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[It was a long walk to Caer Glaem. Fortunately, Susan was close enough that that the road to it was fairly safe. She would feel better about this whole thing if her brothers and sister were here, or if she had her bow, or even her horn. Instead she was wearing her school clothes, and they were none too clean at this point. Still, Susan was hoping for a better explanation, and from what the friendly fairies and townspeople had to say the castle was the place to get it.

She was hungry. Fruit trees and handouts didn't do much in the way of assuaging hunger when one was walking all day. She hoped there would at least be food in the castle; it was looming large in her vision now and she hoped to get there within the end of the day. It was a good thing, too. She'd bathed in a stream that morning, but--

"Lawkamercyme!" cried a high pitched voice, and Susan turned her head just in time to see a small, green-tinted fairy fall into a faint. A dark shadow globbed its way towards the fairy, Susan was sure it had foul intent. Dark shadows with gleam of teeth almost always did. She wished for her bow more than ever, but didn't hesitate to pick up a large stone at her feet. She was frightened - how did one fight a shadow? Oh, she hated to fight - but she wasn't about to just stand there and watch. She shouted, "You! There! Get away from that fairy!"

The shadow did not seem much impressed. And so Susan threw the stone with impressive aim, clipping the beast right in the mouth. It hissed and abandoned the fairy, heading towards her instead. She bent to pick up another rock.]

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[For a long moment, the locket shows a beautiful face with a furrowed brow, staring intently at its own reflection. Susan has never seen anything like this before. She is at the castle now, clean and clothed and fed, so her image doesn't look quite as dire as it had earlier that day, and her dark hair is swept back neatly in a braid.] Ah - so it does work! At least, I assume it does, and this is a message going out all over the lockets and not just some sort of fancy mirror.

[In either case, she's beginning to feel a little self-conscious. She reaches for easily remembered dignity.] I don't mean to intrude, but I have heard that this is something which happens often. And I wonder, is there anyone from England here? [She misses her family; two weeks of walking among strangers in a strange land was more than enough alone time for now, thanks.] Or even [marked hesitation] Narnia?

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[ He smiles a little at her enthusiasm, his eyes crinkling and warming, making him seem younger ]

Ah now - I am one of the younger of my folk here, time being what it is - but I myself have seen perhaps some three thousand years of the sun, although it can be hard to guess exactly, for I was born before the rising of either moon or sun. The Eldar are bound to the life of the world you see - we can be slain, but otherwise we endure so long as it does. So six thousand years or three thousand... it is much the same to us, except so far as it weighs on our spirits.

[...one of the younger folk. Susan's brain attempts to adapt to this new information.]

Goodness.

[Susan attempts to recapture her composure. She at least attempts a further explanation.]

I've never heard of anything like this before. Are you saying - you were born with the beginning of your world, before the moon or sun were made, but that others there even before you?

[She imagines that was very... dark. And cold. And generally unpleasant.]

Edited 2014-08-22 01:15 (UTC)

[ The bright amusement in his eyes doesn't fade, but he is courteous enough to let no hint of it seep into his voice or answer ]

Not before its beginnings, no - very early into it, however! And aye, there are those older than me. My parents were... the first generation of those born to the Unbegotten. But before we were there were still the Ainur, the Holy Ones, the Powers of the World, who are the offspring of the thoughts of Eru, the One, who is before all and beyond all.

...goodness.

[There really wasn't much else to say, but she also didn't see any reason to not believe it. She thinks about it a moment more.]

It sounds amazing to have such a detailed account - a memory, really - of the origins of your world. It's a bit hard for me to imagine, but I believe you. [There was a certain weight to his words that made it hard for her to disbelieve it, even if the account seemed incredible. It reminded her, unaccountably, of Aslan, and the Emperor Beyond the Sea. She was not used to speaking about Aslan, however, and she didn't feel it was quite appropriate to make the comparison.]

We are fortunate in that regard I suppose [ He shrugs a little wryly ]

Although the Ainur have told us of the world's beginnings, they do not quite... see the world as we do, and our languages do not always have the words they need - so what we know is only as they can convey it. But tis said our world began in Song. [ Here have another tidbit tantalisingly familiar sounding ]

For us it is... normal, I suppose? I do not mind telling you the tales, if you wish it Lady Susan.

[Susan feels a certain amount of strange hope in hearing that his world also began in song. The Narnians had never forgotten King Frank and Queen Helen, and they had kept careful memory of how Aslan sung the world into being. Some things were in the bones and not to be forgotten.

She hesitates for a moment and then decides - yes, if the stories are similar enough, she will tell him.]

I'd like that. If you're sure you don't mind?

[ he smiles and shakes his head ]

Tis no trouble, I assure you - by nature I am a bard, and to tell the tales of my world is a joy and no toilsome chore. All I ask in return is a tale of your own worlds.

[A bard... she knew that word, more from her English history than her Narnian experience. A single tale? She could do that, she thought.]

Well, I'm certainly not a bard. [A quick, self-depreciating smile. Susan knew her strengths and her weaknesses, and she'd never thought herself particularly good at story-telling.] But I think I can do that.

[It had been a long two weeks on her own.]

[ Maglor smiles back faintly ]
A tale for a tale? A good bargain. I suppose I should go first, eh? What tale would you like to hear milady?

I think I should like to hear the tale I interrupted. [In fact, she was very curious about it indeed. Such a similarity... Susan felt an almost wild surge of hope.] The story of how your world began in Song.

[ He tips his head in a bow, a small smile on his lips ]

As my lady wishes.

[ He is quiet a while and then he lifts his voice in song. Mighty Singer, they called him once. All his sorrow and grief has not robbed his voice of its power, lending to it only the poignancy of pain to balance its terrible beauty. And this is the story he tells: ]

In the Beginning was the One, and of his thought he brought forth the Ainur, the Holy Ones, and he taught them how to Sing. And they made a Music together and as they sang He unfolded to them the truth of their song, and so they know much of what was and what will be in the world, and many of them loved the visions that they saw. But one amongst them grew envious and his song turned to variance, and he sought to control, rather than to work with his kin. So began Melkor's fall. And Eru listened and was pleased, and he said to them "Ea! Let it Be!" and into the Void he sent forth the Flame Imperishable, and so was born Arda, the World that Is, alone in the depths of space. And of the Ainur, many of them loved so the world that they sought permission from Eru, and gaining it descended into Arda, binding themselves to it, so that they are it's power, and it is theirs. Of these the great are the Valar, the powers of the world, and Melkor was once the most pre-eminent of them, before he Fell.

And when they entered her, they found her empty and formless, and so began their labor, in the days before time, to form of their thought the reality of their Song, in preparation for those who would come after. Long they laboured, and ever more envious Melkor grew, so that nothing they made passed unmarred by him - mountains they built and he overthrew, oceans they filled and he spilled. But slowly, Arda came to resemble the visions of their Song. Great Lamps they built, to shed their light over the lands that green things might grow, but in tumult and flame Melkor overthrew them. And long they fought him, there in the days before the accounting of time. In the end they had something of a mastery, and they drew up the high walls of the Pelori Mountains, there on the Westernmost shore, and Melkor could not cross them, and so he withdrew, delving deep his fortress in the roots of the Eastern mountains. And behind the walls of the Pelori the Valar put forth their power and raised two Trees - Laurelin the Golden, and Telperion the Fair, and in their light the land of the Valar grew great and fair, and many things flourished there that might not have done.

But to the outer lands only some gave thought. Varda took Telperion's silver dews and spun the stars from them, setting them into the sky as warning to Melkor that they watched still, and ever and anon Orome rode still to the hunt of the foul creatures that Melkor twisted in the twilight of Middle-earth. Long Lord Ulmo's powers brooded on the waters,and the rains fell softly and the brooks and rivers remain largely unspoilt. So it was that our foreparents awoke, there on the shores of Cuiviénen, and the first light they saw was the stars.

This is the Valaquenta - the tale of the Beginning.

Edited 2014-08-25 07:15 (UTC)

[Susan is surprised when Maglor began to sing, but then she listened and catches her breath. She must have started breathing again at some point, because she didn't pass out, but she didn't remember it. Unaccountably, Susan felt tears in her eyes. It was so beautiful.

When he stopped singing, Susan gives a quiet gasp. It is as if a pressure has lifted all around her, as if she had been immobilized in the spot, just to listen... and yet, it was not a song that imprisoned. It captivated, it held, but there was such freedom in it that it could only truly be described as achingly beautiful.

She is silent for a moment. Her own voice is pale in comparison, and she wipes the tears from her eyes.]

...thank you.

[ He tips his head in a bow to her and smiles gently ]

Thank you for listening, Lady Susan.

[Another moment, as it takes more than a little to shake off the power of his voice.]

I hope you don't truly expect me to follow that.

[ a soft amused chuff of sound ]

I am sure you will make a fine effort of it, Lady Susan - all tales might be worth telling, irregardless of the skill of the teller, but I am sure you will do well. Will you tell me of Narnia?

[She took a breath and prepared to try to make good on her word. Still, she figured that she could at least buy a little more time to recover from the power of his voice by returning the same question he had asked her.]

What would you like to hear about Narnia?

[ he tips his head consideringly before deciding ]

Will you tell me your story, Lady Susan? Tell me of the Narnia you knew.

[Ah, well. That was... that.]

Would you hear of how we first found Narnia? Or of how Narnia was when we first left it?

[Something about just thinking of talking about it drew her speech into more remembered patterns.]

[ he notes the pattern with interest but does not ask ]

Whatever you wish to tell me Lady Susan but... a good tale starts at the beginning, eh? Of your kindness, I would hear how you found her.

[From the beginning... Thinking of the time before, her cadence becomes more as it had been.]

I suppose... I suppose it begins with the war, really. Our father was away, fighting in it, and it was just our mother and my brothers and sisters and I at home in London. There were a lot of bombing raids - terrible attacks which dropped explosives from the sky - and all the children were evacuated from the city to live in the country with any stranger who was kind enough to take them in. We went to stay with the professor.

Professor Kirke, I mean. We didn't know him, but he lived in a great old house in the country. It was a lovely place, full of old and beautiful things, and with a very pleasant set of country. We couldn't wait to get out to explore the grounds, but that first day... it was raining. So we decided to explore the house.

We went from room to room, and in one room there was nothing more than a beautifully carved wardrobe. We all left, at least I thought we all left, but we hadn't gone all the way down the hall before Lucy, our youngest sister, came running after us.

She was full of a story about how she'd 'Come back' and that she'd actually gone to some entirely other world by stepping through the wardrobe. Of course we didn't believe her, but she was so insistent we went back and took a look ourselves. We came up against the back of the wardrobe, but even though it was clearly impossible, Lucy insisted - that wall hadn't been there before, she'd stepped through to a forest covered in snow, and had met a faun. It was so unlike her to lie... but it was also very evidently not the truth.

[And, you know, practical Susan was practical - not quite defending herself, since she still didn't see any way she could have believed Lucy at the time. Now, of course... now she knew better. That was experience speaking, though, rational thinking - it made perfect sense to change along with your experiences.]

Maglor listens attentively, eyes bright and fixed on her, he barely seems to move, absorbing every word she says, the gestures and the emotions she lets slip.

"Your pardon" He interrupts at an opportune break. "You speak of... bombs, and explosives... I fear I do not know those words?"

"Ah," Susan said, pausing for a moment. "Are you perhaps familiar with fireworks? Or have you ever seen oil poured on a fire?"

"Ah." He nods "Fireworks I know, aye - so akin to them then? Your pardon for the interruption!"

"That's all right," Susan said. That was one benefit about this place, at least: No bombs. She didn't really want to talk about the bombs any further, however. She didn't have nightmares anymore about the raids over London, but thinking about it was not, she considered practically, very helpful.

"At any rate, Lucy eventually stopped talking about it and we hoped that was the end of it. It was, for a time, until the next day it rained. This time we decided to play hide-and-seek, and I was 'It.' 'It' is the seeker, the one who tries to find where all the others are hiding," she added, trying to explain as she went. "I'd hardly begun to search for them before she came barreling out, shouting that Edmund, the brother between Lucy and me, had 'got in' two, and it was all true, and wouldn't it be brilliant?

"But when we asked Edmund what had happened, he said that they had only been pretending." She paused and added, "He was very sorry for this later. But of course, at the time, we thought that Edmund had only been playing a particularly nasty trick on Lucy and we were really beginning to grow concerned about, well, how she was taking everything."

Susan in particular had been concerned if the stress about Father and being separated from Mother and moving to a new place had been too much for Lucy and had somehow separated her from her senses.

"In the end, though, Lucy was right all along. Professor Kirke's house was such a grand old home that people would come to take tours of it, and we had been most strictly warned by the housekeeper not to get in the way of those tours. That day, though, it seemed there was no place to go to get out of the way - no place at all, but into the wardrobe. We all crowded in, and despite it being a simply enormous wardrobe, there wasn't much room for all four of us. I kept getting pressed back and back until something poked me."

Her voice softened, taking on a tone of remembered wonder with a slight hint of sadness. "It was a tree branch. It was the most peculiar thing. On the one hand, we could see the open door, the slight light coming in from the spare room, and on the other - snow covered firs, the white stretch of snow seemed to go on for miles, and right in the middle of this forest was an iron lamp post. Of course we stepped through, thinking that we could always go back if it was too dangerous."

Or maybe only Susan had been thinking that at that point. Either way.

"But by the time we knew how dangerous it really was, it was far too late to turn back."

Susan meant that too - it had been dangerous, but as soon as they had learned what had happened to Tumnus, of course they had to see if they could do something for him. And Narnia had been dangerous in other ways as well - it was in her blood, had been her life, and now she would never see it again. Hundreds upon hundreds of years had passed; all of her friends, all of those she had cared for with all the grace she had were dead and gone. She could never go back.

"Ah" he murmurs softly. "Such a marvel it must have been. Tis no wonder you did not think to turn back until too late. You come to this world better equipped than many I think, having such knowledge already. Great power this, for never had I heard of such a thing before."

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