song for Luna

[suncolors]

☾ And we aren't all that we seem, but we are more than we know.
(Caspian)
☾ Is that who you are? To think we never needed to say hello.
(Caspian)
☾ Man-made never made our dreams collide.
(Edmund)
☾ Reconcile.
(Edmund)
☾ You don't need eyes to see.
(Kay)
☾ Where was my head when I needed it most?
(Caspian)
☾ Don't keep appointments with disappointment.
(Aslan)
☾

Comments

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[suncolors]

Some people spend their lives waiting for something to happen. Others wait to happen. Luna Lovegood waits because she knows that waiting is just as necessary as stepping forward into a moment. Her life is a series of footfalls that land just this side of unexpected, just this side of strange inside of normal, just this side of understanding even when it is sometimes a bit impossible to understand Luna herself.

I wonder if he will ever remember. This is her thought as she watches, ever silent, the young king and his faithful horse. It makes her sad in a way that she has not often felt and her bare toes curl against the bits of dirt and stray feed, threadbare hay on the ground. Wand tucked behind her ear, she averts her eyes when he speaks, closes her ears without covering them, because a moment may be private without a person leaving the room.

Leaning against the farthest stall, empty, she folds her hands in front of her, threads her fingers and turns her palms up to stare at them, as if they are of some specific interest. The times she has done someone else's bidding are so few as to not warrant mentioning at all, and even in this it is for a being she will not begin to try to understand. How gentle he was and yet how firm. How full of goodness, and yet with an unmoving way that one more often finds in the difficult and cold. How distant and impossible.

Loving her own world, she has never wanted to intrude on another's, but here where worlds are forced to meet, to cross, to extend, it has been somewhat inevitable from the beginning. Then there is the matter of caring, for Luna does care, very much about this person who holds things so clearly in his heart. What suffering he will endure, she can guess, because she is smart and wide eyes do not make for blind faith where she is concerned. But that time is not now. So she waits, waits to be noticed. Here she is a guest tonight, dabbling in the affairs of a world called Narnia.

In seventeen years she has seen many terrible things, but she does not need a second glance to her left to tell her that this ranks high where none should be proud to do so.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[treadingdawn]

"You are just as good as a Talking Horse," he whispers into the stallion's ear as if there might be someone around to hear him even though he doesn't think that is the case. He is proven wrong when he leans away from Destrier's mane and pale gold comes into view.

"Oh. Luna. I didn't know you were here," Caspian says in mild surprise. How much did you hear?

Already he turns away and moves as if to leave the stall and stable all together. She has seen him when he was down, he hasn't forgotten this at all. It is best not to cause her trouble, she who has always found reason to smile though sometimes he detects a phantom melancholy in her. Still, it's best not to alienate two blonds so early on this day. How long has it been since midnight passed? He is unsure and he hopes there is no other curse to make the City miserable again. To make him miserable and not even directly. He walks out of Destrier's stall and hooks the latch.

"I was just leaving," Caspian nods to her. Then he thinks twice and speaks again, "I'm sorry, we have not spoken much recently."

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[suncolors]

His words cause her to change her expression, but not much. To Caspian it is likely nothing more than a shift in the way her irises reflect whatever light falls in the mostly dark stable. It is a comfortable darkness, one that speaks of privacy and quiet, of a safe place when perhaps no others seem like they can be. Those words though, they catch as a snag of fabric on a thorn or wire.

A lie, no less.

What could push you to this, she wonders, when I have given you no reason to run.

Curious.

"I knew we would speak again," she says in that soft-spoken way that is so natural to her. It also means you don't have to be sorry for that, as well as sorry, perhaps, for lying, but not the lack of exchange. One is within their collective power to change, but the other not so much. She trusts him to attend to it when he can and no one is perfect. Peering at him, she tilts her head, pale hair falling over her shoulder with the movement, bare feet hardly touching the floor as she steps toward him in imperceptible measures.

"I wasn't listening," she goes on, a bit dreamily maybe, because she is always dreaming. "I am rather good at that."

And she smiles at him, a soft smile, a present smile. He seems as though he could use some kindness.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[treadingdawn]

"Did you," Caspian asks curiously.

It is a sickening thing that he finds it much easier to lie to those who know him less than say the Pevensies or Reepicheep. He wonders if he should feel worse for it but does not think twice about actually doing it. No, no one is perfect, but these last two days Caspian feels as if he doesn't even care to try. Maybe it is better this way, for himself and everyone else. He doesn't know for sure, he isn't the great lion after all. Looking at Luna and hearing her natural words that would sound carefully chosen by anyone else, he wonders where has Aslan been? Why hasn't he come to tell him things will be all right, to tell him that he need only try and things can be good again. Caspian remembers what he said of Eustace. Eustace Scrubb is important to his future. Now he knows why and that almost makes it worse because it cements the truth. It isn't easy to swallow at all.

"Yes, you are..." he starts, wanting to maybe say more to this strange friend of his. Then he reconsiders. "Well, if you want you can take Destrier out, since I have already woken him up," the brunette nods, presenting this like a rushed gift.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[suncolors]

"He will go back to sleep," she says with a glance and a bow of her head to the horse they speak of. There is something about Caspian X that reminds Luna of a an animal when spooked, and there are many things that can cause this in any given person, but for one who listens and looks as closely as she does, it is a short path to supposing it has something to do with faith.

She has seen it before.

"Sit with me," she asks without asking, walking past him as one walks past a friend who wishes they were not there. Pausing at another empty stall, she opens it as she did for the Just not so long ago and gestures at it, taking seat on one side of its narrowness. There is just enough space for them here and it makes the dark of a public stable seem more private. "I won't take much of your time," she promises, not to suggest she is an unwanted nuisance, but more to alleviate any of his worry that she will keep him here for longer than his composure will last, so badly strung together as it is, a mass of threadbare tangles that quiver and threaten to break.

Yes, she has seen it before.

As always, it sends hairline fractures through her, staring with measured serenity at her troubled friend, and she thinks that love is a very difficult thing.

Very difficult indeed.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[treadingdawn]

Again he stares at her, from when she approaches to when she walks past, and he turns around to continue watching when he knows he can just as easily keep his back to her and walk away. It would be so easy to do that and just run away. For whatever reason old words come to him. Perhaps if they had come earlier he would not have shouted at Peter or told him to leave him alone. Those three words still sting with absolute regret, as much as the memory that cuts into his conscience now. Something about backbone. He bristles at the thought and steels himself, all while thinking it is equally just as sickening that he is the thing that inspires him to turn and join Luna now.

"I will sit with you," he nods and does not address her promise to not take up much of his time.

What has happened to me, Caspian wonders with a swallow of his dry throat.

Nevertheless, he takes a seat with her as he has promised, or rather, given his word, and Caspian likes to think he is still sort of a man of his word. Just a little. Enough to make him not feel completely deplorable because it is she who has invited him despite his own manner. He knows Luna is far more intuitive than to not notice his poor behavior.

"... How have you been," asks the brunette.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[suncolors]

She expects no less of him. Despite the uncertainty that is clear in each of his steps, there are certain self same things that stay with a person in the face of what makes itself an imbalance of fear and confusion, anger and sadness. Some people think it takes years to know each other, but Luna has never been that kind of person, never will be.

"Harry has returned," she smiles again, a bit wider. "And Professor Lupin too, though he was only gone for a short while," her smile fades at that and she peers down at the hands neatly placed in her lap. What awaits him, she has been able to surmise is unpleasant and she feels it unfair that such a good man return to nothing. She doesn't know he will return only to leave nothing behind, and that among their numbers lost, he will be counted. For this, she is fortunate and odd that for Caspian's misfortune with knowing future events, she sits here now. Not to say that she would not otherwise ask him to sit, because she would have. She will. His company is the likes of which she enjoys and as out-there as she can be, Luna still has the same desire and need as any other person, to have friends, to share time and space, to confide if only in being confided to. These things, she too finds precious for all the oddness that so often estranges her from others in her world. This place does not seem to make it such a difference, the way she wears dreams in her eyes or the way they seem to layer all her words.

But she is not here to speak about herself. When is she, those who know her better might half ask and half laugh. Rarely, she would tell them.

"You are going to be fine, you know," she says and her voice is both quieter and warmer when she looks up again. "But I am sorry."

For many things. What she is about to do is not one of them, however. He may take it as her sympathy for the sadness so evident upon him, or for his anger, for everything perhaps, but it is doubtful that he will read into it beyond that, and she knows this, is used to it, and now, she vaguely relies on it. There are just some things, she thinks with a dull ache, we were never meant to know.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[treadingdawn]

"I noticed. I do not think he remembers," Caspian shakes his head.

He hasn't actually spoken to Mr. Potter since his return, but now that Luna has mentioned him he thinks he ought to. What he remembers most is Harry's reaction to his friendship with Lily. An overreaction is more accurate to say. At first the memory makes Caspian smile, faintly so, because all in all it was a little funny to see the wizard near livid for his trading horse riding lessons for broom riding lessons with her. Now, after learning things he should not know, never know, it isn't so funny. She was to be his mother. The future is no laughing matter, not even the future of those from a different world. It is good to hear that Professor Lupin has returned though, Susan seemed quite fond of him. He was always kind, Caspian remembers, and then he recalls Lupin even offering advice to Merlin about Will. The Iguana one.

How long ago was that? Not very. How drastically things can change in so little time. Can he overcome this? He wants to try but he doesn't know. The Telmarine King who feels undeserving of the title right now only wishes things could be simpler again, simpler and even sillier.

When can we laugh again>

He asks this only in mind, hoping someone with a thick mane, golden eyes, and acute ears will hear him.

Her apology draws his attention back to her.

"Luna, you do not have to apologize," Caspian shakes his head, "you are a good person and you have never meant ill on anything that I have known." He speaks honestly to her, not wanting her to worry. He hopes she isn't as stubborn or as willful as Peter who can unravel him with one look. Maybe that is why he sits with her and not him; he underestimates Luna Lovegood.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[suncolors]

"I am not apologizing for myself," she says, leaning forward slightly as if sharing a secret, even though there is no one else around to hear it, save the horses, and she trusts them too. Truthfully, she wants to know more of what makes Caspian this way, what moves him to such grief, because if there is one thing Luna appreciates, it is the ability to better understand those who have come to matter to her. Earlier words make her tilt her head at him, staring for a while. No, they have not spoken for some time, but that matters little to her. What matters is what they speak of, what they share, whenever it is that they do.

It is enough.

"I know you are hurt," she tells him, her gaze not wavering for a moment. "For that, I am sorry," and her eyes smile quietly this time even though her lips do not. "And things are rarely fair," a pause as she cups both of her hands in front of her. "For that, I am also sorry."

A soft white glow appears from seemingly nowhere, a globular thing that hovers within the curve of her pale hands, made paler by that light and she pushes it toward him, offering a small tranquility. It is nothing more than an orb of brightness that will fade with her exit, but for the moment it might make those brown eyes regain a trace of wonder instead of all those other heartbreaking things.

It will also distract for what follows.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[treadingdawn]

For a second he hopes Edmund did not speak to her but he knows that's a foolish thing to think of the Just. Does she have to be so selfless in the face of someone who has been nothing but selfish? Caspian feels tired, tired of feeling sorry for himself and tired for these conflicts. He is better than this. At the same time he cannot think of one person who has had to confront such a terrible future and been able to put it aside for better things. Caspian is unaware of how closely his thoughts truly thread together. With Peter and Merlin's silence, he never will. So he wonders, who can truly turn his cheek to losing his friends, likely losing his son, likely losing his wife, and then dying. Eustace knew not what he said when he told him oh, and don't worry, everything with your son works out! But Caspian connects the dots together; he will die before whatever works out works out. Who can turn his cheek to this save for the great lion himself?

"It's all right, Luna," he says quietly under a carefully controlled sigh. "I know," that things are rarely fair, his shoulders feel heavier as if there is a hand on one side, a hand he has coldly rejected.

The light that seems to pool in her hands does distract the Telmarine. It is as she has anticipated, that a brief moment of magic is enough to bring that trace of wonder back to his eyes. He is unsure of what she carries here, wonders if it's just a parlor trick to make him smile, and even that he would appreciate.

"What is it," Caspian asks, his brown eyes on the glow and not on her.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[suncolors]

"Just a light," she whispers, and something else that he probably can't quite hear, a word here, a word there, and neither of them the sort that the Telmarine would understand even if he did hear her completely. Her lips barely move as it is, and who knows when she took her wand in hand but she lowers it first, as if to touch so lightly the glow in darker hands. In the same motion its direction turns upward, and the point of it barely rests against the brunette's forehead, contact that he could easily not notice at all, if he did not look, but she knows he will.

Not that it matters.

Perhaps he feels disoriented when a mere moment passes. She would not blame him. Another whisper and her wand floats away from her hand to settle behind her as she uses both hands--the easier to continue this illusion of having done nothing. One goes to brush back some of his hair, and she notes the softness with a smile one could mistake for idle almost too easily. The other rests lightly on a shoulder.

"I think Narnia must be quite wonderful," she says as she leans back, hands leaving him as unobtrusively as they arrived, and while his shoulders already seem slightly down from being relaxed rather than burdened, the light in his hands is no longer there. It has served its purpose, and so has she.

Bowing her head briefly, she supposes it is for the best, even if it cannot last. Not everything is inevitable, but the future always has been, and always will be.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[treadingdawn]

It is a beautiful light to Caspian, reminding him of the flower he still keeps in his room, reminding him of fireflies in a garden and a friend brushing them out of his hair. To Caspian X, all of them remind him of the stars, of nights spent gazing at them while his mentor tells him stories of Narnia. The old Narnia, that is. He has always listened to every word but it would be a lie to say that at the same time a young prince had dismissed the stars entirely. He has always found them intriguing, points of the brightest light in such a dark sky. He has always found them beautiful and will continue to do so after meeting one. Science says that they burn out in time, something the Telmarine is yet unaware of due to his own world's grasp on science, so for now he thinks they are everlasting. Maybe that is why he finds them so special.

An old friend once told him that stars can be places too. He believes this, just as he believes there are worlds in a person's eyes, amazing things that fill the deep space of someone's experiences, memories, and awareness. He swears he saw starlight in his friend's eyes the other day, still sees something clear and northern in them now. It is a place that's difficult to visit, but once he is there he feels good and safe. Caspian considers sharing this with Luna when he feels something touch his forehead. It is so light he thinks little of what it actually is. Neither do the words he'd planned to say fall from his mouth.

Did you say something, he asks in his mind, unaware that he hasn't actually voiced the question.

Why are you touching my hair, is it nicer than usual tonight, he wonders curiously.

"It is, although I will not presume that spring in this world isn't beautiful as well," Caspian smiles. Ah, they were talking about Narnia again. He always wishes Luna could see that place, knowing she would probably attract the unicorns out of hiding and make the gryphons exhibit a gentler manner.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[suncolors]

Smiling at him still, she thinks he is very strong and then she hopes that it will be enough to see him through what lies ahead. Then, as if remembering something herself, she digs around in the small side bag that may have gone unnoticed before, drawing forth a tiny cluster of several periwinkles. They are the white sort with golden centers, and she wordlessly offers them to the Telmarine.

They are for memory.

Because one day, far from here, even at the end, you might remember this time and place and all that you knew too soon.

So thinking, her smile softens and her hands fold in front of her again. It is rare for the blond to feel disconcerted, to linger in sadness, and even now these things are colored by a gladness to hear and see this person before her speaking with such ease. A small grace, perhaps.

"I offered them to Destrier," she explains, which is not a lie. "But he seemed to think you would appreciate them a bit more," also not a lie, but certainly a statement with an understood disclaimer that the destrier doesn't actually talk, and so all communication is interpretation at best.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[treadingdawn]

He looks down at the white and gold cluster then accepts them but not without a minor confession.

"You are always giving me flowers, Luna. Often I wonder if this is your way of bribing me for Destrier's time," he says in a joking manner. He does not mean it at all, although it is also Caspian's way of saying thank you, I wish I had something better to give you. He hardly feels obligated to reciprocate in kind but he wants to. Either way he does smile for her explanation while turning the cluster in his hands. "That does not surprise me. He is far more fond of carnations and gardenias," the Telmarine reveals which only gets a snort from the horse. The horse who is sleeping and subconsciously felt a need to interject. Strange timing, that. Caspian just arches a brow at the big black beast then turns his attention back to the young witch.

"Thank you anyway," he nods then tucks the cluster into his breast pocket.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[suncolors]

"You never know," is her succinct but ironically knowing reply, her tone the same as it ever is, as well as her expression at this point. Though her feet are bare, her shoes will not be following her here tonight, and she thinks she might prefer to sleep here than return to the others. There is something she rather finds irreplaceable in being alone. It isn't that she needs time to think either, no.

She needs time to not think.

"You should go home soon, perhaps. I did promise not to keep you too long," your Highness, she thinks with a mild sweetness, a suggestion she gives not to get rid of him, but because she knows those who live with him truly will worry. They are family, after all.

Where was my head when I needed it most?

[treadingdawn]

Never know? He supposes that's true, Destrier is a fickle sort, sometimes.

"What about your shoes? I can wait with you until they arrive," Caspian offers but he is yet unsure of how those things work. Do they keep a schedule? Are they punctual? Do they keep track of her or is it she who keeps track of them? Either way, his offer still stands. Strangely, he recalls her promise but does not recall holding her to it for any reason.