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It's barely morning, as he'd promised, but she's no stranger to rising early, and so she meets him, carefully dressed for the ride. Her maids had helped her, plaiting her hair into a long braid to keep it from getting in her eyes, and under her dress she wore boots meant for riding. Mostly, her excitement is what invigorates her as she's escorted to the stables where Caspian is waiting for her, so much so that she won't complain about the hour or the light chill in the air or anything else.

"I hope I did not keep you waiting very long," she murmurs, greeting him with a hand gently laying over his.

He's been more than content, since slipping from their bed, to wait here in the stables. There's still joy in the fact he's been reunited with Destrier, after all, and time spent quietly murmuring to the tall horse is absolutely time well spent.

Which doesn't mean he won't light up a bit more when she arrives, catch her hand over his with a twining of fingers so he can pull it to his lips, press a fairly formal kiss against her knuckles. It's different, after all, here where others can see them.

"Not long at all. You're quite ready?"

"Yes," she says, smiling fondly at him when he lifts her hand to his lips, enjoying the tenderness of the gesture. It's about as much as either of them would feel comfortable with in front of the servants around, but the squeeze of her fingers around his is a silent signal between them.

She can assume the taller horse is his, but she glances to the other one standing nearby, already saddled for her. "Is this one for me?" she asks softly, reaching over to gently stroke her hand over the horse's soft muzzle.

It's enough for them. And, hopefully, it's enough for those still hovering around them, after a wedding night which failed to produce any particular tales from those who had been posted briefly at their doors.

"She is." He ducks his head briefly, presses his forehead to Destrier's for a beat before moving more properly toward her mount. His own he trusts to stand calmly at the ready while he sees to his new wife. "This is Phillip. He's named for a war horse, but he's quite gentle. I'm certain he'll bear you well."

And he's certain he'll be the one to help her up onto the horse's back, no matter how many spare hands are floating around.

She is not worried. There had been other intimacies shared the night before, and she is not eager to rush into something which will likely mean more if they take a more tempered approach.

Her hand strokes over the horse's muzzle and up to his forehead, rubbing between his eyes, and she murmurs softly, listening to the sound of the horse snorting in response. With a smile, she steps back, moving over to the side in order to ease up into the saddle. It's easier once she gets lifted, settling in and taking hold of the reins. Phillip is a gentle mount, responding instantaneously to her touch and direction, and she waits for Caspian to settle on his own horse.

"By your leave, my lord," she says, ready to follow.

Once she's settled, it's all but second nature to him to spring onto his own mount's back. They've had more than a few adventures together, after all; being able to all but leap onto the horse's back has absolutely been the difference between life and death.

The clack of his tongue gets a pleased snort from Destrier, and barely a touch of the reigns gets them trotting briskly out into the courtyard.

"It's a bit of a ride, but it will certainly give you a proper view of the kingdom. We'll go through the forest."

"Whatever you think is best," she responds. She has no knowledge of which direction they need to take, or how long it will be before they reach their destination, but she had made a point to request that the kitchen prepare them a basket of food so that they may eat when they finally reach Cair Paravel. She imagines they will be hungry enough by then.

When he spurs his horse on, she follows, adjusting to being in the saddle once more and to the horse underneath her. She barely needs to touch Phillip; he follows Destrier as if able to read her thoughts on where he needs to go.

The pair of horses are silent, unlike some. As if following suit, so too is the young King. It can't be helped. He isn't searching for freedom in particular, but there's clearly joy in being able to ride free, to press forward quickly through the fields of his kingdom, to gallop along through forests he had been taught to fear but come to love with every piece of his heart.

The greater part of the morning will likely be spent in silence, his attention on the road traveling toward Beruna. It makes a good place to rest, water the horses; actually be certain he hasn't completely lost Sansa as they slow to a trot at the outskirts of the town.

"Still well, my Lady?"

"Yes," she says lightly, hardly out of breath; her cheeks are pink from the chill of the early morning, and she'd slowly observed everything as they'd ridden, watching the sun come up and begin to bathe their surroundings in golden light. She's surprised, mostly, by how - contented she feels, doing barely anything at all. Even silence between them is not an uncomfortable thing.

She reaches down to gently pat Phillip's neck in encouragement, and the horse whickers in response, a soft rumbling sound that makes her laugh. "What is the name of this town?"

There's a wistful smile on Caspian's lips for the red roofs they're approaching before he tugs gently at his own mount's reigns, schools him back to match Phillip's pace instead for a moment. Of course the war horse nickers, gives his head a shake of protest, but settles well enough to the slower gait after only this mile protest.

"This is Beruna." And she seems really to have been somewhat well-versed on the history of the kingdom she's married into, so he hesitates to make more of the location--however close to his heart--without her prompting. "Near to the Fords. We've not so far from here to Cair Paravel from here."

This is a horse who has charged into battle fearlessly, without care for anything save the safety of his rider. Of course he would object to walking at a slower pace, and Sansa smiles at the protestation. Phillip seems contented to walk at any speed, amiably moving along.

"It seems a lovely place," she replies, noting the expression on Caspian's face. Then again, there has not been a single sight in Narnia that does not hold its share of beauty, great or small.

"It's an old place." Then again, much of Narnia is. Even Cair Paravel, although being built anew, is being built up on the foundations of what had existed over a thousand years ago in the Golden Age. "The people here are... entirely resilient."

And that, perhaps, comes more from the survival of a town ravaged by two of the larger battles in Narnian history, the latest of which ended not yet five years ago. The signs are more or less gone, but the smiles of the people at the sight of their King is certainly more fierce here than they might be in other parts of the kingdom.

"Will you take some refreshment, my Lady? We've still more riding once the horses have rested."

She can't help but notice the look in the eyes of people they ride past, the way they smile at their king. He truly is beloved here, and she can only hope to be as respected as he is someday, though she knows she is still an outsider - it will take some time for the people to know her, and form their own opinion on her.

"I could use something," she agrees, looking back to him as they slow to a stop. "It is probably time for us to rest as well."

"It isn't too much, is it?" She looks quite calm, not overly taxed by the ride, but he suspects she can bear a good deal before it shows properly painful in her face.

There are, of course, instantly attendants when they pull to a halt, taking Destrier's reigns with easy familiarity, if hanging back slightly from approaching the new Queen and Phillip. He's completely at ease with the people of Beruna, quite a few of them remaining Telmarine men and women, as he allows his own mount to be taken and moves to offer Sansa assistance down.

"It seems cruel to tax you overly much so soon after your long journey to get here at all."

"Not at all," she promises, though she knows that at the end of the day she might be stiff from riding in the saddle - regardless, it's an inevitability she's willing to face.

She braces her hands on Caspian's shoulder as he eases her down from the saddle, lingering against him before she glances around them at the men and women keeping a respectful distance. "I find it hard to believe you have a cruel bone in your body," she adds quietly.

His expression is always smoother when out among his people. There's always more of a thoughtful smile, less of the flickering in his eyes that comes out when he's alone--or, now, alone with his wife. That doesn't mean there isn't a brief pause before he takes her arm to lead her toward the nearest open door.

"That's kind of you to say. One does try to remain just and fair." His fingers squeeze absently against hers. "You've come just after we've escaped the shadows of cruelty as a nation, after all."

"Is that why - " She's unable to stop herself from beginning to ask the question, wondering mid-sentence if she should refrain, but it's already on the tip of her tongue and there doesn't seem to be much point in leaving it unfinished. Besides, he had requested honesty from her, and curiosity is part of her honesty.

"Is that why they'd asked you to take a wife?" she softly finishes, taking advantage of the brief moment that they are alone. "In case - you were to face more of this evil?"

Honesty is better than not. Curiosity is hardly a sin.

The question still requires a moment, a bit of quiet to mull things over. His arm tightens around hers, hopefully signifying a pause in conversation rather than a rejection as the lady of the house appears to usher them into a room for breakfast.

"...in some regard, yes." He lets go of her arm to pull out her chair, attention downcast briefly on the seat. "It's far from the entire cause, but a-- crisis of succession was certainly some part of the cause behind the War of Deliverance. It would be... better if I not leave the kingdom in the same condition my father did."

She gives him a moment to respond, and in the brief pause that follows she glances to the lady whose house they are staying in, offering her a small smile.

She only knows bits and pieces of the history that has brought Narnia to this point, and she knows her understanding is far from complete. Still, she appreciates the answer from him, as complex as it may be to try and answer in assent or otherwise, and gently touches his shoulder with her fingertips before taking the seat he holds out for her.

Her touch, light as anything, is grounding, focuses him back to the reality of the moment. His uncle is long dead. His kingdom, apart from an heir, is long since secure.

And now, he's with his wife in a strongly fortified Beruna, about to take breakfast as he gently pushes in her chair.

It will be good to have her, clearly. Good to be reminded to breathe in the here and now when his mind wants to get distracted. "The people of our kingdom are good, strong, kind people, Lady Sansa. But they haven't had good kings in most recent history. We're going to-- make certain that doesn't happen again."

"You are," she returns, smiling at him. While she does not doubt that she will be able to support him when he needs it, the primary force behind rebuilding is going to be him. But she can already tell, just from the way he talks about it, that he will be a better ruler than his predecessor. She does not need to know much to know that.

The meal itself is simple, but delicious; Sansa has to refrain from eating until she is stuffed full, and immediately moves to thank the lady of the house, clasping both her hands gently and kissing her on the cheek.

"Thank you for opening your home to us," she murmurs, sincere in gratitude.

It's enough to have her brief affirmation. It's enough to have ridden out here this morning, to have been received warmly and looked after by his people. It's enough that his wife believes in him and his council is guiding him and his people are bearing with him while he settles into his role.

It's enough, when they've eaten, that the lady of the house looks with approval on the pair of them while she clucks and tsks and forces apples into their hands and saddle bags.

The ride through town can be calm leisurely enough. In fact, the rest of the journey to Cair Paravel can be, side by side, both horses knowing the way. He'll wait until they're beyond their waving hosts before he murmurs, "Well done, by the way."

It's likely that they were not expect to - re-emerge in public so soon after the wedding, but Sansa fights back those thoughts with a blush. Any time spent in Caspian's company is worth the experience, regardless of what it is they find themselves doing.

She's only half-attentive when he speaks, glancing back once to lift a hand in farewell, and then she realizes he's spoken to her. "I did not know that was a test," she murmurs, smiling briefly. "And those eggs were delicious - and that homemade jelly. I may have to stop on the way back to request a jar."

"It wasn't particularly meant to be," he assures her, his own lips flickering toward a smile as he soothes his tall horse back from an attempt at trotting ahead. "But it will... likely be some time before you're not looked at a little more... critically than a Narnian-born Queen would have been."

Not an unknown sensation, really, although most had held him apart from the others of Telmarine descent after he was driven from the castle. There's still calm understanding sympathy in the glance he throws in her direction.

"What you do now will mark what sort of Queen you are, don't you think?"

"I understand," she replies, "and I do not - blame them their doubts." She knows that the custom of being welcomed into someone's home is more about upholding tradition, but she is grateful for the opportunity to prove herself, to show that she is worthy. Of course, she cannot make people respect her; that is the sort of thing that will come with time, over the years. "I am not entitled to their generosity."

And still it had been offered, which means more to her than she can put into words. She can only hope, and pray, that she becomes the Queen that Narnia deserves, though she knows that she has the reputation of her predecessors to live up to. To say it is intimidating is something of an understatement, but she tries to push aside any apprehension at the thought.