livingintrinity | Plot-locked to Caspian

"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?"

"Aye. Tis Knighton Hall of Ravenskeep," she says, addressing it with it's title. The house was well built and beautiful in her mind, all white cream with dark brown accents, surrounded by the rolling feilds and then edged with forest.

It showed it's age, but it went gracefully to repair and to repainting, keeping it's grace. It's wide open windows at the top were welcoming, and the stable to it's right side gave easy access to traveler and traveling alike.

"I wonder if my father is about or in town." Her brow wrinkled slightly.

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.

"Well, we could chance it," she says, considering, looking at the empty road as they crossed it. "Or you could wait out here and I could bring the horses to you."

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.

"Maybe a little," Marian easily admits. After all, she was a young Lady, unchaperoned, in the presence of a male, especially, who was not known in their town.

There was a grin for the expression he gave her looking down, which faded into a very small smile of awe as she was noting how the sun from behind lit up his hair all around his face.

"In all truth, I think it wouldn't be one of the worst things he'd be alarmed to know I'm doing."

Skirting the door, with only a precursory look of curiosity to whether he might be there, she slipped them into the stable. The scent of hay, horse and ground earth filled her nose, just as welcome as the shadows of the large wooden construct and the neighing which.announced they weren't alone again.

"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.

Marian can't help the wisp of a smile when he crosses and is making friends with the horses automatically. He's obviously been around them in his life and they respond well enough already to his calm.

"Tis my main one," she said calmly, reaching out to pet the white horses nose gently. "Her name is Lineave. She is very good for helping to continue to prove that I really can be a lady."

There's a petulent smirk with those words.

Turning toward the rest, she smiles to see noses sticking out and eyes watching them, even as feet stamp wanting carrots which she hasn't brought out yet this time. There were only a scant half dozen now, but they were well loved.

"The rest are my fathers war horses, save one," the was a gentle look to the stahl three over from where he was standing as she walked over to it. "He's a courser-destrier mix. I pleaded for two months before father finally gave in. It's not horse for a woman to be riding he ranted for so long."

There is a smile, as she patted the nose gently before leaning in and hugging the horses head very gently, with a whisper to him, "But we had work to do, didn't we?"

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...?"

"Tack and all you could like is in that corner. You'll want the second set from the right."

Petting his nose again, after placing a small kiss on his head, she said gently, "You can take Sorely, here. He won't mind and he's good to people. I'll be expected to ride her when I'm in town unless something has happened to her."

With a last pat and wuffle in her shoulder, she turned to pick up all her accutraments with him. While she readied Lineave, she talked still, "You asked about my father? He's a very particular man. He used to be the Sherriff and run everything in these parts. He's old fashioned and likes things to stay as they are. He tries to help on the council, but the world here is changing more quickly than he'd even like to admit."

They switch stalls and Caspian goes to the tack, lifting it into his arsm to hang on the stall door while he readies Sorely, who looks around with ears pricked at this strange young man who is at his side.

"Changing?" he asks, lifting the saddle up, and bending to fix it properly. "What do you mean?" The word 'sherriff' means nothing to him, but it must be some sort of nobleman. And he serves now as an advisor? But not very successfully, if he is understanding Marian correctly.

"Our good king Richard is off in the Holy Lands fighting for us, while his brother and all his cronies pollute this land," Marian says, while working deftly with the buckles and loops as though she was born to it.

"The newly appointed sheriff is squeezing the peasants out of their livelihood. Taxation, and more taxation if they seem to have made enough to be simply getting by. It's heartrending for all to see."

But the hallow hung...and few talked.

His own hands fall to his sides and Caspian stares at her, sea-gray eyes intent on her face. "Is that true?"

It isn't that he believes Marian might lie--in their short acquaintance, she has been nothing but honest and the trust she shows in him by telling him of these things would be heartwarming if he weren't so aghast at the subject.

"And the king--he has left no one behind to punish such acts?"

"He thought his brother a righteous man, but we as his people have seen his true face."

Marian is very carefully looking at a buckle while she speaks, because there are things about her own country which sicken and excite her different mentioned.

"But that is not to say that defenders of the realm do not still appear, as they can, to right the wrongs and defend the weak."

He finishes readying Sorely in silence, his jaw tight and his mind racing.

Usurper! it cries, thief!. But this brother of the king, he is not Miraz and this is not Caspian's land.

The injustice of it burns him, though. I think your king and I might have some things in common, Marian.

"That is something," he agrees finally, leading Sorely out of his stall and waiting for Marian. "It is good that there those who are fighting for what is right, and not simply hiding away or allowing themselves to be beaten down.

She kept her eyes downcast as her lead the gentle white mare out of her stall and then out of barn. There was no shame in the act, in fact, she was quite sure in some ways her eyes would betray just how deep her passion ran on the topic.

"Tis a hard task, but sacrifice for one's people livelihood is not much to be asked of."

She glanced toward Sorely, for the moment feeling the urge to pet and hug the horse though she did not. After all, he was touchstone enough in being near. Her companion in all acts shady and illegal which were for the might and the right and the good.

Boosting herself up into the saddle, she situated her skirts. "All pray for the safe return of the Lionheart, so that everything will be set right."

There was a lingering look down the road while she waited for him. She was not content to pray, not content to bow and bend, to wait. She was a dagger, an arrow, a left basket of food, and footsteps in the night as much, if maybe not even more, than she was a Lady now.

"Nay," he says, looking at her hard, "such a sacrifice is bravely given."

He steps up and settles lightly into the saddle as Sorely moves beneath him. Marian was right--though the horse was powerful, he was well-trained. Caspian could feel him mouthing at the bit, and when he jerked in surprise at Marian's words, the horse moved with him, its ear flicking back.

"The Lionheart?"

It's...he remembers being thirteen, and tucked into the deep corners of Trufflehunter's home. He can still smell the loam and the moss, can still taste the wine they drank as they toasted in low voices to the Horn, to King Caspian, to the return of the Lion.

And there's something else, as well; some strange hesitancy in Marian's voice, in the way she does not look at him. he does not wish to pry, and yet it intrigues him.

"Aye," Marian's voice is gentle, as she flicks the reigns and started moving down the road at a good pace. "Tis the call sign of our good King Richard. He has the heart of lion. Flies golden and red on all of his banners, like lightening across the sky."

There would be no doubt that the passion in her voice gave to the full front her utter loyalty for her distant king.

"He is the one true king, and he will deliver these lands back into peace and prosperity."

Caspian says nothing to that--what could he say? That his own shield at home was a golden lion rampant, and that the banner waving from the tip of the Dawn Treader's mast might as well be the same as that she had just described to him?

"By the Lion, I hope that he returns soon."

The words might not even reach Marian's ear, spoken as they are out towards the land around them. He rides Sorely up to Marian's side and they stay there, riding together down the road.

There is the smallest bit of a pleased smile at his words, which flushed out into smirk as she pressed her heels into the horses sides and took off into the breeze. There was one backwards look, before she took off, as though daring him to keep up.

This?

Was so happening.

Even if she knew he was riding the more powerful horse of her two.

But her she rode hard onward into the forest again, anyway, a world of raven curls like a streamers behind her as her laughter rang through the trees.

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.

Marian leaned in, not holding on to the reigns but maneuvering with the horse herself becoming one to their movements of direction.

She took advantage of the terrain and the road, knowing where the trees were. To make him take a harder path of four steps or have to make Sorely jump further or harder. He could take it, but it would give her fleeting seconds.

The town was getting closer though which meant the field of tents would start soon. Maybe another mile at the longest. She glanced over her shoulder grinning as she saw him only a few paces behind her both Sorely and Caspian seeming determined as one.

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.

Marian was feeling the wind in the young mare, who rushed with the excitement of being pushed after being used less often by her this last year, but time and endurance is wearing down.

As she was never made, nor trained to enduring pushing further and further in. She is a Lady's horse. Needed to walk, trot, and perfect the balance of a woman, especially as she was supposed to be riding side saddle.

But the horse, like a younger sibling longing to prove and love, pushed onward for her. She felt it somehow, and there was some glee just for her when Marian hands found the reigns and she pulled for a fast stop. Just at the edge of the woods where the tents in rainbows colors and people moving loads were gathered, stretch for a good two or three miles.

Marian was absolutely not smirking as she waited to see if Caspian would manage to pull up or go sailing past her.

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."

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