back, again | prince capian

eight

Warning: This chapter contains the showcase and storytelling of abusive actions. You have been warned.

A presence slipped into my room, but I chose to ignore it, focusing on the swirling thoughts in my head. The aftermath of the battle still weighed heavily on my heart, every shadow a haunting reminder of loss.

"Stop staring at nowhere! It'll freak everyone out!" Lucy's voice broke through my melancholy, filled with her usual brightness as she approached me, checking the foam on my bed before settling beside me.

"You know, the boys feel sorry that they can't—or won't—express their emotions right now," she continued, her tone reassuring. I glanced at her, my gaze lingering as I contemplated her words.

"Yeah, sure they are," I retorted with a hint of sarcasm, unable to mask the bitterness creeping into my voice.

"I know you're hurt—*we're* all hurt by what happened," Lucy pressed, leaning closer with a sweet smile that could almost warm my frozen heart. "It had a huge impact on all of us."

"And look, I know you aren't a fan of 'revenge' and that you know Gefling wouldn't like it," she added, carefully gauging my response. I chuckled lightly at the thought.

"Don't worry, I won't. Even if I had the opportunity," I replied, though I could feel the remnants of anger stirring within me.

"And—Edmund's frustrated, too. You might want to clear things up with him," Lucy advised, her expression turning earnest. "You're like our older sister but more understanding than Susan and Peter."

Her laughter was infectious and, despite everything, I found myself smiling—a soft release in the oppressive atmosphere.

"So cheer up! The ones who sacrificed themselves would want us, Caspian, Peter, and I, to be happy and to fulfill their beliefs," she said, gently squeezing my hand as she stood up.

"Come on, let's go talk to the frustrated Edmund," she stated, her enthusiasm driving me forward.

We walked past Aslan's tomb, a sacred place that still echoed with memories of courage and loss. Stepping outside, we found Edmund teaching a young centaur about sword techniques.

"Edmund!" Lucy called, her voice brightening the gloomy air as he turned, an expression of confusion overtaking him. When his eyes found mine, I noticed a flicker of something—was it fear? Guilt? He put on a small smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hi," he whispered, his voice soft and uncertain.

I remained still, unsure of how to respond. Was he waiting for me to say something? To forgive him?

"Hello?" He repeated, a hint of nervousness coloring his tone.

With a roll of my eyes, I finally closed the distance, arms opening wide, signaling that I was not angry with him.

"I thought you were angry with me too," he murmured, leaning his head against my shoulder, relief evident in his posture.

"I'm sorry that I let my mood affect you," I said, my voice tinged with apology.

"Come on, don't say sorry," he countered, pulling back from the hug, concern shadowing his expression. "And if that's how you really feel, it's more than just a passing mood."

Edmund opened the discussion about Lucy's earlier comments on dress-wearing for the celebration. We strolled past Aslan's tomb again, our conversation lightening the somberness of the moment. Just as I felt a semblance of normalcy return, I noticed something off in the entrance to the tomb.