the_seafarer | [au] Narnia and the North

[au] Narnia and the North

There's a chill bite to the air, these days. The horses have been growing out their winter coats, and they look shaggy and plump as Caspian turns them out into the paddocks. Behind the stables, in the makeshift woodshop he'd cobbled together, the sleigh from his drawings is starting to come together.

He hopes he'll have it finished by Christmas. With a little luck, and maybe some assistance, he thinks it should be possible. The tack, he's largely left up to Susan's devices, though he'd commission Gimli the dwarf for the various buckles and other metal pieces they'll need.

Once the horses are turned out, he gets to his other morning chores with a will, whistling cheerfully as he does. The stable stays strangely quiet around him. It takes him the better part of an hour to realize the strangeness is because he's become accustomed to Susan's cheerful presence working alongside him, talking or humming or simply working in companionable silence.

Caspian pauses in his task – refilling the grain chest – and looks around. Susan's nowhere to be seen, and when he later wanders through the stables, checking each stall and outside, he can't find her there, either.

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She shakes her head slightly, sending her hair sliding over his shirt with a soft silken sound.

(oh Dave I'm sorry)

"I have, I wot." Soft and weary, but sure. "But thee haven't, and I'd not be a cause of sorrow to anyone, not again."

"Susan, no."

He shifts to look down into her face, frowning. "You were the target of cruel and vicious jealousy. There's nothing you could have done to deserve any of this."

Caspian curves one hand at her cheek and coaxes her to meet his eyes. "No great joy comes without a little sorrow; they walk hand in hand. And you give me great joy, dear. Even now. Far more than any grief."

She doesn't pull away from his touch, but there's weary resignation in her glance when she meets his gaze.

"I made my choice," she says, softly. "To stand with them, and I'd not change it. But there's blood on my hands for it, Caspian."

(this murdering bitch)

"When they were taken, the three of them taken and locked up the day before Reap - Roland had told me if anything went wrong, I were to take his guns from where they were hidden and go west, to warn his father. It were important, for someone to hear of what Farson was doing, aye, but I couldn't leave them so, not knowing what would happen to them."

Her words are still soft, but stay clear, and her gaze remains steady.

"I took his guns and went to the sheriff's instead, where they were held. Sheemie helped me, both to find a disguise and with throwing big-bangs and cracker-strings, to distract and make a noise."

Her voice shivers a little. "I tried to use the gun as a threat only, to - to make them let them go, but when they - I killed the sheriff, and mayhap that were only what he earned for what he'd done, but I killed Dave Hollis as well, and he were only doing his job. He were a good man, Caspian."

He listens as she speaks, and when she's finished, he shifts, just a little. Keeping one arm around her, he finds her hands with his free one.

(there's blood on my hands)

One by one, and with devoted concentration, he kisses each finger, as if by doing so he might purify the stain she still sees. Last of all, he turns each hand and presses a kiss to each palm. Only when he's finished does he speak, looking at his own fingers curled gently around hers.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "It's a hard thing, to take a life. Especially when you'd have no quarrel with the one you're fighting, if not for only one or two differences in the world, or in timing. I'm sorry you were forced to such a thing."

She puts her other hand over their joined ones, studying the way he's looking down, and leans up to press a gentle kiss to his brow. "Thee'd kennit," she murmurs. "Say sorry, I do."

He closes his eyes as her lips press against his forehead, then leans his head against hers. The worry and fear that's dogged at his heels all day has left him far wearier than usual, and it's comforting to sit here with her in his arms, a reminder that she hasn't given in, and won't.

"If you deserve it, Su, so do I," he murmurs. "And Cuthbert, and Alain. Even Reepicheep. We none of us have clean hands, I expect, but I believe we all acted in the name of right and goodness. And you did, too. I'm sorry for the sheriff's man, but the greater sin was what forced you into that position to begin with."

(I have been true)

"Thee doesn't," she says, just as quiet, and oh, she's very, very sure. "Nor do they. None of thee ever could."

Susan gives a very small shrug. "I did what had to be done, I ken that too. And as I've said, I made my choice, and I would again. I just wish Dave - and sai Olive. That they'd not been caught up in it all."

"I know, dear heart," he murmurs.

The wind she calls ka cares little for the lives it blows apart. "We can mourn them and remember them tonight, too."

"Aye."

Susan raises her hand to cradle his cheek and gives him a gentle, lingering kiss, then pulls back and straightens. "Come on. Let's see to things. We've enough time to pack what thee might need as well, and brush the straw from yer hair."

There's a hint of mischief in her smile - small, but still there. "We don't need to give Kiseki any more ideas."

He chuckles and lowers his head, shaking it, inviting her to brush out what straw and dust there might be. "He'd see me bald as an egg before he was through," Caspian says, amused. "All right, Su, we'll set to it. What do you need from here?"

"Not too much," she says, practically, as she starts combing through his curls with her fingers. "My coat, mayhap a sombrera or hat against the sun, what there is of it. I've need to braid up my hair, too."

She gives him a quick, slightly rueful smile. "I expect Alain and 'Bert have been planning everything else already."

"All right." When she's finished brushing through his hair, he gets up off the sofa and helps her up as well. "I think you've the right of it. So let's get our things together and be ready for them, shall we?"

She puts her arms around him and steps close to embrace him tight for a moment, then looks up and smiles at him, determined that he not need to worry so over her.

"Go on and fetch yer things," she coaxes. "I'll tend to my hair while thee do, and be waiting here for thee when you return."

He doesn't like the idea of leaving her by herself, but his protest – that he'll do perfectly well in what he's wearing now, and that he's camped out before with less – dies on his lips as he studies her. Beneath her smile and sweetness, that core of strength he admires so much is on full display, and he can't bring himself to naysay her.

"A few moments," he promises, and kisses her gently. "I'll return shortly."

"I'll be here when thee do," she assures him, and forces back the shiver that tries to ripple through her at the press of memory. To distract herself, Susan pulls her hair forward over her shoulder and starts separating it into strands for plaiting.

He's reluctant to leave her, but having agreed to it, he can hardly do anything else. Rather than linger, he gives her a last smile and turns for the door.

A few moments. That's all he'll need. So thinking, he refuses to glance back, fighting back the sudden certainty that this will be the last time he sees her, and heads into the hall.

The door clicks shut behind him, and Susan immediately goes to her chest of drawers and to her wardrobe to gather her things. She doesn't dare give herself time to think, to let any fears or megrims try to rise up and swallow her.

Busy hands, that's what she needs. By the time he comes back, she'll be ready.

And he will come back. She doesn't let herself believe otherwise, not for a second. He will.

He doesn't run to his rooms, but that's the best he can say for himself. Caspian strides to them with quick steps that don't break even as he goes through the door. All his focus is on getting whatever he might need and leaving again.

A change of clothes. As it's turned colder, he's taken to dressing more like Peter and Edmund, who can layer their shirts with jumpers. He hasn't quite come around to the blue jeans Susan and the gunslingers and many of the other patrons wear, but he puts on a pair of trousers Peter had recommended and tugs a warm jumper over a clean shirt. Thus warmly bundled, he takes down his coat and scarf and slings them over his arm.

It's enough. He checks the looking-glass to make sure all the straw is out of his hair, and is swinging back out of his room and towards Susan's before five minutes have passed.

She's gathered her coat, added another flannel work-shirt and her gloves and scarf to a little rucksack, and ended up rejecting her sombrera after all.

Susan shuts the window and makes sure it's firmly latched, then brushes out her hair and starts braiding it over again - this time in a more complex four-strand braid than her usual preference, one she can coil at the nape of her neck. She's trying to do just that when she hears footsteps outside the door.

"It's open," she calls, peering in the mirror hung inside her wardrobe door.

He comes in, relief bright in his chest, and closes the door behind himself. Caspian sets his coat at the end of her bed and watches with interest as her fingers cleverly twist the braided rope of her golden hair.

"I don't think I've ever seen you wear your hair all the way up," he remarks.

"I don't usually," she agrees, smiling over her shoulder at him. "It's heavy, and most of the time I've need to take it right back down again for some reason."

"I imagine it must be."

He comes to sit on the sofa and watches her with interest. "Well, it looks lovely any way you dress it. And I suppose this way you won't need to concern yourself with tangles."

"Or sparks," she says, a little absently, without thinking about it. "I'm glad thee like it, say true."

"Or that," he agrees, heart squeezing in his chest. Outside, the early afternoon is giving way to late, the sun that lights this strange world starting its downward path.

"I do. But then, I don't think there's much of anything not to like where you're concerned."

Susan finishes weaving the end of the braid into the heavy knot of hair, turns, and comes to him where he's seated. She rests her hands on his shoulders and smiles down at him.

"Thee very dear," she murmurs.

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