Shippy Giftfic Part 1!
This is all pencildragon11's fault. She posted her Elinda bit yesterday and she KNOWS it always makes me ship Lucy/Carl, hard, and so this popped out of my tonight at a truly ungodly hour of 3am and so it's pretty crackficcy but I am amused and I hope she is too.
A large Dragon dropped rather ungracefully into the garden.
"Chrys! Don't step on the kale!" exclaimed Lucy. "Just because you can live on bread and milk and bunnies doesn't mean the rest of us can too!"
Chrysophylax snuffled, and a great puff of steam came out of his nostrils. "I haven't had much of any lately."
"Don't worry," said Elinda, patting his scaly side. "I'll make sure Father brings you a big pail of milk right away. You earned it."
The Dragon had been very helpful in their latest quest, in which the Stone Knife was found, lost, found again, and delivered to a safe resting place. Lucy grinned, relenting. "And I'll see what I can muster for you to eat."
The two of them slid off the large saddle and untied it from his back. "Mother! Father! I'm home!" called Elinda. A bit guiltily, she smoothed her hair back - not that Branwen would be any happier that she'd been out gallivanting without her Archen gentlewoman's cap - and ran into the house.
"Wait here," said Lucy to Chrys, feeling that her hard-working (if not so bright) Dragon had earned at least a drink. "I'll pop into the barn and see if I can't get you a spot of milk, even if I have to do the milking myself."
"That's very nice, but -"
Lucy didn't stick around to hear Chrys's protest. She sailed off down the path to the left of the Keep, where the barn stood. Rose would have had her calf by now…
She opened the barn door and ran straight into a tall young stranger who said, "I beg pardon, ma'am - Lucy?"
"Carl?"
Surely this broad-shouldered man with his faint tracings of beard could not be the gangly youth she remembered. Lucy had to tip her head back to look up at him; when did Carl get so tall?
"You're back!" He laughed; his voice was deeper than she remembered as well. Lucy found her hand seized and pressed in a hearty handshake. "Welcome home, Lucy. And Elinda too?"
"She's in the Keep. How have things been here?"
"Oh, quite well, nothing out of the ordinary. You two have been having all the adventures. You must have the best stories to tell." Carl smiled. He always had loved Lucy's stories. She remembered when he used to beg her for just one more story, when she could hardly resist the pleas of the little boy with the huge brown eyes and crooked smile. She could hardly make out that little boy in the tall young man who stood before her now.
"But I suppose I shall wait till the whole family is gathered to hear them," he said. Carl was looking at her keenly, and Lucy realized with a start that her hand was still held in his. "You look very well, Lucy. I mean, you look in good health, and good spirits. Are you? I hope so." He was stammering, and there was a slight flush on his tanned cheeks.
"Yes, thanks, very well," she said, wondering what on earth had gotten into him. "Sir Carl, you look as though you are beginning a fever yourself." In a few years, Lucy thought with a little laugh, calling him Sir might not be a jest anymore! But she should really check whether he was starting a fever. She laid her hand on his forehead, then against his cheek. He was not overly warm, not more so than any human would be working outside on a warm summer's morning, but he flushed even deeper beneath the tan.
"Really, I am quite well," he protested, but didn't make any move to stop her.
"You feel all right," she said with a nod, "but just in case, be sure to drink plenty of water, shade your head in the sun, and take ginger tea whenever you can."
"Ginger tea…it's your cure for everything, from bee stings to heartache." Carl grinned, a little uneasily. "I see you rode in on your Dragon. No Ashtiel this time. What brings you to the barn?"
Oh yes. The milk. Lucy laughed. "Chrys has earned a bucket of milk for bringing us safely home, don't you think?"
Carl nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed he has."
A large Dragon dropped rather ungracefully into the garden.
"Chrys! Don't step on the kale!" exclaimed Lucy. "Just because you can live on bread and milk and bunnies doesn't mean the rest of us can too!"
Chrysophylax snuffled, and a great puff of steam came out of his nostrils. "I haven't had much of any lately."
"Don't worry," said Elinda, patting his scaly side. "I'll make sure Father brings you a big pail of milk right away. You earned it."
The Dragon had been very helpful in their latest quest, in which the Stone Knife was found, lost, found again, and delivered to a safe resting place. Lucy grinned, relenting. "And I'll see what I can muster for you to eat."
The two of them slid off the large saddle and untied it from his back. "Mother! Father! I'm home!" called Elinda. A bit guiltily, she smoothed her hair back - not that Branwen would be any happier that she'd been out gallivanting without her Archen gentlewoman's cap - and ran into the house.
"Wait here," said Lucy to Chrys, feeling that her hard-working (if not so bright) Dragon had earned at least a drink. "I'll pop into the barn and see if I can't get you a spot of milk, even if I have to do the milking myself."
"That's very nice, but -"
Lucy didn't stick around to hear Chrys's protest. She sailed off down the path to the left of the Keep, where the barn stood. Rose would have had her calf by now…
She opened the barn door and ran straight into a tall young stranger who said, "I beg pardon, ma'am - Lucy?"
"Carl?"
Surely this broad-shouldered man with his faint tracings of beard could not be the gangly youth she remembered. Lucy had to tip her head back to look up at him; when did Carl get so tall?
"You're back!" He laughed; his voice was deeper than she remembered as well. Lucy found her hand seized and pressed in a hearty handshake. "Welcome home, Lucy. And Elinda too?"
"She's in the Keep. How have things been here?"
"Oh, quite well, nothing out of the ordinary. You two have been having all the adventures. You must have the best stories to tell." Carl smiled. He always had loved Lucy's stories. She remembered when he used to beg her for just one more story, when she could hardly resist the pleas of the little boy with the huge brown eyes and crooked smile. She could hardly make out that little boy in the tall young man who stood before her now.
"But I suppose I shall wait till the whole family is gathered to hear them," he said. Carl was looking at her keenly, and Lucy realized with a start that her hand was still held in his. "You look very well, Lucy. I mean, you look in good health, and good spirits. Are you? I hope so." He was stammering, and there was a slight flush on his tanned cheeks.
"Yes, thanks, very well," she said, wondering what on earth had gotten into him. "Sir Carl, you look as though you are beginning a fever yourself." In a few years, Lucy thought with a little laugh, calling him Sir might not be a jest anymore! But she should really check whether he was starting a fever. She laid her hand on his forehead, then against his cheek. He was not overly warm, not more so than any human would be working outside on a warm summer's morning, but he flushed even deeper beneath the tan.
"Really, I am quite well," he protested, but didn't make any move to stop her.
"You feel all right," she said with a nod, "but just in case, be sure to drink plenty of water, shade your head in the sun, and take ginger tea whenever you can."
"Ginger tea…it's your cure for everything, from bee stings to heartache." Carl grinned, a little uneasily. "I see you rode in on your Dragon. No Ashtiel this time. What brings you to the barn?"
Oh yes. The milk. Lucy laughed. "Chrys has earned a bucket of milk for bringing us safely home, don't you think?"
Carl nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed he has."