treadingdawn | Memory Theater

The Coronation Ball of King Caspian X, King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel.

But they are not in the ruins of Cair Paravel. They are in the castle of the Telmarines.

"May I have this dance?"

"I cannot refuse an order of the King."

"It is not an order, it is a request. Please."

She watches him carefully, with dark eyes that hold guilt and faded contempt. Then she accepts his hand, and they are on the smooth floor, dancing amidst courtiers, soldiers, fauns, cats, mice, and the Kings and Queens of Old. He is young grace on his feet and she is seasoned elegance on hers. They dance well together, complimentary.

"You are very good."

"I believe I have you to thank."

"Do not thank me for anything, Caspian."

The music slows, coming to a rest as his fingers spread along the silk at her lower back. His posture is tall and confident. The fine structure that defines his nobleman's cheek and jaw doesn't demand respect but it deserves it.

"I have learned to refuse ill will when it is better of me to do so."

She doesn't say anything to this and turns in time with the music that begins the next measure. Her movements are beyond practice, natural, and she invests her attention in this to avoid his. He knows what she is doing, but he follows her and doesn't miss a step. Perhaps no one knows they are even conversing.

"Whatever it is that troubles you, I'll give you a clear mind and a clear heart."

He insists quietly, when they are side to side, facing opposite directions while the flat of their palms touch. She looks at him again and her dark brows knit. For a moment she sees his father, the man to whom she gave her heart could not be. She wonders who had really been betrayed, and it's this that troubles her. Her world is not the same.

She curls her fingers around his and turns him so that they are facing each other. She raises her other hand to his face and kisses his cheek. The dance is at its end.

"I am sorry, Caspian."

Her sincerity sooths him and for a moment he truly believes it washes away years of their lives.

He returns the kiss in kind and nods. He knows she is conflicted, and it's not his place to add anymore to its weight.

"Thank you for this dance, Aunt Prunaprismia."

He raises her hand to brush his lips across her fingers then releases. There's a cheerful clapping, but it's only for the court's performance.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

lionpassant.livejournal.com

When did that happen?

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

Pardon?

From:

lionpassant.livejournal.com

[Looks up from the counter. Quirks a brow.]

Your memory. [Edmund clarifies in his curiosity.] Was it during your coronation ball?

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

[Quirking a brow in kind.]

What do you mean?

[That? He doesn't want to believe it was broadcast.]

From:

lionpassant.livejournal.com

[Oh, so he doesn't know. Maybe Edmund shouldn't bother then. Best not to. Edmund sets down the knife of peanut butter, applies the jelly next.]

Never mind.

[He reaches behind Caspian, looking for another plate.]

Would you like some? [Offering.]

From:

treadingdawn.livejournal.com

[Curious Edmund, very curious. He just watches the dark haired Pevensie and hands him a plate he was reaching for.]

What is it?

[He looks at what Edmund is making.]

From:

lionesscouchant.livejournal.com

[She saw the memory - she was there when it happened, and despite that, she peeks over the couch....and pulls herself up to wedge between Caspian and the couch, and closes her eyes]