Caspian X (
the_seafarer) wrote2021-12-08 10:53 am
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[AU] to find all you seek
It is hardly unusual that the door opens.
It is slightly unusual, perhaps, that it opens seemingly on its own, onto a warm green land bordered by a calm, gleaming sea that smells of salt and something like lilies.
With such a view, anyone glancing out the door might be forgiven if they did not see the individual for whom it opened – not unless they glanced down.
And then down some more, where a mouse – a Mouse – stands on its back legs, studying the room before it with a soldier's practiced eye. It is about a foot high, darkly furred, and a scarlet feather nods rakishly from a golden circlet it wears about one ear.
Apparently making up its mind, the Mouse enters, and the door closes.
(One story ends, and another begins.)
The Mouse scurries – er, climbs – to the top of a seat at the Bar and lifts its small, impatient voice. "Hey there!" it calls. "Who is master of this alehouse?"
It is slightly unusual, perhaps, that it opens seemingly on its own, onto a warm green land bordered by a calm, gleaming sea that smells of salt and something like lilies.
With such a view, anyone glancing out the door might be forgiven if they did not see the individual for whom it opened – not unless they glanced down.
And then down some more, where a mouse – a Mouse – stands on its back legs, studying the room before it with a soldier's practiced eye. It is about a foot high, darkly furred, and a scarlet feather nods rakishly from a golden circlet it wears about one ear.
Apparently making up its mind, the Mouse enters, and the door closes.
(One story ends, and another begins.)
The Mouse scurries – er, climbs – to the top of a seat at the Bar and lifts its small, impatient voice. "Hey there!" it calls. "Who is master of this alehouse?"
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"Old Ones?" he says. "What ways were those?"
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"She's right," Cuthbert says, more than a little grim. "Pollution and radiation and chemicals and all kinds of destruction. It's been thousands of years, and ... well. So long as the Tower stands, there's a chance of recovery."
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(Have you no idea of progress, of development?
I have seen them both in an egg – we call it 'going bad' in Narnia)
"I see," he says. "Then it seems your Arthur Eld did for your world what the Pevensies did for Narnia; set it back on the right track."
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"He were the first Lord of Light in Gilead," Susan says, looking at Caspian and having not noticed Cuthbert's evasive glance. "Roland were descended from him."
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"Reep's right," he says. "Believe me, I've known plenty of nobles who don't deserve the title."
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“I’m in agreement with them.”
He manages to swallow back the second half of his observation, how she’d have made a lovely Lady of Light, before he can stick his foot all the way down his own throat.
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"Besides," he says. "Here, you outrank all the rest of us stable workers."
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“Can I be the one to tell Alain?” Cuthbert asks, innocently, and Susan scowls at him.
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"Susan is stable-mistress here," he says. "I work with her during the days."
"Ah!" says Reepicheep, understanding blossoming. "A fine occupation, madam... although I, truth be told, am not much for horses."
Obviously.
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“My da’ were a drover, and the stockliner for the Affiliation in Hambry. I learned from him.”
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Caspian smiles a little wryly. "You speak truth, Reepicheep."
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“And he was,” Cuthbert murmurs.
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He looks to Cuthbert. "And those guns of yours, they belonged to your father too, aye>"
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He lays a hand on the grip of one gun. “I carry the guns of my father, Robert Allgood, and I remember his face.”
“He’d have been proud of thee too, ‘Bert,” Susan says, softly. “He were, I’m sure of it.”
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(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."
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Cuthbert’s gaze sharpens, and Susan darts a fierce, pleading look at him. “Thankee-sai,” he says, simply, without pressing matters.
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"Sire," Reepicheep repeats, alarmed. "I would never contradict you, but you do not look at all well."
"Not to worry, Reep," Caspian says, attempting a lighter tone. "It has only been a long day and I expect this wine has gone to my head, a bit. As pleasant as this evening and this company is, I may beg to retire soon."
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Caspian’s lying, oh aye, and she kens all too well why and will not see him pushed if there’s aught she can do to prevent it.
“Mayhap we’d all do well to call it an evening.”
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"Come along, Reepicheep. I'll show you to your room."
Reepicheep, already on his feet, nods agreement before turning to bow to Cuthbert. "Sir," he says.
He leaps to the table and then to the seat Caspian has vacated, taking Susan's hand and pressing a whiskery kiss to it as well. "Madam. It has been a rare pleasure."
Caspian huffs a near-silent breath of wry laughter and turns to Cuthbert. "Good night, Cuthbert," he says. "Until tomorrow."
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Her glance flicks to Caspian as Cuthbert nods to both Narnians. "Long days and pleasant nights," he tells them, his gunslinger's gaze clear and sharp. "Until tomorrow."
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"What do you think?" he asks, his smile slight and crooked.
"More than adequate," Reepicheep promises. "I have bivouacked in much worse places, Sire, as you well know. These rooms seem quite comfortable."
"I am glad," Caspian says, and he truly is. "Rest well, my friend."
But before he can turn and leave, the Mouse comes back to him, looking up at him with those bright, intelligent eyes. "Sire," he says, "if there is anything you need, if it is in my power to provide, you may be sure that I will do so."
Caspian's smile tilts wry. "I could never doubt it," he says. "Good night, Reepicheep."
"Good night, Sire."
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"Please don't ask," she murmurs. "It's not yer fault, 'Bert. But it's his story to tell, if he wants, and I'd not speak of it without knowing."
"If ye'll have it so." His tone is gentle. "But thee are all right, Sue?"
She gets up and comes to hug him, fiercely. "I am. Say true."
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But going back out into the bar area would ruin the lie, so he returns instead to his rooms, his mind troubled and his ears full of Rilian's voice stating unequivocally that he has no idea who the man before him might be.
He can't sit and he can't rest, so he paces instead, worrying it over and over in his head like a dog refusing to let go of a bone.
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