cribellate | narnia au;

[He holds her just the same, like if he lets her go, everything might crumble.]

I don't want a normal girl, mo chridhe. I don't love a normal girl. I don't think I could.

[She bursts into tears again, and holds him, and shakes her head.]

I am so sorry, my love.

[She knows he said it was okay, but she's curled up against him, whimpering just a little bit.]

Perhaps you should bathe. And change. And we can go to bed, after such a heavy day.

I should.

[But he doesn't move, not ready to let go yet.]

Will you come with me?

[That seems like the best solution just now.]

[She nods, and reaches for his hand as she gets up, untangling herself from his lap a little but continuing to touch him, because she does not have the will stop.]

[George wouldn't let her go far if she tried. Once he's on his feet, he dips to pick her up, bridal style, knowing she might protest but also that it will be easier for both of them than trying to shuffle along without letting go. He carries her to the bath before he sets her down again.]

[She does not fuss. It is quiet in her rooms; she's asked all her maids to go, and the water is still warm from her own bath, just a little while ago. She waits, until he sets her down, and without much else to say, she begins to undress him. It's not fast. She does not have to rush.

It's also not sexual. For a moment, it's as though they are normal. As if there aren't servants or anyone else in the world. She does it with slightly unsure hands, even though mens clothes are far easier. And when he's undressed, she sits next to him, because she does not want to be far away from him.]

[George watches her as she undresses him, moving to help her as needed, touching her on occasion, but no more than tucking her hair behind her ear or letting his hand rest at her waist. When she's finished, he climbs into the bath, grateful it's still warm, and exhales in relief. He reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the palm.]

You don't regret it, do you?

Regret you?

[She shakes her head.]

No, my love. I do not regret anything.

You are the best thing I could have done.

"You're quite the little minx, to think to bother a king so and not face the consequences." But even as he says it, it's plain that Magnus approves. And he's more than happy to face any consequences with her. He gets the feeling that, being with Lucy, things cannot possibly that bad.

He hesitates at the question. He doesn't know enough about Narnia to fabricate a neat little lie. So he admits the truth.

"I don't know," he says. "What is there to find?"

She laughs. "Well, then we will have to not get caught, will we not?" she says, turning a pretty circle. Her skirts spin around her calves, and there is something wildly carefree about it.

And she makes a little noise. Hm. "Well. You can find almost anything your heart desires, if you know how to look. Adventure, or romance, or simply a place for your soul to settle."

She's easy to be with, easy to admire. It's easy to fall into a trap of wanting to please her, to make that seemingly ever-present smile brighten just for him. She's dangerous.

But his heart is heavy. It's tired and worn.

He can play, but he can't fall in love again.

"What about all three? Where do I start? Beyond this party."

She laughs a little. "Well, you may be my guest, and I will show you everything," she says, taking his hand and her smile brightens.

And she will.

She takes him to Cair Paravel and has one of her friends take him to get ready, but she doesn't tell him who she is; maybe she's being mischievous on purpose, or maybe she wants to see his face when she's announced, but she doesn't know exactly what it is.

That is why when the party begins, when everyone is announced and she comes down the stairs almost last in a dress made of gold cloth, she manages to not look for him right away. But as the party goes on, she finds her way to the dance floor, and she finds him in a center by himself. "Sir," she says, giggling, "have you been asked for a dance by every girl in the party?"

[He smiles and leans over the edge of the tub to kiss her.]

I don't regret it either.

[He's not much looking forward to how difficult this may make things for him, but he doesn't regret it.]

Devious little girl. Little queen, in fact. Magnus accepts the news with barely a shift in expression, though he has a few words planned for her when finally she gets around to seeing him. He knows how it is for royalty; he would never presume, even with how friendly and easy-going she has been before.

"Nearly. And I hoped every young man as well. Your brothers cut fine figures." He's teasing -- about wanting to dance with them, not about the figures. His eyes are plainly only for Lucy at the moment.

He dips into a low bow and offers his hand with a flourish.

"But I believe it's you that I was to scandalize with."

[She smiles, gentle, and kisses him back.]

I am most glad for that.

It would hurt, too much, if you did.

"Well," she says, laughing, and taking his hand with a slightest of curtsies, "if you wish to dance with either of my brothers, I would suggest Edmund," she says.

She looks over to where her brother is flirting with someone. "He is the finer dancer. Peter would step on your feet."

She comes in closer, now. "But I would be most pleased to accept this dance."

[He lingers a bit, kissing her once more, and then pulls back to clean himself.]

I've not regretted anything we've done together, mo chridhe.

Do you regret I am not with child?

[They haven't really talked about it, have they?]

[George lowers his head, hesitant. He isn't sure how he feels about it. There'd barely been time to get used to the idea, and it was such a fraught situation.

He's silent as he thinks it through, washing himself methodically so he has something to do with his hands. Eventually, very softly,]

Yes.

[She goes very quiet.]

I am sorry, my love.

I am.

[As though she is at fault for it. She's not, but-]

"Ah, but I have a fondness for blue eyes," he points out. It's a painful reminder of Alec, to be honest, but it's the truth and it works for this tease. Edmund has the darkest complexion of all the royal siblings, but Lucy's eyes are bright and blue and wonderful.

He sets his hand politely at her waist, drawing her in closer to him. He's a fine dancer himself, well-practiced in a way that makes ladies -- and men -- swoon. He doesn't put on all the charm, not quite, but he holds her comfortably. They're meant to start a scandal, after all.

"Well, then you should just stay with me," she says, and laughs a little.

They're dancing, and it's comfortable; they're beautiful together. People are already starting to chatter, about the handsome stranger and their pretty queen, about the way that their queen is twirling in his arms like they were born to be together.

When the dance ends she rises up on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. "My lord," she says, giggling. "You are dangerous."

"I?" Magnus counters with a smirk. His heart feels light and for a moment he thinks that... not that he's happy, but that some of the shadows that weigh upon him, that he hides so well, have dissipated a little. Maybe it's simply the environment; maybe it's Lucy. Either way, he doesn't quite want it to stop.

"This was your idea, darling. I'm simply your plaything, like the rest of them."

[George moves immediately to take her hand, splashing a little over the side of the tub.]

No, mo chridhe. You have nothing to be sorry for. Don't...I'm sorry.

"I would never call you a plaything!" she says, giggling. "A new friend. A new person to be mischievous with. But not a plaything," she tells him, putting her arms over his shoulders. "A handsome stranger to introduce to court. I am sure in a moment or two, some pretty creature will come by and take all your attention from me, but I shall be happier for knowing for this moment, I am yours."

narnia au;

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