called_lioness | (no subject)

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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.

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Today, Caspian had gone out to check on the stables. He'd follow'd the advice of friends and left the horses' care to his employees--but he'd been fidgeting increasingly and finally excused himself.

He looks, therefore, rather rumpled and far more relaxed when he comes back through the portrait door, and more than that, he comes bearing tea and scones, his smile triumphant.

I want this to last forever, she thinks when she sees his smile, but she doesn't say it, only laughs and stands, compass slipping into her pocket as she offers her hands to help with the tea.

"How were the horses?"

"Perfectly fine," sheepishly, as he puts the tray down and pours her a cup. "Though Kiseki was happy to see me. I'll have to go back to work soon, though, good job by the workers or no."

"Pity," and it's mostly teasing, as she takes the cup with a smile, and a murmured thanks that's flowing more easily from her lips than she'd care to admit, "here I thought to keep you to myself in this room forever. Though I suppose the dragons will return soon enough, and would object to that."

"I rather think you would object to that," he says with a laugh, moving to the wardrobe to change his shirt. "Sooner or later one of us would get cabin fever and attack the other, and wouldn't the dragons enjoy that?"

"I don't know," idly, as she walks over and behind him to wrap her arms around his chest, "I can think of far worse fates than having you to myself. But I suppose I shouldn't risk it."

She doesn't sound terribly convinced of this fact.

Lucy rather wishes that she could make this moment just stretch out. No more compasses, no more dreams.

He tilts his head over his shoulder to kiss her lightly, smiling as he walks back to the tea.

"You already have me to yourself, Lu. Suppose those worse fates will have to be rethought."

"I'll worry on it later," she promises as they sit again, and she looks at him for a long moment before it's the cup she's focusing on again.

"I dreamed the other night."

Lucy dreams every night, and he knows it, but...

But you have to start somehow.

"You dream," he says, quietly, "every night."

And--he knows this is wrong, he knows this is his weakness, but--he remains...

Perhaps jealous is not the right word. Perhaps envious is. Still, it is easy enough to hide. After all, she has been dreaming for months; far long enough for him to perfect an easy sort of tone.

"Aye," and it's a little bit of a short laugh he's given, "whether I prefer to or not."

She looks at him for a moment and then the tea again, because maybe the tea will have answers she knows he won't.

"Su asked me where I wanted to go."

"Did she?"

It ins't the first time he's used this careful tone, but it marks, perhaps the beginning of his using it rather more often than not.

"And what did you say?"

She flinches, and it's visible, at that tone, and then her own face smooths into something schooled as she looks up at him.

"Home," is the simple answer.

"Aye, well," he rises, goes to the table and pours himself a cup of tea as well.

The fact that his face is now hidden from her is likely an oversight.

"Did she have an answer for you?"

"No. She helped me find a guide. But it's--it's not very easy to understand," she says, softly, and watches him with sad eyes, twisting the ring on her finger.

She wishes she'd never started to tell him, honestly.

"A guide?" he asks, a little curiously, and turns to face her but makes no move to walk back from the tea table.

"What sort of guide?"

She doesn't answer in words, only takes the compass out and places it on the tea table.

He looks at it, but doesn't reach out to touch it, to pick it up, to handle it in any way.

(so enchanted you are with shining things)

"Has it worked?" he asks, gently.

It's a snort of a laugh, as her fingers trace over the metal.

"In its own way. It points two directions."

Perhaps he already knows the answer.

"Which directions?"

He asks anyway.

It's just barely sing-song as she says, "North and east. It had to be, I suppose."

He frowns, slightly, at that, but says nothing. Instead, he only brings his teacup to his mouth to take a sip.

He could say, nothing has to be. He could say any number of things. Instead, he waits.

It has to be in one sense.

In the way where the other options were already taken away.

"So it works, a little," she says finally, quietly, and looks at him.

"But not as easily," and it's a bit wry, "as one might hope, and won't you sit with me again?"

"What are you hoping for?" he asks, as he comes back to sit by her, tea left behind and steaming slightly.

"Are you really so lost that you need a compass to guide you, Lu?"

"There's no one who can but myself, so why not a compass to help?" she asks with a crooked sort of smile, and she has to sigh as she looks at him and thinks on the first question.

"I don't think I can answer that."

"No one but yourself and Susan in a dream," he says, and for just the smallest fraction of a second, there is terrible, sharp pain in his voice, but then he looks at her as steadily as ever and that smile (just a quirk, really, with no amusement or joy behind it) still there, curving his mouth.