[lipstick and lions] how clearly I first saw you

[revoluxionary]

He has dreams, now and then, but nothing he ever remembers with true clarity in the morning. He wakes with shadows clinging to the corners of his mind, the weight of a sword at his hip and the roar of a lion in his ears and the unsettling certainty that his lips have been burned by somehow soaring too close to the son. For a few minutes, he can breathe in the air of his little room and taste the salt air; for a few heartbeats, he can sense a tiny heartbeat nestled close against his own.

There are mornings when he wakes and feel quite sure he's lived and loved and lost long before his earliest memories of the quiet home he had born into; the little life with his biological parents he would think must be a dream except for the photos which prove it existed.

It never lasts long. It always evaporates when his feet hit the cold floor and reality begins to seep up into his veins.

Sometimes, he lets himself linger against the sheets, trying to cling to faces from the dreams which aren't based in life but feel somehow real. He furrows his brow and lets his mind chase after the curves of cheeks, the glimmer of eyes, the melody of voices he wants to let be solid and true. He knows the world like a dream lingers more solidly in the back of his thoughts on days he indulges.

There's something distracted in his spine as he holds up the wall at an officer's ball, the Pevensie girls safely escorted and Edmund safely handed off to dance with a beautiful fire-haired girl he's danced with before. There's something like longing he can't explain holding his lips in a frown as he gazes absently out the window and chases the reflected light in the glass the way he's always chasing dreams that simply won't stay put.

Comments

first time dancing, i think :|a

[fadedlight]

The moment Caspian had first walked into a room with her, the memories had come flooding back. It had been a rough; jarring thing. Something which had had her retreating from the room to compose herself and returning only after she managed to catch her breath.

But when she'd seen the lack of recognition in his eyes, she realized it hadn't been a two way revelation. It was painful, being near him and knowing what they were and not having him know the same-- even more so when she realized how frequently he came in the company of the Pevensies he'd always cared for in a way so different than he had for her.

And yet, she'd managed to strike up a conversation with the young man. It had been painful, being able to be with him again and yet not really with him. It had been wonderful, to be with him again at all.

It had gotten to the point where she felt comfortable being able to approach him when he was clearly thoughtful like this, to appear at his side and brush a hand very briefly against his elbow.

"Are you all right?"

\o/ ♥

[revoluxionary]

It's odd, how distinctly he can almost feel her fingers through the fabric of his jacket, warm and present and cutting through the haze he'd been falling into at the window. It doesn't quite make him smile, but it does pull his attention sharply to her.

"Miss Llyr."

There's fondness in his tone, for all there's something vaguely haunted in his eyes. She's not making it worse, but--unlike playing with his cousin or listening silently to his uncle--she's also not making the uncertain haze fade away completely.

"Forgive me. I'm not-- quite myself tonight."

♥♥♥~

[fadedlight]

"It's all right," she murmurs softly, though her eyes study his with a hidden sort of worry, "Is there-- anything I can do to help?"

[revoluxionary]

There's something oddly comfortable about having her fret after him. It's distinct from being tsked at by Susan or Lucy, although he can't quite put his finger on what's particularly different about it--or similar about it, if he's honest.

"You shouldn't be fretting after me. You ought to be-- enjoying yourself. Dancing."

That's why people come to this sort of thing, after all, isn't it?

[fadedlight]

"--I'd feel bad, though. Enjoying myself if I-- knew you weren't."

If she knew he was hurting and couldn't help.

"Please-- talk to me? Or-- at least dance with me?"

[revoluxionary]

"Have you not been-- warned against that?" Managing a proper laugh is impossible, but he can let a slight chuckle escape as he settles his attention even more solidly on her. "I tend to step on toes as often as the floor."

Lucy, certainly, had laughed about it loudly enough on the rare evenings she coaxed him into dancing with her. It wasn't as terrible as it had once been, of course--but he couldn't quite put a finger on when 'once' could have been.

"I'd hate to spoil your mood and disappoint you with a poor sense of rhythm."

[fadedlight]

"I don't mind," she says, perhaps a little too quickly, "I'd-- really quite like it. If you would."

It's so hard, interacting with him like this, but she finds she can't pull away, either.

[revoluxionary]

"So please you, Miss Llyr."

Who is he to deny someone who's been so kind and gentle with him, no matter his obvious preoccupation with the Pevensie? Who is he to come to a ball and not allow a lovely young woman to ply him into dancing?

It occurs to him briefly as he offers her his hand that he's not certain they've ever actually touched before, beyond her light taps against his arm and shoulder.

[fadedlight]

"--Oh, thank you."

It's clear his acceptance surprises her. It's also clear it brings her great joy.

A joy that's undermined just slightly by the flicker of hurt at his offered hand. It's going to be painful to touch him, she imagines.

It's also going to be so wonderful, to feel his hand in hers again.

Taking his hand is full of the same tentativeness she felt when she first touched him like this, a lifetime ago.

[revoluxionary]

Her fingers are incredibly warm when they finally rest properly on his.

(He winced at the sensation of fire against his lips and she pulled back abruptly, a string of apologies pouring from her he could only laugh softly and sooth with the reassurance he would learn to trust a far higher heat to earn a kiss from the woman he would have as his wi--)

It's destabilizing to have such a clear rush of a dream he most often forget thrown to the front of his mind while out in public. It catches his breath hard in his chest as his fingers briefly grip a little too hard around hers until he can properly find his feet again.

"--sorry."

Her fingers feel incredibly warm as he folds them more properly into his for the dance.

[fadedlight]

She thinks she sees a flicker of-- something in his eyes when her hand finds his. It has an ember of hope spark back into life in her chest. Her fingers close more determinedly around his when his grip settles.

"It's all right," she answers, pulling him carefully out onto the dance floor, "Are you-- feeling okay?"

[revoluxionary]

The determination in her fingers is almost familiar. (She laughed if he begged her to find him a war rather than a dance, and then she held his fingers with twice the determination to drag him to middle of the hall.) Perhaps it was just the same confidence he felt in Susan or the same grit he felt in Lucy. (There was ferocity in her eyes when she held him against her, the daughter of a star burning hot with the intent determination that her husband would find grace without a sword in his hand.) Perhaps he was just imagining it.

(He practiced dancing beside their bed when she was heavy with child, spinning with the same steady footwork she often watched him practice in the pitch. If there were tears in her eyes, they all but evaporated instantly from the warmth burning through her.)

His fingers squeeze hers a little more tightly, second hand reaching for her waist as much to stabilize himself as to prepare for the dance. "--yes. It-- I was startled." A piece of him knows it isn't the thing to say, but his heart can't help blurting, "--your hands are so warm."

[fadedlight]

He'll likely be confused by the expression of barely-suppressed hope in her eyes when she looks up upon hearing his words. She can't help it. It reminds her so very much of what he said when they'd first met.

"--They are," she finally manages, settling into his hold, "They-- they always-- have been."

Please, Aslan, let him remember.

[revoluxionary]

There's something automatic in the shift of his arms to catch her closer. There's also something automatic in the first steps he takes when the music starts up again.

It's just that her hands are so warm and her face is so oddly hopeful and his mind is somewhere usually reserved for dreams as his breath catches slightly in his throat.

He only narrowly avoids running them into a nearby couple before he realizes he's started them off not in a waltz like everyone else but something older. Something he's dreamed for a lifetime but never actually moved his feet through in this lifetime.

[fadedlight]

She should hold herself back. She should let him come into it in his own time (if he ever does.) She shouldn't push him quite so hard.

But he's dancing in a way that she remembers. He's got that look in his eyes that looks like the start of him remembering.

She's never addressed him by name before. Her voice is pitched with a gentle sort of uncertainty; a similar tone she used with him a lifetime ago, "--Caspian--?"

[revoluxionary]

It's an amazing sensation. On the one hand, the soft way she says his name knocks the breath from him--rips a sudden jagged hole through his own sense of reality as so much more of a fully lived lifetime starts flooding properly into the mind he has now.

On the other, he can't help smiling through the onslaught of hurt because suddenly, abruptly, he's completely aware that the warmth he's feeling in his arms now is a sign of the return of someone beyond precious who had been ripped just as suddenly, abruptly, painfully from him a lifetime ago.

"--m-my-- star--?"

[fadedlight]

The smile that touches her lips is star-bright, her warm fingers squeezing his soothingly.

"--Caspian," she says again, relieved now, "I-- yes. It's me."

[revoluxionary]

He knows her smile. He knows her fingers. He knows the wonderful quiet way she murmurs his name. He knows more than anything the distinct pounding his heart had started hammering on the Island of the Star a lifetime ago, the faint tattoo of which had carried on long after the tragedy of her death.

It's impossible to dance properly. Hopefully, she won't mind that the motion has turned largely into clinging and rocking slightly.

"How--?"

[fadedlight]

How could she mind, when she has him back? Being able to smile at the young man is infinitely more important than any difficulties they may be having dancing.

"I'm not certain," she admits calmly, "Aslan's will, I can only imagine, but beyond that, well-- nothing's very clear."

[revoluxionary]

"I lost you."

It had been his heart ripped from his chest. It had been his whole world crashing down around him. It had broken his heart to the point, clearly, that his heart couldn't bear to remember her at all.

And yet here she is, with her hands warm and solid in his own. His breath can't stop coming short.

[fadedlight]

"You did," she murmurs, unable to keep from shifting a little closer to prove to both of them that they're together once more, "It wasn't your fault. And-- we're both here, now."

[revoluxionary]

"--we are."

He doesn't understand it. He doesn't know that he'll ever be able to. He's fairly impressed how easy it is, with her curled tight like this, to simply trust in the Lion all over again.

"You... knew?"

[fadedlight]

She can't help the brief moment's hesitation; doesn't want him to know quite how long it's been.

"--Yes. But only after I saw you for the first time."

It's still been no small amount of time since.

[revoluxionary]

It's a little staggering. Coupled with the weight of a lifetime of memories being shoved so abruptly into his mind, it sets him completely dizzy on his feet.

His fingers give a sharp tug to bring her with him as he stumbles from the dance floor to find the nearest wall to lean against, mind spinning unhappily and entire face drawn down into a frown.

"You didn't-- say anything, for-- all that time?"

[fadedlight]

She can't help but reach up to touch his face with care.

"You-- didn't seem to remember," she answers softly, "I didn't wish to-- trouble you so."