song for Luna
☾ 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)
☾ ( Read more... )
"Whatever your reason, I'm sure that she would not refuse you," is the mild reply this time, a glance over her shoulder to accompany it. This stare she levels at him for a while, looking for the briefest of moments beyond his shoulder before returning focus to where a heart beats and then where brown eyes set themselves so honestly. Never in a hurry to even out any palpable or potential awkwardness of too much quiet or wordless space, she only continues to stare a bit longer before turning away again, walking just a couple of yards or so upstream, ankles dragging through clearness and soles of her feet touching somehow only on the smoothest of river stones and shallows. When she pauses again, she steps back enough to sit at the edge of the stream this time, knees bent up and feet still dipping just below the water's surface.
Sometimes it's more interesting to wait and see what other people will say than to say something yourself, and she has always been interested in the words of her friends, even ones they might be reluctant to share.
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After a silent moment he averts his gaze to pull at Destrier's saddle pocket.
"I have something for you, but if I am to give it to you now we would have to walk back. It is a little delicate to ride with unpacked," he explains while retrieving a small white box. "Would you like it now?"
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"I don't understand," she says at last, not ungrateful, and not believing one must have a specific purpose beyond making someone else happy or thinking of someone to give a gift, but sensing some extra reason here all the same. A day for rarities perhaps, this would be one of the few times she seems less knowing, even as it serves as a way of covering said knowing mannerisms by saying in plain words what vague ones could express. "It is not Christmas, and I have never told anyone my birthday," she smiles quietly at him, something older in the curve of her mouth and the depth of her eyes.
What is it for?
What are you doing?
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But upon hearing her question Caspian keeps the little box away from her.
"Wait. When is your birthday?" His question is casual and even mischievous as if learning this will give him a better, more legitimate, reason to be presenting her with a gift.
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"July," she tilts her head again, not setting the date, a half answer for no answer. Her eyes never deviate from the face of her friend, though she remains ever aware of the small white box. Her mouth quirks to the side just a little, thoughtful, the same as one often does when chewing on the inside of one's cheek, and this is the closes to looking plainly a combination of curious and dubious as Luna Lovegood gets...and it's still more than a little vague, but blame that on her gene pool maybe. Her whole family, reportedly, has that sort of distant air no matter how closely they are in fact paying attention.
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Should she open it she'll find some tissue paper wrapped around a palm-sized lotus with petals made of pearlescent shell and edged in gold. The petals can fold too, open like a lotus in bloom or closed like a lotus bulb. What its purpose is he can't say, but it would hold a small candle well or provide a hidden place for jewelry when shut.
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"Thank you," she says, bowed slightly over, shoulders forward in that manner that people often stand in when curling to peer down at something in their hold. The sunlight through branches above glint off of the gold edges in softening sparks and when just glancing at it, the shimmering floral representation seems almost real, odd, a bit of a contradiction, but the truth. She busies herself folding and unfolding the petals, and upon closing them a third time, she asks, "Do you suppose then that you will not be here when July comes to pass?"
She doesn't have to look up at him. Her tone carries that ever precarious mixture of consideration, concern, and curiosity, as well as that which traces back through to their first meeting: a genuine affection, a sort of non-confrontational form of being utterly truthful. In the end, they are not the kinds of people who have much of any use for lies, even white ones, and Luna prefers, lifting her head just enough to bring blue eyes to the Telmarine's now empty hands, to speak to what is there, even if it isn't always the most comfortable thing to approach.
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He knows she knows that.
"I hope you like it."
He knows she does.
So her question becomes one he can't avoid because it fits within their exchange of words. Caspian realizes this misstep but he doesn't think he has any good reason to avoid it now. Omitting remarks or deflecting questions isn't quite the same thing as outright telling her that which isn't true. He runs his fingers through dark brown hair and averts his gaze.
"I might not be... You can never tell in this world," he shakes his head. That is true, isn't it.
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"No, you never do," she agrees and turns so that even if Caspian does look up again he will not have to make eye contact. She can still see him out of peripheral vision, her profile to him, but it's not the same, has not the weight or immediacy of a pointblank stare, and she knows that too, for all her seeming aloofness. Slipping the flower back into the tissue and closing the box, she settles it more comfortably in her left hand, right hanging at her side again, fingers curling absently, and then uncurling, as if exercising that they still work, a thoughtless motion for the sake of movement alone. Swallowing an almost foreign feeling, one that settles dispassionately behind her heart, she tilts her own gaze to her bare feet, toes curling against the soft earth. In her small bag, still slung across her shoulder and front, she has proof of having suspected something like this before verbally breaching the subject. She doesn't over think it, but she doesn't draw it out yet either.
"Have you told anyone else?"
That you worry...that you worry more often, of late, my friend?
You should.
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Secretly Caspian is thankful for her keeping her profile to him. He knows he ought to have the decency of meeting her blue gaze directly but it is difficult to acknowledge the very subject at hand, much less acknowledge that someone else is aware of his unwillingness to address the situation.
"It may be nothing, you know. I may be worried for nothing," explains the Telmarine. It's not a very good explanation.
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This, she sees, and neither of them need to be looking at each other for that to be the way of it.
Oh she could speak to that, or to similar topics. She knows they are there.
"I very much like my gift," she says instead, and then, quieter but also not a whisper, "Thank you."
I would listen if you decided you had anything more to say remains the undercurrent of everything, but she projects this even when not presented with such a timely concern, and as with someone who this feels natural to, she doesn't consciously do so. Sometimes, as a result, it is enough to communicate itself, and other times, not at all.
It really depends, more or less, on who the other person is.
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He is trying to convince himself, desperately. To worry about something like the mark of one year (or six months however one wishes to look at it) is silly. But he has left once before, after a half year, and he has no desire to even think about the possibility of return, like doing so might crush his chances completely. A King of Narnia has no place wanting to leave his throne for a time, even if that time proves no danger to the land. What kind of leader willingly abandons his post to be part of something that was sent away so suddenly through a door in the air? Everytime this question comes to mind he thinks of a mane thick and full of warmth and a voice both comfortable and frightening, then he chastises himself for having such thoughts at all. Everyone is fortunate he is not really a guilt-ridden member of a church.
His expression softens with another hidden look to Luna. Caspian should tell her something, tell her more, but he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what she could do to ease that anxiety just as he didn't know what to say to Peter when he regained his younger face.
"Do you want to head back to the stables yet," he asks, already sheepish for giving in to that same avoidance.
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And, more than that, a good friend, avoidance or no avoidance. No one is perfect.
"Do you?" she asks and the clover stem twirls half way between her fingertips.
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"Thank you...."
Caspian takes the clover from her, equally careful not to damage it before he tucks it into a button hole. He lifts his gaze to her again and smiles. Does he want to head back? No. Not yet. Not if they're talking about some place that isn't a stable block. The softest sigh escapes his lips and he runs his fingers through his hair again.
"We should," he nods. That's always the way of it, what they should do differing from what they want to do.
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Given the time, it is one of her few conscious decisions to try her hand at knowing, something that, for all her life, she has never really tried for, because intuiting has been enough. In her world, it is safer that way too, not to defend from those who would ostracize but to protect against the sudden absence of those who offer their hands or ears or eyes like friends should. Like anyone, Luna will not deny fearing loss or that it takes its toll on any being, wise or not, sixth strange sense or not.
Even with not knowing him as well as she might however, she believes, if Caspian did disappear tomorrow and she met him again, even in another world, without their memories of this place, she would recognize him. He has a distinct quality about him, something that goes soul-deep and exists beginning and ending in the heart, and these are the things she has always been closest to.
So thinking, when she turns, she smiles, and it isn't placating nor trying to make a worrisome situation into something cleaner or brighter. It is, however, a smile because he is her friend, because an upward curve of lips can say a great deal more than words--cryptic or concrete alike--and because, likely, she understands that it is best--just in case--to part smiling if one can, and in that sense, can mean it.
She does, with all her heart, and possibly, the whole of her expression shows it; it's in the comfortable set of her shoulders, the gentleness with which she holds her gift, and the quiet amiability that settles around her, something present without being visible itself. The proof or suspicion of her friend's worry remains in her bag--unfinished. Some part of her feels this will not be the last time they meet here, and so she holds off on giving it away too soon. Perhaps she can bring it to completion after all.
In the meantime, a smile will do...a smile and a kind word here or there.
"It has been good to see you," she says and continues, "And I believe I shall see you again," before you depart is the unspoken but no less evident remains of that thought, that message. She turns to go, unhurried and hoping that the brunette will tell someone, specifically any of those who he lives with, but it is not her place to say and in this case she actually adheres to that truth. He will make his own choices, and that is just as it should be, for every person.
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The walk to the stables is without interruption or interference, not from a witch whose power casts an endless winter across the land or a witch who can decay a crown of flowers only to revive them again. As hoped for, the clover doesn't slip from its place on his clothing. No matter how simple the gift he would be sad to lose it so soon after its acquisition, especially when one takes into consideration the gift giver. She has been gracious and calm, willing to accommodate his avoidance much like he has on occasion done the same for his friends. They are ever moving around to help facilitate the movement of others. He does not want to disappear tomorrow, knowing she is one of the many he cannot hope to ever see again in Narnia, he wishes with his four leaf clover and the legends of magical wells that he does not vanish tomorrow and that they do not vanish from him.
It is a lot to ask for, he knows, but the Telmarine can't deny what he desires. The most he can do is let it sit in his heart, unvoiced. Let fate go unquestioned because the stars themselves told his best centaur what might happen and that destiny led to an unforgettable meeting that turned into an unforgettable fire.
"I would like that very much, Luna," he replies. It's the closest to saying what he wants and what he thinks he can't ask for or have without being such a selfish thing. Caspian watches her as she turns to depart, her blue gaze always as if in a dream and yet he thinks if dreams define reality then certainly Luna Lovegood is a walking example.
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