not many people out in this area of the courtyard. The only noises are that of the occasional bird chirp, or the wind rustling the leaves. Beyond that, it is only Caspian, alone as always, and his thoughts.

He tries to think on what Aslan advised, not one to take his words lightly. It is hard to believe that Narnia literally altering the flow of time is something Aslan does not have the power to fix, but Caspian does. What good is Caspian? Who is he , to deem him responsible for such a task, to solve whatever problem Narnia needs fixing?

Aslan said it, and Cornelius said it; this is something Caspian needs to figure out alone. Narnia needs something, clearly desperately, and it is only something that Caspian can provide. But what else is there to give? He’s given up his time, forcibly, days and days of it. He has given up his crown, he has given up his mind. What more is there to give?

And then. A familiar and haunting voice, echoing in Caspian’s head:

Your life.

The two words should perhaps strike some fear in Caspian, sending his legs out from under him as he tumbles under the weight of it.

But the truth is this: Caspian is not afraid of death. He hasn’t been for a long time.

As a child, he was terrified of it. Losing his father at such a young age, and then his mother shortly after, gave him a horrible sense of foreboding, like he was certain to be next. Once he grew older and learned the nature of Telmarine politics, he knew he was on borrowed time with Miraz. He didn’t simply learn to make himself invisible to escape the watchful guards, or avoid a verbal berating; it was a survival mechanism. When Cornelius woke Caspian up to tell him his cousin had been born a male, it felt like the final nail into a coffin he had long become familiar to.

Only he didn’t die, then, and was instead given a horn and his horse and a chance and he was able to evade death, through forests and witches and battles and raging rivers. He was saved, spared and almost untouched. For a while, he thought this a miracle, thought he had finally shaken the death sentence that had been chasing him his entire life, and now had a reason — many reasons — to live.

Now he sees this as the source of his curse. He was meant to die. He should have died a long time ago, several times over. Narnia knows this, knows a Telmarine was never meant to be her king, and the only way to right this is not as simple as merely abdicating; no, a proper punishment must be served. The blood must be cleansed from the royal lineage entirely, with no trace remaining. A life for many lives.

This is what Narnia needs. This is what Caspian alone can give.

As he realizes this, a disturbing feeling of calm flows through his body. It is as if all the pieces of his life are finally coming together into place. This is what he has been preparing for. And beyond that, more importantly, is the release. The relief. Any time he has known some sense of peace or joy in this curse, in moments of reprieve with his friends and loved ones, it has been harshly ripped away. He can no longer bear this torment, and if the way out is for him to no longer bear anything, then so be it.

When Caspian swore the oaths to become king, repeating Peter’s words after he spoke them, he promised a great many things. He promised to be the first to lead every battle, and the least to retreat; he promised to look over each citizen equally; he promised to make sure power was always evenly distributed; and he promised to give all of himself to Narnia, until there was nothing left.

He sees this moment in his mind’s eye, remembering how Peter looked up at him from where he knelt, the crown freshly placed on Caspian’s head. It was a look Caspian had never seen before or since, filled with fierce admiration and a glowing pride.

It is a shame that the High King had to be so wrong.

I’m sorry, Caspian thinks, wondering if maybe he thinks it loudly enough, Narnia will pick it up in her wind and carry it over to him. To all of them. And perhaps he should go and say goodbye, or pen some type of letter as he has before, but there is no will for him to do so. There is only the pleasant allure of knowing he no longer has to run, the joy of not waking up in another day of this.

When Caspian makes it to Lantern’s Waste, he isn’t sure. It feels as though he gets there in the space of a few short blinks, though it is quite a notable pace away, especially if one is walking. But he is there, coming to in the area where he first passed out all those months ago, the first time he ever lived this day. 

He recalls it now, the way he felt, how helpless and lost and angry. The way he collapsed onto the ground, his hand lying in the warmth of the lake beside him, the angry grey skies hovering over the treetops. 

His feet slowly walk over towards the lake, and it feels like he is not actively making the footsteps, but is being pulled over by a larger force, perhaps inside himself. 

He peers into the water. It’s still daylight, but these woods are heavily shaded by the thick overhead of leaves, and the lake looks darker than perhaps it should. Having experienced Narnian magic more thoroughly at this point in his life, he thinks he can almost feel the Deep Magic shimmering in the water, glistening in the underbelly. It looks peaceful down there, just like he thought before. 

Caspian takes one long and final moment to glance up at the trees in front of him, inhaling deeply into his lungs. He does not think of anyone. He does not say his last words, internally or otherwise. He feels no grief. He feels no fear. 

The only thing he feels is the engulfing of his destiny.

Dying, for Caspian, is this: at first, a physical and animal-like panic. Pain, very sharp and very deep, in his lungs. Burning, burning, burning. And then, once it all passes, the calmness comes back. Sunlight breaks through the branches above to hit the water, and he feels as though he’s being cradled in his mother’s arms. He thinks he can hear her voice.

Then there is nothing. Like falling asleep.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

Caspian is dead for perhaps one second.

Then he is awake with a gasp , bolting upright in bed and heaving large, heavy breaths. The sensation of there being no water in his lungs is suddenly strange, and he feels too light on his bed, like he should be sinking. For about a minute he just sits there, breathing and panicking, more alarmed about being alive than he ever was about accepting that he had to die.

Or, apparently not. Apparently he did not have to die.

Caspian’s rapid breathing turns to manic laughter. He can hear the way his voice is, the high-pitched way it breaks on each laugh, but he can’t be bothered to care what it sounds like to the guards outside his door. 

He lays back down on the bed as he continues to laugh in a newfound insanity, clutching his stomach as it spasms. Compared to the pain he just experienced — compared to literally dying — this muscle pain is nothing. 

“Nothing,” he says out loud, through a twisted smile. Tears once again stream his cheeks. “Oh, nothing matters. None of this matters! Ha ha ha…”

Mad King Caspian. A thought he had when all of this started, a fear he thought would come true if he told others of the truth. What a foolish thought that now seems! Who cares whether he is mad or not? Let them think that. It will all be forgotten. Nothing ever changes, nothing ever happens. Nothing is real.

That’s the conclusion Caspian has drawn. He is simply not living in reality. Because in what reality is Narnia not only powerful enough to reverse time, but bring him back from the dead? It cannot be possible. He’s no Aslan — Narnia would not resurrect him, he does not deserve it. Therefore none of this, none of what Caspian has been experiencing these past months, has ever happened. None of it.

Who knows what happened that first day in the forest, when he fainted? Perhaps he actually died then, maybe slipping into the lake when he fell asleep and drowning before he woke. Or maybe he fell asleep on the ground and never woke up, now living in a permanent state of dreaming. Regardless, Caspian is not really in Narnia. He’s not really anywhere. What else could explain the madness he has endured, the way there is no way out of this day? He must be dead already, has been this whole time, or something terribly close to it.

The thought just makes him laugh harder. He killed himself and he was already dead! What a waste of time. All of that panic, breathing in that water, feeling it burn him up from the inside, was a complete waste of time. Although, can one even waste time in his predicament? It sounds paradoxical. 

It takes Caspian a few minutes to realize the guards have once again broken down his door and come inside, seemingly hearing his high-pitched laughter. They swarm the bed and eye him with concern.

“King Caspian?” Kadmiel calls, hand on the hilt of his sword. 

Caspian tries to suppress his giggles enough to speak. “Yes?”

The guard blinks, clearly unsure of what to say or do.

“I…” he starts. “Are you alright?”

Caspian laughs again. “Yes!” he lies, maybe? He’s not sure. “Yes, Kadmiel, I am just wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”

The other guards look at him as well. Caspian truly does not care.

“We heard…um,” Kadmiel explains, “well, we thought it was screaming. I suppose you were laughing.”

“And why wouldn’t I be?” Caspian sits up, looking out the window at the always-bright Narnian sun. “Isn’t it funny?”

“Isn’t what funny, sire?”

“All of it. Life, death. Everything in between. It’s all so funny. We worry so much and can do so little about it. None of it is in our control. So why should we worry?”

There’s a few seconds of silence as the guards look amongst each other. Caspian recognizes the irony that their king is talking about having no control to enact change. It must not instill much hope or confidence in them. Oh well!

“Are you feeling well, your highness?” Kadmiel asks sincerely. “Perhaps you had a bad dream?”

“A bad dream?” Caspian echoes. He laughs a bit more and gets out of the bed. “Oh, yes. A very bad dream. Terrible one. It lasted a few months, actually.” He stretches. “Well, it’s about time I go get breakfast. Thank you for your hard work.” He is about to cross the threshold of the door when he stops, turning his head over his shoulder. “And do not worry about fixing the door. It is not a problem.”

The guards simply stare at him, dumbfounded, before he flashes them a smile and leaves the room, moving through the hallways in nothing but his sleeping clothes. Not even shoes.

If the feeling Caspian had before dying was one of a haunting calm, this one is a hopeless mania, a sort of radical acceptance of the absolute powerlessness of his life. He can’t exactly call what he’s feeling happy , but there is some sort of sick joy in just letting the fates control you completely. 

As he heads down the winding paths of the castle, watching as passers-by give him odd stares, he feels himself shedding any and all responsibilities he previously had. His duties as a king? Unimportant. And more so, the burden of freeing himself from this looping day is no longer his concern. He has completely and utterly given up, even more so than when he killed himself.

It is a very strange kind of freedom. And for the moment, he is riding the high of it. For someone who was raised his entire life to be purely prim and proper, only speaking when spoken to and having the absolute purest of manners, there is a giddy sort of childlike joy in behaving completely unabashed. 

His feet find Peter before his brain realizes that’s where he was headed. Peter has gotten his drink by this point, sipping it and then shaking his head in disappointment as he looks out the hall window.

“You got the blueberry one, right?” Caspian says as he walks towards Peter, who turns towards him with a confused brow. “I was hoping I could reach you in time.”

“In time for what?” Peter asked with a bewildered chuckle.

“To tell you to pick a different flavor.” 

Peter’s chuckle fades as he tries to make sense of what Caspian said. Caspian does not give him the time, instead grabbing the teacup from Peter’s hands.

“You know, I have yet to try this myself,” he comments. He takes a sip, finding the flavor to be more bitter than he had expected. His face scrunches. “I can see why you do not like it.”

Peter just watches this happen, dumbfounded with slightly wide eyes. Caspian puts the cup on the windowsill next to them.

“I’ll get here on time tomorrow,” he promises. 

“I—okay,” Peter stammers, clearly lost. His eyes flicker to the cup, then back to Caspian. “Are you feeling alright?”

Caspian laughs, no longer holding it back.

“Not really, no. But I feel better now that I have seen you.”

If Peter’s eyes weren’t widened before, they definitely are now. His mouth parts, something like a gasp leaving it. 

“Um,” he says. 

Caspian smiles. “Sorry. You have never taken compliments from me well. I should know that by now.” His gaze flitters over Peter’s hair falling over his forehead. 

“It’s—your fine,” Peter gets out, his voice tight. “You can…compliment me. That’s fine. I won’t be mad.”

“Are you asking me to?”

Peter is practically an ice block, he is so frozen.

“No,” he counters. He seems like he wants to say more, but that’s all he manages.

Caspian’s smile morphs into a smirk.

“Alright,” he concedes.

He takes a moment to look at Peter, who he’s clearly made nervous. He looks pretty like this, all wide eyes and tousled morning hair and reddened cheeks. Of course, the sight makes Caspian want to kiss him. And in this new perspective on life he’s gleaned, nothing should stop him. 

And yet.

It still feels wrong. For one, if Caspian is to believe that he is not in reality, then this is not really Peter. It would not be like kissing the genuine person, but a husk, a false recreation. It would not have the same meaning. Their relationship could never advance, or grow, in an equal way. It would never be remembered.

But Caspian knows the real reason. It’s the reason that’s held him back every time, long before this began; the fear of rejection. If he learns now that Peter does not have romantic feelings for him, then he will have to carry that knowledge with him for the rest of eternity. Perhaps it is nicer to live in the speculative for the rest of his life, and just enjoy his time with Peter as a friend. That’s always been enough.

So he asks once more;

“Do you want to take a ride with me?”

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

Maybe this curse is actually a blessing, in a twisted way.

Hadn’t Caspian asked, the day this started, that he be allowed to stop time? He got his wish. The mania of his life is finally over. So is the uncertainty. He knows everything that is going to happen. The Pevensies never have to leave him. There are no consequences to his actions. Narnia cannot fail under his leadership since it can never progress as a nation. He has no responsibilities, but the freedom of a king. He can do whatever he wants. He can’t even die. 

And with all of that being true, who could blame Caspian for beginning to feel a sick sort of love for his situation? He is trapped within this, after all — let him at least make the most of it. Let him create a new definition of happiness.

He does so by continuing to fulfill his childhood dream of visiting England. Rather than only once, he now has infinite chances, which he uses to his advantage. Each time he goes through the portal with the Pevensies, he lies and tells them that Aslan allowed him one day to visit England, and that he will be sent back at the day’s end. They all accept this (since believing Caspian is easy for them, apparently) and spend the days gleefully showing him around different parts of London.

Of course, he has to start feigning excitement when they show him things they already have before, but the joy does not fade. He gets to experience so much; he tries ice cream, he rides in a car, he takes the train, he spends a day with them in school, he watches a photograph get created in real time (“Alchemy,” he surmises again), and he listens to phonographs. He finally gets to watch a movie — something about spies during the great war they’re in. Once he adjusts to how large and overwhelming it is, he quite enjoys it. It’s the closest he’s come to replicating how he felt when he first met the Pevensies; seeing his heroes made into real, moving figures who felt larger than life.

Now that he’s with them seemingly forever, Caspian feels more comfortable around them with each passing day, or repeating day. He does not hold himself back from asking any question he thinks of, no matter how embarrassing or stupid. 

“Is it true that you once gentled a dragon?” he asks one day.

Susan looked over her shoulder from where she was posed to shoot an arrow.

“What?” she laughs. “Where did you hear that?”

Caspian shrugs. “The stories. Where else?”

“Hmm,” she hums. She shoots the arrow without looking, and it’s a near-bullseye. “It’s quite a long story, you know.”

“I have time,” Caspian smiled, for once the thought not causing pain.

Then, one day with Edmund;

“Why was it that the signal for the raid was delayed?” he questions. “The blame for that is still on me — but I have always wanted to know.”

Edmund waves a hand. “Don’t think about the blame. That’s long past us.” He smiles mischievously. “Besides, the blame would technically be on me since I dropped my bloody torch.”

“You dropped it?”

“It’s not my proudest moment. But I got it back eventually.”

Caspian shakes his head in bemusement.

“You are an odd one, Edmund Pevensie.”

It keeps going like this, Caspian asking about any little thing he has ever wondered about regardless of the embarrassment it should cause. It does lead to, one morning before the breakfast conversation with Aslan, him asking Peter about the symbolism of Narnian swords.

“What do you mean?” Peter responds.

“In Telmarine culture, a sword is like a man’s arm,” Caspian explains. “It is meant to be one with his body, like a part of you is always a weapon. I was wondering if Narnia thought of swords in a similar way.”

Peter hums, looking down at Rhindon fastened in his hip. He unsheathes it and holds it open on his palms in the air between them, their faces reflected in the metal.

“Narnia isn’t quite as violent as Telmar,” he begins with a soft chuckle. “But we are similar in that the sword becomes one with the owner. You’re meant to take care of it, keep it clean and sharp and in good condition, to in turn better yourself. If your sword is lost, broken, or stolen, than a part of you will be as well.”

Caspian nods, all of this making perfect sense.

“What if one were to…” he starts tentatively. At this point in this day, Aslan has not told Peter he’s leaving yet. “...give it away? Or bequeath the sword to another? What does that symbolize?”

This gets Peter to swallow, his pupils briefly dilating. He looks away from Caspian and down at Rhindon.

“It could mean many things,” he answers. “A shift in leadership, perhaps. The changing of the guard. A coming of age.” His jaw clicks. “In some ceremonies, people exchange their swords as a proclamation of marriage. To give the other part of their soul.”

“Oh,” Caspian hums. He feels as though he should say more, but does not.

Peter clears his throat, sheathing the blade.

“Anyway,” he coughs, “does that answer your question?”

Caspian takes what is probably a suspiciously long moment to look at Peter before he responds. There’s not much Peter said that Caspian hadn’t already inferred, yet somehow Peter’s words did answer something that Caspian had thought of in a locked-away part of his heart. A forgotten creature called hope starts to rattle his ribcage, his heart rate increasing.

“Yes,” he says, his voice too quiet for the situation. “Yes, it did.

(Later that day, when Peter hands over the sword, there is an unmistakably charged look in his eyes as he does so. Caspian considers handing Peter his own sword, just to make the meaningful gesture it implies, but he knows that no Narnian object will make the journey through the portal. Peter can’t take it with him.)

One day, Caspian asks Lucy something he has always wondered about, yet never known how to verbalize.

It’s another day of them at a park, Caspian and her swinging side-by-side, the others running around somewhere in the distance. Near them, two children play with little wooden dolls, one of them roaring as he imitates a lion.

“Lucy,” Caspian starts, slowing down so his swing is stationary. Lucy does the same, looking over at him patiently. “You and Aslan are quite close, yes?”

She smiles, both sadly and fondly. 

“I suppose we are. Though, not in the same way that I am with you. Or my siblings.”

Caspian feels a twinge of joy at Lucy feeling as though the two of them are close, even without her remembering all of the additional days they’ve spent together. 

“Yes, of course. But I still do not…fully understand.”

“Understand what?”

Caspian hesitates as he holds the chains of the swing in his hands. The metal is scratchy and rusted on his palm.

“Well…when he is around you, at least some of the time, he does not behave like the great lion of legend. You run up to him and pet his mane while the rest of us bow. Do you see what I am saying?”

Lucy makes a face, contemplating, as she looks down.

“Maybe,” she hums. “I guess I never really thought about it. I mean, I met him when I was eight years old. I don’t have many memories from before Narnia…or, not as many as the others do. Aslan has been there for basically my whole life.”

“Do you see him as family?”

“I think so. Sort of like an uncle that stops by every now and then.” She giggles, and Caspian can’t help but to join in, the sentence sounding so absurd. But he knows that to her, it is also the truth.

“Uncle Aslan,” he repeats quietly with amusement. “I would have much preferred him to Miraz.”

Lucy’s smile falls. “I’m sorry. Maybe when you’re back in Narnia, you’ll get closer to him, too.”

Caspian turns away, watching Edmund climb a tree to avoid whatever Peter was about to do to him. 

“I am not so sure,” he counters. “I must admit, I find him quite…”

“Intimidating?” Lucy finishes. Caspian nods. “A lot of people do. I can’t really blame them. I mean, he is Aslan. Almost everything ever written about him is true. Even I look at him in wonder sometimes.”

“But you are not intimidated?”

“Never. I mean, has he ever tried to threaten you? Or scare you in any way?”

A pause. “No.”

“Then why be intimidated? He likes you. He crowned you when we did. If he wanted you to be scared of him, he would have done something by now.”

“Yes…” Caspian sighs, “yet there’s always the chance I could do something wrong to upset him, or lose his good graces.”

“You would have to really mess up for that to happen. We’ve all made mistakes, and he’s forgiven us. We’re only human. And he’s not just a legend. He has his own feelings and struggles. He’s made mistakes in his past, surely. He’s someone you can talk to. Not just bow to.”

Caspian reflects on this. He finds himself thinking of what happens every day, when Aslan asks his opinion on sending the Telmarines to their homeland. He always saw it as a kind gesture, something Aslan didn’t need to do but performed out of politeness. Does he really care that much what Caspian thinks? Could his opinion be swayed, if Caspian had a strong argument? 

“Everyone should have a choice,” Lucy says in that same conversation. Why Caspian thinks of that, he isn’t sure, but it rings in his head.

“I see,” he murmurs. He feels as though there’s been an important shift in his perception, but he’s not fully sure what it is. “Thank you.”

Lucy reaches across the gap and squeezes his hand.

“You’re going to be a great king, Caspian,” she comforts. “You already are.”

He smiles at her, wishing he could believe her. Wishing, for the first time in a while, that any of this mattered.

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

Caspian starts to get reckless.

The brief delusional joy he started to feel towards his situation begins to fade. It’s not for a lack of exciting possibilities; going through the portal alone gives him an entire new world to explore, especially on days he “jumps a train” to visit lands beyond London. He thinks if he truly was stuck in this day for eternity, he would never run out of things to do, or places to see.

But something about that unbridled freedom, yet actual imprisonment, is starting to change his psyche. The more days pass, the less he is attuned to his own body. Sometimes he feels as though he is watching himself from the perspective of a bird, or an uncaring god. He fears what happens if he becomes untethered entirely.

He starts to act wildly in an attempt to feel something again. He runs through the streets of London traffic. He blatantly steals from a store and then hides from the police. He practices dangerous tricks with his sword. He climbs several Narnian mountains. He contemplates jumping across rooftops. He sleeps in a tree one night without strapping himself in. Things like that. Stupid things, careless things.

None of it quite works. None of it brings the manic joy back, or makes him feel connected to his body again. 

So he goes to the one thing that might.

“Peter!” he calls out, gasping for breath after he has sprinted through the castle halls. Peter looks up, his hand frozen over the servant’s selection of teacups. “Don’t pick the blueberry. You will not like it.”

Both Peter and the servant stare at Caspian for a long, stunned second. Caspian just stares back and calms his breathing until Peter eventually cracks. 

“Alright,” he says, the word drawn out. He looks back down at the kettles and points to a new one. “ Jesberry , then, I suppose.”

“As you wish,” the servant replies, pouring him a cup. She gives Caspian a side-eye as she pushes the cart away, not bothering to offer him any, even though he is her king.

Peter watches with a curious and slightly concerned look as Caspian walks closer, tentatively holding the teacup in his hands.

“You came all this way just to tell me what tea to drink?” he questions. “Did you follow the maid here, or something?”

“Something like that,” Caspian answers. He points to the cup. “Well, try it. Let’s see if you like this one.”

Peter laughs, clearly still confused, before taking a sip of his drink. He makes a face that suggests he is pleasantly surprised, and hums. 

“Better than I thought it would be,” he explains. “Not my favorite, but it tastes fine.”

Caspian sighs in relief, as if he just accomplished something grand.

“Good,” he breathes. 

Peter takes a moment to eye Caspian, trailing down his body and up again, and it’s not the sort of gaze that Caspian would want from him. He puts his cup down on the nearby windowsill.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks genuinely. “Why were you running?”

“Morning exercise,” Caspian lies. It comes as easily as breathing. “Do you want to have another sparring session?”

Truthfully, Caspian didn’t know that’s what he was going to ask until the words left his mouth. But it makes sense. He has always felt the most alive when dueling Peter Pevensie; with swords or otherwise, with hatred or otherwise.

Peter blinks, then does something like a smirk. 

“Feeling confident, are you?” he teases. “You beat me one time, you can’t wait to do it again. Our bruises haven’t even healed yet.”

Caspian shrugs. They never will. “And why should that stop us? We would not get such luxuries in a real war.”

Peter raises his eyebrows, considering. He is definitely smirking now.

“Alright,” he concedes. "Meet me by the Northern Glade. I’ll be there soon.” He takes his drink into his bedroom and shuts the door behind him. 

Caspian waits until Lucy appears as usual in the hallway, then redirects her to Edmund before making his way down to the glade. He does make a brief detour to get dressed, since in his attempt to get quickly to Peter, he forego changing out of his sleeping clothes. He chooses a white tunic, light and easy to move in, but does not fasten it all the way, letting some of his collarbone show through. He feels the wind rushing over his skin as he steps outside.

He stands there for a few minutes, closing his eyes. He still does not feel entirely here , in this moment, but tries to bring himself down as he focuses on the sensations around him; the sound of the wind, the warmth of the sun, his sword in his hand. He takes steady and controlled breaths, the Narnian ground solid and sturdy beneath him. 

Narnia is still a beautiful place. And now, it seems, she might not be the source of this torment at all, but a fellow victim. It helps Caspian to begin to appreciate her again, when for a while he had forgotten to.

When he finally opens his eyes, Peter is already standing there.

How long he was there for, Caspian has no way of knowing. But once his eyes open, Peter immediately clears his throat, then attempts to casually walk forward as if he just arrived. 

“Right,” he says, his voice tight. “You’re sure you’re up for this? If you’re too tired…”

Caspian laughs. If only that were the problem.

“Are you sure that you are?” he retorts. He doesn’t give Peter a chance to answer, instead drawing his blade and causing Peter to raise his in defense. The action makes Peter flash a wicked grin, looking a little wild himself, and then the duel is on.

Sparring with Peter, Caspian thinks, has always felt similar to dancing. He’s danced his whole life, and he dances well. Miraz and the other Telmarine lords held many balls in the castle as he grew up, and since he was the supposed heir of Telmar, he was expected to make appearances, and so he did. He danced with all kinds of people from all walks of life. Some were easier than others. Others even found their way to Caspian’s bed, for but one night. Either way, he danced often, and with many.

This, clashing swords with Peter, is better than any dance partner he has ever had. And it’s more exhilarating, too.

He starts to feel himself come alive again as they trade blows, their swords clashing and sending sharp shrills through the air. He sees glimmers of sweat start to emerge on Peter’s brow, his golden hair sticking to his forehead, and his breaths fill the rare gaps of silence. It’s a raw and beautiful thing, Peter’s laboured breathing, and Caspian thinks he could listen to it all day without tiring of it.

They go for a few rounds, taking short breaks in between. There’s no clear winner, the two simply stopping when they are tired. It’s almost more enjoyable, sometimes, when no one wins, when the battle can go on seemingly forever, an equal trading of two partners. Someone will win eventually, Caspian knows this — but they can prolong it for a few bouts longer. 

The more they go on, the more Caspian feels both exhausted and energized, his body spent but his mind active. He has an urge, quite impulsively and a little lovestruck, to impress Peter. He stops mid-duel to start doing one of the sword tricks he’s been practicing.

“But can you do this? ” he teases, balancing his sword by the pommel with just a finger. He watches the pointed blade shoot up into the Narnian sky, glinting in the sun. 

Peter, holding a sword that is technically also Caspian’s, watches and rolls his eyes.

“Yes, very good, Caspian,” he comments. “The next time we’re fighting an army, I’ll pull out that move. It will win us the battle, I know it.”

Caspian laughs as he purposefully bounces from foot to foot, showing his ability to balance the sword.

“Not everything is about victory and battles, my friend.” He flips the sword and catches it by the hilt before turning to Peter with a cheeky grin. “Haven’t you ever had fun?”

Peter doesn’t answer, seeming slightly taken aback by Caspian’s words and unsure how to answer. Caspian takes this moment to do a couple more of his tricks, different ways of catching and flipping the sword. 

“You’ve been practicing,” Peter comments, his smile fading a bit as he watches the sword fly around.

“Very much so,” Caspian affirms. “I have all the time in the world.” As if to prove his point, he suddenly moves over to a nearby tree and starts climbing it. This one doesn’t seem to be awake. “I could do this anywhere, if I wanted.”

“...what do you mean?” Peter calls. Caspian turns around from where he’s situated himself on a long branch and sees Peter squinting up at him, looking concerned.

“I will show you.” Caspian then proceeds to walk out onto the branch, balancing the sword so the top of the blade is poking out through the leaves of the tree. He feels the branch shaking beneath his feet.

“Alright, Caspian, you can call me impressed,” Peter says. “How about we finish the fight down here, yeah?”

“Oh, we’ve fought enough,” Caspian counters. “Can’t you watch me for a moment longer?”

Peter hesitates. He takes a few steps closer to the tree.

“I’d rather watch you down here.”

“So you would like to watch me?” Caspian flirts. He takes a quick glance away from his sword to look at Peter.

It’s only a brief glance that he gets. Peter is looking up at him in a clear mix of concern and awe, amusement and worry, confusion and intrigue. He doesn’t answer, and yet Caspian knows; he would like to watch Caspian, actually. 

The thought causes Caspian to forget that he’s doing something rather precarious. Either his feet instinctively move closer to Peter, or he simply loses his balance, but the result is him slipping off of the branch and falling a considerable distance to the ground, thudding with the impact.

His sword comes soon after.

How it happens, he isn’t sure, but the way he and the sword both fall causes the blade to run through his chest the moment after he lands. The sharp, piercing pain it brings causes him to cry out, but it’s barely heard over the sound of Peter’s own scream.

“Caspian!” he calls, abandoning Rhindon in the grass and running over to where Caspian is. He kneels on the ground, eyeing the sword now protruding from Caspian’s body with a look of horror, his eyes wider than Caspian’s ever seen them. His hands hover over the wound, which is beginning to leak, blood staining Caspian’s white shirt.

“Hi, Peter,” Caspian finds himself saying, perhaps becoming a bit delirious. He watches Peter looking all over him and finds that he’s not as scared as he probably should be, though the pain is tremendous.

“ Hi, Peter?! ” Peter repeats, scared and angry. “Wh—have you lost your mind?”

“Yes,” Caspian replies, laughing and then groaning when it causes a new wave of pain, more blood gushing.

“Stop laughing,” Peter commands. He starts ripping the bottom of Caspian’s shirt off and wraps it around the base of the blade, attempting to soak up more of the bleeding. “Don’t talk at all. Don’t move. Don’t do anything .”

“It’s too late for that.”

“It’s not too late, can you just shut up?!” Peter spits. Caspian never knew someone could look so furious and heartbroken at the same time. “I mean…what were you thinking , Caspian? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

I was thinking of a career in medicine , Peter once said to Caspian, a few lifetimes ago. Caspian wonders if all doctors would be this emotional towards their patients. He can’t help but to smile.

“I was just trying to finish what you started the day we met,” he comments, attempting a joke. It falls flat, Peter looking at Caspian with…bewilderment would be the closest word. Guilt, perhaps, in a strange way. But fear, through and on top of all of it. Peter is horribly afraid.

“The day we…” he starts, trailing off. He shakes his head. “Nevermind. I’m going to get Lucy.”

Caspian attempts to hold out a hand. “Don’t bother,” he asserts, not wanting to traumatize her. “It’s okay.”

“It’s okay?! ” Peter echoes, his voice breaking. “Are you insane? How you could be so…how could you…”

His words fade off as he cups his hand along Caspian’s face, the warmth of it feeling like fire to Caspian, who is quickly going cold from blood loss. Instinctively, naturally, Caspian leans his head into the touch, taking a second to close his eyes and breath before opening up again. 

When he does this, something happens to Peter. Caspian doesn’t know what — he can only assume. But Peter looks down at Caspian, bleeding out below him, cradling his face with his own bloodied hand, and something shifts inside him. Something clicks. His face falls, in a new kind of fear, and for a moment he seems to slink down into himself, becoming smaller, as if the weight of something quite heavy is suddenly weighing upon him all at once. 

“You…” Peter says again, almost a whisper. Nothing else comes out.

Caspian almost laughs, then, because he understands. He understands something that probably should have been clear to him a long time ago. He wonders why it took this — took Caspian to be near-death — for Peter to access these own emotions in himself. Perhaps he’s unable to do so unless he’s in his most natural element; surrounded by death and violence. 

But because Peter now knows, and because Caspian understands, he takes all of the energy he has to raising his own hand to cup Peter’s face with, Peter gasping at the gesture.

“It’s okay,” Caspian repeats, solemnly this time, attempting to carry with those two words the meaning of a thousand more that are unsaid. 

“It’s not,” Peter murmurs into Caspian’s palm. “It’s not.”

“Yes, Peter, it is.”

Peter grimaces, as if he has been caught doing something wrong. He frowns as he looks back down at Caspian’s wound.

“I’m going to get Lucy,” he says again, but doesn’t move.

“And leave me here alone?” Caspian counters, half-jokingly. “I will be dead before you get back.”

“ Don’t say that ,” Peter grits through his teeth. His eyes are brimming with tears unshed. “This is…you were just doing a stupid stunt in a tree. This isn’t how you’re supposed to go.”

Caspian takes a long exhale. “There are worse ways to die,” he says, and means it. For a brief second, his chest feels like it’s burning.

“You’re supposed to rule Narnia,” Peter continues. “We’ll be leaving, you know. Aslan hasn’t said anything, but I can feel it. You’re meant to lead, now.”

“You will just have to stay,” Caspian mentions. “You’re welcome.”

Peter scoffs. “This is ridiculous. I’m not entertaining this any longer.” He takes a second to press his hand firmly into Caspian’s temple before standing. “ I’m getting Lucy. And you’re not going to die before I get back. Do you understand?”

Caspian, who knows he can’t keep that promise, nods.

“Yes, your Highness,” he replies. Either he is hallucinating, or the sun is casting a crown of golden rays around Peter’s head. A beautiful last thing to see, if he were to die now.

Peter recoils at the name, but keeps his sturdy.

“Do not move,” he points. “Don’t laugh, don’t talk, don’t even breathe too hard. Keep the pressure on that wound. Don’t take the sword out.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t, scowling as he turns around and races back towards the castle, faster than Caspian has ever seen him move.

He sighs as Peter fades into a speck in the distance. He lets his head lull back onto the grass and looks up at the blue—no, that’s not right. The sky is grey now, Caspian not even noticing the transition. Grey like it is every time the Pevensies leave, filled with the same swirling clouds. Thunder rumbles, but no rain comes.

“Huh,” Caspian mutters, watching this unfold. “That is odd.”

He doesn’t have time to think of much else.

Chapter Text

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

Caspian dies. That doesn’t matter. What does matter is this;

Peter loves Caspian. In what way, Caspian doesn’t know, and he suspects that even Peter himself does not know. But he does know that it’s true. It should not have taken Caspian dying and several months of looping days for either of them to realize this, but it can’t be taken back now. 

Now what matters is Caspian, and his wanting, and if he is finally going to do something about it. He can no longer ignore his own questions and thoughts about forming some kind of companionship with him. 

He has a million reasons not to, reasons he’s been telling himself repeatedly for months on end, even before this all started. It wouldn’t be an equal relationship, Peter would not remember any of it, it would be morally wrong, and he wouldn’t really be kissing Peter at all, but whatever looks like him in Caspian’s unique hell. These are all valid reasons, and strong reasons, to continue to not do anything.

But with each day that passes, each day he looks at Peter with this newfound knowledge…he is getting harder to resist. Curiosity burns deep in his gut, and his brain begins to delude him with fantasies of finding a way to make this work in the situation they are in. 

Would it be fair? Probably not. Yet Caspian has suffered enough, for long enough, that he’s starting to feel selfish.

He tests the waters of his desires by attempting to bridge the topic to Edmund one day, as they walk along together in London, further back from the others.

“Edmund,” he begins tepidly, “I always noticed that only Lucy was ever recorded as having lovers in any of the Narnian legends. Do you know why that is? Is it even true?”

Edmund gives him a very funny and slightly confused look before speaking.

“How much time do you have?” he jokingly asks.

Caspian fights a groan. “As much as you need.”

“Hm. Well, I’ll say it’s mostly true, for what matters to history. Me personally, I’ve never found much interest in other people that way. Not like Susan, I mean. She still…” He looks away, chuckling in something close to shyness, but not quite. “She wants more than I want. Friends are enough for me. And even they can be a bit much, sometimes.”

“Yes, I can be.”

Edmund scoffs and playfully hits Caspian on the arm.

“Not you !” he retorts. “Anyway. That’s my reason. Susan’s are her own. Peter…” He trails off, flicking his eyes between Peter and Caspian. He sighs. “It’s too much to really give you one answer. And it’s not right that I speak for him.”

Caspian nods solemnly. “Of course.”

Edmund hesitates before continuing.

“But…I’ll say his reasons aren’t like mine. He would… want someone, you know. For companionship. He just…” Edmund shakes his head. “He’s just Peter.”

The conversation tapers out there, those words seeming to say everything they need to. He’s just Peter. Wholly complicated and simple, all at once. 

Still, the conversation sticks in Caspian’s mind, and he finds himself talking to Susan about Sayen a few days later, while they inspect some fruit in a grocery store . How the two became separated from the others, Caspian isn’t sure, but it’s the first time it’s happened for a while, so he takes the moment to bring Sayen up.

“I have debated whether I should tell you this,” he half-lies, since anything he tells her she will just forget, “but after you all left…right before I went in, Sayen left through the portal. Her father had to follow her. She seemed rather upset.”

Susan freezes when she hears the news, her body going rigid as she stares pointedly down at the apple in her hand. She seems to actually be holding it tighter, nails digging grooves into the skin.

“And why were you debating telling me?” she asks, her tone coolly measured. 

Caspian just looks at her, unblinking and unintimidated.

“You know why, Susan.”

That gets her to look up at him, filled with surprise more than anything. Perhaps she is not used to someone looking past her tough exterior and seeing the softness underneath. Or perhaps she’s just not used to Caspian being so forward. Either could be true. 

Her mouth opens, then closes. She looks away again.

“Well,” she eventually says, “there’s not really anything I can do about that, now, is there?”

You could tomorrow, Caspian thinks. And each day after that. If you wanted.

“No,” he exhales, gently prying the apple from her clenched hand, which is now lightly coated in its juices. She blinks down at her palm. “I suppose you cannot. But I thought you might like to know. You meant a great deal to her.”

Susan awkwardly rubs her wet hands against the sides of her skirt. She bites her lip as she looks at Caspian, seeming as if she is in a new situation for her. 

“Alright,” she says, face pinched. When she says nothing else, Caspian continues.

“How did it…” he starts. “How did it begin? It must not have been simple.”

That gets Susan to laugh; a small one, but it is a laugh. “How do any of these things start? Someone had to say something. Someone had to do something.”

“Yes, but…” He pauses, not sure what it is he wants to ask, or how. “Who did? What did you do? If it is not too personal, of course.”

Susan gives a small smile, both sad and amused. 

“If you must know, she started it. She was rather persistent, really. Didn’t think about what she was doing at all. She just…did it. She just acted.” She wistfully looks off into the distance. “I wish I could be like that. I think too much.”

“Me, too,” Caspian agrees with a sigh. He sees a flash of blond hair in the distance and glances over to find Peter with Lucy on his shoulders, helping her reach something on a high shelf. His heart does a flip. “Think too much and you lose your chance.”

Susan seems to follow his gaze over to her brother. She looks between the two of them in recognition.

“Just one day, right?” she questions. “That’s all Aslan allowed?”

“One day,” Caspian repeats. It both is and isn’t the truth. 

Susan takes a step closer and subtly takes the apple back from Caspian. He finally looks at her.

“I’m not exactly an expert,” she begins, “but I think one day might be all that you need. It’s more than a lot of people get.” She takes a bite of the apple as if to solidify her point, the crunch making an exclamation.

Caspian laughs. If that is so, then he has taken many people’s days. He should maybe be offended, or surprised, that she clearly knows he has feelings for Peter, but he also thinks at this point anyone with a working set of eyes and even a vague interest could figure it out. If she knows how Peter feels…then this is a charged sentence, indeed.

“Maybe so,” he replies, unable to think of something better to say, and they leave it at that.

─ 𖦹𖦹𖦹 ─

One day. 

Caspian has been repeating this in his mind since that conversation with Susan. How could it be that he has had so many extra days with Peter, and yet has not kissed him in any of them?

He does know why. His reasons made sense at the time, and they still do now. 

But Caspian wants. He wants and he pines and he aches and he has gone mad. He has been in love for a few months and for his entire life. The thing he wants most is not even a fingertip away and yet he has not closed his hand to grasp it. The fact that he has gone this long at all without acting speaks of some hidden strength in Caspian he was not aware he possessed.

That strength is weakened, if not gone entirely. He cannot bear the weight of this want any longer. These continuous lived days have made him more than a bit impulsive, surprisingly impatient, and very reckless. Consequences feel ancient, unable to reach him, and after so many days torturing himself and being tortured, the inhibitions in his mind break down, and he is left with one singular burning focus, and that is to get what he wants, for the first time in his miserable life.

When he wakes, he does not hesitate.

He gets dressed as quickly as possible, briefly checking his hair in the mirror before rushing out of his room and not bothering to shut the door behind him. He feels a sort of wild, manic energy building in him as he walks in great strides down the castle hallways, with a confidence that can only come from someone who has absolutely nothing to lose.

He finds Peter where he expects to, standing at the hall window outside his own room and drinking that blueberry tea. He looks as he always does when the day starts like this; bright and shining in the Narnian sun, relaxed in a way Peter rarely is. It does take some effort for Caspian to not stop a moment and drink him all in, because looking at Peter has never grown tiring, no matter how many days it’s been.

Instead, he continues his pace, having possibly never in his life walked this quickly and assuredly, and his presence is loud enough for Peter to see him coming, turning to him with that frustratingly genuine smile. The speed of Caspian’s gait and whatever steeled expression he has does give Peter pause, however, and his smile falls to something a bit confused, maybe alarmed, as he puts down his drink.

“Caspian—” Peter starts, but that’s all he gets out, because Caspian has crossed the stretch of hallway between them and in one fell swoop, grabs Peter by the hip with one hand, then cups his face in the other to pull him forward for a kiss. 

Despite how fast he’s been moving, the kiss itself is not rushed, though it is sudden enough for Peter’s lips to be still and unmoving against Caspian’s own. In fact, Peter’s entire body tenses up, as if he was dipped in cold water, and Caspian pulls back to find that Peter had not even closed his eyes, or if he did, he opened them back up immediately. 

The look on Peter’s face tells Caspian that he is entirely wrong about all of this, about any feelings he could have deluded himself into thinking Peter has for him. Peter is maybe more scared now than Caspian has ever seen him. Not during the invasion of this very castle, not during the duel with Miraz, not during the final battle with the Telmarines, and not any of what came in between compares to the sheer fact that Caspian has kissed him. Apparently nothing is as uniquely horrible as that, and Caspian’s insides burn with a new layer of self-loathing previously thought impossible.

There’s maybe a second or two of time where they are frozen in place, Caspian holding Peter with now unsteady hands, who stares upwards at him with wide eyes, and it feels like there is absolutely nothing around them at all, just two boys standing in the weight of what has happened, their feet stuck and unable to move past it, caught in the sheer reality of it all. 

Caspian finally gets enough wits about him to loosen his hands, about to pull back, and Peter must realize this because his expression shifts, quickly and a bit panicked, and lifts his face up to kiss Caspian back. 

Caspian is so relieved by this that he’s certain he actually sighs into Peter’s mouth, his eyes fluttering closed. He leans him ever so slightly against the windowed ledge behind them, tightening his grip on Peter’s hip yet softening his hand around his jaw, the moment torn between something fragile and something he desperately needs to cling onto.

How long they stand there and kiss for, Caspian isn’t sure. His sense of time has long since been eroded. It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. Regardless, it’s still not long enough before Peter pulls back; not out of fear this time, but simply to breathe. His cheeks are tinted a floral sort of pink, and his head is backlit by the sun through the window, framing him in gold. He seems to take a quick stock of Caspian as if coming to terms with what they’ve just done, then half-smiles in an almost drunk bewilderment.

“Good morning to you, too,” he jokes, his voice slightly raspy and not a little shy. 

Caspian smiles back, an overwhelming giddiness overtaking him, feeling childlike in his joy.

“Good morning,” he replies, his tone equally hushed. Even after being so sure of himself, he still cannot fully believe that Peter actually kissed him back. He feels if he speaks too loud, he will somehow shatter the bubble of the moment. 

The two of them somewhat awkwardly yet pleasantly smile at each other for a few seconds before Peter starts making tentative glances over Caspian’s shoulder. Caspian realizes, then, that there are actually other people in this hallway, not merely the two of them, and they have all seen what their king (and former king) just did. 

He perhaps should be embarrassed, but he has not felt embarrassment for a long time. He wonders if he ever will again.

But he can see that it effects Peter, being seen like this, so he drops a head down and whispers;

“Should we perhaps get out of here?”

Peter swallows, then nods. He does not resemble a king at all.

“Yeah,” he mumbles back. “Right.”

Caspian smirks. He then casually leans away from Peter and takes two steps backwards into the center of the hallway, glancing around at the passers-by. He can see they are all attempting to appear as if they were not just intensely watching him and were instead simply walking past. 

He gestures with his head to Peter before heading back the way he came. They walk silently through the castle, Caspian leading and Peter blindly following. 

He didn’t have much of a plan for what he was going to do when he kissed Peter, but this element, at least, he has thought of for some time. He’s thought of bringing Peter here long before this curse ever began.

‘Here’ is an area between stairwells in the far corner of the castle, formerly leading to his late father’s study. When Miraz took over, he had the area demolished for ‘renovations’ that never came, an excuse to further erase his brother from Telmar’s history. This left an unoccupied area at the top of the stairwell that leads to nothing, an empty room with only windows on the wall and another one in the ceiling. 

Caspian quickly claimed the space for himself, making it a getaway of sorts. It was his refuge when he was a child. He would lie there at night and look out the window at the stars above, secretly tracing the Narnian constellations he was taught by Cornelius. Over time, he slowly brought his prized possessions there, wanting to ensure they could not be taken away by Miraz or his guards. The space felt more “his” than his actual bedroom, and safer, too.

Once Caspian became king, he moved into the bedroom he has now. He hasn’t come back many times since, not needing the safe space anymore, but he also has not changed the room, either. Everything he put there is still there, and it is still unknown to anyone but him, since none of the servants would think to go looking in the debris.

In short, it is a private place where neither Lucy nor anyone else should be able to find them for some time. So, it’s perfect.

Only once they’ve reached the edge of the castle, right before the entrance to the stairwell, does Peter speak.

“Are we actually going anywhere, or do you just enjoy having me follow you around?” he asks teasingly. 

Caspian looks over his shoulder.

“Both,” he replies. When that earns him another blush from Peter, he turns back around, satisfied.

He should have started teasing Peter a long time ago. It’s too fun.

“Trust me and copy my movements,” he explains. “It will be dark for some time. Just listen to my voice.”

“Um, sure,” Peter chuckles. 

He soon realizes what Caspian means when they start crawling their way through the abandoned rubble and up the pitch-black stairwell. Caspian has the movements memorized by now, burned into him since childhood, but he can hear Peter struggling.

“Almost there,” he calls.

“Almost where ?!” Peter retorts. Another stumble. “I fear I’m going to regret this.”

“Nonsense. Look, grab my hand.” He finds Peter’s hand in the dark and takes it. “Just move slowly.”

He gently guides Peter up the remaining steps of the stairwell, the light beginning to filter in from the windows above. When they reach the top, Caspian gestures out with his free hand.

“Here we are,” he announces.

Peter looks around with surprise and curiosity, taking in his surroundings. There’s a lot to see; piles of books Caspian has yet to bring back to the library, little toys and wooden carvings he made as a child, several telescopes gifted to him from Cornelius — and, notably, a makeshift bed in the middle of the floor, composed of thrown-together pillows and blankets. Peter’s eyes linger on it, then look sharply away. 

“What is this?” he asks quietly.

Caspian exhales. “My safe haven from Miraz. That area over there used to lead to my father’s study, but he had it demolished. Nobody ever came here or fixed it, so I made it my refuge. It was the one place I knew no one would ever find me.”

A beat. “Who else knows about this?”

Caspian turns so he’s facing Peter, their hands still locked.

“No one,” he admits. He takes Peter’s other hand and laces them together, looking Peter deeply in the eyes. “Just you.”

Peter swallows again. He seems to be doing a lot of that this morning, as if there are words he is constantly pushing down.

“Right,” he gets out, the word tight. His hands seem to be shaking slightly in Caspian’s own. “Well, that’s…that’s nice. Thank you.”

There is a unique atmosphere in this hidden room they’re in; it’s tense, but not in a threatening or unpleasant way. It is the very strange sensation of teetering on the edge of something that is going to wildly change your life. It is not knowing how to begin. Peter certainly doesn’t seem to know how — or, if he does, he will not allow himself, instead standing there and letting Caspian hold his hands, but doing nothing further. Waiting, perhaps, and hoping. 

So Caspian asks the question.

“Can I kiss you again?” he says plainly, gently, patiently. He has waited this long for Peter Pevensie; he can wait a moment longer, if needed.

The question seems to surprise Peter, which in turn surprises Caspian. Peter doesn’t quite… gawk , but he does look a bit dumbfounded, and swallows once again.

“You want to?” he replies.

A laugh bubbles out of Caspian. It’s not demeaning, just astonished and undeniably lovestruck.

“Have I not made that clear?” he wonders, leaning his face just slightly closer.

Peter’s eyes train on Caspian’s lips.

“I suppose you have.”

“So would you want to?” Caspian counters. “Whatever it is you want, Peter, just tell me. It’s yours.”

Peter’s hands reflexively tighten in Caspian’s at those words, perhaps wishing that Rhindon’s pommel was there instead. Caspian doesn’t mind. Peter could squeeze his hands until they went numb, and that would be fine.

“What I want…?” Peter repeats quietly. He looks all over Caspian, then out the window behind him, then back again. “Well, I—I want many things. That part is easy.”

Caspian tilts his head. “Then what is not easy?”

“Having,” Peter answers after a beat. His eyes glance up from their entwined hands to meet Caspian’s gaze. “I don’t…I don’t get to have . I don’t get what I want. I haven’t for a long time.”

Neither have I, Caspian thinks, yet does not say. He doesn’t want to make this about him.

“Let this be the start,” he practically whispers. Peter has still not said directly if he wants Caspian to kiss him or not, but the underlying answer seems clear enough. 

As Caspian finishes speaking, he closes the space between their faces, giving Peter ample time to pull away if he wishes. When he doesn’t, Caspian kisses him again, even softer and slower than before, and this time Peter’s lips do not still against his own, but move in tandem.

Caspian can admit, as he untwines his hands from Peter’s to caress his face, that Peter does not kiss very smoothly; he kisses like someone out of practice, someone who perhaps used to but long forgot. Caspian himself has not been touched by another in some time, and the hunger and wanting that both of them must have been feeling for far too long begins to become known — their movements faster, their kisses more aggressive, their hands gripping harder. 

How and why they end up entangled on the makeshift bed is unclear to Caspian, but they are there now, Caspian holding himself over Peter’s frame as his hands lightly grab Peter’s wrists near his head. The room is starkly quiet, any noise from the castle halls to far to make its way in, and so the only sounds are that of their breathing, which is becoming increasingly laboured. If an occasional hum makes its way out of Peter’s throat, then all the better.

When Caspian finds himself wanting to taste Peter’s heartbeat, moving his lips to the pulse thrumming on his neck, his fingers loosely beginning to wind through the buttons of Peter’s shirt, Peter freezes.

Caspian notices immediately, and of course stops, looking up from where his head is now positioned around Peter’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, ensuring he sounds genuine and not impatient.

Peter blinks up at the ceiling several times before finally looking down at Caspian. He seems both marveled and horrified at the sight there.

“I…” Peter starts, then stops. His hand that has found his way into Caspian’s hair lightly moves its fingers, the movement perhaps not a conscious choice. “It’s nothing. Sorry.”

Caspian frowns, rolling off of Peter and propping himself up on an elbow. He takes his free hand and traces along Peter’s jawline.

“Tell me,” he requests, pleads. “I already told you, whatever you want is yours.”

Peter winces. “I know.”

“We do not have to do anything further,” Caspian assures. “I do not want you to think that is all I want from you. I would be happy to just…lie here. Lie here and talk. Or not even talk, if you wish.”

That surprisingly gets Peter to laugh. It’s quick, cut off and replaced with a look of…wonder, maybe. Disbelief. It is not dissimilar to how Caspian has seen people approach altars, and he wonders what he could have possibly done to earn a look like that. He might never know.

“I should have done this a long time ago,” Caspian continues when Peter hasn’t spoken. “I feel foolish for waiting. Peter, I will take you however I can get you. Whatever you are willing to give to me, I will cherish happily. How much or how little, it does not matter. I would be happy just to be yours.”

If Peter looked scared before, he looks downright terrified now. His face oscillates between expressions of guilt, elation, relief, and hesitation. His hand lowers from Caspian’s hair and through to the base of his neck, holding him there.

“That’s not it, Caspian,” he eventually says. He might as well be split open. “I…I do want you. All of you. And I feel equally as foolish, don’t be mistaken.”

Caspian barely heard the rest of Peter’s words after I want you , which still echo and ricochet around in his mind, reaching down his throat and beating against his heart. Peter Pevensie just said that. Peter Pevensie wants Caspian, the rotted and tortured thing that he is. 

If this all really has been a dream, some endless sleep Caspian has been trapped in, then let that be so. Never wake him up.

“So what troubles you?” he manages to reply, bringing his focus back to the present, to Peter’s feelings. 

Peter grimaces, biting his lip. His eyes trail down Caspian’s face to his mouth, then his body, then back to his eyes.

“I’m sure you can figure out that it’s been some time,” he begins. “Since…for me.”

Caspian can read between the lines. He nods understandingly.

“And for me,” he admits. 

Peter lets out a breath, as if that admission loosened a tension in him, a worry he had unspoken. His thumb rubs against Caspian’s neck.

“It will all be new,” he says, his voice low. “Now and when we leave this room. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do.” Caspian doesn’t think about the lack of a tomorrow for them. For now, he can pretend. “But I am willing to try if you are.”

Those words, as plain and simple as they may be, serve their purpose, striking a chord in Peter. Caspian watches in real time as the fear begins to dissolve out of Peter; not gone completely, but being coated in that kingly varnish, the bravery that Peter suits into before every charge of battle. It’s not a mask, or a shield, but a second skin. 

“I am,” he replies, strength and sincerity in his voice. “I am, Caspian.”

And that’s enough, really, isn’t it? The promise that two people are going to try. It’s more than a lot of people get. It’s more than Caspian possibly deserves. But it’s here, and it’s his, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let it go. Not after everything he’s been through.

So he grabs Peter tight, and he kisses him like the sun is dying out behind them, and for the first time since Caspian can remember, he feels alive.

He’s finally brought back down into his own body.

He no longer feels as though he is watching himself from another perspective, but is fully grounded. Every spot Peter puts his hand tethers him to the earth. Each kiss Peter lays on his skin is like an electric current, his body buzzing. Whatever the truth of his situation is — whether he is trapped in sleep, Purgatory, Hell, a coma, or something else entirely, it does not matter. He feels real again. And Peter brought him there.

It was slow, at first. Tentative. Two people trying. They learned quickly that the bruises they gave each other from sparring made laying in certain positions uncomfortable, so they laughed and adjusted. But Peter also had some reservations about where he wanted to be touched, flinching when Caspian would glide over certain areas of his arms or legs. 

That was fine. Caspian could adapt. He could not touch Peter at all, and he would still be happy, as long as he knew Peter wanted him back. 

The touching was nice, too. He sometimes had to remind Peter that he could touch him, that this wasn’t a crime where they were, that he wasn’t going to get in trouble. That Caspian would not break under the sheer weight of his hand. That Peter could hold something without it being a weapon.

When they are done, they simply lie back together, looking up at the bright sky shining through the window above them. Caspian lies on his back, Peter curled up against his side, his head on Caspian’s chest, his golden hair tickling his chin.

“How are you feeling?” Caspian asks Peter directly, yet gently. A part of him still feels like he has to hold this all so tenderly in his hands, so not to crush it altogether. 

Peter breathes out a chuckle.

“It’s more than I could ever say,” he admits quietly. He turns his head so he can look Caspian in the eye. “But I’m alright. I’m…I’m more than alright.”

Caspian smiles. By Peter’s standards, he’s practically elated.

“That is good,” he replies. “I really should have done this a long time ago.”

A second passes. “Why did you?” Peter asks. “I mean, you seemed very… purposeful this morning. Like you had planned it.”

“I didn’t, really. I just…acted. I could not wait any longer.”

Peter hums fondly, looking at Caspian’s eyes as if to admire the color rather than look at him directly.

“I’m not sure if I ever would have,” he confesses after a long moment. “So I’m glad you did.”

Caspian tries to hold back a blush as he sweeps some hair away from Peter’s forehead. He gathers some courage before asking;

“I talked to Edmund about this once, but…you were never written as having any lovers in the Golden Age legends. Is that true?”

Peter looks away, not embarrassed or insulted but needing the distance from Caspian’s gaze to answer.

“Sort of,” he says, his voice small. “There were some people. But none of them ever lasted long enough, or were public enough, to have been written about. It’s the same with Susan, in her own way. And Edmund isn’t interested in anyone.”

Caspian giggles. “Yes, he mentioned that.”

Peter smiles back, lips spread against Caspian’s skin. His breath is warm, slightly uneven. But steady.

“I am surprised Theophilus never came up in rumors, at least. He was quite…loud when he said he was finished with my nonsense.” Peter holds his arm up in the air. “There used to be a scar around my elbow. Crescent shaped. That was from him.” He scoffs lightly. “I told everyone I got it falling out of a tree.”

Caspian has a brief flashback to a few days ago, his own sword impaled through him. He instinctively grabs Peter’s hand and holds it against his chest, right over his still-beating heart. It helps calm him.

“Even your siblings?” he asks, his voice strained.

“Yes. I still haven't told them the truth.” Peter glances around the room they’re in. “Just you.”

Caspian suddenly doesn’t care if he’s died twice. He feels like the luckiest man alive. He has literally seen Peter stripped raw, in his most possible vulnerable state, and yet this, here and now, is when it feels the most intimate between them.

His eyes wander down to the smooth skin near Peter’s elbow, making a connection. He looks down at his own chest, shielded by Peter’s hand, free of any marks.

“Is that why you…in certain spots,” he stammers, “did not want to be touched?”

Peter nods. “I was in a lot of battles before we left Narnia. I still haven’t gotten used to the scars not being there anymore. Or this body.” He sighs. “You should have seen me back then, Caspian. Compared to this …” He gestures with his other hand to indicate the way he is now.

“I quite like this ,” Caspian argues, keeping his tone warm. “Besides, I have waited long enough. Another twenty years would not do.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Peter concedes, though he doesn’t sound fully convinced, this being an issue that will take time for him to work through. (Time they do not have, but Caspian isn’t thinking about that — he’s not.)

“What about you?” Peter continues. He looks up at Caspian with curious eyes. “I mean, Susan mentioned you’ve…had some people before.”

“Not in here,” Caspian shakes his head. He looks out the window at the Narnian trees, the lands beyond. “And not like this.”

The somber tone his voice takes is not lost on Peter, who squeezes Caspian’s hand under his own.

“Will you tell me?” he asks quietly.

Caspian lets out a long breath, not quite knowing how to begin. He thinks he remembers, now, when he mentioned this to Susan. It was as simple a conversation as “Have you ever been with a woman?” followed by “Have you ever been with a man?” to which he answered ‘yes’ to both, and did not elaborate further. Susan hadn’t pushed the topic, so he never had to say any more. 

He still doesn’t have to now, but Peter has offered much of himself today, in both his words and his body, and it’s only fair that Caspian do the same.

“You know that I was the only heir to Telmar until my cousin was born,” he starts, beginning with the obvious facts. “That meant Miraz had to keep up the appearance that I was an active member of the castle, and of the family. So whenever there was a ball, or a gala, or any kind of gathering, I was meant to be there. I had to play the part of the king-in-training, rather than the prince with the target on his back.”

Peter groaned. “Would it be rude to tell you I’m glad your uncle is dead?”

Caspian can’t help but to laugh at the remark.

“Not at all.” He continues. “I met a lot of people that came through the castle. When they were not there, I had no one but Cornelius. I was not allowed to have friends. So when someone showed an interest in me…” He swallows, suddenly finding it hard to speak. “I took the interest. I probably should not have, since any of them could have been assassins, or worse. But I brought them to my room. We had our time together.” The trees outside sway in the Narnian breeze, some leafs breaking off and floating with the wind. “They were always gone in the morning. No one ever stayed.”

His voice breaks on the last words, a surprising emotion coming to the surface. He’s never spoken about this to anyone before; he didn’t have a reason to. Perhaps he himself had not lingered on it much, had not realized the toll that having a handful of lovers throughout his life that gave him hope before leaving had left on him.

Maybe that’s why he both suspected and was distraught by the Pevensies leaving. Even if they were not lovers in the same way, it was just part of the pattern of his life. His father, his mother, his fellow Telmarines. Everyone leaves. It’s never been any other way.

He hasn’t realized he’s started crying until he notices they have shifted positions, Peter lying back and curling Caspian into him. It’s almost a mirror image to how they were back in the forest all those days ago, Caspian’s face nestled again into the crook of Peter’s shoulder, right where it meets the neck. He can feel Peter’s heartbeat there, against his shuddering lips.

“You don’t have to say anything more,” Peter shushes, one hand rubbing Caspian’s back and the other smoothing out his hair. “It’s alright.”

Caspian couldn’t say anything more if he wanted to, his sobs overtaking him. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out this isn’t just about his past lovers, or people leaving him; it’s about everything that’s happened to him, everything he’s gone through. The same repeated day, over and over and over again. The pleading questions, the failed attempts at an answer, the false hopes, the deaths, the insanity of it all. The grief and distress it has caused Caspian comes spilling out of him all at once, Peter left as a sponge to soak it all up.

When Caspian cried with Peter before, he couldn’t deny the relief it gave him, but he also felt an immediate guilt and shame that followed it. It’s not the same now. He might simply be too exhausted to feel that way, but it doesn’t seem so. He knows how Peter feels about him, now. They’ve shared some secrets of their past together. There is no reason for Caspian to believe that Peter does not want to help him in this moment, that he is not the one wholly qualified to comfort him right now.

“How do you do it?” Caspian finds himself asking after several minutes. He pulls back so him and Peter are eye-to-eye, finding a concerned expression there. “How do you…how do you carry it? All of the years you were alive, and then to be brought back…but they are all still there. How do you go on?”

As Caspian finishes speaking, Peter gently pulls him in by the back of the neck so their foreheads are pressed together, their weight equally balanced between the two of them. Caspian closes his eyes, taking a long and shaky breath. 

“I’m still figuring that out,” Peter quietly admits after a few seconds, “but I’ve found the best way to start is to have people that you care about, and do it for them. Whenever you think you can’t do it alone, you think about them. And their strength becomes yours.”

Caspian stays silent as he reflects on that. Truthfully, that’s what he’s been doing this entire time, ever since this situation started. Whenever he was feeling as though he could not bear one more day living the same life, he would remember that everyone else was trapped along with him, and he would use that knowledge to carry on.

That’s what it is to be a king, really. Your people, all of your people, are the ones that you care about. Every action is ultimately for them. And in turn, their prosperity and their loyalty strengthens you. In an ideal leadership, it’s a symbiotic relationship, weight evenly distributed.

This is what made Peter a great king, what made all of the Pevensies the legendary rulers of Narnia that they earned the reputations of. The strength of Narnia is the strength of Peter. Her history and past can be seen in his gaze. Her sun finds him wherever he goes. The ground itself carries him as he walks. His voice matches the frequency of the trees when they communicate.

To know Peter Pevensie is to know Narnia herself.

The realization makes Caspian blink, stunned all at once out of crying. He keeps blinking until his eyes focus, leaning away from Peter just enough to be able to look at his face fully. 

“Is that it?” Caspian asks himself, eyebrows furrowed. Peter looks equally confused. “Is this what I was missing?”

“What do you mean?” Peter questions, for good reason.

Caspian hears Lucy’s voice in his head. Just be open to it, she had said about the trees. Close your eyes and let it see you, every part of you. And in turn, you’ll get to see them.

When he tried to meditate back in the Lantern Woods, and again each time he tried to speak to the Narnian trees, he thought he was doing what Lucy said. He thought he was being as open as possible, and there was just some unbreachable language or culture barrier that prevented them from truly communicating. 

He knows now that wasn’t the problem. He hadn’t been opening himself up fully. He was doing what he thought he was supposed to do, being strong and sturdy in the ways he thought a king should be. He was not being authentically himself. He was reserved. Lying here, with Peter, he thinks he might have finally learned how.

“I have to go,” he suddenly says, hearing the energy and hope that is coming through his voice. He grabs Peter’s face and holds it tightly. “Peter, I think you might have saved me.”

“What does that—” Peter starts, but is cut off when Caspian kisses him, hard and fast, like an exclamation on something else he didn’t say. Peter is stunned by this as Caspian then scrambles to his feet, searching around for his clothes and putting them on as quickly as possible.

“I will explain later,” he continues. “You just gave me a great idea. A brilliant idea.”

“But I didn’t say anything!” Peter retorts, half-laughing. 

“You didn’t have to. You never had to.” Caspian gets his other shoe on, then pauses near the doorway. “Thank you. I am sorry to run, but I will be back. I promise.”

Peter stammers. “Okay?” he says, clearly lost. “Um. Be careful.”

The hesitation with which Peter said those two words makes Caspian feel like they stand for much more than they mean. He smiles genuinely.

“Of course,” he replies. He wasn’t careful for a long time, but if what he’s about to try goes right, he will be now. 

He blasts his way down the dark steps he’s memorized and runs out of the nearest castle exit, luckily close enough that no one is around to spot him. He does catch odd looks as he continues to sprint to the town square, Narnian and Telmarine citizens clearly not expecting their king to be running around in casual clothes this morning, but he pays them no mind.

When he reaches the tree — the tree, the one that becomes the portal the Pevensies leave out of every day, that he himself has used many times — he takes a moment to stand, catch his breath, and observe it. It’s alone in this place, separated from its family, yet its roots still run deep into Narnia’s core, connecting it to the land, to the others. As Caspian’s eyes run along the split in the bark, he is reminded that this is not actually one tree, but two bonded together.

He takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between him and the tree. He plants his feet down, giving himself a strong stance before placing his palm on the trunk, his fingers spread out wide. He closes his eyes.

See me , he sends to the tree. Please.

There’s only a few seconds of silence before the tree is awake underneath him, all at once alive and bursting with energy. There’s a strange feeling of relief there, flowing from the bark into Caspian’s own being, as if the tree is saying finally. 

Caspian holds onto this connection, the feeling emanating from the tree, and wraps it into his own consciousness, trying to blend their minds together. Despite how still both of them are, the situation is quite intense, the inside of his whole body seeming as though it’s trembling, his blood cells burning with heat. He holds nothing of himself back, and he can feel the tree crawling its way inside his mind, planting its roots there.

I need to know what I must do, he says. And I think you are the one I should have been asking.

Suddenly, despite his eyes being closed, Caspian’s vision is sent an image from the tree; it’s the Pevensies, leaving Narnia through the tree’s own portal. He sees it happen again. And again. And again, for as many times as Caspian himself has seen it occur. It leaves him dizzy, nauseous, his heart rapidly beating with a growing sickness.

“You have remembered,” he finds himself saying out loud, yet with a quiet reverie. “All of you, you have remembered each time this day has occurred.”

A thousand trees speak to Caspian at once, a resounding yes being sent from all of Narnia, strong enough to cause an earthquake. It’s overwhelming, but to Caspian, this is like a warm hug, being embraced by a nation’s worth of hands, shielding him and telling him you are not alone. You never were.

“But what…” he whispers, scrunching his shut eyes, as if able to focus even further. What must I do? he almost asks again, but the tree already answered him. The realization makes Caspian gasp. “You do not want them to leave.”

If a tree could cry, this one would be. It’s an affirming cry, as if being given the chance to express its feelings for the first time. 

“Aslan says they need to leave,” he counters, feeling profoundly lost. Could this have been the answer, this whole time? “I thought it was Narnia’s will.”

When the tree speaks next, Caspian finally hears it as words, the barrier between them fully broken.

Aslan’s will, the tree explains. Not Narnia’s will. 

Caspian takes a few breaths, trying to process everything. He feels caught in a whirlwind. An onlooker would surely think he looks crazed, but he’s far past caring about that.

“You want me to change his mind?” he asks.

Yes, Narnia screams.

He shakes his head. There is a low rumbling in his gut, the thunder Narnia brings every time the Pevensies leave now deep in his bones, bringing him to life.

“Why me?” he questions. It’s all he can think of to say.

There is one deep, profound pause before the tree answers. But when it does, its voice is plain, simple. Definitive.

Peacebringer, it defines Caspian. And that’s just it.

Everything clicks into place. What Caspian has been calling a curse , or a burden , or a punishment has never been any of those things. This experience is not something he alone has been uniquely suffering as a way to atone for the sins of his ancestors. It’s not a test of his worthiness to be king. It’s not a cruel trick of the universe, or an unfortunate receiving of dark magic. 

This is a request. This is a cry for help. This is a desperate plea from a land so damaged by the second loss of her kings and queens that she is pulling and manipulating the strands of logic and time to her mercy until the wrongs are made right. This is an honor bestowed upon Caspian as the one who can make those wrongs right. This is proof of his worthiness to be king. This is how he is going to atone for this sins of his ancestors, to finally get everything moving forward again, as it was always meant to be.

“I understand,” he says, his being thrumming with conviction. He feels as if the entire land is speaking through his mouth, seeing through his eyes. “I will not rest until they stay. I promise.”

The Narnian sun shines on Caspian, filling him with an energy unlike anything he’s experienced before. In it, he feels Lucy’s warmth, Edmund’s humor, Susan’s compassion, and Peter’s love. And between it all, the admiration of anyone who’s gotten to know the Pevensies, from a thousand years past to now, all telling Caspian what he needs to do, and that he is far beyond capable of doing it.

Thank you , the tree tells Caspian. 

Caspian takes his hand off and steps back, keeping his eyes closed for a moment, calming down. The responsibility he now carries settles itself into his shoulders; not a weight, but a duty. 

When he does open his eyes, he sees that he’s alone, which he’s grateful for. He turns around and gazes on the castle in the distance, knowing who is awaiting him inside. 

I can do this, he tells himself. I must do this.

Chapter Text

Caspian begins the panicked rush back to the castle. He’s not sure if Peter has made his way to his siblings by now, if Aslan has already told them his horrifying truth. He’s not sure if it would be easier to try and change his mind before or after he has delivered the news.

What he’s going to say, he doesn’t know. But he thinks he’ll figure it out when the time comes.

Once he enters the castle, various guards and servants approach him as he walks through the halls.

“Lucy was looking for you,” they say. “They’ve all been waiting in the lower hall.”

Caspian nods, swallowing. This is it, then. The crux of his entire future depends on this one moment. 

If Caspian fails to convince Aslan now, he could technically keep living this day until he gets the conversation just right. But…this morning with Peter was practically perfect. He does not want to deceive Peter by acting it out again. If this is all to end, it should end now , today. The thought nearly makes him weak at the knees, that this could all be over.

But he straightens himself, because the strength of the Pevensies becomes his strength, and they need him now more than ever.

When he opens the door to the lower hall, the royals and Aslan are waiting there for him. They all turn and look at him as he enters, and for once, he doesn’t find the combined stares to be frightening.

He takes a moment to glance across their faces to glean their expressions. It doesn’t appear that Aslan has broken the news yet, based on what he sees. Lucy smiles as wide as she always does, clearly relieved that Caspian is no longer missing. Edmund seems quietly bemused, his arms crossed. Susan is attempting to hide a smirk, and Peter looks both embarrassed and happy at the same time.

That’s right , he remembers. I kissed Peter in front of everyone. Of course it would have gotten back to the Pevensies by now.

He clears his throat. “Hello,” he says, hating how awkward it sounds. His grand argument perhaps should have started differently. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not all of us,” Edmund mumbles. Peter reaches over and knocks him on the back of the head. “Ow! I didn’t say anything!”

“That’s close enough,” Peter remarks, alluding to an agreement unseen. “Watch it.”

Caspian makes his way into the room, only realizing now the way that Aslan is observing him. He looks over to see Aslan glance over his body, then take a few quiet sniffs of the air. 

The Deep Magic, he reflects. He can sense it on me. 

Trying to move past how he feels seen, he takes a few steps closer. He pulls the strength of everyone he has ever known or loved into him before he speaks.

“Aslan,” he starts, the word seeming to echo and bounce around the room, “I need to speak with you. Alone.”

That gets any idle chatter or noise in the room to stop, the atmosphere suddenly serious. He feels the eyes of everyone back on him, but keeps his gaze trained ahead.

Aslan can clearly sense the conviction with which Caspian speaks, and he nods without any argument. 

“Come with me,” he says. He begins to leave the room, Caspian following suit. He only spares a brief glance to the others as he goes, Peter looking as if he wants to say something, or reach out. But he lets Caspian pass without interfering.

When him and the lion make it to the back courtyards, Caspian begins.

“I know that you can tell something has happened to me,” he admits. 

“Yes,” Aslan answers simply. “The Deep Magic lingers on you. It has been there for some time, I would imagine.”

Caspian exhales. “It has. But what I am about to say next, I do not wish to be about myself, and what I am going through. It is only about the kings and queens.”

Aslan considers this for a moment before agreeing.

“As you wish. What is on your mind, young king?”

Caspian takes a second to once again gather his strength, finding that speaking with Aslan has only gotten marginally easier with time. The conversation he had with Lucy does help, though.

“The Pevensies cannot leave Narnia,” he states, the words feeling as right as anything he’s ever said. “They musn’t.”

“So you know what is to come,” Aslan concludes. “You must also then know why.”

“I know that you believe Peter and Susan have learned what they can here. You do not think they are needed anymore.”

“I do believe that.” He looks up at Caspian, and there are thousands of years of knowledge, experience, and magic in his eyes. It is more than a little unnerving. “Do you feel differently?”

Caspian has to turn away, but he looks at the Narnian countryside, the trees lining the horizon. Their song, echoed in his soul.

“Perhaps they are not needed. But even if it is true…that does not mean they are not wanted. I have seen the joy that has come from their return. Not just the liberation of Narnia, but the continued effects. The way that Lucy can warm up an entire room. The way Edmund always knows what to say, no matter how blunt or forward, and can make anyone laugh. The way people flock to Susan and her grace.” He stops, his hand reaching for a sword that is not there, yet he can still feel. “The strength that Peter gives the kingdom, even when he is not king. Narnia wants them to stay. The people and the land.”

Aslan stops walking, choosing his words before speaking.

“The Deep Magic has always been my guiding star,” he explains. “I followed it when I led the kings and queens to their destiny as written by the prophecy. When nothing else was foretold, I had to come to my own decisions, as do we all.” He looks intently at Caspian. “Young king, I believe that you are the one meant to rule Narnia in this new era. Your friends have another world that they belong to. It might be painful, but it is right that they go home.”

Caspian feels a chord of panic strike him, his chance seeming to slip through his fingers. He tries not to sound desperate as he talks.

“That world is not their home,” he counters, a part of him unable to believe that he is arguing against the great lion. “They have told me so themselves. They have lived in Narnia longer than they ever lived in England. Narnia is their home.” He takes a breath. “They never meant to leave here at all. And even their first arrival was not their choice, but a prophecy, like you said. They were made into rulers by fate. They have never been allowed to choose what they wish.”

He straightens his shoulders and tries to sound like a king. 

“Everyone should have a choice,” he continues, finding the confidence in his voice. He repeats something he knows Aslan himself once said; “‘Things never happen the same way twice.’ Just because they left before does not mean they need to leave now.”

Aslan’s own words being said to him clearly catches his attention, his face perking up. He looks at Caspian as if seeing him in a new light, something similar to pride lining his features.

“Did you hear that from Queen Lucy?” he asks in amusement. Caspian nods. “That is true, I did say that. And I must admit, you speak well, and wisely. You clearly feel very strongly about this.”

“More strongly than I have ever believed in anything,” he affirms, placing a hand to his heart. He could just tell Aslan the truth of his situation, what he knows, and how this could save him. But like he said; this isn’t about him. It never was. He needs the Pevensies to be allowed to stay not to help him, but to help themselves.

“If I agree to this,” Aslan starts, which already gives Caspian enough hope that his heart feels about ready to launch out of his chest, “you must understand that giving them a choice means they also have the right to leave if they wish. That option will always be available to them. If they choose to go, you must not stop them.”

“Of course,” Caspian says, probably too quickly. He tries to maintain his composure. “I would never. All I want is for them to be able to choose.”

Aslan stands there silently as he clearly takes in Caspian’s words and decides what to do. If the moment with Peter in his room felt like he was on the precipice of something grand, this makes him feel like he’s balancing on a very fine wire. Everything that matters to him depends on what the lion says next. 

It makes him feel closer to the Pevensies than he ever has before. For a moment, he understands.

“You have proven yourself a worthy leader of Narnia so far,” Aslan declares. “And you speak with great passion. It took much bravery for you to come to me today. It is commendable. Remember this as you continue to be king.” He lifts his head. “It is decided. The Pevensies may choose to stay in Narnia if they so wish.”

A strange sensation rocks Caspian’s body when the words leave Aslan’s mouth. He feels a very quick rush of vertigo, his heart seeming to stop entirely for one long moment. He almost loses his balance, but manages to keep himself upright. When he blinks into focus, he sees some birds soaring in the sky above, leaping off of the Narnian trees.

It’s over, he thinks. It must all be over.

Of course, it won’t really be over until Caspian gets to live in that elusive tomorrow. But the entire world feels as if it’s just shifted, like a shackle has been set loose. His shackle.

“Thank you,” Caspian breathes out, unable to conceal his relief. He bows. “I will not forget your generosity.”

“Rise,” Aslan instructs. Caspian stands. “It is not generosity that guides me, but faith, and trust in you.” He starts walking again, Caspian following. “I trust that one day, you will tell me what trials the Deep Magic put you through that led to such a conclusion.”

“I will,” he promises. “And I will tell the Pevensies, too. But not today. I do not want them to feel indebted to me.”

Aslan hums. “Consider, Caspian, that one could mistake gratefulness for indebtment. Perhaps they would be honored to hear of what you did for them today.”

“I will.” A beat. “I must confess, I worry what will happen if they do not go through the portal. The Telmarines fear what they do not know.”

“As do we all. But with how you spoke today, I am certain you will find the words to show them the truth. You have already come this far.”

A warmth fills Caspian’s chest, equal parts disbelief and pride. In what feels like a very short time, he has gone from believing that Narnia herself wanted him dead to realizing he was the source of her salvation, and now Aslan’s trust. Add Peter’s own feelings to that, and his world has changed quite rapidly, indeed.

“I will do my best,” he says.

“That is all we can do.”

When the two of them re-enter the room, the Pevensies look up with worry evident on their faces. Peter actually rises, the motion seeming impulsive, and Caspian attempts to give him a nod and stare that says Everything is going to be fine. He’s not sure if it works, but the worry seems to fade somewhat, at least.

From there, the conversation continues mostly as it normally has, Aslan explaining the plan to offer the Telmarines passage to their homeland. Only, when it is finished and they have all agreed, he does not pull Peter and Susan to the side — he requests all of them.

“I trust the young king to handle the preparations while we are gone,” he says. He does not add Because I sense he has done so before , but Caspian hears it none-the-less.

“Absolutely,” he agrees. He can handle it. He can be alone for this time if it means he never truly will be again. “I will see you all later.”

Lucy, Edmund, and Susan all smile politely, having no further concerns. Peter looks at him from across the room, and it feels charged, uncertain. Where do they go from here? It seems like they could take a moment now to say goodbye, even if it is just a quick hand hold or kiss of the cheek. But everything is so new, the situation so strange, and Caspian senses that Peter might not feel comfortable doing so in front of his siblings and Aslan — at least, not just yet. 

So he just sort of smiles at Peter, small and comforting, and hopes that it translates everything he is thinking. Peter attempts to smile back, and then he is gone, whisked away with the others.

The image of all of them leaving with Aslan suddenly gives Caspian a somewhat irrational thought; what if they all choose to go to England? What if whatever Aslan says convinces them that is the best course of action? Would they still leave? If they left of their own accord, would Narnia accept their choice and end this repeating day, or would the cycle continue until they stay?

The questions make Caspian’s head spin, holding a hand down on the table to keep himself upright. He’s fairly confident none of them want to leave Narnia. They’ve even told him that themselves. But Aslan can be very persuasive. Perhaps he will change their mind. 

All Caspian can do now is wait. When the moment at the portal comes, his fate will be decided; for better or for worse.

Making the preparations for the Telmarine gathering is easy, even with Caspian doing it alone. He’s done this so many times now that he could practically do it in his sleep. But he does try to focus and pay attention, again with the hopes that this, truly , is the last time he will live this day.

He does take a moment before heading to the tree to speak with Cornelius privately. It seems Cornelius is always there right before any grand changes in Caspian’s life. And he could use the comfort.

“Professor,” he begins, closing the door to the study behind him. “It is almost time for the gathering.”

“Yes, I was just about to get going,” Cornelius answers. He takes a lingering look at Caspian. “Would you like to sit a minute first?”

Caspian exhales. “Please.” He takes his usual seat across from Cornelius, and finds himself lingering on the other times he has in this repeating day, including the very first. When — when — this is all over, he will tell the professor what has happened, as well. But for now, let the day play out normally. As normal as can be, anyway.

“What is on your mind?” Cornelius asks. 

Caspian pauses as he looks at the books sprawled across the desk, the same ones that are there every day. He has much on his mind, more than he could ever say right now. He fears what happens if the Pevensies leave; he wonders what happens if they stay. He prays he will get to see tomorrow; he wonders what tomorrow could possibly look like. He still thinks he might have gone mad somewhere along the way. He hopes he can convince the Telmarines with his words alone that the portal is safe. His entire future is riding on the balance of the next several minutes, and there is absolutely no way for him to verbalize any of this. He couldn’t if he tried.

So he takes a long moment to look at his professor, his father figure, his friend, his constant companion in the steady storm of his life, before reaching across the table to squeeze Cornelius’ hands under his own.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” he begins, “for everything you have ever done for me. I know I was not always easy to handle. I was often selfish and lazy, ungrateful. But you were what kept me going all the years in this castle. And I take great comfort in knowing you are still here for me now.”

Cornelius breaks into a surprised, warm smile. 

“Well, I am glad to hear it,” he responds. “But why are you saying this now? Is something the matter?”

Caspian shakes his head. “No, no. I am fine. I just…there is a lot going on lately. With some of the Telmarines about to leave, I am thinking of the ones who stay. And that has always been you.”

“You are worth staying for, my king. You always have been.”

Caspian feels his heart swell. This, in its own way, gives him more confidence in his abilities as a king than Aslan’s words ever could.

“Thank you,” he says again. He lets out a breath. “Shall we go?”

“Now is the best time.”

When Caspian arrives back at the town square, the same place he goes to every day, he can tell that the atmosphere in the air is different.

It’s hard to explain, and he wouldn’t know how if asked. But the sun feels warm and full, like the dawning of a new day. A new life. If all goes right today, that’s what this will be.

The Pevensies come straight to him once he makes his way through the crowd. Peter’s hand flexes out, like it wants to reach for Caspian’s, but he pulls back. They both know it’s not from a lack of desire, and Caspian is not insulted.

“How did everything go?” Susan asks. She does not seem nearly as reserved as she usually is, the resigned sadness that normally weighs her features, and it gives Caspian a spark of hope. “Do you think you’re ready?”

Caspian nods confidently. “As ready as I could ever be.” His eyes dart to Aslan behind them, speaking to Reepicheep. “What did Aslan say to you? You were gone for a long time.”

The siblings look amongst each other, as always silently communicating, as if to decide what to divulge. Susan talks for the group.

“He offered us a choice,” she explains. “When the portal opens, we can go through it back to England. But if we do, we can never come back.”

“Well, we can,” Edmund clarifies, gesturing to Lucy. “Just not them.”

Caspian swallows, trying to hide his nerves. 

“What are you going to do?”

Susan frowns. “We’re not sure. Aslan made some good points. We trust you to lead Narnia if we’re gone. She would be in good hands.”

Caspian’s eyes widen, the hope he worked so hard to gain starting to fall from his grasp.

“And our mother is going to eventually think we’ve disappeared altogether,” Lucy adds. “Seems kind of cruel to do that to her.”

Caspian nods solemnly. That point, he cannot argue against. He’s met Helen; he hates the thought of her grieving them. If they were to leave for her, he would understand, though he would still be saddened.

“But Aslan said we could go back some day, if we want,” Lucy continues. “We could live a whole ‘nother life here, then come back like no time has passed at all.”

“And become children again ?” Susan argues. “I don’t think I could do that. I say if we’re going to go back, we should do it now, or not at all.”

Not at all! Caspian wants to scream at her. Don’t go back at all!

His eyes move to the familiar spot in the crowd where Sayen stands, watching them intensely, her father next to her. She’s counting on him just as much as Narnia is.

“I understand your trepidations,” he says, “but there are so many people here that want you to stay. Look.” He gestures with his hand to indicate the crowd, and Susan’s gaze follows it, clearly finding Sayen there by the way she reacts. Her head quickly snaps around, and she huffs.

“How do you—” she starts, then stops. “Who told you?”

“No one. It does not matter. What I am trying to say is…” He sighs. “This is ultimately your choice. But you have a choice, for the first time in your lives. I would be honored if you were to stay here in Narnia. You should be able to enjoy your time here on your own terms.”

The younger siblings are silent. They turn to Peter, who noticeably has not spoken. Susan gives him a light nudge.

“What do you think, Pete?” she asks quietly. “What do you think we should do?”

Peter opens his mouth, but no words come out. His eyes dart between Caspian and Susan, caught between two worlds.

“I know what we should do,” he confesses. He hesitates before taking his pinky finger and gently wrapping it around Caspian’s, an act so small (yet grand) no one in the distance would be able to see. “I also know what I want to do. Maybe for once, we should let ourselves.”

Caspian fights the urge to take Peter’s hand fully in his own, or pull him in and kiss him on the cheek, mouth, forehead, wherever. Privately and publicly, he will go at Peter’s pace, whatever it may be. 

The Pevensies do not answer, seeing Peter’s gesture and feeling the weight of his words. Before they can reach a conclusion, Aslan begins to approach them. Peter untwines his finger from Caspian’s, the two straightening and becoming kings.

“It is time,” Aslan announces. “Are you all ready?”

The five of them nod before the royals take their usual position by the side of the tree. Caspian notices that Peter has still brought Rhindon with him, holding onto the pommel tightly in his grip. 

Aslan calmly roars to bring the crowd to attention, silencing any conversation. The mix of Narnians and Telmarines look to Caspian in anticipation, all of their futures unknowingly in the balance.

“Thank you all for being here,” Caspian begins. “It has been an honor and a privilege to be your king for these last months. I want to thank all of you, both Narnian and Telmarine, for helping make this new era a hopeful one. I know it has not always been easy, but I have seen the strides we are making every day to give Narnia back their land while honoring the rights of Telmar’s citizens. And it is Telmar that I wish to speak on today.

“Aslan is offering the Telmarines a choice. Narnia belongs to the Narnians just as it does to man. Any Telmarnies who want to stay and live in peace are welcome to. And for any of you who wish, Aslan will return you to the home of our forefathers.”

“It has been generations since we left Telmar,” the soldier comes in on cue.

“We are not referring to Telmar,” Aslan explains. “Your ancestors were sea-faring brigands, pirates run aground on an island. There they found a cave, a rare chasm that brought them here from their world, the same world as our kings and queens.” He takes a moment to gesture at them with his head. “It is to that island I can return you. It is a good place for any who wish to make a new start.”

As expected, Glozelle steps forward, looking scared and brave at the same time.

“I’ll go,” he announces. “I will accept the offer.”

“So will we,” Prunaprismia adds, her father with her. Carrying her child, the three of them approach Aslan.

“Because you have spoken first, your future in that world will be good.” Aslan lets out a breath, the Telmarines closing their eyes as the magic hits them.

Caspian realizes, then, that he has not spoken to them in this version of today. If it is to be the last, this is his chance to properly say goodbye. He dashes forward before the tree opens.

“Wait,” he blurts out, the three adults turning to him in surprise, his aunt especially looking concerned. He takes some careful steps closer. “I…I wish you well on your journey. I hope that world is everything you need it to be.”

Glozelle nods appreciatively at the comment, the mutual respect between them strengthened. Prunaprismia seems…almost relieved, in a way. Conflicted, yes, but with a slight softness to the edges, as if a part of her has exhaled. 

“May I hold him?” Caspian asks after a moment, gesturing to his cousin. He has never held him. He’s never even seen him beyond this one moment. 

His aunt hesitates before nodding, gently passing the baby over to him. Caspian has never actually held a baby before, but he finds it surprisingly easy. His cousin coos up at him with wide and innocent eyes, an unaware but happy look on his face. The baby that started the beginning and the end of everything, just by being born. Like Caspian and the Pevensies, he was tossed into a fate that was not his choice, but hopefully now, with this new start, he will have the chance to forge a life of his own. Just like they all will.

“Hello,” Caspian quietly greets. “We have not met, but I am your cousin. I am Caspian.” 

The baby obviously cannot understand him, but the gentle tone of Caspian’s voice seems to please the baby in some way. Caspian smiles.

“It is unlikely we will meet again,” he continues, “but I will think of you often. I send you my best wishes for a wonderful life.” 

He hands the baby back to his aunt, who gives him a grateful look. They will never get the chance to repair the damage that was done between them, to forge any type of familial bond, but at least this way, they will not end things on such negative and uncertain terms. 

Caspian takes a step back and watches as the tree splits open, revealing it to be two trunks twisted together, creating the opening for the invisible portal within. The onlookers gasp and gape as they always do, and then again when the Telmarines walk through it, disappearing within a blink.

This time, Caspian is not afraid. He is not frozen in fear, in the uncertainty of how to calm their fears. He is their king , and it’s time for him to start acting like one.

“How do we know he is not leading us to our deaths?!” the one non-believer cries out. 

Aslan does not look to Peter and Susan, but to Caspian. Caspian nods at him before stepping forward, speaking loudly and clearly.

“Did you not trust them?” he begins, silencing the crowd. He lets the question settle before he continues. “Was Prunaprismia not your queen, Glozelle not one of the highest of your soldiers? You trusted them to lead Telmar — surely, you can trust them again now.”

There’s a few seconds of awkward murmuring, the people talking amongst themselves. Caspian continues.

“No one will know what is on the other side unless they go through,” he says. “We could send a hundred people through, and you would still not know if it is safe. There is no way for us to prove it to you. This is about trust. This is about faith. If you do not feel comfortable going through the portal, fine — no one will force you. But if you have a feeling in your heart that this is the right thing for you, do not fight it. Trust in your instincts. Trust in your queen, your leader. That is what makes you strong.”

The crowd continues to make vague noises and conversation, but Caspian can see that the unease seems to be fading a bit, his words hopefully getting to them.

As if knowing he had to act now, suddenly Kadmiel steps forward, parting his way through the bodies.

“I will go,” he states. He walks up to the stage and stops right in front of Caspian, giving him a bow. “I trust you, my king.”

Caspian bows in return, Kadmiel possibly not realizing how important this gesture is. He is a respected name amongst the other knights, reflected in his position as night-guard for the king, one of the most important jobs. Someone of his status going through the portal should speak volumes to the other Telmarines.

“Thank you for your service,” Caspian commends. “You will be missed.”

Kadmiel nods. He takes a moment to eye his people, raising one arm in goodbye, before making the journey through the tree.

It continues like that, Telmarines slowly making their way forward and accepting the offer to leave Narnia. Only this time, the Pevensies are still here, watching this all happen and giving their own polite nods and bows as each person goes. It is strange to have them here at this point, and Caspian has equal parts hope and fear growing in him the further along the gathering goes. A part of him seems anticipatory that at any moment, they will step forward and accept the offer as well, giving Caspian a goodbye before going back to England. But each minute that passes where that does not happen makes Caspian increasingly anxious, his hands twitching at his sides. 

Once no one other Telmarines take the offer, Aslan steps forward.

“This is the last chance before the portal closes,” he explains. “Anyone else who wishes to leave, now is your moment.”

Though his gaze remains forward, he is clearly speaking to more than just the Telmarines. Caspian turns to watch as the Pevensies look at each other. Their hands are all linked together, whatever decision they make a unanimous one, all or none. 

Peter looks away from his siblings and across the square to Caspian, catching his eyes. Caspian says nothing, for many reasons, but he holds Peter’s stare, hoping that perhaps the Narnian winds can send over everything he wants to say and whisper it into Peter’s ears. 

Maybe that does actually happen. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just enough to have Caspian’s eyes there, and the weight behind them, and the weight of everything they did today, and the days proceeding, and everything that has converged in Peter’s life to lead him to this very moment. Caspian might never know what leads Peter to his decision, but he sees as Peter keeps his feet firmly planted, unmoving, and holds his head up high. He does not let go of Susan’s hand, but he does not take a step closer, and he does not say a word. His siblings see this and do the same, and if they seem to be holding back smiles, that’s no one’s concern.

They’re staying , Caspian realizes, the thought making him nearly break a sob. They’re staying.

When neither the Telmarines nor the Pevensies speak up, Aslan nods once, accepting.

“Very well,” he says. The portal closes behind him, the two trees rejoining as one, and even though it is by all means a door closing, it feels like an opening. “For those who have chosen to stay, thank you. I know that your faith in King Caspian will not be misguided. The future of Narnia is very bright. I hope you all can feel it.”

Caspian gazes up at the sky overhead, still shining and bright, no grey clouds coming to overtake the horizon. He closes his eyes and takes one deep, long breath. 

By the time he’s opened them again, the crowd has started to disperse, the Pevensies speaking quietly with Aslan. Caspian observes this and does not interrupt, Cornelius suddenly approaching at his side.

“You did well,” he compliments. “Everyone listened to you. They believed in you, Caspian. Do not forget that.”

Caspian smiles warmly at him. “I won’t,” he promises. “I would never.”

Cornelius grins back, placing a warm hand on his shoulder before walking away, back with the others towards the castle. 

When Caspian looks back, Aslan is gone. He furrows his brows, wondering where he went and why he did not say anything.

Lucy seems to read his mind.

“That’s a habit of his,” she explains, her tone slightly giddy. “You’ll have to get used to that.”

“I will try,” he replies with an exhale. He takes a moment to look at the four Pevensies, still here in Narnia, finally. They all seem quite pleased with their decision, perhaps a bit relieved, Peter making the hard decision for them. Like a king.

Caspian can’t help but to look at Peter, now, and drink him all in. He seems undeniably happy, and the most relieved of them all. His face is relaxed in a way Caspian has seen only a handful of times. It might just be a trick of the light, but he even seems to have more freckles than he did this morning.

The sight makes Caspian want to do many things; kiss him, hold him, stare at him, praise him endlessly. He could do any of them. He could do a lot of things now. The day is open and free ahead of him, and that thought is, all at once and surprisingly, terrifying.

“I…” Caspian starts, his face falling. He feels profoundly lost. “I do not know what happens next.”

There’s many ways Caspian means this, more than he himself could ever explain. It’s not just about him and Peter, but him and today, him and tomorrow, all of Narnia…

There became a sick sort of comfort in knowing the outcome of practically everything that was going to occur, and now that is all gone. How is Caspian meant to live a normal life again? How is he going to adjust?

Peter takes a step forward, allowing himself the bravery to openly take both of Caspian’s hands in his. Caspian blinks into focus, feeling grounded.

“None of us do,” Peter starts, his tone gentle and strong. He smiles softly. “But that’s sort of the beauty in it, right?” A breath. “We’ll figure it out. Together. You just have to take it one day at a time.”

A laugh bubbles out of Caspian at that, a bit crazed yet hopeful. He squeezes Peter’s hands very tightly.

“One day at a time,” he repeats. It sounds like something he can manage.

Chapter Text

Caspian asks Peter to stay with him that night.

It’s not for any romantic or sexual reasons, and he makes as such clear when he asks.

“I just…I do not want to be alone,” he admits quietly, the two of them sitting on the forest floor near the lake where Caspian once drowned. He felt an intense need to come here after the gathering, and Peter followed. “Not tonight.”

Peter doesn’t know why Caspian is saying this, but he doesn’t need to, reaching across and placing a comforting hand on Caspian’s knee.

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You don’t have to be.”

Later that night, when it’s time for them to get to bed, Caspian sits upright on the edge, staring out his window and the dark skies beyond. Rhindon is not here, kept safe in Peter’s bedroom, and his crown still lingers in its case. Next to the window, his clock ticks by.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Peter asks, half-lightly.

Caspian grips his hands tightly into the bed beneath him.

“I cannot,” he answers through his teeth. He thinks entirety of him is shaking. “Not yet.”

Peter’s smile falls, walking around the bed and sitting next to Caspian before looking over at the clock.

“Are you waiting for something?” he asks carefully, loosely twining his fingers with one of Caspian’s iron-tight hands. It forces Caspian to let go, not wanting to hurt Peter.

Tick, tick, tick. The clock goes on and on, in time with Caspian’s heartbeat.

“Yes,” he answers, unable to say more. He feels in his soul that this is all over, but until he reaches tomorrow — that damned tomorrow — he will not know peace. And perhaps even then.

Peter sits there silently with him for a minute or so. He reaches across with his other hand and slowly pries Caspian’s fingers away from the bedding.

“Aslan told me,” he admits quietly, “that he felt the Deep Magic on you. That it was stuck to you, like it had you for some time.” He pauses, gleaning Caspian’s reaction. “Is that what this is about?”

Caspian’s lip wobbles, a thousand words wanting to spill out. He feels each one of this day he has lived like a weight on his back, past versions of himself coalescing on top of his being. 

“Yes,” he says again, barely able to get the word out. 

Peter nods. “Alright.” He leans forward and gives Caspian a light kiss on the shoulder. “I’ll wait with you, then.”

Caspian nods back, wanting to say thank you but finding himself unable to even do that. All he can do is sit, and stare, and shake under Peter’s sturdy hands, and wait.

The last few moments that the second hand crawls to midnight make Caspian feel so tightly wound he thinks he will combust. It is only Peter’s warmth all over him that makes sure he doesn’t.

12:00. The clock hits it, and he flinches for an impact that doesn’t come. 

The room stays dark. His hands are still in Peter’s. 

He lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, then another. He stares at the clock, as if it’s defective.

In the distance, a large bell begins to chime. Caspian jumps, startled, forgetting that it does that. Peter moves his hands to Caspian’s shoulders.

“It’s alright,” he comforts. “Just the bell.”

Caspian says nothing, just continuing to stare at the clock. 12:01, it eventually says. Then for good measure, he waits for 12:02. Then 12:03. 

When 12:04 hits, he begins to sob for the second time that day.

This is perhaps the most guttural cry he has ever had, a horrible moaning sound escaping his throat with each sob, carrying the agony of dozens of souls with it — his soul, carried over. Peter, of course, immediately folds Caspian into himself, never needing to think twice about it, and Caspian lets him, melts all of his being into Peter’s chest, holding onto his back so tightly he might mark him. He still finds it hard to believe that if he lets go, all of this will not be lost with it. 

“You’re okay,” Peter shushes, not knowing what he’s even comforting. “You’re safe.” He says this over and over again, a mantra. A prayer.

It takes what feels like a very long time for Caspian to stop crying. He pulls away from Peter and takes a deep, shuddering breath. His throat is raw, his eyes stinging, his chest sore. He’s both in terrible pain and fully released.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Peter asks, no judgement in his tone. Only concern. Only something like love.

Caspian hesitates, mouth open and soundless, unsure how to even start. He’s explained this several times by now, but this feels profoundly different. This would be the one that matters.

“I…I was trapped,” he admits, “in that day we were just living. I was trapped there for months. No one ever remembered but me, and…I am out. It is past midnight. I’m…I’m free.” Caspian both sobs and laughs. 

Peter frowns as he tries to understand. “You mean…you lived today more than once?”

“For months,” Caspian repeats. “You did too, you just only remember today. Same as everyone.”

“But…but why? Why were you trapped, all alone? How did you get out?”

Caspian lets his head fall against Peter’s shoulder. His voice is weak, sad, happy, and unsure all at once.

“It is a very long story,” he sighs. “In fact, it is many stories, over many days. Too many.”

Peter hums, thinking on this. He leans his head against Caspian’s, the two supporting each other’s weight once again.

“Well,” he says, “you’ve been hearing stories about me your entire life. I think it’s only fair that I hear some about you.”

And, well. Putting it like that makes it easier to begin.

(Later, in the dusty twilight of the very late night and early morning, when all of the stories have been told, Peter looks at Caspian for a long, pained moment, and says this:

"I don't think I was worth all of this, Caspian.” He’s frowning, holding Caspian’s face in his hand as he hovers inches away from him. 

"Of course you were," Caspian counters. He says it without hesitation. "You all were. If I had to do it again, I would."

Peter seems too stunned to respond, so Caspian simply kisses him. It covers the words for them.)

→ → →

When Caspian wakes on what he hopes is going to be an ordinary day, there is something beautiful and golden in the bed with him.

He feels Peter’s warmth before he registers anything else, before he’s even realized he’s awake. The sensation makes his eyes snap open.

Of course, the sight that first greets him is still his bedroom ceiling, since he slept on his back. But all it takes is one quick turn of the head to see Peter there, asleep and curled against Caspian’s side, to know that he is in a new day.

He sighs as he lets his head sink back into the pillow, Peter’s simple presence there meaning more than he could ever know. Caspian hesitates before taking a hand and running it through Peter’s hair, which is warm where the sun has been hitting it through the window.

The motion makes him wake up, clearly a light sleeper, and Caspian feels a quick flash of guilt at this that is quickly surpassed by how wonderful Peter looks upon waking, and also how charmingly disoriented.

“Who’s there?” Peter mumbles, opening his eyes. It’s like his body and his mind are existing in two different worlds, both safe and in danger. He relaxes again when he sees Caspian. “Oh. Sorry. Did I hit you?”

“Did you…?” Caspian shakes his head and chuckles. “No, I am fine. Good morning.”

“Good morning. Is it morning?” Peter squints over at the window. “I can’t remember falling asleep. But I’m sure it was late.”

“I think so. My guards have a horrible habit of not waking me when they are supposed to.”

“Lucky,” Peter mumbles. He then pauses, as if only now realizing where he is and who he is with, finally waking up. It is likely that neither of them have awoken with another beside them for some time now, and it only adds to the new ness of everything between them.

Something in Caspian’s expression moves Peter to action, though, as he lifts his head forward to slowly and tentatively give him a kiss. It feels like it is the first one all over again, and perhaps in a way, it is. It might actually be the first one Peter has initiated.

“How are you feeling?” he asks when he pulls back.

Caspian lets out a breath. “Strange. Happy. Uncertain.” He looks at the ceiling above him. “I do not think I can stay in this room anymore.”

“Oh?”

“This is where I was brought back every morning. If I continue to sleep here, I fear I will awake each day and think I am back in that cycle.” He shakes his head, just the thought giving him a strike of fear. “No, I cannot stay here again. I’ll go anywhere else in the castle, I don’t care. Just not here.”

He then remembers that it wouldn’t be the first time he’s changed rooms, his original bed being shot to pieces by Miraz’s soldiers. He can never find security even in what is meant to be his own home.

Peter is silent for several seconds before he speaks, attempting to sound casual.

“Well…” he starts, “I mean, my room is — it’s nice. Should have enough space for…your wardrobe, and whatnot. Bed’s a decent size.”

Caspian whips his attention back to Peter in surprise. It’s a bold gesture, to offer his bed and room to share with Caspian, especially when their relationship is so new. But then again, they have also been companions for months now. If this is to benefit both of them, then why not?

“Are you sure?” Caspian asks anyway, wanting to make sure Peter is taking his own feelings into account, and not just doing what he thinks Caspian wants. He tucks some hair behind Peter’s ear. “You do not have to.”

“I know,” Peter nods. “I do want to, though. If that’s alright.”

The words make Caspian want to both frown and smile. He hates that Peter thinks he needs permission to want things, yet he’s proud of him for continuing to take steps in letting himself get what he wants. 

“It is more than alright,” Caspian says. “It is wonderful.”

→ → →

Caspian’s life becomes a series of adjustments.

As he suspected, assimilating back into the life of a person living in linear time is not easy. The entire first day out of the cycle, he felt as if he was walking on glass, or a thin board, unsure how to proceed or what to say in any situation. He was asked what he wanted for breakfast and the question nearly made him panic, forgetting that he no longer had to eat the same food.

There was a lot of that. Forgetting, and reminding. Things that are parts of everyday life had become foreign to him, irrelevant, and slowly came back into his routine. 

Bathing, for one. He’s more than a bit embarrassed when Peter makes a comment about it, but it comes out of a place of care, and he ends up helping Caspian bathe later that day. It’s gentle, non-sexual but pleasantly more intimate, and it nearly makes Caspian cry. 

He’s reminded that the seasons do, in fact, change. The air hits him surprisingly cool one night, a brown leaf falling off a tree, and he laughs joyfully. Susan’s constellation reaches its peak in the crest, finally able to move forward. He even feels a sort of delirium when he realizes his hair has grown enough to need trimming. 

He also has to be reminded of things that happened before the Deep Magic had him — his trials , he has decided to call it. After he explained the situation to the other Pevensies, they were more than willing to help him adapt back to his duties as king, including telling him things that to them happened yesterday, or a few days prior, but had completely left Caspian’s mind.

It takes him quite a while to accept that he will not be brought back into the cycle again, into his trials. A part of him, he thinks, will always be there, in that day, the events so burned into his brain he could never forget them. The threat that it could happen again at any moment haunts him, an irrational shadow. For a long time, Caspian cannot even go to bed before midnight, needing to see the clock change over before he’s able to fall asleep. 

This, also, he finds ways to adjust to. Moving bedrooms was a great first step, and Peter’s is better than most. Peter makes a habit of kissing Caspian every morning upon waking, purposefully doing so in a different spot each time, so he could not possibly think the same day is happening again.

(Years later, long past Caspian having this fear, he still does it.)

They do not keep their relationship a secret, mostly because the start of it was very public and made known to most everyone within a matter of hours. But they also take things at their own pace. The trauma and damage the two of them carry, for very different reasons, makes itself known more often than not. Peter has moments where he regresses, snapping at Caspian for something and then apologizing later, slowly revealing more of himself. Caspian sometimes finds himself growing distant, cold and paranoid, and has to be coaxed back into reality with Peter’s warm hands on his face. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he often says, while the offer for him to leave for England always stands. “I’m not leaving.”

The constant throughout all of this is that the two of them keep their word; the promise to try. Caspian has seen the many universes in which they never reach this point, and so does not for a single second take it for granted. Any moment that it gets difficult is inconsequential compared to how monumentally he has suffered. And Peter seems to feel similarly, recognizing how much of a rarity it is to have this kind of connection in the lives they lead, and he works hard to keep it.

It’s more than Caspian could have ever hoped for. It’s more than a lot of people get.

Susan and Sayen seem to work things out, forming a more public bond. It’s not a traditional courtship, Susan not wanting anything like that, but she is willing to commit herself to one person. The knowledge that she does not have to leave Narnia seems to close the gap she had created for herself, and it warms Caspian’s heart to see her begin to unthaw, allowing herself to fully be here, without one foot out the door.

Edmund and Lucy similarly thrive. Caspian creates an unofficial book club with Edmund, reading the same ones and having lengthy discussions about the contents over dinner, to which the others roll their eyes. He spends a lot of time with Lucy outdoors, the both of them now fully able to converse with the trees, and with the land.

They do so one day as they’re out having a picnic, a promise Caspian made one day in his trials that he is finally able to fulfill. He can hear the humming of the trees around them, the area content and peaceful. He listens to it for a few quiet moments before realizing Lucy is looking at him intensely.

“What?” he asks, suddenly nervous. Her little frame can hold quite a deep stare.

She frowns. “You’re older,” she says after a second.

“I—older than what? Than you?”

“Well, you are and you aren’t. But that’s not what I meant.” She leans back, glancing over him. “I mean, you’re older than you’re supposed to be. Like me.”

Caspian nods solemnly. “I guess I am. I mean, I was in my trials for several months. So I have technically lived more days than I am alive. I think I might have lived enough days that I would have reached my birthday.” He closes his eyes, holding a hand to his head. “This all never gets easier to think about. I am not sure how you do it.”

He feels Lucy’s hand on his knee.

“It was a little weird at first,” she admits quietly. “But I sort of came to see it as a kind of gift. You hear so many adults wishing they could go back to their childhood. Well, I did! And I’ve been having a lot of fun.” Caspian opens his eyes to find her genuine smile there, and he does see both parts of her reflected in it; the silly young girl, and the wise woman. “I know what you went through was difficult, but Narnia trusted you. I wouldn’t be here without you. We’re all grateful for that.”

Caspian puts his hand over Lucy’s.

“I am happy I was able to help you all,” he replies. “Though I wish the experience had not been so…intense.” His other hand finds its way to his chest, the beating heart that was stabbed and the lungs that were filled with water. Lucy notices.

“I do, too,” she admits. “But that’s all behind you now. You can finally start being the king you were always meant to be. Is that what you want?”

Caspian does have to take a moment to reflect on that answer. It’s something he’s been putting off deciding for some time, but perhaps he should know. His entire crux to the argument of allowing the Pevensies to stay was the more important point of allowing them to choose . He constantly has to remind Peter that it is okay to ask for, and get, what he wants. Their destinies have all largely been written for them, fate and birth charting their lives beyond their control. Even now, Caspian feels an obligation to be king, something he only partially feels he has to chosen to do. Does he want to be king?

When Caspian was a child, he never thought he would live to see adulthood, let alone become Telmar’s king, and absolutely never Narnia’s king. But he daydreamed about it. Between the fantasies of kissing golden knight Peter Pevensie and getting whisked away from the evil Miraz, he would imagine himself being anointed with a crown, making rousing speeches to soldiers, raising flags high. He would look around at the tyrannical, daunting land of Telmar and imagine himself bringing it to light through the way of peace, sprinkling flowers among the grass. 

They were all very childish dreams, yet Caspian has, in a way, made them all come true. He has brought Telmar to peace by ending Miraz’s reign. He’s raised the Narnian flag and moved his people to action through his words. And he does kiss Peter Pevensie, often and happily. He has not even been king for that long of a time, and already he has accomplished all of this. Imagine what he could do with each day that passes, each tomorrow that now awaits him?

“Yes,” he finally answers, Lucy beaming at the response. “That is what I want.”

→ → →

There’s only one thing unsettled that Caspian needs to know.

He’s currently walking with Peter through the woods, similar to the one where they met. It sometimes feels like he is looking back at another person’s memory when he thinks on that day, the blind rage that fueled both of them, the distrust in their eyes. They nearly came to doing each other in, Lucy’s voice being the only thing to snap them out of their anger.

That was the first time Caspian had held Rhindon. He yanked it out of the tree through which it had been struck before looking down and reading the inscription there, the familiar words from all of his childhood legends. Little did he know that day what this sword would come to mean to him, what it would represent, and how many more times he would hold it afterwards.

He has not actually held it since the last day before his trials ended. With Peter not leaving, he had no need to pass the sword onto Caspian. It has stayed dutifully by his side since, where it remains even now, Peter’s hand that is not in Caspian’s holding onto the pommel as he always does.

“Peter,” Caspian starts, his voice quiet in the large expense of woods all around them. “There is something I have been wanting to say to you.”

“What is it?” Peter asks, stopping in his tracks. They turn so they’re facing each other, one hand still intertwined.

Caspian looks down at Rhindon. “I understand that your actions in the lived days of my trials were not fully your own, only the ones on the last day. But…”

“Yes?” 

“You gave me your sword every single day. It was one of the few consistent things that would happen.” Caspian reaches a hand out and gently caresses Peter’s hand, then the pommel underneath. “In a way, I feel as though it is mine. But I know that in reality, it is not. It has been hard to understand.”

Peter nods, patient and contemplating. He unsheaths the sword and holds it palm-up in the air between them. 

“I’ve thought about that, too,” Peter admits. “On one hand, I do still need to have a sword.” He quirks a smile. “But on the other, I know that I would have given this to you, had I left. You still experienced that. By rights, the sword can be yours.”

Caspian’s hands slowly lift, his fingers fluttering on the underside of the metal, grazing Peter’s. Their faces converge and meld in the reflection.

“I would not wish to take it from you,” he says, almost a whisper. Everything suddenly feels very precious. “I know the importance of it.”

“I know you do. I trust that you do.” Peter’s thumb lightly traces the engraving. “In all honesty, I think I had been waiting for you to ask. It’s felt strange, holding it. Like I knew it wasn’t only mine anymore.”

Caspian’s heartbeat increases, realizing what Peter is saying. He looks up and catches his eyes, and for a brief moment, Peter does look like the golden knight from all of his childhood fantasies. But the vision fades, and the real king appears, better in every conceivable way. 

Peter takes a regal, controlled breath before slowly sinking down to a knee, keeping the sword held high in the air.

“Caspian,” he begins, his voice as strong as it’s ever been, “it would do me a great honor if you were to take my sword as your own.”

Peter waits, peering up at Caspian with an unquestionable loyalty behind his gaze. Caspian’s hand lingers over the hilt of the sword, Peter’s hand underneath it. He lightly covers the handle, but does not grab it.

“You must promise,” Peter continues, “to wield it with honor and courage, to use it only when is most necessary, and to keep it in sharp condition, as if it is a reflection of your very soul.” There’s more emphasis on the last part than the rest, and it’s not lost on Caspian. “Do you promise that?”

Caspian closes his hand around the hilt, the action feeling like both the easiest and most profound thing he has ever done. He’s taken Rhindon from Peter dozens of times, each one slightly different from the last, but none of them compare to this. 

“I promise,” he declares. His voice is solid but hushed, the moment private and drowned by the trees around them, yet he might as well be yelling. He often feels as if he is constantly screaming I love you, Peter, no matter what it is he is actually saying or doing. Everything comes back to that, in the end.

“Good,” Peter hums. He lets go of the sword, now secured in Caspian’s hand, and rises. “It would have been quite embarrassing if you hadn’t.”

Caspian smiles, chuckling, and the two of them stand there in this powerful moment, unsaid declarations hanging in the air between them, falling from the leaves. It feels more intimate than kissing him could.

After a while, Peter takes his hand and gently guides him back to walking, Caspian sheathing the sword where he had left a spot on his belt, perhaps a part of him knowing this would be the outcome of today. They step together for a minute or so in silence, the world calm and still around them.

“I suppose we should go back and forge you a new sword,” Caspian suggests, partially joking. “You do still need one.”

Peter waves his free hand. “It can wait. There’s no battle right now.” He walks in front of Caspian and gestures with his arms wide. “Besides — it’s a new day, after all. It’s open ahead of us. Why not stop and enjoy it?”

Caspian laughs. It is a new day. One that, for too long, he did not think he would ever see.

Perhaps the two of them can stop time, just for a while.