Orphic || Prince Caspian

nine

The seasons changed and both the Prince in his castle and the boy in the forest grew. Caspian finally got his growth spurt and grew tall. He excelled in the sword fighting classes and the history lessons. He was growing to be the clever and kind heir that his kingdom needed. Though he may have been too kind, his uncle frowned. Too kind and too warm. He loved his people and Miraz had the opinion that a king did not need to love their people, only power. Love made people weak, though Caspian had never cried again after he had gotten the news of his best friend's death. Neither had he ever made a friendship quite like it. Any friend he had made were kept at arm's length. Most put that down to the power dynamics, but it was actually due to the same reason why Caspian visited a graveyard in the village just outside the city.

It was a small graveyard. Overgrown and crowded. Only the important people were buried here. The lords and ancestors of the Lord Restimar, who had never returned from his journey and was thought to be lost with the six other lords in the east isles, figures of importance in the town. Friars, priests, mayors, all buried here with the lords and their knights.

It was a beautiful summer's day when Caspian, aged seventeen, knelt in the familiar spot under the headstone. The air was sticky and warm as the late afternoon sunk into golden hour. His long hair fell around his face as he read the carved words. The white marble of the stone bright under the sun. 'Here lies Ahren. Son of Lord Restimar the third. Aged seven. May he find peace'. He hummed to himself as he busied his hands with brushing the headstone free of dirt. The little cloth in his hand handy as he cleaned the moss from the words carved into the surface. The task familiar and soothing.

"It's been nine years", he muttered as he worked. Words conversational and calm. "This time next year I will be of age and I will be crowned king". He paused for a moment to scrub off a particularly hard piece of moss.

"My aunt is pregnant again. The doctors are hopeful that this time the pregnancy will succeed. She was distraught the last time. My uncle is so very hopeful that this time it will work. I wish it for them".

The stone was clean and it gleamed in the golden light. Caspian sat back on his heels and sighed. "I miss you. No one had ever understood me quite like you did. You seemed so strong even though you were younger than me". He chuckled slightly at the memory. "I only ever saw you cry once. At seven I cried all the time. I thought you amazing, so brave to not cry. You never made me feel bad for crying. Did not mock me like the other lords children. You were safe. You were mine".

He hummed softly as he traced the letters of the name. Fingers smoothing familiar shapes of the A . Unlike the other graves, Ahren's only held words. No embellishment like his ancestors and family's. No carved branches, or a depiction of swords. There was not even a family crest, unlike the graves around his. Even his mother's grave held the family crest and had roses twirling around her name. Hers had been commissioned and depicted by Restimar himself. Ahren's was provided and paid for by the crown and Miraz held no care or respect to decorate the gravestone as it deserved. It made it easier to clean for Caspian, though the emptiness of the stone made it seem all the more lonely. The words cold and distant.

"When I'm king I'll have Aslan carved above your name", he promised. "A roaring lion. You would like that. You always enjoyed hearing those narnian tales just as much as I did". Caspian sighed deeply and leaned forwards to rest his forehead to the stone. It was cold at the touch, empty and lifeless. He hated the idea of Ahren alone underground for so long. His mother the row behind and Othello on the other side of the graveyard. There was no grave for the lord, for he was still missing. Just Ahren alone in his little space.

Caspian took a breath and pulled away from the stone. "I will return next year", he promised as he pulled a pale pink rosebud from the pin on his jacket. He set the single flower at the base of the headstone and gazed at it for a moment. Then he stood and stretched out his limbs from being knelt for so long.

He was just stretching his back, gaze roaming over the headstones, when a movement out of the corner of his eye made him pause. A figure was standing on the other side of the cemetery. The slim figure was swathed in a dark green cloak, face hidden by the hood. The ends of the cloak were old and torn, with one corner thrown over the opposite shoulder like a shawl. Underneath the figure was wearing a grey tunic and black trousers. A sword hung from the exposed hip while a bow was slung over his back with a quiver of arrows. Caspian blinked in surprise. In all these years of visiting, he had never seen anyone else in the cemetery. That figure was standing by Othello's grave too.

Caspian began to weave his way between the stones, at his movement the figure looked up. The hood, strange under the summer sun, obscured his face but the Prince could feel eyes on him as sure as he could feel the faint breeze. Then the figure bolted. "Hey!" Caspian shouted as he watched the figure spring not towards the gate of the cemetery and towards the village, but instead towards the fence. He grabbed the wood and pushed himself up and over in under a second. Vanishing for a moment over the other side before reappearing as a distant silhouette. 

Caspian reached the spot where the figure had been standing and watched the man disappear into the forest on the horizon. Something was irritating him. The man had been strange. A full cloak under summer sun? Then as the man had gotten to the edge of the trees, his hood had blown back and for the briefest moment Caspian could have sworn he caught a glimpse of brown wavy hair. But that was impossible, it was too far away to tell.

Then he glanced down at Othello's grave. Like Ahren's it held no art. Simple words carved into a cheaper stone since it was Caspian who had insisted that the knight be buried. 'Othello. Loyal knight to Lord Restimar. Died protecting Ahren, heir to the title. Aged twenty six. May his loyalty be repaid'. Those words had been the same for years. Except this time there was something new. Where the stone had been whole, someone had clumsily carved into it around the words. A sword under Othello's name. A oak leaf in the corner. Then there was the thing that made Caspian's breath shudder. A familiar coat of arms had been crudely carved under the words. Two coats of arms, the shield of Lord Restimar and the shield of Caspian's own family.

The king and the lord. The Prince and the heir. Both boys having been under Othello's charge for a time. Caspian recalled courtyard swords lessons and lectures in the library. Othello smiling down at them like a big brother, warm and proud, he let out a shuddering breath as tears filled his eyes. Fingers on the chipped edges of the amateur carvings. His mind racing a hundred miles as he turned over the last few minutes in his mind. Face growing more calm as each reason played itself out in his head. Then, once his face was unreadable again he straightened and headed for the gates. His guards waiting for him.

Unedited