This little piece just came to me out of the blue one night. Please leave me a review, because they keep my muse nice and fat and healthy.


Caspian had always been very fond of talking

The more Peter got to know him, the more he became convinced that Caspian's jaws almost never stopped moving.

Peter remembered the first time he had had a conversation with the prince. He had been bowled over, at the time, at Caspian's ability to make such a natural transition from fighting tooth and nail with a stranger, to telling him in astonishing depth and detail all about the preparations he and the Narnians had been making for battle, the situation at Aslan's How, and a lot more besides.

He also talked in his sleep. That was something Peter discovered when his pallet was placed beside Caspian's in the great hall where they all slept. By listening closely to the slurred mumblings of the sleeping prince, he managed to memorise the names of all the key people on their side and on the enemies' by morning. He also learnt that Caspian was very impressed with Peter's swordplay, but thought his footwork a little sloppy. Well, fair enough. Peter had been out of practice for quite a while, after all.

He remembered the day of the King's coronation, when Caspian had come completely unprepared for any speech and had managed, somehow, to deliver an oration to rival Caesar. When Peter had mentioned this afterwards, he demanded to know exactly who Caesar was and got himself worked into a frenzy of excitement when Peter told him about the assassination.

He remembered the long walks they would take together, the carefree way in which Caspian would ramble on about his childhood and his readings and his various concerns about his Kingship. If he was not talking, then he was questioning. Peter would be bombarded with question after question about England, about his family and friends and school, and about his previous time in Narnia, until it was all he could do to keep up. At the time, it usually irritated him greatly. Afterwards, as he lay in bed reliving the day, he would smile at Caspian's exuberance and regret the snappish tone he would invariably have taken with him by the end of the day.

It was lucky for Caspian that Peter liked the sound of his voice so much, or else he would have been at serious risk of a beating. When Peter kissed him, he would mumble and mutter against his lips. When Peter pleasured him, he would let forth a stream of incoherent babble punctuated by blissful gasps and moans. Peter knew he was nearing completion when his speech ceased to make any logical sense at all; knew he was spent when his talk turned seamlessly to passionate endearments and professions of eternal love. When they collapsed on the bed together, Caspian would press his body close to Peter so as to get closer to his ear and spend as long as he pleased whispering anything and everything into it until he finally fell asleep, a peaceful smile upon his lips. And then the quiet, nocturnal mumblings would begin.

And when Peter was woken at the breaking of dawn by a fresh stream of conversation, it was almost too much to be borne. Each morning, he would grumble and swear to himself that he would find some way, any way, to shut Caspian up. But by the time his mind reached a solution, he would invariably be won over once more by the King's charm and all thoughts of silencing him would fly right out the window.