thetenth | (no subject)

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finnick odair

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And still he found himself drawn to the ocean. In the first three years of his reign in Narnia, he hadn't had as much time as he'd like to spend time on the water, but still those names had arrived - Seafarer, Navigator. He had comissioned the Dawn Treader built and those days, those first days before the green mist and the dragon, those were some of the happiest of his life. It had felt like freedom, pure and simple. It had felt like flying. He had woken to discover a small boat, its sail in green and gold, small enough for one man to sail comfortably, a cabin to be slept in, and, painted on the side, in gilt letters, was her name.

The Queen of Narnia.

He'd spent all morning in and out of the boat, and then decided to strip and swim. He'd spent a pleasant half an hour or so dipping and diving before he emerged, pushing his hair back from his face.

This place, he thought.
He could be happy in a place like this.

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Frowning slightly, Finnick studies Caspian's face, searching for some indication that he's joking. But the man looks completely sincere and Finnick can only interpret that as furthering his point. The pure ridiculousness of this place and its inhabits can only mean he's gone crazy.

"Yeah, well where I'm from, it's pretty unheard of," he says, his smile faltering somewhat. "There's only one world: the one we're born into. And we stay there and we live and work through it or we fight if we need to. We don't just... blink and appear in other places. That doesn't happen."

He lay still under Finnick's scrutiny, because he could see how it might sound - outlandish and strange, too odd to be believed.

"From what I understand, only the Pevensies had the way of it, and it was all Aslan's doing," he said. "But here we are, so I suppose we must make the best of it."

"Who is this Aslan?" Finnick asks with a rough sort of laugh. "Is he on the island? She," he adds belatedly because he honestly has no idea if this person (is it even a person?) is male or female. "They give you a boat and transport you in time and place. Any other tricks they have up their sleeve?"

"He made Narnia," said Caspian, simply, because, really, there was nothing else to be said about it. "He was there at the very, very beginning, and it was through him that the Pevensies first came to Narnia. I don't know for certain, but I doubt there's anything that he can't do. I came very, very close to his country, once. Just before I came here, in fact."

He rolls one shoulder in a shrug and looks away. "It must sound strange to you."

Once again, Finnick's smile falters as he listens. Religion still exists in Panem, though it, like most everything else in the districts, is stifled under the oppressive weight of the government. Finnick only really knows of it through stories passed down from generation to generation, a million fantastic tales and myths of gods and goddesses, tragic heroes and heinous villains. Many of them included tales of how the world was made, created at the hands of one hand or many and ruled in varying shades of vindictiveness and peacefulness.

"It sounds like a story," he admits finally, his smile small and trying for warm. "But a good one, at least. There is no Aslan where I'm from. There's nothing like that."

It was the sort of smile that seemed fragile, hard won, and Caspian's own smile, when he turned his head, was definitely warm, and designed to be reassuring. He lifted one hand, almost reached out to squeeze Finnick's shoulder and thought better of it, letting his hand drop back to the sand.

"I imagine that he's there, somewhere," he said, quietly. "Even if you never saw him."

Finnick doesn't cringe or pull away as Caspian reaches for him even though, in his experience, those who do so are usually out to use him or harm him. Often simultaneously. But those same experiences have taught him to accept such advances. Welcome them. Because, to do otherwise, would only make the inevitable all the more painful.

"He isn't," Finnick says, somehow sure of that much. "And, if he were and chose to stay silent at the injustice so prevalent around him, than I would hate him."

His voice is quiet. Sure. He doesn't sound or even feel angry so much as matter-of-fact.

"Then it's a shame," said Caspian, quietly. He had to believe that Aslan was never in that world, because the idea of him turning his face away was more than he could bear; there had been a period of Narnia's history when he had seemed absent.

"I've rarely felt so...quiet as I do when he's near."

"Quiet is good?" Finnick asks, arching an eyebrow.

Back home, in the district, quiet is rare, the waves a constant, steady barrage against the shore, the throng of workers shouting from boat to pier and back again, the children shrieking and laughing before being loudly scolded by their parents.

The noise in the Capitol is something else entirely, a cacophony so overwhelming and awful that the mere idea of silence is somewhat laughable.

"Quiet is good," said Caspian, nodding. Pushed up on his elbows, he watched the skiff bobbing on the waves, the shifting colours of sea and sky. He nodded. "When I was younger, i never really knew how to found it. I couldn't be still. Quiet is definitely good, if only you know how."

Considering this, Finnick watches the man, takes in the sense of calm that seems to surround him, and finds himself oddly envious.

And quiet, to him, seems somehow dangerous.

"Well, you can have it," he says, forcing a bright smile to his lips as he turns his attention out to the sea. "I'll take the noise of the ocean and the shouts of my many admirers."

"Admirers, is it?" said Caspian, the odd heaviness of the last few minutes filtering away and collapsing in on itself as his own smile brightens. "And what did you do, to gain such admirers?"

Caspian had never gone short of admirers himself; envoys and princesses had come a long way to visit with him, but he had never found anyone to match Susan Pevensie.

Though Caspian isn't the first to ask him of his past, the question is still difficult for him to answer. If only because, back in Panem, he'd never had to. Not a soul in the country didn't know him or at least know of him: the youngest victor in Games history, the consummate playboy and most expensive, prized whore in all of the Capitol.

"I'm a celebrity," he says this time. "And kind of a diplomat. Let's just say, I can't really walk around anywhere without being noticed in my country."

And, yes, it sounds cocky; Finnick is well aware of that. But it's also nothing short of the absolute truth.

"That sounds...not unlike being a king," he pointed out, one eyebrow twitching. "Will you be able to live with obscurity?"

Finnick gives a quiet laugh in reply and shakes his head as he dusts some stray grains of sand off his chest. "I'm not sure. I suppose time will tell on that one."

He doesn't mention that the celebrity had been all but forced on him. And nobody had told him that being a victor would mean selling himself to the rich and the powerful for the rest of his life.

"Or," he adds with a broader grin, "I'll just have to make sure everyone here soon knows me."

"Is this prior warning?" asked Caspian, a broad, warm grin spreading across his face. He tilted his head, the breeze ruffling his hair forward before he pushed it back. "Should I find cover now?"

"Only if you're worried you'll be intimidated by my astounding good looks and dazzling personality," Finnick remarks with a wide grin. "If not, simply consider yourself one of the lucky few to get an early glimpse of greatness."

It's all bravado, of course, all completely over-the-top. It doesn't at occur to Finnick that Caspian may not get his attempt at humor.

"I'll definitely count myself as numbered among the lucky," said Caspian, rolling his eyes. "To have been here when you still languished in obscurity."

"You can tell everyone you knew me when," Finnick says, tipping his head back to breathe in the salty air. "And I can tell everyone I know the low king of Narnia. Not that I've yet figured out exactly what that means."

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