livingintrinity | Plot-locked to Caspian

"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."

And if she had not been smirking, she definitely now was not giggling due to the utter enjoyment of just being young and unharried except for the hard breathing from the fun.

"As do you, for not having known these two before."

She gives a look to Sorely winking, "Are you going easy on him, for me?"

There is still merry laughter in her, as she rests her hands and reigns looking back out over the scape of energetic people before her. It was definitely not set up and ready, but it spanned in frames and half set up stages for the miles up to the large gray castle, that had once been a beacon, and now, seemed to be a dark blot on the landscape.

"That is castle Nottingham," she said pointing off ward toward it, and with a wave more inward, as she started to dismount. "And this, is the first week of set up for the fair. Which is almost as fun as the fair sometimes."

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?"

"Two weeks," Marian said, grinning widely, as she started leading Lineave down the road toward the budding chaos which would magic become the first fair. "It'll be early into Maia's month of, right after the advent of my birthday, when it does begin."

She tied her horse up at one of the railings located off to the side of the main road. Making sure it was tied tight enough, she leaned in gently against her neck, whispering quietly of thanks and sugar cubes to her horse, before she looked back to find him staring again.

There was the small bit of blushing impulse which came, but this time there was the smallest shy smile in response. "Shall we go see what mischief we can find in there then?"

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."

There was some shifting in her head, trying to figure out whether that smile had been okay. Not with him, but with herself. But his voice stole her from that minor contemplation and she started walking with him into the frames.

She started pointing almost immediately. "The big corral over there will be for the horse lottery, races and sales. The booth over there makes the best of the best in weaponry. This one, with the purple banner, over here will be for the traveling dignitaries to purview the entire affair from the shade."

"And, and, and," she rounded a corner, "Over here would be the best tart seller in the world."

"She says that only to win free tart each year." A bear of a man called from behind a rather well set up tent in browns and greens. His eyes were a mismatched brown and green, but his smile was ready and true.

"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.

She gives them both a look of astonished mock hurt, sniffling very fakely while waving her hands to her face in a rather good affinity look of woman possibly wounded and about to faint. And at the head of it, suddenly looking over her hands with brilliant blue in her eyes, with a grin. "Does that mean there are tarts already?"

The man laughed, the sound like rolling claps of thunder, and waved them over. Marian looked up at Caspian and grinned crazily. "You are in for a true treat. You have no lived until you've tried Stanushes fruit tarts. Do you like any specific flavors best?"

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."

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