[au] Narnia and the North

[the_seafarer]

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.

Comments

[sai_delgado]

"Oh, say not so--" Susan whirls from staring at the blackness that's swallowed her aunt to face the birch-woman instead, distress in every aspect of her now.

"Lady-sai, say not so, it were me brought trouble here to disturb the peace of yer garden. There's naught ye need forgiveness for, say true. Cry yer pardon, I do."

[the_seafarer]

Caspian looks very hard at the trees, which he doubts could have come so wholly to life under the tree-sisters' will alone. As he does, he smells fresh water and earth, and when his glance shifts, he sees with a small shock that the willow-woman, she who had even forgotten how to speak has made her slow way up from her bed by the stream.

Nor is she alone: the white pine has joined her. The four tree-sisters now all stand in a protective circle around them, branches waving gently.

The birch-woman leans forward to embrace Susan in green leaves and the sweet smell of sap. We promised, she murmurs. No harm will come to you here. No killing frost. No flame.

[sai_delgado]

And oh, at this she cannot help herself, not any longer. A sob bursts from her as she clings to the birch-woman in turn, shivering with the effort it takes to keep from breaking down utterly.

[the_seafarer]

"I doubt very much we'll see anything of Susan's Aunt Cord again," Caspian murmurs to the gunslingers. He sheaths his sword with a sigh, as the birch-woman curls around Susan, a light breeze shushing through her leaves.

[sai_delgado]

"Good riddance, if you ask me." Cuthbert keeps his voice low, and he hasn't holstered just yet. Nor has Alain. "I wouldn't have thought we'd see her in the first place."

[the_seafarer]

"I don't think the magic woven around Susan is the only enchantment working here tonight," Caspian says, grim. He looks up at the sky, which has now darkened almost fully into night.

"Best to keep our wits about us."

[sai_delgado]

"Never a bad idea," Alain observes, dry. He tilts his head toward the forest where Cord disappeared and raises his eyebrows at Cuthbert, who gives a small shrug in return. Both gunslingers holster their weapons in the same moment.

As they do, Susan pulls away from the birch-woman's gentle embrace, wiping her eyes. She murmurs soft words of thanks to the tree-sisters, dropping a curtsey, then comes back to join the others. "I'm sorry ye had to see her like that," she says, rueful.

[the_seafarer]

Caspian shakes his head and comes to her, shaking out a handkerchief and offering it to her. "I'm sorry you did," he says, gently.

"Are you all right, Su?"

[sai_delgado]

She accepts it and blots at her eyes, then manages a little smile for them all. "I'm just glad I were able to talk Reepicheep out of being here," she says, not quite answering Caspian's question. She can feel the weight moving heavy up her bones, can see the orange gleam that heralds the rising moon to come.

"He'd have been that upset, he would." Cuthbert chokes back a disbelieving laugh.

[the_seafarer]

"We none of us would have been able to stop him from flying at her," Caspian agrees, smiling a little. "And I don't believe I'd be inclined to try."

He puts an arm at her back and guides her a little closer to the gunslingers, until she's in yet another ring of protection, this time with the three of them.

[sai_delgado]

"Nay, I suppose not," Susan murmurs. She notices it, oh aye-- she's well aware of what they're trying to do as they move to arrange themselves around her.

(too much protection makes you weak - you have to be able to stand)

She'll never speak a word of blame for what came before -- it were ka, ever and always that cruel wind, and naught else. But she understands well why they'd still do so now--

(we'd all protect her if we could)

-- and why Caspian would as well, being who he is, adventurer, king, and more beside--

(beloved)

--and oh, but she loves them for it, loves them deeply and lasting, the three who are here and the one who is not, as well.

(Roland I love thee)

Time seems almost to stretch oddly around them as they stand together so, and she'll never be certain sure how long has passed in what seems to her like one single, endless moment. And it's in that moment that Susan thinks that although Susannah (Detta) had been right in her warnings, she'd been wrong as well.

It's not about the way of the gun, say true, not here. It's love, she thinks, that makes all the difference, and it's love that will get them through the burning horror of this day's memory and what she fears is yet to come as the moon rises.

And that's what she says-- oh, so very soft, and yet so very clear, while she still can, before her mind's mazed again or worse. Susan leans close into the curve of Caspian's arm, and reaches to catch one of 'Bert's hands, and one of Alain's as well.

"I love thee, do'ee kennit? All of thee, say true."

[the_seafarer]

The gunslingers both take her hands as she offers them, and he thinks he hears Cuthbert's harsh, indrawn breath. Caspian spreads his hand over her side and lowers his forehead to a moment to her hair. "Beloved," he murmurs. "Aye, Su, we know it well."

In this, he thinks, he can speak for them all. The three of them here – and he knows without question they're far from the only ones who love Susan – would all do anything for her, and that gladly. Their love for her and hers for them; the love of the tree-sisters' for green and growing things; all of it weaving together into an enchantment stronger, he's sure, than any wicked glamour could ever be.

[sai_delgado]

"And thee," he hears Alain murmur, while he wrestles with the sudden lump in his throat.

(Roland's love is my love)

"Aye," he manages, squeezing her hand tight - and then flashing a bright teasing smile at her. "So be careful, Sue, or thee'll have all three of us reclining at yer feet now."

Susan laughs, and his heart lifts to see it.

[the_seafarer]

She laughs, and he smiles to hear it. They aren't through the night, not by a long way, but every step taken is another that's moving them toward the morning. "Aye," he chuckles. "And I doubt we'd be the only ones."

[sai_delgado]

"Made of mischief, all of thee," Susan says, mock-sternly, then rolls her eyes at Alain's bland tone as he observes, "Not me, surely."

"Aye, thee too, ka-mai or not." But even as she says it, something stirs well beyond the edge of the garden, and her glance drifts unconsciously toward it.

For ka works and the world moves on, may it do ya, and though those gathered here may not know it, ka's workings with regard to one Roland Deschain have been long set in

(a handful of dust)

a pattern as strong and binding as any chain. Time is soft here in the places between, and softer still on this night when the veils between the worlds are dim and thin and drifting, and although a price was paid and a horn once lost was found and in a rose-covered field far distant a Tower waits for change, here the weight of ka's wheel drags still at those who Roland failed to save.

(lost and by the wind grieved - O Discordia)

And oh, though she does not know it, Susan Delgado was the first of them all, and now here she stands again among them, the linchpin that marked the beginning of all their losses, while at the edges of this tenuous place of safety something dark begins to rise.

(what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?)

"Something's wrong." For all it's a mere whisper, it's achingly clear.

[the_seafarer]

They all turn to look, staring into the darkness beyond the edges of the garden. Caspian recalls a similar darkness, the kind that swallows everything, every last breath of courage. None of the shadows are lessened by the evil red glow coming from the horizon – what moon rises there will not light their way.

(pull for all our lives; there are some things no man can face – IT'S just going to settle on the mast)

His hand settles once more on the pommel of his sword, and as his fingers brush the molded lion's head there, some soothing warmth begins to spread through his chest, pushing back the fear. "What is it?" he whispers. "What do you see?"

[sai_delgado]

"I can't see it clear," she breathes. "But it's wrong."

Wrong like the sound of the thinny in Eyebolt canyon; wrong like the insectile greedy whispering among the crowd that burned her.

She's right, Alain thinks, hands hovering ready to draw. Cuthbert feels it too, he can see that from the way his friend's turned grim, no laughter in him now as they brace themselves for the fight.

[the_seafarer]

He can feel it, a discordant chord humming through the shadows, rising with the moon –

(it's wrong)

– and his hand tightens on his sword. The gunslingers, too, are braced and ready, all four of them here and willing to stand against the darkness, to hold, and small as their group might be, the circle they make is strong. Above the trees, the bloody moon shows its first curving line, and scarlet light washes dully over the woods. The wrongness of it grates at him like sharp-edged metal.

(it's wrong

wrong

wrong will be

wrong will be right)

He doesn't know what it is that catches his attention away from the rising moon, but something does – some flutter of wings or flash of light. Caspian lifts his gaze to the darkened sky and sees a single star glowing, bright and calm, strong enough to be visible even in the weird washed-out half-light of the harvest moon.

(courage, dear heart)

The star pulses, sending a wave of cool light over them, and in it – in it –

(he's the King of the Wood)

– he sees something else moving among the trees, starlight gleaming off richly golden haunches, and a sweet, wild scent fills the air. Caspian, unable to help himself, cries out in joy.

Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.

The tree-sisters bow their heads, the breeze flits joyfully around them, and the single star above glows in peaceful encouragement as the Lion paces slowly into the glade, his massive paws velveted and silent on the grass.

[sai_delgado]

Something changes, and at first Susan doesn't know what's happening. The bloody light of Demon Moon alters, shifting into a cool, soft glow for no reason she can tell, and she feels the first breath of hope stir within her.

(the white the coming of the White)

Beside her Caspian cries out, and there's naught of fear or horror or anger in it - it's a welcoming cry, a wonder-cry of delight and happiness--

(joy yes always)

--and at his side, Susan turns to see bright and shining gold.

"Oh," she breathes, near unable to speak, fog-gray eyes wide and her hands clasped in front of her now almost as if prayer. She can hear Cuthbert and Alain turning behind her, but she cannot look away from the Lion, the Guardian, Aslan himself, here with them in the no-longer-haunted glade.

"Oh, look."

[the_seafarer]

He comes to them, and the garden fills again with the cool white light of the stars, shining from his fur and his shaggy mane. His tail flicks calmly back and forth as he paces past the tree-sisters, the lion, the Lion, the Great Lion, terrible and beautiful in equal measure, and in his steps comes peace and joy and solemn steadiness. Caspian breathes in and feels he could run or leap or fight without tiring, and his eyes are shining as he watches the Lion come near.

Aslan, far larger than any lion, larger even than the last time Caspian saw him, steps close and regards them with amber eyes both wise and calm. "Hail, Susan, Daughter of Eve."

His voice is rich and warm. He turns his great, shaggy head, and observes Cuthbert and Alain. "Hile, gunslingers."

[sai_delgado]

"Hile, Guardian," Cuthbert manages, echoed by Alain, his mouth as always running ahead of the rest of him without thought. He's glad of it, though, because all his thoughts have fallen into a spinning whirl.

They'd been ready to fight and die (again) if need be, to confront the darkness --

(all small boys born to the High Speech must face the dark alone)

--and it's hard at first to understand that this time the battle's over without the need to fire a single shot, that they've been granted an almost impossible grace.

And not just them; far from it. Cuthbert watches as Susan takes a step forward, the look in her eyes bright, and sinks into a deep curtsey, head bowed. "Hail, sai Aslan," she responds, echoing the Lion's own greeting with wonder in her soft words. "Thee are so very welcome, say true."

[the_seafarer]

Aslan pads over to her, each massive paw leaving dimpled indentations in the grass. "Your fears have haunted you, child," he tells her, and nuzzles gently at her face with his soft nose. "Come, let me breathe on you. Forget them."

A delicious scent lifts from his mane, from his breath, warm and life-giving and impossible. His breath puffs gently over her, before he lowers his head and licks at her hands, scratched from her panicked flight through the woods the morning before. "The time of nightmares is over now. You have done well, all of you."

[sai_delgado]

She looks up unafraid into his amber eyes as the strangely strengthening perfume that rises from his mane and drifts from his breath wreaths her, somehow banishing all her worries and fears and lifting the weary, grinding weight from her shoulders. The rough scrape of his tongue is still somehow gentle, and she can almost feel the small wounds healing under his touch, sure deep within that they'll be gone by morning.

"Thankee-sai," she murmurs, wondering and happy at his reassurance and so, so pleased to hear him praise those she cares for as well. "Ye are kind, and more than kind, and I can't thank ye enough."

[the_seafarer]

"You have been brave, sweetheart," the Lion tells her. "Be brave a little longer."

He turns now to Caspian, whose eyes are alight with quiet joy. "Aslan," he says, happily, and when the Lion comes close, Caspian throws his arms about the great neck and presses his face into the shaggy mane, breathing deep. When he pulls away, he kisses the strong, beautiful face, and Aslan kisses him in return. "My dear son," he says, the rumble of a growl low in his voice. "Come and stand by me."

"Always," Caspian tells him, and as Aslan turns to face the rising moon, he stands straight and tall beside the Lion.

"Cuthbert, son of Robert," Aslan says. "Alain, son of Christopher. Take your places at my side. Sweetheart – "

This to Susan, as his tail lashes his flanks. "You may wish to cover your ears. I am going to roar."

[sai_delgado]

My dear son, the Lion says to Caspian, and Susan can't hold back her bright, beaming smile at that. It only grows when he calls 'Bert and Alain by name, knowing them, and oh, not only their own names but the names of their fathers as well.

She curtseys to him again at his request and moves to stand to the side, hands pressed to her ears and breath practically held as she waits.