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[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan has been having the dreams with greater frequency, lately¹: Narnia ablaze as the dying stars sink into the sea, giant lizards and dragons ripping every tree and rock from the earth and rending the last of Cair Paravel's ruins into so much rubble, laying all that devastation onto the blaze and then dying themselves as the mountains crumble and the seas rise and leave nothing behind but an empty, starless black.

Nothing, that is, save an open door, and her family standing before it, watching the devastation, and then the door swinging shut.

I've been doing better she tells herself firmly, rising from her bed before the sun has even started to think about peeking over the horizon. The waning moon is hanging low in the sky; the waxing one has already set. She turns on all her lights against the lingering dark and watches them blaze merrily in her vision until she has to glance away, dark spots dancing in their aftermath. She still feels cold as a lifeless, dark world, but at least there's no denying that she isn't in one.

Then, even more firmly, she makes herself get up. She dresses warmly - those thick woolen stockings that join up at the waist (she has since learned they are called tights; the Mansion has been supplying ones lined in a thick, fuzzy material remarkably suitable for winter), a dress similarly appropriate for winter, her woolen coat and leather gloves. Her hair she braids down, not up, so that it's easier to wear a hat against the chill that is resting both deep in her chest and sharp in the morning air outside.

She grabs her longbow and her quiver in addition to the latest of her pile of books - it's good to have contingency plans - but instead of heading toward the range or the woods to seek out a place to sport with Little John, she goes to where she knows Lancelot practices in the morning, stopping only to fill a thermos up with tea. It is, she thinks high time to make good on her threat to watch him.


¹Thanks, Aornis!

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[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan wants to be honest with Lancelot, even as she wants to change the topic immediately. "I'm not certain," she decides. "Perhaps, perhaps not."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot is quiet for a moment. Eventually, in a considering tone, he says, "How might it help, and how not?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan ponders this for some time as they walk. They're nearly to the lake again by the time she says, "Psychoanalysis would suggest that speaking about it, especially to someone trained in identifying, contextualizing, and counteracting resistances, would ultimately yield benefits such as reducing or altogether neutralizing whatever neurotic anxiety is serving as the foundation of these dreams." It must be a neurotic anxiety, rather than a realistic or a moral anxiety; she can't fathom how dreams of Narnia's ending would come from anything but her id.

Then, ruefully, and with an ironic sort of edge to her voice, she acknowledges, "Intellectualizing this is a defense mechanism and likely a resistance. Ingrid would lecture me. I rather think, though, that if I put all this in a little box and put that box neatly away, and do not look at it or touch it, then surely it should stay there and not bother me again."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"As thou know'st, I am not trained in any such thing," letting his tone turn wry momentarily. He once again sets his hand over hers on his arm, and looks away while he convinces himself to say what he feels he should say.

More quietly, and after a little internal struggle, he says, "A defense mechanism, yes. Resistance, yes. I cannot lecture thee, however, because thou art, in this I think, as I am. If I am very careful, things just... carry on. I need not feel-- whatever is painful. In a little box sounds right."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan glances sharply at him, up and sideways. She moves her other hand on top of his. "Precisely," she says; it is her turn to sound wry. "Why process when you can instead compartmentalize and distract?" This is not intended as a joke. She's still very intent on the distraction they're actively walking toward; this turn in their conversation has cooled little of her ardor.

But then, as they round the lake again and the Mansion comes into full view before them, Susan confesses, "If you asked it of me, though, I would speak on what you would hear. I find that I..." wish to be open with you.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He looks down at her, his expression soft and complicated. "Go on," he prompts.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"My dear sweet friend, I... I would be open with you."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He gives her a small smile, soft and still complex. He presses his shoulder against hers briefly. "That's well. That makes me glad. So I would with thee-- I would tell thee anything, an thou ask't of me. And I would hear anything it was thy wish to share. But I'll not force, particularly if it will make thee sad or distressed. I understand the little box."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

If Susan were in more playful mood, she might ask Lancelot some off-the-cuff questions at that. "I'm curious what questions you would ask," she admits, instead. She wants to tell him things. Not necessarily about this, but - generally.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He lets his tone turn lighter. "Of what thy life was like, before here. How thy days were spent, what pleased thee. I would know what thou wast like, younger, either before or during thy queenship. As much of thee as there is to know."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh!" That's simple enough. "Would you like a story from Narnia or from England?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot chuckles, "England."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

And Susan says, "I believe I told you, before, about the Blitz?" She sighs, a little. "The shadow of war has hung over much of my life in England. The threat of it, and then the actuality, and then the aftermath." Oh, she is in a mood! "But there was still brightness, of course." She needn't think of the bombs that hit the London Zoo when she's trying to remember the day her parents took them all to see the new children's zoo. "Let's see. I've got a story from when I was six - before Narnia, a story from when I was fourteen - after my last time there, and a story from when I was twenty. Which would you like to hear?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"All of them."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh, if you want all of them I shall expect something in return," Susan warns.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Ah, a bargain, is it? Very well, state the terms."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"The first one is free," Susan decides. "Since you already told me a story from when you were six, and stretching your dastardly thieving muscles. But I expect a story for a story, after that." A soft pause. "I should like to know of your life, too."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He nods, smiling, "I like it well. A fair deal. My lady, I accept."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan pauses, tugging so that Lancelot stops, too. "I've heard it said that all such agreements should be sealed with a kiss," she fibs.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Is that so?" He smiles and draws her closer. "I had better obey thy custom."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

The kiss she gives him now is less frenetic than the one deeper in the woods, but no less charged. It's a slow, deep kiss, intent and aching. She's taking comfort from him, settling down internally more from this than from talking briefly around her feelings.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He cups her face in both hands, lightly, and returns the kiss with warmth and a kind of surety. He can feel her demeanor shift a little, senses that she's seeking comfort, so he presses a little closer.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Alas, though, it is still fairly cold outside, and Susan would rather be warmly ensconced in Lancelot's bed. She pulls away reluctantly and smiles at him - the easy, flirtatious one, but she does mean it. "Well-sealed," she says, a little breathlessly, and reaches up to cover his hands, squeezing his fingers lightly before continuing on toward the Mansion. "So. Age six. It was 1934. Lucy was two; Edmund was nearly four. Naturally they still had nap-times, unlike Peter and I. It was - a queer time in Britain. The world over, I believe; industry was hobbled after the first World War and many parts of the country were destitute. London was mostly fine, to my childish memory, but there were - demonstrations."

She pauses. "I mean only to set the stage for a multi-day pageant at the Crystal Palace. It was a remarkable building, all pane-glass and wrought iron. Much like the greenhouses here, but ever so much more enormous." And eminently flammable, God forbid. "On the opposite side of London from where we grew up, and difficult to get to, but we heard that there would be ballet and music, and so Peter and I were keen to go. My parents weren't terribly impressed by the prospect of taking their young children to The Pageant of Labour, but my horrid Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta were rather eager to drop their colicky baby, my cousin Eustace, off with my parents to go, and they were willing to take Peter and I with them, so we made a day of it."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I should like to see such a place," he says, with interest. "So all of you traveled to this palace -- what was the theme of the pageant? Labour?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"A dreadful topic for children," Susan says, lightly amused. "It was later in the year, and there's not terribly much to do at Syndenham Hill, where the Crystal Palace was located, but we had to switch trains in central London and that was terribly exciting for a six-year-old Susan. Much more exciting than a pageant - I quite forget the details, but the act about children dying horribly in mines and factories stands out. Britain had only enacted child labor laws the year before, you see." She pauses there, to see if he might have any questions, but does clarify, "The story does get more cheerful."