called_lioness: (wedding)
She has some things in the room-that-was-hers, still, really, but most of them--nearly all, if Lucy thinks on it--are in the room-that-is-theirs, now.

And she's glad of it, because she's no interest in carrying things about tonight, as they both step through the painting and she looks over at Caspian, eyes a little tired and a great deal pleased.

Because they're home.

And that alone is enough for all to be right with the world.


Sep. 9th, 2006 05:51 pm
called_lioness: (wedding)
She's...not exactly nervous.

A little nervous.

A tad nervous.

But not scared, really, as she looks at the dress Susan made her and the flowers Mary's brought, and fidgets, slightly, trying to remember how to breathe.

The twins are sulking around her feet, and it's something of a comfort that makes her smile.
called_lioness: (let it warm you)
Caspian has asked, and Aslan's said yes, but that doesn't mean that Lucy doesn't wish to see him yet.

She always does.

And so she's sitting by the lake and...hoping, maybe.
called_lioness: (Sheepish)
Speaking with Chiara was amazing and fun and what she wanted, so badly--or one thing--since she was so much younger.

And so Lucy hestitantly--cautiously--decides as she pulls her dressing gown over her nightgown that perhaps she could try it again, what the Dream King offered.

There's just...One problem, first.

And she is, perhaps, a bit nervous as she looks over at Caspian.
called_lioness: (All Paths Lead to His Land)
Sometimes, dreams are just dreams.

This is the end.

There's something she's cradling between her palms that tells her that, and when she looks up she knows it's true.

If Susan's here, she can't look to the side to see it, only ahead and at the two paths before her, in a "v" shape.

One goes North, one goes East.

This is the end, and her heart's in her throat, because she suddenly knows, in this dream, exactly how things should turn out, how they must

(ka like the wind)

and she doesn't want this to be it at all.

There's North, and a man--or something like one--at the path, and there's East, and a woman--or something like one--there, with another man slightly in front of her.

The man at the East is robed and she can't see his eyes, only the book he holds, and she knows him well as he says, "Take a hand, Lucy Pevensie."

Two white hands with long, slender fingers reached out, one masculine, one feminine, and there's a smile like she's utterly, utterly loved from the woman, and stars for eyes from the man, and Lucy knows there's only one hand she can take, and knows there's only one choice, really, there.

And so she reaches out and grabs a hand and feels the world slip away, and knows there wasn't, really, ever any other choice that she could have made.

Sometimes, dreams are just dreams.

But when Lucy wakes up, and pushes herself into sitting, knees pulled against her chest as she looks straight ahead--when Lucy does that, she knows that sometimes, dreams are just dreams, but there's still truth in them.
called_lioness: (Glistening Eastern Sea)
She's brushing her hair, as she sits on the edge of their bed, slowly.

The Dream King told her--many things, really, many she cannot think on yet, and none of which she's mentioned to the man next to her in the bed.

She wonders if she should, but she won't think on that yet, either.

For now, though--for now, she thinks on one thing he told her.

And as she stretches out next to him, and looks at the ceiling, before her eyes close, she--almost cautiously--thinks on someone she saw long ago.

When she opens her eyes, it's to the sea, and she smiles at that alone.
called_lioness: (walking on)
Water and the sea and it's a relief, in a way.

It's almost reassuring.

That fact, Lucy thinks, as she watches the waves roll in, that this place is more reassuring than the waking world--that isn't reassuring at all.
called_lioness: (she can hide her charms)
Dreams say what they mean, but they don't say it in daytime language.
-Gail Godwin

It's almost always the water.

(fire for Susan air for Peter earth for Edmund and ever water and the sea and the waves for Lucy)

It's almost always the water, and it's often Susan, but almost isn't always, and tonight--except it's not night, it's bright daylight--isn't one of those nights, as Lucy opens her eyes to green grass instead of sand, to flowers instead of shells.

She doesn't know what makes some nights different than others. When she's here, it doesn't matter. When she's awake, it's hard--it still hurts, really, in a way, to think on it, when she's awake.

(She won't leave, she thinks then. She won't. And she's determined not to, when she's awake, but when she's here, it's not possible to be so certain. Because she knows she will, in the end, just not how far off that end is.)

But tonight, for whatever reason, is one that's different, and Lucy picks several of the flowers--cornflowers, bright blue--absently, as she looks about.

She thinks--she thinks, though she's not certain, that she's in a field near the Professor's old house.

(It's just a dream. Except for "just", but still, don't forget the dream. Nothing's exactly as it seems. Well. Some things, anyway.)

It's England, more than Narnia. Maybe. It feels like home, and she's content to walk, until she comes to the end of the field and finds the path again.

Two ways to choose, two directions, and she doesn't know at all which way to go. It's all she can do to stand there and look, uncertainly, in a way.

(Is it Narnia and England, she thinks, or here and there, where she's asleep, or something she doesn't know about at all?)

"Send me a sign," she murmurs, to Aslan, if he's listening, or to Dream, for all she doesn't care to seek out the Endless, or to herself. "Tell me where to go."

No one does. Not yet, anyway.

And in the end--

In the end, you have to choose the path you'll walk yourself. Because you're the only one who can.

Normally, it's the sea, when she sleeps, and sometimes Susan.

But it wasn't tonight, and when Lucy wakes her face is wet, and she rises from bed to wash it and bathe, silently, before Caspian can see it.
called_lioness: (Sheepish)
Susan's nagging her.

Well, not nagging, Lucy admits as she climbs out of the bath and grabs her robe. Not nagging, but asking questions, like "rings" and "dress" and "WHEN are you getting married, Lu?" and Lucy's rather decided she should probably find out the answer to at least some of those questions.

So, she decides as she slips on nightgown and finger-combs through wet hair, she will just have to, when Caspian returns.
called_lioness: (grinning)
Susan is not here as much as she once was.

This is right, and proper, and as it should be.

Lucy's still impatient, a bit, for her to get back.
called_lioness: (Glistening Eastern Sea)
If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.
-Marcel Proust

When she wakes up (I'm not waking up I'm falling asleep) she's alone.

(Except she's never alone. But that aside.)

But she's alone, no Susan, no beach (but she can hear the water and the waves, always pounding) on her bed that's too big for her, and always has been.

There are things she remembers here that she can't when she's asleep (awake), because--

She doesn't know why.

Because it would hurt too much, mayhap. Because there, in the shadow world, it's easier to forget things than remember and not be able to touch them any more.

She doesn't know why. It doesn't matter. Not here.

She likes that. And she likes these times, without Susan, as much as she likes the ones with her, likes the quiet and the scents of home and to remember things from long-ago without pain (and with Susan, the closer they get to the mountains, she thinks, the more like the shadows it is, the more it hurts, whatever that means) and the feeling--

--not that nothing matters. Because here, you know everything matters.

But the feeling that in the never-ending epilogue (because there's no end, not really, endings are more fairy tale than talking animals) it will all work out.

When she falls asleep (wakes up) again, Lucy thinks, as she leans over the window sill again and watches the girls move closer, and watches the water, and the mermaid in it (and knows she'll speak with the sea-girl soon), when she falls asleep, that feeling won't be there. It can't be. That's the shadow again. That's the other land, where you can't see the story always continuing.

But for now, Lucy the Valiant waits and watches and smiles.

And for a few minutes, when she wakes up and watches the dragons try to eat Caspian's hair, she just smiles to herself, drowsily, and hangs on to that feeling for just a bit longer.
called_lioness: (Glistening Eastern Sea)
It's easier, now, in a way. Or something like it.

When she closes her eyes, she doesn't think of it as sleeping any more.

It's more like being totally, completely awake.

The beach again. No Susan, yet.

But she knows (she knows without questioning how) that Susan will show up in time.

It takes her a moment to realize she's sitting on the sand, and the water's soaking her and rushing around her skirts, and the knowledge makes her laugh as another wave hits her. She turns around, a little, to face the land, and her body serves as a shelter as, without thinking, her hands start to play with the wet sand.

She knows she could never make a castle like this with just her fingers and sand and water.

She does anyway, and as she hears the silent-sound (and somehow she hears it anyway, and that too makes her smile) of footsteps, she's adding the last tiny window, and thinking she can (almost) see a girl through it, sleeping on a bed.

Probably it's just almost, anyway.
called_lioness: (Twin Menaces)

Lilac peeeeeers around the wall before looking back at her sister. YES. THE HUMAN IS TALKING WITH HIM.








"You really," Lucy says gently, taking them both into her lap, "must try to get along with him, because he is going to be here for the rest of your lives. He's going to be my husband." And while this doesn't really change anything, she had felt it warranted a talk to the twins.

The blank looks she receives make her realize 1) that she's used to the twins looking like they understood her, and 2) that her wording was lacking. "Mate," she offers instead with a slight wince.



"It won't be so bad," Lucy offers, trying not to laugh at the look of horror on both their faces.


"You'll get used to it," she promises, kissing them both on the head.





called_lioness: (Fear my cute smirk.)
Lucy is hunting out Lilly. Because there might be certain things that should be shared.

Not outside, so the main bar's next, and then brothel, if she can't find Lilly in the bar.

But if that blonde hair she sees belongs to the person she thinks it does, she won't have to hunt much farther than a few tables over.
called_lioness: (Glistening Eastern Sea)
The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.
-Anais Nin

Some nights she dreams and Susan's there.

Some nights she dreams and no one is.

Some mornings, she wakes up and doesn't open her eyes until Caspian's left for the horses, for all she normally rose early, because she doesn't want him to see that she's troubled.

It's a familiar forest. She had her first kiss (the first time through) here, she remembers, and sits on a rock.

(He was very proper, and a knight, and she felt it was a very nice experience, and liked him rather well, though he never proposed. She's not half certain that wasn't part of why she liked him.)

She knows exactly what's through the trees, and her hands are in her pockets (she never had pockets here) as she walks towards it, and smiles at the sight of the gates.

There are still four thrones, and she stands in front of them for several moments.

She doesn't sit on the one that was most familiar, once. She just walks behind them and over to the left, through an archway. One two three turns up a flight of stairs, up several more, down a hall, and there's the door to the room that was hers.

Is hers, really.

She doesn't have pockets anymore, she notices, and lifts the skirts as she steps inside.

It's still her room, and she smiles widely at the sight of it, setting crown aside on the chest of drawers.

And for several minutes--for forever--she sits and just breathes in the scent of old wood and flowers from the gardens outside, and--over all of it--the sea outside her window.

Eventually--after a moment, or eternity, or the few hours she's been sleeping--she stands and goes to the window, and it's miles away (hundreds or thousands, she doesn't know) and for all that, like an Eagle, she can see two forms walking on the beach, blonde hair on both catching the sun.

They'll be here soon enough. For now, she leans on the sill and watches them walk, growing just a little closer. And then she steps back from the window and stretches out on the bed.

And it's just a dream she wakes up from.

But she can still smell flowers and the sea.

And it's one of those mornings she waits, until Caspian has left to see the horses, before opening her eyes.
called_lioness: (Letters)

It's possible we may need to be a tad nicer to Caspian in your part of the bet. Such as only hide most his clothing, not all. I'm uncertain how. But I feel I should do something kind, as he did ask me to marry him yesterday.

I should have dressed as a boy sooner, apparently.

Did I mention he asked me to marry him?

Ever yours,
Lucy Pevensie, who may be dropping the Pevensie at some point in the future

P.S. On second thought, if your husband can stand it, my fiance probably can, correct?
called_lioness: (he was a very pretty boy)
Matthew's not exhausted--even as tired as he feels of late--but he's enjoying the slightly spent feeling of a long day spent with a friend and good drink and not a little mischief involved as well.

It's been a long time since Lucy played Matthew, and nearly as long since she was at a tavern as fun as the one the they saw earlier.

So it was decided that Matthew could stay around a while, yet, if only because the clothing is comfortable and she--he--is in no hurry for the day to end, as he laughs with Alan and moves to the Bar to get tea for them both. Or possibly something more exciting.
called_lioness: (Glistening Eastern Sea)
She dreams.

She's been walking a long time, she knows (and sometimes she's a girl, and sometimes she's a woman, and sometimes she's a lioness, and, most the time, she's a little of all three) when she reaches the beach.

The cliff's at her back, and the water's before her, and she takes her shoes off to dip her feet in it.

(Lucy was always of the sea. And that's her secret, that makes her smile.)

She knows very well that someone's coming, and she's not sure who, and she still knows that whoever it is, she won't be surprised.

But remember, it's just a dream.
called_lioness: (The Queen's grace will do as she pleases)
She's left him a note, because sometimes it's easier to track her family down that way, and she's practicing her archery--because there's no reason not to, and it requires just enough of her brain to keep her from daydreaming too much right now--while she waits for him to arrive.
called_lioness: (Never Shut A Wardrobe All The Way)
It's not an overly large house, in Finchley, but it's large enough to hold a family.

It doesn't, now, but it looks like it still could. There's enough rooms and enough furniture, and in one of those rooms there's a wardrobe, and when the door opens and she steps out, Lucy blinks, and starts to laugh.
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