Fic: With A Clouded View, Part 6 of 9 (Narnia - Lucy/Susan - PG)
Title: With A Clouded View (Part 6 of 9)
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing(s): Lucy/Susan
Rating: PG for this part. NC-17 overall
Summary: In which there is a morning after, and Lucy is paranoid and irritable.
Word count: ~3800
Warnings: Incest, although only implied so far. Don't like? Don't read.
A/N: Chapter 1 and initial notes are here, and Chapter 2 is here. Other parts can be found on the "fic: with a clouded view" tag.
Oh god, the total extent of my writing fail this year has to be experienced to be believed. less than 4000 words here and it's taken me months, one way or another. It's just lucky I have no ambitions to write for an actual living, I guess!
At the start of the year I'd rather hoped that I could finish this before 2013, but now that's seeming rather unlikely. Oh well, we shall see. Perhaps I'll overcome my writer's block and complete failure of motivation some time soon. I'm not holding my breath though!
Once again, huge thanks to likecharity, who took time out of her currently raging 1Direction obsession to beta for me. When something's dragged on for quite this long it's tricky to find willing betas so thank you loads, you're a star! ♥♥♥
Two years in the writing now, and 25000 words. I'll finish this if it kills me XD
Dedication: And this part's for Kati, who knows why :) ♥♥♥
Disclaimer: Obviously all the characters and pretty much everything else belong to the estate of C.S. Lewis, and Walden Media. This is just for fun!
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9, and Epilogue
Appendix (Various Interludes
(For those of you who find white on black annoying, there are also copies at my Archive of Our Own page).
With a Clouded View, Part 6
It's like all of her senses have abandoned her (along with all of her sense, but she said goodbye to that months ago). She can feel the warm softness of Susan's body, smell her skin, taste a tart sweetness on her lips (and yes, there's alcohol there too). Susan's breath comes slow and heavy (felt as much as heard) and as for sight, Lucy isn't sure she could open her eyes now even if she wanted to.
She holds on for dear life, her body doing its best to entirely dispel the space between them. Susan is straight-backed and unyielding (rigid with something that Lucy prays isn't shock) yet when Lucy swipes at her lips gently with her tongue they part slightly. The sound in her throat, a high-pitched whimper, is - well, Lucy's ability to read her sister vanished months ago, to be replaced by dream and fantasy. All she knows is that she's still there. Not kissing her back, not exactly, but not stopping her, and especially not fleeing into the chill of the night. That has to be a good sign. Doesn't it?
As rapt as she is she know it can't last, knows moreover that there is something she should be doing. Some sort of precautions to be observed. But who would come looking out here when there is so much spectacle inside? There is no chance that that noise, that ghost of the real world trying so rudely to impinge on her fantasy, could be anything other than the wind in the trees.
By the time she realises otherwise it is far too late.
“Susan! Susan, where are you?”
A child's voice, Corin's, and closer than she would have thought possible. Susan's hands are on her sister's arms even as Lucy is pulling herself backwards. Susan's mouth is a tight line now but her eyes are wild, her hair mussed. (And did Lucy do that? She wishes she could remember.) Looking around, Lucy sees the bright blue of Corin's tunic, the shock of white-blond hair, not five feet away. He's not the quietest child Lucy has ever known either. How could she have let him get so close?
She forces herself to smile, though she feels for all the world like she's been dragged out of deep, dreaming sleep into rude wakefulness. She's confused, couldn't think of a word to say if her life depended on it. Corin's eyes are wide and bright, as blue as his clothing. They flick from Susan to Lucy and back again. It feels like they see everything. His face is pale and serious-looking in the moonlight.
“You were kissing.” It's not an accusation, merely a statement of fact. There's the slight hint of a question. It's all that keeps Lucy's heart from sinking through the floor. At her side, Susan laughs (gaily, or slightly drunkenly. Lucy isn't entirely sure which).
“Corin dear, you are silly. My Lord Derren simply had something in his eye.”
“Did kissing him help?” Corin's reply is quick, still serious. Trying to understand, nothing more. Lucy feels like her face is on fire.
And then, “Why does Derren look like a girl?” Oh Aslan, is there no way to shut the child up?
Susan stands quickly, her hand finding Lucy's shoulder and squeezing it for the briefest moment.
“Really, Corin. I think all the excitement has sent you quite giddy.”
A few steps, and she interposes herself between Lucy and Corin. She bends just a little, perhaps to ruffle his hair. The view she presents to Lucy is .. distracting. Lucy had not thought it was possible for her face to burn hotter.
“Now, dear,” Susan is saying. “Let's get you in out of the cold. You'll catch your death. What was it you wanted me for?” She is brusque, matter of fact.
“I want to give Lucy her present, but I can't find her.” As Corin speaks, Susan turns back to Lucy, and mouths at her for the second time that night, “Wait for me.”
“Oh, is that all?” she says aloud. “I'm sure I saw her inside. Let's see if we can find her, shall we?” She ushers him away, his hand in hers. The last words that Lucy hears before they pass out of earshot are from Corin,
“I'm confused. There's a person in there that everyone says is Lucy, but it's not. She doesn't look anything like Lucy. She looks like a boy.”
Each and every time, Lucy is convinced that her heart cannot sink any further. Each and every time, she is wrong.
**
The stillness that follows isn't, not exactly. The sounds of the night are as loud as ever, and the buzz from within is getting more insistent. They're nothing compared to the cacophony in Lucy's head.
She sits statue-still, her hands in her lap, breathing slow and deep. She's shaking, just a little. Her teeth are chattering. Perhaps it is simply the cold, but she couldn't vouch for it.
She puts a hand to her mouth, pulling at her lower lip, then licks her lips slowly. The smile that steals across her face is slow in coming but, as realisation hits her, Lucy feels like it could light up the garden, the whole world even.
She waits. Basking finally in the glow of her triumph, she could wait all night.
**
She almost does. As the moon reaches its height and the temperature plummets, Lucy's anxiety grows.
She creeps to her bed through unlit corridors whispering with the echoes of her own birthday celebration. She tells herself that Susan would have come back if she could, had every intention of doing so. She wants to believe it but she's not sure that she can.
**
She awakes with the dawn. Even from her bed she can tell that the day is inclement. There is a bluster to the wind that threatens far more violence later, and the rain is rattling the casements. The sun is too feeble to even attempt to claw its way past the heavy draperies.
She moans, testing the sound out, seeing how well it fits her mood. Very well, apparently. She moans again, and this time she puts her heart into it. It's hard to tell which part of her feels worst, and she doesn't know exactly what she could have done to feel the way that she does. It's really not fair.
She thinks back over the few short months, back to a similar awakening, equally pained and with even less reason. She knows it wasn't long ago, yet it feels like a lifetime. So much has changed. And yet she can't help but think that even more has stayed exactly the same.
This morning, though, no inconvenient callers are intent on assaulting her door. If she's honest with herself (and she can't help but worry that she rarely is) Lucy is a little disappointed. She's still waiting, as bidden. Why won't Susan come?
She can't wait for long, though. Her belly is aching and her throat is parched. Two necessities then: food and drink. And if she can get a little news of the previous night then so much the better. For all that her sister fills her thoughts she still has a little space to worry exactly what mischief Derren has managed to get up to. Aslan knows she's capable of causing enough trouble for herself without that wretched boy messing things up even further.
And then there's Corin. The pit in her stomach yawns just a little wider.
**
The kitchens are cacophonous. They're rarely anything less, it's true, but she's never seen them quite like this. It seems that the entire castle has decided to break its fast at one and the same time. What remains of the usually bountiful repast looks like it has been ravaged by wild dogs, and nearly every stool, bench and open space has its occupant.
Well then. At the very least, she should be able to find a suitable source of gossip in all this throng. Cair Paravel has its share of them.
Lucy's luck (so faithless of late) does not betray her this time. Trencher and goblet in hand, casting around for a suitable place, she does not at first register the sound of her own name but when she does her response is unthinking. She turns to left and right, her thoughts sluggish, her head feeling like it has been stuffed with cotton. Face to face with the owner of the voice (voices, as it turns out) it is too late to pretend that she hasn't heard.
Be careful what you wish for, Lucy. You might get it.
She grits her teeth, entirely unsure whether her day is about to get better, or much worse. The twins, side by side, look dishevelled, tired, and as radiantly (disgustingly) lovely as ever. Lucy can't help the twinge of envy she feels when she sees them, never could.
“Lucy, dear.” Rhiannon's smile is broad, all teeth. She flutters her fingers, a gesture Angharad mirrors. “We were just wondering if you'd emerge today. You did seem to have quite the thirst last night.”
Harry, looking like she might have indulged a rather prodigious thirst herself the night before, waves a hand at the empty chair before them. Feeling a little hunted in spite of her desperate need for information (a hare cornered by dogs, nothing for it but to turn and fight) Lucy sits. She forces her sunniest smile.
“Oh, I didn't drink all that much.” She laughs. “I thought I'd leave that to Gruffle and his friends. I don't even like the taste really.”
Harry raises her eyebrows at that, though even that simple gesture seems to pain her. Rhee, clearly feeling less delicate and always the more boisterous of the two, settles for a disbelieving snort.
“Well, that didn't seem to stop you last night. Really, I was afraid you'd end up having to be carried to bed.”
(Oh, Derren. What have you done?)
“You still managed to avoid us all night, though. We were really rather hurt.” Rhee's tone is gentle, playful even, yet still Lucy is convinced that there is an edge there too. She can't think how to respond. She covers her discomfort by setting her breakfast down and sitting in the proffered seat. She schools her face into a suitably remorseful expression.
Harry comes to her rescue, ever the more sensitive twin, prodding her sister in the ribs somewhat pointedly.
“Rhee, stop it. You're making her feel guilty.” She turns her smile back on Lucy. “Don't listen to her. I think she was too busy dragging Edmund around the dance floor to notice anything. They made such a pretty couple.” She has the most wicked grin and despite her discomfiture Lucy can't but smile back.
Rhiannon looks less amused. “Hey, you cow. I wasn't dragging anyone anywhere. We just like to dance, that's all,” she says, a little sharply. “Edmund dances very well for someone so young.” Despite the huffiness of her tone Lucy can tell she's not really out of sorts. It's just the game they play with each other, have done as long as she can remember. Rhee winks at her, conspiratorial of a sudden. “She's just trying to distract me from the most important question,” she says, her voice a stage-whisper. “Which is: where were she and Rhyddion for most of the night and what exactly were they doing?”
Lucy begins to relax. The back and forth of the twins' sparring is so familiar she finds it almost comforting. Harry is doing her best to defend herself, though her fondness for Rhyddion has been apparent for months. She plays the game out of habit most likely; she looks incredibly pleased with herself. Lucy smiles, happy for her in spite of all. And then:
“Ooh, Lucy.” Rhee turns bright green eyes full on her. “Perhaps you'll have an idea of what's going on with that sister of yours. The Lion knows no one else seems to and you know what she's like, always so secretive.”
Heart in her throat, still Lucy can't help but jump to her defence.
“She's not that bad!” She thinks (hopes) that she's managed to inject a slight edge of indignation into her tone. Better that than the shocked squeak she barely manages to clamp her teeth over. “She has so much on her mind, that's all.” She mumbles to a halt.
Harry's eyes are on her too now. She's been looking progressively paler (a feat, to be sure; the twins are paper white at the best of times). Her chin now rests heavily in the crook of her elbow, mere inches from the table, yet the lift of her eyebrows, part question, part accusation, still manages to make Lucy feel like she's been pinned in place.
A little more lively, and looking a lot less like she'd like nothing more than to sink through the table to the floor beneath, Rhiannon's expression still mirrors Harry's in ways that Lucy finds distinctly uncomfortable.
“You know, don't you?” Rhee's voice is accusing but gleeful.
Harry is silent, her eyes never leaving Lucy's face. It's not at all likely that either of them will be distracted by Lucy's sudden interest in her breakfast, but she really can't think of any other way to respond. She drinks slowly, her mind racing. The water is cool and refreshing and it doesn't help in the slightest.
“Know what?” she asks, doing her best to feign ignorance.
Rhee takes a deep breath, keen to share, apparently. “Well, it seems that little Prince Corin, when he wasn't terrorising everyone, caught your beloved sister lip to lip with - well, that's the point. Corin doesn't know who, or he isn't saying, and of course Susan's just laughing it off. It really is causing quite the buzz.”
It feels like the water she has just drunk has frozen in her belly. The cup is shaking in her hand. She sets it down carefully.
“I'm sure if Susan says it's nothing then we should think no more of it.” Her voice sounds stilted to her own ears, prim even. “And besides, Corin's very young and it was late. Perhaps he was just seeing things. It was very dark in the garden, after all.”
Even as the words pass her lips she's cursing her own stupidity. Rhiannon is merciless.
“See, you do know. I didn't tell you where Corin saw her.”
It seems to Lucy that anything she could possibly say will only serve to confirm Rhee's suspicions, but she can't help herself.
“Um. Well where else would she be, if this supposed kiss even took place? It was such a lovely night. I think it's romantic.” She's already contradicting herself. Oh, Aslan. She struggles on. “Really, you two. Why is it even important? Just because all the other tattle-tales can't still their tongues for five minutes that doesn't mean you have to make it worse. You're her friends. Isn't that more important?”
Rhiannon has the grace to look chastened, at least a little. Angharad simply looks paler and even more ill.
“Oh, Lucy, I didn't mean anything by it. Neither of us do. You do know that, don't you? We just want to see her happy, that's all.” Rhiannon smiles a little ruefully. “Though I will grant you that I might not show it as often as I should.”
It's impossible even to pretend to be angry with either of the twins for long; Lucy feels guilty already. (She wonders again when it was that guilt became so familiar to her. It seems a long time ago).
“It's all right.” She reaches across the table and touches Rhee's hand briefly. “I know you mean well. It's just... please, if you care, please leave this. Please.” She ends on a gabble, suddenly desperate to be somewhere, anywhere, else. “It's hard enough as it is. Please don't make it worse.”
The twins look baffled; Harry is so completely out of her depth now that she can barely do anything but stare, lips parted, brow furrowed. Rhee, eyes clearer, yet shows no more sign of comprehension.
Her heart pounding, the blood rushing in her ears, Lucy is aware above all that she has just made everything much worse. She does the one thing she knows how to do, the one thing she is good at (and when did she become so good at it?). With a few incoherent words of apology she turns and she walks away, chaos in her wake. She can hope that no one else will recognise the wilfully dignified exit as a retreat, or unravel the chaos enough to comprehend the reason for it. Sometimes she thinks that hope is all she has. She dreads the day that she loses even that.
**
In contrast to the cacophony of the kitchens, and the greater cacophony in her head, the rest of Cair Paravel is deathly quiet. Even the everyday bustle is muted. The few people - beast and human - that she passes move quietly on bare or softly-shod feet. They smile warmly as she passes, with only the slightest touch of deference (yet still more than she would have liked). Sensitive to it as she is, Lucy can see nothing of criticism or condemnation in their faces. Pausing at one of several doors that will lead her out into the fresh morning air, she tries her best to slow her breathing. The incipient panic, so close to overwhelming her in the face of the twins' calm, questioning gaze, has subsided to her customary twinge of near-constant anxiety. She needs to be away from here, away from the chance of having to see or, Aslan forbid, actually talk to, anyone. Outside it is grey and unsettled. There are signs of rain. There'll be a storm soon. How very fitting.
Lucy hugs herself, cloakless and already regretting her lack of foresight. A gust of wind takes her hair and blinds her briefly. All the same, it's invigorating. It's enough to tempt her away from warmth and shelter, out into the gardens. At least there she'll find the solitude she so desperately needs.
**
She can't help wishing that the weather wouldn’t match her mood quite so closely (or perhaps it's the other way around?) She can see the faintest line of gold edging the grey of the clouds. Maybe she'll feel better when the sun finally shows its face but not now. She doesn't even know why. She could not say that everything had gone to plan, she doubts that she'll ever be able to say that, and yet she had got what she wanted, even if it wasn't exactly everything she had dreamed. How is that not enough?
And then she knows. The niggle that has been worrying at the back of her mind all morning, all night in fact, disguised for the most part by paranoia and panic, finally shows herself. And it's simply this: it's not enough. How could she ever think that it would be? She can't remember a time when one of anything has ever been enough. How had she thought that a kiss would be any different.
She had been so convinced that it would make things better.
It's made them worse.
**
She's not at all surprised when her aimless feet lead her to the Walled Garden, its gate closed but unbolted. And while she's a little more surprised to discover Susan, humming softly to herself, her chin in her hands, it is only a little more.
The bench is dark with rain, the wind seems to be gathering itself, building up to a crescendo that won't be long in coming. Yet there Susan sits, oblivious. Oblivious, that is, to the world beyond the garden's four walls. Lucy could swear that she has made no sound and yet,
“Lucy. I thought you would come.” Susan doesn't even look up.
Irritation claws at her throat, struggling to find a voice. (Predictably. They are sisters after all). She clamps down on it, barely.
“I waited ages. You told me to wait for you so I did. What, were you just playing with me?” She hates how petulant she sounds, how young.
Susan does look up now, her face clouding a little. “I know. I'm sorry. I, ah, I think I had a little too much to drink. Every time I tried to get away someone would try to talk to me or dance with me. I'm afraid I deeply offended the Calormene ambassador by refusing to dance with him, but Lune did ask first and I'm sure it would have been very rude to turn him down just to keep His Excellency Imenes bin Imenradin happy. I did try to find him afterwards but honestly I think he was more interested in nursing his wounded pride. Really, our relations with Calormen would be so much more cordial if the Tisroc were to choose a less, um, pompous representative. “
Lucy smiles tightly, her annoyance no closer to subsiding. “Well, yes. He always was rather too keen to take offence, everybody says so. But I'm sure you did everything you could. You're usually so considerate, after all.”
The barb misses Susan entirely. It doesn't help Lucy's mood.
“Thank you, dear.” Susan laughs, winces, some other memory apparently struggling to the front of her mind. “I fear little Corin may have sparked something of a scandal. My virtue is doubtful all of a sudden, apparently.”
“Oh?” Lucy asks, all innocence.
“I suppose it was always going to be impossible to stop him from spreading rumours. Ah well, it can't be helped. Imagine how uncomfortable it would be if it truly had been some secret tryst,” she says, laughing again.
Lucy doesn't have to imagine. She's staring at the ground, her face burning (did she always blush so easily? She can't recall). She can't stop the words she finds on her tongue though part of her (most of her) knows she should.
“But. You kissed me back.” It's barely a whisper (and not true, not really). The noise of the wind should have saved her. Oh Aslan, please let it be so.
She forces herself to meet Susan's eyes and knows immediately that luck and weather aren't with her, not today. She watches her face, can almost read her thoughts. And after so long, there it is. Realisation. Her already pale skin pales further. There's something horribly like pity in her eyes.
“Oh.” Her whisper is almost drowned by the oncoming storm. It doesn't matter. “Oh Lucy.”
Lucy can't bear it. She's starting to feel like she spends half her life fleeing in embarrassment and shame. Why stop now?
This entry was originally posted at http://prunesquallormd.dreamwidth.org/78117.html. Comment wherever you like :)
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing(s): Lucy/Susan
Rating: PG for this part. NC-17 overall
Summary: In which there is a morning after, and Lucy is paranoid and irritable.
Word count: ~3800
Warnings: Incest, although only implied so far. Don't like? Don't read.
A/N: Chapter 1 and initial notes are here, and Chapter 2 is here. Other parts can be found on the "fic: with a clouded view" tag.
Oh god, the total extent of my writing fail this year has to be experienced to be believed. less than 4000 words here and it's taken me months, one way or another. It's just lucky I have no ambitions to write for an actual living, I guess!
At the start of the year I'd rather hoped that I could finish this before 2013, but now that's seeming rather unlikely. Oh well, we shall see. Perhaps I'll overcome my writer's block and complete failure of motivation some time soon. I'm not holding my breath though!
Once again, huge thanks to likecharity, who took time out of her currently raging 1Direction obsession to beta for me. When something's dragged on for quite this long it's tricky to find willing betas so thank you loads, you're a star! ♥♥♥
Two years in the writing now, and 25000 words. I'll finish this if it kills me XD
Dedication: And this part's for Kati, who knows why :) ♥♥♥
Disclaimer: Obviously all the characters and pretty much everything else belong to the estate of C.S. Lewis, and Walden Media. This is just for fun!
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9, and Epilogue
Appendix (Various Interludes
(For those of you who find white on black annoying, there are also copies at my Archive of Our Own page).
With a Clouded View, Part 6
It's like all of her senses have abandoned her (along with all of her sense, but she said goodbye to that months ago). She can feel the warm softness of Susan's body, smell her skin, taste a tart sweetness on her lips (and yes, there's alcohol there too). Susan's breath comes slow and heavy (felt as much as heard) and as for sight, Lucy isn't sure she could open her eyes now even if she wanted to.
She holds on for dear life, her body doing its best to entirely dispel the space between them. Susan is straight-backed and unyielding (rigid with something that Lucy prays isn't shock) yet when Lucy swipes at her lips gently with her tongue they part slightly. The sound in her throat, a high-pitched whimper, is - well, Lucy's ability to read her sister vanished months ago, to be replaced by dream and fantasy. All she knows is that she's still there. Not kissing her back, not exactly, but not stopping her, and especially not fleeing into the chill of the night. That has to be a good sign. Doesn't it?
As rapt as she is she know it can't last, knows moreover that there is something she should be doing. Some sort of precautions to be observed. But who would come looking out here when there is so much spectacle inside? There is no chance that that noise, that ghost of the real world trying so rudely to impinge on her fantasy, could be anything other than the wind in the trees.
By the time she realises otherwise it is far too late.
“Susan! Susan, where are you?”
A child's voice, Corin's, and closer than she would have thought possible. Susan's hands are on her sister's arms even as Lucy is pulling herself backwards. Susan's mouth is a tight line now but her eyes are wild, her hair mussed. (And did Lucy do that? She wishes she could remember.) Looking around, Lucy sees the bright blue of Corin's tunic, the shock of white-blond hair, not five feet away. He's not the quietest child Lucy has ever known either. How could she have let him get so close?
She forces herself to smile, though she feels for all the world like she's been dragged out of deep, dreaming sleep into rude wakefulness. She's confused, couldn't think of a word to say if her life depended on it. Corin's eyes are wide and bright, as blue as his clothing. They flick from Susan to Lucy and back again. It feels like they see everything. His face is pale and serious-looking in the moonlight.
“You were kissing.” It's not an accusation, merely a statement of fact. There's the slight hint of a question. It's all that keeps Lucy's heart from sinking through the floor. At her side, Susan laughs (gaily, or slightly drunkenly. Lucy isn't entirely sure which).
“Corin dear, you are silly. My Lord Derren simply had something in his eye.”
“Did kissing him help?” Corin's reply is quick, still serious. Trying to understand, nothing more. Lucy feels like her face is on fire.
And then, “Why does Derren look like a girl?” Oh Aslan, is there no way to shut the child up?
Susan stands quickly, her hand finding Lucy's shoulder and squeezing it for the briefest moment.
“Really, Corin. I think all the excitement has sent you quite giddy.”
A few steps, and she interposes herself between Lucy and Corin. She bends just a little, perhaps to ruffle his hair. The view she presents to Lucy is .. distracting. Lucy had not thought it was possible for her face to burn hotter.
“Now, dear,” Susan is saying. “Let's get you in out of the cold. You'll catch your death. What was it you wanted me for?” She is brusque, matter of fact.
“I want to give Lucy her present, but I can't find her.” As Corin speaks, Susan turns back to Lucy, and mouths at her for the second time that night, “Wait for me.”
“Oh, is that all?” she says aloud. “I'm sure I saw her inside. Let's see if we can find her, shall we?” She ushers him away, his hand in hers. The last words that Lucy hears before they pass out of earshot are from Corin,
“I'm confused. There's a person in there that everyone says is Lucy, but it's not. She doesn't look anything like Lucy. She looks like a boy.”
Each and every time, Lucy is convinced that her heart cannot sink any further. Each and every time, she is wrong.
**
The stillness that follows isn't, not exactly. The sounds of the night are as loud as ever, and the buzz from within is getting more insistent. They're nothing compared to the cacophony in Lucy's head.
She sits statue-still, her hands in her lap, breathing slow and deep. She's shaking, just a little. Her teeth are chattering. Perhaps it is simply the cold, but she couldn't vouch for it.
She puts a hand to her mouth, pulling at her lower lip, then licks her lips slowly. The smile that steals across her face is slow in coming but, as realisation hits her, Lucy feels like it could light up the garden, the whole world even.
She waits. Basking finally in the glow of her triumph, she could wait all night.
**
She almost does. As the moon reaches its height and the temperature plummets, Lucy's anxiety grows.
She creeps to her bed through unlit corridors whispering with the echoes of her own birthday celebration. She tells herself that Susan would have come back if she could, had every intention of doing so. She wants to believe it but she's not sure that she can.
**
She awakes with the dawn. Even from her bed she can tell that the day is inclement. There is a bluster to the wind that threatens far more violence later, and the rain is rattling the casements. The sun is too feeble to even attempt to claw its way past the heavy draperies.
She moans, testing the sound out, seeing how well it fits her mood. Very well, apparently. She moans again, and this time she puts her heart into it. It's hard to tell which part of her feels worst, and she doesn't know exactly what she could have done to feel the way that she does. It's really not fair.
She thinks back over the few short months, back to a similar awakening, equally pained and with even less reason. She knows it wasn't long ago, yet it feels like a lifetime. So much has changed. And yet she can't help but think that even more has stayed exactly the same.
This morning, though, no inconvenient callers are intent on assaulting her door. If she's honest with herself (and she can't help but worry that she rarely is) Lucy is a little disappointed. She's still waiting, as bidden. Why won't Susan come?
She can't wait for long, though. Her belly is aching and her throat is parched. Two necessities then: food and drink. And if she can get a little news of the previous night then so much the better. For all that her sister fills her thoughts she still has a little space to worry exactly what mischief Derren has managed to get up to. Aslan knows she's capable of causing enough trouble for herself without that wretched boy messing things up even further.
And then there's Corin. The pit in her stomach yawns just a little wider.
**
The kitchens are cacophonous. They're rarely anything less, it's true, but she's never seen them quite like this. It seems that the entire castle has decided to break its fast at one and the same time. What remains of the usually bountiful repast looks like it has been ravaged by wild dogs, and nearly every stool, bench and open space has its occupant.
Well then. At the very least, she should be able to find a suitable source of gossip in all this throng. Cair Paravel has its share of them.
Lucy's luck (so faithless of late) does not betray her this time. Trencher and goblet in hand, casting around for a suitable place, she does not at first register the sound of her own name but when she does her response is unthinking. She turns to left and right, her thoughts sluggish, her head feeling like it has been stuffed with cotton. Face to face with the owner of the voice (voices, as it turns out) it is too late to pretend that she hasn't heard.
Be careful what you wish for, Lucy. You might get it.
She grits her teeth, entirely unsure whether her day is about to get better, or much worse. The twins, side by side, look dishevelled, tired, and as radiantly (disgustingly) lovely as ever. Lucy can't help the twinge of envy she feels when she sees them, never could.
“Lucy, dear.” Rhiannon's smile is broad, all teeth. She flutters her fingers, a gesture Angharad mirrors. “We were just wondering if you'd emerge today. You did seem to have quite the thirst last night.”
Harry, looking like she might have indulged a rather prodigious thirst herself the night before, waves a hand at the empty chair before them. Feeling a little hunted in spite of her desperate need for information (a hare cornered by dogs, nothing for it but to turn and fight) Lucy sits. She forces her sunniest smile.
“Oh, I didn't drink all that much.” She laughs. “I thought I'd leave that to Gruffle and his friends. I don't even like the taste really.”
Harry raises her eyebrows at that, though even that simple gesture seems to pain her. Rhee, clearly feeling less delicate and always the more boisterous of the two, settles for a disbelieving snort.
“Well, that didn't seem to stop you last night. Really, I was afraid you'd end up having to be carried to bed.”
(Oh, Derren. What have you done?)
“You still managed to avoid us all night, though. We were really rather hurt.” Rhee's tone is gentle, playful even, yet still Lucy is convinced that there is an edge there too. She can't think how to respond. She covers her discomfort by setting her breakfast down and sitting in the proffered seat. She schools her face into a suitably remorseful expression.
Harry comes to her rescue, ever the more sensitive twin, prodding her sister in the ribs somewhat pointedly.
“Rhee, stop it. You're making her feel guilty.” She turns her smile back on Lucy. “Don't listen to her. I think she was too busy dragging Edmund around the dance floor to notice anything. They made such a pretty couple.” She has the most wicked grin and despite her discomfiture Lucy can't but smile back.
Rhiannon looks less amused. “Hey, you cow. I wasn't dragging anyone anywhere. We just like to dance, that's all,” she says, a little sharply. “Edmund dances very well for someone so young.” Despite the huffiness of her tone Lucy can tell she's not really out of sorts. It's just the game they play with each other, have done as long as she can remember. Rhee winks at her, conspiratorial of a sudden. “She's just trying to distract me from the most important question,” she says, her voice a stage-whisper. “Which is: where were she and Rhyddion for most of the night and what exactly were they doing?”
Lucy begins to relax. The back and forth of the twins' sparring is so familiar she finds it almost comforting. Harry is doing her best to defend herself, though her fondness for Rhyddion has been apparent for months. She plays the game out of habit most likely; she looks incredibly pleased with herself. Lucy smiles, happy for her in spite of all. And then:
“Ooh, Lucy.” Rhee turns bright green eyes full on her. “Perhaps you'll have an idea of what's going on with that sister of yours. The Lion knows no one else seems to and you know what she's like, always so secretive.”
Heart in her throat, still Lucy can't help but jump to her defence.
“She's not that bad!” She thinks (hopes) that she's managed to inject a slight edge of indignation into her tone. Better that than the shocked squeak she barely manages to clamp her teeth over. “She has so much on her mind, that's all.” She mumbles to a halt.
Harry's eyes are on her too now. She's been looking progressively paler (a feat, to be sure; the twins are paper white at the best of times). Her chin now rests heavily in the crook of her elbow, mere inches from the table, yet the lift of her eyebrows, part question, part accusation, still manages to make Lucy feel like she's been pinned in place.
A little more lively, and looking a lot less like she'd like nothing more than to sink through the table to the floor beneath, Rhiannon's expression still mirrors Harry's in ways that Lucy finds distinctly uncomfortable.
“You know, don't you?” Rhee's voice is accusing but gleeful.
Harry is silent, her eyes never leaving Lucy's face. It's not at all likely that either of them will be distracted by Lucy's sudden interest in her breakfast, but she really can't think of any other way to respond. She drinks slowly, her mind racing. The water is cool and refreshing and it doesn't help in the slightest.
“Know what?” she asks, doing her best to feign ignorance.
Rhee takes a deep breath, keen to share, apparently. “Well, it seems that little Prince Corin, when he wasn't terrorising everyone, caught your beloved sister lip to lip with - well, that's the point. Corin doesn't know who, or he isn't saying, and of course Susan's just laughing it off. It really is causing quite the buzz.”
It feels like the water she has just drunk has frozen in her belly. The cup is shaking in her hand. She sets it down carefully.
“I'm sure if Susan says it's nothing then we should think no more of it.” Her voice sounds stilted to her own ears, prim even. “And besides, Corin's very young and it was late. Perhaps he was just seeing things. It was very dark in the garden, after all.”
Even as the words pass her lips she's cursing her own stupidity. Rhiannon is merciless.
“See, you do know. I didn't tell you where Corin saw her.”
It seems to Lucy that anything she could possibly say will only serve to confirm Rhee's suspicions, but she can't help herself.
“Um. Well where else would she be, if this supposed kiss even took place? It was such a lovely night. I think it's romantic.” She's already contradicting herself. Oh, Aslan. She struggles on. “Really, you two. Why is it even important? Just because all the other tattle-tales can't still their tongues for five minutes that doesn't mean you have to make it worse. You're her friends. Isn't that more important?”
Rhiannon has the grace to look chastened, at least a little. Angharad simply looks paler and even more ill.
“Oh, Lucy, I didn't mean anything by it. Neither of us do. You do know that, don't you? We just want to see her happy, that's all.” Rhiannon smiles a little ruefully. “Though I will grant you that I might not show it as often as I should.”
It's impossible even to pretend to be angry with either of the twins for long; Lucy feels guilty already. (She wonders again when it was that guilt became so familiar to her. It seems a long time ago).
“It's all right.” She reaches across the table and touches Rhee's hand briefly. “I know you mean well. It's just... please, if you care, please leave this. Please.” She ends on a gabble, suddenly desperate to be somewhere, anywhere, else. “It's hard enough as it is. Please don't make it worse.”
The twins look baffled; Harry is so completely out of her depth now that she can barely do anything but stare, lips parted, brow furrowed. Rhee, eyes clearer, yet shows no more sign of comprehension.
Her heart pounding, the blood rushing in her ears, Lucy is aware above all that she has just made everything much worse. She does the one thing she knows how to do, the one thing she is good at (and when did she become so good at it?). With a few incoherent words of apology she turns and she walks away, chaos in her wake. She can hope that no one else will recognise the wilfully dignified exit as a retreat, or unravel the chaos enough to comprehend the reason for it. Sometimes she thinks that hope is all she has. She dreads the day that she loses even that.
**
In contrast to the cacophony of the kitchens, and the greater cacophony in her head, the rest of Cair Paravel is deathly quiet. Even the everyday bustle is muted. The few people - beast and human - that she passes move quietly on bare or softly-shod feet. They smile warmly as she passes, with only the slightest touch of deference (yet still more than she would have liked). Sensitive to it as she is, Lucy can see nothing of criticism or condemnation in their faces. Pausing at one of several doors that will lead her out into the fresh morning air, she tries her best to slow her breathing. The incipient panic, so close to overwhelming her in the face of the twins' calm, questioning gaze, has subsided to her customary twinge of near-constant anxiety. She needs to be away from here, away from the chance of having to see or, Aslan forbid, actually talk to, anyone. Outside it is grey and unsettled. There are signs of rain. There'll be a storm soon. How very fitting.
Lucy hugs herself, cloakless and already regretting her lack of foresight. A gust of wind takes her hair and blinds her briefly. All the same, it's invigorating. It's enough to tempt her away from warmth and shelter, out into the gardens. At least there she'll find the solitude she so desperately needs.
**
She can't help wishing that the weather wouldn’t match her mood quite so closely (or perhaps it's the other way around?) She can see the faintest line of gold edging the grey of the clouds. Maybe she'll feel better when the sun finally shows its face but not now. She doesn't even know why. She could not say that everything had gone to plan, she doubts that she'll ever be able to say that, and yet she had got what she wanted, even if it wasn't exactly everything she had dreamed. How is that not enough?
And then she knows. The niggle that has been worrying at the back of her mind all morning, all night in fact, disguised for the most part by paranoia and panic, finally shows herself. And it's simply this: it's not enough. How could she ever think that it would be? She can't remember a time when one of anything has ever been enough. How had she thought that a kiss would be any different.
She had been so convinced that it would make things better.
It's made them worse.
**
She's not at all surprised when her aimless feet lead her to the Walled Garden, its gate closed but unbolted. And while she's a little more surprised to discover Susan, humming softly to herself, her chin in her hands, it is only a little more.
The bench is dark with rain, the wind seems to be gathering itself, building up to a crescendo that won't be long in coming. Yet there Susan sits, oblivious. Oblivious, that is, to the world beyond the garden's four walls. Lucy could swear that she has made no sound and yet,
“Lucy. I thought you would come.” Susan doesn't even look up.
Irritation claws at her throat, struggling to find a voice. (Predictably. They are sisters after all). She clamps down on it, barely.
“I waited ages. You told me to wait for you so I did. What, were you just playing with me?” She hates how petulant she sounds, how young.
Susan does look up now, her face clouding a little. “I know. I'm sorry. I, ah, I think I had a little too much to drink. Every time I tried to get away someone would try to talk to me or dance with me. I'm afraid I deeply offended the Calormene ambassador by refusing to dance with him, but Lune did ask first and I'm sure it would have been very rude to turn him down just to keep His Excellency Imenes bin Imenradin happy. I did try to find him afterwards but honestly I think he was more interested in nursing his wounded pride. Really, our relations with Calormen would be so much more cordial if the Tisroc were to choose a less, um, pompous representative. “
Lucy smiles tightly, her annoyance no closer to subsiding. “Well, yes. He always was rather too keen to take offence, everybody says so. But I'm sure you did everything you could. You're usually so considerate, after all.”
The barb misses Susan entirely. It doesn't help Lucy's mood.
“Thank you, dear.” Susan laughs, winces, some other memory apparently struggling to the front of her mind. “I fear little Corin may have sparked something of a scandal. My virtue is doubtful all of a sudden, apparently.”
“Oh?” Lucy asks, all innocence.
“I suppose it was always going to be impossible to stop him from spreading rumours. Ah well, it can't be helped. Imagine how uncomfortable it would be if it truly had been some secret tryst,” she says, laughing again.
Lucy doesn't have to imagine. She's staring at the ground, her face burning (did she always blush so easily? She can't recall). She can't stop the words she finds on her tongue though part of her (most of her) knows she should.
“But. You kissed me back.” It's barely a whisper (and not true, not really). The noise of the wind should have saved her. Oh Aslan, please let it be so.
She forces herself to meet Susan's eyes and knows immediately that luck and weather aren't with her, not today. She watches her face, can almost read her thoughts. And after so long, there it is. Realisation. Her already pale skin pales further. There's something horribly like pity in her eyes.
“Oh.” Her whisper is almost drowned by the oncoming storm. It doesn't matter. “Oh Lucy.”
Lucy can't bear it. She's starting to feel like she spends half her life fleeing in embarrassment and shame. Why stop now?
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