called_lioness | (no subject)

(no subject)

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.

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"Of course I am pleased."

Mary looks up at Lucy - almost startled.

"I have never been a place like this. Not with so much forest and trees anywhere; it is not like the jungle. It is a real forest. It is real and it is beautiful."

"It is," Lucy says, looking at Mary, and then at the trees again.

"I thought you would be. Hoped, at least. I wanted this to be fun as could be for you. And yes. It is real, and beautiful, and so old and alive."

"I am in a forest with you," Mary says, reasonably. "I do not see how it could not be lovely."

"I'm glad," she says quietly.

"--We'll see if we can find a tree suitable for climbing if you like.'

It's just barely brisk as she reaches for an apple and begins to munch.

"I know all about tree-climbing now," Mary says, already scanning the forest for a suitable tree.

"Duo taught me ages ago. Out back. I still do practice sometimes."

"Is there anything you don't know yet?" she teases.

Mary looks very earnest, and says, "Oh - lots of things. I am going to go on learning things for ever and ever - there is so much to know!"

"I wish I could see you if you're ever done learning, then. For I'm certain you'll be very wise indeed."

"I do not see why you should not be able to," Mary says, cheerfully. "It is not as if you are going to grow old - I may tell you all I learn. You may learn it too, if you like, and then you may be as wise as me."

It's almost a sort of joke.

It almost is.

Almost.

Lucy is very quiet as she studies the trees.

"I do not think, Mary, I will be here that long."

Mary stops and turns to look back at Lucy.

"Well," she says, after a moment. "Nor will I. We do not either of us live here."

It's possible she's - not deliberately misunderstanding, of course. But that's what would make sense, wouldn't it? Because where else could Lucy mean?

"Would you sit with me, Mary?" is what Lucy asks finally.

Mary turns sharply and sits back down in front of Lucy, wordless and wary.

"Mary--you know I love you."

That is not a question, really.

"I want you to remember that. That with all I am I love you. All right?"

"I have not been loved by so many people that I am likely to forget it," Mary says stiffly.

"I need to say it anyway," Lucy murmurs before reaching out to stroke Mary's hair once.

"I'm not going to stay in the bar forever, Mary."

Mary pulls away, glaring at Lucy.

She doesn't like people talking about leaving. Even if it's in vague terms like 'not forever'.

"Where would you go?"

Mary is not, in fact, going to like this conversation at all.

Lucy is very aware of that as she pulls her hand back.

"Aslan's Country. Or Heaven. You can call it that. It's the same."

"You mean you are going to die again."

Like Ennis did, but he hadn't been dead.

Like Wellard almost did - but not on purpose. It isn't as if he had wanted to.

"No. No, Mary. It's more like living again than anything else. I'll just leave. Go through the door, I imagine."

Lucy does not want to say this.

If asked, Mary would say that she wants to hear the truth. That it is better to know than not.

All the same, she doesn't want to hear this. She stares sullenly at her knees, as she demands, "Why?"

Her parents are in Heaven. She expects it's nice enough for them. But Lucy isn't like her parents - she's here, and she seems more alive than her parents ever did. And Mary does not think, in any case, that they would get along.

Her heart aches.

What right, she thinks, do I have to be this selfish?

And she knows she will be, anyway.

"Because I am tired," she says softly. "And because I should. I am dead, and the is a way station, and I am not meant to live there forever. Because I want to go home," she finishes and wishes there were better words. That she could find them.

"There are lots of dead people in Milliways."

Mary says it to her knees.

"And it cannot be home if you have never been there."

It's stubborn, and a part of her knows already that it's not true; Yorkshire was, after all.

"Yes. And some stay for very long times, and some stay for shorter times. And some may never leave, but I doubt it."

She has to take a breath.

"But I will."

She's not talking about a very long time. And Mary knows it.

"Do you not even care," she demands, suddenly furious, "that you may not ever come back? You can always go to Heaven - you cannot always come back."