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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"We'd best go back, I wot." Just as soft, but with an undertone of practicality. "Before 'Bert and Alain start pacing a path in the floor. I'd not have them get in a fuss with Reepicheep over it, either."

She's fairly certain the Mouse would see any hint of doubt over her well-being as an insult to his king.

"But only if thee are ready, too."

"I am," he promises.

"And if you ever wish to return, only ask, Su. This land is open to you. And yours," he adds, though the mental image of Cuthbert surrounded by fauns and Alain standing silently with a herd of centaurs makes him smile.

For an instant, she imagines what Susannah would think of it all, and can't wait to tell her.

(MERRY and CHRISTMAS)

Susan smiles at him, sun-bright and cheerful, and keeps hold of one of his hands as she gets to her feet. "Drinian promised we could go sailing," she tells him, impishly. "So we have to come back."

"Well, that settles it," he laughs, as he lets her help him to his feet. "I can't disappoint Drinian. And just you wait; sailing on a ship like the Treader is nothing like sailing on the Hope. And you really must see Lantern Waste, one day."

To one side of them, he can hear the laughter and music and revelry in the vale. To the other – looking East –

– well, perhaps that door standing in the meadows has always been there.

"One day," she agrees, cheerful. Susan follows his glance to the door that's appeared from nothing and shakes her head, amused but unsurprised.

"Seems clear that's where we're meant to go, aye?"

"It does."

He takes a final glance over the fields and meadows of this world, the real Narnia, the true Narnia, where snow-capped mountains lift from one horizon and an endless sea stretches across the other, then smiles at her, the breeze tugging at his hair. "So I suppose we ought to go there."

He walks forward with her, then reaches for the handle and opens the door to let her step through first.

She smiles back at him and allows herself to draw a final quick breath of the fresh air of this place before she walks through the door into the quiet buzz of the bar at the end of the universe.

Cuthbert's seated at one end of the couch she usually chooses, a burning cigarette loose in his fingers, and Alain's in the armchair beside. As Susan steps onto the room's floor, 'Bert's head snaps up, his keen gaze fixing on them in an instant.

"Brace yerself," she murmurs to Caspian, and gives them both a smile and a wave.

As Caspian steps in and closes the door behind them, there's a scuffle over by the bar before Reepicheep comes leaping lightly over the bartop, ignoring the complaints of patrons as he jumps over their drinks, plates, and, in one instance, heads. He soars to the floor and hurries up to them, then bows low. "Sire," he says. "Daughter of Eve."

"Hello, Reep," Caspian says, fondly. He can't help himself; it soothes something deep inside his chest to be welcomed by his old friend, who has chosen to stay here with him rather than to wander the wonders of Aslan's country. He squeezes Susan's hand and gives her a wink. "Braced, and ready."

It would almost be a curtsey, the way she sinks down, except for how Susan stays settled in an easy crouch so as to be on the same level with the Mouse. "Sir Reepicheep," she says, and oh, but her voice is soft and warm, and her smile is free of any strain. "It's good to see ye again."

As he sees this, some indefinable tension in the set of Alain's shoulders relaxes. He murmurs something under his breath to Cuthbert, who grimaces but sits back on the couch rather than spring to his feet. Alain nods to him, then catches Susan's eye as soon as he can and tips his head to invite them over.

"My lady," Reepicheep says, in his chirruping voice. "It lifts my heart to see you looking so well."

As he watches Susan and Reepicheep, Caspian can't help but think of how Lucy had longed to hug the Mouse, but always refrained for fear of damaging his pride. Somehow, he thinks that if Susan wished the same thing, Reepicheep would allow it. He's as taken with her as Caspian's ever seen.

The slight motion of the gunslingers by the fire catch his eye, and he glances at Susan as he helps her back to her feet. "How about some hot chocolate?" he asks. "And what would they like?"

"I am well," she assures him. "Much better than I were, say true. And we've greetings for ye from Lord Drinian, who were pleased to hear news of ye."

Susan rises to her feet and gives the others a thoughtful look before she turns to Caspian. "That'd be lovely, thankee-sai. I can't see from here if they've aught, but Alain's fond of white tea and 'Bert of coffee more so--"

She glances automatically over toward the bar as she says it, and brightens. "-- and oh, Eddie's tending! He'll kennit, what they've been having this evening, I wot."

He glances at the bar, where a dark-haired young man is casting a glance askance at Reepicheep, and grimaces. He'd meant to go to the bar anyway, but now he really ought to, to apologize for Reepicheep's indiscrection.

Caspian turns back to Susan with a smile and leans to press a kiss to her cheek. "Go on," he tells her. "I'll be there shortly with a few hot drinks."

"An'ye'd have it so," she teases. "We'll meet ye there. Sir Reepicheep, would'ee come with me? Ye'd be welcome, say true."

Susan waves to Eddie, promising herself she'll go talk to him before his shift ends, and starts across the floor toward Alain and 'Bert.

"As you wish, Daughter of Eve."

Caspian looks cheerful as he heads off to the bar, and Susan looks a good deal brighter as well. The Mouse falls gallantly into step with her as she goes to the fireside where the two gunslingers await.

Eddie hasn't missed a single bit of their return, Bar-hopping mouse notwithstanding. It wasn't technically his shift tonight, but given the news he'd gotten earlier he figured it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep an eye on things.

He eyes the blond guy with interest as he approaches. Some kind of royalty, Cuthbert had said, from another world. "Nothing like making an entrance." He keeps his tone easy and light, and keeps his hands busy polishing a glass with a towel.

"I apologize for my friend," Caspian tells him, as he comes close enough to speak. "Reepicheep can be a bit excitable. It's Eddie, isn't it?"

"Yeah, he seems like a high-strung little guy." He flicks a glance over to where the mouse, having followed Susan over to the others, is perched on an armchair. "Don't worry about it."

Eddie looks back at him. "Got it in one. Eddie Dean, of New York." It takes a conscious effort to repress the Calla-speak, given the feel of things, but he stamps on it hard. "You'd be Susan's friend, right?"

"Yes." Remembering how he'd greet Peter and Ed and the others, he holds out his hand to shake, his smile warming. "Caspian, of Narnia."

New York. All his old curiosity bubbles up, along with the questions he's always wanted to ask and have answered. He wonders if Eddie's New York is on a round world like the Pevensies' London is. "Do you happen to know what Cuthbert and Alain have been drinking? I'd like to bring them another round."

"Nice to meetcha." Eddie switches the towel into his left hand with the glass so that he can shake.

"They've been mainlining coffee all night." Better than heroin, of course, but that's a lot of caffeine. "Might want to switch it up a bit at this point. Why, you need to break some bad news or something?"

Although his tone stays easy, his gaze is keen and interested.

"Both of them?" Caspian asks, a little distressed. Cuthbert, he can understand, but he'd hoped Alain would be a little steadier. He grimaces and shakes his head. "No, not bad news."

He glances over at the gunslingers and thinks again of Susan's soft words. "But it's been a difficult day for them."

"Uh-huh. That and chain-smoking," Eddie informs him, as he pulls a few glasses from under the bar and reaches for a soda spigot. His glance flicks from Caspian to Susan and back so fast it might be easy to miss. "Guess it has at that, especially given what's coming up tomorrow. You know about that?"

He knows he does, but the real question is how much, and the answer'll tell him a hell of a lot.

Caspian nods and looks back at the other man. "Susan had a bad night and a worse morning," he says, though he's certain Eddie already knows. "And tomorrow's certain to be even harder. But I admit I... have worried more what the time of year means for her than for them."

"Anniversaries are a bitch," Eddie agrees. "Suzie's worried too, but she's keeping it tucked. Susan's been avoiding her, and I think that's the bigger problem."

Three whiskey glasses on the bar, the spigot hooked in easy reach, and a mug plunged in ice to chill, that'll do for a start. Eddie scans the bottles and decides classic Jack's called for. "What's Mickey there drink?"

"Susannah?" Caspian hazards, putting together the pieces of what he knows. He'd told Susan he'd make an effort to meet her friends, and it seems he's started already.

But his polite curiosity is shortly replaced by a bemused glance. "Who?"

"Susannah, yeah. My wife, Susannah Dean. Last gunslinger standing, so to speak, save for the big white man himself." He pours free-handed into one whiskey glass after another.

"No Disney in Narnia, I'm guessing. The fuzzy guy with the tail."

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