called_lioness: (finally home)
Jack watches as she pours them both tea, and notes that there's something different to her--like the weight of the world's fallen off of her shoulder's.

Like, really, she's stopped fighting something she had been for so long she'd forgotten she was.

"This is the last night, I think, that you and I will speak like this."

"But you haven't finished the story," he protests, ignoring the cup placed before him--ignoring the way that he suspects he sounds like a child, more than a man.

"They all end the same way, really, in the end," she says with a soft laugh as she adds lemon to her tea. "You know that, Jack. In the end, you die, and you find out what you truly thought mattered. That's how stories always end."

"I thought they lived happiliy ever after."

"No. Not if you read long enough, they don't. But what you get is still all right, really."

"So how did it end?" he asks after they've sat, silently, and sipped tea.

She smiles at him and leans over to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he smells summer and lilies and roses and honey and something he can't name but knows he'll never forget.

"You tell me."

And then he wakes up, and looks at his ceiling for several moments as he hears her laugh in his head, and sees her smile that's a little sad at times but mostly--often--fully of a quiet sort of joy.

Later, when he assembles the book--the last book, and he knows it, not because the ideas are dry, because there are always more ideas, and more stories, but because everyone deserves an ending--the page he finds, the one he scrawled the night of his last dream, he doesn't edit at all, only puts it in exactly as it is.

All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.
called_lioness: (Writing)
Dear Archibald Craven,

I told you, when we met, that I would leave.

And now I have. Am, I suppose. By the time you've read this, I'm rather certain I'll be gone.

I would like you to give this to Mary, when she turns 13.

It was my wedding ring.

I am sorry that our meeting was not more pleasant, and I am sorry that you hurt. But I do hope I can trust you to honor a dead woman's wishes.

Please love her the best you can. I ask that too. Because she deserves more than you or I can ever give her.


Lucy Pevensie
called_lioness: (Tired)
Some days Lucy can't deal with her husband.

It's not a fault on either of their parts, and it's not to imply that she's angry with him, because she's certainly not.

There are just certain times when she doesn't want to be with Caspian because she doesn't know how to voice what's bothering her. Where she aches and wants to cry and doesn't want to explain to him, because Caspian's life and worries and fears and pains aren't quite hers in some ways.

And sometimes it's worth explaining because of that, and sometimes she can't bring herself to try to make sense of the mess of things she feels and translate them into words for her husband who she loves and doesn't always understand herself.

After talking with Archibald Craven, it became one of those days.

She has to go home, of course. She knows that, and that he'll be in their room, and that it will be better when she curls up next to him simple because she is next to him, and she also knows she's not quite ready to yet.

So she curls up in the corner of one of the living rooms, teacup held tightly, and keeps the lights mostly off.

It makes it a good place to be alone, and right now, as she's trying not to cry

(If she cares for you, and you are leaving, you shall.)

and let herself be lost in her thoughts.
called_lioness: (with lady mary)
The hike to the castle is easy enough. It would likely have taken less time if Mary hadn’t been curious and wanted to stop and look at some of the older trees.

But that’s what holidays are about, really.

The plan is to ride to Port Caynn tomorrow and swim in the sea before spending the night at an inn of…slightly dubious reputation. (Alanna assures her it’s safe now. Lucy makes a note not to mention any former smugglers to Archibald Craven.)

But tonight is for camping, and as the evening approaching Lucy heads out to stroke her borrowed mare’s neck and make sure the supplies are all ready.
called_lioness: (Default)
There's nothing to do.

There's nothing to say.

Eustace let her cry and was kind enough not to comment on it, and Lucy--

Lucy came back to her room (their room) and sat with the dog (I'm leaving you too, of all things) and made sure her face was washed as soon as she could.

She'll go out later, and she'll find Alain and sit with him.

She will.

It's just--the thing is--

She wants him to. So badly. She wants him to come and be her husband there like here. She can't say she doesn't.

And the thing is, he says I love you when they sit together, when they wake up, when they're curled in bed, when he's whispering it against her skin and they're the only words that can make any sense at all in her mind with his hands against her, and--

And he says it, but the thing is.

Those are just words.

And love is always what you do.

And Lucy doesn't think her husband (is willing) can let himself come with her.

She can't say she doesn't want him to come.

She just has to try not to say she does.

Lucy doesn't know if she can do that either.
called_lioness: (Braids)
Lucy's younger in her dreams, she thinks, sometimes, and sometimes she's older. And she's 9 and she's almost 19 and she's 35 all at once. All the ages she is and should be and some she'll never be.

She's still Lucy.

That's the only thing that matters.

She doesn't understand. Is the thing.

It's the thing that bothers her the most when she climbs into bed with her husband.

Because he is her husband, and she loves him with all her heart, and the thing is--

She thinks he's mad. In a way. A big way, admittedly. Mad for ever leaving Aslan's Country when he didn't have to. Mad for coming here. Truly mad for going there and back here again.

It's not something she can understand at all, and she admits it to herself when she brushes his hair back with her hand as he sleeps.

She doesn't understand not wanting to be there. She doesn't understand leaving there and coming back, and it's not that she thinks he was wrong, but it's not something that fits in her world-view, either.

It's beyond her.

(On one level, of course she thinks it's wrong. Horribly wrong, in a way that makes her stomach clench and in a way that just doesn't process. The way it's wrong if you were told the world were flat.

It's just that sometimes that's how it is.)

And if he hadn't, she'd never have wed him, and the thing is--

The thing is, even with that, she still cannot understand.

She wishes she could.

It's not any easier to stay. She doesn't want to go any less.

It's just--

There's something to do, really, and her dreams are a sort now where her sleeping mind doesn't yearn the way it did, and she's rested when she wakes.

That's all.

But it's something.

In her dreams, there is tea, and a man who's a bit like her father and a bit like the professor.

She calls him Jack.

And she tells him stories, and laughs when he sometimes tells her things in return.

"I was a very small girl, you know," she tells him one night, resting her chin on one hand. "All of nine. And I thought I could save the world."

"The Valiant."

"Aye, so they said. Do you know, I think in a way that was more me than Pevensie would have been."

"Is it still?"

Lucy stops and sips her tea and thinks.

"Yes. But now I must be the Patient, too."

"For what?"

"Oh," and her smile's a bit vague and she shrugs and pours more tea into his cup. "For someone else, I think. And in the meantime, I've you to speak with."

It's something to do.

It helps her not think.

She misses, in a way, being just Lucy. And not this little-more-a-dream Lucy she is now.

Everything in the Shadowlands is temporary, though.

Lucy can wait for a while, if she need be. But only for a while.
called_lioness: (Default)
She wakes up.

She shouldn't, really, think of it as waking up, but that's most of what it feels like.

This is real. This is her aware and the air clear and crisp and mountains, always mountains, around her.


Susan's there sometimes. Often. Not always.

Sometimes you have to walk alone.

Sometimes Lucy likes that. And sometimes she likes someone holding her hand.

More and more often she's one step ahead.

She hasn't really noticed.


"I love thee," she tells Susan, on a whim.

Susan smiles.

"And I thee."

They keep walking.

They're quieter the closer they get.

There's less that needs to be said.


She wakes up.

This time, Susan's not there.

She could wait.

Instead she runs.

It's not leaving anyone behind; it never is. She knows Susan could catch up, and she knows, here she knows, that she'll see her again in a time that's no time at all. All times are soon.


A moment can be eternity, eternity can be the tick of a clock

A very wise man said that once.

It's true.

It's a tick of the clock later when Lucy collapses--not for exhaustion, not here, never here--at the top of the mountain.

There's a gate.

She sits outside it, laughing, and looks down the cliff she thinks she's run straight up.

She doesn't remember having a compass in her hands, but now she does, and the needle's spinning round and round in a circle, like it would on the north pole.

This is right.

And there's foot(paw)steps behind her, and she smiles at the silent sound.
called_lioness: (moments of prayer)
-What's the worst thing someone could do?
Harm another for the sake of harming.

-What's the worst thing someone could do to you?
Lie. For no reason.

-What's the worst thing that could happen to you?
I'm not answering this.

-What's the worst thing someone could say about a person?
It depends on the people involved.

-What's the best thing someone could say about a person?
It depends on the people involved, again. What's a blessing for me may not be for all; what I'd take offense at others might not.

-Are men and women basically different?
In many ways, yes. In many ways, no. It very much depends

I keep saying this, but it keeps being true, too.

-Which is better, to be a woman or to be a man?
Neither. But I like being a woman.

I do think it's sometimes easier top be a man.

-What can men do that women can't do?
I think men and women, for the most part, can do the same things. Men are permitted to do far more; women are still capable of it.

That said, anything related to biology, of course.

And they can move far more easily through society.

-What can women do that men can't do?
Again, things related to biology.

-Is it possible to change genders?
I...suppose with magic it is.

-How old is old enough to have sex?
(Please note, any question related to this topic is only given after a long pause where she considers it.)
I...would be more worried about maturity than age. But I don't think--under sixteen seems very, very young to me no matter what. I think younger than that is far too young.

-Is it wrong to have sex if you're unmarried?
I...should say yes, I'm sure. I know why people say yes. But--no.

No. I can't say it's wrong. Not always. Not if you love the person truly and they truly love you.

It might not be proper.

But I don't think it's wrong.

-Is it wrong to have sex with someone other than your spouse if you're married?
(This one receives no pause.) Yes. Of course.

-Is it wrong to have sex with a person of the same gender?
Oh. I--don't know. I still don't entirely understand that. But I--don't think so. Not if there's love. I don't think I get to decide what sort of love is all right or not. I'm truly not sure, though.

(Note: Lucy would not understand polyamorous relationships. She is too set in the idea of one-to-one. She would not like it, either, and that she would actually find wrong. But she'd never say it.)

-Is it wrong to have sex with a person of a different race (or a different intelligent non-human species)?
Not that I see. Dryads and men married often.

-Is it wrong to have more than one sexual partner at the same time?
Yes, but--why would you want to, anyway? Why not throw yourself into the one with all you are?

-Is it wrong to have sex with someone you don't love?

Even if you're married to them, if you don't love them--yes.

But sometimes, I think, it's also understandable. Not right--but understandable.

-What are the responsibilities of a mother toward a child?
To love and raise from child to adult best she can.

-What are the responsibilities of a father toward a child?
To love and raise from child to adult best he can.

-What are the responsibilities of a child toward a parent?
To listen and obey and be cared for, and when they're older, care best they can in return.

-Which should be more important to you, your parent or your child?
The same, but--well, look at child or spouse for an answer to this, too.

-Which should be more important to you, your parent or your spouse?
I think...neither's more important, but at some point you have to focus your life on where you're going more than where you came from.

-Which should be more important to you, your child or your spouse?
Neither would be more important.

But I would take care of my child before my spouse. I trust him enough to take care of himself. And if I had to choose one or another to rescue from a burning building, oh, always my child.

If he didn't do the same, I don't think I'd want him for father for my child.

-Is it wrong to have a child if you're unmarried?
It's not proper. And I don't think it's wise. Certainly not easy.

But if you're sleeping with someone before wedding--it's possible. And if I don't think the one's always wrong, I--don't know that I can think this is either, really.

I think love matters most. I think always and ever that.

I think it's wrong to marry someone you don't love just because you're having a child together, though. I know that. Proper--but I don't think it's right.

-Is abortion wrong?

There are no exceptions.

(Also note: if she'd been raised in a different time and place, Lucy would understand, a bit better, the concept of ending a pregnancy to save the mother's life if neither would live otherwise. She does not understand, really, the concept of safe abortions; for her, the concept of abortion is one where you are ending the pregnancy simply not to have a child. She can't think of it any other way.)

-Is contraception wrong?
I...don't know. I'm not sure. I think it's harder for me to understand it being used in marriage than outside it.

(Long pause)

I don't like it. That's all I know.

-Is there one true religion?
There's one true God. I'm not sure which religion is entirely right. I mean--I mean, there's the Lion and the Man both, and they're the same and not, and it's all so fractured--and I think the vicar I knew would say there could never be the Lion but there is--I don't know.

One true God I love best. I'll say that. There are others, but--

It's arrogant, mayhap, but I'd say they're not the true one. No. Some are kind anyway, but--not true. And some are simply evil.

-Does a deity or deities exist?

-How important is it to believe in a deity or deities?
I don't understand how anyone can do otherwise, honestly. I'm not sure if that makes me able to answer the question.

-How important is it to actively practice your religion?
I...don't know, exactly. I'm not a very good Anglican, but I'm not--

It's complicated.

I think it's important to know what you believe and actively believe it.

-Does magic exist?

-Is practicing magic wrong?
It depends on the sort of magic.

-Is killing always wrong?
Killing for revenge's sake, yes. Or selfish reasons.

Otherwise, no. Not necessarily.

Sometimes it's necessity and the best choice.

-Is war always wrong?

But it's always awful.

-How old is old enough to fight in a war?
It depends on what's needed and how badly. You have to set the rule as you go.

-Is rape always wrong?

-Is torture always wrong?

It has its uses. But it's always wrong.

Being useful doesn't mean you should do it.

Sometimes, though, I'm not sure it might not be the only option.

I don't think I ever could.

I think it would still be wrong.

-Is theft always wrong?
No. Stealing for the sake of stealing is wrong; for survival's sake, no.

-Is slavery wrong?
Oh, yes.

-Is lying wrong?
Often, yes.

Sometimes necessary, depending on the situation.

-Is swearing wrong?
I don't really think so. It's not always appropriate, though.
called_lioness: (Kinda Thinky)
Everything is...not back to normal.

Because everything is different, now, so there may be something called normal, but it's not what was.

But she spoke with Edmund, and there are others she'll speak with, and she feels...she feels almost better. A little.

Except it's quiet in their room, and ever time she glances up from her book and sees Caspian her face goes bright red.
called_lioness: (Braids)
She's bored.

She's groomed Corella, and she's practiced her archery, and she's had hot chocolate, and now she's sitting in a tree and dangling her legs and considering dropping things--tiny things, mind you, like twigs, non-inclined-to-injure things--on people should they pass by.

So. Bored.
called_lioness: (Fear my cute smirk.)
Lucy's curled up in a pile of leaves.

She's still, mostly, in a grand mood, which is what really must be the case when one's husband has stopped, as she puts it, "being stupid," and when there's a mug of hot chocolate to warm you on a cool day, and when even though you're not sleeping all that much more you find you're not as tired as you were a week ago.

So she can curl up in the leaves and look at the clouds, as Corella's been cared for, and hum to herself a little.
called_lioness: (Kinda Thinky)
Her husband is stupid, Lucy concludes while in the bath.

She read that book of Mary's, she thinks as she gets out and dries and dresses again, and she could tell he was enjoying it and he got all upset just because she happens to think Lilly Kane is pretty and fun to flirt with and then he had to go and be stupid, and by go she means not be with her, dammit.

And she just finished her last chocolate bar, too.

Dammit dammit dammit.

None of it's fair, and he's not here and she should just go to her room. She should. That would show him. Or she could go snog Lilly. She'd at least get snogged without stupid talking then.

She really wants him to come home, though.

called_lioness: (walking on)
She slept late--well, that's half true. She woke when Caspian did, because he tripped over Lavender getting out of bed and knocked half the nightstand over.

It involved a minor fire (his pants), a slight burn to the fingers (hers), and entirely too much excitement before tea was had (for either), in Lucy's opinion. And no chocolate at all, thank you. Which isn't something that she's going to stop thinking about in the next few days, Lucy thinks, and is vaguely irritated by this.

But she's the blessing of not needing to rise so early as he, so she'd taken the chance to go back to bed, after fires were put out and burns tended to.

And she's not precisely grumpy, but Lucy finds she could use some peaceful moments after a morning starting like that, and so she's found herself a mug of tea and gone out to walk by the lake. Corella will likely be taken for a ride, later, but for the moment it's nice to stretch her legs.
called_lioness: (Sleep)
It's easy to change into her nightgown, and it's easy to wash her face and brush and braid her hair.

And it's easy to get in bed with Caspian, but it's hard that it's so quiet as they do it, and it's hard that she isn't certain if she can put her arms around him, and it's hard enough that instead she rests with her back towards him as she murmurs, "I love you," and pretends she doesn't feel his hand ghost over her hair for a moment as he says the same back.

And it's very, very hard to close her eyes and let go.

But she's good at that, by now, too.
called_lioness: (give it to the man jesus)
She doesn't, actually, want to tell him this.

But she is, because--well.

Wives do things like that, she's certain, tell their husbands about magic compasses.

...Maybe. There isn't a book. She rather wishes there were.

But there isn't, and it's been a week, and it's harder to make herself dream apart from the woman she knows is waiting for her, and so she pulls the silver object out of its drawer and sighs as she goes to find her husband.

Lucy supposes the honeymoon had to end sooner or later.
called_lioness: (give it to the man jesus)
The thing about a compass is if it points two ways, it's utter rubbish.

Or so Lucy's inclined to think, and she'd be the first to admit that she's glaring at the silver object in her hands as she sits in the sand.

(The sand is rougher here, she thinks, distantly, without wanting to, and not so fine under her feet.)

Lucy is generally inclined to watch her language, but she's muttering curses off and on that would make the knights she once rode with and the sailors on the Dawn Treader and the schoolmates of her brothers good and proud.

It's cathartic.

At least, it's keeping her from throwing the stupid thing in the lake.
called_lioness: (the difference between two souls)
They fall asleep, and they wake up, and the day is spent loving each other.

(Sometimes this consists of kisses, and sometimes this consists of Caspian bringing her tea, and sometimes it consists of them curling up and her reading a fairy tale, voice soft, and each act means the exact same thing.)

They fall asleep, and wake up, and Sunday is one of the best days of Lucy's life, even if she's not alive, really, and her smile is wide as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest that night.

And nothing lasts forever.

It's a rock she's sitting on, legs against her chest, as her eyes open, and Lucy breathes deep.

It's only been a night she didn't dream of this place, but she'd already almost forgotten what it was like to have her eyes open.
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