The talk of Perseus circles back to boasting, and then to truth. In the library’s green lamp glow, Lewis feels the old knot in his throat tighten, as if the shelves themselves are listening.
John
If a man cannot boast of himself, perhaps he ought not to boast at all. Perhaps the better courage is to be plain.
Parsley
Plain is safer. And harder to keep up.
Lewis looks down at the book in his hands. The page is steady enough, but his fingers are not. He has said the thing before, to himself, and now it returns with its full weight.
C. S. Lewis
I stopped lying because I could not keep the lie straight in my own head.
The words seem to drag something up from below, a memory he has kept nailed shut. Not all of it comes, only a fragment, sharp as a splinter: his father’s face, hard with refusal, and the choice that followed.
C. S. Lewis
I stopped, because I was in danger of lying to myself first.
Parsley
That sounds worse than ordinary lying.
For a moment, nobody speaks. John watches him carefully, not pushing. Parsley goes still, waiting for whatever Lewis is willing to name next, while the library holds the silence like a secret.
✓ Quest Accepted
Hear the rest of Lewis's truth
“Lewis sags in his chair and asks John how much he really heard last night. So Lewis knows what parts to skip. He looks at Parsley for reassurance.”
SUCCESS (Great Willpower, rolled +2)
Lewis lets himself sink lower in the chair, the book easing down with him. The quiet between them stretches, then his eyes lift to John, searching for the shape of last night in his face.
C. S. Lewis
How much did you hear last night? Just tell me plainly, so I know what to leave out.
John’s expression changes at once, not offended, only intent. He glances once toward Parsley, then back, as if weighing the exact boundary of honesty.
John
Enough to know you were not telling a story for effect. Not enough to know the whole of it.
Parsley’s shoulders loosen a little at that, and he gives Lewis the smallest nod, a private encouragement across the table.
Parsley
Then say it in order. The bits that matter most can come first.
Lewis looks from one boy to the other, and the library seems to draw closer around them. He has their attention, and for once it feels steady rather than dangerous.
“Lewis retells his story about his mother and father, his father's absences, the struggle to live up to who others wanted him to be, trying to live the lie, choosing his own truth, George, the silence of his father. And coming to Melvern.”
SUCCESS (Legendary Reasoning, rolled +2)
Lewis begins at the beginning, his voice low in the hush of the stacks. He speaks of his mother first, then of his father, and the chair gives a small scrape as he settles deeper between the boys.
C. S. Lewis
My father was away often, and when he was there, he seemed to want another boy than me.
John does not interrupt. Parsley’s gaze stays fixed on Lewis, steady and grave, as if every detail matters.
C. S. Lewis
So I tried to become what I thought they wanted. I told the lie long enough that it began to shape me.
C. S. Lewis
Then I stopped, not from virtue, but because I could not keep it straight. George saw too much silence in me, and I could not bear to carry it alone.
He speaks of choosing his own truth, then of the silence waiting at home, and finally of Malvern itself, where the distance from his father becomes a kind of fact he can endure.
Parsley
Thank you for saying it plainly.
John
That is the sort of truth that changes a room.
Quest Complete
Hear the rest of Lewis's truth
Attribute Upgrade: Willpower Great→Superb
“Lewis asks John if he thinks any differently of him now?”
SUCCESS (Superb Willpower, rolled -2)
C. S. Lewis
Do you think of me differently now?
The question lands softly, but it costs him, the words leaving a raw little silence in his throat.
John
Differently, yes. Worse, no. More clearly, perhaps.
John’s mouth tightens with thought, then eases. He shifts one hand on the table, as if setting down something carefully held.
Parsley
It makes you nearer, not farther off.
Parsley’s relief shows in the way his shoulders drop. The lamp light catches the edge of the open book, and the chair behind Lewis gives a faint scrape as he settles again.
John
If anything, it tells me you are honest in the hard places too. That is rare enough to matter.
For a moment, none of them reach for the books. The quiet holds, warmer now, as if the shelves themselves have heard enough and are waiting for what comes next.
“After a short while of steadying himself, he tells John, "Thank you."”
After a short silence, Lewis tips his head and thanks John, quietly. The words are simple, but they settle the room all the same.
John
You need not thank me for hearing you.
Parsley
Still, I am glad you said it.
“Lewis gives himself a moment if weakness. Taking and squeezing Parsley's hand for a moment.”
Lewis lets the moment sit, then reaches down and takes Parsley’s hand for a brief squeeze. Parsley answers at once, and John watches the small gesture with quiet approval.