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

I left my soul there, down by the sea

[suncolors]

"I am now," she replies as simultaneously forthcoming and non-forthcoming as she ever is, and this would be very. Adjusting the coat over her knees, the farthest edges of it barely brushes her ankles this way, the fingers of her unoccupied hand finding mild purchase in the folds. "And I have before," she admits, some degree of whimsicality there, as if it is no different than wondering if the shadow of blue she sees on the face of the wavelets is the same blue that he does.

"But I do think even if it does look the same, it would look different to someone," she glances over at him. "There is always some way to make things separate, even if we don't set out meaning to." Her next pause is filled with the activity of the sandpiper making its way to stand not an inch away from Caspian X. It seems to like him.

I truly am glad you're feeling better, is the passing thought, the hand grasping the flowers with light care turning slightly to lay them across her lap, taking a petal absently between thumb and forefinger. Her wand yet tucked behind her ear is as usual unobtrusive, but currently for her it serves as a reminder as to why her friend as not okay, not so long ago, and she wonders, remotely, about a lion, full of majesty and loveliness, fearsome and not at all tame, yet familiar. She hopes he knows what he is doing. The next sweep of the tide does indeed wet her toes, which she then sinks into the sand a bit deeper. Yes, it's cold, but there is something refreshing and new about it too, just like the morning always seems to be to her anyway.

I left my soul there, down by the sea

[treadingdawn]

"I have too," he nods, but means it in a more practical sense.

Where is north in this world? Where is east? In Narnia the light of dawn first shines on Cair Paravel before moving westward to the river and the lands beyond. It isn't like that in this world, and in other worlds he has heard their lands are round. That's even more peculiar and exciting all at once. In his mind it more or less implies that sailing the ocean any which way can still take you to your destination, whatever that is. Endless in its circular nature. But Narnia's Eastern Sea is reported to have an end. Does the water simply flow off into space there or does it fall onto something? Does the seawater from Narnia give England its rain? That's a nice thought, if a little impossible. He smiles, keeping such fantastical things to himself.

Brown eyes settle on the bird that seems to approach him fearlessly. He does nothing to chase it away nor does he beckon it closer.

"But you are right," Caspian nods, "that it's different for everyone. It doesn't change the fact that I am glad to watch it with a friend." He gives her another smile, "I doubt dawn minds more company."

I left my soul there, down by the sea

[suncolors]

Moving back a bit more again, she buries her feet this time in the dry sand, as one does both to keep feet warm and also to dry them off without dirtying anything else, still paying the flowers attention however idly, appreciative of them more because of the ease with which they were given than the idea of a gift alone. Though she does not know, still, all that much about Caspian as far as history goes, she has made some minor guesses at it anyway, of the way brown eyes have looked displaced before, as if the bearer is not sure he belongs, is part of a family. Morning's gold and peach hues threading cross the water now like the softness of a kind look or the gentleness of a kind word, she thinks, even without knowing as much as others do of him, that he must make a very good family member indeed.

"You are up very early, and you were up a bit late too," she observes both, one for the second time and the other for the first, not quite asking why, but telling him she noticed. She won't apologize for Draco, but the mild tone of you did see that and I know that you did is very much there. As the Telmarine is a closer acquaintance of hers, she imagines he may catch that shift of expression, but he doesn't need to comment on it.

He is her friend, and as he did not call her as a lady but the other thing, she too will always think of him as a companion before a young man or a king, or anything at all. It is simple, simplifying even, but there is not something too necessarily wrong with this when the meaning still holds and the nuances remain. Whether this has to do with vague references to ill timed newcomers into the City or nothing at all, it doesn't matter.

Friend of my friend, she thinks softly. She has made time well with this one and a King of Old who was also up early this morning--might still be, she supposes.

Then she remembers how that particular one responded to the impossible one, someone who is not a friend at all to anyone she holds dear. Thoughts so occupied, she begins to actually do something with the flowers, twisting the stems softly, not enough to break, only enough to bend. Eventually she will form a crown of sorts, the blooms situated in such a way that shows them off most sweetly, white and as telling as hands that hold each other or a silent smile that knows things without asking questions.

Slightly distressing, that one's arrival, even for her.

Ah well. These things, they happen.

And even in mulling this over, her smile does not disappear, only softens to something more subtle, as waves become ripples, and ripples simple white lines on the sand.

I left my soul there, down by the sea

[treadingdawn]

He has always wanted to be a good family member. A good son, a good nephew, now perhaps a good brother, and eventually a good father. Perhaps it's easier to say he has always wanted to be a good person and a friend to many, family or otherwise. Having grown up without many of these things there is no standard by which he can abide, but these things are never really about standards at all anyway. To give the most he can, that is what helps him to achieve his goal, even when he isn't completely conscious of trying, of wanting that approval and acceptance from those around him who he holds very dear. Luna has fast become one of them. This newcomer whose name Caspian hasn't formally received will not likely fast become one of them.

"I was," answers the Telmarine, eyes glancing sideways without turning to actually look at her. He is most aware of that rude one's origin in their world, that is, he drew the conclusion by seeing all of Harry's lot constantly responding to him. With Luna he isn't too sure where Draco stands in her book, aside from one worth keeping from freezing to death. That's just the impression Caspian gets anyway.

In any case, there are better things to discuss than Draco Malfoy, like this crown she is shaping so deftly without breaking the stems. He recognizes the craft.

"When you are finished with that," he says with a nod to the bending lilies, "let me." Caspian smiles, sure that Luna will understand his meaning. It is, after all, only a king's duty to crown a person.

I left my soul there, down by the sea

[suncolors]

Draco Malfoy will not likely fast become anyone's friend. Even the Dark Lord favors him not, nor his family, constantly in his most unforgiving path of temper and discontent, but even Luna is not aware of this in any distinct reality. She only intuits, and at least as far as she is concerned he is worth keeping from freezing, because it isn't his future to be trapped here forever. In a way, she thinks with no small amount of regret for him, that he might be trapped already, and in a way far worse than death or this City will allow for in kind.

But yes, there are other things to think on, that can be paid attention to, and when the Telmarine speaks for the second time she peers at him briefly, hands not stilling, ever turning and lightly curving, because as with many plants, these lilies are flexible, accommodating to new meaning and shape.

"Do you like being a king?" she asks him, rather than tell him 'very well' or something like that. Just as he is sure that she understands his meaning, she is sure that he understands that she would not refuse him this, and really, she sees it as a kindness done unto her more than anything. For he is a sweet person in addition to knowing what it is to be proper and other such things.

It is, as it happens, one of the first things she noticed about him from the beginning, a sort of softer kindheartedness that can so often be mistaken as a weakness when it is, in fact, a deeper strength and magic than many will ever come across in a lifetime or two. Whether this is perceived well by those around him or not is up for debate, but one can judge solely on the way people seem to gravitate to him that something of it shines through in all its truth. Anyone may be gregarious, but not just anyone can be that and then the other things--considerate, genuine, and maybe above all, present.

The pause she takes between her question and this follow up is made up of the merest seconds and a fleeting glance.

"You don't actually have to answer that." Her voice lilts as it is often wont to do when she adds some breadth of comfort to her conversations, but it occurs to her, however belatedly, that she does not as often need to provide that in this brunette's company. Interesting. Thoughtful, she twirls a smaller stem in her hold, one that is tiny enough to not quite situate as well in the threading she has going, so she removes the wand tucked behind her ear and replaces it with that flower, setting her wand carefully to the side.

I left my soul there, down by the sea

[treadingdawn]

Caspian takes another silent moment to think about her question.

All the while his eyes remain on the work in her hands, how careful she is with the stems and gentle enough to not crush the petals. Her handiwork is as delicate as her questioning while still maintaining some sense of directness. How odd, he thinks, and yet not surprising of Luna Lovegood. Sometimes he wonders why he doesn't see her with her friends often, the ones he knows are from her world and do talk to her from time to time. But she can't be found with them the same way one can find Caspian with Peter or any other member of that family really, or Claire and Zach, with such frequency. Is it because she sees things and tells what she sees unabashed? Is it because few people have the patience or understanding to move with that queer and intuitive manner? To Caspian it is a mystery as to why she isn't frequently spending time with them, or to put it correctly, why they aren't frequently spending time with the girl who wears a flower in her hair with ease.

"I do like being king," he nods, finally answering her question though with some mild difficulty as well. It isn't an easy question to answer. "It's a lot of work and sometimes there isn't time at all for other things," this he says with a glance aside. Other things. Those other things are many of the things he does in this world now. He wonders if this makes his answer a lie, but Caspian has no intention of abandoning his crown so he must like some part of it. "Yet there are days when I feel fulfilled by the role. It is something I am proud of, to have earned this position, and hopefully with it the love of my people," the Telmarine nods, "I have joined an honorable legacy."

He thinks of the people he lives with, the Kings and Queens of Old, and he silently reaffirms himself that it is a very honorable legacy indeed.

I left my soul there, down by the sea

[suncolors]

Ah to be with one's friends. It is an interesting thing, an idea that Luna has for all her years been very much aware of, contrary to what is probably a popular belief to the likelihood of otherwise both at her school and in her world as a whole. As her father is well known as a man of questionably sane repute, it is no wonder that some of that light colors her too, but she doesn't mind and really she does nothing to dissuade it all, because she follows in equal steps of both father and mother. They are, or were, in the latter's case, both quite extraordinary sorts, but eccentric too, bordering on what many people see as unsettling and unfamiliar, something just outside of understanding.

Luna understands this, as it happens.

People do not gravitate to oddness, and oddness is not romantic in spite of what many books or films of the day might say about Daring to be Different and so forth and so on. When it is not daring so much as just being that becomes an entirely new level of strange, and most people simply aren't very comfortable sitting with it for all that long. This too, she understands and though she was once confused about it, in a way not even she could articulate or grasp, she sits by herself with some measure of calm and patience these days. It is fortunate that as much as Luna loves people, loves animals, loves many, many creatures, she is also, as it happens, the sort of person who does not see being 'alone' as a bad thing.

People learn a great deal standing apart from the crowd, even the familiar one.

For she does count her friends, sees them as that and nothing less, as Harry and Ron, Ginny and Hermione, Neville and Lupin, and though he has long since been gone now, Severus. She has a feeling that Draco's shift from outright villain into something more ambiguous will not be as easy, or as prevalent to priority and she finds this to be a bit of a mistake. He is more volatile than Severus ever was, out of control, and beyond being alone, lonely It isn't that she feels badly for him, but she does understand that not everything is as it seems.

How comfortable can it be to be the family under the Dark Lord's thumb, she has often wondered, after talks with Harry and from picking up things, as she always does, from everyone else who talks around her but not necessarily to her. Again, she doesn't mind, and more than that, she is used to this by now. It has its own comfort in the sense of a skin that she recognizes.

I left my soul there, down by the sea

[suncolors]

Caspian is different, she thinks not for the first or last time and as she finishes braiding stem and leaf in the kindest of ways, she focuses then on a tiny nudge to a bloom, a turn here or there, biting at her lower lip absently in this mild concentration. To break any part of it would be a true shame and she would not want to ruin a gift from such a good friend who does not seem to mind her tendency to dream more than wake, even when she is looking right at him. It occurs to her, as her tapered fingers add a tiny adjustment to one last part, unfurling a leaf that became somehow mistakenly tucked in at some point, letting it lay open and soft, that more than like the brunette to her left, she trusts him. And that makes her happy.

"You will be most impressive," she muses airily yet grounded in that way she employs so completely. Turning the circlet of flower and lead and stem, she adds, "Have been, rather, will continue to be." Smiling as she glances down at one particularly open flower, she hopes it will not be too hard for him to go home. It is such a shame to part from friends and she is well aware of some divide that has not been explained and needs no explaining to her between this noble contradiction and the bulk of those he lives with. All things in time, though, really.

"You are that sort of person," she concludes, dawn breaking full over the sea in such a way that she loves this morning more than others, pale gold hair falling over a shoulder as she leans slightly to pluck a small shell from a rivulet in the sand. Tiny, and peach like the sky right now, curled, she gives a murmur of apology when a face makes itself known through the opening. This one is still occupied. Setting it back down she straightens her back again.

It is good, she thinks, to have friends, and, because all people are selfish at times, she admits privately that she will be sad to leave this place where eccentricity is easier to share space with and kings can be young men in addition to everything else that they must also answer to. She will appreciate what happens now however, and that, she decided a very long time ago, should be enough. It isn't always, but most of the time will do.

In fact, it's more than many people might hope for at all, and she knows that as well.

I left my soul there, down by the sea

[treadingdawn]

Draco's history is beyond him but if he knew a little bit about it he might be able to sympathize with the bad tempered bigot. Caspian knows a thing or two about pure blood being bad blood, perhaps not to the extent of a Dark Lord, but the concept of purity and extermination is not foreign to his own heritage. He forgets if he's ever told Luna these things or how much he's told her at all compared to what she can read from him. He is, after all, a bit of a transparent person. It doesn't surprise the Telmarine that some can read him better than others. And yet there is a part of him that simply never tells unless asked. Call it a way of keeping himself reserved from others but Caspian will always be willing to listen and learn. Is that selfish? Probably, but it's something he's only half aware of, even with the Pevensies at times. Maybe that's why he likes spending time with Luna who seems to know this and still not mind his company.

What he doesn't know, that she knows a little more than he ever will at the request of a lion, doesn't hurt him in this case.

You will be most impressive.

It's a nice thought, he can't help but think in a modest manner. Have been is questionable to Caspian, will continue to be is a promising goal. He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the heat of the sunrise on his skin. Maybe he is or isn't that sort of person, but he would very much like to be. He opens his eyes again and nods to the blonde at his side.

"Thank you, Luna."

I left my soul there, down by the sea

[suncolors]

The circlet of white and green balances on one hand absently, she uses her other to pick up her wand again, raising it to the air and murmuring words that mean just enough of the right thing to create a bubble, iridescent in the morning's glow, and then another, and another, until they are all but surrounded, bubbles dotting the air like so many spheres of light and glass. She doesn't think for a moment that Caspian would become disenchanted with these charms, because he seems the sort of person who appreciates good things, simple and not. These are simple, but lovely, will disappear as normal ones do, but provide for something endearing that is extra about the peach and pink dawn cresting over the water.

"It's just what I see," she tells him, not quite a you're welcome, but a bit better than that perhaps, and, tucking the wand behind her ear, the opposite one of the one with the flower, she smiles at him again. The truth is the truth is the truth, and one does not need to have the sight of future to sometimes just know.