the_seafarer | [ AU ] to break a curse

[ AU ] to break a curse

Reap is past, and Susan is looking brighter and happier by the day, and now true winter is beginning to settle over this strange bar at the end of the universe. Caspian hauls the Hope up into the stables to be wintered and works long hours at the sleigh he'd designed, losing himself in the simple pleasures of working with the wood, sanding and carving in turn.

It's after one such day spent in labor that he comes to the bar proper, freshly showered and comfortably attired in a loose linen shirt and breeches, to join Susan by her spot at the fireside. He's chatting amiably with her about the horses, about how Corella is coming with her harness-training, and has just begun pouring her a glass of wine with the door opens and Caspian freezes. In the next moment, the glass overflows with the rich red liquid, but he doesn't notice; his eyes are locked on the tall, fair young man who has come in, dressed all in black.

Even to those who have never seen him, there may be something familiarly of Caspian about his face... but Susan has seen him, and she'll know as soon as she looks that Rilian, Prince of Narnia and Caspian's son, has returned.

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Relief at Caspian’s presence shifts to pure alarm at the sight of him armed and armored so. Susan doesn’t ken what he intends - does he mean to return with Rilian? She’d not thought such a thing were possible - mayhap if he has her rose?

She forces her words past the panicked whirl of her thoughts. “I’d well imagine it’d distress anyone who cares for ye, sai,” she says. “I beg of ye, let me call for my friend, he who helped me before. Even if he can’t do the same for he, mayhap there’s something he could suggest that yer Lady’d want to hear of.”

And Caspian would have aid, too, she thinks, more than her own self.

"There are none who care for me so but my Lady," the Knight tells Susan, kindly. "Do not trouble your friend; I am amenable to waiting until the time is ripe for our conquest. Until then, a life with her, though one in which I must be bound each night, is better than a life without."

"I wonder, sir Knight, if you remember enough of your life without her to say," Caspian says, dry.

The Knight turns a cool glance on him. "I remember nothing of my life before her. But my life with her has been but marred with my curse, little else."

There are none--

She can't keep herself from casting a quick glance at Caspian's expression, at that, her heart aching for the pain he must be feeling, before she turns back to his son.

"Nothing at all?" she tries. "Not even in the dreams ye spoke of before?"

"My Lady believes there is little to gain from studying my dreams too heavily," the Knight says, dismissive. "Your soft heart does you credit, miss, but even these dreams are but the slightest flaw in the happiness I share with her."

"Such a small flaw in the light of your lady's grace, is it?" Caspian says, easily. The line of his shoulders is achingly hard with tension, but he keeps going, intent on pushing the Knight past the point of polite disagreement. "I wonder, then, that you leave her at all. Will she not miss you, there at her knee?"

The Knight's eyes narrow, cold. "My Lady does all she can for me, sir," he warns, "and I am not so churlish as to discount her care for me. I would not speak thus of her, were I you."

Her breath catches in her throat at the rising strain between them. Jake hadn't remembered Roland while under Walter's spell, and Rilian's forgotten

(his father's face)

Caspian and everything else besides under his own, whatever it is. It can't go on this way, it can't.

Susan draws a quick breath and sends a silent plea to her own father. Help me, Da - help me to be strong enough to help them both. Determination firms the set of her mouth, though her tone remains gentle with concern when she speaks.

"If she cares for ye as ye say," she begins, "then surely she'd be glad were ye to find aid here. Let us help ye, sai. It's no weakness nor shame to accept such, and there's naught of reason not to, unless..."

Carefully, carefully now, she thinks.

"... unless there's something in ye driving ye to refuse." Soft, but clear. "It were that way for me, do'ee ken? I did what I'd never have done elsewise, and struggled against those who tried to stop me."

Edited 2023-11-30 06:04 (UTC)

"If that were indeed the case, would I not also reject my Lady's aid, fair one?" the Knight say, calming a little.

But Caspian does not want him calm. "Good sir Knight, we would be remiss in our own hospitality if we attempted to aid you not," he says, and looks to Susan. "Go and fetch Alain, Su. I think it might be best after all if he were here. 'Bert, too, mayhap."

As Cuthbert has no ability to assist in lifting curses, this may be an odd request, but he looks at her very carefully, hoping she'll realize he has some other plan.

She doesn't want to leave him - either of them, for that matter - but oh, it's clear as anything from the direct way in which he looks at her that he wishes her to do this. Susan nods, golden hair shifting like silk against her shoulders as she does, and doesn't argue.

"I'll find them both as quickly as may be, say true," she promises, and shifts her own glance from Caspian to Rilian. "And I'll take it as a kindness given for ye to allow it, sai."

Susan doesn't give him the chance to disagree, but heads across the room to the staff quarters at a quick pace that's saved from being a dash solely to avoid raising alarm in any who might see her pass.

Caspian watches her go, then turns his attention once more to the son who does not remember either him or Narnia itself. Despite the horror of the moment, despite the anger he is beginning to unleash, he feels a strange sense of calm taking over.

"Do you not find it strange, my lord, that you have no memory of your life before you came to be with your lady, and have suffered since then under a curse of most horrific strength and subtlety?"

The Knight flushes with anger. "It would be best for you, my lord, if you ceased implying such things of my Lady."

Cuthbert's room is the closer, and so Susan goes there first. She knocks with one hand even as she tries the door with the other. On finding it unlocked, she opens it without waiting for him to answer.

Alain's there as well, she sees, companionably smoking in an armchair across from Bert, who's already on his feet as she pushes the door wide. "Susan, what's wrong?" Bert crosses the room in long steps to take her by the arms, hands gentle as he searches her face. "What has thee so upset?"

"Oh, please come," she gasps. "Both of ye, come quickly, do. It's Rilian, Rilian's here, Caspian's son - he said he told thee, Bert, ye kennit -- he doesn't ken him, he's witched and needs help."

Alain's discarded his cigarette and come to join them by the time she finishes her incoherent explanation. "Lead the way, Sue," he says, his voice calm and steady but his gunslinger's gaze keen and sharp, as is Cuthbert's. "We're with thee."

Rilian is taller than he. It's been so long he'd almost forgotten that, how his son had inherited the height and beauty of his mother the Star. Still, Caspian looks up at him with dismissiveness bordering on contempt. "Should I fear you, good sir knight, who hides behind a woman's skirts and fears his own freedom?"

The Knight's face pales to the lips, and his eyes grow cold. With a cool, slithering sound, he draws his blade, the metal gleaming under the friendly lights of the Bar. A waitrat that had been coming near to take their order squeaks and scurries away.

"Rescind your words, boy, or draw your sword and face me."

They walk with Susan into the main bar, where she freezes in her tracks with a sharp gasp. Cuthbert's glance follows hers across the room, and in the next instant he's moving with all speed. He doesn't even have to look to know that Alain's moving as well, off to the side, keeping canda so that they can't be taken down with a single strike.

"You're going to want to sheathe that blade," he warns as he reaches them, light and easy. "You're breaking the rules, and that kind of thing gets frowned on around here."

They are not the only ones moving at the sound of a sword being drawn.

Peter Pevensie, who had only just stepped out of the House of Arch in search of a nice cuppa, is in the next moment striding forth to stand at Caspian's shoulder. He gives the two gunslingers – his comrades on Security – a nod, then speaks, firm and without room for argument. "Those who bear a naked blade in this place oft regret it," he says, stern. "What's all this, then?"

"This child," the Knight says, livid, "has besmirched my Lady's name, honor, and insulted her very self. I'll not stand for it; damn your rules!"

Edited 2023-12-01 02:41 (UTC)

Susan may not be as fast as a gunslinger, but she arrives hard on their heels all the same. She's careful to stop to the side, out of the line of fire or reach of sword, even as she searches Caspian's expression.

Whatever he's thinking and feeling's pressed deep down and hidden, but he's too still and too calm, mayhap unnaturally so. And yet, there's naught of surprise on his features, she realizes. Susan whirls back to Rilian with a flash in her eyes and furious worry for father and son both driving her.

"For shame, sai," she chides. "He seeks to help ye, and ye'd act so?"

"I've no quarrel with you, miss," the Knight says, his jaw tight and his gaze locked on Caspian's face. "But if this churl will not grant me an honorable duel in which to better teach him his manners – "

"Speak softly, sir Knight," Caspian says, dry. He's pushing, pushing – the clock is ticking ever closer to that fatal hour. But it isn't close enough, not yet. "Ere you dishonor your Lady further by seeing yourself thrown into yet another prison, one without her sweet presence. But by what right must I defend myself to you? You, who have even forgotten the face of your father?"

Beside him, Peter stiffens, but Caspian continues, lost now in his grief and rage. "But as you will. Step outside with me, sir, and I will happily prove my honor in clean battle."

Susan goes absolutely still and as pale as snowfall, and Cuthbert lets out a low whistle, studying the two of them. Alain gives Caspian a sharp, searching look. He can't think of a single time when he's seen the other man pick a fight like this. Either he's lost himself under the weight of what he's facing, or there's something the rest of them don't know, and Alain's betting it's the latter.

So's Bert, apparently. "Caspian's got the right of it," 'Bert says. "Take another step, make another move in here, and I'll put you in the cells myself. If you're smart, you'll sheathe. Now. Outside's different."

"As you will," the Knight mutters, and sullenly slides his sword home into its scabbard. Beside Caspian, Peter relaxes only fractionally. "I caution you to reconsider this folly," he warns. "Caspian is a practised swordsman. What would your lady think if you were injured here - or worse, killed?"

"I will not stand meekly by and allow this boy to insult my lady and my honour," the Knight says, stubborn, and Caspian turns, takes Peter by the arm.

"This is not your fight, High King," he murmurs. "And not one you can relieve me of, not this time. But as you love me, allow me to do this. Trust me, Peter, in his name."

"He's neither child nor churl, sai." Pale she is still, save for the two spots of color riding high on her cheeks, but oh, her voice is clear and carrying, even as her glance lingers for an instant on how Caspian grips Peter's arm and murmurs something urgent to him, before she looks back at Rilian.

"And I tell ye that if ye'll not be turned aside from this path, ye'll come to regret it dearly, say true." One hand is clenched tightly in her skirts, and the other clutched in a loose knot at the center of her chest as she sways a step forward.

Peter searches his face, but nods, and Caspian nods in return before moving past him, heading towards the lake door. He stops first by Susan, taking her hands in his and speaking gently, his eyes softening. "Thank you, dear one."

The Knight pushes past Peter, making his way to the door, and looks over, still furious. "Speak better sense to your companion," he spits. "Ere you lose him at the edge of my blade."

"Temper, temper," Cuthbert cautions, lazily, but there's nothing lazy about the hard, sharp look in his eyes as he watches the Knight. "Mind your manners. Susan's done nothing but try to help you, more than you realize. Alain, I don't suppose you could...?"

The sudden surge of hope that rushes through her dies as Alain shakes his head. "Not with him as he is, more's the pity. Walls are up. It'd be a different kind of fight, one that might cause more harm than good."

Susan takes a deep breath and squeezes Caspian's fingers as she looks up at him, her fog-gray gaze meeting his sea-colored one. "Don't let him hurt thee," she says, soft. "For his sake, and mine, and all who love thee."

"I'll do what I can," he murmurs in return. "But I can't hurt him, Su. All I can do is try to keep him here, distracted, as long as I can."

He lifts her hands and presses a kiss to her fingers. "I won't tell you to look away, dear, but it might be easier for you if you did."

"I'll not leave thee to face this alone, and I'll not turn away from what's to come, either."

Soft it may be, but it's fierce with determination. She cups his face in her hands for a moment. "Come whatever storms."

He smiles at her, then gently lifts her hands from his cheeks and squeezes them before letting go and following the Knight to the door, where he waits impatiently.

Caspian strides past him, into the dark, and unsheathes his own blade in a ringing sound of metal on leather as Peter takes up a position at the corner of the makeshift dueling field, his expression grim. Tossing his scabbard aside, he holds the sword loosely at his side, standing straight and tall. There is nothing of the boy Caspian about him now - only the king, older than Peter, and as stern. "Now, come, if you will," he calls.

"As you say, sir." The Knight draws his sword and salutes, expression calm and cold, and then moves.

Susan follows them out into the cold night and stands to the side, watching as she'd promised. Cuthbert looks at her, then trades a swift look with Alain, receiving a nod in answer before he goes to stand on the other side of the field, across from Peter, ready to guard or interfere as needed.

For his part, Alain takes up a post beside Susan. "He's planning something, I wot," he murmurs, for her ears alone.

Susan nods, her gaze not leaving the two of them for an instant. "He's trying to - to distract him. To delay him. As long as he can. But he'll not hurt him, Alain, nor try, and Rilian - he doesn't ken him."

Alain lets out a harsh breath. "Then we'd all best hope he's as good a swordsman as he and yon Peter both think he is."

Steel rings as the younger man strikes out, and Susan clasps her hands tight in front of her.

Edited 2023-12-03 03:22 (UTC)

Caspian parries, the ring of steel on steel shocking through to his hands, and steps away again, breathing a silent thanks to the dwarf who'd made this blade, before moving in again, stepping in close. Parry, riposte, swing back out of reach; as they circle one another and their blades flash, two things become immediately clear:

First, Caspian is the better fighter. His technique has all the polish and economy of movement of someone who has spent decades learning the blade and perfecting his use of it. But he is fighting only to defend; even when he presses the attack, he leaves off before actually inflicting a wound.

And so the second clear fact is that Rilian, taller and stronger though the less practiced swordsman, may still defeat him anyway. And so, after he's harried the Knight with a rapid series of thrusts and cuts, the inevitable happens: The Knight slips under Caspian's guard and strikes.

The blow could be avoided. Easily, even – but in such close quarters, Caspian could not simply slip out of reach. He hesitates, not wanting to hurt his son, and the sword lands, only partially blocked by Caspian's quick slip to the side. He is not wearing armor, and it is a heavy sword, and sharp as a razor. He feels the weight of it and knows he'll feel the cut later; for now, all he feels is a dampness on his side as blood dribbles down beneath his surcoat.

Steel flashes under the night sky, and she prays to her father that the lady-star isn't watching this night. For herself, she'd never seen one of Anthy's duels, for all that she kens of them. She'd not pressed the purple-haired girl for aught of detail that she'd feared it'd hurt her to give, but Meg'd held many thoughts on the matter and shared them freely. And swords hadn't come into part of the show of skill that'd been shared when those of Serenity and the Ka-Tet of Nine had come together here, either.

In fact, she's only witnessed such a fight once in her life or after, here outside near the lake, between Roland and the angel Aziraphael. A sparring-fight, that had been, with naught of harm and even much of a strange, wondrous joy in it, almost like a dance.

This is nothing like, for all that she can see how skilled Caspian is - there's naught of joy in this, only Rilian's - the Knight's - anger and coldness and his father's pain and quiet, grim determination.

The Knight's sword slashes through the air and she can see the dark stain of blood beginning to paint Caspian's clothing at the edge of the leather, and she could no more stop herself from crying out than she could stop breathing.

"Enough! Is it not enough?" she pleads - appealing to Rilian. Even knowing what Caspian's trying to do, she can't help it. Surely there's some other way to distract him, to prevent him from leaving, to hold him here, there must be.

Edited 2023-12-03 04:02 (UTC)

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