livingintrinity | Plot-locked to Caspian

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.

Reaching the frame built and two-thirds covered spot, she relished a smile for the man who was still rummaging. There was a curtain which obscured the complete view into the interior room beyond the selling area, but what could be seen where large crates, barrels, and the beginning of a cot-like bed.

"For my best customer," he said coming back out.

"That's Stanush speak for you-should-buy-a-crate-of-these," Marian said, in a most unquiet, but quite affectionate, whisper to Caspian, as she looked over the tray of fruit tarts.

"This, Stanush, is--" she paused, because she had been about to say my good friend. "--Caspian. He has traveled a grand distance to visit our little beloved realm."

That was at least mostly the truth.

"Any compatriots of our lady's," the man said, wiping his forehead of beaded sweat and giving a rather generous nod. "Would you like your plain, sugared, or creamed?"

"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.

She grinned proudly, for her own world and for Caspian enjoyment equally, while watching him. She turned back to comment to find him already holding out one topped in cream.

"Thank you," she said with a laugh.

There was an expression of gratitude though she received the same grunted, followed up by a gentle and ironic grin, "I have to get back to unloading. Don't you two spread the rumor too wide the tart shop is own. Enjoy the pre-fair, Sir."

Looping her arm into Caspian's to draw him away, from the shop if not his new devotion to the wonderful tart, she lead him in a new direction.

Pointing to a pole which spired a good distance beyond them, she said, "Oh! That'll be the May Pole. The people dance in a rythymed patterned around it with ribbons to gather good blessing for the harvest throught the summer."

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?"

Marian looked at the poll over the tent tops, nibbling at the edge of her tart as she did. "Tis a rarely a year I do not. At times, tis an an enjoyment of choice and other betimes it is a act of face which is needed for the people."

She wondered if that made sense, but she continued to feel oddly compelled to just tell him the truth.

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."

There was a flicker of a smile, but it was somewhere far beneath a cloak which had settled on her at his question. "There is rarely hiding."

Liar!, her mind cried, even if for a different topic.

"The act of face is being there for them even when I'd rather not." She ate her tart, walking them in that direction. After a bite, there was a strange sigh, "They need very much. Sometimes it is a great need-"

(like food or money)

"-other times, like these are festivals, tis a simple. A beacon of laughter and light, being as one people. Something true, something spring, full of hope, noble, for them to hold in their hearts during the hard months."

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?"

Marian stood watching the people that he chose. She could have named each of their siblings, their children, their businesses, if not who they were to their communities beyond it.

There was no gentleness to the words when they came.

It might have been quiet, but that did not betray the ferociousness of the statement.

"They are my people; there is nothing I would give for them."

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.

Marian's eyes shifted to him, from watching the throng, wonderingly at his singular words which resounded as quite a many and caused a shiver down her spine.

A smile wound across her face, shaking her head. Her tone is amused, though the undercurrent of soft gratitude is beneath it. "Tis ironic that it would take a king to be one of the few people who did agree." There are not many here that would."

As simply. As easily. For a woman.

"Tis not much more set up, as of yet, it looks," Marian observed.

A smile toys at his mouth. "It ought to be a king, I'd think. How many others might have the need to understand?"

Apparently many of the nobles here disagree. It's a horrifying thought, and he sends a quick thanks to the sky, for the peace and happiness in Narnia and the good folk that he knows so well.

Her other comment catches at the smile and sets it flashing. "You said that it isn't for days yet, though? It must be quite a sight when the tents are all up and the flags are hoisted into the air."

"Aye. Tis a river of rainbow colors which wander through one's whole day, like a parade of flowers and exotic newness, which then at night blazes with the fires winter could never touch."

Marian was looking upward at the sky, her smile softened, spreading the glow of thoughtfulness into her whole expression. With a graceful, but amused shrug, she turned, drawing off another piece of her tart as she walked back the way they came.

"Perhaps, in your absence, I could bring you something from it."

"I'd like that."

He keeps pace beside her, the tall graceful girl who rode so well and who felt so deeply for her people.

"Though I haven't any idea of how often I may soon come to the woods. We sail at dawn in one week, and it isn't likely we'll sight land for some time."

He's almost wistful, but the urge to be aboard the Treader, to weigh anchor and run with the tide runs through his blood like rich wine, bright and warm.

All the same, he isn't terribly worried. The wood is magic, after all--and magic has a way of bringing you back to it once you are part of a place.

Did she almost wince at that thought of him being long gone?

No. Of course not. She did not press her lips together a little tighter. Or look off a little further into the distance. Poke, metaphorically, at that place in the center which gave the unapproved queer tiny ache.

But there, undeniable, was sound of longing and love in his voice was clear and true as he spoke of his places to go. It was an interesting vision to make in her mind. Caspian, of the gold and sunshine, whom she watched from the corner of her eye, upon an endless make of waves.

"To where and for what do you sail, exactly?"

Until the waves grow sweet and sky and water meet.

Aye, if the Dryad spoke true.

"We sail East, lady, as far as our ship will carry us and as long as the winds will blow us--or until we find the very edge of the world."

He half-turns to her as they walk along, and smiles at the question. "I made an oath, you see, to find seven friends of my father who my uncle had exiled, and they were sent out over the Eastern Sea. That is my first reason, and I thought if I were to find them all I might count my voyage complete--until my dear friend Reepicheep told me of the prophecy spoken over him by a Dryad, a wood-woman, while he was still in his cradle. It speaks of finding the Utter East itself, and he has sworn not to rest until he has reached it. We sail with him as far as we may."

What did one buy a King, even a boy-King, who planned to sail to the end of his own world?

He talked of it in such a way that she could almost feel how long time that might be, in days and weeks. She had not seen it, but enough tales of their own sea going on and on until it's end.

"Has anyone gone over the edge and returned?" It a was a doubtful, but worthy question, after all. They believed there was an edge but no one had returned in their's.

"Nay."

He shakes his head. "None. There are few enough sailors among Narnians these days, and none of the seven lords ever returned to tell us if they reached so far. Some say that the ocean ends and drops off in a mighty fall; others say that the end is too far for Man to reach. There are those who say we might even find Aslan's Country there."

Though the words are calm and cheery, he feels the familiar flaring joy, thinking of the great Lion, and for a moment the sun seems brighter, the air clearer and the scent of grass and woodland sweeter.

So the checklist of present?

1. Sailing to find fathers friends.
2. Sailing to end of the world,

Best newest piece?

3. Seven had apparently sailed to the end of the world, but never returned, possibly somewhere else, possibly gone off the edge of the world -- so thus the king went after them to the end of the world.

Marian had a strangely worried look on her face as they were walking out of the fair beginnings, spotting the horses. She was no green girl to run and hug a friend for worry. And, looking to him, he seemed to be fueled by the idea this was the grandest adventure.

Reminding her delightfully of someone who should not be named.

"That sounds like a great chance you are taking. What will happen if they have already sailed over the edge and into the beyond long ago?"

There's enough caution in her question--caution that is not aimed directly at him--that Caspian blinks at her in surprise, not a little pleased that she seems concerned for his welfare.

Still, she looks worroed, and while he thinks she needn't be, he nods and tries to explain.

"'Tis a chance, of course, and it's possible we never will reach the edge, or even come close to it, or find even one of the seven lords. We might have to turn back, if our food or water won't last us as long as we hope, or if foul weather comes up. Never fear, lady, we will return home again. I would not abandon Narnia, even for the Utter East."

She'd heard this speech before. Exchange the words sea and and seven and edge for things like war and honor and King and it was almost too close. There was some burn to those thoughts, even as she knew them unfair.

"I hope for your safe return," that was diplomatic. Almost, wincingly, too. So she added, with a look that said she was attempting hopeful for him, even if she might not be winning completely. "I shall pray that you do find your friends and a good ending to your travel at home's safe shore."

When they reached the horses at the edge, she opened her hand breaking something apart. Giving him a small piece of the crust from her tart, she said, "For Sorely. I don't treat them often, but today just seemed that kind of day."

He takes the crust, but there was something troubling about her prior words and about her fleeting optimism.

"Thank you," he says, and whether it is for the crust of tart, the well-wishes or this visit itself remains unsaid.

Sorely sniffs and lips at his hand, and once the treat is gone Caspian runs his hand under the mane. "Would you?" He turns to her, hand still on Sorely's neck, and smiles. "I'd like very much knowing that you are thinking of us during the voyage."

Marian watched him quietly, while she fed Lineave, feeling guilt for the rather awkward moment it had caused. Hadn't he caused enough of her life to be awkward; did he really need to far beyond presence?

She had not longed, nor truly meant, to put the almost withdrawn expression on Caspian face. He was much better painted in the colors of laughter and exhilaration. It was easy to see now, though, what he must have looked like when he found himself in hard rule.

At his question, she smiled, in spite of herself or perhaps because he pressed the small hope she'd given, with a nod, "Every dawn and sunset, if thee'd like."

She untied Lineave from the long bar, leading her back toward the path.

"I would like, aye."

The thought of Marian thinking well of him--of them, that is, of the voyagers--suffuses Caspian with simple pleasure. He can feel the warmth of it creepiing up his neck and into his face.

"Thee are very kind, lady, to do so. For someone you've only just met, I mean," he adds, glancing over at her while Sorely, untied and following behind him, nudges at his shoulder with a soft nose, companionably.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject