milliways_bar | Entries tagged with tirian

last-king.livejournal.com

It's been said that endings are heartless, and perhaps that's so.

But they aren't always cause for grief, at least, not for the ones whose end has come.

When Tirian of Narnia steps in from the lake door, there are tears he hasn't bothered to wipe away on his cheeks, but there's a smile on his lips and peace in his eyes.

He doesn't speak to anyone. One last look around, and he crosses to the front door and (rolling green hills and bright blue sky, sweet air like something beloved but only half-remembered from childhood) opens it.

And then, still smiling, the last king of Narnia steps back through the door that will take him home.

night-hibiscus.livejournal.com

Time passes. Conversations ebb and flow. And finally a mood comes over--not the room, but certain tables in it.

And Yuna, perhaps naturally, has been keeping an eye on each of those tables. She feels it, too, when the time has come, and she rises, her face solemn and composed, and moves towards the door to the lake, carrying her staff. She pauses in the doorway, to catch Lucy's eye, and a nod passes between them.

And then she heads down to the water, to the edge of the inlet, where salt and sweetwater meet, as the sun comes down and turns it gold.

To wait, just a little longer.

[OOC: This is the Pevensie's exit post. Well-wishers and even spectators are welcome, but please, in subthreads below the first. These can go on even after the main thread concludes--time, as ever, is a face on the water. :) Thank you.]

last-king.livejournal.com

It's late, but Tirian doesn't seem to mind that.

He's settled near the fireplace, with a peace and stillness he's never had in Milliways before, holding paper and pen but not writing anything yet.

Goodbyes aren't going to be hard for him, but knowing what to say is still a bit of a puzzle.

called_lioness

[ooc: It's late for entrance post, but Lucy's in anyway for anyone who wants her. She'll be back other nights.]

Yesterday she and Caspian talked.

And it's decided (and she's happy for it) and it still means--

Well, it means the thing it must.

It means good-bye.

She spent yesterday with her husband; she spent today with her horse, who she can't take with her.

Tonight she's watching, just in case she spots anyone. There are many she'd like to, and some she knows she likely won't.

But you put the effort in, either way.

last-king.livejournal.com

Look quickly, when the door opens, and you'll see low, rolling foothills covered in rich green grass under a clear blue sky--country that looks almost too perfect to be real.

And then the door closes, and there's nothing to see but Tirian of Narnia and Eustace Scrubb, both smiling, somehow unsurprised to find themselves back in Milliways.

last-king.livejournal.com

Tirian and Eustace stand in front of the door; both have found and re-donned the mail they were wearing when they arrived, and while both lost their swords in the battle, Tirian has the one made for him here by Gimli.

Tirian doesn't ask again if Eustace is sure about this, simply claps him on the shoulder once more.

"For Narnia?"

Eustace nods, a determined look on his face. "For Narnia."

Taking his hand from Eustace's shoulder to be able to keep hold of his sword hilt, Tirian reaches with his other hand to turn the doorknob and open it.

Through the door, little can be seen--a brief flicker of firelight, perhaps, but all else is darkness and silence. If this is Narnia, and the Calormenes are still out there, they're being very quiet.

They don't know just what they're going back to, but Aslan is always at work, said Edmund, and in his lowest moments, Tirian has never doubted the Lion.

One more brief nod to each other, and they step through the door, toward whatever awaits them.

last-king.livejournal.com

One year.

He's been here a year, and always, no matter how much he's enjoyed it here at times, there's always been the constant lingering ache of not home, and the memory of the state Narnia was in when he left it.

So when he enters from the House of Arch and sees the front door for the first time in that year, it's little wonder that he goes pale, breath catching sharply, and then sinks abruptly in the nearest available seat.

He's still staring at the door. For the moment, he doesn't have eyes for anything else.

kein_tannenbaum

Filif's been doing research.

...which is to say that he's been reading the rather pink magazines that Carmela keeps him in good supply of. The most recent issues were very enthused about something called "Valentine's Day," which apparently consists of giving chocolate to attractive males. Filif isn't quite sure how to judge if a human is attractive, but far be it from him to deviate from the cultural norm!

So: there is a large evergreen tree peering curiously at the males in the room.

the-woodpecker.livejournal.com

It's early afternoon.

Somehow, somewhere, some magical person has effected a change.

The sun is not warm; it's hot.

The lake is not frozen; it's the temperature of water which has been warming under the sun for a summer.

The grass is green.

In the expanse of lawn between the bar and the water, there is a smallish bar set up; patrons can help themselves, or bartenders can suck up by manning it. Adjacent to that bar are tables, laden with food: hamburgers, hot dogs, bratwurst, chicken, spicy black bean burgers, potato salad, corn on the cob...

You get the picture.

So come on out. The sun won't stay like this forever.

last-king.livejournal.com

Tirian's discovered the Shakespeare section of the House of Arch's library, and is working his way through it steadily. He's got A Midsummer Night's Dream at the moment, book open on the table in front of him, but he doesn't look so deeply absorbed in the story that he'd mind interruption.

callitavesper.livejournal.com

[ Pre-Milliways: At a beautiful waterside house, two suspects are held captive. But the agent doing the investigation gets an unpleasant surprise. ]

What he sees is not what he expects.

There's that feeling of having walked into the wrong room, though he tells himself he couldn't have walked through the wrong door. He also couldn't have walked into a bar. He was certain Mr. White didn't have one in his house, and if he did it certainly wasn't on the second floor. Bond turns, expecting to find a door behind him. What he sees is a solid wall.

The look he gives to the bar as he turns around is one not often seen on his face: pure confusion.

last-king.livejournal.com

He's determined not to fall into brooding, tonight, but having a difficult time feeling very celebratory.

So, in an attempt at compromise, Tirian is at a table with wine, not currently engaged in any conversation, but with a look that says he wouldn't object to being drawn into one.

iustus_rex

[OOM: In the House of Arch, the gathered Narnians celebrate Christmas. Millitimed to, uh, Christmas.]

realmrsreynolds

Out of all the decorations -- wreath behind the piano, spotlights, fairy lights twinkling -- and preparation, Sallie forgot a microphone.

Shouldn't be a problem.

"Hello everyone," Sallie stands in front of the piano. She directs herself far more to the people in the chairs for the immediate audience, but also to passersby who might be interested. "Welcome to the first beginner's piano recital, presented by the House of Arch Academy. We have a small selection of performers for you this evening, and it is our hope that you can join us for a few songs for the holidays that our players have been working on very diligently."

A hand waved toward the currently empty piano bench. "Xiexie, thank you, and enjoy the show."

[ooc: Backroom details. :D!]

kitchen_maid

Amy has tea, which is mostly ignored and qoing quite cold. She has a few neatly wrapped packages, to be delivered or left with Bar this evening. And she has a pile of letter and invitations, which she is shuffling and sorting through and trying to answer.

Distraction would be ever-so-welcome.

last-king.livejournal.com

There's snow, which means there's a perpetually homesick king of Narnia outside in a fur-lined cloak, enjoying the snow.

Any acquaintances who happen by might get a snowball for their troubles. Strangers will at least get an introduction first.

iustus_rex

When Edmund steps through the House of Arch painting, he's carrying a notebook and two elementary math textbooks. Folded and tucked into the notebook are a few worksheets; the students at the House of Arch school don't get much homework, but they do get some.

Teaching, Edmund is finding, suits him pretty well.

He stops by the bar for tea, and gets an envelope with it. He blinks at it -- and blinks again, face shadowing, when he recognizes the handwriting on the front. He knows it well, even now, of course; it's Kitty's. He carries tea and papers to a quiet table, where he slits open the envelope and unfolds the letter.

By the first line -- If you're reading this -- his jaw is tight.
We were supposed to be getting married in two weeks, you know.
By the end, his face is white, and utterly set.
Would it help if I said I love you?
Moving deliberately, and very nearly normally, he rises and gathers up his things, and returns the tea set to the bar. "I'm sorry, love," he murmurs as teapot and cup vanish into the wood. "Not in the mood for it after all." Twenty-three steps take him back to the wall, and with a light touch to the frame he vanishes back into the House of Arch.
I would like for you to have not been a jerk so obsessed with yourself that you could have seen I was trying not to break down.
(He doesn't see anyone on the way to his room. Easy enough in a house with no hallways.
I'm not being fair. I don't have to be. You sure as hell weren't. I'm being petty and hurt now.
He's distantly grateful.)

When he returns, it's with no schoolwork, and in a heavy coat. One more stop by the bar, and he's on his way out the door with one bottle of whiskey in hand and two more in a bag.
He told me to go. And I came back, because you weren't there.
That should, he figures, be enough to last him a good while. Even at the rate he intends to drink it.
And I'm staying here, with you, for as long as you'll have me. Forever, if you want.

last-king.livejournal.com

In keeping with the whole "not just skulking about the House of Arch" thing (which, really, there ought to be a twelve-step program for), Tirian is in the bar tonight, with (wait for it) tea.

He's also looking a bit thoughtful--it's drawing closer to Christmas, and there are presents to be thought of.

last-king.livejournal.com

[OOM: Millitimed to about two weeks ago. While still under the effects of Band Candy, Tirian and Lucy go for a ride, and talk. Well, sort of.]

last-king.livejournal.com

Having had his candy supply cut off by the bar, Tirian is feeling more than a bit sheepish as he enters from the House of Arch.

...And that did not do much to help.

He gives the Bar a downright plaintive look as he approaches. He doesn't get his normal clothes back for his troubles, but he does get cider.

the_seafarer

Caspian had looked askance at the hot chocolate served to him instead of the tea he thought he'd ordered, but it was hot and he was cold from his afternoon out by the lake, and so he'd had that cup, and then another for good measure.

It's this second that he's working on now, cheerfully sitting at the bar and watching with mild interest the patrons going about their business. All in all, he seems fairly content, if a little prone to cringing over a few of his own thoughts.

Still. Lord help a certain Lilly Kane if she crosses his path tonight.

talkstohats

There's a little old lady seated at a booth in the bar, knitting needles furiously clacking away on green wool. The desired end product appears to be numerous pairs of socks.

(The poor woman has no idea that this harmless activity is often regarded with suspicion in these parts.)

She's muttering to herself - or possibly to the socks - as she works. This is quite usual for old ladies, or so she reasons, and should therefore not cause coment.

"I must get to Lettie somehow," she murmurs, scowling; and then, to the socks: "Well, at least you're going to turn out all right, I'm sure."

last-king.livejournal.com

Tirian didn't ask the bar for cocoa, but with how cold it's getting outside, he's not going to refuse it. He does, however, thank her for the unexpected treat before carrying it over to his usual spot near the fire.

last-king.livejournal.com

Tirian comes in from the lake area, a bit windblown and flushed from cold, and is very shortly ensconced by the fire with mulled cider and a bowl of roasted chestnuts, which he could probably be prevailed upon to share.

dear-of-heart.livejournal.com

Cora is soaking in the heat by the fire (the Narnian weather suddenly realized its lapse a few days ago, and started the regularly scheduled winter season), with a cup of tea and a new book—-political reading can dull, occasionally.

She really wouldn’t mind being interrupted.