"You did." It's a little gentle, as she watches her father.
"But so did I. So did all of us. It was a very long time for you, Father. It was much longer for us. Well over a decade, on its way to two. We found another world, when they sent us away, and we grew up there. I was almost twenty-five when we left. And then you came home to us, but we couldn't make fifteen years disappear entirely."
She's not so much watching him now as looking past him at the mountains.
"And so we were different. But I met him, there. Not the first time; we went back, and then I met him, too young and too old all at once that I was."
"Many things. We were royalty. Queer, isn't it?" She's grinning a bit as she looks over at him. "Queen Lucy. Rather hard to go back to being nine and in London after that. But I suppose--I suppose there were different things, for each time I was there. The first time I helped win my country," she continues. "The second time I helped someone else, Caspian, win it for his own. And the third time I fell in love with him. And other things," she finishes, quietly.
John can see it in her carriage now, the touch of royalty. He remembers the children, when he came back from the war, speaking oddly formally. (Do you wish me to pass the salt? Nay, my lady.) He'd assumed it was some kind of arcane children's game, the kind whose rules adults weren't meant to understand.
John thinks about these things and laughs, warmly, in pleasure. "It suits you, your Majesty.
"Oh, don't say that," making a face, though it's not really upset at all.
"And yes. Caspian is. He lived far longer than I managed, even if you add all my years together, and in his years he learned to be a wiser man, I think, than most, and one of the best men I've ever known."
There's something of a pause before she admits, "Though I rather want to shake him at times."
"Well, now, that is as it should be. Your mother still wishes to shake me regularly, even here." John laughs his deep belly laugh again, but sobers quickly. "Are you sure your Caspian is not ... too much older than you?"
She thinks, briefly, that it's a laugh she heard too rarely in life, and she loves the sound of it now.
Lucy doesn't answer immediately, not because she doesn't know what the answer is, but she wants to put it best she can.
"He's older. But he'll never get any older than he is, now, and neither will I, and he doesn't look his age by half due to a gift. I don't look mine, for that matter," she points out, glancing over at John. "And I should love him, I think, if he looked older than you. I think...whatever age he is, he is the age that is just right for me."
John wants very much to meet Lucy's intended. He can hardly ask for that grace; this interlude itself is an unlooked-for gift. Whatever he wishes to say to Lucy, someday, he knows he should be saying now. John lays a hand on his daughter's shoulder and looks into her eyes, smiling.
"Then marry him with my blessing, Lucy, and may he be as good to you as you deserve."
It's London.
This is new, but--it makes sense, too. Her father was almost always in London, when she saw him.
It's London, and it's the park, and she sits on the bench, for a moment, and waits patiently.
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"But so did I. So did all of us. It was a very long time for you, Father. It was much longer for us. Well over a decade, on its way to two. We found another world, when they sent us away, and we grew up there. I was almost twenty-five when we left. And then you came home to us, but we couldn't make fifteen years disappear entirely."
She's not so much watching him now as looking past him at the mountains.
"And so we were different. But I met him, there. Not the first time; we went back, and then I met him, too young and too old all at once that I was."
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He can believe it. This land is another world besides the one he's known. Besides, Lucy was always one to speak the truth openly.
"What happened to you there, Lucy?"
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"Many things. We were royalty. Queer, isn't it?" She's grinning a bit as she looks over at him. "Queen Lucy. Rather hard to go back to being nine and in London after that. But I suppose--I suppose there were different things, for each time I was there. The first time I helped win my country," she continues. "The second time I helped someone else, Caspian, win it for his own. And the third time I fell in love with him. And other things," she finishes, quietly.
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John can see it in her carriage now, the touch of royalty. He remembers the children, when he came back from the war, speaking oddly formally. (Do you wish me to pass the salt? Nay, my lady.) He'd assumed it was some kind of arcane children's game, the kind whose rules adults weren't meant to understand.
John thinks about these things and laughs, warmly, in pleasure. "It suits you, your Majesty.
"Is this man of yours a king?"
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"And yes. Caspian is. He lived far longer than I managed, even if you add all my years together, and in his years he learned to be a wiser man, I think, than most, and one of the best men I've ever known."
There's something of a pause before she admits, "Though I rather want to shake him at times."
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Lucy doesn't answer immediately, not because she doesn't know what the answer is, but she wants to put it best she can.
"He's older. But he'll never get any older than he is, now, and neither will I, and he doesn't look his age by half due to a gift. I don't look mine, for that matter," she points out, glancing over at John. "And I should love him, I think, if he looked older than you. I think...whatever age he is, he is the age that is just right for me."
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John wants very much to meet Lucy's intended. He can hardly ask for that grace; this interlude itself is an unlooked-for gift. Whatever he wishes to say to Lucy, someday, he knows he should be saying now. John lays a hand on his daughter's shoulder and looks into her eyes, smiling.
"Then marry him with my blessing, Lucy, and may he be as good to you as you deserve."
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Oh, so much. And she wants to be able to show her father how right it is, instead of just telling him.
But for now, at the touch of his hand, at his words, Lucy's eyes light up, and she leans over to kiss his cheek, as gently as she can.
"Thank you, Father. And he will be."
And then--because she knows they have to, and there's another to see--they do what they must, hand in hand, and walk on.
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