She'd been up in her room, with the chair under the doorknob again, warding spell or no warding spell, sitting in the window and staring out at the lake
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If Amy had any remaining doubts, which she probably didn't, the fact that her brother is letting her go out into a January night in only a shawl would have laid them to rest.
"Should be a lovely night for a walk," she says, with as much conviction as she can muster. Cold, moonless nights not traditionally being good for walks.
She can't help but shiver a little, when they step outside. It's not just about the weather.
Merriman waits what seems to be a decent amount of time before following. As he walks toward the door, his clothing changes in mid-stride, the dull black of academical dress billowing out into a swirl of midnight-blue robes and cloak.
Outside, in the chill of the evening, the Dark's power is that much easier to sense. And though it is not at its peak, not yet, the rising is well at hand.
He picks up the pace, striding forward. The nearer he gets, the stronger the effect the Light's magic will have on the Dark's trap-spell. And he needs to remain between the entrapped man and the door back into Milliways...or things will be that much more difficult.
Caspian stiffens, his hand going naturally to the hilt of his sword, buckled around his waist. It's only a feeling, for the most part, a rising of the hairs on the back of his neck, but...
There is someone between him and the door.
He turns, and looks, and his jaw tightens. He straightens, a tall slim young man with sea-gray eyes darkening dangerously, and when he speaks, adressing the figure in the flapping bluc robes, his voice is taut.
He looks back down at her in disbelief, bewilderment and hurt chasing each other for a moment across his face, before transferring his gaze back to the man in the blue robes
(he carried no light but light seemed to come from him)
and his grip on his sword hilt tightens as a wave of fear and dislike--almost hatred--rises through him in a swell.
"Lady," he says, coldly, "I know not of what you speak. I have never been more well in body, mind or spirit, and I'd thank my lord there not to come any closer."
Merriman's reply is quiet, almost distant, but the look in his eyes is very much in the here and now. The glitter deep within them does not come from any reflection of starlight off snow.
'My young lord, you may end up thanking me for something entirely different, in time.'
Quick as a flash, he brings up one hand. At conversational distance, it is a simple matter of grasping the trap-spell in a firm, inflexible grip and giving what is (relatively speaking) a smooth and steady but not violent pull.
The other hand is prepared to block any strike that might be forthcoming.
A pull and this is not helping, this is intruding and Caspian almost snarls, pulling back, away from Amy, and away from the strange man who looks at him with such deep and glittering eyes.
Like a hawk.
It's an attack--mayhap not on him, but he feels it nonetheless, and Caspian has been trained to do one thing when attacked.
Fight back.
His hand clenches, and the sword is drawn gleaming from its sheath in the blink of an eye.
Before Caspian can raise the sword much higher, Tom jabs his wand in the young king's direction. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Caspian stands still and silent.
Tom looks to Amy, an apoogy in his eyes. "He's all right. The spell doesn't hurt - I know from experience. It will keep him from hurting himself. Or one of us."
With Caspian temporarily immobilised, Merriman sets to work to disentangle the trap-spell.
Removing the spell from Nita had mostly been a matter of brushing away a few lingering remnants of the Dark's magic without interfering with her own. Removing the spell from Puck had been a hard and prolonged fight, with the Wild Magic resisting every inch of the way.
Removing the spell from Caspian, human and mortal and without magic, takes a slightly different touch. The spell has sunk in fairly deeply, and so it makes the most sense to start breaking the netting where the threads are not so tight. Carefully, Merriman works around the worst of the spell's snarl, and it begins to loosen.
As more and more of the threads break, he reaches out and places a hand lightly on Caspian's shoulder. A faint white glow coalesces around his hand, and a gentle warmth starts to spread from the point of contact, further weakening the spell as he continues to work.
Immobilised he may be, but not unfeeling, and there is mute anger and bewilderment, and mayhap the shadow of fear, in Caspian's eyes as he stands, still as a
(her house is all full of statues, they say it is--people she's turned into stone)
statue, with his sword drawn and every muscle frozen.
(always winter never Christmas)
He wonders if the witch's victims could think while they were stone, and if they could feel things, as he is now, feeling something like a net, silvery thin strands that are being pulled at and snapped, and he wishes he could lift his head to shake the feeling of threads from his throat, wishes he could step away from the hand on his shoulder, and the light, even while some part of him sees the glow and welcomes it as a parched man welcomes water.
(I am a star at rest)
And he wonders, too, about this man who is old as Coriakin was old, as Ramandu was old, and whether he is not of the same kind as they.
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He reaches for her hand to help her up. As they pass by Caspian's table, To calls out to him.
"I say, Caspian, won't you jon us for a walk?"
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"Good evening, Tom! Hullo again, Amy. Aye, that sounds a marvelous idea. I was just finishing up, as a matter of fact."
And he stands, closing the ledger solidly and tucking it under his arm before moving to Amy's other side with a warm smile for her.
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"Should be a lovely night for a walk," she says, with as much conviction as she can muster. Cold, moonless nights not traditionally being good for walks.
She can't help but shiver a little, when they step outside. It's not just about the weather.
Reply
Outside, in the chill of the evening, the Dark's power is that much easier to sense. And though it is not at its peak, not yet, the rising is well at hand.
He picks up the pace, striding forward. The nearer he gets, the stronger the effect the Light's magic will have on the Dark's trap-spell. And he needs to remain between the entrapped man and the door back into Milliways...or things will be that much more difficult.
Reply
Caspian stiffens, his hand going naturally to the hilt of his sword, buckled around his waist. It's only a feeling, for the most part, a rising of the hairs on the back of his neck, but...
There is someone between him and the door.
He turns, and looks, and his jaw tightens. He straightens, a tall slim young man with sea-gray eyes darkening dangerously, and when he speaks, adressing the figure in the flapping bluc robes, his voice is taut.
"Is there something I can aid you with, my lord?"
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"Caspian, dearest and best beloved brother, you are not well. This gentleman can help you. Please let him. Please."
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(he carried no light but light seemed to come from him)
and his grip on his sword hilt tightens as a wave of fear and dislike--almost hatred--rises through him in a swell.
"Lady," he says, coldly, "I know not of what you speak. I have never been more well in body, mind or spirit, and I'd thank my lord there not to come any closer."
Reply
'My young lord, you may end up thanking me for something entirely different, in time.'
Quick as a flash, he brings up one hand. At conversational distance, it is a simple matter of grasping the trap-spell in a firm, inflexible grip and giving what is (relatively speaking) a smooth and steady but not violent pull.
The other hand is prepared to block any strike that might be forthcoming.
Reply
Like a hawk.
It's an attack--mayhap not on him, but he feels it nonetheless, and Caspian has been trained to do one thing when attacked.
Fight back.
His hand clenches, and the sword is drawn gleaming from its sheath in the blink of an eye.
Reply
Caspian stands still and silent.
Tom looks to Amy, an apoogy in his eyes. "He's all right. The spell doesn't hurt - I know from experience. It will keep him from hurting himself. Or one of us."
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"I understand."
She does. It's still not easy to watch.
Easiest and best are rarely the same thing.
Reply
Removing the spell from Nita had mostly been a matter of brushing away a few lingering remnants of the Dark's magic without interfering with her own. Removing the spell from Puck had been a hard and prolonged fight, with the Wild Magic resisting every inch of the way.
Removing the spell from Caspian, human and mortal and without magic, takes a slightly different touch. The spell has sunk in fairly deeply, and so it makes the most sense to start breaking the netting where the threads are not so tight. Carefully, Merriman works around the worst of the spell's snarl, and it begins to loosen.
As more and more of the threads break, he reaches out and places a hand lightly on Caspian's shoulder. A faint white glow coalesces around his hand, and a gentle warmth starts to spread from the point of contact, further weakening the spell as he continues to work.
Reply
(her house is all full of statues, they say it is--people she's turned into stone)
statue, with his sword drawn and every muscle frozen.
(always winter never Christmas)
He wonders if the witch's victims could think while they were stone, and if they could feel things, as he is now, feeling something like a net, silvery thin strands that are being pulled at and snapped, and he wishes he could lift his head to shake the feeling of threads from his throat, wishes he could step away from the hand on his shoulder, and the light, even while some part of him sees the glow and welcomes it as a parched man welcomes water.
(I am a star at rest)
And he wonders, too, about this man who is old as Coriakin was old, as Ramandu was old, and whether he is not of the same kind as they.
Reply
To Amy more than Merriman, he says, "I think it's going well."
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