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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

"Of course I care!"

It's startled as she watches the girl.

"And I hate that. I do, Mary, that I have to choose. But it's still right to choose."

Flat: "And you have chosen."

"Would you come here, Mary?" she asks before answering that, holding out an arm.

Mary looks at the arm, and at Lucy, and doesn't move from her spot.

"Why?"

"Because I would like to hold you for a minute. If you'd let me."

"That," Mary says, after a confused beat, her voice still flat and toneless, "will not make anything better."

"It will not make it worse either, at least. And I'd still like to."

Mary's back is very stiff, as she says, "If you wanted to so much you ought not to be going away. You have already chosen - it is not as if you are going to take it back."

She already chose, and she chose not-Mary.

Her arm drops slightly as she breathes.

"I can't. It wouldn't--Mary, if I could have it be right, I'd never leave you. But it's not."

"Sometime I shall grow old and die," Mary says, after a long moment.

"I shall likely go to Heaven then. You could wait until then."

It's not like the door is going to close.

"Oh, Mary."

She wants Mary to die old.

She wants Mary to never die.

"You will." That's just fierce. "You will go, and I'll greet you and even if you are a hundred and one I plan to twirl you in my arms. But I can't wait that long."

"It is only almost so long as you would have had to wait anyways," Mary says, stiff with angry logic. "If you had not died already. You are old - but not so very old."