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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"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."

"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.

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?"

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.

"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.

Edited 2023-03-01 04:16 (UTC)

"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 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.

"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.

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."

"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.

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?"

"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.

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.

Edited 2023-03-01 15:02 (UTC)

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."

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."

"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."

Edited 2023-03-01 17:35 (UTC)

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."

Edited 2023-03-01 17:49 (UTC)

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."

Edited 2023-03-01 18:25 (UTC)

"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."

Edited 2023-03-01 18:33 (UTC)

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.

Once Caspian is standing at one side and the gunslingers at the other, all of them facing the rising moon, now a great ruddy disk in the sky, the Lion lifts his head, shakes his mane, and roars.

It starts low and throbbing, like a note played on an organ, but grows louder and louder until the very sky and ground seem to shake with it, until the trees of the wood bend before it and clouds scud rapidly away. The roar rolls like thunder, like the crash of a cleansing river smashing through a dam, and fills their ears and chests and lungs.

The black shadows that had been slinking and lurking in the woods can't hold their ground in the face of the Lion's roar, and when it finally dissipates and leaves them in ringing silence, the heavy wrongness of before seems to have lifted entirely. Even the moon only looks like a small silver coin once again, instead of the bloody circle it had been.

The roar shakes the world around them, an earthquake, a shattering blast, and the last time Alain heard anything of the sort was when the Beam that crossed beneath Gilead broke and they'd watched the city fall.

(all things serve the Beam)

But it's not the same. No, it's nowhere near the same, say true and say thankya, say hallelujah and amen. Where the Beam-quake had wreaked death and destruction and misery, the Lion's roar is a thing of beauty and defiance and power and strength and renunciation of all that is wrong or ever could be.

(cam-a-cam-mal, pria toi, Gan delah)

Silence falls over the glade in stages as the sound rolls into the distance and slowly fades. Alain lets out a soft breath and looks at Cuthbert, who looks back. Neither of them can find words to speak.

Aslan reaches out his front paws and stretches like an enormous housecat, then shakes out his mane once more and turns back to them. Caspian's grin is boyish and delighted as he watches the Lion, as the last reverberations of the roar fade from his ears.

"Now," Aslan says, and settles down onto his belly, his tail flipping lazily. "Come and sit between my paws, Daughter of Eve. Lean on me and regain your strength. Come near, Sons of Adam. I think I would like a little romp through this garden – but not yet. For now, I only wish to speak with you, dear ones."

Susan blinks, startled almost beyond words -- almost. "If ye'd have it so," she says, shy in a way she almost never is.

But shy or not, she comes forward, and settles carefully between Aslan's front paws, curling up a little against one while Cuthbert and Alain stand nearby in the easy, casual way she's seen them do when there's naught of threat but still they'd remain aware of everything around them.

The Lion's paw is strong, and his breath above her warm and sweet. Susan looks first at Caspian, wide-eyed, and tips her head back to look up as she dares to ask the Lion, "What would'ee wish to speak of? We'd listen, aye."

The braided gold of her hair almost merges with the living, darker gold of the Lion's coat. There's a faint rumbling in his chest that could almost be called a purr... if one were bold enough to suggest it. Around them, the tree-sisters are back at rest, their quiet joy and peace suffusing the garden around them.

Caspian, familiar with the Lion, takes a seat nearby, his sword close at hand but no longer in his fingers. Aslan looks down at Susan solemnly, but Caspian can see the affection in that dear face. "I have not come to preach at you, children," he tells them, and now the amusement is clear enough in his voice that Caspian suspects even the gunslingers will hear it.

"And I would not have expected Cuthbert, son of Robert, to be able to hold his tongue this long. Why this silence, gunslingers? Will you not hold palaver with me?"

Edited 2023-03-01 22:20 (UTC)

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