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."
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Date: 2007-04-21 05:50 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Her hand is still in his, but Caspian is unaware of it, his eyes wide and his head high, taking it in.

They had left a wood, and they are in another--but this wood is as different from the one of the Lodge as that is from Narnia. Trees, ancient and sleepy, allow their knotted roots to twine through the surface of the earth. They reared huge leafy heads and arms to the sunlight, and a breeze rustled through them the way a fingers might slip through silky hair. The same breeze toys with Marian's curls; it smoothes over Caspian's brow and he takes a deep breath of it.

"It's beautiful," he says. Green and gold, aye, just as she had told him. "Lady, your home is lovely. Do you live in yonder wood?"

Date: 2007-04-21 06:27 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Where the ravens live that lend you their name, I suppose."

Cair Paravel has no rookery, and they keep no birds, save a few colorful ones well-loved by the ladies of the court. They are surrounded by the wild cries of seabirds and gulls, and there are white feathers instead of black in the air when the birds are agitated.

She tugs on his hand and he has to laugh in merriment. "I don't mind a walk, not with such a place to walk in and such fine company to be with."

Date: 2007-04-21 07:15 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
The ravens talk sharply and hop, spreading their wings to gleam in the sun and then shaking them back down, as though shedding droplets of light rather than water.

Caspian's smile is immediate, delighted. "Are these your wards, lady?"

Not hers, specifically, mayhap, but Marian and the birds have a kinship. It could be that she spends a great deal of time with them.

Date: 2007-04-21 07:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
He nods, listening and watching, walking with her so that the birds jump and flap and resettle a little further away. She they know, but he is a stranger and unsettling.

"What are they for? Have you ever heard?"

Date: 2007-04-21 07:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Caspian knows all about witches, and what they can do to the land.

(always winter, never Christmas)

Instead of telling Marian of his thoughts, though, he watches the birds eat, watches the quick delicate movements they make. "I suppose stories like that must abound in places that are so old," he says. He knows that, as well--hadn't he spent his childhood being told stories of the ghosts that prowled the forest and of the monster that came over the sea?

Turning to her, his face lightens. "We've used birds as messengers during battles and marches, but the messages have to be concise. Some of them have very short memories, and they tend to mix up words now and then."

Date: 2007-04-21 08:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
He's distracted from answering immediately by the way her skin glows in the sun, by the darkness of her hair and the smile in her voice.

She's lovely, Marian, and it makes Caspian smile back at her without any very good idea of the fact that he ought to be answering her instead.

"Aye," he says, finally, looking away, a little embarassed. He is not used to spending time talking with pretty young noblewomen. "Well, I have some dear friends among their Narnian cousins; mayhap they can tell. And who knows? Perhaps your friendship with them will aloow for their use again one day. They are good company, aren't they?"

Date: 2007-04-21 08:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Warmer, aye, it must be.

"A fair?" His attention is caught. Caspian is not so very old, after all, and the word conjures up images of silken Calormene tents and their bazaars of sweets and savories, of bright Archenland banners snapping in the wind, of tournaments that he is now old enough and skilled enough to ride in. "I'd like that. Lead on, lady, and on the way mayhap you would be so kind as to tell me what a 'beltane' is?"

Date: 2007-04-21 08:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]



His cheeks go bright red and he looks away, uncomfortably aware of her own awkwardness.

Caspian was made king at the age of thirteen, and he'd had to grow up quickly, but between Dr. Cornelius and his old nurse and those around him who loved him, he had reached this age, a week shy of seventeen, without ever growing too old for his age, and without, mayhap, losing much of his innocence past that which had been sacrificed on the battlefield.

He's nearly seventeen, and speaking of such things to a lovely and noble young lady is...well, he isn't sure that it's proper at all.

"Your people must be happy for the chance to celebrate," he says, gallantly attempting to clear away the uncomfortable pause. "We've festivals in Narnia, but they rarely fall on the same day--or for the same reason--from year to year."

Date: 2007-04-21 08:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Aye, fairs are great fun, and part of their delight is the people that they bring. And you say it is beginning now?"

The sun hits their faces as they step into the cleared area, insects buzzing lazily around them, weaving through the tall grass. He looks ahead to the hall--a small, neat building that reminds him of a few of the larger houses of Beruna--and nods to it.

"Your home, lady?"

Date: 2007-04-21 09:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Knighton Hall--it's old but well-kept and Marian is obviously fond of it. It is certainly more appealing than the cold stone castle of Miraz where Caspian had spent his childhood, and when he turns to her with a compliment for the house and the lands, he is sincere.

Her frown causes him to bring his own eyebrows together, and he nods. It might be...awkward, explaining his presence to Marian's father, should the man be about, and while Caspian balks at the thought of sneaking about underneath notice, he would not want to compromise her.

Date: 2007-04-21 09:15 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Caspian crosses his arms, and considers. On the one hand, it might be detrimental to Marian if they were seen.

On the other hand, he hates the idea of waiting out here. It rubs him the wrong way, and for all he knows, there's no reason at all to worry. "I'll come with you," he decides, "but there's no harm in being quick. Do you think your father would be alarmed if he saw me?"

It's a little bit of a joke, and he speaks it lightly, grinning down at her as they make their way towards the house and stable.

Date: 2007-04-21 09:27 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Tell me about your father," he invites, as sweet hay-scented air surrounds them, and before she can speak, he has stepped over to one of the stalls to look the horse there in the eye, a small unconcsious smile coming to his face.

One thing Marian needn't tell him is that her father has fine taste in horses--the one Caspian is greeting has large mild eyes and a proudly arched neck. Saddle horse, likely, far lighter than his own Destrier at home, but fair indeed.

"Hello, thee beauty," he tells it, his voice low and cheery. The horse's ears flick forward, and he reaches up to rub at them.

Date: 2007-04-21 09:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
He turns to her with an eyebrow lifting and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, while Lineave nudges at the cupped palm of his hand with her soft nose, looking to see if he'd brought her any treats.

"Is there much proof of that required?" It's a little bit of a tease, and he nearly ends it with her name, but they've met so few times that calling her Marian rather than by a title might seem rude, if not unforgiveably forward.

It's followed with a nod, and he steps away. "Aye. Which horse ought I to take? And if you'll show me where the tack is...?"
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