The air was fresh around Theo, indicating the end of winter, thankfully. The warmer weather was arriving, along with a time many Narnians cherished. Spring… She knew Tumnus loved it, and she was glad. This was the time of year her roses bloomed, and she could sit outdoors with Caradoc. They had walked some distance from the Rose in the afternoon, the warm sun filtering through the trees an warming Theo’s skin, and the two sat under a tree.
It was a moment of pece - a time where they didn’t have to think of all the troubles within Cair Paravel. Theo did like the hustle and bustle of her life, but sometimes it was nice to relax, to read a book that Sophie had recommended her. Now, she was sitting beneath the tree, her skirts tucked neatly about her, and a hat sat on her head. Caradoc lay in the grass, his head in Theo’s lap and his eyes closed comfortingly, and Theo read aloud to him.
It was a simple tale, but one she was enjoying so far. As she read, the tale mentioned of a Faun who had befriended the main character, and she couldn’t stop her voice from faltering as the Faun reminded her of Tumnus. Tumnus… How little their contact had been after the events of the celebration. Theo was sure he was busy; he worked with Caradoc on occasion, but on what she did not know. She was far too busy with the Rose.
The chapter finished - Theo turned the page, about to read aloud, but just found herself staring absentmindedly at the page. Her thoughts reeled slightly, and she shook her head gently to dispel them. Today was her peaceful day with Caradoc… if so, then why was she troubled deep down?
She knew the answer to that.
It was nice to sit with Theodora like this, under the tree in her rose garden. There were other flowers too, full blooming, and smelling of a Spring that had ached all winter-long.
Caradoc listened to the story she read aloud. When he opened his eyes he saw the edges of her lips brush against each other, forming words and vowels, the tongue against her teeth forming hard and soft consonants. He saw too the book binding, the turning of each page, and her fingers lingering on their corners. It really was something - to be here, with her, rather than spilling over maps and treaties and plans for war. That he might lose himself in the story made tangible by the lips of the woman he loved. That he might, for the hour, not be what he was, but the characters in the story with a heartfelt, sometimes trying tale. That he might exist in the words spreading out into the air around them, around the roses, around the gardenias.
A new character entered the tale. A new friend for the protagonist: a faun. Theodora’s voice faltered, in tune with Caradoc’s thoughts, so he didn’t notice. He couldn’t help imagining the faun with a red scarf wrapped about his neck. Even if it was meant to be an escape from reality, he couldn’t help these details dig their way into the stories he read. He didn’t know if this was necessarily a bad thing. For instance, he always pictured Theodora’s face in all his books. If the hero fell in love with a beautiful woman, he saw Theo. He saw her too at the mention of an adventuress. Or a mother. A wise priestess. A loving friend.
These thoughts came in and out as they do while he listened to the tale and Theodora read the final sentences of the chapter. He heard the page turn but no voice followed. Caradoc opened his eyes. Theodora had furrowed her brows, she was staring blankly. It was an expression he did not recognize on her face. She was most always composed, or pretending to be. But this was the look of uncertainty.
“Theo?” he said. Caradoc placed his fingers on her arm, the edge of her sleeve. “What is it, love?”
