Nothing, is the answer, but a Lioness may have great need of it to find her way home, because sometimes home is your mate, and sometimes--
Sometimes it's not.
And now you know, whether you really wanted to or wish you'd never asked.
Her eyes open slowly, and Caspian is warm and solid at her back, his arm draped across her chest, and she stares for a long while straight ahead at the dim room.
Her fist is clenched around something cool and metal and she slips out from under his arm, making a soothing, quieting noise as he protests in his sleep and promising she'll be back in a moment. The bathroom's tile is as cool under her feet as the metal is in her hand, and she flips the lights on to look at it for a moment, lifting the clasp. East to north to east to north to east again, and Lucy lets out a small sigh of resignation before the compass is shut and put gently in a drawer that has been dubbed hers.
And then she splashes water on her face and goes back to bed, murmuring, "Here I am," and watching Caspian smile as she pulls the covers over them both again. She'll keep no secrets from him. It was a promise, and she'll keep it.
But some things can wait, and this week there are no compasses, and there are no dragons, and when she dreams, she knows, it will be alone, without another girl to hold her hand. Because this week is for him and for her, and dragons and compasses and dreams and choices will all have to come back, but they can wait.
no subject
Someone once asks, "What need has a Lion for a compass?"
Nothing, is the answer, but a Lioness may have great need of it to find her way home, because sometimes home is your mate, and sometimes--
Sometimes it's not.
And now you know, whether you really wanted to or wish you'd never asked.
Her eyes open slowly, and Caspian is warm and solid at her back, his arm draped across her chest, and she stares for a long while straight ahead at the dim room.
Her fist is clenched around something cool and metal and she slips out from under his arm, making a soothing, quieting noise as he protests in his sleep and promising she'll be back in a moment. The bathroom's tile is as cool under her feet as the metal is in her hand, and she flips the lights on to look at it for a moment, lifting the clasp. East to north to east to north to east again, and Lucy lets out a small sigh of resignation before the compass is shut and put gently in a drawer that has been dubbed hers.
And then she splashes water on her face and goes back to bed, murmuring, "Here I am," and watching Caspian smile as she pulls the covers over them both again. She'll keep no secrets from him. It was a promise, and she'll keep it.
But some things can wait, and this week there are no compasses, and there are no dragons, and when she dreams, she knows, it will be alone, without another girl to hold her hand. Because this week is for him and for her, and dragons and compasses and dreams and choices will all have to come back, but they can wait.
For at least a little while longer.