bedlamsbard | Narnia (movieverse) fic: "In Constellated Wars: In a Dark Wood" (4/5)

We are only undeceived
Of that which, deceiving, could no longer harm.
In the middle, not only in the middle of the way
But all the way, in a dark wood, in a bramble,
On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold,
And menaced by monsters, fancy lights,
Risking enchantment.
– T.S. Eliot, “Four Quartets: East Coker”

It takes Caspian three days with the Old Narnians before he realizes that the four children who broke the Long Winter are the same people as Narnia’s fairytale heroes, Peter the King of Summer, Susan the Queen of Spring, Edmund the Prince of Shadows, and – well, to be completely honest, Lucy is almost never mentioned in Telmarine legend. It’s Professor Cornelius who tells him that the King of Summer is also the High King of Narnia, a man known by Telmarine historians as the best general and the greatest warrior in history, who conquered from the mountains in the north (a land never seen in living memory) to the mountains of Archenland in the south. He has never before connected the three. There has never before been a reason for him to do so. The children are Narnian legend, not Telmarine; there has never been any enchantment for him in the Telmarine fairytales of the King of Summer and his kin; and the High King is dead history, and of no interest to a Telmarine prince who lived only for the present.

No longer.

The boy who calls himself High King of Narnia is a child, an arrogant child half a decade younger than Caspian himself – and yet. And yet. The boy is a mean hand with a sword, and when he speaks, the Narnians obey him instantly. They treat him with all the respect of the king he isn’t, the king he can’t be. And yet.

The woman – the elder power, the white demon Nikabrik and his ilk summoned – spoke to him. Recognized him. Reached out towards him as if for a lover. It’s no proof, or at least, no more proof than the sword he carries (the sword of Narnia is as much a legend as its bearer; it is said that the sword will not suffer itself to be sheathed unless it has tasted blood, and Caspian has seen Peter casually nick the ball of his thumb or the skin of his arm on the blade before sheathing it), but still –

A child. An arrogant child. The King of Summer was a man grown who allowed himself to be deceived and murdered by the beasts he thought he ruled, and the High King was a blooded warrior in gold-washed armor who defeated the champions of a dozen countries one after the other in single combat. Neither image fits this…boy…who fled rather than stand and die with the folk he called his own.

And yet Caspian saw him hesitate before the gate, face stark and wild, like no boy’s he has seen before. Thinking back to his long-ago history lessons – for Professor Cornelius has always favored ancient history, and the High King especially, though Caspian had been uninterested at the time – he remembers that the High King was said to have been exceptionally young, seeming to be little more than a child even at the height of his power. Likewise the King of Summer, whom the Telmarines have long embraced as one of their own, a brilliant but misguided ruler who allowed his youth to deter his better judgment. His example is said to be one of those cited for Caspian not yet coming of age, because the young are more easily blinded to evil than the old. Now –

Evil? I do not think the Narnians are evil, no more than my people, nor am I so certain now the King of Summer was murdered, at least not at the hands of Narnians.

As for the White Witch – a demon banished from this plane by the children. A nightmare said to haunt the King of Summer until he followed her into the woods and to his own murder. Only a woman who was overthrown by the High King. The legends are all jumbled up in each other, and Caspian doesn’t know which is truth, or if any of them are.

He could, he supposes, ask, but he’s still not convinced that Peter and his kin are who they claim to be, and he’s none too fond of Peter – though no more than Peter is of him, he’s certain. He understands that after the incident with the elder power Nikabrik sought to summon, he is in disgrace with both Susan and Lucy, though he doesn’t understand why the youngest girl is here. She’s even more a child than the rest of them; if she was a Telmarine girl, she would still be playing with dolls.

There is Edmund, of course. Of the four strangers – though they are all strangers to Caspian, even the ones like Trufflehunter and Reepicheep who have grown somewhat familiar over the little time they’ve been together – the younger boy is the only one who still spoke to him after he broke the summoning (and if the white demon was so evil, why had the boy Peter hesitated and not simply struck to kill?). Like the others, he calls himself “king” (and how can there be more than one king? Such a thing is unheard of in Telmarine history), and it is to him alone that Caspian is willing to grant the courtesy of this title. It is utterly mad, of course, but Caspian has left the castle of his fathers for the black woods of deep Narnia, where the earth itself is said to rise up against any Telmarine who sets foot within the forests. He has spoken to talking animals, and to dwarves and centaurs and minotaurs – creatures so strange that they are less than myth among the Telmarines. It is no more mad to call a boy half his age king than to go into battle with a woman who kills men as a hunter might kill game.

Whether or not they are truly brothers – and they speak to each other with such familiarity that Caspian wonders if his father and his uncle were the like once – it is clear that Edmund knows much of Peter, and there is a question Caspian would ask him.

“King Edmund,” he murmurs late in the night, knowing already that the boy is a light sleeper and will wake at the slightest sound. It’s late, so late that it seems less than likely Peter will demonstrate his penchant for barging into places unasked at this particular time. Professor Cornelius would approve, although Caspian does not mean to relay the contents of this conversation to him unless he needs to.

“What?” Edmund says immediately, as if he’s been waiting for Caspian to speak. He has not, Caspian knows; he simply sleeps lightly. Only two nights since Caspian woke with the urgent need to relieve himself and had scarce pushed aside his bedcovers before he found himself with a dagger at his throat. The boy had apologized, wry with amusement, and gone back to sleep, eyes snapping open once more when Caspian reentered their shared room. The sharing is no choice of either of them, but of Blackpaw – Trufflehunter’s sister, Caspian knows now – who swore that the High King must have his own room, and therefore sleeping quarters would be shuffled around so that Caspian and Edmund found themselves sharing.

Caspian chooses his words carefully. He wants an honest answer now, when Edmund’s mind is still muddled from sleep. He has heard that it is hard for men to lie at such a time. “If he wasn’t your brother,” he says at last, like he’s practiced in his head, “would you still follow him?”

There’s a rustle of bedcovers as Edmund rolls onto his back. “If he wasn’t my brother,” the boy says matter-of-factly, “I wouldn’t be here.”

“But if you were,” Caspian says, because he’s not interested in the mechanics of their relationship, just the reasons behind it.

“Yes,” Edmund says without a moment’s hesitation.

Maybe he’s not asking the right questions. “Why?”

Again there’s no hesitation. “Because he’s my king,” Edmund says.

But how do you know? Caspian thinks, but holds the thought. Instead he says, “But if he wasn’t.”

There’s a pause, then Edmund says, “You mean if he wasn’t my brother and he wasn’t my king, and if I’d miraculously been born in Narnia and hadn’t been killed by the White Witch for being human, would I still follow him? In a heartbeat.”

He certainly sounds like he believes his impossibilities, though Caspian still isn’t sure. The children who broke the Long Winter came out of the west; in those days, there were still humans in the Western Waste. As for the White Witch – a myth. A demon. Just another lost piece of history. “But why?” Caspian says again.

Edmund turns his head and Caspian sees the gleam of his eyes in the thin ray of moonlight falling through the arrow-slit in the wall. “Because,” he says, “he’s a good king, and a great general, and the best fighter I’ve ever met.”

“Not that you can tell,” Caspian mutters under his breath. He’ll grant that Peter is a good fighter, but that doesn’t mean anything: there are many fighters in Narnia, and Edmund is too young to have met most of them. He doubts that Peter could hold his weight against his uncle Miraz – may the gods curse his name – or General Glozelle, the best swordsman in Narnia.

“Don’t say it,” Edmund says abruptly.

“Say what?” Caspian asks, startled and confused.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Edmund continues. “Don’t do it, don’t say it, don’t even think about it. Peter doesn’t suffer usurpers lightly. Or at all.”

“It’s not his throne,” Caspian says indignantly. It’s the Telmarine throne he wants; the Narnian throne doesn’t even exist anymore, and hasn’t for a thousand years. And Peter isn’t a king, moreover, just a child with delusions of grandeur who knows how to use a sword. He isn’t the High King of Narnia; that’s impossible.

“Only because your people destroyed it and everything in the area,” Edmund says, voice sharp with anger. He’s talking about the Narnian throne. “He’s the High King of Narnia. I wouldn’t try that excuse on him.”

He isn’t. He can’t be. “What’s he going to do?” Caspian asks archly. “Kill me?” Caspian is the crown prince of Telmarine Narnia; no matter how mad he is, Peter won’t dare touch him. To strike one of the royal blood is treason. To bare steel in the presence is close to it. He didn’t hesitate, though. And he’s not Telmarine. No matter; all of Narnia is rightfully Telmar’s.

“Very publicly and very permanently,” Edmund snaps. “He’s taken heads for less than what you’ve just said. In his case, he’d probably enjoy it. I would.”

Mad. They’re all of them mad. Too bad that the Narnians trust them, because Caspian wants them gone badly. Or – he wants some of them gone. Peter, for one. And Edmund is madly loyal to Peter, and Caspian doesn’t think it’s the sort of loyal that will fade in time. Lucy is even more of a child than the others and of no importance. And Susan – well, Susan is a woman, and a very beautiful one. Caspian doesn’t want her gone.

From the sound of his breathing, Edmund has already gone back to sleep. It’s late, and after being awake for more than twenty-four hours, Caspian is more than willing to follow him into the realm of dreams.

He wakes when Edmund puts his hand over his mouth. “Shh,” the boy says, and Caspian sees the naked steel in his hand. Rising, Edmund turns away and Caspian leans over for his own sword, questions spinning confusion in his mind. If the boy wanted him dead, it would have been a moment’s work. So why –

He’s looking away when the door opens; he hears the sound of an arrow whistling in the air before it hits the fabric of Edmund’s bedroll. Caspian scrambles to his feet, sword drawn in his hands, and sees Edmund go down as an unfamiliar tiger knocks him backwards, sword spinning from his hand as he shouts curses.

Another arrow strikes the wall behind Caspian and Caspian leaps for the archer. A satyr – a stranger. She draws at point-blank range, and the arrow misses Caspian so nearly that he feels the brush of the fletching across his cheek. He strikes in a butterfly sweep that slices her open from hip to shoulder, filling the air with the sick scent of spilled blood.

He looks down at the tiger. Edmund is holding the beast off, just barely, hands clenched around its jaws. Caspian hesitates – I could – and then he brings his sword down on the creature’s neck. The blade doesn’t cut near as deep as he’d hoped and in a heartbeat the tiger has forgotten Edmund and leaped at him. Caspian jumps backwards, trying to get his sword up – like boar hunting – but he fumbles it and the tiger slams him back into the cave wall, claws scratching down his shirt as its jaws open – wide enough to swallow him whole, it seems. He can smell its rancid breath when it falls and Caspian staggers aside to see Edmund kneeling, sword in both hands and both the tiger’s rear legs severed. Before Caspian say or do anything, Edmund rises and buries his sword to the hilt between the tiger’s ribs, killing the creature.

He doesn’t look at Caspian before he scrambles for the door and into the hallway, screaming Peter’s name. Caspian follows more slowly, still trying to figure out what’s just happened. Assassins he understands; he’s a Telmarine prince, after all. He doesn’t know why he was surprised that Miraz killed his father – no, he knows why he’s surprised. He’s surprised that Miraz killed his father personally. There’s no deniability there, no layer of removal. But – these are Narnians, and that would be easy enough to blame on Peter, though he thinks the boy lacks the subtlety to send assassins when he could do the killing himself, if not for the fact they’d gone for Edmund as well.

He looks up, and there’s blood on Peter’s sleeve and spattered across his clothes and skin. For a moment, Caspian’s so convinced that Peter sent the assassins that he just doesn’t understand. He sent assassins to kill Caspian; there’s blood all over him. It doesn’t make sense.

And then a woman screams and Peter shoves past Edmund and Caspian and goes tearing down the hall, shouting orders that make no sense whatsoever. Caspian turns on his heel – Susan and Lucy’s room is nearest the stairs – to see the runners, a dwarf and a centaur he vaguely recognizes. Another centaur is collapsed on the hallway floor, trying to force itself to its feet despite the arrows in its chest.

Caspian hesitates, torn between following Peter and following Edmund, and finally does the latter. Maybe if he’s lucky, Peter will trip on the stairs and break his neck. He goes into the room, noting the body in the corner – a badger, and there’s a moment where he thinks, of course, the badgers believe they’re their legends, before he sees Susan.

She’s breathing, but only shallowly, and her skull is – broken. Caspian has never seen wounds like this before, but he knows that this can’t be good. A mortal injury. She will not live out the hour. His own sister, Caspian thinks, but that doesn’t mean anything. Miraz killed his brother with own two hands. Peter sent someone else. Telmarines have done worse over the years.

He goes to his knees beside her, at Edmund’s side, because Susan is – was – a beautiful woman and she deserves – something. Not to die with her last thought that her brother had betrayed her.

Caspian doesn’t even see Lucy until she lets a single drop of whatever it is she keeps in the crystal vial she wears on her hip fall into Susan’s mouth. Last rites? he wonders in the heartbeat before Susan seems to – blur.

He doesn’t understand.

When his vision clears – his eyes or her body? None of it makes sense – Susan’s pushing herself up on her elbows, looking at Edmund and asking brisk questions.

“You,” Caspian hears himself say, “you were just –”

“Hit on the head, yes, now she’s better,” Edmund snaps, like it was just a knock on the head and not a mortal wound. Susan shouldn’t be alive, let alone so…lively. It’s impossible. It’s a miracle of the gods.

It’s witchcraft, and Caspian tears his gaze away from Susan to look sharply at Lucy. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live…

The old kings of Telmar had kept court magicians once, but that hadn’t saved Telmar from either drought or the Shoushani invaders.

Edmund pulls Susan to her feet, handing her bow and quiver. “Su, you’d better go,” he says, and Caspian’s still uncomprehending when he adds, “Peter’s going to want you. He can’t outrun a centaur, and Strongback’s going to be out of range by the time he gets someone to put an axe in his hand.”

But Peter arranged this, Caspian thinks wildly as Susan runs out of the room as if she hasn’t just been – as if she hasn’t –

What if Peter hasn’t arranged this? It’s – messy. Even someone so young wouldn’t be so careless as to let himself be attacked and wounded.

He follows Edmund out into the hall. Looking down at the wounded centaur, Caspian’s surprised to realize that he knows him. “What did we do to you, Sileas?” he says, because if Peter didn’t arrange these assassinations, then he wants to know who did. Miraz would never use Narnians. Unless –

Sileas curses at him, trying to pull the arrows out of his chest and abdomen. Edmund looks at him in silence, weighing the sword in his hand, and Caspian is certain he’s about to do what any Telmarine would do in the same situation – kill the assassin and end this – until Edmund turns to him and says, in what’s definitely meant to be an order, “Go find me someone big enough to hold down a centaur. Preferably a griffin, although I suppose a minotaur would work too. Or another centaur.”

Caspian isn’t willing to take orders from a boy half his age just yet. “Why?” he says, tilting his head up and looking down at Edmund.

Edmund looks at him coolly, unblinking. “Because the High King said to keep him alive,” he says like that’s obvious and Caspian is an idiot. “Of course, if you really feel like defying Peter, you can do nothing, and I’ll tell him you just let Sileas die here, never mind disobeyed a king of Narnia.”

He is not a king of Narnia, but Peter is like an unsheathed sword: he doesn’t care what he cuts so long as it’s in his way. And Caspian is – despite his better judgment – curious about what Peter means to do. And who hired the assassins if it wasn’t Peter himself. He waits a moment to make a point, then goes down the stairs into the body of the How.

Despite Glenstorm’s pretty words, he knows well enough that he isn’t liked by the Old Narnians. They look at him and see a Telmarine, a Telmarine prince who is the son of Telmarine kings, a Telmarine warrior descended from a long line of Telmarine warriors. Caspian knows his legacy; he’s proud of it. Caspian I the Conqueror was a hero who devoted his life to defending his people. So was his son, and his son, and so on until Caspian himself. These are – allies, nothing more. It doesn’t matter what they think of him so long as they obey him, and unfortunately most of them would rather obey Peter over him.

These are allies he needs to gain his rightful throne.

Belatedly, he realizes he should have taken the time to find his scabbard, since his sword is bare and bloody in his hand. He looks around for someone who meets Edmund’s qualifications, but all he sees are unfriendly faces, fangs bared in dislike. They seem even less fond of him than they had before he saved Asterius from Peter’s sword – and that they seem to understand, though why a human trying to kill one of them is preferable to having a Telmarine ally is incomprehensible to him. Hesitantly, Caspian takes a step forward, meaning to continue downward to the centaurs’ quarters – Glenstorm, at least, seems less than openly hostile – but a sleek snow leopard works her way through the press of creatures to stand in front of him, tail lashing behind her.

“What is it you want, Telmarine?” she asks; Caspian thinks her name is Hilzarie.

“A…duty from King Edmund,” Caspian says a little reluctantly, naming the boy as king because if he fails to do so, he’ll be sharply corrected.

“And what is that?” Hilzarie continues, yawning and showing off her – very – sharp teeth.

“He wants a griffin,” Caspian says hopefully, since the Narnians have gone out of their way to make sure that he doesn’t know where the griffins – one of the army’s greatest assets, he knows – are quartered.

Hilzarie pauses before she says anything else, then she turns her head and orders, “Sinthya, go and bring Cirocco or Caroun here at the King of Evening’s orders.”

The wildcat bounds off, the crowd parting to let her through, and Hilzarie turns her gaze back on him. Abruptly, Caspian remembers that Susan had told him the Narnian Royal Guard had once been made up entirely of great cats like Hilzarie and Sinthya. He hadn’t believed her because the very notion seemed absurd, but now – now he sees why.

“Now, Telmarine,” Hilzarie says, “tell us what has happened. The High King came tearing through here as if the hounds of hell themselves were at his heels, and the Queen of Spring the same not five minutes later. Kalein is dead at the High King’s hand, but he attacked the High King, so it is his due as a traitor. As for myself, I have no doubt that the High King acted in good faith and will tell us of his reasons as soon as he may, but others are not so certain.” She doesn’t turn her head, but another leopard lets out a low, threatening growl, and several creatures among the crowd stir.

Caspian looks around, finding himself met by mingled curiosity and hostility. “We were attacked,” he says finally. “By Narnians. Several escaped, and that is who Peter – the High King and Queen Susan – pursued.”

“Treason,” Hilzarie spits, and someone else curses.

“By the Lion, the High King need but give us these traitors to us and they will die as Aslan turns his face from them,” a hound declares, and is met with agreement. Emboldened, he continues, “Only a madman or a fool would turn on the King of Summer himself.”

“Or a Telmarine spy,” a wolf mutters, and turns its brindled head towards Caspian. “Whose blood is it on your sword, boy?”

Before Caspian can answer, Sinthya bounds up the stairs, accompanied by the magnificent golden bulk of the griffin Cirocco. She lowers her head as Hilzarie goes to speak to her in a low growl and then nods, first turning one red eye, then the other, on Caspian. Without a word, she strides forward, talons clicking faintly on the floor, and pushes past Caspian to the stairs. Caspian hesitates before nodding awkwardly to Hilzarie and the other Narnians, then follows.

“Majesty, I am yours to command,” Cirocco says to Edmund, dipping a low bow. “Do you want me to rip him apart?”

Caspian doesn’t – quite – flinch. The griffins had been no part of the massacre at the castle, but it isn’t hard to imagine the damage they could do with their sharp talons and wickedly curved beaks.

“Not at the moment,” Edmund drawls. “Hold him down, will you? I need to take the arrows out.”

Sileas just tried to kill them and they’re giving him medical treatment? Caspian does not understand them. A Telmarine would kill a failed assassin – keep them alive long enough to ask who hired them, but certainly kill them as soon as possible. Giving one any kind of medical treatment, even if that only involves removing the arrows, is…absurd.

Cirocco drapes herself over Sileas’s back, digging her talons into his sides without concern and bringing up little beads of blood. “But why not just kill him now?” she demands.

Looking at Edmund, Caspian can see the irritation wash briefly over his face. “Because the High King gave orders to the contrary,” he says, which seems to be enough for Cirocco, because she heaves a great sigh and doesn’t say anything else.

“Ed, no,” Lucy says as Edmund starts forward. “You’re bleeding. I do still remember how to do this, you know.”

Abruptly, Caspian remembers a snatch of old song, one of the ballads the Narnians favor. Lucy Strongheart, who kisses a man and kills him in the same breath / The Queen of Morning, who can bring a man back from death. It’s impossible. He’s already seen it.

The girl’s hands are quick and easy as she withdraws the arrows and hands them to her brother, seemingly with no regard for the centaur’s deadly hooves or the huge, slab-like hands that could break her neck in a heartbeat. Edmund watches with a kind of dismissive pride, holding the bottom of his shirt to his bleeding nose. Caspian looks from one to the other, but neither seems particularly surprised by this turn of events.

At the last, Lucy withdraws the little crystal vial from beneath her nightgown and administers a single drop of it to the centaur, just like she did to her sister. As before, the wounds seem to blur, and then the centaur hisses another curse. Lucy steps back, looking vaguely pleased with herself.

“Good,” Peter says.

Caspian spins on his heel, sword coming up automatically; he hadn’t heard Peter approach at all. One minute there was no one else in the hall, the next –

Peter ignores him and strides past, Susan just behind him and veering off to join Edmund and Lucy. “Trumpkin and Reepicheep are securing the prisoners,” he continues, speaking to Cirocco now. “Make sure he joins them.”

Her wings mantle briefly. “Yes, but why do you want them alive?”

“So I can kill them later,” Peter says, voice utterly cold. He turns his attention to his siblings.

“Are you all right?” Caspian asks Susan as she cleans the arrows Edmund has given her on her sleeve.

She looks surprised. “Yes, I’m fine. Lucy’s cordial heals completely – well, almost completely,” she adds, smiling a little as if at a private joke. She looks aside as Trufflehunter and a pair of minotaurs come upstairs to take Sileas away. “Get the body out of my room first, please,” she says as Peter finishes barking orders. “I’d like to change.”

“I don’t understand,” Caspian says hopefully to Peter once the others have gone into their respective rooms. He’s – mostly convinced that Peter didn’t arrange this, because it seems too messy, even for an amateur. And whatever else Peter may be, Caspian is less and less convinced that the boy is an amateur at anything.

“Those were assassins,” Peter snaps, looking at him like he’s an idiot. It’s a look he’s been giving Caspian more or less constantly ever since they’d met. “They came here to kill us. Including, for Aslan knows what reason, you, so I suppose you should be flattered. I need to go change.”

He storms off without another word, as if that’s any kind of explanation, and Caspian takes a moment to rub his hand over his face. He’s suddenly very tired, and he’s sick of the boy’s disdain. Peter’s just a child, after all.

But Caspian’s less certain now that he isn’t, somehow, impossibly, the High King of Narnia from the distant past.

He takes a torch from the hallway to light the torches in the room he’s sharing with Edmund, who’s dressing, seemingly unaware of the dead bodies beside him. Caspian changes his clothes – the worst of the damage is the rip in his shirt – and buckles on his swordbelt, finally sheathing his sword. He turns to look at Edmund, the question on the tip of his tongue.

“What?” Edmund snaps.

“You don’t seem very concerned,” Caspian says, because he really would have thought that anyone this young would be.

Edmund mutters something under his breath, and then, louder, “It’s happened before. We’re – unfortunately,” he adds, mouth twisting a little in bitter amusement, “used to this.”

Caspian follows him into the hall. “I don’t understand. Why would Sileas and the others do this? I thought they considered you their rightful rulers.” Because if Peter hadn’t hired them, and Miraz would certainly hesitate at hiring Narnians, then that means – Caspian’s not sure what they means, but they’re Narnians, and except for Nikabrik, every Narnian he’s met has revered Peter and his siblings beyond all rationale.

Edmund snorts and starts cleaning his dagger as he leans against the wall. “Apparently not,” he says, voice dry. “Maybe they like ruling themselves. Maybe they’re working for your uncle Miraz. Maybe they just don’t like humans. There are any number of reasons someone would try to assassinate us; I’ve heard most of them at some point or another.”

Caspian can’t keep himself from saying – even though he’s not entirely certain Edmund would know from firsthand experience – ““But the Golden Age was the most peaceful era Narnia has ever seen.”

Edmund almost laughs, but stifles it. “No, not by a long shot,” he says. “I don’t know what you’ve heard – although from what the Narnians have said, at this point I don’t want to know – but Narnia didn’t have more than a month of peace when we reigned. Well, maybe more than a month of peace if you don’t count bandit attacks as actual wars, but between everyone on every border and a lot of people who weren’t on our borders trying to invade and the country doing its damned to rip itself apart from the inside, I’m surprised we had that much. And everyone sent assassins. Peter’s probably taken more heads for high treason than there are people in this entire army.”

It’s this, more than anything else, that goes a long way towards convincing Caspian that they may well be telling the truth. Narnian peace came under Telmarine rule, he knows; there’s no reason for them to lie about Narnian being in more turmoil during the reign of the High King. And Telmarine history has said that the High King of Narnia was always at war – but they hadn’t called it the Golden Age, either.

Caspian’s saved from having to think of a reply to this by the arrival of Susan and Lucy, where Edmund promptly ignores him and commences teasing his sister. Caspian listens curiously, because what they’re talking about turns out to be the healing potion Lucy carries, and he hadn’t known – well, with good reason, because some of the stories he’s heard have more or less said that the Queen of Morning could raise the dead simply by laying hands on them.

After a few minutes, Peepiceek comes up the stairs and sweeps a bow – to Edmund and Susan, of course. “Your majesties, my captain bids me tell you that the prisoners are confined in the red cave, to be questioned at your leisure.”

Questioned? Caspian thinks, but – that means that Peter and his siblings don’t know who sent the assassins either. Unless – no. It’s too convoluted even for him, and he’s a Telmarine prince, well-used to court machinations. Peter is, whatever else he may or may not be, definitely not a Telmarine.

“We’ll be down as soon as Peter’s done primping,” Edmund says matter-of-factly. “Did you want to come?” he asks his sisters, and they both shake their heads.

“I’m going to wash my hair,” Susan says, smiling at her brother.

Edmund gives her a long, lingering look that’s entirely inappropriate for a brother to give his sister. “Yeah, sis,” he says, “you may want to do that. You haven’t been such a mess since the time with the swamps, you know –” And they’re all three of them off on some reminiscence, words light and easy with laughter beneath.

Caspian doesn’t know what they’re talking about, although he’s willing to be that Professor Cornelius does – his professor has made an especial study out of the Golden Age. The real Golden Age, that is; not the fairytales that the Narnians revere.

Susan and Lucy leave just as Peter emerges from his room, shaking his head like a wet cat. Edmund falls into step with him as he passes Caspian, and Caspian follows both of them.

“Interrogation?” Edmund asks.

“You have to ask?” Peter replies.

“Peepiceek – Reepicheep’s second-in-command – came up to tell us they’re holding the prisoners in the red cave.” He looks back at Caspian, raising his eyebrows. He doesn’t look at all surprised.

Peter glances back too, expression sharp with anger.

“I want to hear this,” Caspian says, and then hurries to add as Peter glares at him – the boy’s glare could cut glass, and he flinches before he can stop himself – “They tried to kill me too.”

“He does have a point, Pete,” Edmund says after a moment when Peter doesn’t say anything at all.

Peter makes a sharp gesture that drifts too close toward the hilt of his sword for Caspian’s comfort, but he doesn’t say anything, and Caspian takes that as acceptance. They descend the two levels down to the red cave in silence; neither Peter nor Edmund seem to notice the animals watching them. Caspian can’t help looking, and sees Hilzarie sitting on her haunches, watching them with sharp consideration in her eyes. She glances briefly at him, then resumes staring at Peter and Edmund.

Of the guard outside the door of the red cave, he knows Melchior the minotaur and Peepiceek; the others are strangers. As he’s been tending to, Peter ignores the centaur and turns his attention on Peepiceek, asking sharp questions that – Caspian is a little surprised to realize – make sense. They’ll be doing the interrogations in the little cave, he learns, which is where – he thinks; Blackpaw, who’s been serving as quartermaster, has been careful to keep the locations of supplies and arms from him – they’ve been storing dried meat. It’s just down the hall from the red cave, and dark as the grave inside.

Peter goes around the cavern walls lighting every torch until the room is bright as day, then he slides the torch he’s taken from the hall into the last socket and turns his attention on Caspian. “Don’t,” he says, “say anything. Leave this to me and Edmund.”

“But –” Caspian begins indignantly.

“It’s a very simple instruction,” Peter snaps. “Just don’t talk.” And like that, his attention is gone; Caspian may as well not be there.

Edmund is at Caspian’s shoulder before he realizes the boy has moved. “We have this down to an art,” he says, as if that’s supposed to be an explanation of some kind. “And you don’t want to get in Peter’s way; it never ends well.”

No, I suppose not.

Melchior and another minotaur Caspian doesn’t know bring in Sileas and deposit him on the floor before leaving the room and shutting the door behind them. The centaur’s hands are bound behind his back, and all four feet are hobbled like a horse’s – he can’t run, or kick, and can only walk in a kind of slow shuffle.

Peter goes to Sileas’s left and Edmund to his right, motioning Caspian to a position behind Sileas. Caspian doesn’t understand why, but he goes anyway, because it doesn’t mean he won’t be able to hear anything Sileas says, and that’s what he’s interested in.

“Who hired you?” Peter asks.

“Hired?” Sileas says. “I assure you, human, we acted only out of good will for all Narnia. We were not paid.”

Good will for all Narnia? But that doesn’t make any sense at all. Assassins are hired for political purposes, or for vengeance – but out of so-called good will? And acting of their own will…

“I’m sorry,” Edmund drawls. “Killing your king is a sign of good will now? By the Lion, Pete, things have changed in Narnia. Clearly we should turn around and go back to England. I can try out for the football team.”

“Miraz, then,” Peter says. “You want the Telmarines to have Narnia?”

Caspian could tell him that no Telmarine would ever lower himself to traffic with a Narnian, but it’s obvious that Peter’s not going to listen to anything he says.

Sileas gives him a look of pure hatred. “No. Telmarines, Lascar, Natarenes, Archenlanders – you’re all the same. What I want is for the damned humans to leave Narnia. Your lot have never done us any good.”

“Except for defeating the White Witch that one time,” Edmund says. “And – oh yes, defending Narnia from Archenland, and Calormen, and Lasci, and giants, and pirates and – am I forgetting anyone, Pete? Everyone on Narnia’s western border.”

Narnia’s western border now is a hundred miles of pure wilderness, unclaimed by anyone, but during the Golden Age it must have been – more.

“No better than the White Witch,” Sileas says. “At least under the White Witch we weren’t dying for men.”

“No, under the White Witch you were just dying,” Peter snaps. “Clearly the history books forgot to mention that part; I like to think I remember it better than you do. Were you around then?”

“Narnia should be ruled by Narnians,” Sileas replies. “Last night only showed why! All of you are too free with our lives – you always have been. You are a cancer that needs to be cut from this land.”

“A cancer?” Edmund says indignantly. “I’m sorry, but your strategy needs improving, if your idea of taking Narnia back from the Telmarines and restoring it to true Narnians is to kill the most experienced general in the country. Not to mention the High King appointed by Aslan himself.”

He adds this last like it’s an indisputable fact, but as far as Caspian knows, Aslan is nothing more than another demon of the woods, no different than the stories of phoenixes or dragons that the Telmarines tell.

Like an echo of his own thoughts, Sileas says, “Aslan is a myth created by the kings and queens of old to legitimize their conquest.”

Peter’s face twists in anger, but all he snaps is, “Who else was part of this conspiracy?”

Sileas’s voice is arch. “The rest of your so-called army is too bewitched to see the truth behind your lies.”

What? But everyone Caspian’s talked to in the army thinks that Peter and his siblings can walk on water. Except – could Sileas be right? Caspian’s – not certain anymore. Even in the short hour since he was convinced that Peter was an imposter, no better than Miraz, he’s been very nearly converted. Some things just don’t add up.

He thinks that Peter glances at him when he says, “Sure about that?” but when Caspian turns his head the boy is staring at the centaur. Edmund, though – Edmund is looking at Peter, alarm twisting its way across his features. Every muscle in his body has suddenly gone tense; he doesn’t seem to be paying any attention at all to Sileas.

I don’t understand. But he doesn’t say the words – he’s said them too many times already this night, and no one’s answered.

Sileas doesn’t seem to notice the change in attitudes in the room. “Even after your massacre,” he says, “they still believe you are who you claim to be. What do you think?”

Peter puts his head slightly to one side. “I think you’re an idiot,” he says. “But you’re not the first of those I’ve talked to.”

“Deluded fools,” Sileas says, and his voice is – almost pitying? It all makes no sense.

Peter’s hand falls to the sword at his hip, fist curling around the golden lion’s head. “I have always served Narnia above all else,” he spits, something wild and utterly inhuman in his eyes. Caspian shivers despite himself, keeping himself from reaching for his own blade through sheer force of will. “If this is about our leaving –”

“Your leaving was the best thing that could have happened to Narnia!” Sileas snaps. “Save that you weakened us so that we could not even defend ourselves when Men came pouring over our borders. Too much trust placed in humans – we killed each other rather than join and force out the invaders. It was you who brought the Dying Times upon Narnia, and you must pay for it. Only when your blood has been spilled can we cleanse Narnia again.”

For a moment Peter’s face is utterly blank. “What are the Dying Times?” he says, voice thick with confusion. He sounds like the boy he looks like.

Caspian sees Edmund tensing, balancing on the balls of his feet, turned half toward Peter and half toward Sileas. His eyes are fixed on his brother, and his lips are parted slightly, as if preparing to call out.

Sileas tilts his head up, an odd, triumphant gleam in his eyes. He looks like – by the little gods, he looks like Miraz at the castle, standing with Caspian’s sword at his throat like it’s nothing at all. Caspian feels metal dig into his palm suddenly and realizes he’s grasped his swordhilt without meaning to.

“What do you think happened after you left, human?” Sileas asks, and answers himself: “We died.”

Edmund throws himself at Peter as the High King says sharply, “No –”

“Pete –” Edmund says, and the High King throws him off.

“No, damn you, what happened?” he spits, and Caspian takes half a step forward, though he doesn’t know who to go to.

“Peter!” Edmund yells, and Peter shoves him aside again.

Incongruously, Sileas laughs, and it’s an ugly, mad sound. “Human blood for Narnian blood. You, and then the Telmarines. It will only be a start at repayment for all the dead of the Dying Times.”

“I didn’t know,” the High King swears, pushing Edmund aside as his brother shouts his name again. He strides past Caspian and throws open the door to the hallway.

“Watch him!” Edmund shouts at Caspian, following his brother.

Wide-eyed, Caspian turns back to Sileas, who’s still laughing insanely. A moment later, he hears a door slam and Edmund scream a curse and his brother’s name. Despite Edmund’s orders, Caspian throws himself into the hall, where he sees Edmund slam his fist into the door of the red cave, and swear fervently, “God damn it!” before crossing his arms over his chest and digfing his feet into the floor, staring at the door.

Caspian goes back into the little cave. He looks at Sileas – still laughing – in disgust. “Shut up,” he says softly. “I trusted you.”

“Fine words from a Telmarine prince,” Sileas says.

Caspian draws his sword and smashes him across the face with the pommel. “I said shut up!” he barks, blade at the centaur’s throat. “Do you believe he is who he says he is?”

“He is the High King of legend,” Sileas allows. “Once, he had a thousand names. My people called him Fire-eater, but the Natarene name for him suited him better: Breakneck. Skilled in battle, but rash beyond all sense, good for nothing but to swing a sword. His betrayal doomed all of Narnia to a thousand year winter that puts the Long Winter to shame. I would happily see him and all his family dead.”

“What about me?” Caspian says. Both hands are on the hilt; the position is – familiar. He was here not a day ago, but Miraz and Sileas are as different as night and day.

“All the Telmarines are thieves,” Sileas says. “What makes you any different? Best to kill nits before they turn into fleas.”

Caspian scowls, but withdraws his sword and sheathes it. At the very least, it’s an honest answer.

Sileas raises his bound hands to his face, looking down at the blood where Caspian’s sword has broken his nose and split his lip. “You are no better than Breakneck,” he says. “It would do us all good if you were both to meet the same end.”

He doesn’t have an answer to that, save to swear that Peter and he are nothing like, but he holds his tongue and goes back into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. Edmund is still staring at the red cave.

“My lord,” Melchior says, bestial head bowing down slightly so that they are nearly at eye-level. “Don’t bother yourself with his lies. He will die a traitor’s death.”

“Will he?” Caspian asks.

“My people call him Bittersteel. The High King has never shown mercy towards his enemies.”

The door of the red cave opens almost quietly, only a creak of hinges betraying it. Caspian and Melchior both turn to see Edmund say something – and then the High King draws his arm back, blurring somehow.

Caspian jumps back from the hunting knife stuck quivering in the wood of the door between him and Melchior. It perfectly bifurcates the distance between them.

“Sorry,” Peter says, not sounding it.

“What the hell?” Edmund spits. “What –”

“I want every member of this army out in front of the How by sunrise,” Peter says flatly, voice echoing through the corridor. “Everyone. Even the wounded. No excuses. Including those three.”

Edmund doesn’t say anything. Peter pushes past him and strides down the hallway, yanking the knife out from the door as he passes Caspian. It doesn’t seem to take him any effort at all.

“High King –” Caspian begins, the title falling from his lips without conscious thought.

Peter goes past him as if he’s not even there.

“You heard the High King,” Edmund says after a pause. “Secure the prisoners and have them in front of the How by sunrise.” He turns away, and Caspian runs to catch up with him.

“King Edmund –”

“Prince Caspian,” Edmund says, as easily as if he’s in command here, as if he commands Caspian, “go find Queen Susan and Queen Lucy and give them the High King’s orders. They’ll know what you mean.” He continues on without waiting for Caspian’s reply.

Caspian hesitates, then follows. It’s the quickest way down to the lowest level of the How, after all, which he has a suspicion no one would have showed him if it hadn’t been Trufflehunter who did it. The Narnians don’t trust him, not like they trust Peter and Edmund and their sisters. Trufflehunter had snapped at Blackpaw that Caspian had to drink from the underground river that watered the How too, so it wouldn’t make sense for him to poison it. He hadn’t even considered the possibility until Trufflehunter put it out, and then again when Peter ordered a guard put on it. Said guard being a unicorn, the first he’d ever seen. He hadn’t realized there were still unicorns in Narnia – or that there’d ever been unicorns in Narnia.

He meets Trufflehunter on his third set of stairs. “High King Peter has orders for the army,” Caspian says when the badger looks at him, trying the words out on his tongue. “Everyone, including the wounded, is to be assembled in front of the How at sunrise.”

Trufflehunter blinks, but nods as if that’s an explanation. He holds out an unsheathed dagger to Caspian. “If you’re going down to see the queens,” he says, “would you mind giving this to Queen Susan? She left it behind in Prettyfur’s heart,” he adds, scowling.

Prettyfur is a badger. Prettyfur is also, apparently, one of the failed assassins. Caspian looks down at the dagger, at the red leather of the grip and the lion’s head on the pommel. The blade gleams in the torchlight. “Of course,” he says, sliding the dagger into his belt, and Trufflehunter nods, sighing heavily.

“I’d best spread the High King’s word,” he says. “It’s not long now.”

Caspian doesn’t see anyone else on his way down, not until he hears Lucy’s voice echoing up the last set of stairs. He has a glimpse of the unicorn’s white fur and Lucy’s green dress – and one of Susan’s arrows, pointed directly between his eyes. She lowers her bow and replaces the arrow in its quiver.

“Sorry,” she says, just like her brother.

“If this is going to be a habit,” Caspian says, trying to make a joke of it, “I don’t like it. The High King barely missed impaling me only a few minutes ago.”

Lucy gives him an arch look and says, “He is rather rash and impulsive like that.”

One way to put it, he thinks, coming down the rest of the stairs. He draws the dagger from his belt and holds it out towards Susan. “Trufflehunter said to give this to you,” he says, offering it hilt first.

It’s Lucy who takes it from him. “That’s mine,” she says brightly, as if it’s normal for a girl who should be playing with dolls to be carrying a weapon. “Su always goes for her bow before she goes for a dagger,” she adds, like that’s any kind of explanation at all.

“You stabbed Prettyfur?” Caspian blurts out, and immediately regrets it when Susan raises her eyebrows, expression bemused.

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Lucy chides, and Caspian has a moment to think, oh, thank the gods, she is normal after all, and then she continues, “I wouldn’t let him get close enough to stab him. I threw my dagger at him.” She inspects the blade with all the care of an accomplished fighter, someone who knows and understands weapons, and then replaces the dagger on the empty sheath at her belt. “What did you say to Peter?” she adds, looking up at him with curiosity on her face.

“I didn’t say anything,” Caspian says, looking at Susan because surely she’ll understand. “He came out of the red cave, threw his dagger, and snapped some kind of order at King Edmund before running off.”

“What was the order?” Susan asks.

It’s not the question he’s expecting. “What?”

“What was the order?” she says again, raising her eyebrows. “I’m sure Edmund told you what it was, otherwise you wouldn’t be down here.”

Caspian blinks in confusion. “He said he wanted everyone in the army in front of the How by sunrise,” he says. “Including the –” He won’t say traitors just yet; they’re not his people. “Sileas, Deiree, and Strongback. King Edmund said you’d know what that meant,” he admits, “but I don’t –”

“He’s going to execute them, of course,” Susan says, as if that’s the obvious answer. She seems unperturbed by the notion. “It’s the standard punishment for high treason, which is what trying to kill your king is. Did he really say everyone?”

“Yes,” Caspian says, because that’s a question he can answer. “He said ‘every member of the army.’ Did you say execute?” he adds, because he can’t think who Peter’s going to get to serve as executioner. Do the Narnians hang their criminals, or will it be a firing squad like the Telmarines?

“What did you think we were going to do with them?” Susan says rhetorically. “We’re not exactly equipped to imprison and provision traitors. We’re fighting a war.” She turns her back to do something with the buckets she has out on the floor, saying over her shoulder, “I suppose Lucy and I had better go talk to Peter, and you’d better see about finishing carrying out Peter’s orders, unless Ed has told you otherwise.”

Caspian doesn’t say anything. The unicorn – he thinks her name is Llamrei, though it may be Hengoern – asks a question, and Susan answers it. Lucy seems unconcerned by…everything. It’s not natural for a child so young.

“Well?” Susan adds sharply, attention back on Caspian. “What are you waiting for? Edmund can’t inform the entire army by himself.”

“I –” Caspian begins, but he doesn’t know what excuse he has, or if she would listen to it. “Yes, your highness,” he finishes instead, and turns to go up the stairs again.

He tries to think who he can speak to, and who’ll listen to him. Trufflehunter knows now, and he knows most of the army. The greatest gossip is Reepicheep, but Peepiceek will have told him. The second greatest gossip is Pattertwig, so Caspian goes looking for the squirrel.

Sure enough, Pattertwig is talking rapidly about the events of the night with a circle of interested fauns – including Trahern, who, as far as Caspian can tell, is their leader – and a few dogs, the latter of which look at him suspiciously as he approaches. Caspian gives them Peter’s orders, then goes to find the pack leaders, if only because he knows where they’re quartered. Edmund’s already talking to them, though, so Caspian leans against the doorway and waits for him to finish.

“I spoke with Trahern and Trufflehunter,” he says when Edmund turns around, “and gave Pattertwig the message.”

“Good,” Edmund says. “Hopefully the word will get around in time, then.”

Caspian hesitates before he asks the question, but he wants to hear it again. “What does the High King mean to do?”

“Well, he hasn’t actually said it yet,” Edmund says matter-of-factly, “but I’m pretty sure he means to execute them for high treason. And that means I’m going to have to tell you a few things,” he adds, looking as if he’s only just remembered.

Caspian can’t think what Edmund has to tell him, but he follows Edmund outside anyway. It’s cool out, and still mostly dark. They go out to the ruins, and Edmund perches himself on a slab of stone. Caspian remains standing.

“This is ritual and tradition,” Edmund says, sounding surprisingly like Professor Cornelius giving a lecture. “Peter will ask a question, and you’ll be expected to answer. It goes in order of rank, so you’ll have Susan’s and my and Lucy’s examples before you have to speak. Keep the form, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” Caspian asks.

Edmund gives him a shrewd look before answering. “We’ll swear by Aslan. I’m assuming you won’t be doing so.”

The part of him that still remembers Telmarine fairytales – half of which have now come true – shivers. The demon of the woods. “Should I?” he asks, and can’t quite keep the fear from his voice.

“Swear by your gods,” Edmund says, “because if you don’t, nobody will believe your oath.” Lecture over, he turns his head up to the sky, an expression of unconcerned bliss on his face.

Caspian looks away. He could go back inside, he supposes – and he wants to talk to Professor Cornelius – but the sky is already beginning to lighten. Instead, he waits, watching as members of the army begin to trickle out, then as six minotaurs haul the attempted assassins onto the ruins and force them to their knees. At that, Edmund gets up, hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he waits, looking toward the How and the rising sun.

He expects Peter and his sisters to come out with the rest of the army, but they don’t emerge until everyone has settled themselves and the first rays of dawn are breaking. Peter is flanked by Susan and Lucy, who carries his sword as easily as a toy.

“I turn these souls into your keeping, High King,” Edmund says clearly when they’re setting foot onto the stone. He steps back, and as he does so he jostles Caspian’s shoulder with his own – surprisingly rough and awkward, because he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would do anything by accident. Caspian steps back with him and finds himself in a line with Edmund at his right hand and Susan at his left, Lucy next to her. None of them look at him.

It doesn’t take long to realize that this is a trial. Because Edmund said so, he listens to the style of the answers to Peter’s question, forming his own answer before he speaks.

“So swear I, High King,” he says. “I, Caspian of Telmar and Narnia, Crown Prince of Telmarine Narnia and rightful King of Telmarine Narnia, swear on the gods of my ancestors and the grave of my father that these men came like ghosts in the dead of night with violence in their hearts and steel in their hands. I raised my own sword in defense of my body against them, and I have heard them freely admit their guilt.”

Peter continues on with the ceremony – trial and execution, he realizes, though he still doesn’t know who’ll serve as executioner – so Caspian assumes he hasn’t said anything incorrect. He listens curiously up until the moment when Peter says, “executed immediately by our hand.”

“He’s not –” Caspian says despite himself. “He can’t mean – surely not himself –” Because only a barbarian would do such a thing, and the Golden Age was a time of peace and prosperity, and no civilized person –

“Shut up,” Edmund whispers.

It’s Lucy who puts the sword of Narnia into Peter’s hand, blade polished until it gleams like it’s made out of nothing less than pure light.

“Don’t look away,” Susan says quietly in his ear. “Peter will know, and he won’t forget.”

There’s no logical or rational reason for Peter being able to know, but Caspian is absolutely certain of the truth behind her words. It will be quick, of course, a blade in the heart, surely –

Peter swings in a blinding silver arc and Sileas’s head falls. Caspian doesn’t have to worry about looking away; he’s too frozen in shock and surprise to be able to breathe, let alone move.

Peter of Narnia isn’t a boy. He’s a madman. No one sane does – does that.

He’s still frozen when Peter leaves and Edmund dismisses the army. He sees Lucy and blurts out, “How could you let her see this?” because she’s a child. No child should see death so closely.

Susan looks at him like it’s Caspian who’s out of his mind. “Whom do you mean? I’ve seen worse things.”

“I have killed men in battle,” Lucy snaps, staring at him. Caspian can read the expression on her face: it’s the same one Peter gives him every time they’re eye to eye. “I’ve done the work of a sovereign ruler – death is no less my duty than it is my brothers’. And what have you done?”

“My uncle keeps executioners,” Caspian says, mind babbling, but she’s only a child!

“A coward’s choice,” Edmund spits, attention suddenly on him. “The kings of Narnia kill our own criminals. Oh, I know,” he says, even though Caspian hasn’t said anything at all. “Horrible, isn’t it? Almost barbaric. I suppose it’s much more civilized to turn your face away and let someone else spill the blood that’s rightfully yours. That way you can pretend your hands are clean.”

“I didn’t say –” Caspian begins, flustered, because he didn’t say it. He may have thought it, but he didn’t – no Telmarine would ever do such a barbaric thing is what he almost said, but he didn’t, he didn’t.

“To be king is to take on the sins of land and people alike,” Edmund says, and for the first time Caspian realizes that he’s no boy, and that he’s twice the king Miraz ever was or will be. “To be king is to keep and hold, shepherd and protect. To be king is to be sole expiator of those sins, for the land is in your keeping alone, and should one of your people fail, then you have failed as well. Mercy is the provenance of lesser men: it is the nature of the king to do that which is unnatural. When you spill the blood of your people: you spill your own blood. You must be willing and able. I need a drink,” he adds while Caspian stands speechless.

“It’s six in the morning,” Susan says, the words friendly.

“Five o’clock back in England, then,” Edmund says, and turns his back on them. He goes into the How.

Lucy glares at Caspian once more and then declares, “I’m going to go talk to Peter,” turning on her heel and following her brother.

Heart pounding as if he’s just fought a battle – and he knows what that really feels like now – Caspian looks at Susan, wondering what rebuke she’ll have for him.

“You are very lucky,” she says, and then takes Edmund’s former perch on the slab of stone, smoothing her skirts around her. It’s a dismissal. Caspian goes.

Introduction | On a Summer Midnight | Of Dead Secrets | Gone Under the Hill | In a Dark Wood | In Constellated Wars

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

zempasuchil.livejournal.com

So I thought Lucy's part was my favorite, then Edmund's so far, but this one - Caspian was such an ass in their eyes that I couldn't imagine him as a sympathetic character, but you've made him one and done it wonderfully, perfectly, oh my god.

This whole work is really really amazing. I love all the historical details that you've added, as well as the incredibly detailed characters: Lucy's valor, Edmund's dryness, Peter's incredible ruthlessness, the voice of Narnia! Really well-written formal speeches.

The portrayals are all really unique and I haven't seen a treatment of the Pevensies that focuses so much on the vestiges of their Narnian adulthoods. Incredible. maybe I will comment again after I read the last part.

From:

laissez les bons temps rouler

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