"And the King said he would make one more attempt before he died to see Aslan face to face again, and ask his advice about who is to be King after him. But we're all afraid that, if he doesn't meet Aslan in Terebinthia, he'll go on east, to Seven Isles and Lone Islands--and on and on. He never talks about it, but we all know he has never forgotten that voyage to the world's end. I'm sure in his heart of hearts he wants to go there again."

-The Silver Chair

King Caspian stood at the bow of his ship, the grandest in all Narnia, and stared wistfully at the flashing turquoise water. If he closed his eyes and breathed deep, he could almost forget he was an aged man, clutching the rail for support, taking his final journey across the sea. No, he was young King Caspian, sailing for adventure again, in his beloved Dawn Treader, with Reep and Drinian and Edmund and Lucy (yes, and even Eustace) by his side.

He sniffed deeply, revelling in the sharp salt tang of the air. He'd always loved the sea, ever since that first voyage. He had become a wise and daring seafarer since those days—he journeyed to the Lone Islands once every other year, to keep in touch with the Islanders. In the off years, the duke of the Lone Islands would travel to Narnia.

Or had, Caspian mused sadly. He had stopped making the trip—had stopped sailing entirely—after his bride's death and his son's disappearance. His decision had been based partly on his court's pleas ("should your ship wreck or be overtaken by pirates, who would then rule us?"), and partly on his own heartsickness. This ship, his flagship ever since he retired Dawn Treader, had been used in many and many a voyage with his wife and son.

Caspian placed both hands more firmly on the rail and thought back to the ship's maiden voyage …

"Oh!" exclaimed the Queen, clasping her hands in delight. She stood barefoot upon the sand, her simple blue gown rippling about her ankles. "It is magnificent, my lord."

Caspian beamed proudly. This was his anniversary gift to his wife, his way of thanking her for all the joy she had brought into his life, a reminder of how they had met. "See the figurehead?" he asked, taking her arm and pointing.

She turned her gaze from the body of the ship to the prow, where a bird's head flung out toward the waves, its wings curving back into the sides of the ship. "Why, it looks like one of the white birds from my father's island."

"So it is," Caspian said. "And see the name?"

There, painted boldly on the side, was the legend Star's Daughter.

"Oh Caspian," murmured the Queen.

"I have never forgotten, nor ceased to thank Aslan for bringing us together," Caspian told her.

She turned from the ship to wrap her arms around his neck, a public gesture of affection to which the court had long since accustomed itself. "I bear many titles," she said softly. "Queen of Narnia, Ramandu's Daughter, Empress of the Lone Islands … but my proudest title, the one in which I shall always boast, is that of Caspian's wife."

He kissed her then (naturally), and they raced hand-in-hand over the white sand to board the ship. Caspian led her over every part, from the galley to the crow's nest. As merry as two children, they were, with Lord Drinian and the crew looking on in indulgent amusement. That very day they set sail, travelling south to Archenland, where they were greeted and feasted by the good king and queen. The Star's Daughter returned to harbour at Cair Paravel the next day; it was the first of many voyages. The Queen adored her ship, and was never happier than when sailing with her husband. Lord Drinian once told the king that no voyage seemed complete without the Queen's presence shedding light over the entire crew, her laugh filling the air with silver music.

Drinian, Caspian reflected, had always been a bit sentimental.

"Sire?"

The king came back to himself. A solicitous young sailor was hovering by his elbow. "The captain says, would you mind coming away from the rail a bit, we might be coming into some rough weather and she doesn't want you to get injured."

Caspian mustered up a smile. "Don't want me to fall over the edge, eh?"

The young sailor did not appear amused. "No, my lord King."

"Very well." Drinian would have let him stay … but Drinian had long since retired from the sea. He had wanted to accompany his king on this last voyage, but he was wise enough to know he was no longer a capable captain. His eyes were too weak, and his legs too unsteady to hold up to the demands. He had sent his youngest son in his stead. Young Anteus was as good a seaman as his father, though he lacked Drinian's dry wit and open-heartedness. He was extremely cautious, and perhaps more so than usual on this journey, knowing its great importance to his king.

Caspian did not wish to distress the young captain, so he allowed the overly helpful sailor to assist him down to his cabin. As he walked, he caught sight of the helmsman standing at the wheel. He, too, was a young man (though they all seemed young to Caspian now), and his fair hair blew in the wind while his face split in a happy grin. Caspian caught his breath. For a moment, he saw his Rilian again, on his first trip as a sailor, rather than a passenger …

"Do you really think they'll let me take the wheel, Father?" the young man asked eagerly.

Caspian smiled fondly at his boy. It seemed just yesterday that he and his beloved had brought the baby Rilian aboard the Star's Daughter for his first voyage—a chubby, dimpled, energetic wee one, bent on charming all those in the Lone Islands who had dared hope the king who banned slave trading might die heirless. Now here he was, almost a man, ready to try his hand at sailing his mother's namesake.

The queen, though she had wanted to see her son in this moment of triumph, had sacrificed her own pleasure for the sake of his.

"For," she said privately to Caspian, "he will enjoy it more if he does not feel his mother watching, perhaps to embarrass him by crying or kissing him."

"As if Rilian could ever be embarrassed by you," Caspian scoffed lovingly. Indeed, both father and son were devoted slaves to the queen (as was all of Narnia by now).

"Yes," Caspian answered the prince. "Drinian promised that he would let you take the helm. Mind now, you do exactly as he tells you. Aboard a ship, the captain outranks even a king—and most especially a prince."

Rilian just smiled. "I know, Father," he said patiently. As if everyone in Narnia didn't dote upon his every movement!

Caspian noted his confidence and smiled. The lad would find out soon enough that Drinian on land was a different matter from Drinian at sea—and as captain to sailor, yet more different than captain to passenger.

Still, there were some things the young had to learn for themselves. It would be good for the prince to realize that he was not, after all, infallible. It was a difficult lesson for any boy to learn, but especially one who had been doted on the way Rilian had been. Since birth, the only one who did not seem to think him utter perfection was his mother (though she was fierce as a lioness in her love and pride in him). Even Caspian himself needed the queen's occasional reminder that spoiling the boy would only harm Narnia in the end.

Sure enough, as soon as they were aboard, Rilian strode confidently to the helm. Caspian met Drinian's eyes and winked, and the good captain set about his work of disabusing the prince of any expectation of special treatment.

"Ho now!" he said calmly, stopping the boy in his tracks. "And where do you think you're going?"

Rilian looked at him in confusion. "The wheel," he said, pointing, as though Drinian could not see it. "Father said you'd let me try it today."

Drinian glowered at him underneath salt-and-pepper brows. "And you think, do you, that you can just take the helm as if you own the ship?"

"So I do," Rilian answered imperiously. "I am Prince of Narnia—everything belongs to me."

Caspian couldn't help but wince at the tirade who knew would come.

"Now see here, lad," Drinian said. The captain never bellowed, but when his voice took on that quiet edge of steel, grown men had been known to cower in their boots. "Whatever you may or may not own on land—and there are those who would say that a king (or prince) is servant to all, not master—when you are on this ship, you answer to me. At sea, the Star's Daughter is mine. If you cannot accept that, you may take the ship's boat back to land at once."

Rilian swallowed hard. Even he, the impetuous heir, knew he had overstepped his bounds. "Yes, Captain."

"Yes, what, boy?"

"I will obey your orders … Sir."

Drinian didn't completely smile, but his countenance lightened. "Now then, what is the proper procedure of a sailor coming on board?"

"I—don't know," the prince admitted. He was too accustomed to boarding as the prince; he had never paid much attention to the ordinary soldiers.

Drinian looked at Caspian. "He must report for duty to the captain," the king prompted gently.

Rilian snapped to attention. "Rilian, son of Caspian, reporting for duty, Sir!" he said smartly.

Caspian hid a proud smile. Lion's Mane, but the boy was quick.

Drinian took him to the helm, explaining everything very carefully. Caspian watched the golden head bent eagerly to the dark, nodding at every other word. Finally, the captain deemed him ready, and the Star's Daughter set sail for the open sea, young Prince Rilian standing proudly and fearfully at the helm. As the wind whipped his hair about his face, he couldn't keep a boyish grin from his mouth …

Caspian thanked the sailor for assisting him to his cabin and sank down onto his bunk. "Oh Aslan," he murmured, looking at the burnished lion's head on the wall. He had brought it over from Dawn Treader when that ship retired, a reminder of Aslan's appearance and charge to him at the Eastern Sea.

"My bride is dead and my son gone—likely dead too, for all I know. I am old—so old, Aslan. Sailing like this just reminds me that I am not the man I once was. What am I to do? Who will rule Narnia after I am gone?" His eyes glittered with unshed tears. "My son …"

He did not expect the Lion to answer—had he thought it that simple, he wouldn't have bothered travelling to Terebinthia in the first place. This was merely the cry of a weary heart, a heart that wished above all to discover some of the joy he had known in his younger days.

Yet, just as had happened once before, the lion's head came to life.

"My beloved," Aslan said, and at the sound of that golden voice, so full of love and warmth, Caspian's tears broke free to slide down his cheeks.

"Aslan," he whispered.

"Caspian, king of Narnia, go home."

Caspian felt a pang of disappointment. Was this, then, another chastisement? Was Aslan going to rebuke him for sailing away?

"This is not like before, Aslan," he said eagerly, for the moment a boy himself again, pleading for understanding. "I'm not trying to abandon my duties for adventure. Yes, I would very much like to see the lands I once visited, to sail again to the edge of the world … but that's not why I left. I came to find you, to ask you what you would have me to do."

"My son," Aslan growled, and Caspian thought he heard a thread of amusement in the roughness. "I do not always scold, nor would I leave Narnia without hope. You are to go home. Your son is found."

Had the king not already been sitting, his legs surely would have collapsed underneath him. "What?" he gasped. "My son—my Rilian? He's alive?"

"He has been imprisoned these last ten years by a Witch of the North," Aslan said. "I called two from the Other World to seek him, and they have succeeded. Even as we speak, they are on their way back to Narnia."

Though Caspian thought he would only feel joy at such wondrous news, he was surprised by a surge of anger. "Ten years? You let him stay a prisoner for ten years? I thought he had died—I lost my wife and my son, and you did nothing! Why could you not have called these Other-Worlders here sooner?"

"Peace," growled the Lion, and this time his voice bore no humour. "Who are you, O King, to question my ways? Do you think you know better than I what is best for Narnia—and for your son? It was necessary that the Prince undergo this time of trial; necessary for Narnia that her future king learn humility and wisdom through suffering. It is not for you, Human, to question my judgement."

Despite age and creaky bones, Caspian slid from the bunk to his knees. "Forgive me," he said, bowing his head. "I spoke foolishly—I, who should know better. Believe me, Aslan, I am truly grateful that you have brought my son back at all."

"You are forgiven," the Lion said, and Caspian felt life flow through his veins once more. "You, too, have suffered much these last ten years. I have seen, my son; I have not forgotten you. Your sorrows are at an end: the time of rejoicing is at hand. Go—return to your people."

"Aslan," Caspian called, suddenly afraid the Lion would leave. "When shall I see you again?"

"Soon, my son. You will be with me soon."

With that, the Lion was gone. Desolation momentarily swept over Caspian, but joy soon surpassed it. His son—Rilian lived, and was returning to Narnia!

The king sprang to his feet, temporarily young again. He rushed out of the cabin, forgetting everything he had ever learned about not interfering with the captain or those sailing the ship.

"Anteus!" he bellowed. "Turn the ship around. We're returning to Narnia!"

"Is something wrong, my king?" the captain asked, startled (as well he might be).

"No," Caspian said, beaming. "Everything is right again. Aslan has made it all well. My son is come home."