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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Aslan leads them on a joyful, merry chase through the garden, and somehow no flowers are crushed or fruit ruined in their play. He jumps the stream and bats water with one enormous paw at Cuthbert, then jukes to the side to avoid Alain as the gunslinger comes after him. At times, he's hopelessly out of reach, and at others his fur is within an inch or less of their reaching fingers.

Caspian feels he hasn't laughed so much in an age, running after the Lion with Susan's hand in his. Ahead, Aslan stops suddenly and lets the gunslingers' momentum carry them into him, then lovingly wrestles them down to the ground.

"Guardian, I am defeated, and fain must concede smiling," Cuthbert drawls, clapping one hand to his hat to keep it from falling off as he tips his head back against the grass. Alain just holds up both hands with a small wry grin.

Aslan nuzzles at their faces, then gives them both rough-tongued lion kisses before throwing himself to the ground and rolling. He romps around the gunslingers like a kitten playing with a ball of yarn, then gambols over toward Caspian and Susan.

"Well, Daughter of Eve," he says, that joyful roar still in his voice. "Caspian King. Will you try your luck?"

She can't help but feel more than a little uncertain about this, say true, but one glance at Caspian and the laughter in his eyes and the joy in his manner, and she sets herself to it and beams a smile at the Lion, setting any nervousness aside.

"An'ye'd have it so, then aye."

"Good!" he says, and now it isn't just the hint of a roar, but nearly the real thing, joyful and golden as a brace of trumpets calling. He frolics toward them, then leaps away at the last second, and Caspian, laughing, runs after him, drawing Susan along.

He doesn't have to pull her after for long, for she's trim and quick and agile from all her work with the horses, and soon enough Susan's laughing too as she dodges back and forth in what feels like a children's game of tag with them both. She's not weary now, not in the least, the weight and grief-filled exhaustion having slipped away from her like a bad dream forgotten upon waking.

Susan darts back and forth, trying her best to catch him and be quick as she can about it, and as she does her braid slips free and begins to unravel into a banner behind her.

There's no chance they'll catch the Lion, not unless he wants to be caught, but Caspian enjoys himself anyway, both with the exercise and with watching Susan laughing and delighted, running lightly through the garden, her hair streaming in a golden river behind her.

Cuthbert and Alain, apparently happy to take their loss, stay where they are and call words of encouragement, but it ends in much the same way, with Aslan pouncing and Caspian going down in a startled cry, embraced by those huge but beautifully gentle velveted paws. He sticks out his hand for Susan to draw her down into the jumble, laughing.

She flings herself down beside where the Lion has Caspian gently pinned, and pats gently at one of his paws while she links her other hand with Caspian's.

"Such mischief," she teases.

Aslan growls, but it's the contented, playful growl of a cat that has had its supper and a little playtime and is now thinking seriously about a wash and a long nap. His heavy paw remains safely velveted, and his tail flicks back and forth. Through the garden, Caspian thinks he can hear the tree-sisters laughing. Above them, the moon has tracked a fair distance through the sky, but the star he'd seen before is still in sight, now hanging low over the treetops.

Aslan nuzzles at Susan, panting and warm, as Caspian laces their fingers together. "It is well, daughter," he says. "The malaise has left you now."

"It has," she confirms, softly. Greatly daring, Susan reaches up to pet his mane.

"I'd not thought it would, ye ken." She squeezes Caspian's hand, and glances over at where Cuthbert and Alain are talking quietly, some distance away, before looking back at Aslan. "And had only hoped to not let it make a difference in the end. But now - it's gone, aye."

Aslan shifts onto his side, and Caspian draws Susan to lie with him against the great golden flank, warm and golden as a summer's day. "You have been blessed with a new existence," the Lion tells her – tells them both – tells them all. "Make merry while you can. And have courage, dear heart. You are dearly beloved."

She bites her lip in uncertainty at taking such a liberty, but Caspian seems certain-sure and it's clear that if Aslan objected they'd not be in any doubt of it. Susan settles cautiously against the Lion's side and looks up at him.

(you were fearless once - take back your birthright)

"It's hard to believe, some, but I'll not waste the gift I've been given," she assures him - assures them, really. A sweet smile curves her lips, and she squeezes Caspian's hand. "And aye, I kennit. It's a great fortune to me."

A low vibration rumbles against their backs, and the Lion's side moves slowly with his breath, warm and vital and more real than anything, even the garden around them. Far from objecting, Aslan stretches against them, rather like a cat relaxing in the sun, and looks up at that single star with joyful, unblinking eyes. His claws show their points as he kneads into the soft loam of the garden.

Caspian looks over toward Alain and Cuthbert, and motions to them with a movement of his head, inviting them over to join.

This is the strangest night, for all that it feels right in some undefinable way. Alain glances at ‘Bert, and although he’s the one with the touch, his friend might as well be reading his mind when he answers that look aloud. “Might as well. It’s not like either of us is going to cry off now, aye?”

“Yar,” Alain agrees, and follows as Cuthbert hops to his feet and strolls over to Susan, Caspian, and the Lion.

Aslan is quiet and relaxed against them, and Caspian breathes deep, feeling the calm strength of the Lion seeping through him. He leans back and looks up at the sky, resting his head on Aslan's gently moving ribs, and runs his thumb over Susan's fingers. With the horror and strain of the night slipping away, he feels only tired and curious about what's to come.

Caspian's on one side of Susan, and he settles on her other side, with Alain by him, cautiously leaning back against the Lion. Cuthbert decides very quickly that he shouldn't think too hard about any of that. Of course, in the process of carefully not thinking about things, other things come spilling right out of his mouth unchecked.

"How did you know?" He tilts his head a little to look toward the Lion's face.

Aslan's tail flicks, and his mane ruffles gently in the garden breeze. "Bird and bear and hare and fish," he intones, in his low and rich and rumbling voice. "I hear the prayers you make to your fathers. And those lifted to me."

Caspian is quiet for a moment, then rolls his head to look towards Susan and the gunslingers. "I thought I glimpsed him, yesterday," he murmurs. "We'd spoken, once, in my cabin on the Treader, on a day when I – when I needed to hear him. So I went there again, and asked."

Susan leans her head against Caspian's shoulder, at that. "While I were speaking with Drinian," she murmurs, realizing. "Aye?"

"Yes," he admits. "But he didn't come just because I asked."

Who knows why Aslan decides to intervene, and why he sometimes does not? The Lion doesn't clarify, only goes on looking up at the now peaceful harvest moon.

Cuthbert peers quickly at the Lion, but doesn't see any reaction to Caspian's statement. "I guess the Beam works a lot more clearly in Narnia, or something."

"Narnia is his world," Caspian says, easily, as if this explains everything. "He's in all of them, but Narnia is the one he sang into being."

"Ah." From Alain's expression, this explains a great deal. "Like Eddie and Susannah's world is Keystone Rose."

"Oh," Susan breathes, understanding. "I kennit."

Caspian shrugs, uncertain what they mean, but willing to accept the understanding that's on all of their faces. Behind them, Aslan makes a rumbling sound that's half chuckle, half purr, but says nothing. "Another world of the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve," he marvels. "So many more than I ever imagined."

"Eddie tells it well," Susan murmurs softly to Caspian, in response to that shrug. "He were the one explained it all to me. We'll talk with him, an'ye like; I'd just make a muddle of it."

Meanwhile, Cuthbert grins at Aslan. "We're persistent."

"I'd like that," Caspian tells her. "I liked Eddie a great deal."

Aslan growls low in his chest; it sounds amused. "Brave, persistent, and complex all."

Caspian laughs. "And flawed, I suppose," he adds, then looks curiously at Cuthbert. "Was your world round, like the Pevensies', too?"

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