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narniadynasty · 4 years

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Suddenly there came a most frightful jerk and a noise | When that awful jerk came I thought it was the beginning of a railway accident | I remember thinking it was taking the bend far too fast | There was a frightful roar and something hit me with a bang | There was a real railway accident | All of you are dead

Edmund sits quietly for a moment on the bed, staring at the painting, wishing for it not to be the end. He glances down to see Lucy give a wavering smile, trying to put on a brave face, and all he can do is shrug a little in return. Eustace smiles a small smile at them, much lighter than before making Edmund square his shoulders before he stands, Lucy rising alongside him as Eustace leads the way out of the room. For a moment it’s only him and Lu left, but while she starts to follow their cousin, he can’t help but take a glance back at the painting, hoping for something.

There is no something though, just a still painting of a ship at sea.

“I guess that’s that, Lu," Edmund says in solemn voice as he finally takes a step through the doorway, heart aching and eyes dry.

“I guess so,” is all she says as she closes the door behind them with a solemn air.

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Edmund’s quiet in the days after their return. He’s always been the quiet one but now his silences are as heavy as his heart. It isn’t long until Peter shows up on the Scrubb’s doorstep waiting for Lucy and Edmund to join him on the way to the train station to pick up their parents and Susan. Lucy races through the station flitting between people like a bird, leaving Edmund and Peter watching with fondness clear in their eyes. Edmund goes to follow but Peter stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Lucy wrote to me about what happened, Ed,” There’s no accusation or question in Peter’s voice about why Edmund hadn’t done so but it doesn’t stop him from feeling the sharp sting of guilt anyway.

“What of it?" he asks in a low voice. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not here, maybe not ever but Peter doesn’t heed the silent plea in his voice. Peter doesn’t put the conversation off until later, until never. Peter makes the decision, and Edmund follows.

His brother takes a step in front of Edmund so he has no choice but to look at him. “I know it’s hard but you’ll be okay, Ed. You might not be able to go back, but that doesn’t mean you lost everything about Narnia." He says with a raised head and a soft sad smile, no doubt remembering his own final moment in Narnia. Edmund opens his mouth to speak, wanting to convey to his older brother, his High King, just how terribly and deeply he aches but before he can he catches a glimpse over Peter’s shoulder, of Lucy greeting Susan and their parents.

He sees the way Lucy dives straight into Susan’s arms.

He sees the way their parents avert their eyes to hide the minuscule hurt and summon almost believable smiles when Lucy finally turns to them, her hands gesturing widely and shirt untucked.

He takes a deep breath and swallows thickly, vowing to himself right then and there that he’s never the reason that such an expression crosses their faces again.

“I know, Pete,” he says with a smile and before Peter can question him further, before Peter can see how fake his smile really is, he steps around him and walks to where the rest of his family waits.

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Edmund sits quietly, reading at the garden table. A warm breeze sweeps through and he can hear the low soothing humming of his mother drift outwards, to where he sits, from the open window of their house. Lucy’s somehow wound up in the tree again, on one of the highest branches she could, swinging her legs back and forth to a rhythm only she knows while Peter tries to coax her down. Without much success, Edmund notes, because he keeps stopping to laugh at the youngest child’s antics in between the threats to ‘climb up the damn tree' himself to get her. Susan steps out from out the house, wearing a much to big hat for ‘blocking out the sun, Edmund’ despite the fact that ‘the sun went down about an hour ago, Su.' She's dressed in a lovely purple dress her father had bought her months ago.

"Edmund, come on!” Lucy shouts loudly from her a top her new throne, having taken to outright ignoring Peter’s attempts. “Eustace is coming soon and he wants to hear more about our adventures in Narnia!”

For a moment, Edmund is tempted. Tempted to share his stories with the still uncertain young Eustace, who struggles with reconciling who he has become with who he used to be. Tempted to reminiscence about Mr. Tumnus, and the Beavers, and Mr. Fox. He wants to speak about the young Tarkheena, later the Calormen Queen of Archenland, he’d met who was as hard headed as a certain young Pevensie sister. About Philip, his stead, his friend, who would always offer an ear for Edmund and his worries. He wants to describe the beauty of the Cair, their home, their heart. How he’d traversed vast lands and seas even more daring and adventurous than the last.

For a moment, Edmund is tempted.

But the humming has abruptly cut off. His mother's voice has fallen silent and if he strains his ears hard, he can hear her quiet shuddering breaths as she tries to collect herself once more, and in that moment he can’t help but think ‘Oh Lucy, you absolute fool.'

For Lucy, Susan, Peter, and Edmund, their time in Narnia was grand and adventurous. But for their mother who knows nothing about that other world, that beautiful world, all she can think of is her children, her babies, leaving and not knowing if she’ll see them again. How she sent them away —for their own safety— but sent away all the same. All she can think is how her children, children who have aged much more than they should have by anything in an old man’s old home, came back to her, different and strange and very much not children anymore.

The association of 'Narnia’, has become synonymous with the fear of never seeing her children again. It means having these much too old souls in these child-like bodies, that look like hers but they’ve grown and barely recognize her anymore, return.

Edmund watches Susan join Peter under the tree and he lets out a sigh as he stands, stretching his arms out. They await his answer eagerly, even Susan and Peter, no doubt excited to tell their adventures to this new audience, even if it is an audience of one.

“How about you tell them for me, Lu?” He asks instead setting his book down as he starts to trek back inside. “You’re a much better storyteller than I am.” He can hear his siblings squabbling over which adventure to tell and when he glances back for a second, regretful, Susan’s eyes meet his and she nods a small nod knowing where he’s going. He smiles, a soft saddened smile before turning back to where his mother, who's stifled sobs grow louder with each step closer, sits, heartbreak heavy in the air.

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"Have you made your decision, Mr. Pevensie?” the advisor asks him, sitting with interlocked hands resting on the desk before him. Edmund sits quietly on the other, his feet planted solidly on the ground as he gazes around at the very brown coloured small room. He thinks about his future and his family and finds his heart set and mind made.

“Yes,” he says almost without conscious thought. “Law. I want to study law.”

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Edmund’s always been the studious type. And he finds himself quickly falling into a pattern each night, prepping as he must for his exams and future studies.

“Ed, you still have so much time until you actually start!" Peter cries one morning. He’s gotten back from studying with Professor Kirke and he’s bored sitting at home all day while Susan and Lucy have gone out with their mother. “Come on! Let’s go out to town for an hour! Or better yet, Eustace keeps telling us about how he and his new friend, Jill, have had quite the adventure in Narnia! You haven’t heard but...” and here is where Edmund forces himself to stop listening as he falls deeper in the thrall of the intricacies of the legal system. He doesn’t talk much of Narnia aloud anymore, has found himself on the alert to see where his mother and father are every time ‘Narnia’ is mentioned.

Lucy cares about her parents, how can she not when it comes to family, but she’s already grown and lived and Peter and Susan have been the ones to raise her, not mother, not father. She’s the youngest, and the freest, and does not pick up on the falseness of their parents smiles whenever ‘Narnia’ is mentioned. 'A hummingbird, indeed,’ Edmund muses privately to himself as he watches Lucy flit away at something new that has captured her attention, unknowing of the harsh blows she has dealt to her parents, left behind with false smiles slipping into pained frowns and tear-filled eyes. Their mother turns away, fingers raised to her lips as if to smother away the heartbreak that threatens to release, silent in her grief. Their father's hands are clenched into tight fists as he watches Lucy laugh and turn and run, eyes drenched in the colour of sorrow.

Susan’s much more knowledgeable and understanding of her parents and does her best to not bring it up whenever they are home, but mistakes are made as it is bound to happen with an almost taboo word and parents. She slips and finds herself declaring aloud to Edmund one afternoon of how ‘that’s not how we did it in Narnia, Edmund,’ over some mundane thing, oblivious to her parents who have returned, earlier than expected, for the evening. Edmund sees and the smile he had, his Susan-smile freezes abruptly. Susan notices, the darkening of his eyes, the clenching of teeth, because of course she does, a mother to a brother too young. She turns slightly as if shifting her weight but with that small expert movement her hair falls on her side shielding her eyes, as she catches a glimpse of her heartbroken parents behind her. She turns back to Edmund, quiet and sorry, eyes wide and heart broken as their parents take the stairs back to their room, silent.

Peter notices the changes in his middle siblings but he’s been off with Professor Kirke learning the ways of medicine and barely has time around the house anymore. He doesn’t think much of it when he comes home because Lucy is as loud and present as ever. Susan, stubborn and likely to glare daggers at him at the slightest mishap. Edmund has grown taller but that solemn quiet air is still ever present. He doesn’t notice, his mind whirling with new procedures and chemicals and technologies, how ‘Narnia’ is barely mentioned at home. Lucy still brings it up as much as she had before he’d gone. What he doesn’t notice is how Edmund ushers his parents away when he sees that look in Lucy’s eyes, head drooping while as if he shoulders a weight unseen, before she can open her small mouth and tear her parents apart once more. How Susan is quick to use every bit of diplomacy and conversational tactic she’s learned during their reign to get the conversation back to something mundane, something un-Narnian. He doesn’t notice because Susan still talks about Narnia with him when it’s just the four of them or they’re out of the house, away from their parents keen ears and fragile hearts. He doesn’t notice because Edmund still listens when they meet and speak of Narnia. He doesn’t notice how Edmund barely contributes to these talks anymore, how he’s always citing ‘homework’ as an excuse to leave as fast as he can. He doesn’t notice.

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Susan stands in the doorway of his room, one foot in and one foot out.

“Edmund,” her gentle voice flows through the slightly too warm room, soothing an itch in his skin he didn’t notice. He turns from his seat at his desk where he’d been buried in more and more books than usual. “Are you quite sure you don’t want to join us?” He can hear Peter’s voice drifting through the open doorway, loud and exasperated as he tries and gets Lucy to wait for him and Susan. He can hear Lucy’s quick steps as she goes for the door chanting "Let’s go let’s go let’s go-”

Edmund looks at her in confusion at first, mind still whirling with the new information he’s spent hours learning. It takes him a moment, a moment where Susan looks at him cautiously hopeful, a moment where Peter and Lucy’s voices grow smaller as they step out of the house, but he remembers all the same. Remembers about the regular meet up with the Professor Kirke, because he would always be Professor, and the others. Remembers how Ms. Polly Plummer would be the one to greet them at the door and how she’d usher them in with kind hands and an even kinder smile. Remembers how Eustace had taken to being accompanied by Jill after their own adventure together, how they’d barge in rushing past the Pevensie siblings, Jill leading. For a moment he wants, wants to say yes, wants to be there in step with Peter, Susan, and Lucy, wants to see the Professor’s twinkling eyes with still so many adventures to share, wants to stifle his laughter as he hears Jill and Eustace being scolded for their running in the house by Ms. Polly in the other room.

But then reality hits, as it often does, with a sharp smack on an unsuspecting face.

He remembers his assignments and readings and deadlines. He remembers how he’d promised his mates he’d be there for the next town trip seeing as he’d missed out on the last two, for his studies. He remembers his Professors expectations and imagines their frowns if he fails.

“I’m sure, Su. Maybe next time.” he says with a soft forlorn smile turning back to his studies once more without another glance. He hears her dejected sigh but is already slipping back the books of statistics and origins of different laws that he can’t bring himself to give her another glance.

(He’ll wish he had later.)

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There is a knocking on the house door that won’t stop. A sense of unease seeps through him as he realizes that there is no other voice in the house. No steps rushing to the door to see who’s there. No noise except for his all too loud breathing in a much too silent home.

He goes to answer, finding it strange how his parents haven’t returned from their visit at Aunt Alberta’s. ‘Strange,’ he repeats to himself wondering about his siblings absence because it is already much later than they usually stay out during the Narnia roundups.

He reaches the door and finds himself pausing without a clue why. His heart skips a beat and fear creeps its way in. He swallows in the heavy silence, calling himself a fool for thinking for even a second that something’s wrong.

‘They’ll be home soon,’ he tries to assure himself. He gathers his courage and grips the doorknob hard and pulls it open in one quick movement, knowing without knowing why, that if he doesn’t at that moment, he’ll never open it.

On the doorstep stands an officer

...and Edmund’s heart breaks.

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The funerals took place over an hour ago.

He’s at his Aunt and Uncle’s, but finds himself hiding out in the upstairs room to get away from all the condolences and pity. He’d wanted to get away for just a moment, just one, and had bolted the first chance he’d gotten, his mates offering a distraction from anyone who’d notice.

He’d taken the stairs two at a time and walked quickly as fast as he could and opened the first door he could think of when he’d finally slowed to a stop and couldn’t go up anymore. He shuts the door with a shuddering sob before realization crashes through him as he turns around.

Lucy’s room.

He’s in Lucy’s old room.

Lucy’s room from when they’d stayed with their Aunt and Uncle in what feels like a lifetime ago. Where he’d hide out from Eustace every chance he could before they’d gone on an adventure together. Where he and Lu would read Susan letters, always together. Where they’d talk about the adventures that Peter was in for after when he would finally finish his studies with the Professor. Where parcels from his parents would remain unopened until Lucy was finally awake. Where Lucy smuggled cakes and candies and everything sugary stealthily before their Aunt could see.

Lucy’s room with the floral bedspread and almost white walls.

Lucy’s room with a photograph of Susan and Peter, smiling, before boarding a train to their schools forever ago, on the bedside table.

Lucy’s room with a painting of a ship at sea.

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narniadynasty · 4 years

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This is the start of how it all ends

"If I have read the chronicles aright, there should be another. Has not your Majesty two sisters? Where is Queen Susan?" | "My sister Susan, is no longer a friend of Narnia." | "Whenever you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'" | "Oh Susan! She's interested in nothing now-a-days except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up." | "Grown-up, indeed, I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."

"Well, don't let's talk about that now," said Peter. —

No, Peter, how about we do talk about that now.

You’re right Tirian. There are two sisters. Lucy and Susan. Susan is not done. She is alive and breathing. She is living. She is a young woman who is still growing.

Can the same be said for you Peter? How about you, Lucy and Edmund? How old are you now? How old will you be tomorrow? Or the day after? How old will you be when she is two years, ten years, fifty years older? Here’s the bitter truth: you won’t change. You’re dead. You don’t age. You don’t grow or live or breathe. Your time is done like it will be tomorrow and the day after. How it will be when she is two years, ten years, fifty years older. She grows, but you? You’re dead.

Lucy, you’re a child gone before you should be. Edmund a young boy only a bit older. Peter you’re a young man who had a whole future ahead. How will you be tomorrow? You’ll be the same. A child gone, a young boy only a bit older, a young man with a whole future ahead behind. You won’t change. You’re done.

Eustace do you remember when she smiled? Do you remember when she laughed? Narnia was not everything she was. It’s not everything you should have been either. You were a child who only knew Narnia. You did not grow or live. You’re dead too. Do you ever think about what you could have done? You’re potential is all that’s left now. The potential that died with you.

Jill, oh Jill. Yes, Susan was to keen on being grown up but...did you grow? Did you age and wither as life went on? Did you dream and become? Do you breathe and live? No. You’re dead. A young girl on the cusp of becoming a woman, gone. Do you regret it? Do you cry? Do you wonder where your parents are? Oh Jill, are you sad?

Professor, professor! Digory, do you remember her? Do you remember the child that came to your house? Do you remember the one who cried when she returned from out of a wardrobe? Do you remember the Queen who would gaze back with old eyes? Do you remember the Queen the woman the girl who looked at the world and decided ‘Yes, this will do.' upon her final return?

Polly dear. You’re a woman with a life fully lived. You’ve grown and changed and breathed. Is it fair? There are two young girls who listen as you speak, three young boys who follow. Is it fair? Tell me my dear, is it fair? They are dead. They will not grow. They will not age or live or change the world...but you did. Is that fair?

When do we talk about it, Peter? When do we talk about the Queen left behind? When will you say her name? Do you fear it? When do we talk about the woman alive and breaking and mending and aging? Are you jealous? When do we talk about how you all left her on her own? Are you angry at yourself? Angry at the others? Angry at the Lion? When will you speak of her? When will the Narnians hear her stories? When will they hear about how she and Lucy sat by the dead Lion’s side throughout the whole night? When will they hear about how she saved Edmund with an arrow notched and loosened before you even arrived? Will you tell them about how she cried when you all thought you’d lost him? When will they hear about her crowning? Will you ever tell them how she laughed and danced with everyone who asked? Will you tell them about how she always was the last to sleep and first to wake? When will you speak about how she’d fight blood-covered and clothes shredded to keep peace? When will they hear about the hands she’d stain each time without question in their names? When will they hear about the days where her fingers refused to unbend from her bow with how long she held it loosening arrows left and right? Will you tell them about Rabadash and how she was almost taken from all of you and them? Will you tell them how she cried each night for the soldiers lost in her name? When will they hear about the Gentle Queen who did not want to follow when you chased the stag? When will you tell them that she did not want to leave, but that she had become a mother to your younger siblings in the absence of your mother, had the urge to protect and thus followed? When will they hear about the young girl who’d speak to you in quiet in an understanding voice when you all returned through the wardrobe? When will you speak about the girl who'd stay awake through each night until she could not stay awake anymore only to fall asleep on the couch before the fireplace, realizing all of you wouldn’t be returning? When will you speak about how you did return and she laughed the brightest laugh you’d heard in so long? How she looked at Lucy and Lucy looked at her before they bolted unashamedly to the clear blue water that lay before you? How she dressed in her old gown and slung her bow over a shoulder and donned her armour without question because Narnia needed her again? Will you tell them how Aslan told you you wouldn’t return and she nodded her head and moved on? How she listened to the Lion’s words to the latter? Will you tell them how she will change your world for the better? Even in the absence of you and Lucy and Edmund and Mum and Dad?

When will you say her name?

#narniaedit #narnia #The Chronicles of Narnia #userdorian #quecksilvereyes #usercharl #tconedit #narnianetwork #mohedit #t. edit #c. susan pevensie #mohfic #lorde + susan = all the feels #those two lines though #from yellow flicker beat #are such a susan mood

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narniadynasty · 4 years

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There was a real railway accident | All of you are dead

“Well! We have had a time," Peter says turning to his siblings when they land back in the platform, waiting for their train. Edmund doesn’t seem to hear him as he searches frantically for his torch, shoulders drooping when the realization hits that he left it back in Narnia. Lucy and Susan laugh as they rush to grab their luggage. Peter takes a moment to breathe before lifting his head and moving to them to help. He herds his siblings on the train, making sure they’re all accounted for and squares his shoulders sharing a knowing smile with Su, as they watch the train get full as students pile in. Knowing it’s time for him to move on.

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"I was thinking about a career in medicine." Peter had said once, but back in Narnia he had to make the tough choice, the hard choice and don his armour, pick up his sword, and fight for a home that knew him only as a legend, now.

Here, back in England, he is no one. He is not a warrior or soldier. He is not a King of Old, a Saviour, or even a Legend. He is not High King Peter, the Magnificent.

Here, he is only Peter.

Peter Pevensie, a boy on the cusp of adulthood. A boy with a whole future ahead, one not filled with slaughter and swords. A boy who decides that ‘yes, a career in medicine is my future.’. No more 'thinking about‘ and instead just going for it. He spends hours, days, and months studying, falling deeper and deeper into the complexities and intricacies of modern medicine and the new treatments showing so much promise and knows that he made the right decision. He wants to be part of the change coming to this world, he needs to be. He needs to be part of this new movement. He needs to save these people, his people, in a way different than his hands had been trained to do, long ago in another world. He’s always been on the frontline and this is the same. Now, instead of battles and slaughter, he faces disease and sickness. He faces broken noses from drunken fights. He combats an enemy unseen now. His scalpel is moulded to his hand as Rhindon once was. This world is advancing in ways Narnia never did, maybe never will. And he is going to do whatever he can to help lead it into the new era, a crownless king, magnificent once more.

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He leaves for America some time after his parents and Susan return. After he reunites with a quiet Lucy and a solemn Edmund and a changed Eustace. After he and Susan find a moment to gather the younger trio and question what has happened. He hears of how they had an adventure, their last adventure (not for Eustace who still has more to go). He shares a look with Susan and she swallows a sob, had known it was coming for her younger siblings, just as it did for her and Peter, but still hoping it wouldn’t. She steels herself and smiles ushering Eustace with her under the guise of needing help in setting the table for dinner. Peter sits and waits until the last creak fades down the stairs before he turns to Edmund and Lucy.

Edmund hunches over, his fingers gripping hard to his knees, as the breath trembles and shakes through his bitten lips. Lucy dives for Peter, a small hummingbird, on the other side of the room one moment and in Peter’s arms the next. She clutches tight to her older brother, hides her face, and lets her tears stain his shoulder and he grips tight to his sister, hoping it will help but knowing nothing will ease that loss anytime soon. He sits with them, him in the middle, both siblings on either side and holds them both and wishes he could take this heartbreak away. Susan slips in the room with a murmured ‘Eustace is distracting everyone,’ shock still evident in her voice over their cousin’s change. She takes a seat next to Edmund, the couch dipping down. Peter’s got an arm around each younger sibling, and Lucy clings to him so Susan takes one of Edmund’s hands and gently loosens it from it’s tight grip on his pants and slides her fingers through his, an anchor to hold onto as he breaks. ‘We’ve got you,’ she whispers to a sobbing Lucy and trembling Edmund. Lucy reaches across Peter and Edmund to the hand Susan holds and places hers on top, seeking comfort from her resilient older sister like she always did. Susan places her other hand on top just as quickly, gripping hard to both.

Once they’ve gathered themselves, Peter will lead them down to the dining table, back straight and shoulders strong. Edmund and Lucy will follow his guiding strength, and in his stead ready themselves for a future unknown. Susan will follow, last, and unwavering as she keeps a hand ready and reaching for either younger sibling who may falter. They’ll join their cousin who stands watching with awe evident in his gaze as he catches a brief glimpse of the Kings and Queens they once were as they enter the room. As he catches a glimpse of what the Narnians knew them to be. Hope walking. They’ll join their parents and aunt and uncle and sit through a dinner. ‘In a minute, once they’ve gathered themselves,' Peter thinks sitting on an old couch upstairs with his siblings beside him, broken.

Peter leaves for America some months later. He stays with his siblings and helps them find their strength. He leaves after hearing about the adventures and thrill that Susan faced in this land, this unknown land. He wants that. His blood sings for it. He studies hard in years and receives glowing recommendation letters from his professors, even Professor Kirke. He’s approved for travel and continued study if he’d like to accept.

He will. He does. He packs his things, his books and clothes and trinkets Lucy keeps "stealthily" hiding amongst his things. He irons the shirts Susan has picked out for him to make him fit well over there, a new and different fashion than England's. She teaches him everything and anything she’s learnt from her brief visit and promises to write anything she’s forgotten. Edmund gifts him a new handbag, his old one having worn out over the years and unfit for his new adventure.

Peter smiles softly and hugs each sibling long and hard, at the station, before he picks up his things. His mother and father step forward for their own goodbye. Peter doesn’t know it yet, but his parents can see it, that he won’t be coming back anytime soon. His mother grips his face between older, softer, hands and smiles a tear-filled smile as she tells him that she’ll write every week as often as she can. HIs father grips his shoulder and tells him how he is so proud of the man he already is and is on his way to becoming. They share their own hug with Peter, their first child and he grips them hard as he flashes a small smile at his saddened siblings through the gap between his parents shoulders. They straighten their shoulder and smile back at their brother, their King, as he takes the steps to the train, as it gets smaller and smaller the further it gets.

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He receives letters often enough that he can’t find it in himself to miss his family too much. He knows, just as they do, he’ll always have them, and them, him. Lucy's letters are filled with stray animals wandering through her path and school and how there are hard decisions she’s having to make for her future. She talks about Narnia a lot too. Too much for Peter sometimes. He skips those parts when they become too much, when it hurts too much. He’ll re-read it when he’s stronger, although those days are becoming fewer and fewer between. Edmund writes about his continued interest in law. He talks extensively about the unjust laws of the country and even the world and the changes he envisions. Before Peter knows it, those words have transitioned into comparisons to their Narnia's justice. How they created it. How they created them and how they could have done better. Like Lucy’s, Peter skips these parts in his brother's letters as well. Susan’s letters are filled with endless questions on how he’s doing and what’s going on. She rambles about the latest fashion she’s read in newspapers and magazines and asks him for all the details on what he sees out in the streets and boutiques, despite the many times Peter replies telling her he barely goes out due to his learning. Peter laughs at his sister’s letters until it slowly fades as she slowly, as if knowing Peter’s reluctance, transitions to words filled with the latest gatherings between them, Eustace, Professor Kirke and Professor Kirke’s friend, a Polly Plummer. He places the letter down when these come up and takes a moment to breathe before continuing on and skipping over any other mentions.

When he writes back, he writes to them all at once. He’ll write small paragraphs for each member but it gives him the excuse to not reminisce about Narnia since his parents will also be reading the letter. He writes about the doctor he’s met during his residency who laughs a loud and joyful laugh with loud footsteps even when he tries to be quiet. He writes about a boy he’d met at the book store of their university, who he’d gotten to talking about some club activity going on that night. Who’d invited him, having seen some loneliness and homesickness in Peter’s eyes despite how much Peter tried to hide it. Who’s now his roommate.

That older doctor decides to take him under his wing and helps to train him to the best of his abilities. He’d seen Peter working one day, during his residency, and something about Peter and his kind hands and old eyes had caught the Doctor’s attention. And Peter is just as intrigued by this doctor, who’s hands have saved so many lives. Peter thrives under his care.

He lives in a quiet apartment with Charlie, actually named Charles but only answers to Charlie, the friend he’d written to his family about, the one he’d befriended near the beginning of his new adventure. Who’d say ‘enough is enough, Pete, buddy,’ imploringly with with his no-other-answer-than-yes American accent, Peter’s book in one of his hand’s held out of Peter’s reach before finally dragging Peter into the dark nights to dance and laugh and forget about his stresses for one night. He learns to save so many lives during his stay and will continue to do so. On the hard days, the days where he can’t save the patient, where he loses them, despite everything he and all the other’s do, he goes home silently. Charlie can tell what kind of day it has been by the quiet of Peter’s arrival and pours him one glass of whiskey and sets it in front of Peter on their small table. His hand grips Peter’s shoulder in solidarity for a moment before he leaves Peter to the silence knowing Peter needs the time alone to grieve and break. He doesn’t know what Peter has been through but he's seen enough to know that Peter won’t take that moment with him or anyone in the vicinity. So he takes a walk, down the apartment stairs and around their block, twice, before he heads back to find Peter’s room door shut and the glass he’d set down cleaned and put away. In the morning Peter will have a small smile on his face as he pieces himself back together. As Peter prepares for a new day.

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Peter is in America when he receives a call.

It’s Charlie and Peter starts talking before his roommate can, about the ‘book you forgot, mate,’ the book ‘you said you absolutely needed for your class,’ he finishes with a laugh. There’s no answering laugh, or pleading voice of his friend’s asking him to run it over for him. There’s only a heavy silence.

'Mate, you still there?' Peter asks in a quiet voice a hand gripping hard to the table the phone sits on. Something’s wrong, Peter can tell. Charlie is never this quiet.

‘Pete, buddy,’ he hears. But it’s not said in the laughing tone Peter’s so used to hearing, instead it’s said in a broken sob.

‘What, what is it? Charlie, mate?' Peter questions with a quiet, breaking voice. He hears a heaving Charlie breathe in a hard breath as if preparing himself. Preparing himself for what, is all Peter gets the chance to ask himself, before Charlie tells him.

About an accident.

He’d heard about it from one of the other British students who’d lost her cousin in the accident. A railway accident that occurred on the same day that Susan had written Peter about where she and the rest of the family, Lucy, Edmund, and their parents, would be taking a train to meet up with Eustace, Jill (Eustace’s friend), Digory, and Polly on one of their routine meet ups.

'Pete?’ Charlie asks quietly in the silence of Peter’s response. ‘Peter?’ Charlie asks a little louder a little firmer, but all he hears is the click of Peter disconnecting. Charlie throws the phone down, apologies already spewing from his mouth as he races from the building, as he races to Peter, his best friend who’s always been there for him.

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Peter returns to England.

He sees his remaining family, his aunt and uncle, and friends during the funerals. He meets the Poles, parents to Eustace’s best friend Jill. Hears stories about the lively Polly Plummer from her remaining family. Speaks to other professors that Professor Kirke had worked and learned with.

He watches with a clenched jaw and watery eyes as his parents and siblings and cousin are lowered into their graves, here with him no more. Every time he attempts to speak, to tell about the brilliance of his mother or the strength of his father, his voice gives way to nothing. He wants to tell everyone about Susan, a younger sister who had no trouble calling him out on his wrongs. Who would help share the burden of being away from home, of having to raise their younger siblings in the absence of their parents. Who was the gentlest soul he ever knew. He wants to speak about Edmund, his younger brother, his best friend. Who always had his nose buried in books, and dreamt of making the world better for future generations. Who was able to remain just and fair and loving despite having faced the harshest of times. He wants to let them know about the Lucy he knew, his Lucy, the younger sister to them all. Lucy, the sunny and smiling sister with the kindest of hands ready to catch anyone should they fall. Who was as valiant as the heroes of legends and myths of this world.

He can’t though. His voice breaks every time time he tries. His hands shake on the podium he grips until he has to be lead away by gentle hands who hold his as he is unable to stay standing in his grief.

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When he finally retires for the night, after the funerals, he finds his gaze going back to his luggage. Back to where the letters from his family are placed. Tucked under his clothes, wrapped with cloth to keep them together.

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narniadynasty · 5 years

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Gods and Monsters: Aslan, the Great Lion

cre·a·tor/krēˈādər/

noun

a person or thing that brings something into existence

(insp.)

#narniaedit #tconedit #The Chronicles of Narnia #narnianetwork #mohedit #t. edit #c. aslan #mohfic

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narniadynasty · 5 years

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I did not do any of these things for the sake of pleasing you.

I don’t want an Aravis who starts to pray to Aslan when she runs to Archenland. I don’t want an Aravis who asks Aslan for guidance or strength. I want a Calormene Tarkheena, through and through. Who recognizes the might of The Lion, but bows her head in reverence and prayer only to her Gods. I want Aravis, the true Calormene Queen, the Tarkheena who builds a home for her Gods in a land where They are feared. Who teaches the stories her mother taught her, who’s mother taught her mother, and so on back until the mothers of days of the early Calormene Empire.

Give me an Aravis who teaches the Archenlanders that Tash is not one to be feared but respected just like Aslan. Give me an Aravis who has flocks and flocks of light coloured children running in the wake of her steps with ‘Please Lady Aravis, I want to hear the story of The Warrior Goddess-’ only to be interrupted with a ‘No not that one, we heard that one yesterday. I want to hear about how Lord Tash saved-’ and so on and so on while the dismayed parents can only watch as the brown skinned Queen is only to happy to speak. Only to happy to spread the tales of her family, her Gods, again and again. No matter how much they tell her to ‘Stop feeding them lies’ or calling them ‘False and grand tales not fit for our children’, no matter how much they try and force their beliefs on her, no matter how much they insult her calling her everything from ‘The False Queen’ to a ‘dirty skinned girl’, I want an Aravis who looks at them with her fiery brown eyes and raises her head in defiance. I want an Aravis who refuses to back down, refuses to stop, refuses to break. Who’s entire being from her darker skin to her bright and daring coloured outfits to her unreserved laughter and pounding feet as she dances to the drums screams Daughter of Tash and blood of Calormen.

Give me an Aravis who prays to the Great Lord Tash. And when people speak in fearful tones of the Calormene God, she laughs softly. Tash has never been one to fear, but respect. The Mighty One of the Calormene Empire does not walk alongside His subjects as Aslan does. Instead, He sits in the shadows and protects those who offer Him their prayers. To the devoted Calormen, the fearless ones, He is not something to hide from, never someone to fear. He is loved fiercely and He loves just as fiercely in return. He is the slayer of monsters and keeper of dreams. He is not evil. He is their shield from evil. She does not fear Him. No, she loves Him just as all His children do. And she is protected and loved just as all His children are.

Give me an Aravis who speaks in laughing tones of Zardeenah, the Lady of the Night as if talking about a long lost sister. The same Sister who saved her from the trapped life her stepmother tried to force her into. A loveless marriage with someone who could be her father, or father’s father. Zardeenah, who she prays to months before she finally gives her heart to Cor. The One who keeps her company on the night before her marriage day and leaves laughter and love in Her wake. Zardeenah, who despite being widely known as the protector of unmarried maidens, is the Sister to all the Tarkheenas and Tarkaans and Calormene children who are about to embark on the next chapter of the story called Life. The one who when asked to - never begged because ‘Calormen do not beg’ - is willing to let Herself soak Her gentle hands, the same hands that never hesitate for a second to wipe away Her younger siblings tears, in the blood of those so called suitors who do not understand the sanctity of Her younger siblings. Is willing to tear Her heart and Her soul apart to keep the younger ones safe and sound and protected and innocent and- The Calormen have no fear for the Lady of the Night. Only love and faith that She will be there when they look.

Give me an Aravis, who’s voice bleeds with the highest respect and awe in her voice as she speaks of the Great Lady Azaroth, the strongest and mightiest of the Calormene Deities. The Warrior Goddess. The Lady Azaroth who faces each battle with such fierce and unrivalled skill that even the Lord Tash can be seen deferring to Her judgement in the most trying battles. Azaroth, the bringer of peace because ‘When you ride with Azaroth, defeat will never know you.’ Give me an Aravis who turns to an imposing Azaroth and kneels in front of Her asking Her to protect her mislead countrypeople in the Battle of Anvard. Give me an Aravis who seeks protection for her fellow Calormen just as she seeks victory for the Archenlanders and Narnians victory over them. Give me an Aravis who sobs quietly in the aftermath upon learning just how high the death toll is of her countrypeople and non countrypeople alike. Give me an Aravis who’s heart breaks but she soldiers on because ’that’s the Calormen way’. Give me an Aravis who lights a fire that burns fierce and bright through the night for the fallen soldiers, Calormen, Narnian, and, Archenlander alike. Give me a Tarkheena who lowers her head in gratitude to the Warrior who stands beside her as the fires are lit because she knows how worse it could have been.

Give me an Aravis who has seen the worst of the worst and the best of the best of her homeland and refuses to be shamed for being who she is. Give me an Aravis who is so unapologetically Calormene that Archenland isn’t prepared for her and she leaves them scrambling to keep up. Give me an Aravis that sweeps through Archenland with the force of a storm. Give me an Aravis who respects and honours Aslan but bends her knees in prayer and respect only for her Gods. Give me an Aravis who’s hands ring with music in each movement as the bangles clash and clang against each other with the sweetest sounds. Give me an Aravis who dances and twirls with colour bleeding through every step, as the brightest reds and purples and blues and and greens and pinks and- swirl around her. Give me an Aravis who walks with Calormen forever in her heart and Gods in her wake. Give me an Aravis, the Tarkheena Queen of Archenland, Daughter of Calormen who never forgets who she is.

#narniaedit #tconedit #The Chronicles of Narnia #narnianetwork #mohedit #t. edit #c. aravis #mohfic #i was just hit with all the aravis feelings #and had to get it out #not to mention #i wanted to change the way calormen is portrayed #because there are so many issues with it #and it's not good representation

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narniadynasty · 4 years

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I had a friend there, Lasaraleen Tarkheena.

Let’s talk about Lasaraleen, the Tarkheena.

Lasaraleen is not a decoration. She is not a side piece for Aravis’ story. She is her own. Always has been, always will be.

She falls in love with long heavy lehengas that twirl dazzlingly and shine and sparkle wherever the light touches as she dances. Her forearms are always covered with bangles that clash against one another in a dance of their own. Her hair falls down her back, long and black the colour of night. She braids it each night and brushes it every morning. Her ankles are never bare either. Instead they are adorned with anklets that jingle with each step. They have their own music and they play it only when she moves. As she grows older, she finds herself drawn to the sleekest and brightest sarees. Earrings dangle bright and daring from her ears. Her room is bursting with colour like a meadow filled with the most colourful of flowers. When she walks into a room, the room holds its breath. She takes a step and eyes follow in awe. She speaks and world listens.

She is born with the rising sun. Blessed by the light of the bright morning. Lasaraleen is the soul of her empire. A devout follower despite her materialistic desires. She loves her Gods. She is Their mouthpiece. She wakes with the sun and prays to Them in the early light. She gives herself to Them freely.

And the Gods? Well, They love her with Their entire being.

Tash visits her on the day of her birth. A large warm hand gently covers her drooping tired eyes as He whispers ‘May Evil never set its sight on you, my little one’. He takes a moment staring warmly at His new child and when He leaves, He leaves with a proud raise of His head knowing that behind Him sleeps a Tarkheena, who will be grow to be one of His fiercest and loudest and brightest children. As she learns to sit, Tash watches over her fiercely so she may never hurt herself. As she learns to crawl, He laughs bright and proud knowing the moment she learns to walk, she will fly.

Zardeenah, the Sister, is there for Lasaraleen’s first love. She is there in the aftermath of her first heartbreak. She holds her younger sister close to her chest as she cries and She cries with her. She is there the night before Lasaraleen is set to marry. And as the young Tarkheena sits upon the chair in front of the (rather) large mirror and desk, fingers nervously twisting and twirling at her hair, Zardeenah slowly takes the comb that rests on the side and gently works it through her younger sister’s soft flowing locks. As the comb shifts lightly, Zardeenah sees the weight lessen on Lasaraleen’s shoulders. Breaths come easier and deeper than a moment ago. Zardeenah knows that even though Lasaraleen marries for love, fear and nervousness of the future can take hold of even the surest of Her siblings. She leaves the reddest and brightest flower She can find resting on the pillow next to Her sleeping sister’s hand as She takes her leave in the early morning. The next time Zardeenah sees her is in the morning after Aravis is gone, safe and far on her way to her new life. Zardeenah dares not see Lasaraleen before having seen to Aravis and her safety away first. She knows that Lasaraleen will only turn Her away if Aravis is not safe. So She goes. She flies and runs alongside the fleeing Tarkheena, knowing as She runs with one Tarkheena to a brighter future, another lies behind Her with a heart that slowly breaks for a sister she doesn’t know will survive.

Azaroth meets the young Tarkheena the very same night Aravis flees. The Warrior Goddess does not know her from birth like the Lord Tash. He checks in all His children. He watches over them, even if they do not see Him. Azaroth does not. Why would She? Lasaraleen is not a warrior. Lasaraleen is a young woman who has only recently been married and is endlessly filled with laughter and happiness. She is not a fighter. Azaroth does not know Lasaraleen as Zardeenah does. She does not know the infant that grows into a child. She meets this Tarkheena when she stands firm and mighty, a grown woman. Azaroth remembers it well. It’s on the very same night that the Zardeenah runs with Aravis, guiding her away from the cage she was to be locked in. The very same night that the young Lasaraleen says goodbye to her lifelong friend, her sister from the moment they set eyes on each other. The very same night that Lasaraleen for the very first time does not know what will happen to Aravis, or know when she will see her next. Azaroth has heard good things, loving things from both Tash and Zardeenah. However, She is still wary as She always is. She knows all about this Tarkheena. Has heard the prayers the young one sends in the earliest of mornings and latest of nights. Has heard how she drops to the deepest of bows when she stands before the altar. Has heard how tight she clasps her hands sending prayers for safety and happiness for her family and friends. Has heard her whisper about marriage and clothes and all the sorts of things that Zardeenah would listen to endlessly with laughter and smiles, but things that Azaroth has no need for. Azaroth does not know why the young Tarkheena calls for Her, but She answers all the same as She would for any child of Calormen. Azaroth dons her sleekest armour and grabs her sharpest blade not knowing which enemy Lasaraleen would ask Her to face. But Lasaraleen surprises her. Before Azaroth has even arrived Lasaraleen sits on folded legs and hands clasped tightly together and before the Goddess can speak, Lasaraleen speaks first. She begs and pleads the Mighty Goddess to protect her sister, her Aravis from any enemy she will face because Lasaraleen ‘cannot do that for Aravis anymore from all the way over here’. Azaroth is stunned. ‘Calormen do not beg’. Something that all the Calormen know. But here is Lasaraleen, the very same Lasaraleen that Azaroth had foolishly found Herself scoffing at before She had met her. And she finally sees what it was Tash saw on the day she was born. What Zardeenah saw from the moment she had first met her, cried with her, and laughed with her. Azaroth sees a very young woman, tired and scared and pleading on her knees - not for herself - no, for her sister. And in the Tarkheena’s heart Azaroth finally sees the blinding fire burning wild and bright. The fire that could lead Lasaraleen to lay waste to everyone and everything for daring to harm her sister. Azaroth finally sees her, not a warrior - never a warrior - but a sister that would tear the heavens apart and leave nothing but destruction in her wake for her younger sister. She sees a Tarkheena, everlasting, and She can’t help but grin mighty and ferocious. The hand that She lays on the bowed woman’s head is gentle and with Her other hand She helps the woman rise to her feet. ‘Aravis could never have asked for a better protector.’ She says loudly and joyfully. She lays a gentle kiss on the young Tarkheena’s brow and before Lasaraleen can do much more than blink in surprise, Azaroth is gone. She is running with long strides and a sharp smile and catches up with her dear Zardeenah and fierce Aravis (and the young Prince who knows not who he is, and the horses that gasp and skitter backward at her bright and daring entrance) quickly. She switches with Zardeenah, the Tarkheenas that They will watch over and stands by Aravis who watches with a saddened smile as Zardeenah leaves for the Tarkheena that was left behind.

Lasaraleen becomes the mouthpiece for her Gods. They trust her with Their stories. Their Their mistakes, Their triumphs, Their entire lives become hers and in return she gives them to her countrypeople freely so they may know their Gods as those Gods know each and every one of them.

Aravis joins the ranks of the royal family of Archenland, a Calormen Queen through and through. But Lasaraleen? Lasaraleen is trusted by the Gods of Calormen and Calormen itself. She sits in counsel with Gods and Calormen on either side and speaks on behalf of those who cannot.

Lasaraleen is the soul of Calormen. She has always been what Calormen is and what it aspires to be.

#narniaedit #tconedit #The Chronicles of Narnia #narnia #narnianetwork #mohedit #mohfic #t. edit #c. lasaraleen #this was originally going to be a lasaraleen and susan piece #comparing the two and their similarities #but i think that deserves its own piece #so this became just about lasaraleen #and her relationship with her gods #and also because i'm so done with the lasaraleen in the books #i've had enough of people telling me #that the calormen representation is good rep #so if you think that #gtfo

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