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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She pushes open the door for him, and her glance falls on her unmade bed. “What ye must think of my untidiness,” she says, low with embarrassed distress. “If ye’d only excuse me this once —“
Even as she speaks, she’s crossing the room to flip the covers back over the bed and smooth them into place, without waiting to remove her winter things.
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His sharp black eyes take in her rumpled appearance, her scratched and reddened hands, and his fur ruffles in his distress. "Daughter of Eve, shall I fetch some salve and bandages for you?"
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Susan shakes her head. “I’ve salve already,” she reassures him. “I just need to soak them a moment, I wot.”
She’d rather not be alone, say true, but she’s hesitant to trouble him so by asking. “I’ll just run a basin and carry it in.”
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The issue of the water presents a useful distraction. She’s certain he’d strain himself trying in his kindness, and equally certain that she’d not do anything to hurt his pride. “Mayhap if ye could fetch some clean cloths from the Bar instead?” she suggests. Surely that won’t take long, and it’ll let her get settled with the water. “I’d take it as a great kindness, an’ye would.”
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There’s a bowl in the bathroom, along with the promised salve, and her hairbrush and comb. Susan fills the bowl with water as hot as she can stand and takes it to the low table near her sofa, then brings everything else.
It helps, to have something to do to keep her from thinking.
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The bar complies by manifesting a basket of soft, clean muslin cloths, which Reepicheep takes. He thanks the Bar and jumps to the floor, then makes his way back towards Susan's rooms, rapping politely on the door and announcing himself before letting himself in.
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“It’s kind of ye to help so,” she tells him. “Truly it is.”
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He's well aware of how being well-groomed can affect one's mood and outlook, and her poor hands look far too sore to comb out her snarls herself.
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“I’ve been a great deal of trouble to everyone this morning, I kennit. I truly am sorry, Sir Reepicheep.”
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Reepicheep begins the work of untangling her hair with his clever paws before attempting to work the comb through the snarls. "I expect if it were one of your friends who was frightened and hurt, you would not want them to apologize for needing help, would you?"
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And she sees the point he's making, aye, she sees it very well. "But they're all much braver than I am, I wot, and it seems foolish to take on so over a - a silly dream."
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He works at a tangle in her hair for a moment, then continues. "Has His Majesty ever told you of the Dark Island we encountered, during our voyage on the Dawn Treader?"
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As he works at a particularly tangled snarl, his voice falls into a soothing cadence of storytelling. "It wasn't rightly an island at all, that I could tell. We'd had nearly a fortnight of fine weather and good sailing when King Edmund sighted what he believed to be a land mass off the port bow. But when we made for it, it seemed to be only a darkness like a mist rising from the water."
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"Or fog, mayhap, that tricked the eye?"
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The tangle somewhat subdued, he lifts the comb to run its teeth carefully through the long golden lock of her hair. "Our captain, Drinian, advised we not proceed. But I, in my desire for honor and adventure, shamed the King into ordering us ahead and into the darkness."
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"I leapt forward and called out: 'If you are a foe we do not fear you and if you are a friend you enemies shall be taught the fear of us!'
"And the voice cried 'Mercy,' and begged us to take them aboard. His Majesty called for the ship to halt, and a man swam to us. Thin, haggard; he looked like a wild thing, beset by what, we did not know. And he told us to fly, for this was the island where dreams came true."
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"Ye'd stumbled upon the Lord of Nightmare's realm?"
No wonder Caspian had startled so when she'd mentioned what had happened here, all those months ago.
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