called_lioness | the joy would break your heart

the joy would break your heart

They fall asleep, and they wake up, and the day is spent loving each other.

(Sometimes this consists of kisses, and sometimes this consists of Caspian bringing her tea, and sometimes it consists of them curling up and her reading a fairy tale, voice soft, and each act means the exact same thing.)

They fall asleep, and wake up, and Sunday is one of the best days of Lucy's life, even if she's not alive, really, and her smile is wide as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest that night.

And nothing lasts forever.

It's a rock she's sitting on, legs against her chest, as her eyes open, and Lucy breathes deep.

It's only been a night she didn't dream of this place, but she'd already almost forgotten what it was like to have her eyes open.

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"Oh aye," Susan replies. "More than once, say true."

There's something almost enigmatic about her gaze as she looks at Lucy.

"Thee'll understand, in time, I wot -- mayhap thee already do."

That gets a laugh, and it's torn the same way a sob can be, though her eyes are smiling, not crying.

"Aye."

And only that, with, "I understand," as she watches the sun again and drops Susan's hand after a moment to hold up her hands as if to cup it.

It's so small, but can fit in her hands.

(so very much bigger on the inside than the outside)

"For love's sake," she murmurs softly, so softly. "And never count the cost."

Her breath stops at that.

Because it means so many more things than only what it says.

Because for love's sake is the best reason, and because there ever is a cost, and the cost has to be worth what's gained.

And love is worth so very much.

She dropped Susan's hand before, and her hands drop to her sides again, now, as she looks away from Susan and the sun.

She's very still, looking at Lucy, the two there in the midst of the green-gold field with clouds scattered above them in the bright blue sky.

"I kennit, Lu."

And oh, but her smile is sweet and heartbreakingly bright.

"Where would'ee go?"

Gently asked.

"Home."

And it's whispered without looking back at Susan.

"Home," she echoes, softly.

Home, the grasses around them whisper just as softly, rustling as the breeze stirs them. Home home home.

"I can't be the one to lead thee there, Lu, though I'll walk with thee." There's true regret underlying Susan's tone.

"Do'ee know the--"

(path)

"--way of it?"

"I did, once," and it's true. Once she did, and once it would have been easy, and there were a million times she thought she was ready to step out the door and into the sun.

But something held her back,

(I want too much)

and now--and now either everything is the way home or nothing is, and she's not entirely certain which is true.

But "once" isn't "now" and there's something like grief on her face as she says it.

"Oh, don't--" she says, helplessly, and holds out both hands to Lucy as she beseeches,

"Don't take on so, don't, please don't--"

"Hush," she says, quietly, as her face relaxes into something that's only a little sad and a great deal wistful, taking Susan's hands in hers.

It's a moment before she continues, thinking on a previous comment of the other woman's.

"I don't ask you to know when I don't, Su. But home--I've not known the place of it for a while, now, no. Two roads, sister, and I've no clue which has what I seek most at the end, not any more."

It's a large field that stretches out around them now, with the mountains in the far distance in one direction

(fly to the edge of the world with me)

and the glittering sea behind them in the other. All around them there's the green, green of the grass, dotted with wildflowers. Susan's fingers tighten on Lucy's, and the fog-gray eyes are clear and steady as she says softly,

"Then thee'll have need of a guide, won't thee?"

Green, green grass rustles with the breeze as she speaks -- and then there's something more, as well, off to the side. A large red rock, suitable for sitting, not dissimilar to one that's been seen elsewhere.

Maybe more than one elsewhere.

(other worlds than these)

A white cloud crosses over the sun, and when it moves on, sunlight flashes brightly from something that's lying on the stone.

(give it to the)

Her fingers drift through the sunlight again as Lucy lets go of Susan's hands and drops carefully to pick the object up, cradled in her palms like something precious.

(man? course he's not a man!)

"So you found your way here, too," she breathes to it, but maybe even a compass has a journey it had to make and even if it didn't walk it on its own--well, being carried you travel the same distance.

(and he's not tame, but he's still good)

All compasses point north, but this one doesn't seem to know that, as she opens it carefully to watch the needle.

North east north east north east north east north--north--north--east it goes.

She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Even the damned compass doesn't seem to know which way's home for her.

"No further," she says, without rising or looking up from the arrow that keeps moving between two letters

(Narnia and the North)

"tonight, Su," and the thing is that for all it had been sunlit a bit ago, it's the moon that's shining brightest on the two sets of golden hair now

(to the glistening eastern sea I give you)

as she kneels in the sweet grass. "We'll go further in when I see you next," and it's painful to say, in a way, because she's still on the shoreline, even with the sea behind them, and in this place you can still hurt. That's what she brings with her.

"But not tonight."

"Not tonight," she echoes, and oh, but her smile is sweet and heartbreakingly sad as well as she looks down at the shining steel in Lucy's hand.

Ever clever was Pat Delgado's daughter, and here in this place --

(a dream and a memory and so much more beside)

-- the Girl at the Window is often wise, as well, and sometimes knows more than she can yet say.

"It'll wait until I see thee again, Lu." With a quick movement, she's stooped down, arms wrapped tightly around the other girl and her golden hair smelling sweetly of sun-warmed grass as Susan hugs her.

"Long days and pleasant nights--"

"And may you have," and it's murmured by instinct as the light fades away and she has to close her eyes again for another day, "twice the number."

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.

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the joy would break your heart

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