cribellate | narnia au;

He doesn't know what he expects to find when he steps into the puddle. Actually, what he expects a little of is to be wet, but his shiny clothes are miraculously dry, as is his hair. (Even in mourning, Magnus makes sure he looks his best. He always has done, believing the sparkle will at least alleviate others' pain. It's just that, with Alec, because of Alec, he has people in his life who know better.)

He finds himself near to an orchard, which he figures is as good a place as any to start. Sauntering through the sun dappled lines of trees, his attention is taken by one such sweet pear when a voice speaks.

He doesn't start; that's not like him. But he does look towards the source -- ah, a young woman -- with brows raised in interest. She's a pretty thing, beautiful in a way that shines, that's more than just appearance.

Grinning at her, he plucks a pear. "No. Guess again."

It doesn't matter that he has no idea what a Telmarine is. He'll figure that out later. Right now, he wants to make a pretty girl smile.

She peeks over the branches, and she tugs her skirt a little. The skirt holds; this is not the work of a stray branch. She tugs a little more, but lets it go, looking at him, trying to figure out who he is. "If you are not from Telmar, then you might be from one of the islands to the east. The ones under Narnia's protection. Are you looking for the High King?" she asks.

She looks curious, her eyes bright. "You are not from Calormen. And I would know you, if you were Narnian."

He rubs the pear gently against the sleeve of his brightly embroidered jacket, only so much as to get the worst of the dirt off, not that there is much to begin with.

Magnus has no idea that there is such a thing as a High King here, nor does he know where Naria -- or Telmar or Calormen or any islands to the east (other than Manhattan) -- is. But he takes a bite of his pear as he strolls closer.

She's right. It's quite good. Perhaps the most delicious pear he's ever tasted. He frowns down at it for a moment before continuing.

"You know every single person in Narnia, do you? Quite a memory you have."

She looks down at him and her mouth purses a little. “Perhaps not,” she concedes, without pride. “But certainly everyone in Narnia knows me.”

And that true. Her face is well known. She finally manages to get her skirt out of where it’s caught, and she takes one careful climb down, her feet sure of her next movement. “So I must conclude that you are a stranger. But that is all right. I am most happy to meet a new friend.”

He raises a brow at that. One type of presumption traded for another. But it doesn't come off as arrogance. At least, not undeserved arrogance. She has something about her that is most certainly memorable.

And she's bold, more so than he's used to, after his many decades in New York. People there have no trouble being brash and loud, aggressive when they want to. But eager to make a friend?

"As am I, if you'll have me," he says, smiling faintly. "Magnus Bane, at your service."

"Magnus Bane," she says, finally on the ground, on her tiptoes to look at him in the eye. "Welcome to Narnia, Lord Bane. I should like to thank you, for you have cured my boredom," she assures him, and drops a perfectly polite curtsy. "My name is Lucy," she adds.

And then she tilts her head. "The Lion brought you here, did he not? I can see it in the way your bearing is."

That catches him by surprise and he pauses, head cocked, wondering how it is that she knew. Wondering how it is that she refers to him as a lion but he could heard the proper noun within her tone. Because yes, he is The Lion, not just any old thing.

"Is it that obvious?" he asks, recovering with a slight grin. "I had hoped to seem more natural."

She smiles at him, then, and it's sweet. She slips next to him, just at his side. "You can certainly blend in, if you wish, but it's true you do not yet. The High King is giving a ball tonight, if you should like to attend," she tells him. "I could certainly think that you would be welcome, and there are so many foreigners there, no one will think you are strange."

"Oh, is he?" Magnus looks genuinely interested in this, as it's not in him to resist a party of any sort, but especially not a ball. Especially not one thrown by a High King.

"And you're in charge of the invitations?" He's teasing now, as he doesn't know her rank or her place in this kingdom, except that everyone knows her.

What he knows is: you can't leave a lady like this standing beside you without offering your arm to her.

"Oh no, they would not trust me with such things," she laughs, and slips her arm into his offered one, and her other hand goes to his elbow. He does not know who she is, and that's a thrill on its own.

She looks pleased beyond measure, anyhow, as they leave the little copse of pear trees. "Queen Susan is unlikely to let anyone else so much as look at an invitation without her permission. But you are most fortunate, for I have been allowed a guest, and if it is not you, then it would be the pear tree."

Magnus assumes, quite naturally, that this Queen is the High King's wife, because what else would a King and a Queen be to each other? But the comment doesn't need to be made. Instead, what needs to happen is for him to laugh at her joke.

It's been a long time since he had a genuine laugh. This one is mostly that, only slightly done out of necessity. She is a clever thing and he appreciates that. But his heart is still heavy, despite that. It feels like it always will be.

"Most fortunate, indeed. I promise to make better company than a tree that cannot speak or dance, but I can't promise to smell or taste as sweet."

She looks at him and her mouth cracks into a smile. He does not know. He is a stranger, after all, and Lucy knows it; but there is something innocent about that. "Who said the trees cannot dance?" she asks, and she laughs, and claps her hands, and turns so that they can look at the them. "If you please, ladies," she says, and the dryads all at one emerge, and curtsy, and Lucy curtsies back.

And they dance, spinning around each other, just feet off the ground, their skirts made of fine gossamer leaves, their skin the same blushing color of the sweetest pear.

She looks at Magnus, then, and she's so proud. "Welcome to Narnia, Lord Bane."

Well there's a thing. Magnus stares with wide eyes as the tree-ladies dance around him, swirling with bright, soft colors and the sweetest smell. He's tempted to flirt with one of them, rather than Lucy, but he's also sure that the young woman has more tricks up her sleeve than simply this.

"I've never seen dryads like this before," he admits. The ones in the Seelie Queen's court -- a place he tries to avoid at all costs -- are strange and treacherous things, not sweet and bright as this.

And Lucy makes a much better queen of them than any Seelie royal Magnus has known.

His eyes glimmer as he looks to the young woman once more. "What else have you got hiding in plain sight?"

She laughs, and the dryads take back to their trees. They are shy creatures - they will emerge for their queen, but go to giggle at each other over the handsome dark man that she is speaking with. “Every corner of Narnia has surprises, my lord. The trees and rivers and the great spirits, yes, but also the animals and the citizens and the people. And the white stag. It will grant you a wish, if you catch it,” she tells him.

She takes his arm again. “Every corner of this land is ripe with magic. That is the first and greatest lesson here.”

"A wish?" He seems interested by that, but no more so than he had seemed interested in the dryads, or in her. It seems the whole land is full of wonders; he's not sure which part the Lion meant to say could ease his aching heart. But the distraction does well enough, for now.

"I'm used to a world of magic," he says, not wanting to be outdone completely, even if he has been. "But so much darker. With so little light."

"Just so!" she exclaims. "Any wish, they say, but it is the most difficult creature to catch, and is rarely spotted," she elaborates. Everyone wants a wish from the white stag of Narnia, but how many have gotten one?

She looks at him for a long moment. "Well, we are a world of very much light," she says. "Everyone comes here for a reason, Lord Bane."

Magnus considers this quietly, but tries to act as though it doesn't matter to him quite so much as it does. Any wish? He could get his Alexander back? But in what form, at what cost?

He pauses. "Did you come here? For a reason?"

She smiles a little, as she focuses forward, now. "Yes," she says, and for a moment, she does not elaborate. There are always reasons, for Narnia. "The first time," she says, "it was to save it from a war," she clarifies. "The second time," she continues, "it was to help a young prince."

She remembers that like a dream. She was so young. Another time-

"Another time I came to learn the sea. And now?" She looks a little fond. "It is because it is the home of my heart. It healed me. Kept me safe."

He wonders if she's going to explain, a playful smirk starting to pull at his lips. And then she does go on and the smirk turns more genuine, into a slight smile.

"Healed you?" Magnus can't help his interest, remembering what the Lion said. "How were you injured?"

"I had died. My whole family, almost, died," she says, carefully. "That is not the only way you get here. But it is one way. Her majesty, Queen Susan came later. She found another way."

Lucy is speaking carefully, because she doesn't want him to freak out. A lot of people come to Narnia before they die; she did it three times, after all.

He doesn't look too surprised, not outwardly, but his breath catches in his throat and hope again springs up in his heart. Could it be that Alec is here too, having gotten here from death?

His surprise and hope make it hard for him to be scared.

"Like me?" He's curious about Susan, too, and too polite to ask Lucy detail such as how she died.

"What way did she find?

What was your way back?"

"I do not know how you got here," she says, laughing. "Her majesty told us that she grew old in other world, that she had children and life and lovers, and then she fell asleep. Imagine our surprise when she stepped out of the forest, young and unmarked by age or sorrow."

She laughs a little. "Why," she says. "I took the train, and woke on the beach. I have always been most drawn to the sea." She looks at him, and she thinks she sees-

-nevermind. "But you must not think so. You, instead, must get ready for a party. You may meet the High King, and all the friends of Narnia."

"Must I?" he echoes, but teasing, playful. Magnus would much rather spend this time asking more questions, thinking in the exact way that this Lucy is telling him not to think. There seems to be a path there, a thread that if he tugs on hard enough, it might unravel a secret. A great, grand secret. But he knows he's not in the position to be making demands.

"Well," she says, still teasing, laughing, "if you wish us to answer your questions, I fear you may have to, yes," she says, because she knows men like this.

Men who come to Narnia through different routes. Those are always someone looking for an answer. "And we are all at a ball, so I fear that is the only way," she says, although she's not entirely serious. If he were to ask her truly, she would tell him.

But he has to earn it, just a little.

"Alas, a ball. How terrible." He's plainly kidding because a man like him, dressed in fine cut, glittery and embroidered clothes, should never say no to a ball.

"Am I dressed for it?" he asks. Because while he's well dressed, she's wearing a dress that's in a style he hasn't seen in centuries, except at Renaissance fairs, in much poorer fashion.

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