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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Tears start in her eyes; she blinks them back.

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."

Caspian, looking past the birch-woman to the willow tree tucked at the stream's edge, could almost swear he saw something moving in the green shadows past the garden: a tawny flash there and gone again.

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.

"We'd set up camp for the night, somewhere we'll not disturb you," Cuthbert says. "Is there a place you'd prefer us to be?"

Light confusion. All places in this place are one. Ground yourself where you will.

Caspian glances over at the gunslingers. "I think we've our pick of the garden," he says. "Where would you like to set up?"

He scans the land around them, and absently notes 'Bert doing the same. Con your vantage always, even in such a peaceful place as this appears.

"There," 'Bert suggests, with a nod toward a not-too-far distant glade sheltered on two side with a few bushes curving around the base of a pine tree or two. Alain eyes the trees carefully, looking for signs they're more than trees alone, and determines they're not. "Comfortable-looking."

It is, dappled-shade and sun both, with enough space for them all and more without threatening any of the more carefully tended garden-plants, and good views of all approaches. Susan doesn't seem to have an opinion, Alain notices, but is idly watching the water in the distant stream.

"That'll do nicely," Caspian agrees, and looks to Susan, whose mind seems to be wandering. "Su, why don't you show Alain around the garden a bit? Cuthbert and I can get started setting things up."

She startles a little at the sound of her name and looks up at them in dazed confusion before her eyes clear. "Aye, of course."

She drops another curtsey to the birch-lady and beckons to Alain, who keeps pace at her side as they ramble along one of the garden paths.

Caspian makes his own bow to the tree-sister, then heads back to the horses with Cuthbert. Around them, the impossible warmth of late spring and early summer seeps into the grass, the flowers, the fruit. He shucks off the jumper and stows it in Susan's rucksack, then offers his hand for Alain's pack.

Cuthbert passes it over and busies himself with his own. Bedrolls, blankets, a pot and a can of what Susannah had called 'Sterno' - he holds the last up.

"Think this'll be enough like a lantern to do?"

Caspian frowns in it in bemusement. "I'm not sure," he says. "What is it?"

Even aside from Susan, he doesn't want to risk an open flame in the garden, but he's never seen anything quite like the can Cuthbert shows to him.

"Here--" He pulls out a pocketknife and uses the blade to pry the can open so they can both study the contents.

"Susannah says it burns blue and contained in the can. Looks and smells different from real fire, but enough to heat a pot of coffee or boil water."

He peers into the can and shakes his head. "It certainly sounds useful," he agrees. "Mayhap just warn the birch-woman about it."

Without the prospect of a fire, he'd resigned himself to the likelihood of a cold supper. Something warm would be nice, if they can manage it. He hefts Alain's pack and Susan's rucksack and starts making his way to the little glade.

"Good idea." Cuthbert leaps up as through spring-launched and heads off to do just that.

It takes a little while to explain, but it seems the treewife's trusting enough of them to not be concerned. Or rather, of Caspian and Susan - Cuthbert's not expecting that either he or Alain's well-known enough here for that.

All in all, it doesn't take too long to set up a comfortable campsite, with everything arranged neatly where needed and packs stowed.

The little glade's as homey as they can make it, comfortable with blankets and the bedrolls tucked off to the side, the can of Sterno surrounded with a makeshift firebreak of smooth stones from the brooke.

And not a moment too soon, Caspian thinks, glancing up at the sky. A veil of evening is just beginning to pull across the blue, and the sun is sinking low.

He's been keeping an eye on their progress in making camp, and an eye on Susan, growing increasingly more worried. Not that he's ever had any difficulty with comfortable silence, but he doesn't like the way her attempts at conversation stop and start, or the way she's holding her hands clasped in front of her, unthinking.

"Looks like they've got things ready," he murmurs, and touches her on the arm to draw her to a halt. "Come with me?"

Susan blinks up at him and nods. It looks like she starts to say something, but gives it up as too much effort. Alain nods back, takes both her hands in his - gods, they're ice-cold - and rubs them a bit to warm them before he puts an arm around her and walks her back to the others.

Cuthbert's relaxed, down on his hunkers, but Caspian doesn't need to know him so well as Alain and Susan do to recognize the readiness in his pose, the way his glance scans the garden and trees around them. If something were to go wrong, he'd be up and those big guns at his hip would be blazing without a second's pause, Caspian has no doubt.

He gets up as Alain brings Susan over, and guides them to a blanket on the grass. "Come sit, Su," he says, as cheerily as he can. "We'll be snug as you like here."

She blinks at him, uncertain, as her hand drifts up to the noose around her neck.

(don't try to sit)

Her fingers find only skin, and Susan takes a careful breath. "Aye, of course."

It's starting to take her, he thinks. With the fall of the day, the anniversary will come with its full strength.

He hopes they have enough to stand against it, this small circle of willing hearts, in a place of life and growth. Caspian reaches gently for her hand to guide her down to the blanket, if she'll let him.

Alain gives over and lets Caspian take her from his protective embrace, and she goes willingly, which doesn't surprise him at all.

He trades a grim look with Cuthbert, knowing that they're both remembering Roland's screams and the cursed pink glam of the gods-damned grapefruit as he watched her burn.

By the Lion, her hands are like ice. Caspian settles her down on the blanket, and comes to a knee next to her. He takes her hands in his own and rubs them gently, trying to get the blood to flow a little more strongly and to warm her.

He looks up at the gunslingers, rueful. "What now?"

"We ride through," Cuthbert says, low and fierce. "Susan, stay with us, I beg. Sue?"

"I'm here," she says, and looks up from her hands in Caspian's and past his shoulder to Cuthbert. "I'm here. It weren't like this for ye all those years, was it?"

She remembers Mal telling her about the memories of his friend David--

(dead friends haunt old soldiers)

--and she blinks back sudden weary tears, even as 'Bert tells her, "Not like this, nay."

He sits and puts his arm about her – she's ghostly pale and her eyes are shadowed and she feels as cold as if they were seated in a snowbank instead of a garden. "It's all right, Susan," he murmurs. "You have us here with you. Only stay with us, won't you, dear?"

"I didn't mean to leave," she tells them, starkly. "I tried, thee has to know I tried."

Something twists in Cuthbert's face at that.

"They know," Caspian offers. There's a slow shift of movement behind him; he looks to see the birch-woman planting herself at the edge of the glade, in a line between Susan and the woods. A soft susurrus runs through her leaves, almost like she's humming some soothing melody.

"She's waiting for the moon." Susan looks up at the light fading from the sky, then looks back at the others. "Do'ee hear them chanting?"

"That's not them," Alain says, steady and quiet. "They're not here, Sue. They can't reach you."

"But she is," Susan informs them. She's staring past them all, at the ash-black figure standing outside their circle.

(I curse thee with the ashes)

"The dead walk here, do'ee not ken?"

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