Woo! 'Nother Caspian chappie!
Obligation
Seven-and-forty possible brides had presented themselves to him in the past three years. Seven-and-forty ships, carriages, and wagons had left carrying the same, if now-offended, cargo that they had brought.
"Forty-seven." Glenstorm had planted himself in front of Caspian, arms crossed, tail twitching irritably. "That is quite a few suitors, even for a King of a land such as Narnia."
Caspian repressed the urge to cower in submission before the threatening form. I'm glad he's on my side, he thought, giving a mental bow to Aslan.
Glenstorm glared at the delay. Caspian cleared his throat. "Well, none of them have been quite…did you see that last one? Ridiculous. She wanted to gild the entire castle. Where exactly would the money come from for such a project? And furthermore, what purpose would it serve?"
The centaur did not loosen his stance. If anything, he intensified it. "One does not account for all, my King."
Shoulders slumping, Caspian sighed. "I know. I should stop feeling sorry for myself, shouldn't I."
"You must take a wife, sire," Glenstorm's words were soft, but Caspian flinched away from them and all that they entailed. His captain saw and reached out a steadying arm to place on his lord's shoulder. "It does not have to be a love marriage. It can be purely political…but you need an heir. Narnia needs an heir."
The wait was long for any response, and sign of comprehension. But at last Caspian gave a short, terse nod and Glenstorm stepped away.
"There is a woman coming today," the captain said. Now sorrow weighted down his voice, a sympathy and a grief that nothing could be done to diminish the pain of the King that stood before him. "Give her a chance, sire. It would be a well-connected match." Glenstorm had never been one to let his words trail off into the air, but the silence that followed was sharp and piercing. With a quick bow he exited, pulling the door quietly shut behind him.
The night was clear, and Caspian felt himself both agonizingly aware and strangely muffled, as if everywhere he stepped he met an invisible barrier through light and sound. He supposed that the girl proffered towards him might have been considered pleasing…if one liked hair of such a weak, pale color, or limbs so scrawny and twig-like that they would surely snap at even the suggestion of physical labor. Her chin was sharp, and her eyes, while they could not be called dull, lacked the sparkle of intelligence. She gazed around with ghostly slowness as she sat at his side, giving the unsettling impression that she was underwater. Caspian had to pinch himself several times to keep from remembering another wraith-like figure drifting behind a sheet of glassy ice. Far away and long ago, in another age of his life. He found that if he did not look at the girl, merely fixing his eyes at a point over her shoulder when courtesy dictated he speak to her, he could forget the resemblance and focus upon the thousands of little etiquettes that distracted him from-
The musicians finished a song. Caspian clapped for exactly the right amount of time, with exactly the right level of noise and with his hands exactly as they should be positioned.
He made his way to the darkened lawn afterwards, settling himself against a tree with that was not visible from any of the main windows. His fingers tugged at the knotted grass absentmindedly, tracing lines and random patterns in the earth. If he tilted his head upwards he could see stars between the leafy canopy above him, glistening distantly as the sounds from the revelry still taking place in the ballroom.
"Son of Adam." It should have been surprising, but it was not; as Caspian rose and knelt, he found that he had been waiting here for just this purpose. He stood and faced the great lion, calmness spreading over the turmoil and storms within him; it did not banish the chaos, but merely made it seem smaller, more manageable.
"Aslan."
"You do not dance, Son of Adam?" From any other, the question would have been a test; but from Aslan it was a stone to step on, to find one's way with.
"My heart has not the room for dancing." A moment of study; neither one pled and neither one offered aid. Both expressions were equally unreadable. Then:
"She who sat at your side today is a goodly child. I know her father." Aslan turned, stepping onto a small path leading through the garden. "Walk with me."
Caspian followed.
"What is your opinion of her?" The great lion continued, back still facing Caspian. The latter frowned.
"She's not…unsightly. But she's- she does not appear to feel one way or another upon the subject of palaces, wealth, Narnia, Earth...it's as if she thinks all if it slightly beneath her, and so she keeps herself removed."
"And what would you say to a marriage?"
"Marriage!" Caspian gagged; he stopped abruptly and did not move again until Aslan nudged his leg with a paw. When he resumed walking it was stumbling and unsteady. His revulsion at such an idea was so strong, so absolute that he could not find the words to express it.
"You knew that someday it would be necessary." Aslan's head nodded almost imperceptibly to the gait of his steps, his nose brushing lightly against this flower or that. He was at peace- Caspian marveled, but then, he was Aslan.
"But she's so cold, so-"
"Would it have been better if she was warm? Passionate? Full of life?" Caspian was silent. The lion took a deep breath, and when he spoke, it was with the heavy echo of understanding. "It is not her especially you do not like, Son of Adam."
Putting his hands up to his face, Caspian let his steps lag and swerve across the path. "I- I know. It's that she's not, not-"
"Not Susan."
A choked sob escaped Caspian's tight-clamped lips, containing all the anguish of the past years in the one short sound. Aslan halted and gestured that Caspian should step beside him. He did so.
"Place your hand on my back, Son of Adam." Mystified, Caspian nonetheless did as he was told. The instant his flesh touched the lion's fur he gasped, staggering slightly. Hundreds of tiny veins pulsed at the surface of the skin, underneath fur that seemed to crackle with energy. The skin was hot, hotter than a roaring fire, sand on a summer's day. He discovered three links of spine under the muscle; three whole worlds of miracles. He could feel the thrumming of the mighty heart, the reverberations along the great ribs as the lungs expanded and contracted. Narnia within, and Narnia without…Aslan's entire being was filled with the land and yet…he was more. It was dizzying, intoxicating. Head strangely light, Caspian seemed to float a few inches off the ground.
"What can you sense?"
"Everything." Wonder, awe. The Universe beneath his fingertips. It was too much, too much for a mere mortal. Caspian slowly withdrew his hand and tucked it in front of him, massaging it slightly- it seemed to be buzzing.
"That is who I am. And I can see that you will marry this daughter of Ramandu, and that the stars will dance with the sun on your wedding-day…for that is what must happen. That is what is right for Narnia."
But is it what is right for me? Caspian did not say the words aloud, but Aslan heard them anyway.
"You are the king. What is right for Narnia is what is right for you," he admonished, sternness tempered with the sorrowful tenderness of a river that knew it must let itself split away, or be swallowed completely.
Caspian nodded.
Aslan padded ahead a few paces upon the path. He made no sound, bent no stalk or vine, and yet the earth seemed to shiver under his weight. It would remember that he had been there. "Farewell. I shall not pass this way again for a long time."
"Farewell."
And it was so.
HOLY CHEEZE WHIZ that turned out different then I expected it to…sorry for the delay. My schedule was eating me alive…but the next updates shall come fast and furious (or at least I hope so) so *drops to knees* I beg of you, review! You've been so good about it already…please don't leave me here without so much as a dryad to keep me company!
(Not that I'd want a dryad. Annoying little bi- not gonna say that word. But really, they're so giggly and they're always dragging the poor little fauns away to…well, erm…yeah. Take my word for it. They're really not all they're cracked up to be.)