"Sire?" says Reepicheep, for Caspian has turned pale as salt at the words so easily spoken –

(I know nothing of what you speak – I am the Knight of the Underworld, loyal to my Lady of the Green Kirtle)

"Peace, Reepicheep," says Caspian, regaining his composure. "I am perfectly well."

He isn't; he looks ill. "I'm certain your father is very happy that you do, 'Bert," he continues, low.

(Could I mistake my own son?)

"Wherever he might be."