livingintrinity: (Sherwood)
[personal profile] livingintrinity
The pool opened into a bower of sun streamers and green in the shades of fading new spring and the whisper of promised emerald summer. There was a rock formation which jutted upward for twenty feet in the Northern area just beyond them, trees crowning onward from it, and just beyond westerly was a worn path with rivets from cart wheels which wound its way through the dappled grove.

"This," Marian said, with an awe and love that was never, and would never, be tarnished by time. "Is Sherwood forest."

Date: 2007-04-22 03:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
Sorely snorts beneath him and Caspian watches in amazed admiration as Marian pulls away, her laughter singing like a bell. He leans over to whisper into the horse's ear.

"Will you stand for that?"

A shake of Sorely's head, and Caspian crouches in the saddle, the breeze that kicks up about them tossing his hair and tugging at his tunic until he has to laugh out loud for the joy of it. Sorely's powerful strides shatter distance as they chase the fleeting white tail ahead.

Sorely is faster but Marian knows these woods better, and though Caspian nearly catches her, she and the mare always manage to flick ahead, as though they were fairies.

Date: 2007-04-22 03:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
When he was thirteen years old and fleeing through the woods, his horse Destrier had run Caspian under a branch and knocked him flat onto his back and unconscious.

Sorely is lighter and swifter than Destrier; his hoofbeats thud against the ground cover in joyful cadence. Marian dodges but they have no time and sail over a log in their way.

He laughs with joy, with the rush of the race, with the knowledge that Marian might--and maybe would--beat him.

He's closer now--Sorely's nose is nearly at Marian's waist, but they may never catch up.

Date: 2007-04-22 04:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
No, not at all, despite the glance Caspian gets of her face as he tries to pull Sorely up. The horse beneath him rears to get its balance, and they continue on a pace or two past Marian and her mare before Caspian reins him in and walks him back so that the two horses stand head to tail and he can look Marian in the face.

He's flushed from the race and the speed, and though he does his best to look stern, a smile keeps tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Finally, while he ducks his head to keep from laughing : "You ride very well, Lady."

Date: 2007-04-22 04:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
He looks back over his shoulder towards the castle and the bustling workers, nodding as he dismounts to stand beside her. "Aye. The anticipation of a thing brings as much delight as the things itself." Or so his old tutor would tell him when the boy Caspian grew impatient for another trip to the top of the North Tower.

It's when he looks back at Marian that he can study the color in her cheeks, the brilliant joy in her eyes while she watches the arrangements. With her gaze turned away from him, he looks at her, and marvels that a chance walk in the woods had brought him to know such a girl as she. Sunlight gleams off the curls that spill down her back, glossy as the feathers of the ravens they had left behind.

"When will the fair begin in earnest?"

Date: 2007-04-22 04:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
In two weeks, Caspian will be nearing the island of Terebinthia--mayhap. If the currents are good and the winds hold and they do not run into pirates.

For the first time, he's nearly disappointed that he'll not be simply at Cair Paravel, and able to see the festival that Marian so clearly takes delight it.

Not entirely, but nearly.

He hadn't truly realized how his eyes had been drawn to her face until she smiled at him, and he felt the color rising in his cheeks. "Aye, lady," he agrees, cheerfully tying Sorely up next to the mare, grateful for the excuse to drop his eyes from hers. "The day is fair and there are adventures to be had."

Date: 2007-04-22 04:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
"Is it not true?" Caspian laughs, looking up at the man who towers above him, tall and slim though Caspian's own build is. There is something friendly and warm about, and perhaps it is the way his mismatched eyes look fondly on Marian.

She points things out quickly and Caspian tries to keep up, but her excitement is catching and he's beginning to feel the hum of busy life in this place. Food is cooking somehere beyond them; over his shoulder he can see men rolling kegs to another tent.

It looks to be quite a celebration.

Date: 2007-04-23 03:26 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
He has to laugh at the shifting expressions on her face, even while he shakes his head. "Nay, lady, no particular favorites. With such high praise, I think I'd be pleased to try any one of them."

The man grins at them both, his teeth flashing white. Truth be told, the scent of fruit was very sweet and the walk and race had left Caspian a little hungry.

Date: 2007-04-23 03:38 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
"Sugared, I thank thee."

Stanush nods and sugars the tart generously--apparently, any friend of Marian's is well-deserving of fine treatment, and offers it to Caspian with a grunt at his thanks. The mismatched eyes watch carefully, though, as he bites into the tart, he looks pleased at the unmitigated delight on the younger man's face.

For his part, Caspian was busying himself with the tart so as not to think more on Marian's pause--what would she tell people, if pressed?--and it proves more than equal to the challenge. It is a delicious tart.

Date: 2007-04-24 03:00 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
He has time for a single nod and grateful look to the tart-seller, who waves him off with a laugh as Marian pulls him onward, her hand tugging at his elbow. As she speaks, he looks up at the pole and the brightly colored ribbons which wait, tied around it.

It brings an image of dancing fauns, laughing to the lilt of pan-pipe and drum, of graceful dryads and Maenads. He has a visions of Marian dancing with flowers in her hair, and it makes him smile. "Will you dance there, lady, when the time comes?"

Date: 2007-04-24 03:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
She's said something like that before, and now seems as good a time as any to ask what he had been meaning to for some time now.

"What sort of face is it that the people need to see, lady Marian?"

He looks down at her, studying what he can see of her face. "It seems a shame to hide away such a one as yours, even for propriety's sake."

Date: 2007-04-24 03:49 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
There's something heart-wrenching in her voice--no one so young should ever have to sigh so wearily.

"That is the role given to leaders of Men," Caspian says while they walk, wiping his hands clean of the sugar that had stuck to his skin. "My old tutor and dear friend taught me that. He said that to be a good and fair leader, you must love your people and be willing to do whatever it is they need. But it isn't much of a sacrifice if you really love them, is it? Whether it is some great need, or if it is merely to be one voice laughing when no one else feels as though they can."

His eyes follow the folk walking back and forth--the women chatting over the food, the men working to set up the tents and stalls. "You love them very much, don't you?"

Date: 2007-04-24 04:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fortuneoftarva.livejournal.com
He looks down at her, at the force of her words, but her eyes are fixed on the people beyond, and he raises his head, focused on some patch of air.

There is no gleam of gold save sunlight, and no white flash but that of a cloud passing by, but all the same he sees, as clearly as though He were standing right there, Someone dearly loved.

"Good," is all he says, and it's quiet, but firm--and if Marian is listening, it is even fierce.

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