𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 | ❝Hope is good, Hope will never disgrace, but make no mistake, Hope will hit you in the face!❞
In which the Just King becomes betrothed to a princess from a neighboring kingdom, only to fall in love with the prin...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE STERN CABIN WAS Hope's favorite corner of the Dawn Treader for numerous reasons, but the only one that mattered was that it was quaint and quiet.
The ship's crew members seldom poked their heads in there — only Caspian, Odette, Drinian, and whoever they were counseling with at that fleeting moment. It was snug and well-shaded, decorated with glistening Narnian artifacts and painted panels of some of Narnia's most famous fables. Images of fauns and birds danced against the wood. The portraits of the Pevensies, Hope, Caspian, and Odette were uncanny, as if enchanted with the essence of their souls. Hope had spent many hours in that Stern Cabin, neglecting her duties to simply admire every inch of it.
Sailing was a difficult transition for the Bright Queen. She liked to keep busy, help out wherever the crew could benefit from an additional set of hands, but she became a little girl again every time she laid her eyes on the rolling tides around them. And even if she had a rare burst of bravery, the sailors refused to let their Queen perform any of their labors.
Speaking of, Hope was overcoming her aversion for the ocean, slowly but surely. Captain Drinian sensed it long before she did, and he took every opportunity to tease her for it. Why was she becoming more comfortable with the sea, you may be wondering?
That reason was sitting directly to her left at that very moment, distracting her from her responsibilities as the ship's designated cartographer transcriber.
"I can't get Reepicheep's damn songs out of my head," Edmund muttered. For days on end, he'd been stripping the rough exterior caked to Lord Bern's old sword. The tinny tip of the blade was exposed now, but there was still more than half of the sword to go.
Hope hummed as she dusted off the graphite from the table. "Which one? He has so many, I'm beginning to think he's making them up at this point."
"You know," he said. Clink! Another piece of sediment chipped off Lord Bern's sword. "The one that goes, something-something, the Dutchman reeks at dawn."
Hope's eyebrows creased. "What? The lyrics are, the dungeon creaks at dawn."
"Huh? No, they're not!"
"Why would a Dutchman be in Narnia? And why would he reek?"
"Why would an Englishman be in Narnia?" Edmund sarcastically said, gesturing to himself. "Your version doesn't even make sense. How would a dungeon creak?"
"Dunno. Could be a magical dungeon."
"A magical dungeon? Really? That's what you're going with, dove?"
