Once a King or Queen of Narnia...
May. 18th, 2008 11:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Once a King or Queen of Narnia...
Fandom/original: The Chronicles of Narnia (mostly bookverse, with a smidgeon of movie influence)
Characters: Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy Pevensie
Rating: PG
A/N: I'd been kicking this around for a bit, but seeing Prince Caspian finally made me get up and finish the thing.
Peter had bad dreams.
Some were dreams like any man his age might have. Bombs falling from the sky. Memories of rubble scattered on the streets like rubbish. Fear so thick you could choke on it.
But there were other dreams. Dreams that smelled like blood and cold iron. The look in Miraz’s eyes when he stepped up for the duel. The spike of cold dread that he’d never see Ed again when he’d gone behind the icy gate. The sound of the gate slamming down in the Telmarine courtyard behind him, the smell of Maugrim’s sweat.
Peter woke in the night, alone, with only the books for company. Histories of war, the descriptions as close as he’d ever get to those battles again. Still, he would be breathing hard, and his right palm would itch, and his chest would ache.
Even so… the bad dreams were almost better than the good ones. The dreams where he again could do good for his people, where he not only led, but led well. The dreams where he actually made a difference.
But good or bad, it didn’t matter. They were only dreams. And he knew they would never be anything more again.
--
Lucy heard voices. She wasn’t insane, though she knew the others would never believe that. Not anymore, at least. Even when they’d been young, they never believed her. But it didn’t matter.
Sometimes she thought it was a remnant of the magic she’d best have left alone on the Dawn Treader voyage. Hearing what others thought. But it wasn’t only that. It was hearing the trees, even the English ones, murmuring softly together. Catching the edge of a conversation between squirrels in a park. Once she’d been sure she’d heard the sweet song of a nymph, distant but clear. The world was singing, not always sweetly, but singing nonetheless.
Aslan had said once, that there were cracks between the worlds. Fewer than there were, but still there. She’d gone through three of them, after all. She’d heard of others. Why couldn’t Narnians come to England just as easily? The magic would follow.
They would see. They would all see.
But she had to keep listening. Just in case Aslan called again. She knew, wherever she was, that she would answer in a heartbeat, this time. She had never been more ready.
--
Edmund had been in love.
He could remember it so clearly. She was from Archenland, visiting with a diplomat’s envoy. Her hair was a chesnut color he’d never seen outside Narnia, and she smiled at him, shy but not weak. There had been letters. Soft words in the hallway, a ride or two in the forest.
None of them knew. Lucy might have guessed; she was always watching. And hadn’t she looked at him, when they returned too late, and she mentioned Mr. Tumnus… and the others? But if she knew, she never spoke of it more than that once.
The day he’d gone hunting with the others, he’d made a promise to himself. If the hunt went well, he’d tell Peter. Surely Peter wouldn’t object to Edmund being the first to marry, especially if his mood was lifted by a good ride through the woods. Lucy would be thrilled for him, he knew, and Susan might even finally pick a suitor to settle down with after his example.
The last day had been such a perfect one.
He still reached for her in the night, sometimes. If someone else was in bed with him, he’d let himself pretend, for half a moment. But more often he was alone, and just curled in upon himself.
A thousand years is a long time to be late.
--
Susan was frowning.
Susan stood in the museum, looking at the bows on display. One of them was strung, but poorly, and there was a sting of annoyance as she noticed. Couldn’t the curator see it was wrong? Surely someone on staff much know better.
The real problem, of course, was how badly she wished for her bow, the proper Narnian one. How even if she had one of these, though she could use it well enough, it wouldn’t be right.
She’d never had the courage to ask Peter, if some part of him loved it. The speed, the adrenaline, the rush of fighting for one’s life. Nothing in her subsequent experience had come anywhere close, and though there were a dozen things she missed about Narnia off the top of her head, this was the sharpest.
It wasn’t being a queen she missed, not really. It was shooting five arrows, and watching five targets fall. One, two...
He touched the small of her back, murmured a soft word and she nodded. They’d be late. Besides, she had the flowers to order before the services. She wondered if they had graves in Narnia too. But it didn’t really matter, in the end, and she turned away.
Fandom/original: The Chronicles of Narnia (mostly bookverse, with a smidgeon of movie influence)
Characters: Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy Pevensie
Rating: PG
A/N: I'd been kicking this around for a bit, but seeing Prince Caspian finally made me get up and finish the thing.
Peter had bad dreams.
Some were dreams like any man his age might have. Bombs falling from the sky. Memories of rubble scattered on the streets like rubbish. Fear so thick you could choke on it.
But there were other dreams. Dreams that smelled like blood and cold iron. The look in Miraz’s eyes when he stepped up for the duel. The spike of cold dread that he’d never see Ed again when he’d gone behind the icy gate. The sound of the gate slamming down in the Telmarine courtyard behind him, the smell of Maugrim’s sweat.
Peter woke in the night, alone, with only the books for company. Histories of war, the descriptions as close as he’d ever get to those battles again. Still, he would be breathing hard, and his right palm would itch, and his chest would ache.
Even so… the bad dreams were almost better than the good ones. The dreams where he again could do good for his people, where he not only led, but led well. The dreams where he actually made a difference.
But good or bad, it didn’t matter. They were only dreams. And he knew they would never be anything more again.
--
Lucy heard voices. She wasn’t insane, though she knew the others would never believe that. Not anymore, at least. Even when they’d been young, they never believed her. But it didn’t matter.
Sometimes she thought it was a remnant of the magic she’d best have left alone on the Dawn Treader voyage. Hearing what others thought. But it wasn’t only that. It was hearing the trees, even the English ones, murmuring softly together. Catching the edge of a conversation between squirrels in a park. Once she’d been sure she’d heard the sweet song of a nymph, distant but clear. The world was singing, not always sweetly, but singing nonetheless.
Aslan had said once, that there were cracks between the worlds. Fewer than there were, but still there. She’d gone through three of them, after all. She’d heard of others. Why couldn’t Narnians come to England just as easily? The magic would follow.
They would see. They would all see.
But she had to keep listening. Just in case Aslan called again. She knew, wherever she was, that she would answer in a heartbeat, this time. She had never been more ready.
--
Edmund had been in love.
He could remember it so clearly. She was from Archenland, visiting with a diplomat’s envoy. Her hair was a chesnut color he’d never seen outside Narnia, and she smiled at him, shy but not weak. There had been letters. Soft words in the hallway, a ride or two in the forest.
None of them knew. Lucy might have guessed; she was always watching. And hadn’t she looked at him, when they returned too late, and she mentioned Mr. Tumnus… and the others? But if she knew, she never spoke of it more than that once.
The day he’d gone hunting with the others, he’d made a promise to himself. If the hunt went well, he’d tell Peter. Surely Peter wouldn’t object to Edmund being the first to marry, especially if his mood was lifted by a good ride through the woods. Lucy would be thrilled for him, he knew, and Susan might even finally pick a suitor to settle down with after his example.
The last day had been such a perfect one.
He still reached for her in the night, sometimes. If someone else was in bed with him, he’d let himself pretend, for half a moment. But more often he was alone, and just curled in upon himself.
A thousand years is a long time to be late.
--
Susan was frowning.
Susan stood in the museum, looking at the bows on display. One of them was strung, but poorly, and there was a sting of annoyance as she noticed. Couldn’t the curator see it was wrong? Surely someone on staff much know better.
The real problem, of course, was how badly she wished for her bow, the proper Narnian one. How even if she had one of these, though she could use it well enough, it wouldn’t be right.
She’d never had the courage to ask Peter, if some part of him loved it. The speed, the adrenaline, the rush of fighting for one’s life. Nothing in her subsequent experience had come anywhere close, and though there were a dozen things she missed about Narnia off the top of her head, this was the sharpest.
It wasn’t being a queen she missed, not really. It was shooting five arrows, and watching five targets fall. One, two...
He touched the small of her back, murmured a soft word and she nodded. They’d be late. Besides, she had the flowers to order before the services. She wondered if they had graves in Narnia too. But it didn’t really matter, in the end, and she turned away.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-03 01:36 pm (UTC)