![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
It's perfectly Ordinary to put off tasks when one doesn't want to do them.
But not especially Wise.
So Amy came to the House this evening, stood in the gallery for a long long time, and then finally stepped though the painting that leads -- that led -- to her brother's room.
Once there, she stands for another long time, not really wanting to cross into the empty room, with no sign that anyone has lived here in years save for the small tidy pile of things on the desk.
She can't decide if it's better or worse to find it like this than it would have been to find it looking as if Caspian were going to come though the portrait hole himself any moment, laughing, carrying a tray of tea, with straw in his hair and the sea in his eyes.
Finally she crosses to the desk, sits down in the chair, and turns to sorting out what's been left, fingers tight on the dreamcatcher around her neck.
Five letters, a few books, a small pink horse, and a ring.
Amy picks up a ledger she's picked up before, runs her fingers along the slight warping to the edges of its pages, from a night in the snow years ago.
"This is the second time you've left this for me to collect, Caspian," she says, to the empty room.
She doesn't open it.
Instead she puts it back where she found it, and picks up a small pink horse with a very very green mane and tail, as bright today as it was the day she produced it from the pocket of a patched apron and presented it to the man who was not yet her brother.
( . . . my royal brother's war horse . . . )
It's hard to believe there was a time he wasn't yet her brother.
Five letters. She's not sure who Josiah is, though she could hazard a guess given that his letter accompanies the ledger. She'll leave those with Bar, she thinks, and probably Bernard's as well.
Marian she has met, and given what Caspian has left with the letter for her, she was dear enough to Caspian that Amy decides she should at least try to deliver that letter in person. And Mal's -- she realizes suddenly that she's not seen Mal in some time. And wonders if he even knows. Mal, she knows, she will seek out.
And that leaves nothing to do but open the letter addressed to her.
Long after she finishes reading it, she's still staring at it, not really seeing it. And she might have gone on like that indefinitely, if she hadn't noticed the tear that hit the letter, so that the ink in "children" began to run down the page.
"Mustn't have that," she says to herself, sternly, blotting the smudge carefully with her handkerchief.
And then she stands, gathers the things her brother has left on the desk, and steps out of the room that is no longer his for the last time.
But not especially Wise.
So Amy came to the House this evening, stood in the gallery for a long long time, and then finally stepped though the painting that leads -- that led -- to her brother's room.
Once there, she stands for another long time, not really wanting to cross into the empty room, with no sign that anyone has lived here in years save for the small tidy pile of things on the desk.
She can't decide if it's better or worse to find it like this than it would have been to find it looking as if Caspian were going to come though the portrait hole himself any moment, laughing, carrying a tray of tea, with straw in his hair and the sea in his eyes.
Finally she crosses to the desk, sits down in the chair, and turns to sorting out what's been left, fingers tight on the dreamcatcher around her neck.
Five letters, a few books, a small pink horse, and a ring.
Amy picks up a ledger she's picked up before, runs her fingers along the slight warping to the edges of its pages, from a night in the snow years ago.
"This is the second time you've left this for me to collect, Caspian," she says, to the empty room.
She doesn't open it.
Instead she puts it back where she found it, and picks up a small pink horse with a very very green mane and tail, as bright today as it was the day she produced it from the pocket of a patched apron and presented it to the man who was not yet her brother.
( . . . my royal brother's war horse . . . )
It's hard to believe there was a time he wasn't yet her brother.
Five letters. She's not sure who Josiah is, though she could hazard a guess given that his letter accompanies the ledger. She'll leave those with Bar, she thinks, and probably Bernard's as well.
Marian she has met, and given what Caspian has left with the letter for her, she was dear enough to Caspian that Amy decides she should at least try to deliver that letter in person. And Mal's -- she realizes suddenly that she's not seen Mal in some time. And wonders if he even knows. Mal, she knows, she will seek out.
And that leaves nothing to do but open the letter addressed to her.
Long after she finishes reading it, she's still staring at it, not really seeing it. And she might have gone on like that indefinitely, if she hadn't noticed the tear that hit the letter, so that the ink in "children" began to run down the page.
"Mustn't have that," she says to herself, sternly, blotting the smudge carefully with her handkerchief.
And then she stands, gathers the things her brother has left on the desk, and steps out of the room that is no longer his for the last time.
