With Courage [King Caspian X OC]

Chapter 8

They sail through untroubled waters into a crescent bay, hands of nature curving in to embrace them as the longboats are detached and brought to the shore, the waves whispering to the crew as the water laps at their ankles before bowing down in a brief display of submission.

The golden sand is a singular brush stroke against the breadth of the island, patch-worked onto planes of grass so green it's comical. Surrounding them, the bay is a hazardous collection of hills stacked together, so bumpy and unruly it gives the impression of a hidden reality, that the grass could simply be whisked off to reveal an even more fantastical land where the slopes are that of dragons and the domed roofs of fortresses sunk deep into the ground. Amber twirls in awe, drinking in the sights of lush valleys and the scattering of purple flowers lining the edge of the grass like stitches, waist high with bell shaped petals that chime in the wind.

Sat snug against the horizon is the sun, melting its form in the water and transforming each crew member into an elongated shadow that steal the detail from the sand with their tenacity. Amber wanders, transfixed, to the seam of grass where two lush bushes separate in invitation. The darkness makes the area hard to distinguish, gloom spreading like tar until only the barest strips of grass are laid bare, the tips of carved hedges silhouetted against the rosewood sky. She raises a hand to the shrub to trace the curiously velvet leaves, stepping forward into the shade.

Before she can go far, a voice calls her name and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Amber." She startles, eyes blinking rapidly to fan away the cloud in her mind before turning to face Caspian. He smiles softly at her dazed expression, nodding at her to follow.

They return to a shore dotted with bleary mumbling and torches that pattern the space like stars, settling down in makeshift beds beside one another. Amber amuses herself with the obvious sign of distrust. She might wake up to find a guard or, more easily done, her hands and feet tied up to stop any unsupervised strolls from occurring. What she doesn't acknowledge is their conversation from the deck, the evidence that knows this is more, knows this is an act of protection instead.

After waiting for that kind of declaration which spoke more between the syllables than it did within them, she expected to feel elated when – if – it came her way. But there's none of that. Just a rolling, festering, aching guilt. The kind that found rhythm in every sound, matching its chorus of 'you don't deserve this' to every wave, every shanty, every hushed footstep. Pretending there was no issue at all was easier, she would know; she's been doing it for a decade.

Their only barrier between them and the sand are sheets thinner than the blades they keep slung across hips and shoulder blades, unfit to disguise the many bumps and lumps they rest on. Amber huffs and lifts her blanket to dig out a particularly frustrating pebble that poked her shoulder, throwing it past the circle of sleeping sailors. Caspian chuckles quietly. "At least the hammock will seem like paradise after this." He whispers.

"Believe me, I've still had worse." She replies, echoes of raid sirens haunting her mind. The feel of cold metal against her back and vibrations from the ground that pierced her veins, a heaviness in her head that refused to relent, exhausting her every muscle but retaining a readiness than stopped her from sleeping and opened the way for six hours of dread instead. Yes, she thinks, definitely worse than a beach.

Soon enough the crew descend into deep sleep, equipped for resting in unusual circumstances thanks to the constant sway and noise of the ship. Amber shifts into a tight ball, pressing her face into her makeshift pillow (one of Caspian's bundled up shirts, which was the best he could offer when assembling their beds) and reaching out a hand to lay in the space between them.

This isn't right, Caspian's conscious whispers to him. He waves it away, watching the twitch of her eyebrows as she faces whatever dream, or nightmare, currently fiddling with her mind. She sniffles and turns to bury her head further into the shirt, rebel hairs falling over her face in the process. His hand is hovering in the air before he can comprehend it, itching to complete the journey and brush them away. Not right. Not right. Not right. His hand drops to the sand.

Unable to sleep just yet, his brain alive with thoughts about the new island, the Lords, his father and the slumbering presence next to him, Caspian regards Amber's near silhouette in the dark and eventually lands on her outstretched hand, mere centimetres away from his own. Slowly, flicking his eyes between her own and the hand that's inching forward, he brushes her index finger with his own, watching how she unconsciously nudges her hand further towards his. Gently, he slips his palm underneath hers to let their fingers slot together like a puzzle, relishing in how warm and real she feels amidst a place so fictitious – even for him.

It's only then does sleep claim him.

When all are breathing deeply, lost within the new realms of their minds, They emerge from the depths of the island. The torches are snuffed out, the final dregs of smoke twirling lazily up into the rising dawn as a singular footprint travels through the mass of bodies, punctuated with a rhythmic thumping. A second hidden figure follows.

"This one. It's female." Declares one, their voice similar to that of a rattlesnake's warning, footprint buried in the sand beside Lucy.

"So's this one." Adds the second, its presence hovering above Gael marked by an exhale of cold breath.

Thump.

Thump.

"And another." It continues.

"That one is protected." Hisses the first, noting the entwined hands laid bare against the sand. Lucy's book, gifted to her on Narrowhaven by a grateful family, flutters in mid-air. "This one reads."

"Let's take her."

Lucy's body contorts, whisked from her bedding and given no choice but to writhe helplessly against an unknown force, mouth open but incapable of calling for help. Her legs jerk madly as she flails above the incognizant crew, each shudder matched with a quickened thumping, near indistinguishable against her madly racing heartbeat.

She disappears behind the shrubs, the first rays of sunlight reaching out to call her back.

A/N: I won't be able to post for a while, but I wanted to get this part out before I disappear for a bit, which is why it's about ¼ the length of a usual chapter. Sorry about that. If you're enjoying the story so far, read fics regularly and have the time to do so, please check out this post: http://jaciopara.tumblr.com/post/169682254637/hi-im-bitter-about-people-not-commenting-on-fics