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revoluxionaryNeither of them smoke, but the other young men who hug the windows all seem to, and the other young women who lean against them all seem to steal a puff just to leave red lips on their suitors' cigarettes. There's something quite romantic about the haze, the way their eyes always seem half-closed and their mouths gasping for words which won't let themselves come.
Neither of them smoke, so Caspian drags out a packet of candy cigarettes when they want to be alone. They laugh quietly, make reckless proclamations of love the way they imagine the others do; break the hearts of those who glance their way for the sheer joy in their smiles while they play together.
It's one of the best parts of Lucy, really; the playing. He looks at her eyes and sees the years of a life already lived, but knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she'll grow tall and stunning and radiant and never lose the spark like sunshine flashing on the water of a sea farther off to the east than either of them can say.
He wants to defend it. He knows Peter and Edmund do as well. He wonders absently, as he glances away toward the ocean of glittering dancers, whether the Pevensie boys will ever come to see that Susan wants to defend their youngest sibling just as desperately.
That helping Lucy into nylons and piled hair is the same as strapping on battle armour. That showing her how to stand with men and how to touch a soldier's arm while laughing is the same as demonstrating how to heft a longsword.
Apparently he's been lost in the thought too long, because Lucy's fingers give the slightest tug at his sleeve. "Is she all right?"
Who else would he be looking for, if not her sister? Who else held his face so entirely pensive and half-hopeful?
"Look-- she's just there," the young woman continues, directing his attention with a gesture of her candy cigarette toward the other end of the room. "With Captain Williams again."
Averting his eyes rather quickly doesn't stop the image from being burned against his mind. Susan looks like she always looks; strong, steady, unchanging and powerful as a force of nature, bright and radiant as the sun. She stands without leaning, teeth flashing bright in their blood-red frame, slim finger twirling just slightly around a dark lock of hair. The men around her all lean, as if caught by the impulse to bow to a queen; as if unable to pull free from the overwhelming gravity of the only real centre of the room.
Lucy hadn't understood the look long ago, when her sister's lips had pulled back from the king's and both had looked so infinitely happy but so infinitely full of pain. She didn't understand it now, how glances could be stolen and not given freely. She lets her breath out in an exhale as she shifts closer to rest her cheek comfortably against his lapel. "How d'you know?"
"How d'you know what?" he murmurs back, forcing his eyes back into focus as his arm pulls, warm and familiar, around her waist.
"How d'you know when you're in love?"
It's not what he was expecting. He's not certain what he was expecting, but not that. It takes a moment to let it properly filter into his mind what she's asking.
Why she's asking it.
Her eyes, bright and sparking, are impossible to disappoint. He lets out a rough exhale as he looks down into them with a helpless shrug. "The same way you know the day from the night, Lucy." His lips are light against her forehead before he looks away again--out the window into the evening sky. "You open your eyes, and you know the whole world looks different."
"What's it feel like?"
"Like when-- you've swum just a little too far out." His thumb smooths an absent circle against her shoulder as he cheek drops to the top of her head. "And your whole body is sore and your lungs are protesting and for-- just a moment you start to sink. It's like... the moment when you bob to the surface again and there's still salt in your mouth but you taste the air again."
The young woman's sigh is entirely contented. Her warmth is real and stable against his side. He can't see, but he feels certain her eyes have drifted close--that she's got the same sweet serene smile he had first come to adore gracing her lips.
He swears he feels the brush of a coarse mane when he shifts to kiss the top of her head.
"I think she's scared," Lucy mumbles at length, pulling herself back from the embrace. Her fingers are swift and efficient at fixing where she's rumpled his tie--clearly learned from years of helping Susan with their brothers. "Not-- of love, so much. Just of you."
The way he jerks back at the thought sets his tie all wrong again. He barely notices the way she sighs as she tugs at the fabric again. "--of-- me?"
"Because you're not just a boy. Like she's not just a girl." It didn't take much to see it in the way they both walked, after all; with the square shoulders and lifted chin of a body which cannot help but hold a crown. She smiles slightly as she smooths down his lapel and tugs at his pocket for the packet of candy cigarettes. "And no matter how much cologne you wear, Caspian, you'll always make the air taste just a little bit like Narnia."
The words stick to his heart as the conversation wanders along. They echo in his ears when Susan returns and there's laughter in stereo around him from Lucy's offered 'cigarette.' They roll in the back of his mind as he walks the young women home, half-listening to the happy slide of their voices in the chilly night.
They deafen him slightly like a ringing in his ears when Susan leans close at the door and presses her cheek to his; and for the first time ever, he hears the careful way she inhales.
Maybe this is what she'd meant. Maybe this is being told your love might not be gone, then having it ripped away again.
Neither of them smoke, so Caspian drags out a packet of candy cigarettes when they want to be alone. They laugh quietly, make reckless proclamations of love the way they imagine the others do; break the hearts of those who glance their way for the sheer joy in their smiles while they play together.
It's one of the best parts of Lucy, really; the playing. He looks at her eyes and sees the years of a life already lived, but knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she'll grow tall and stunning and radiant and never lose the spark like sunshine flashing on the water of a sea farther off to the east than either of them can say.
He wants to defend it. He knows Peter and Edmund do as well. He wonders absently, as he glances away toward the ocean of glittering dancers, whether the Pevensie boys will ever come to see that Susan wants to defend their youngest sibling just as desperately.
That helping Lucy into nylons and piled hair is the same as strapping on battle armour. That showing her how to stand with men and how to touch a soldier's arm while laughing is the same as demonstrating how to heft a longsword.
Apparently he's been lost in the thought too long, because Lucy's fingers give the slightest tug at his sleeve. "Is she all right?"
Who else would he be looking for, if not her sister? Who else held his face so entirely pensive and half-hopeful?
"Look-- she's just there," the young woman continues, directing his attention with a gesture of her candy cigarette toward the other end of the room. "With Captain Williams again."
Averting his eyes rather quickly doesn't stop the image from being burned against his mind. Susan looks like she always looks; strong, steady, unchanging and powerful as a force of nature, bright and radiant as the sun. She stands without leaning, teeth flashing bright in their blood-red frame, slim finger twirling just slightly around a dark lock of hair. The men around her all lean, as if caught by the impulse to bow to a queen; as if unable to pull free from the overwhelming gravity of the only real centre of the room.
Lucy hadn't understood the look long ago, when her sister's lips had pulled back from the king's and both had looked so infinitely happy but so infinitely full of pain. She didn't understand it now, how glances could be stolen and not given freely. She lets her breath out in an exhale as she shifts closer to rest her cheek comfortably against his lapel. "How d'you know?"
"How d'you know what?" he murmurs back, forcing his eyes back into focus as his arm pulls, warm and familiar, around her waist.
"How d'you know when you're in love?"
It's not what he was expecting. He's not certain what he was expecting, but not that. It takes a moment to let it properly filter into his mind what she's asking.
Why she's asking it.
Her eyes, bright and sparking, are impossible to disappoint. He lets out a rough exhale as he looks down into them with a helpless shrug. "The same way you know the day from the night, Lucy." His lips are light against her forehead before he looks away again--out the window into the evening sky. "You open your eyes, and you know the whole world looks different."
"What's it feel like?"
"Like when-- you've swum just a little too far out." His thumb smooths an absent circle against her shoulder as he cheek drops to the top of her head. "And your whole body is sore and your lungs are protesting and for-- just a moment you start to sink. It's like... the moment when you bob to the surface again and there's still salt in your mouth but you taste the air again."
The young woman's sigh is entirely contented. Her warmth is real and stable against his side. He can't see, but he feels certain her eyes have drifted close--that she's got the same sweet serene smile he had first come to adore gracing her lips.
He swears he feels the brush of a coarse mane when he shifts to kiss the top of her head.
"I think she's scared," Lucy mumbles at length, pulling herself back from the embrace. Her fingers are swift and efficient at fixing where she's rumpled his tie--clearly learned from years of helping Susan with their brothers. "Not-- of love, so much. Just of you."
The way he jerks back at the thought sets his tie all wrong again. He barely notices the way she sighs as she tugs at the fabric again. "--of-- me?"
"Because you're not just a boy. Like she's not just a girl." It didn't take much to see it in the way they both walked, after all; with the square shoulders and lifted chin of a body which cannot help but hold a crown. She smiles slightly as she smooths down his lapel and tugs at his pocket for the packet of candy cigarettes. "And no matter how much cologne you wear, Caspian, you'll always make the air taste just a little bit like Narnia."
The words stick to his heart as the conversation wanders along. They echo in his ears when Susan returns and there's laughter in stereo around him from Lucy's offered 'cigarette.' They roll in the back of his mind as he walks the young women home, half-listening to the happy slide of their voices in the chilly night.
They deafen him slightly like a ringing in his ears when Susan leans close at the door and presses her cheek to his; and for the first time ever, he hears the careful way she inhales.
Maybe this is what she'd meant. Maybe this is being told your love might not be gone, then having it ripped away again.
