—
He is relieved when they both smile, however briefly; he would not be reluctant to admit it is a lot of pressure, having these two particular sets of attention focused on him. Caspian is well aware he’s a petty criminal, and he’s not a stranger to being in dangerous situations, whether rising tides in hidden caverns or at the business end of avery edgy, very impatient smuggler’s cutlass. But there is something about the authority not just in her title but in her gaze that keeps him alert.
“Your Majesty does sound awfully…frilly.” And that did not fit either the woman before him or the sea behind; Dusk, for all its perceived softness, was not a frilly kind of place (thank the gods). Their quiet was the deep quiet of evening, their solitude the loneliness of a high cliffside against the sea, and their gentleness, well - maybe that was just secrecy.
When Marisol names her companion, Caspian turns his attention back to her, glad to have both the sun and wind at his back. “Well, new friends are always a good thing,” he answers with a grin, and thinks again of Benvolio, somewhere below his hooves. The bat would hardly believe him when he said he’d met the queen just moments before their yearly reunion.
As his thoughts return to the caverns a hundred yards below, the boy turns his head back toward the sea, eyeing the frothing waves for a moment. He’s eager to get down there, and a little uncertain of what the queen wants with him; Caspian is just an anonymous commoner, another pebble on a beach of them.
“I envy you,” he says offhand, and doesn’t mean for the obvious. “I’m headed down there,“ - here he cocks his head toward the beach - “but it’d be a much quicker trip with wings.” On the other hand, if Caspian could fly, it is too easy to imagine himself launching from the cliffside, catching a good stiff breeze, and never ever coming back.
@Marisol
“Your Majesty does sound awfully…frilly.” And that did not fit either the woman before him or the sea behind; Dusk, for all its perceived softness, was not a frilly kind of place (thank the gods). Their quiet was the deep quiet of evening, their solitude the loneliness of a high cliffside against the sea, and their gentleness, well - maybe that was just secrecy.
When Marisol names her companion, Caspian turns his attention back to her, glad to have both the sun and wind at his back. “Well, new friends are always a good thing,” he answers with a grin, and thinks again of Benvolio, somewhere below his hooves. The bat would hardly believe him when he said he’d met the queen just moments before their yearly reunion.
As his thoughts return to the caverns a hundred yards below, the boy turns his head back toward the sea, eyeing the frothing waves for a moment. He’s eager to get down there, and a little uncertain of what the queen wants with him; Caspian is just an anonymous commoner, another pebble on a beach of them.
“I envy you,” he says offhand, and doesn’t mean for the obvious. “I’m headed down there,“ - here he cocks his head toward the beach - “but it’d be a much quicker trip with wings.” On the other hand, if Caspian could fly, it is too easy to imagine himself launching from the cliffside, catching a good stiff breeze, and never ever coming back.
@
