[A] Before It Gets Any Better, It’ll Get Worse {Trumpkin!}

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[Character of the Month]

Character of the Month
Prince Caspian

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Played by Cara

"Cara has managed to...create a character that is both mythical and life-like. Impulsive, moody, and yet kind and good-hearted, Caspian is just beginning to show the makings of a true leader."
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[Prince Caspian]

Caspian turned the horn over and over in his hands, studying it, as though he was memorizing every marking, every carving, every little bit of it. It was, first and foremost, astounding to him that he was even in the possession of such a magnificent piece. The story behind it was utterly unbelievable, the fact that at some point many hundreds of years ago, this very horn had been held by Queen Susan of old... it was unbelievable. How many times had he wished he might be here, among these people – though he’d been convinced that such a wish was silliness, fantasy, nothing that could actually be achieved. But now he was here, and he felt very much like he belonged. Not that all the Narnians liked him, because he was pretty sure they didn’t. But at Miraz’s castle, he hadn’t felt much purpose. Now he had one. He would fight to free this creatures of his uncle’s cruelty or he would die trying.

Smiling wryly, Caspian was half convinced that the latter would be the case. But it didn’t matter, not really. If he had stayed with Miraz, he would be dead anyway.

Sitting at the base of the tallest tree he could find, Caspian stared absently up towards the heavens. Would help from the Great Lion actually come? Or was that merely a fairy tale? If help did come, who would? The Lion himself, or perhaps some servants of his? What if it was the Kings and Queens of old? They had freed Narnia from some terrible evil before, who was to say they couldn’t do it again? He sighed and rested his head against the trunk of the tree.

Being here had aged him significantly. Back at the castle, he had been reckless, he had fun, he loved to laugh and do all sorts of things that might get him into trouble. But here... the weight of the world seemed to rest upon his shoulders. And someone who was carrying the world rather precariously didn’t have the time, or the luxury, of doing as they pleased, when they pleased, with no thought to consequences. Caspian definitely did miss the more... carefree days of his younger years. It was a difficult, hasty transition he’d been forced to make.

He heard footsteps and sat taller, falling silent as he set the horn down on the ground. Scrambling to his feet – as quietly as he could – he looked around. Who was coming? In all likelihood, it was only a Narnian but one could never be too careful in volatile times such as these.

[Trumpkin]

“’Tis a fine horn, that,”Trumpkin the Dwarf said as an introduction of sorts, jerking his chin towards the fine piece that a moment ago had been in Caspian’s hand and now lay on the ground  His eyes moved swiftly over it, assessing its make.  Though he would not consider himself an expert in anyway with craftsmanship, he had made a few weapons in his time, and knew he liked the sound of a bow when an arrow sang from its string.  He wondered what sort of sound this might make.  It didn’t matter a grand amount to him, but he had meant to come see how the young prince was faring, and this was a pitiful attempt at making the prince comfortable.  Small talk was certainly not Trumpkin’s forte, but he was considerably better at it than was Nikabrik, and he supposed old Trufflehunter was doing something else at the moment.  In any case, someone needed to check on the kid, as strange as he was.  They had to keep an eye on him.  Trumpkin wasn’t sure if he trusted him just yet.

He lifted the horn into his hands, weighing it.  It looked odd, cast in the shades of light which were cast by the leafy branches on the tree under which they currently stood.  It took him a moment, but finally, he made out the shape of it.  And then he realized, suddenly, just why it was that Trufflehunter had cajoled him into coming out to see the prince.  It wasn’t to make sure that he wasn’t planning anything.  It was to talk to him about this blasted horn!  Knowing Trufflehunter, and his irritating devotion to that Lion he kept blathering about, this meeting wasn’t even to help Caspian.  It was to help Trumpkin.  Beards and bedsteads!  He couldn’t catch a break.  Trufflehunter kept insisting, in spite of Trumpkin’s numerous objections and eventual annoyance, that this Aslan was real, and that Trumpkin would regret it if he didn’t start to believe in him.  That was just lovely.  He knew that they were in trouble and all that, but did Trufflehunter, or anyone, really think that Aslan was going to swoop in and save them?  Now?  After thirteen hundred years of ignoring them?

It appeared now that Caspian had been swept up in the madness too, or he wouldn’t be looking at the horn with such reverence, as if it really were the thing that would save them all.  Even Trumpkin would call up the Lion if he thought it would actually work.  His face falling, he grumbled, “So it’s that horn, I see.  Pipes and pavenders!  I would have thought you’d have more sense than to believe in that sort of thing.”  He shook his head in a mixture of disgust, and awe that Trufflehunter and the other band of Aslan’s loyal followers would manage to convince him of their little stories this fast.  Awkwardly, he moved his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Well, I— hm.  I didn’t mean it like that.  I know you’ve got sense.  You managed to escape…” he trailed off, then frowned at the horn in his hands, as if it would somehow give him the answer to what he was supposed to say.

“Trufflehunter asked me to come see how you were farin’.  I know it’s likely a bit odd to you, all of this.  And havin’ your own people attackin’ ya probably doesn’t help things, I’d imagine.”  He held the horn out to Caspian, a peace offering. “And, er, if there’s anything we can do…”  Again, he trailed off, uncomfortable.

((ooc: k.  It kinda sucked. bleh.))

[Prince Caspian]

((ooc:: lol, it didn’t suck at all!))

Caspian settled back in his spot when he saw – rather, heard – just who it was that was approaching. Trumpkin. No threat there, in fact, Trumpkin was one of Caspian’s... “friends”, if he had any of those, here among the Narnians. At the very least, he knew the dwarf wasn’t going to kill him and, at the moment, that was all he could ask for. He still had to earn his place here, he still had to prove himself steady and an able leader. He wasn’t sure he could do it, wasn’t sure why they had put their trust in him. Sure, Narnian needed a human ruler. But why him? It seemed to Caspian that he should be a slave among these creatures... creatures that his ancestors had forced into hiding and had persecuted since they stole the land. But no, they did not cast Caspian into servitude. They elevated him to a loft position and why? Because the centaurs believed that Aslan had sent him? Because there were creatures that believed that the Lion, the Great Lion, had placed some special calling on his pitiful life?

Oh, Caspian was grateful. He hoped no one would ever doubt that. He just didn’t understand it and he didn’t think he would ever actually understand it. Maybe he wasn’t meant to. Maybe there was something at work that he shouldn’t understand – something bigger than him.

Or maybe he was a silly, foolish boy, who had big dreams for no reason.

Caspian watched as Trumpkin lifted the horn into his hands, studying the workmanship. Smiling faintly, he thought about the great kings and queens who would have held it long before he’d even been thought of. It made him feel so insignificant to think about it – that horn had been a gift to the great Queen Susan herself. What right did he, Caspian the tenth –descendant of those who had ruined the great country that Narnia had once been – have to hold that treasure in his hands? But he had it, and he would make good, noble use of it. He was going to summon help, maybe. Help for the Narnians. Maybe things could be made right, maybe they could all be set back to how they should be. Unless none of it was true, unless Aslan wasn’t going to help them. But he couldn’t bring himself to doubt the stories – after all, the old Narnians were real, weren’t they? He sighed.

“So it’s that horn, I see.  Pipes and pavenders!  I would have thought you’d have more sense than to believe in that sort of thing.”

Maybe it was a justified scolding. Caspian frowned and shrugged, even as Trumpkin tried to offer some sort of feeble apology. “I don’t know what to believe right now,” he replied honestly. “I hardly dared to believe that the lot of you existed but you do. Considering... Considering just how much things have changed, I guess I would feel more foolish not taking the chance than I do... taking it.” Sighing, Caspian took the horn as Trumpkin offered it to him. He turned it over and over in his hands a couple more times, studying it. It was, if nothing else, quite a historic, valuable piece of work. He would keep it safe.

“I’ll have to thank Trufflehunter,” he said, glancing out ahead of him. There was so much forest. He could never hope to explore it all. But now wasn’t the time for exploring, he reminded himself, feeling as though he’d been chastised. Now was the time for strategy, and battle, and keeping disciplined. Now wasn’t the time to act like others his age might. He wasn’t a carefree prince anymore. He did wish, though, that he could have those days back for a little while. He wished he could have his friends at the castle back, he wished he could have his life of luxury back. But, he supposed, this wasn’t so bad. And it gave him a sense of purpose that his life of spoils never gave him. So he’d not complain. “And thank you,” he said, turning a smile to Trumpkin. “It is appreciated.” He looked at the horn, took a deep breath, and turned his attention back to the dwarf. “We’re going to sound this soon.” He said plainly. “But I don’t know if anyone is going to come and, if someone does come and it isn’t The Lion... what if they don’t know how to find us?” He frowned. “If they were to arrive anywhere, where do you think it might be?”

[Trumpkin]

Trumpkin grunted and ducked his head, made uncomfortable by the thanks simply because he was unused to it and had no protocol with which to respond - and, he felt, undeserving of it.  He was only doing his duty, for he knew nothing else.  While he was not as fervent about it as the likes of Reepicheep and his troupe of Mice (for Trumpkin did nothing fervently), he was not quite as sullen as Nikabrik or the other "dark" old Narnians, either.  He was caught somewhere in the middle, and he supposed so he would always be.  His loyalty to Caspian was the same way, not proud or excitable, nor with a deeper, darker motivation.  There was no honor at stake or any other incentive.  It simply was.  Caspian was going to save them, and save Narnia.  It was for this reason that Caspian deserved their thanks, not the other way around.  But he could not express this so eloquently.

The Dwarf didn't know whether or not this Aslan that everyone constantly spoke of really existed.  He had no reason to believe it, for he'd never seen the beast himself.  But he supposed no one knew for certain that he didn't exist.  The boy did have a point - he hadn't believed in Narnians at all, for a while before now.  Well, he had, but he had likely been alone in this belief, save for whatever good soul it had been who had told him of the Narnians in the first place and made him believe in them.  And soon, if Caspian fulfilled the Narnians' hopes for him, then every Telmarine would soon know of their existence as well, and would not forget it hereafter.  So yes, perhaps belief was not based on whether or not someone could see what their faith held, and yet, was not Caspian's belief in the Narnians stronger now that he could see them?

With a nod, Trumpkin agreed grudgingly.  There couldn't be any harm in giving the horn a chance.  Even if Aslan - or whoever else was expected - didn't come, there wasn't any reason not to try, he supposed.  He still found it odd that the horn was rumored to be magical enough to summon someone from an entirely different world and yet not practical enough to give them directions how to get to the person they were sent to help once they arrived, but really, he wasn't complaining.  If someone did come, as Caspian and so many others believed they would, then they would indeed be helpful; the person who came couldn't be Telmarine, because Telmarines wouldn't believe in the horn.  And any person - or other being, as it were - in Narnia who wasn't Telmarine would surely want to defeat them, if they knew anything at all about Narnia and its well-being (or current lack thereof).

So, he had the slightest motivation to agree with Caspian on his plan, for if there was any chance of success, they had to take it.  There would be no real sacrifice made, leastaways, none more than they had already made (certainly none like Caspian had made, going from a prince lodged in a luxurious castle to a hole in the wilderness).  But their ancestors had suffered greatly: too greatly to let it all go to waste now, with such a grand opportunity, however far-fetched, at their fingertips and everything coming to fruition at once.  Trumpkin had lived in the forest his whole life and had never tasted the life of his forefathers before their homes, lifestyles, and lives had been taken.  What little he didn't know of Narnia's land, he could learn; what he didn't believe in of Narnia's history, he still knew from the legends everyone told.

"Well, if someone does come," he allowed, tentative because of the sheer impossibility of it all, "it'll either be the Lion or the kings and queens of old, as you say."  It struck him as odd that the prince knew as much as he did.  And he still doubted a little that anyone would come - but in this case, he'd rather be wrong.  "And if it's the kings and queens, there's two places they'd arrive: here, or the castle Cair Paravel by the sea."  He paused.  "If it's the Cair, someone will have to go and get them, I expect.  And it may as well be me - I'd just as much rather wait here as there."  Finished with the offer, he looked up at the prince, waiting solemnly.  He gave a weak, rare smile and added in a softer voice, "For Narnia."

[Prince Caspian]

Caspian knew that there was a lot riding on all of this. On him, on the horn, on the hope of success and the hope of having something to show for themselves when all of this was over and done. When all of this wrapped up, there could be any number of results. They could have won; they might have all of Narnia for those it truly belonged to. Of course, Caspian would happily welcome any of Miraz’s people – in heart, his people – who would agree to live at peace with the creatures of old. Or, perhaps they’d lose and all of this would have been a waste. No, he told himself, even if they lost this war, they might prove something. If they had to hang back, if they had to go back into secrecy, they could hope to continue to grow and improve. One day this land would be returned to the hands of those it belonged to. Whether it was this year, or in ten years, or twenty, or one hundred, there was no denying that eventually, things would be set to rights.

Caspian just hoped that it was sooner, rather than later. He hoped that it was in his lifetime, that he was privileged enough to see the victory taken. But then, a large part of him was convinced it must be in his lifetime; why else would Aslan have spared him so many times, if he was not to accomplish something great? Caspian could only assume it was Aslan’s doing; his own luck would have long ago run out. In fact, if he had to rely solely on his own luck, surely he would have been dead at Miraz’s first attempt. He’d never seen it coming. He’d been too naive, too stupid, to see it coming.

But here he had a chance to make up for that naivety. Here he had a chance to prove himself. He needed to lead the old Narnians to victory and he needed to do it soon. Tensions would soon be running high – now, everyone seemed to be getting along. Mostly. As of yet, they’d had very little troubles, very little actual difficulties. But that couldn’t, no, it wouldn’t last. There were so many different creatures, so many different personalities, all cramped together in small quarters. The How was an excellent place to plan and prepare but as place for constant dwelling? At least they had the grassy area around it to stretch their legs, get air, pitch their tents. And they were growing stronger by the day. Here was hoping that everything continued to go well for them, and that they would have no major setbacks.

Caspian’s thoughts returned to the present at Trumpkin started to speak. Caspian liked him a good deal more than he liked Nikabrik – though they were different sorts of dwarves, he’d learned quickly – though not quite as accepting and friendly as Trufflehunter. Still, Caspian did trust Trumpkin, mostly, even if the dwarf was still trying to decide if Caspian himself could be trusted.

“You’re right,” Caspian said slowly, thinking. “The How or the castle Cair Paravel. Those are, of course, the most likely options. But the castle.. isn’t it all in ruins now?” Caspian frowned a little, thinking it over. Trumpkin was right; Caspian could think of no other point in history that held quite the magnitude of those two places. “Or,” he said thoughtfully, “the lamppost, where the Queen Lucy met Tumnas the fawn.” Dr Cornelius had taught him well. “But I suspect that one isn’t nearly as important as the two you’ve mentioned.”

Caspian looked up in surprise at Trumpkin’s offer. He’d go to the castle Cair Paravel? Really? Caspian could think of few presently that he’d trust with such an important task, but Trumpkin could do the job wonderfully. The dwarf knew the land and the workings of it. “If you would go and await the hopeful arrival of the help Aslan deems to send, It would be of great help.” Caspian hesitated, not truly sure what to say. He was still trying to figure out what it meant, to be leader of an army. A king hopeful. A prince who had to fight to secure his throne. He didn’t know what to do, or how to act, and he struggled with what to do and what to say nearly every time he made move to do something, or opened his mouth to speak.

[Trumpkin]

Trumpkin raised an eyebrow, impressed by Caspian’s knowledge.  He tried not to show it, though, by giving a nonchalant little shrug – which seemed to swallow up his entire short neck within his broad shoulders. “If the castle is in ruins, I doubt the kings and queens know it.  They haven’t been here for a thousand years, after all.”  Critically, he eyed the prince, who he considered to be overly optimistic.  It would be bad for the boy to get his hopes up – and, by extension, those of all the old Narnians, as well – only to see them coming crashing back down again when the kings and queens of old and/or their beloved lion never showed up. “And they might not come back again,” he added, cautioning him.  His brow furrowed a little.  Caspian knew even more than he might have expected.  He had always found the lamppost a little strange, and the Faun… well, it was odd how a lowly creature could be so close to a queen.  It was just uncanny, it was.  What kind of queen would be so humble as to befriend a regular old Faun?  Not a very good one, he supposed.  It simply wasn’t professional.

For a moment, he was left rather speechless, his own intellect floundering in the presence of Caspian’s.  He hadn’t realized that the Telmarines would train their children so well, especially since he’d thought that they didn’t even believe in the Narnians at all.  In fact, it was probably fair to say that Caspian knew about just as much Narnian history as did Trumpkin, and Trumpkin had spent most of his years (which were considerably larger in number than were Caspian’s) submerged in the stories of the idealistic Badger Trufflehunter, whose love for Narnia and Aslan and belief in their revival was about as prolific as was the number of furs on his back.  (There were quite a few, it should be mentioned.)  Trumpkin wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to think about this kid, who seemed just as apt to believe in the stories of those who his people had been murdering for generations as were the children of those creatures who had been killed.  It unnerved him, but he wouldn’t say so.  In that moment, he realized that if there was anyone who they could trust to lead them, it would be Caspian.  Not because he believed in Aslan, necessarily, but because he believed in Narnia.  Wholeheartedly.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel terribly irked by the fact that Caspian had just successfully shown him up in his knowledge of Narnia – Trumpkin hadn’t even really considered that they might go back to Lantern Waste, nor had either of them thought about the White Witch’s castle where Miraz’s castle now stood (wouldn’t that be disastrous, the kings and queens of old or Aslan himself arriving – if they did exist – on the Telmarines’ doorstep!), but there were really so many magical places in Narnia that it hardly made sense to go to all of them.  If the creatures or people of legend did show up, it would be another matter entirely to find them.  But Trumpkin was trying to be as practical as possible.  It was dotty enough to trek halfway across Narnia in the hopes of finding someone who may or may not even be coming, but he supposed that it was Narnia’s only hope.  And after all that they had been through – and all of the encouraging that Caspian had done, not by necessarily speaking or gathering troops, but just by being there, with the horn – who was Trumpkin to turn them down all because he was afraid of his short little legs getting tired?

No, he would be tough.  It was his duty to Narnia.  Not necessarily to Aslan, or Peter, or Caspian, or whomever.  It was to his countrymen.  He had seen the look on Trufflehunter’s face, many times, when he spoke of Aslan’s obviously imminent return.  And even Nikabrik had smiled, once, when it had once been said off-handedly ‘round the dinner table that it might be possible to gather up an army and defeat Miraz if they had a proper leader.  Nikabrik’s smile was a rare thing, and an ugly one, but it was special all the same.  So where all of the misplaced and disgruntled Narnians, Trumpkin supposed; but if they did not live together, then they would die alone.  It was just as well for him to die there as it was to die here, really.  And it was for this reason that Trumpkin had offered his services.

He could not help but scoff, a little, when Caspian mentioned Aslan again – though he did manage to restrain himself somewhat. “Well, if they do show up, I’ll be there,” he grunted, less-than-eloquently.  Feeling a bit awkward now, even as veiled as Caspian’s thanks had been, he gave a little noise of displeasure. “And don’t be thanking me.  Beards and bedsteads, I’m just doing my duty.  Someone’s got to,” he grumbled, but his pleasure at being recognized was evident enough in the flush that covered his ruddy cheeks.  He stood up a little straighter. “If you’re lookin’ to send someone elsewhere, I suggest a Squirrel.  Pattertwig’s the fastest of the lot, and he won’t cause too much trouble.”  Embarrassed and yet pleased, he glanced at the ground and toed the dirt there with the toe of one of his worn boot. “Say the word and I’ll be off, yer… yer Majesty.”  A bit more confidence entering his features as he said the title, he tilted his face upwards to look at Caspian’s.

[Prince Caspian]

Caspian was fully aware of the fact that Trumpkin didn’t seem all too eager to encourage him, or anyone else for that matter, to get their hopes up concerning the thought of impending help. And Caspian knew quite well that it was probably foolishness to allow himself to wait on such a hope. Because the fact of the matter was simple; the chances that any help would come.... well, they were low. And if help did come... how in the world would they still manage to defeat Miraz and his men? It depended, Caspian supposed, on what sort of help was sent – if any was sent at all. And that was a very heavy if. However, having a little hope couldn’t be all bad. There were some things that perhaps they were right to cling to. If they did not trust Aslan, how did they expect him to come and help them? If they had hope he’d show up, then maybe he would. But if they didn’t... there could be no chance he would at all. And some chance, Caspian decided, was better than no chance.

It was obvious that the dwarf before him, however, was none too fond of talk of the great Lion. Not that Caspian could blame him – no one had seen or heard from Aslan in many, many years. Certainly not in the young prince’s lifetime... not in the lifetime of any of the creatures present at camp. Not a glimpse of him for generations. So of course, some of them would be wary. Most of them probably should be wary. Caspian was probably crazy for believing in the stories himself but then... only a few weeks ago, dwarves and centaurs and the like had been only legends to him. So if he could see those creatures, who was he to say that Aslan didn’t exist?

This exchange that he was sharing with Trumpkin, it wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. Granted, he hadn’t been expecting all that much because he hadn’t been meaning to have a conversation with the dwarf to begin with. Nevertheless, Caspian was still trying to get a feel for what it meant to be what he was – the leader of a small rebel army. So his words, for now, were carefully placed. There was no guarantee that such caution would hold up indefinitely, however. When flustered, Caspian could easily say things he hadn’t properly thought through. Sometimes he could be too rash. Luckily, at present, he wasn’t put too thoroughly on the spot. He had a few moments, here and there, to ponder his responses before he uttered them. That didn’t change the fact that he was at a loss, but it did mean that what he said had a higher chance of being at least somewhat articulate.

“A squirrel it is then,” Caspian said slowly, thinking it through. Pattertwig did seem reliable; a tad flighty but it was to be expected. He was, after all, a squirrel. Then Caspian could have laughed at himself for such a notion – how did being a squirrel, and being flighty, have anything to do with each other? It made sense, he supposed, if one thought about it. But it was a complicated thing to wrap his brain around. He was still getting used to the fact that they talked, and existed, and had personalities and loyalties and... well, that they were everything the old stories had said – and then some. “I suspect you are correct; Pattertwig would do suitably and I’m sure he would jump at such an opportunity.” Most would jump at an opportunity to feel useful and get themselves away from the young prince’s camp. It wasn’t exactly the most efficient, organized war camp. But he was doing the best that he could.

With a sigh and a half smile, Caspian nodded resolutely. “In the morning,” he added thoughtfully, “you’d be best to wait until the morning to set off. Then I might have a word with Pattertwig and have him off when you leave – and time when best to sound the horn.” Of course, he was going to take into account the advice from some among the camp he trusted must. Such as the judgement of Glenstorm the centaur, who had so eagerly sworn his allegiance to Caspian early after his arrival here.

[Trumpkin]

Trumpkin was not exactly certain of his own choice of a messenger – though he didn’t have particularly high regard for squirrels, he had heard that Pattertwig was especially fast, and that was important.  Hopefully he wouldn’t get distracted by something shiny or find a nut collection which needed completion along the way.  Not that it would matter much, anyway, assuming that the Kings and Queens everyone was going on about didn’t show up… but in the case that they did, well, it would be amazing enough on its own.  It would take even more of a miracle for them to be found by a squirrel who was focused enough to get to the potential meeting place properly, at the right place, the right time.  Perhaps Aslan would exist after all, if such a thing occurred.  But all Trumpkin knew was that he had to trust his instincts now.  He was going to the place where he was most likely to find their precious heroes, if they existed and were to arrive here, and he was secretly proud that he had been chosen for an honor.

He was also surprised, and yet somehow not surprised, that Caspian had so eagerly agreed to his plan of sorts.   After all, he was only a Dwarf, not the most loyal, most intelligent, or even most handsome of the bunch.  It was strange to have a prince listening to him, and hearing his ideas as if they actually meant something.  He had never experienced that before – at least not from someone in power, especially not someone as powerful as a human boy, and a prince of the hated race of the Telmarines, no less!  If someone had predicted that this were to happen, he would have laughed at them, long and loud and hard.  It was surprising enough that a Telmarine was here at all, and that he was still alive.  So, in a way, even though he had been a prince in his own land, Caspian was not much of a prince here.  He was gradually earning the Narnians’ respect, but it had been difficult, obviously, seeing as how he was a Telmarine.  They had to help each other if they were going to accomplish anything, either of them, and Trumpkin was beginning to be made aware of the fact that he was Caspian’s last hope – and the rest of the Narnians of course.  He was only a scared little boy, he was, when it came down to it.  And it certainly had.

“Yes, I’m sure ’e would.”  In spite of himself, the Dwarf issued a quiet chuckle in response to Caspian’s words about Pattertwig jumping at the chance to be of aid.  He could just picture it.  A happy Squirrel was likely to shake a whole tree in his excitement, all by himself.  He shook his head slowly before looking up at Caspian, processing his words with effort.  Things seemed to all be happening rather fast, but he supposed that was necessary now, with the way things were going.  It seemed they had been waiting for this a thousand years – and though not Trumpkin personally, the Narnians truly had.  Trumpkin nodded then, sobering instantly. “As you say, hrm…” He paused for a moment, seeming to consider something before continuing, “yourr Majesty,” with considerably more certainty.  He pursed his dry lips, wetting them with his tongue and looking almost nervous. “If I may speak freely…” (as if he had not been already!) “…I can only say I hope this works as much as you do.  It’s our last chance, it is.  That is to say, I mean, that you are.”  His eyes met Caspian's gravely, unwaveringly. "And I'm glad of that."  It was not something he normally would have admitted, but these were dire times indeed.  He ducked his head in a semblance of a bow, and then moved to duck out, dismissed.

((ooc: Sorry it’s late and short and bad… but I think that finishes this thread, unless you have anything else you need/want Caspian to say! Thanks ))