The presence of tea is certainly a calming one. Caspian sets the things down on a nearby table, and then turns to face Edmund, silently, but with a great deal of concern in his solemn eyes. He looks Edmund over, before seeming to come to the conclusion that he was, at least, physically all right, and turning to pour the tea.
"I know," he says, sighing a little and dropping into a chair. "I-- it's something that Raven said, I suppose, which almost bothers me more than her arrival itself. Or perhaps it does, I just-- I don't know."
"And by 'this' you mean staying in your rooms and pacing?" Caspian asks, but it isn't unkind.
"None of us could have expected her to come here, though it's true that we should not be so surprised, mayhap. And, with apologies to Raven, I am not yet convinced that it is ever anyone's time to come here."
"By 'this' I mean, I think, panicking and being terrified of her. Worrying that she will hurt the ones I love, directly or through me once again," he says, rather candidly, if quietly.
"Aye. But this time, we are prepared for her. You are not a child any longer, and neither are we. She is not what she once was, and we are stronger now any way."
He sighs, a little, and looks into his own tea.
"Your fears are not, mayhap, unfounded. This place is no safer than any other, much as we would have it be otherwise. And yet to give in to fear is never the right thing to do."
The fascinating tea meets the end of its independent existence, because Edmund drinks it now.
The cup is set back down on the table, as he slouches back in his seat.
"She is frightening," he says, slowly. "Terrifying, even, only I think I've been thinking about it enough to start thinking that perhaps the only reason she frightens me is because I think she is, because I let her frighten me, and I should be far better served to be wary and yet not frightened. Only then I think that perhaps I am still right to fear her, instead."
He has tea.
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This is, possibly, because of the tea.
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A cup gets handed to Edmund.
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"Thanks," he manages, draining the cup.
If he burns his tongue, he doesn't seem to notice.
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He watches Edmund, before pouring a cup for himself.
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That much tea, perhaps, makes it quite hard for a man to sleep.
Tea, and too much thinking, both.
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"Why, what did he say?"
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Edmund seems very interested in his tea.
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"None of us could have expected her to come here, though it's true that we should not be so surprised, mayhap. And, with apologies to Raven, I am not yet convinced that it is ever anyone's time to come here."
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A faint smile.
"By 'this' I mean, I think, panicking and being terrified of her. Worrying that she will hurt the ones I love, directly or through me once again," he says, rather candidly, if quietly.
That tea is fascinating.
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He sighs, a little, and looks into his own tea.
"Your fears are not, mayhap, unfounded. This place is no safer than any other, much as we would have it be otherwise. And yet to give in to fear is never the right thing to do."
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The cup is set back down on the table, as he slouches back in his seat.
"She is frightening," he says, slowly. "Terrifying, even, only I think I've been thinking about it enough to start thinking that perhaps the only reason she frightens me is because I think she is, because I let her frighten me, and I should be far better served to be wary and yet not frightened. Only then I think that perhaps I am still right to fear her, instead."
Not really so slowly, by the time he gets done.
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