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[called_lioness]

She's brushed Corella more than is strictly necessary, and spoiled her yet again with an apple, and even taken her out for a bit.

(Lucy likes riding bareback, and she thinks Corella would hate a saddle. If you asked her why, she'd have no good answer for you, but she still thinks it's true.)

And now she's just laying on some hay, because it's rather nice in the stables, familiar, and it's not a bad place to be alone with your thoughts.

Comments

[iustus_rex]

It's not a bad place to be alone with your thoughts at all.

Sometimes it's nicer, even, when you can wear yourself out physically and keep yourself distracted enough that your thoughts manage to leave you alone, too.

So perhaps it's not such a surprise when Edmund, covered with straw and dust and horsehair, pauses in the opening of Corella's stall, blinking a little bit at her tiredly.

"... hullo, Lu," he says, starting to smile as well. "Have a good day?"

[called_lioness]

"Something like that, for the most part, anyway, if a bit strange. Corella and I had a very lovely chat, though."

[iustus_rex]

"Strange?" he repeats, curiously, absently reaching in to pet Corella's nose as he watches his sister.

[called_lioness]

She looks a little guilty and rubs at the back of her neck. "I, er. Saw Jadis wearing denim trousers."

[iustus_rex]

"That is, I think," Edmund says slowly, "a sentence remarkable in its ability to fail to make any sort of sense at all.






"-- what?"

[called_lioness]

"Wearing denim trousers," she repeats. "And a rather lacey shirt. And drinking milk."

Honestly?

It was kinda scary.

[iustus_rex]

Edmund's rather scared, and he wasn't even there!







(Probably this shows, rather.)




"... denim trousers. And a lacey shirt."

The milk... is ignored, for now.

[called_lioness]

"Mmm."

She looks a little pained.

"You didn't have to actually see her in it."

[iustus_rex]

"Well, not yet!"

His voice doesn't crack.

Quite.

"I might have to when I go back inside," he points out, mildly flailing.

Possibly more at the thought of seeing her in denim trousers and a lacey blouse than at seeing her at all.

Possibly not.

[called_lioness]

"You've managed not to see her so far," she points out, as the mun finally gets everything quiet and heads to bed.

[iustus_rex]

"That's... mainly because I've been trying very hard to avoid any place I might see her," he admits quietly, deflated.

[called_lioness]

"Rather figured."

[iustus_rex]

"Do you blame me?" he asks, softly, not quite looking at her.

Not could you blame me?, no, because he knows full well that she could, easily.

[called_lioness]

"Ed..."

She sighs slowly, and then sits up a bit more.

"Sit with me?"

It's not a no, but it certain isn't a yes.

[iustus_rex]

The small smile on his face, as he nods and quietly joins her, is somewhere between rueful and almost wistful.

[called_lioness]

Her head goes on his shoulder rather easily, as she says, "Now. Do I blame you for what, exactly?"

[iustus_rex]

He's quiet, for a moment, thinking.

It is best to be specific, after all, especially as she did say 'exactly'.



"For...

"For avoiding her, I suppose," he says softly, eventually. "You've been far braver than I, because you've seen her, spoken with her, at least three times now, I think. Assuming Adam wasn't talking of the future, at least. And I have very carefully avoided her instead."

[called_lioness]

"Yes," dryly, "I also almost made Caspian choke because of the first. Quite something to be proud of, that."

But that's not an answer, yet, either.

"A little," after a moment.

[iustus_rex]

A little.

It hurts a little, that she thinks so, but to a large extent he finds he can't really blame her for doing so.

Edmund nods -- a little -- and absently presses a kiss to the top of her head, where she rests against his shoulder.

It hurts, but that doesn't mean it's a surprise, either.

[called_lioness]

"I'm sorry." Because she'd rather not.

But she does.

"She thought I was her sister." Softly, after a moment.

And Lucy had to just gape at her, alone, and so part of her, yes, blames Edmund for hiding.

[iustus_rex]

Is it fair, when Edmund didn't even know she was there, did not know that he had the choice of whether to avoid her or not, when Lucy was there alone?

Perhaps Fair doesn't matter.

Perhaps it never has.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, echoing her. "I--"

Quiet, for a moment.

"I didn't even remember she had a sister," he says, eventually.

[called_lioness]

Very little's ever been fair.

"Tatli." She smiles, a little, without anything behind it. "Her name was Tatli."

She rather wants to cry, and it's a moment where she shudders, a little, and then it's gone. He probably noticed, but she hopes he won't comment.

"When are you going to grow up and stop being the ten year old boy, Ed?" It's not angry. It's just tired.

[iustus_rex]

Carefully, more hesitantly than it once might have been, he adjusts his arm so it's around her shoulders and he can hold her just the slightest bit closer.

"I don't know," he says quietly, and she is perhaps not the only one who sounds tired. "I... would like it if I could say, and know I spoke truth, that I am not that boy any longer. But I don't know how to change it, Lu, and I am trying, at least, and that is more than once it was. I don't know if it's enough," he admits, softly.

[called_lioness]

"How is hiding trying?"

She doesn't know if it is either, but she doesn't pull away.

[iustus_rex]

"It isn't, particularly," he admits.

"But I'm here," he points out a moment later, shrugging uncomfortably. "It's... more than staying in the House of Arch except when I'm working, or trying to convince Kitty to cover without me."

Not that he thinks, in the slightest, that an attempt such as that, because of this, would be successful, no.

[called_lioness]

Her jaw tightens, because her instinct is to snap something cruel, and she doesn't want to do that.

"It's something, I suppose."

[iustus_rex]

"I'm sorry it's not more," he says softly, turning to look across into the other stalls. He can't see Rachât, not quite, but there's a shadow of a horse's shoulder that might be Ghost, at least.

[called_lioness]

"Stop apologizing," she snaps, and now she does lift her head, "and stop being sorry period. Did you ever think that the only reason any of it hasn't been let go of entirely is because you won't let it be?"

[iustus_rex]

"What would you have me do?" he asks her, flatly.

If nothing else, at least it's not an apology.

[called_lioness]

"Act like a King of Narnia, and a man about to be married, instead of a scared schoolboy. It doesn't fit you. And stop crucifying yourself, because he gave himself to her so you wouldn't have to suffer."

[iustus_rex]

He stiffens, rather, and his voice is as stiff as he says "if you've advice as to what you think I should do, in specific rather than general terms, Lucy, I should be quite happy to hear it."

[called_lioness]

"Go see her."

[iustus_rex]

"And do what?"

[called_lioness]

"That's rather up to you. But you're twenty years of age by one count and thirty-five by another. You're more than old enough to face your nightmares. So stop bloody hiding."

[iustus_rex]

She's right, of course.

And she's hardly the only one who's said the same, in whichever words.

But of course it's hardly pleasant to hear so many people say the same thing, and perhaps that's why -- when he'd already nearly decided he needed to do so anyway, at a time of his own choosing instead of waiting for Jadis to find him again, or waiting until such time as he came upon her by chance -- perhaps that's why all he does is pull away enough that he can bury his face in his hands for a long moment, before pushing them back through his hair and standing.

"I need to finish caring for Rachât," he says, dully. "I'll-- I'll find her. By the week-end."

It's strange, and no small amount painful, to find that while he does not blame Lucy for this he is angry with her. He's reasonably certain she doesn't deserve his anger, but that's not making it fade.

[called_lioness]

"Edmund--" and this is where Lucy always says she's sorry, when they've had conversations like this, except.

Except she's not.

She's annoyed and angry and tired, but she's not sorry.

So his name hangs there, because there's nothing to actually follow it up with.

[iustus_rex]

He smiles a little anyway, if not very much.

"Goodnight, Lucy," he says, quietly, and absently pats Corella's shoulder, and turns and disappears in the direction of Rachât's stall.

[called_lioness]

Lucy lets out a slow breath as she flops back on the hay, staring at the ceiling.

"Goodnight, Edmund," softly, even if she doubts he can hear her.