[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]

She catches her breath in wonder at the ethereal beauty of the other woman, but smiles unhesitatingly back at her.

"Cry yer pardon, lady-sai," Susan says. "I'd not meant to disturb ye."

[the_seafarer]

"You haven't," the girl says, and her voice is low and merry and sweet. For a moment, her smile turns impish and little more human, and she gestures at the spring. "Drink, Daughter of Eve, if you thirst."

[sai_delgado]

"It's what I came over for, say true," she laughs. "A moment amid the revelry, do'ee ken? Well then, if ye'd excuse me a breath--"

Susan crouches down on her heels in a thoughtlessly easy motion to scoop up a couple of handfuls of water before she stands again. "We're well-met, I'd hope," she adds, with a bright smile. "I'm Susan Delgado, late of Hambry in Mejis."

[the_seafarer]

The girl's smile warms, and her eyes crinkle with it. "The fauns never seem to grow parched," she says, a laugh running like rippling water beneath her words. "At times they forget others need more than wine and music and merriment."

In answer, she steps forward and reaches her hands to take Susan's. Despite the light clinging to her skin, her fingers are warm, and so are her lips as she leans forward to press a light kiss first on one of Susan's cheeks, then the other. Her hair smells of starlight and soft night breezes. "Well-met," she agrees, leaning back again. "Susan, Daughter of Eve. Liliandil is the name they called me, here in these lands."

[sai_delgado]

"Lady Liliandil," she repeats, fog-gray gaze wide and startled. The lady gleams under the starlight, gleams with the starlight, and as she notices it in truth, realization sinks in.

(daughter of the stars)

Susan grows snow-pale all in an instant, save for two spots of color high on her cheeks.

"Lady Queen." Barely a whisper, but it hangs clear on the night air between them.

[the_seafarer]

The girl beams at her. "I loved a mortal man, a King of Narnia," she agrees. "When we wed, they called me Queen."

There's something sympathetic in the kind curve of her smile. "Have no fear, Susan. Come."

She offers one white hand to the other girl. "These stars are my kin, as was the sun which shone on you earlier. No harm will befall you here, Daughter of Eve. You are welcome."

[sai_delgado]

"He's here." She could no more refuse the gesture than she could lie, and reaches to take the star-queen's hand. Something about the light touch reminds her of the feel of Detta's hands and the gleam of moonlight.

(you were fearless once - take back your birthright)

"Yer husband. King Caspian. I can lead ye to him, an'ye like." After a second, she adds, "I'm not afraid of aught that's here in this land."

Welcome's a much more difficult matter, especially now.

[the_seafarer]

"I know," the star's daughter says, gently. There's some soft, sweet wistfulness in her gaze, but she keeps it steadily on Susan. "I thank you. But tonight, I am here for you."

She curls her fingers around Susan's and tips her head toward the rise that looks over the vale, then steps in that direction. Beneath her long white gown, her feet are bare against the soft grass. "You are brave, Susan of Mejis."

She sounds admiring, encouraging. "And right, not to fear this place."

[sai_delgado]

Her gaze is wide and startled once more. "For me? Why?"

The grass of the hillside is silvered with the sheen of starlight, glimmering around them as they pass. Behind them, the sounds of celebration fade, becoming softer with distance or mayhap a trick of the air.

"I couldn't ever fear this place, lady-- yer Majesty," she corrects herself. "It's different here."

She doesn't feel especially brave, though, not right now. Susan bites her lip, and tries not to think of Olive Thorin.

[the_seafarer]

"Because you were in pain when you came through the Door."

She leads them to a soft patch of grass, then lets go Susan's hand and sinks gracefully down to sit, patting the space near her with an inviting hand. "Because you are beloved by one who is dear to me. Because the stars over the place between places wept for your fear when you ran beneath them, seeking you knew not what. Because the great Song has been strengthened by the actions of you and your friends."

The girl smiles at her, warm and kind. "For all these reasons and more, I would speak with you."

[sai_delgado]

She lowers herself to the ground beside the star-queen, Lady Liliandil, and draws her knees up so that she can wrap her arms loosely around them. But oh, that feels too much like hiding, and in the next moment she shifts to sit cross-legged instead, her hands at her sides and light on the soft grass.

"I'll cry their pardon, then, for distressing them," she says, even as she struggles with the thought of stars weeping. "And yers, Lady Queen, if I've -- if I've offended ye or caused ye upset in any way. Any way at all."

[the_seafarer]

"You have not," the star's daughter tells her. "In any way."

She lifts her face to the night sky, the gleam of starlight on her skin and caught in the net of her hair like diamonds. "I loved my mortal life, Daughter of Eve. I loved my husband; I loved my son. I loved my subjects. But there – "

She gazes toward the firmament, then looks back at Susan. "– Is where I belong. Watching over all. A few more closely than others, perhaps," she adds, with a glint of humor.

[sai_delgado]

That hint of amusement startles a soft breath of laughter from her. "Aye, and of course ye would."

As quickly as it comes, though, the laughter bends under another thought, and Susan leans impulsively forward in her sudden concern. "But -- ye're not -- if ye're lonely, there must be some way--"

[the_seafarer]

The girl smiles at her, eyes warm and the curve of her lips gentle. "How could I be lonely?" she asks, and sweeps her hand to gesture at the skies, where the stars collect so thickly it looks as though they'd been spilled from a cup. "I have my kin. My friends here in this land. And all the many worlds to watch over."

Her gaze, as it falls back on Susan, is sweetly pleased by her concern, though she's swift to soothe it. "Do not worry for me, Daughter of Eve. I am content."

[sai_delgado]

"Other worlds than these," Susan murmurs. "Aye, then, an'ye'd have it so. But ye should kennit, that ye're well-loved."

[the_seafarer]

"I do."

She brushes her palm over the grass as if marveling at the sensation, and meets Susan's gaze. A breeze picks up and plucks at her hair, sending golden strands drifting. "To love, and to love well; to hold onto one another; to offer and receive companionship – these things are a joy. And the hearts of the Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve are well-suited to such. It is to be cherished."

[sai_delgado]

(careless love - o careless love)

"Ye say true, and I say thankya," Susan says, soft and clear.

(I'll live and die for the sake of love and never count the cost)

"More than almost anything else, I wot."

(bird and bear and hare and fish)

[the_seafarer]

The girl smiles, soft, and nods. Near, and yet far, the music of the revels floats on the breeze, which smells of saltwater and fresh grass and ever so slightly of roses. The night folds gently around them, warm and welcoming, a myriad points of light above them to brighten the darkness.

Having spoken, the star's daughter is quiet, seemingly savoring the small sensations of cool grass and warm breeze and velvety night around them. Nothing in her demeanor suggests impatience; one might think she could sit here, in companionable quiet, forever.

[sai_delgado]

Light gleams from the star-queen's hair and glimmers soft from her skin. Susan glances from her, to the sky above, to the grass between them, trying to think.

"What would you have of me, lady-sai?" she asks, finally. "For ye've said ye'd speak with me, and I'd listen, say true."

[the_seafarer]

"I'd have you know me, and I you," the girl replies.

"You bear a great burden, Susan, Daughter of Eve. I would relieve of you of what I can, if you'll let me, and when we part, I'd have us part in friendship."

[sai_delgado]

Tears shimmer in her eyes for a moment before she blinks them determinedly back.

"I'd not wish to part in other than friendship from ye, lady," she says, softly. "Never in life. It's kind of ye to offer."

[the_seafarer]

The star-girl smiles, and offers her hand once more, as girls do, in a casual intimacy.

"Then friends we will be," she promises.

[sai_delgado]

Susan smiles back, if a little tremulously, and takes her hand. "How is it that a star came to the lands below?" she asks. "It doesn't seem the sort of thing that's usual, ye ken."

[the_seafarer]

"I came to be with my father," she tells Susan, and points with her free hand up at the stars above. Some faded ones hover near the eastern horizon. "When we grow old and weak, we fall to the seas in the east of the world, there to live in human form and slowly regain our power by every morning eating a fire-berry from the valley of the sun."

She smiles, sweet. "My father, Ramandu, was one such star. I stayed with him on the island at the edge of the world, and there I met Caspian and his friends. And so I twice chose to stay for love, and walked the world a while as a mortal woman."

[sai_delgado]

Susan blinks at that, trying to imagine it - berries of fire from the sun itself, that is, not the compassion that'd bring this woman to such acts, for that's already as clear as anything to her.

"And I kennit," she says, after a moment, "that ye were lost--"

(and by the wind grieved)

"--but ye're well now, I'd hope?"