When Susan woke she had no idea how long she had slept, nor what time of day it was. The light in her room in Abramelin's home had not changed, and the fire seemed to have been stoked recently, the candles replaced so that they burned bright and tall. She fell back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling of the great curtained bed, lost in thought.
She'd had little time to herself these last days. The episode with the Naiads, the discovery of the tombs, the Hall of Memories--all disordered in a mind that liked to catalog. Susan shivered slightly at the recollection of the shadowy forest of pillars, each etched with the life story of a long departed soul. What had Abramelin meant when he said each of them would step into one of those lives, exactly?
Abandoning that thought from sheer dread, she found herself settling on Caspian, and frowned. She still recalled all too vividly the way he had cupped her in his arms as he carried her from near drowning, the way his eyes had lingered when she changed into his clothes. Susan remembered his hands at her waist when he helped her from her horse, blushed, and rolled over to bury her flaming cheeks in one of the downy pillows.
She also remembered their light banter, the arguments in the woods, their night among the statues, the stargazing tower. She recalled the feel of his lips against her hand, his even, genuine smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle when he looked at her, his lips turning up as if what she'd said was the cleverest, most charming thing he had ever heard. Susan found her blush deepen when she thought of his lips, and kicked the covers away as she grew too warm.
This was silly. She had fancied other boys before, and had had quite a few fancy her as well. There were even a few rare occasions when the feeling had been mutual. But she had no business letting herself get worked over by someone from Narnia. What had happened to the old Susan? The queen who threw a visiting king or prince only a second glance if he was fortunate? She certainly felt like the queen she had been, as Narnia had a way of doing to you when you returned, but this was different; this felt--
She shook her head. This felt ridiculous. Smoothing her hair, Susan slid out of the cavernous bed and padded across the room to the bureau. She found a soft robe the same midnight color as her bed hangings, and slipped her arms into it over her nightgown. Striding to the door, she opened it and peered into the hallway on either side of her. No one seemed to be about but her. She stepped out of her room, shutting the door quietly, and walked slowly down the corridor, the flagstones cool against her bare feet. She decided she'd had quite enough of riding boots for a long while.
When Susan came upon the top of the stairwell, she saw that the portion of the corridor extending from the left hand side, the one that had been darkened before, was now lit. No sane person would pass the opportunity to explore, especially in the house of one such as Abramelin, thus that's exactly what Susan did.
As she walked, she noticed that this corridor was lined with far fewer doors than the hallway where her room was located. In fact, this corridor was almost like a smaller version of a train tunnel--indeed, the wall and the roof arced as one above her, their smooth curve broken only by the occasional bracket and torch. Just as she was becoming bored enough to want to turn back, the hall made an abrupt turn to the right. She rounded the corner and halted.
This room was a perfect square, the ceiling vaulted like the roof of a gothic cathedral. Along the walls were doors, and high up, on two sides, near the apex of the ceiling, were small rectangular windows through which moon and starlight shone into the otherwise unlit room. Susan stared up into the light, wondering how, if they were supposed to be leagues underground, could such a room be possible. She strode to the door nearest her on her left, suddenly overcome with inquisitiveness.
Susan tugged at the latch, but the door would not budge.
"They are locked, I have tried them all," a slightly accented voice floated from the darkness behind her, making her jump and sending her heart rate into a frenzy.
Susan spun and reached out, fingers brushing against a warm, velvet clad chest. Rough fingers caught her hand and steadied her. As her breathing calmed, she squinted in the dark to make out the hard planes of Caspian's features.
The Telmarine king was looking down into her face with an unreadable expression. The hand he had caught he had drawn closer to him, his other hand coming up to brush aside the strands of Susan's hair that had escaped their fellows and now fell around her eyes.
Susan felt herself warm at the gesture and was glad for the dark. She fumbled for words. "Can't sleep?"
"No… I have had plenty of sleep, I think. I do not understand time here. I could not tell you if I had slept hours or days."
"I have the same feeling."
The silence stretched for an immeasurable moment.
"Do you have a light?" Susan asked, feeling stupid.
"I do. I put the candle away because the dark was soothing, but I will light it for you." He left her side and crouched in the middle of the room. Susan's eyes had adjusted enough by now that she saw there were three long benches positioned around a low table, where Caspian had laid the candle. There was the brief sound of flint against a match, and then small pool of orange-gold light. Caspian sat down on one of the benches and propped his feet on the table.
Susan closed the short distance between them and, after deliberating for a moment, sat on the bench across from him, wrapping her robe tighter about her. Caspian did not look up for a few moments, his eyes following the flicker of the flame on the wick. Susan found herself tracing the lines of his features with her mind's hand. She had enjoyed drawing at school, and felt that if she had a piece of paper and a pencil nub with her, she would first draw the line of his shoulders--a long, strong stroke because his arms stretched out on either side of him, rested on the back of the bench. Then, she would follow the line of his torso and legs as it lounged; booted feet out and crossed--two short strokes there. Then, she'd draw his head bent, the hair falling forward, the bold contour of his jaw and the soft one of his brow, down his nose, then two lips pressed together…
Caspian felt her scrutiny and looked up into her eyes. Susan stopped breathing. The light reflected in their dark depths and made it appear that they burned from within.
"You seem afraid."
"Afraid, why?" Susan said, a little breathless. Caspian titled his head, considering her.
"You look at me as if I am going to strangle you."
"I am not afraid of you."
"There is no reason for you to be. Tell me what it is." He leaned forward, taking his feet off of the low table and resting his elbows on his thighs.
Susan drew a breath, it caught in her throat, "I--am--afraid."
"Of?"
Why did his eyes look so endless and inviting?
"Of going back."
"To your home in your world." He supplied, the timbre of his voice remaining unchanged.
"Yes."
He blinked, the unspoken Why hanging in the air.
Susan exhaled, feeling the tension building in her chest like a coiled spring.
"There… is a war going on in my world. I am not a queen there; I'm not anyone special. People are frightened, the future is uncertain. And this place… sometimes I feel as if I am just inventing it to make all of that disappear. Ignoring the reality that I…" She buried her face in her hands, unable to continue, angry with herself for showing such vulnerability before him. Her dismay grew when she felt hot tears dripping through her fingers.
Susan sensed Caspian's warm body slide onto the bench beside her, one arm snaking around her shoulders to pull her close. She pressed her face into his chest, and felt the rumble of his voice as he spoke into her hair,
"I cannot make those things go away, Susan. But I can tell you that I am as real as the blood that beats in your heart, as these tears on your face." He tilted her chin up with his thumb and forefinger and met her eyes. "And I will not go away." They shared another immeasurable moment as the candle flickered and a few more tears escaped to make dark tracks down Susan's face. Then, so slowly that she barely registered his actions, he bent and pressed his mouth upon hers.
It was soft, his kiss, not demanding or self-conscious, like the few kisses Susan had shared with other boys. It was hesitant, if anything, still unsure, but earnest all the same. He pulled away, using his free hand to gently wipe away the remaining teardrops on her face, awaiting her response. Susan did not expect it to be so strong.
She pressed her palms against his chest and leaned into him, half expecting him to yield, but he wrapped both arms around her waist, keeping her there. Tilting her head, Susan brushed his lips with hers eagerly. He paused, face still centimeters away, then returned the caress in full, lips urging hers apart as he breathed warm air between them. Susan felt herself responding dizzyingly--her hands shook, her face grew hot, and a thudding was growing in her ears as the sensitive nerves in her lips tingled. Caspian tangled one hand in her hair and titled her head back for better access to her mouth, then pressed in ardently, claiming it with a searing heat.
He pulled away from her, panting, clearly wanting to regain some control. Susan lowered her head and rested it against his chest, her own breath coming in short gasps. Caspian held her there, the one hand still ensnared in her dark curls. They did not speak as their breathing returned to normal, and Susan found that she'd closed her eyes, so comfortable in his embrace.
The candle flickered in the dark, and silvery rays from the upper windows filtered into the darkened room. Caspian stared out, unblinking, into the dimness, hardly believing what he'd done. Susan had been warm and vulnerable in his arms, and that--vulnerability, it tugged at him. Inexplicably. As if he could shield her from her demons by his mere presence. He grimaced at the thought. Hell, he could barely protect his own people.
But, she enchanted him, too. Her logical nature, her smooth voice so often laced with restraint. The biting way she found his weaknesses and prodded them. The way her hair curled around her face or her eyes glanced to the side, or when she chewed one full red lip in thought. And that inaccessible wall--the fact that she was a queen from 1300 years ago who had little business lingering in his time and place. He tightened his arms around her. Well, he could have her for his moment. He couldn't help smiling at that thought--and here they were in a place where time's laws were nonexistent.
Susan stirred in his embrace, raising her head to look at him.
"What is it?" She murmured.
"I was wishing for something impossible." He offered a half-smile.
"What is your wish?" She leaned in and whispered the words into his ear, breath stirring the hairs at the base of his neck. He shivered.
"Stop that."
Her eyes were wide, innocent. "Why?"
"Because you are making it so difficult for what I must say next." His face was suddenly sorrowful.
Susan knitted her brows, suspicious.
"Susan--"
"Don't" She untangled herself from him, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I think I know what you are going to say, and I am asking you not to say it."
"But Susan, you know something that has kept you from me since that night out on the roof. And I have finally understood."
She drew a breath and pouted. "What if I don't care anymore?"
He granted her another lopsided smile. "It's this place. It makes things appear untroubled, clear, easy. But it is not so when we return to Narnia."
Susan looked down, the rejection stinging. She had never opened herself to someone like she had to him. She looked up, eyes glistening, lips pressed together in a determined line. "I am sorry I gave you a misguided impression of me." She slipped off the bench and fled away down the corridor.
"Susan!" Caspian called after her, rounding the corner to see her disappear into her room. He cantered to the unforgiving barrier and knocked gently against it.
"I'm sorry!"
He strained to hear through the wood, but could discern nothing.
"My son," a deep, pleasant voice came from behind him.
Caspian turned to meet the fathomless, resin colored eyes of Abramelin.
"It is time for you to enter the Hall of Memories."
The young king took a long breath, one hand lingering on the locked iron latch of Susan's door. He exhaled, then met the story-keeper's eyes. "I suppose I am ready."
Abramelin said nothing--perhaps his eyes did twinkle behind their solemnity--then turned without a sound on one bare heel and led Caspian down the corridor.
A/N: This is chapter 4 ½ because I had a flash of inspiration after posting the last chapter and decided it was ready to put up early, though it's not quite long enough to be a full chappy in my eyes. Hope you enjoyed!