Rumpleteasza: Well, I was mucho pleaseo'd by the response I got from 'Rain', so I decided to do another. Unlike Rain, though, I may do a sequel to this one at some point, but I still uphold the opinion that you shouldn't drag stories like this out too long. I have an inkling that the sequel may take place after Narnia has been destroyed. Just to give you something to think about.

A note on this story: some people may find it hard to follow in places. It's quite bitty, and it can be hard to decipher what characters are thinking, as sometimes they are saying the opposite of their thoughts. This is especially noticeable when Caspian is telling the crew he wants to go with Reepicheep to the World's End. I've split him into two people; Inside Caspian and Outside Caspian. Inside Caspian is sort of a representation of Freud's id, and is the manifestation of all Caspian's desperate wants and needs. Outside Caspian is the superego, the façade he's trying to put on to disguise that. The two halves alternately agree and wage war on eachother. It's confusing, I know. It's meant to be like that. And it's not even that big a part of the story, even though I've just spent ages explaining it… hm.

So here you are, you insatiable C/L romance fiends, this fic is dedicated to you. Have fun.

Xxx

Sooner Or Later

"I feel that I can't stand much more of this, yet I don't want it to stop." (Lucy and Caspian to eachother, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, chpt. 16)

The Last Sea, the Silver Sea, the Lily Lake.

Was it ever meant for mortals? For the simultaneous ecstasy and agony it wreaked on its guests was surely beyond human capacity. Sweet, fresh, wild, lonely; it tore the emotions in pieces; unspeakable joy and unbearable sorrow that fought for residence in a single psyche. No, it couldn't have been meant for mortals. Its intoxication poured unabashedly into the soul until each and every member of the Dawn Treader's crew felt as if they were an exquisite vessel, brimming with bright liquid, and they moved with held breath as if they feared that at the faintest touch it would overbalance and spill.

Perhaps it was the enchantment of the end of the world that wrenched his mortal frame; perhaps it ran in his family, as it would be shown by his son Rilian after him as he was tempted by Bism; perhaps it was simply the fact that he had really hardly left boyhood, but Caspian's eyes looked only to the East, the furthest of all, the rising sun and beyond, to the fleeting glimpses of those phenomenal mountains that stretched beyond the sun. Adventurous and scintillatingly curious by nature, his yearning for the unknown had set him on this quest to begin with, and now it urged him on even further. He had become unbearably restless, and began to spend almost all his time in the company of Lucy. Her tranquil manner had always soothed him, but now more than ever he needed the natural serenity of her personality. The way she would sit placidly near the bows, quietly drinking in the atmosphere with an inward sense of stillness was a tonic of calm to him. They sat together for hours at a time, talking little, simply basking in each other's company.

The other cause for Caspian's restlessness was a niggling fear that had been on the edge of his consciousness for months. In the dreamlike adventures of their earlier voyaging and now the silent wonder of the Silver Sea he had managed to keep it at bay, but no amount of ethereal prodigy could suppress the anxiety that the closer they inched to the edge of the world, the closer they inched to a time of farewell.

For Caspian knew it would be so. On the surface of his thoughts the idea was blurred and unrealistic, but in his heart of hearts he suspected that Eustace, Edmund and Lucy would not come back to Narnia with him, and neither was it for him to travel beyond the world with them. Not yet. And this unchangeable fate stirred a seed of rebellion in his heart. Why was it not for him to quest beyond the boundaries of his world? Why? Because of his kingly responsibilities? Those responsibilities… an honour, yes, of course, but also a shackle. A leash.

And as he thought of these things, his restlessness turned to indignation, and his indignation to anger. It was cruel, it was unfair to give him Lucy and the others for a pitiful few months and then snatch them back, with no clue as to if he should ever see them again. His goodbye to them and their siblings three years ago had been painful, but he had barely known them a month; they were still the legends of his youth, and though he wished dearly that they could stay, the sadness he felt then would be paled in comparison to the anguish he now knew would wrack him… sooner or later.

Sooner or later. Later. Please be later. Please.

They had lived, laughed, joked, fought both against and beside eachother, rescued, shared memories and discussed changes, philosophised and explored, all together. For much longer than he had realised, as the time slipped steadily by. How many months since Drinian spotted three stranded figures bobbing on the waves six days out from Redhaven? At least three. Maybe four. For though midsummer had turned to soft autumn since the Pevensies had joined the Dawn Treader, and although the seasons did not seem to affect this new land near the edge of the world, in Narnia frost would be beginning to dust the ground. And in that time the young king had not only come to rely on the presence of Lucy and her brother as if they'd always been there, but he had grown to know them more deeply than ever before; their habits, their mannerisms, their likes and dislikes, their temperament and personalities. They were no longer merely the sovereigns he worshipped in his boyhood; they were friends, true friends, of a kind Caspian had never had and might never have again.

For they were purely humans of his own age, and able to relate to and understand him in a way that his crew and court could never have done. Drinian, Dr Cornelius, Trumpkin, Truffle-Hunter, Reepicheep…for all his love for them – and it was deep and strong – they were not like him. Drinian was older. Trumpkin was a Dwarf and Dr Cornelius a half-and-halfer. Truffle-Hunter and Reepicheep were beasts. They had neither the same concerns nor the same needs as Caspian. The unshakeable and fierce love he had come to possess for his companions from beyond the world grew stronger and more palpable every day, every hour.

And all these thoughts; the rebellion against destiny, the painful force of his bond to Edmund and Eustace and especially Lucy, the unrestrainable desire to explore; all of these things swelled inside him until something snapped; he could no longer retain his kingly nobility, and he finally let free the innocently selfish child that had been crying within him ever since Aslan crowned him sovereign of Narnia.

The water was too shallow to go on. Caspian ordered the halt of the Dawn Treader's progress, and called an assembly of the crew.

"Lower the boat, and call the men aft. I must speak to them."

"What's he going to do?" whispered Eustace to Edmund. "There's a queer look in his eyes."

"I think we probably all look the same," said Edmund.

Lucy heard them, but she said nothing. She looked at Caspian and saw the restiveness that he'd quashed for weeks come to the surface.

"Friends," said Caspian, "we have now fulfilled the quest on which you embarked. The seven lords are all accounted for and as Sir Reepicheep has sworn never to return, when you reach Ramandu's Land you will doubtless find the Lords Revilion, Argoz and Mavramorn awake. To you, my Lord Drinian, I entrust this ship, bidding you sail to Narnia with all the speed you may, and above all not to land on the island of Deathwater. And instruct my regent, the Dwarf Trumpkin, to give to all these, my shipmates, the rewards I promised them. They have been earned well. And if I come not again it is my will that my Regent, and Master Cornelius, and Truffle-Hunter the Badger, and the Lord Drinian choose a King of Narnia with the consent-"

"But Sire," Drinian broke in, his voice disbelieving. "Are you abdicating?"

Caspian answered him, but as he spoke, his eyes were on Lucy, who stood near the bows, towards the East. Towards the Sun. "I am going to the World's End." Don't leave me. "We will take the boat." Please. Not now. Not now. Later. Later and later and later. "You will have no need of it in these gentle seas and must build a new one in Ramandu's island." If you leave I'll go too. The end of the world. With you. You'll leave and I'll follow, or you'll stay and so will I. But don't leave me alone. Not alone. No farewells. "And now-"

"Caspian," Edmund said suddenly and sternly, "you can't do this."

No, Edmund. Please. Don't leave me. Not you too. Don't make me stay here alone.

"Most certainly," Reepicheep said, "his Majesty cannot."

"No indeed," said Drinian.

The selfish child wept and howled, and no-one could hear it but Caspian, echoing through his own mind like the haunting of a ghost that hasn't quite died and is fighting for its return to substance. It bubbled to the surface and shrieked its protests: "Can't?"

Lucy watched him. Not the Caspian that stood before them now, with ugly determination on his handsome boyish features, but the Caspian that sat wordlessly beside her day after day, clinging to her mentality, drinking in her peace with desperation for hours as he tried in vain to drown his restlessness. And now she watched as Caspian waged war on himself, and felt her heart was breaking.

"Begging your Majesty's pardon," said Rynelf pointedly, "but if one of us did the same it would be called deserting."

"You presume too much on your long service, Rynelf," said the outside Caspian. I don't care, said the inside. Then I'm deserting. I don't care. As long as I'm with them. No farewells.

"No, Sire! He's perfectly right," confirmed Drinian adamantly, but his features did not wholly conceal his worry.

Why? Why are you all doing this to me? "By the Mane of Aslan," said the outside Caspian, "I had thought you were all my subjects here, not my schoolmasters." Why can't you let me go? Why must you tear me in half?

"I'm not your subject," Edmund said firmly, "And I say you can not do this."

Oh, don't you see, I can't fight to be with you if you're fighting to leave me behind! "Can't again," said the outside Caspian. "What do you mean?" I know exactly what you mean. Please don't say it.

"If it please your Majesty, we mean shall not," said Reepicheep with a very low bow. "You are the King of Narnia. You break faith with all your subjects, especially Trumpkin, if you do not return. You shall not please yourself with adventures as if you were a private person. And if your Majesty will not hear reason it will be the truest loyalty of every man on board to follow me in disarming and binding you until you come to your senses."

"Quite right," Edmund agreed. "Like they did with Odysseus when he wanted to swim out to the Sirens."

The selfish child was a blubbering wreck. It reached for it's last instinctive defence, and Caspian's hand moved involuntarily to his sword hilt. Oh, why? Why must you do this to me?

But there was another hand on his, the movement full of quiet sorrow as it gently took his from the scabbard. Lucy. Oh, Lucy. I can't do it, I can't. I can't leave you.

Her grey eyes spoke the reason behind her words. "And you've almost promised Ramandu's daughter to go back," she said quietly.

Lucy, sweet Lucy, you know too, don't you? You know you'll be going away. Soon. Sooner, not later. I can't leave you. I can't do it. Never, ever. If I have to stay, you must stay with me. Please, or I'll die of loneliness. Stay. Stay with me. Please. "There is that," said the outside Caspian, arranging his features into a show of pensiveness. "Well, have your way! We all return." All of us. You must stay, stay with me. "Get the boat up again." I can't let you leave.

But even as the words left his mouth, Caspian, inside and outside, sensed it was no use. Fate, that predatory misery, was over his shoulder, and it would not let this pass unhindered. Sure enough, Reepicheep's shrill voice cut through his mind like the Knife of Stone on Aslan's table. "Sire," said the beast, "we do not all return. I, as I explained before-"

And then Caspian's vision failed him. The blinding white of the Silver Sea, the glare of the impossibly huge sun, the bowl of the sky, it all melted into one endless glowering haze of light. There was no ship, no crew. Only whiteness. And roaring. The silence had shattered in the wake of that defeated childhood as it shrieked and shrieked and shrieked until the whole world was sobbing in fright and submission. Dimly Caspian heard a muffled sound that could have been his own voice, shouting words wildly - about talking beasts? About silence? About Reepicheep? Were those his feet, storming down the ladder? Was that his bed that he was sitting on? Everything was white, blinding white.

And suddenly, alone in a desert of blinding light, a golden shape emerged. It shone like metal. It had a mane and big, liquid eyes. And it was speaking to him.

"It's been ten minutes," Edmund said awkwardly. "Oughtn't we to go after him?"

"I've never seen him like that before," Eustace said darkly. "It was almost – I hate to use the word, but – almost a madness."

"Madness," said Lucy, her eyes dim, "but not the kind you are thinking of, Eustace, perhaps."

"In any case we've not heard a sound from that cabin since he slammed the door, and that was some while ago," Edmund pointed out. "I'm all for seeing if the poor man's alright. That was a pretty outburst he gave us back there; he's thrown his crew into a bit of a shock." Indeed he was right. Drinian was handling the helm above them, stony-faced, his hands gripping the tiller. Rynelf sat some way off, throwing dark glances at the endless lilies that bobbed up against the ship's side. The crew was unusually quiet.

"Come on," Lucy urged, hopping off the rail and clacking down the few steps that led off the main deck. "He may be regretting what he said and hoping some of us will come down and see him."

"You're sure it's safe?" Eustace said sharply, a little of his old temperament creeping back into his voice. "Oughtn't we to take a sword, or at least a dagger?"

"Whatever for, Eustace?" Edmund frowned in surprise. "Surely you don't think he'd attack us?"

"He was in a foul mood," Eustace argued. "Of course I don't mean any disrespect, but I say, look at the things he said to Reepicheep! And I'm blowed if he didn't go for his sword but you pulled his hand away, Lu."

Edmund sighed unhappily. "I don't like it anymore than you, Lu," he reasoned. "But we don't know-"

"Oh, really!" scolded Lucy crossly. "How can you even hope to make someone feel better from over a wide gap filled with drawn swords? You'll do more harm than good. I don't believe it was any more than a passing outburst. I'm going in, and if I get a knife in my chest - well, at least I shall have tried." And she swung herself below deck.

Edmund and Eustace shared a sideways glance before following.

Just outside the door of Caspian's cabin, Lucy paused. Not out of fear or uncertainty, but through some part of her that felt something significant was about to happen. The cabin was silent. Perhaps Caspian wasn't in there anymore, perhaps he was asleep… Edmund and Eustace came up behind her, looking uncomfortable.

She pushed open the door slowly and went in.

He was sitting on the tiny bunk, staring blankly at the pinewood-beamed wall. His face was white; not just pale, but frighteningly drained of colour. His lips were ever so slightly parted and his breathing was audible.

"Caspian?" said Edmund, his voice catching slightly.

His voice was low and desperate. "It's no good," he rasped, staring straight at the wall. "I might as well have behaved decently for all the good I did with my temper and swagger."

Lucy swallowed hard and took a step forward, but before she could reach him, he blurted out;

"Aslan has spoken to me."

Lucy froze.

"No," said Caspian, looking round at them at last. His eyes seemed blank, empty. "I don't mean he was actually here. He wouldn't fit into the cabin, for one thing. But-" he turned and gestured, "that gold lion's head on the wall came to life and spoke to me. It was terrible…" his voice dropped a notch. "His eyes…"

The three others stood silently, listening. Caspian cleared his throat and pulled himself together. "Not that he was at all rough with me – only a bit stern at first. But it was terrible all the same… and he said… he said…" He heaved a breath. Lucy saw his hands were shaking. She half-ran and knelt down before him, looking into his eyes desperately.

"What, Caspian? What did Aslan say?"

"I can't bear it," Caspian choked, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the bunk. "You're to go on – Reep and Edmund, and Lucy, and Eustace; and I'm to go back. Alone. And at once." His eyes were devoid of emotion and filled with shock. "And what is the good of anything?"

I won't cry, thought Lucy. I won't do it. She reached up and dislodged his hands from the bunk, held them in both of her own, gentling him. Then she half-turned and faced Eustace and Edmund, who stood awkward and upset near the door. "Ed..."

He understood, and nodded silently before taking Eustace's arm and retreating. The door closed with a soft click.

Lucy turned back. "Caspian, dear," she said softly, cursing herself as her voice broke slightly. Must be strong. Must be strong, not only for him. "You knew we'd have to go back to our own world sooner or later."

"Yes," whispered Caspian, his skin pale as a ghost's. "But this is sooner."

And then he bowed his head over the hands that she gently held, and began to cry. He gripped her fingers painfully hard, his body shuddering and heaving, wracked with sobs until she thought that hearts really did break, and his was breaking now… and then she was scrambling from the floor and up onto the bunk, and like an adder he was in her arms; and they pressed themselves against each other as if the world would tear them apart at any minute.

"You'll feel better…" Lucy murmured, comforting him futilely. "You'll feel better once you get to Ramandu's Island…"

"Ramandu," he laughed harshly, holding her so tightly to him that the breath almost left her chest. "What care I for Ramandu?"

"Go to Ramandu's daughter!" Lucy said desperately, pulling away from him and seizing his hands. "Go to her! She's beautiful, noble, wise, kind-"

"How do you know she's wise and kind? We spent all of an hour in her company. I don't even know her name!"

"But she's the daughter of a star! And on deck just now you paused when I mentioned her, you said there was the possibility-"

"I don't care what I said," Caspian said passionately. "Yes, she's beautiful, and yes, I thought her gracious…"

"Then go to her! She's everything you deserve, Caspian!"

"Lucy," Caspian whispered. "Sweet Lucy. Dearest, darling Lucy." And he looked into her eyes, and raised his hands to touch her hair either side of her face.

Lucy looked back at him, and her heart skipped a beat.

"You," he said quietly, his eyes widening, as if realising something for the first time. "It's all you."

She could hardly breathe.

"You are everything, and more, than I deserve," he said.

There was a ringing in Lucy's ears. Caspian's gaze bore into her as if he was drinking in her very life-blood to survive. And suddenly they were closer, closer than they had ever been, and then their lips were touching.

"Because I love you," he whispered into her.

He kissed her. His hands were buried in her fair hair. She touched his cheek and felt it wet.

They couldn't have known how long they sat on the tiny bunk, holding each other as if worlds were ending. But it could not have been more than a few minutes when Lucy whispered hoarsely:

"Whatever happens, wherever we both go and whatever we do, we mustn't forget each other."

"Never…" he breathed.

"No, but listen!" She said fiercely. "We can't let it ruin our lives. You have so much to do here, and there must be something for me in my world. And if we compare everyone we know with each other, neither one of us will ever be happy. And it would break me," she said, her voice catching, "to know that you were alone, in Narnia, unhappy."

He looked at her, and saw what she meant.

"Ramandu's daughter," he said.

"Go to her," she said softly.

His eyes were bright. He leant forward and kissed her so softly she almost wondered if she dreamt it. Then he bent his head and raised his sleeve to dry the tears.

They both felt the ship's movement change at the same time. They had stopped; whether from drifting out of the current or that the sea-bed was too shallow, they could only guess. But both of them looked up and saw the same thought in each other's eyes; this is it. This is where it ends.

They stood up. They were resolute. Caspian's face was set. Lucy's was composed.

Their hands met and intertwined.

Together, they walked to the door and opened it, and then it was across the galley, up the stairs, through the hatch, onto the deck; and every step was a step closer to being worlds apart.

The Silver Sea remained, silent, indifferent. It had to happen. Sooner or later.

FIN

A/N: I suppose the underlying theme to this fic is unchanging destiny, and what a bugger it is. Think Will and Lyra from His Dark Materials - which, incidentally, I'm sure many of you will have spotted the influence of in this story. Several phrases in the last section are paraphrased from the last chapter of Amber Spyglass, most notably Lucy's speech about not letting their separation ruin their lives.

There were a couple of questions and comments I got from Rain that I thought it might be nice to answer, so here you are:

Liz and Elendriel – You're right, Tirian definitely had his eye on Lucy in book seven. I toyed with the idea of doing a fic about them, but I've dug myself into a big pit of Lucy/Caspian now, and can't bear to write a fic where they end up with anyone else but eachother.

When I was ill and very bored I tried pairing up all the characters to see what combination was the best/most interesting/realistic, and I contemplated Lucy/Tirian as a fun couple for a while, Jill/Tirian, Jill/Eustace and even Jill/Rilian; but when it comes down to it, they're just all too damn young, aren't they? Lucy's meant to be about 12 in VDT. Let's assume, for this story's sake, that she's, er, at least 15, ok? I also tried working out the ages of the Pevensies, but in order to have Lucy at least 14 in VTD, by the time we got to book seven Peter would have to be in his twenties. And I don't think that's quite how it's supposed to be. So no joy there. I'll just try not to analyse it, I think (too late).

It's because I've taken a gap year before I go off to Uni. I have so much time on my hands, I have begun working out the most efficient way to class the ages of a group of fictional children, so I can pair them up semi-decently with consecutive generations of fictional attractive other-worldly monarchs.

SOMEONE HELP ME.

xxx