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It had been such a passing sort of thing, explaining the arrival of their newest guest. It wasn't in either of their natures to turn away anyone in need. But the look on his wife's face makes him pause. Her insistence about the question of the child's name makes him frown.

"Mordred, he said. Of a place he called Orkney." One hand reaches almost thoughtlessly to smooth her cheek, concern obvious in the touch of his fingers. "Is everything all right?"

"Mordred of Orkney?" she repeats, the echo a little hollow. There's a fretful furrow in her brow as she contemplates the information-- and it's been a while since the full depth of her years has shown itself in her eyes, but it's there now. She presses an absent kiss against his hand before she shifts back just slightly, running a hand through her hair with a distracted sort of concern.

"You're certain?"

The look usually came with reminders of her siblings--with traditions and remembrances of the Golden Age she'd lived so many years ago. But this... this was a child. A child with surely not so much more than a decade to his name.

"I'm certain that's what he said. What's-- the matter with it, Susan?"

"Nothing's-- the matter, exactly. It's just--"

And there's not quite words for it. There's not quite any way for her to express the possibility she thinks she is being faced with.

"--I knew someone who bore that name, but-- he was not of Narnia, nor did he remain here."

Which means he couldn't-- shouldn't-- have any progeny of the same name wandering about the kingdom.

And yet here they are.

That doesn't quite make sense. Not really. There's an obvious frown on his features as he studies her face.

"From... England?"

Because that's the frame of reference that almost fits. Almost.

It's not quite distress on her face, at least. More distance. Her being entirely wrapped up in memories of a time far in the past now.

"No. Not-- not England. Not exactly."

It's so complicated. It's as much the coming to life of a legend as her returning to Narnia was to him.

Edited 2014-01-21 02:16 (UTC)

"Not exactly."

She doesn't look pained. She doesn't look like the walls are closing in on her. He remembers distinctly the edge in her expression when they'd first brokered relations with Calormen again--and this isn't that. This is more... pensive. More wondering.

And at the end of the day, there's no one he trusts more than he trusts her. No one he knows so well, and has such faith in having knowledge of herself. So he releases a slow breath of acceptance, leans closer briefly to kiss her cheek. "Ought we trust him?"

She leans into the press of his lips, rests her forehead against his as she slowly starts to come back into herself.

"He was a troubled young man when he came to us. Angry-- in the way Narnia was, after years under the Telmarines-- and led astray, I think, by his more dangerous aunt. But he had-- a good soul underneath. I could tell. I think he just needed-- a gentler hand." A touch of a wry smile, "I often thought we could have helped him more, had he stayed, but he had a duty to his own people, and in any event we left Narnia not long after."

A soft sigh, and an equally soft kiss against the tip of his nose, "His aunt is not here. He is but a boy, now, if it is indeed him. I think he can be trusted."

And she hopes, it will be clear, that perhaps he can be helped.

That she stays close has his smile returning properly. The confusing story she unfolds is ultimately one which allows his smile to stay thoughtfully in place.

This was, after all, why people seemed to find Narnia--people like the Pevensies. It was a place to grow. A place to become stronger in oneself.

And that means this lost soul must be here for a reason, right? "And guided?"

Her smile returns at the sight of his, at the gentle words her offers as a query.

"And guided, yes. At least I hope."

"And want to attempt, I'd guess."

Because she had that kind sort of soul. Because she wouldn't let someone who could be saved from anger fall to it.

"I hope you succeed."

"Aslan willing," she murmurs, sighing yet again as she properly meets his eyes, a tired smile on her lips.

"You'll help me?"

She's fairly certain the answer will be to the affirmative, but it can't hurt to check.

The question has him blinking. Has a delicate arching of his brow before he shifts to press a firm kiss to her forehead.

"How should I deny you this, Susan?"

He barely denied her anything, after all. Why would he not assist on something so noble?

It's a valid thing to say. One that has her smile growing into something a little more solid, has her pressing her lips against his.

"Thank you, my love."

Chasing her lips is a natural thing; something he hasn't lost in the years of growing from prince properly into king.

"There's nothing to thank me for, mm?"

"Then I thank Aslan," she murmurs, still staying close as she does so, "For you, and for this second chance."

Not only to make things right with Mordred, but simply this second chance to be in Narnia at all.