Chapter Text
That ceremonial solemnity which had attended the departure of Reepicheep could not, Lucy admitted to herself, have been long maintained. It lingered beyond her party’s returning; beyond the Mouse’s disappearance from the crest of a wave into nothingness. Then a great sigh, seeming to start in the very timbers of the Dawn Treader herself, rippled around.
The merest flicker of a glance was exchanged between two tall young men on the poop. Perhaps only Lucy spotted the minimal nod from Caspian in the instant before Drinian began bellowing the orders that would heel his ship around, so that for the first time in too many months the painted eyes of the dragon could stare westward.
Toward Narnia. Toward home.
And as the men leapt to their Captain’s command Lucy felt her heart lift, her spirits soaring to the masthead for sheer joy – and gratitude, for Aslan’s unexpected response to her desperate plea.
Let us see Narnia again, Aslan! Oh, please let us go home!
Now, darkness had descended. The galleon lay becalmed beneath a black velvet mantle spangled with silver sparkles; stars so bright one felt one might easily reach up and seize them. The crew were gathered on the maindeck to sing, dance and make merry in celebration of journey’s end, while leaning against the poop rail with Caspian, Edmund and Eustace by her side, Lucy was left to ponder whether she had ever been happier in her life.
Through the evening she had watched the ship’s company sauntering about its business with new vigour. Men hummed through the most tedious of tasks; snatches of song caught, hanging in the air. The great raucous gust of Rhince’s laughter carried from stem to stern and even Drinian, swaggering about the decks with a constant smile, appeared to have cast off his responsibilities and have not a care remaining in the world.
Only one person, she considered, had any regret about turning back the way he had come.
Caspian.
“It’s done now, you know,” she said seriously, plucking at his shirt’s loose sleeve. “And you’ll be making the rest of us miserable when we’re all so happy! Stop it! Going to the World’s End might have been an adventure, but Aslan told you – and surely you’ll listen to him if not to us! – you’re needed in Narnia.”
“A king is needed in Narnia,” he answered sourly. “There is no particular reason that king’s name should be Caspian.”
“No, except that the chap who swore a coronation oath four years ago happened to be called that,” said Edmund crossly. “Snap out of this mood, for goodness sake! It’s only a few weeks ago you were moping about with a bad case of homesickness, and now you’re acting as though you’d sooner not go back to Cair Paravel and all your friends!”
“Friends?” Caspian tested the word on his tongue. “Nay. A king has subjects: councillors and servants. He may have a faithful and obedient people, but – friends?”
“I can see one person who’d be hurt to hear you say that,” said Lucy very quietly.
They all followed her gaze to where Drinian sat perched on an upturned wine cask at the side of the maindeck, his warm baritone mingling with the rest of the company’s in the chorus of a shanty Edmund remembered from the days of the Four Sovereigns’ galleon Splendour Hyaline. Caspian’s petulant expression softened.
“Aye, there’s one would be no less true were I plain Caspian the cottage-dweller,” he admitted. “Still, even that must change! Drinian has his delightful Daniela ashore. When he’s wed, what time will remain for an old ally?”
“You don’t believe that!” cried Eustace. Caspian shook his head, making his golden curls dance.
“It must be so, Eustace. I shall be more alone than ever.”
“Well, not while we’re still here!”
“And how long, Queen Lucy, has Aslan granted you? Nay. You will return to your own world, and I shall be alone. None would have mourned me so greatly, had I gone beyond the World’s End with Reepicheep.”
“You’re not going to be jollied out of this, are you?” Edmund refused to credit that a King of Narnia could behave so selfishly. “What about Trumpkin or Doctor Cornelius; or Trufflehunter; Glenstorm; or the Bulgy Bears! D’ you think Drinian would ever have forgiven himself if you’d swanned off from his ship, never to be seen again? That we – or any of the crew – would shrug our shoulders and say: oh yes, I remember Caspian, vaguely!”
“Right!” Eustace thumped the rail enthusiastically, then wrung his stinging hand in dismay. “Ow! Anyway Caspian, you’d better pull yourself together now because you’re going back, whether you like it or not! Unless you’d prefer to stay on the Dufflepuds’ island and mope?”
“There is no cause to take so high a tone with Us, Master Eustace.”
“There’s every cause! We’re not your subjects and we’ll speak to you how we jolly well like!”
“Ed!”
“Hush Lu, it’s got to be said; and who better to say it than one of the Ancient Sovereigns of Narnia? Drinian knows, doesn’t he? That you’re still sulking I mean? That’s why he’s down amongst the crew tonight, not watching the fun from up here as he usually would.”
“I ...” Caspian cleared his throat. “Perhaps he finds my determination todesert this afternoon impossible to forgive.”
“He would never have considered it, no matter how grand the adventure.”
“No, Lucy.” Caspian knew his bottom lip was beginning to wobble. Another unkingly act on a day of unkingly behaviour, he thought miserably. “Drinian would never leave any duty half-done! You saw how quick he was to support Rynelf’s bold contention that my actions might constitute the crime of desertion? In my heart I know – knew even then – that he was right.
“I cannot abandon the vows of my coronation, no matter how onerous I might find them. I received those duties, and I’m honour bound to maintain them. And yes: I do have true friends who would grieve for my loss. Forgive me!”
Before any of them could do any such thing he hurried on, knotting his fingers together in his agitation. The children could only stare, horrified by their usually serene friend’s distress.
“I realised today how I dread a return to the stern formalities of my life ashore, and is that not cowardly? Aboard ship I’ve lived as one of a community: distanced by my crown perhaps, but with a liberty no King of Narnia before me ever knew. With this company have I experienced such wonders...”
“The memories of which will remain to bind us, Sire.” The rich, concerned voice made them all start. Eustace squeaked; Edmund jumped. Lucy’s hands flew to her throat, as if they could stop her shriek escaping.
“Goodness Drinian, must you creep about so!” she cried. “I never even saw you move!”
“My apologies, Ma’am. I happened to notice Your Highnesses in conclave.” He had felt their eyes on him; felt the hairs at the back of his neck begin to prickle with the realisation that his master’s sullen ill-humour had refused to abate. “Your Majesty...”
“Nay, Drinian. ‘Tis Caspian among friends, remember that.”
“Aye. Caspian.”
The younger man choked off a sob. “You cannot forgive me, can you?” he wailed, visibly steeling himself for the blow. Drinian groaned, thrusting a hand back through his thick black hair.
“Hardly a matter of forgiveness, as you call it but – yes, of course I can! I simply – hang it, Caspian! Do you think so poorly of your own, that you could abandon us so lightly? Do we – your friends – mean so little to you?”
There was such pain in the usually confident Captain’s voice that it quite broke Lucy’s tender heart. “By the Lion, no!” cried Caspian, no less affected. “I spoke without thought - Aslan made me see...”
“Did you remain because he willed it, or because you heard the wisdom of what he said?” the other man asked bluntly. “For I’ll tell you plainly, as one that was your friend long before he became your subject: a reluctant king will be no true king at all for Narnia!”
Edmund wagged his head hard. Eustace, uneasy with emotional discourse, shuffled his feet and stared out to sea. Lucy wished she could make herself do the same.
“None of our appeals to duty moved you,” Drinian continued, softer now but with the same deep intensity. “Why, until Lucy spoke of the lady, the Star’s Daughter, there was naught could persuade you to reconsider!”
Caspian opened his mouth to argue, thought better, and closed it again. “He wasn’t thinking properly,” Eustace volunteered uncomfortably. The King sent him a grateful look.
“Indeed, I was not: that was my folly. I heard Aslan’s strictures, Drinian. In them I recognised all the truth of what you, Edmund, Reep and Lucy - aye, and Rynelf, who must be rewarded for his good service when the time comes – had said before. I am sorry, old friend! For weeks I dreamed of turning west, then the moment we came to do so I dreaded the day I must return to ruling a realm! There have been no burdens for me to shoulder aboard and that, I believe, has spoiled me.”
“You may assume some of mine, should you require practise in bearing ‘em,” the Captain quipped, much cheered by the hearty laughter in which Caspian readily joined. “You never regarded your duties in this light before – or if you did none of us, your Council, ever guessed!”
“No more did I, my Lord, until I experienced the liberation of this journey.” Caspian smiled fondly at his friend’s good-natured snort before a wisp of thought that had been floating around his head since he heard his own words of unofficial abdication found its way onto his tongue. “A-hem! You recall what I said about the Inner Council selecting a new sovereign, had I not returned? Well: one name would most assuredly have occurred to Trumpkin, the Badger and Cornelius! You know it, of course?”
“The name of one that could never in good conscience wear your crown, King Caspian,” came the short reply. “Hmm, I fancy there’s a breeze stirring. Ahoy, Rhince! Topmen aloft! Excuse me, Your Majesties. If there’s the smallest chance o’ the wind getting up, we’d best be prepared for it. Stand ready at the wheel, Erlian!”
“He’s off jolly sharpish,” said Eustace innocently as his three companions burst into laughter. “Oh, I see! You were talking about him weren’t you, Caspian? They would have considered Drinian for the throne, if you hadn’t gone home!”
“The first nobleman of Narnia. Lord of our greatest province, and scion of a line as ancient as the House of Telmar itself. A man proven and practised in government, diplomacy and battle,” Solemn despite his sparkling eyes, Caspian counted off the salient points on long fingers. “True, there’s no blood connection to the old ruling House, but the only relations I have are the royal family of Archenland – out of the question – and a distant cousin: Isabella, the Duchess of Beruna.
“Nay Lucy,” he added as her mouth opened, ready to form the obvious question. “The prospect of a ruling queen would cause no disquiet amongst our good people, but Isabella... she is of a retiring disposition, seldom venturing to court even now. Not a handful of Narnians know her true mettle! A nobleman of proven abilities would be the better choice should the Telmar line fail, and yes, Eustace. The instinctive response of the Great Council would surely be to present the throne to my Lord of Etinsmere.”
“He would hate it,” said Lucy with certainty. Edmund nodded.
“I’ll say! Confined to the land, always feeling your shadow over him... and I suppose if it was offered, being the conscientious chap that he is, he might feel compelled to accept.”
Caspian rested his chin on steepled fingers, smiling softly to himself. “Indeed. Aslan reminded me that to follow my selfish desires was to impose a terrible burden on one most especially dear to me: whom else could he mean but my oldest and most faithful friend? Now, I wonder if Rynelf can be spared to play for us this fine evening? My Lord Drinian! If it be permissible, might we not have music from our shipmate’s accordion as we sail?
“I should like, I think, to hear a song of home: The Ballad of Beaversdam, perhaps? Come along Lucy! Edmund, you must recall it! Sing with the rest of us, it may make the hours pass more quickly. At your pleasure, Rynelf!”