Caspian X (
the_seafarer) wrote2023-02-11 10:26 pm
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[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.
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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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.
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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.
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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.
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"I don't think I've ever seen you wear your hair all the way up," he remarks.
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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."
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"I do. But then, I don't think there's much of anything not to like where you're concerned."
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"Thee very dear," she murmurs.
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"Do you have all you need, Su?"
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"Alain said we'd want to be far gone before - before the fair-day events start, and I'd not argue that."
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He lifts her hands away from his shoulders so he can stand, then reaches to take both her rucksack and his coat. Neither Cuthbert nor Alain have made any noises about him not coming along, but he supposes he'll see soon enough if they've given it up as a bad job.
For now, he offers her his free hand with a smile.
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Susan links her fingers with his, pulls the door shut behind them, and walks with him back down the hallway to the bar. She visibly braces herself before stepping into the main room, but she doesn't slow or stop.
Cuthbert and Alain are in a deep conversation at a table near the door, one that has their packs piled on it.
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Her nod is immediate and certain, and answers his unasked question. "Aye," Susan says, firm. "We're ready. I'm ready. Let's just go, 'Bert, please."
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"Shall we?"
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(Of course Caspian had mentioned the difficulty of getting all four of them out to the garden and of course Peter had immediately offered the use of the two geldings, so that was all right.)
The trail leads them quickly away from the gathering festivities and into the quiet woods, and Caspian thinks it's a relief for all of them, and not only Susan. Cuthbert chats lightly as they ride and he himself makes certain to talk, but he thinks all of their minds are already on the coming night.
The moon hasn't yet begun to rise, but it will.
Still, he can't help feeling some relief when the garden's peace comes stealing over them. They walk the horses into the grassy area and get them settled for the night, and then Caspian turns to the gunslingers. Cuthbert's seen the garden once already, but it's all new to Alain. "We ought to take a moment, first, to thank the tree-sisters for their kindness."
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She shades her eyes with her hand and peers around the garden. "The birch-lady's over there, aye?"
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She's in a different part of the garden than when he and Cuthbert had found her earlier – this time, she's by the stream, her branches waving gently in the unseasonal warm breeze.
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Alain walks beside Caspian and Susan as they lead the way to the treewife whose garden this is, and gives a polite bow as Susan tells her, "Lady-sai Birch, ye've met Cuthbert already this morn with Caspian, but this is my friend Alain Johns of Gilead. We've come to thank ye for yer kindness."
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Oh, Da, if thee can hear me, help me be strong, she prays, silently. Help me to hold to myself, for their sake. Susan gives a curtsey, bowing her head a little.
"Say sorry, I do, for bringing my trouble to yer home," she says, softly. "But oh, thankee-sai, for yer help."
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He doesn't mention it, and turns his attention back to the others. The birch-woman sways in the breeze, comforting. Once we were more, she murmurs. But it will be enough. You are safe here, little sapling. You are welcome here. Let the stream cleanse you. Let the breeze soothe you. We are accustomed to troubles.
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