#a day in the life of aslan

[yoitsmano]

Life after Narnia

The Pevensies return from Narnia a bit discombobulated. They are adults in childish bodies. The war has ended, and they are to return home to their parents but they never forget Professor Kirke. Often visiting him during summers.

Their mother notices it first, how everyone seems to listen to Peter. Not because he is the eldest, but because they respect him. She hears them talking of 'Narnia' and deduces that something happened to them while they were away. But she can't put her finger on what. She has no idea what an 'Aslan' is, but she doesn't question them. She misses her children. They are there in their home, but they aren't. There's always a faraway look in their eye as if they are remembering.

When they eat, no one picks up a fork until Peter starts. It confuses their father. Leaving the table, Peter stands, then Ed. The boys take their sisters' hands and lead them from the table before coming to help with the cleaning. She notices the way they walk. Peter is always first, Susan next to him, then Edmund and Lucy. They walk with regality, Peter and Ed with straight backs as the girls take their arms.

They are out on the town, when their father notices it. The children stopped in front of a jewelry store; something had caught their eye. Without saying anything, Peter opens the door, and his siblings walk through before he does. It is a set of lapel pins they saw first. A Lion. He hears them all say "Aslan" before Peter pulls out his wallet. From that day on, he always notices a Lion somewhere on their person. Peter with a ring, Susan with a necklace, Ed with a pocket watch and Lucy with a bracelet. But all wear their pins when he sends them to school.

Peter often forgets that he is not to speak before his father, but one look from Lucy quells his anger. His father calls him "boy" and it takes everything in him not to correct him. He is High King.

He begins working when he turns fourteen. He tires of asking his father for things only to be dismissed of "silly childish things". All he asked for was a sword. When he saves enough money, he buys his sword, and Susan an archery set. Susan notices the tension between Peter and their father.

Edmund asked for a chess set and his mother obliged. He often plays with Lucy, resulting in a stalemate. The only person to ever have beaten him, was Susan.

Lucy is the one their parents notice the most change in. No longer is she a nine year old, but she talks as if she is older. Using words even they don't know the meaning of. She speaks of this Aslan the most. Their parents realize that "Aslan" is the name of the Lion they brandish when they hear various exclamations of "Aslan's Mane!" or "By the Lion!"

They return to their school, Whitmore Boarding School. Many people notice a change in them. Mostly their teachers. Peter commands respect, Susan is positively regal, Edmund has a silver tongue, and Lucy is more peculiar than strange.

On the first day of term, a professor addresses Peter as "Boy" amongst other professors and in front of his brother and sisters. Peter cannot help himself. He tells him to address him with respect; to call on him as "Sir", and he will receive the same respect in turn. He will never answer to "Boy" again. It takes all his restraint to not say "King".

The Professor never did ask him the question he had called on him for.

It almost infuriates their teachers, but they realize that they aren't arrogant, just way too mature for their ages.

Another problem arises when Lucy refuses to wear the school appointed skirts. She prefers pants, or dresses. Never skirts. The headmaster nearly calls their parents when her siblings storm into his office. Peter demands to know why Lucy is being punished for wearing clothes, and why he did not send for him. The headmaster explains that he is not her father and Peter rebuffs him by explaining that his father has put him in charge of his siblings if any problems arose. He reminds him of the letter sent to him explaining such matters. Edmund pulls out the handbook and explains to the headmaster that the rules do not say that girls are not allowed to wear pants. The headmaster calmly explains that the list of supplies sent to them specified black, tan or grey skirts for girls, and black, tan or grey pants for boys. Edmund then points out that the rules do not forbid girls from wearing pants or boys from wearing skirts or dresses. He then calmly suggests that he drop the matter or Lucy will spend the term walking around school without bottoms, as the rules do not forbid that either. Citing that they were told they had to purchase the uniforms, but the rules do not explicitly say they had to wear them. The headmaster does not know if he is annoyed or impressed at the loopholes Edmund finds. He drops the matter, and it is never addressed again.

All the Pevensie’s take up a sport or two. All of them take up fencing, aside from Susan. She took up archery. Peter and Lucy take up swimming. Edmund joins the debate and chess teams. And Susan and Lucy both excel in ballroom dance. Susan doesn’t even try out for the archery team. She’s just in the courtyard watching the team practice with Ed and criticizes their technique. The captain of the team overhears her and challenges her to do better. She smiles at the boy, saying she does not want to embarrass them. They laugh and vaguely insult her intelligence and Susan just looks at her younger brother and he smirks. He stands and holds out his hand, addressing her as “my Lady”. The team laughs and Susan takes the captain’s bow, gets a feel for the weight, and then requests a full quiver. Ed stands to the side and comments, “You asked for it.” She hits the bullseye on every target. The captain has the audacity to say, “lucky shot” So Susan shrugs. There’s a target that’s moving and she nocks another bow and hits the bullseye without even looking. She then hands the captain back his bow and walks away with Ed. She finds the captain’s pin on her desk the next morning.

The rumor goes around that Peter prefers to be called “Sir”. While he’s sitting in the courtyard with his siblings, a group of older boys walk up to him, one calling him “Sir Peter” in a mocking voice. Peter puts down his book and calmly answers with “yes sir.” He stands to look the boy in the eye, and as the boys spout insults. Susan can see that Peter and Ed are getting angry, so she stands between Peter and the boys, placing her hand on his chest and tells him to walk away. It isn’t until one of the boys pushes Susan away that Peter loses his temper. Edmund catches her before she hits the ground. The biggest boy grabs Peter’s collar and immediately regrets it as his shoulder promptly leaves its socket. The other boys come at him, and he side steps. All four of them are on the ground with various injuries and Peter didn’t throw a single punch. He received detention and attended with pride. No one ever touched Susan again.

The professors are surprised when the Pevensies join the student council and the school seems to run better than it has in its history. Edmund works mostly behind the scenes, but people usually come to him or Susan with their problems. They think Peter is scary, but Ed reminds them that they voted him in as the head of the council. He tells them to actually talk to him, he’s not as stoic as he seems.

The adults notice that the Pevensies do not dress as children usually do during their off hours. Instead of t-shirts and shorts and hoodies, the boys are always in slacks and a pressed shirt, sometimes with a tie. Susan enjoys sun dresses and flowy skirts and blouses. Lucy is always wearing boots and pants with a loose shirt. She is not like any of the other girls they’ve taught.

They have all grown taller in the three years they’ve attended the school after the war. With Peter now seventeen, standing at six foot three. Susan is fifteen and almost as tall as Ed at five foot eight. Edmund has always been tall and skinny for his age, but now at fourteen, he stands at five foot ten. Lucy is the one who has grown most noticeably, at thirteen she stands at five foot six.

Peter writes to his father, asking for money for when they go to the shops on the weekends. He receives a reply, saying he ought not ask for silly things. He learns that he can open an account at the local bank. He never asks his father for anything ever again. Even after he left school, anything his siblings wanted, he provided for them.

Lucy asked Peter why he refuses to write to their father. Peter looks at her and, in all seriousness, he replies “he treats me like a boy”. She then goes to Susan, and she tells her that she suspects their father is jealous that someone taught Peter and Edmund to be better men before he could.

During a weekend outing, the school chaperones notice Edmund and Lucy sitting at a table playing chess. He watches as Susan and Peter are perusing the shops. But instead of buying games and toys and candies, they are in a bookstore. Peter comes out carrying Susan’s books and they join Ed and Lucy at the table. Susan cracks open a book and Peter lights his pipe. They don’t know where he got it, but no one dares take it from him. When Lucy and Ed came to yet another stalemate, Susan put her book away and took Lucy to a dress shop. Peter put away his pipe and followed. Ed just reset the chess board. They are indeed more grown up than they seem.

A few girls pluck up the courage to ask Peter to be their date to the ball, but he tells them that he is already spoken for. No one is surprised when it is Susan on his arm at the dance. Yet, no one expects it when Lucy and Edmund join the two on the dance floor and dance the waltz as if they’ve been doing it for far longer than they’ve been alive. They are surprised, however, when Peter and Edmund extend their hands to their teachers to dance the cotillion. They are accepted.

Many professors have gotten used to Peter watching the courtyard during class. But no one could have prepared themselves for Peter suddenly standing and letting out what sounded like a growl before speeding out of the classroom. Many people knew the look in his eye and followed him to the courtyard where Lucy was. There was a new student in Lucy’s year. He hadn’t learned the rules of the school, or proper etiquette for that matter. Lucy had started to be more like Susan. Gentler. Lucy opted not to fight when she could avoid it. Sometimes she couldn’t avoid it. This boy had tried to touch her inappropriately and got punched in the stomach. But he was bigger than Lucy and had backed her against a tree. He didn’t get much further as he was pulled off her and a fist met his face. But this one was bigger. Stronger. He was then pulled by his collar and lifted against the wall by the absolute beast of a man he had never seen before. No one had seen him before. All he heard was “Peter” before he was dropped. His knees gave out and he looked up from the ground to see Peter standing before him, chest heaving. “Apologize.” Came the low growl. There was a small, slender hand on his chest. He supposed that was all that was keeping him from probably dying. He thanked every god he could think of. He was then heaved from the ground by his blazer and made to look Lucy in the face. This hand was different, but the fury was the same. “I believe there is something you need to say.” Came Edmunds voice.

“I’m sorry.” He said, terrified. Lucy just looked back and said, “I supposed you will learn to keep your hands to yourself.” Before Edmund let him go. Peter was still growling. He got off too easy in his book. None of the teachers said anything, noticing how the one hand from Susan kept Peter at bay, they kept that information in their proverbial back pockets. That boy never touched anyone again.

For fear of the beast that was the Pevensie siblings.

[raven-dor]

say yes to heaven

In which peter pevensie wishes he wasn't such an oblivious nitwit

PAIRING: peter pevensie x reader, susan pevensie x PLATONIC!reader, edmund pevensie x PLATONIC!reader, lucy pevensie x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: SET DURING THE GOLDEN AGE, established relationship, angst, old friends, banter, arguing (not actual arguing, just reader knowing her worth, peter just stands there), ANGST AGAIN

WORD COUNT: 2,963

AN: this is an excerpt from my fanfic on wattpad!! if you want to read the whole book (tltwtw-the last battle) it's on there (raven-dor)! ALSO there will be a part two to this, so keep your eyes peeled<3

say yes to me

Edmund and Peter burst through the dining room doors, covered in snow. The girls laughed at their pink faces.

Lucy smirked. "Have fun, did you?"

Edmund laughed. "I did." He shoved his brother before sitting down. "Not so sure about Peter. He was complaining the whole time."

Peter murmured into his stew. "I did not."

Y/N giggled. "I find that hard to believe. You've always been a big baby."

"I have not-"

Susan rolled her eyes. "I seem to remember shivering while walking down the halls only two days ago."

Peter glared at his sister. "Whose side are you on here?"

Susan ignored her brother and looked at Y/N teasingly. "Lord Eluna asked about you again."

Her face turned red. "Really?"

Susan nodded. "I was walking to my morning meeting, and he stopped me in the hall to ask where you were."

Lucy laughed. "Someone's got a secret admirer."

Edmund murmured. "It's not exactly a secret Lu-"

Peter looked up from his food. "So, Lord Eluna?"

Y/N nodded. "He's sweet."

He smirked. "He's not the best swordsman."

She sighed. "I don't measure a man's worth by his swordsmanship."

He looked across the table, his eyes full of curiosity. "So what do you measure a man's worth by?"

Susan looked at Edmund, and rolled her eyes, murmuring. "Here we go."

Y/N glared at the eldest Pevensie. "Do you really want to know?"

He nodded. "Yes, that is why I asked."

She smirked. "Well they have to be extremely tall, an amazing ruler, and hmm what else..." She returned to her earlier glare. "Not you."

He slapped his hand to his heart. "You wound me, Y/N."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't need to lay out my requirements for you, thank you very much."

Lucy huffed. "Can we talk about something else please?"

Y/N nodded. "I'd be glad to, Lu." She smiled at the young girl. "How was tutoring today?"

Lucy smirked and went on and on about how she had pranked the mean tutor, Y/N and her siblings listening intently. Well, all of them besides Peter. He was staring at her, trying to figure out how to finally woo her.

He had been planning on courting her for a while. At the beginning of their reign, they had a flirtatious relationship, but it never went anything beyond that. And a year ago, when the new young lords came in, he thought he had lost her to Lord Eluna.

Stupid Lord Eluna.

He didn't know what her favorite color was, or her favorite song. He didn't know how she liked her eggs, or how she preferred blueberries to strawberries. How she took care of his siblings when he couldn't, treating them as if they were her own.

Even when they had left London, she had picked up Lucy without a second thought and made sure she got to see her mother one last time. She helped Edmund and always empathized with him, even when he had unknowingly betrayed them.

She understood Susan and became her close friend. His eldest sister had always had a tough time making friends, but Y/N brought out the best in Susan.

And she always helped him. She was at his side during the Battle of Beruna when Aslan had fallen. She was at his side when Maugrim attacked, and she was there when they ran across the ice field away from what they thought was the White Witch.

She had been a constant in his life from the age of eight, and you really couldn't blame him for being infatuated with her. He stared at her once again, and he spoke before he could think. "Can I speak to you in private, Y/N?"

The table quieted, but they kept talking, seemingly trying to ignore his misstep. He cleared his throat, and spoke louder, making sure they listened to him. That she listened to him.

"Y/N, may I talk to you in private?"

The table hushed, and she looked back down the table at the grumpy blonde. She smiled icily. "Exactly why would I do that?"

He stood up and glared at her. "Y/N/N-"

Edmund cleared his throat. "Maybe we should-"

She stood up, glaring right back at the giant oaf. "No need. I'm leaving. I have to meet with Lord Eluna anyway." She smiled quickly at the three neutral Pevensies. "I'll see you all later."

She walked out of the room, her dress flowing behind her as she left. Peter stalked after her, not even bothering to say farewell to his siblings. She ignored his calls, and that only made him angrier. Turning the corner, she was basically tackled into the library.

She gasped, hissing at the High King. "What in the world is your problem?"

He looked down at her, his face full of confusion. No words left his mouth, he simply stared down at the flustered and frustrated girl.

This in turn only made her more frustrated. She shook against his hold. "Speak you- you oaf!"

"I know you."

She sighed, her glare wavering. "What does that have to-"

He shook his head. "I know you, and I know Lord Eluna. And while I do agree that Lord Eluna is a good man, a great man even..." She stared into her soul. "He is not what you want."

She laughed. "You do not know what I want."

He scoffed. "For god's sake Y/N, we grew up together. We have seen each other every single day for the past ten years."

She pulled herself out of his grip. "I've grown Peter. I've realized that waiting around for fantasies helps no one." He seemed to stop breathing, and she huffed. "I'm being practical."

"You have never been one for being practical. You do what you believe is right." He whispered, curious to hear her answer. "What do you think is right?"

She hugged herself. "I think whatever benefits Narnia the most is what is right."

He nodded, walking out of the library without another word. She sighed, yelling out to him. "Peter-"

He stopped instantly, whipping around. "Yes?"

"I-" She stopped herself, her face dropping. "Nevermind."

Y/N put in her last earring and inspected herself in the mirror. Aslan, she loved this dress, and thankfully she wouldn't be too cold thanks to the long sleeves. She opened her door and immediately saw Peter.

And by immediately, she opened her door and he was outside it with his fist up, preparing to knock. He stepped back and grinned.

"You- You-"

She smiled, patting him on the arm. "Shall we go?"

He nodded, looping his arm through hers. They walked the halls leisurely. Besides, events couldn't formally start without one of them present, so they were never late. Technically speaking that is. "You look beautiful Y/N/N." He smiled down at her. "Truly."

She smiled softly. "Thank you, Peter." She nudged him. "All the ladies won't be able to take their eyes off of you."

He murmured. "I don't want all the ladies to look at me."

She tilted her head. "What was that?"

"I said I don't flaunt all the tapestries." He cleared his throat. "It's something I say every time I enter an event. Calms the nerves."

She laughed. "Are you sure you're alright?"

They turned the corner, and the ballroom doors stood, proud as ever with garlands and ornaments hanging elaborately. She grinned. "Susan has outdone herself."

"She has. Though I'm not surprised. She's a perfectionist."

Y/N smacked him lightly. "Be nice."

Peter removed his arm from hers and bowed. "I shall see you soon, my lady." The great doors opened and Peter stood tall, walking out with his head held high.

It was a few minutes later when the doors began to open. She took a deep breath, and the herald began the introduction.

"Her Imperial Highness, The Noble Seer of Old, High Queen Y/N, the Passionate."

She stepped out and descended the steps slowly. The royals were standing at the base of their thrones, Peter grinning widely from across the room.

The crowd parted, and she made her way to the platform before sitting down on her throne. Smiling at the nobles and subjects below her, she looked at Susan, nodding.

Susan cleared her throat, clapping her hands. "Let the festivities begin!"

Lucy spoke to Edmund in a hushed tone, careful not to have nosy bureaucrats butt into their conversation. "Where's Su and Y/N?"

Edmund held back a smirk as he pointed to the small crowd of young lords, who seemed rather entranced by the two queens. "Over there." 

Lucy, unlike her brother, held back no signs of amusement. She laughed, nudging her brother. "Oh my. Those lords think they actually have a chance." 

Edmund laughed with her, shocked at what his little sister had just said. "Why, Lu, I think that might be the meanest thing you've ever said."

 

Y/N couldn't remember how many times she had danced in the past two hours or how many times she had talked to the noblewomen about talking down to the Cair Paravel servants. She was currently escaping the crowd of young men for a moment, finding the balcony a nice place to relax.

Or at least it had been relaxing. A voice broke through her short-lived peace. "Hello, Your Majesty."

She turned around, smiling gently. "Hello, Lord Eluna."

He gestured to the sea below them. "It is beautiful, is it not?"

"Very. I never tire of this view, I can assure you."

He nodded. "Quite." They stood there for a moment in silence, before he spoke again. "I wanted to ask you something."

Her heart dropped, but she nodded. "Yes, my lord?"

He gulped. "We are- we are fond of each other, no?"

She smiled, nodding. Maybe if she laid out her next words carefully, she would be able to get out of this mess. "I always rely on you for counsel, yes."

He nodded. "Yes, yes." He stared back out at the sea again, fidgeting with a box. She wanted to melt into the ground. He turned back to her, grabbing one of her hands. "I have been infatuated with you ever since my father sent me here, and you have shown me nothing but kindness. I-" He began to kneel. "You are a wonderful beauty, and I would like to ask you-" He was on his knee, and the box opened. She tried not to laugh. "I would like to ask you to marry me."

She knew it. Aslan, she hated being right. She smiled gently down at him. "Lord Eluna-"

He shook his head. "Please, call me Timin-"

"Lord Eluna, I'm sorry."

His face dropped. "Whatever for, my lady?"

"I- I cannot marry you."

He stood up, closing the box. His eyes were no longer sparkling with excitement. "May I ask why?"

There's what had Y/N stumped. He was a nice man, who always had a kind word to say. He held the door open for her whenever he saw her nearby.

But that's not what she wanted. Who she wanted.

A cough broke the awkward silence, and Lord Eluna fell into a deep bow. "Your Majesty."

Peter nodded. "Lord Eluna." He smiled at Y/N. "My lady."

"My King."

He looked in between her and the young Lord. "Did I interrupt something?"

Lord Eluna shook his head. "Not at all my lord. I was just leaving." He looked at her once more, murmuring. "Please reconsider."

She smiled, nodding. "Good night, Lord Eluna."

The young lord walked off the balcony, leaving the King and Queen alone. She turned back around, not wanting to look at Peter for the moment.

He huffed. "What did he do?"

"I came out here to relax, you know."

"What did he do Y/N?"

Y/N laughed. "What didn't he do, more like."

Peter's heart dropped. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not like that you numbskull." She turned around, a ghost of a smile on her face. "He proposed to me."

The High King stared at her, his eyes growing wider by the millisecond. "He did what?"

"You know. When a man gets on one knee and then he-"

Peter glared at her. "Yes, yes. I know." He walked closer to her. "Did you say yes?"

She sighed. "Well, that's complicated."

"I hardly see how that is a complicated question. Did you say yes or no?"

She glared at him. "At first I said no-" He smiled before she realized she had said at first.

"At first?" He stood directly in front of her. "And what about now?"

"Well, I'm reconsidering his proposal."

Peter's heart dropped again. She looked at the ground. "He comes from a good family. He's a very good man, a nice man, and he would be able to provide for me. Of course, I'd have to move to Archenland, but I can still visit." She looked up at Peter slowly. "It would be good for the kingdom, to have that firm of an alliance with the Archenland and it's territories."

Peter just stared at her while she continued her nervous rambling. "I'm sure he'd love me enough, I'd learn to tolerate him with time. I hear he has horses, which is good, I can still go on rides. I could even bring Penelope. And apparently, Archeland has amazing tutors, so our children would not be inept-"

Peter stopped her. "You're not seriously thinking of marrying him?"

Her eyes were full of uncertainty as she finally looked up at the eldest Pevensie. "He's a good choice."

"But you don't love him."

"Well it's not like I have anyone else interested in me, do I?" 

He laughed, as if she hadn't just been surrounded by at least twenty or so young lords. She tried not to huff in annoyance. 

"I meant that I don't have any serious choices. Those men just ogle and stare, like I'm a prize to be won." She stared up at him, and their eyes connected, making her feel five times smaller. "At least he looks at me like I'm a person." Peter held their stare, like he was trying to pierce into her soul. "He's a good man."

"You keep saying that."

"Is there a reason that I should turn him down?" She moved closer to him. "One that I'm not aware of?"

His breath hitched. "I-"

She backed away, nodding. "That's what I thought." She bowed quickly. "I'll see you inside."

Peter took a deep breath and whispered. "Don't marry him."

She stopped. "What?"

"Don't marry him. Don't marry any of those lords."

She scoffed, whipping back around. "Peter, you're being mean." He walked up to her, and she pushed him away. "You're being mean, stop it."

"How am I being mean-"

"You have never admitted that you love me. All you do is act overprotective when I want to fight, or when a lord speaks disrespectfully. You flirt with me constantly, you're complimenting me and calling me beautiful, but you never say anything that will really affect our relationship. And now that a nice man, a good honest man that is very forthright with what he wants asks me to marry him, you simply say no and I have to listen?" Her eyes were watering. "You do not get to dictate my life."

He sighed. "Y/N/N I-"

She shook her head. "And I don't want to hear it now. I don't want you to say anything now, because now it feels forced, especially after I've told you all of that. Because I-" She smiled at his through her tears. "I have cared for you ever since I've known you, ever since I moved next door when we were 9, and you just treat me like a toy. You only entertain your feelings with me when you're bored. And I am sick of it."

"Y/N/N, that is not true-"

"No, I'm leaving you now. Don't follow me." She wiped away her tears and straightened her posture. 

She strolled into the ballroom, stopping beside Susan. "Your brother-" Susan rolled her eyes. "What has he done now?"

"Where do I begin-"

Susan groaned. "You might want to wait to tell me." She nudged her side. "He's coming over here."

Peter was making his way across the ballroom, his eyes on her form.

She huffed. "If he thinks he can talk to me by dancing-"

Susan laughed. "That's exactly what he thinks." She took a sip of her champagne. "He's a simple-minded creature."

Edmund and Lucy appeared behind them. "What's going on?" Lucy looked up at her with big eyes. "Are you okay, Y/N/N?"

She nodded, smiling gently down at the young girl. "I'm fine, Lu. Just tired, is all."

Edmund laughed, murmuring under his breath. "Tired of Peter, more like."

She glared at the young king. "Edmund-"

He hooked his arm through hers and pulled her away from his sisters for a moment. "You and I both know that my brother loves you. I don't think you should deny his declaration of love because you are scared of backlash."

She huffed. "Edmund, that's not why I denied his-"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "I can't imagine how difficult it is to be in your position, but I just want you to think with your heart for a moment and not with your head." He sighed. "You've been disconnected the past few years, and it's scaring us."

Her eyes watered again as she looked at her friend. "Ed-" 

He smiled. "It's alright. We've all been there, Y/N/N. Just don't leave us in the dark." He whispered to himself, but she heard him still. "Don't do what I did."  

[queenlucythevaliant]

the stories are true

i. Caspian’s nurse told him a story about a dwarf and a talking badger who were best friends.

ii. As Dwarf and Badger returned from a long walk through the wood, Dwarf noticed that a button has fallen from his jacket. Dwarf and Badger retraced their steps in search of the missing button, and together they found five buttons, none of which were Dwarf’s. Dwarf grew angry (as Red Dwarves are wont to do), and eventually returned home in a rage, only to discover the missing button sitting on his threshold. In apology to Badger for the afternoon wasted (and for his temper), Dwarf sewed all six buttons they had found that day onto his jacket and gave it to Badger for a gift.

iii. Caspian did not understand what a talking badger would do with a dwarf’s jacket, but such mysteries of life were best left to grown-ups, like his nurse.

iv. She told him other stories too: centaurs that had conversations with the stars. Giants that built and guarded bridges. A naiad who made a basket of reeds so perfect that it could hold the wind. They were light, almost frivolous sorts of stories: the kind that make good sense to a child.

v. When Nurse left, there were no more stories. Caspian invented his own sometimes, and whispered them to himself while he played with his toys. When his aunt caught him at it, she struck him.

vi. Doctor Cornelius's stories were not like the ones Nurse had told. They were solemn, grand tales that sounded almost like they might have really happened. In his stories, there were two kings and two queens who ruled Narnia together.

vii. Caspian imagined King Peter like a high tower, all straight lines and immovable might. He knew better now than to tell the stories where he might be overheard, but at night he whispered them to himself as he sank into sleep. King Peter, who was like a tower, went off to fight the Giants in the north. Queen Lucy and King Edmund sailed over the sea on a ship to another country. The water was blue like the sky, and it glittered. Queen Susan kept a light burning at home.

viii. Part of Caspian was afraid of not telling the stories. They were like strangers’ hands reaching out to him in darkness. He was afraid of not reaching back, of letting those strangers fall away into the pitch black night.

ix. On the castle’s highest tower, Doctor Cornelius threw back his hood and declared himself the blood of Old Narnia. The stories are true, he said.

x. All of them? Caspian wanted to ask. What about the naiad's magic basket? If dwarves were real, then why shouldn't the old Kings and Queens be real too? And if King Peter was real—if his stone-heavy feet had really trod on Narnian earth— then why shouldn't every fanciful thing he'd ever heard be just as true too? It made Caspian giddy to think.

xi. The night Caspian’s cousin was born, he fled the court with Queen Susan’s horn hanging from his saddle. It made him think of lights in windows as he rode away from the only home he’d ever known.

xii. When he woke, he found himself gazing into the faces of Dwarf and Badger from his nurse’s stories. They were arguing over what to do with him, but Caspian thought, absurdly, are you missing any buttons today?

xiii. They went about the next day, issuing invitations to the Great Council on Dancing Lawn, and Caspian put out his hand to greet centaurs and fauns, talking Mice and talking Bears. Each one of them reached back. No wonder Caspian woke the next morning half-convinced he'd been dreaming.

xiv. King Peter was real too, and there was King Edmund at his elbow. Caspian greeted them, inclining his head and saying in a voice that only trembled a very little, "Your Majesty is very welcome," and it felt like carving his name on the bones of time.

xv. And soon he knew that King Peter really was a tower, facing Miraz with the kind of stalwart might that Caspian had been imagining for years. Queen Susan was a light in the window: her horn had called them all home.

xvi. And Aslan. Aslan. Wonder of all wonders, he was real too.

xvii. Caspian said farewell to Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy, and it felt like reaching out across the planes to a world he would never see, except for a few minutes— but that wouldn't be for many years yet.

xviii. In the end, Queen Lucy and King Edmund sailed over the sea on a ship to another country. King Caspian was with them.

[stargazer-luna]

The Problem of Susan

So, a lot of people get super up in arms about Lewis saying that Susan stopped believing in Narnia bc she liked boys and makeup, but that is not his point.

Susan was bitter. You would be, too, if you had grown up with respect as a queen and then got pulled back into a young teen's body without any of that respect. "Oh, she's just a child, what does she know?" and so-on and so forth. Then when she gets the chance to go back to the world that she knows, it's 1000 years in the future.

One thousand years. For context, that's like living in Greenland with Eric the Red, and then getting pulled into modern times.

Then, she was once again pulled back to her world and told that she would never be able to return to the place she loves so much.

So, she starts making herself believe that Narnia was all make-believe as a coping mechanism. She tried to grow up faster than she should've so that she could get that respect back that she had in Narnia.

Have you ever been hungry for something, but don't know what, so you nibble on various foods in the kitchen, never finding out what you were craving? That's what happens when you have a hole in your heart that needs to be filled by God - or in Susan's case, Aslan. She turned to the world, 'nibbling' on grown-up things and a grown-up way of life to fill the hole in her heart left by Narnia.

Fast forward, and she's in her early twenties. Her family probably tried to bring her to Christ, as they know that Aslan's name here is Jesus. But now they're dead, and she's alone.

(This next part is heavily based on a fic I read many years ago, so if the author sees this, I just want to say that it was an amazing read)

One day, she sees Lucy's Bible. She starts flipping through it because she remembers how at peace Lucy seemed while reading it, or maybe she swept it off the table in anger, wondering why a loving God would take her family like that.

Either way, it opens to a page with a drawing of a lampost in the margins. A verse is underlined: "Your word is a lamp unto my feet, a light unto my path."

Susan starts from the beginning of the Bible and turns the pages, pausing anytime she sees a drawing. Each one stirs her heart and mind, and her days in Narnia begin returning to her. Finally, she reaches the resurrection story. The drawing? The table split in two. Susan cries as she realizes what her siblings have been trying to tell her all these years, and she believes.

Years down the line, she passes away with a smile on her face as she is reunited with her family in Aslan's country and sees her King face-to-face once again...

[raamyun-and-rambles]

unedited.

Banana Fish ((Ash Lynx x Reader)) ; no warnings

「When Dawn Breaks.」

-----------------

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇…

↪ Ash Lynx who never forgets to spend the night with you before he goes to a dangerous fight.

↪ Ash Lynx who can never tell whether he'll make it out alive so his first thought is to let you know how much he craves your warmth, your love and affection for only God knows if tomorrow will come.

↪ Ash Lynx whose arms only wrap around you tighter as you laid in bed together, blissfully unaware of the silent goodbyes that come with his feather light touches and light pecks on your skin - trying to map out all of you in his mind so when he breathes his last, he'll still be able to remember the entirety of you.

↪ Ash Lynx who wonders if there were happier versions of the both of you in a different universe. How did you fall in love? How did you meet? Were you both living happily living the life of his dreams? Perhaps you were married, living in a quaint little apartment with a toddler than only seems to babble with laughter - filling your home with a joy that no other could.

↪ Ash Lynx ponders about many things and the faintest of smiles tug on his lips. No matter what there is one thing he is sure of, you would be lovely in every universe.

↪ Ash Lynx who thinks that falling in love with you in this lifetime is a blessing and a privilege. No words can describe the amount of peace and tranquility you've brought into his nightmare-stricken life.

↪ Ash Lynx who reluctantly pulls himself away from your sleeping form when the light of dawn starts to peek through the drapes of your windows. He casts you a soft gaze, trailing the back of his fingers against your cheek before leaving the bed.

↪ Ash Lynx whose eyes widen in surprise when he hears you mumble his name, half-asleep as you try to entice him back into the warmth of your covers - to forget why he was even about to leave in the first place. "Aslan". His name had never sounded sweeter than when you say it.

"Will you come back?" You mumble, sleep still holding you like a vice and your voice barely above a whisper.

"I will. I promise." Ash lies, because he doesn't know if he will but he doesn't have the heart to tell you that when you look at him with so much love.

"Take care." You whisper, pressing a soft kiss onto his knuckle.

"I will." Ash says again and in this moment there is nothing more he wishes to be true apart from the promises of a tomorrow with you that he wishes to keep. His heart is reluctant to leave but he knows that he must and he cannot be kept elsewhere except for his duty. With a final look in your eyes and a kiss to your forehead later - Ash Lynx slips out of your apartment and out into the dawn.

The city greets him noisily and the day begins again.

[aestherians]

Change and Loss

Word count: 1362

Expected reading time: 10-11 minutes

"If your otherkinity still serves you, it will never really leave you," is what I used to say - more as a reassurance than a statement of fact. I mean, how could I know for a fact that it was true? I didn't have any experience with losing a kintype. I still don't think I do; not really. And I always saw the idea repeated in the community - one time otherkind, always otherkind.

But I don't believe that's true anymore. I'm still a bison for sure. I've never doubted that. I'm still Ɐwhrayɐ the gnoll and I'm still Ben the shapeshifter… but I'm beginning to accept that those sides of me have changed.

"One time otherkin, always otherkin. If your otherkinity still serves you, it will never really leave you"… but what if that's not true? What if you still benefit from your kintypes, and they disappear regardless? What do you do if you lose a part of yourself, or if a part of yourself becomes unrecognizable to you? How do you keep living when you've lost yourself?

Sometime in 2023 the distress of always having to hide my true self became too much to bear alone. But I'm not a brave person. I think the better solution would've been to just bite the bullet and start expressing myself, but hindsight is 20/20. I've survived 25 years by hiding everything that makes me 'weird', and the idea of leaving my one dependable survival strategy behind was (is) terrifying. I went to a free self-help seminar ("Take control of your life!") but all it taught me is that I need a dependable support network before I can take control of my life. I went to my doctor to try and get a referral for a therapist (it's cheaper than just finding your own therapist). Instead he sent me to a psychiatrist for my 'delusions'. The psychiatrist told me my experiences, worldview, and self-perception were unusual but not harmful - they could only help if my goal was to get rid of my schizotypal traits (traits that weren't even significant enough to warrant a diagnosis). If all I wanted was to learn how to conquer my fears and express my true self, they couldn't help. It took months of visits to get the diagnosis: Traumatized by peer abuse, too poor to afford my own therapy, and too anxious and ADHD to even find a therapist in the first place.

I can't even say I was left at square one. I had started out hopeful. Nearing the end of 2023, I just felt helpless.

At the same time, my studies were drawing to a close. I completed my bachelor's degree in animal science and all it took was a diagnosis of ADHD so I could legally buy amphetamines, a compound-diagnosis of autism so I wouldn't get kicked out when I inevitably misunderstood exam questions and failed final after final, and 5½ years - almost twice the expected time for a bachelor's degree in my country.

It should've been freeing but instead it left me directionless. Helpless and directionless - that's how I entered 2024!

In the past, in the strictly structured day-to-day of school, my kintypes have been a source of comfort. Especially my Ben fictotype, which probably fell into the category of coping mechanism. I awakened in a time of intense stress and retreated to that world whenever my present life got too much. When crowds got me overstimulated or I missed an important deadline or fought with my neighbors or drifted apart from old friends, I thought about all the times Ben!me had gone through similar or worse. I cut off a friend in my present life after finding out he'd abused his ex - but in my other life I'd cut off a friend who tried to murder me, and things still turned out fine. I lived through it. I could live through it again. Every situation had a parallel in my other life.

I still don't know why that method failed me, but eventually it did. It's not that it didn't work, it was more that I suddenly had to put an effort into making it work. As if I'd always been able to enter Narnia and now suddenly I had to personally petition Aslan to let me back in. It started in the fall of 2023 but it wasn't until spring 2024 that I fully realized. Coping had never been an effort before, and the worst part is, I don't even know why it suddenly was.

My fictotype was drifting away, even when it still served me! This wasn't supposed to happen! Had I been lied to?!

I think our community has a lot of survivorship bias. Whichever mailing lists and newsgroups get archived, and whatever snailmail gets published, that's what our history is based on. The people who made archivable geocities sites get to write our story - not the people on closed forums or in private chat groups. People who leave the community don't tend to leave behind pristine essays on their fully archived websites explaining why they left. It does happen, don't get me wrong, but it's rare. And when they do leave behind messages, it's usually some variant of "I still love the community that fostered my awakening, I'm just an adult with responsibilities now and I don't have time for this."

But what about the people who don't love the community? Who 'unawakened'? Who aren't passionate enough to leave behind a final message? Do we ever hear from the otherkind who 'fizzled out' and became human - or at least lost a kintype?

You can understand my panic, right? I considered turning my fictotype into a copinglink, but my ADHD is so debilitating I barely remember to brush my teeth - no way I was gonna remember to do daily reinforcement exercises. Especially frazzled 2024 me (still frazzled as of June but I'm hanging in there!).

I was forced to accept whatever my come.

I'm still Ben, on some level, but I won't say "I'm thankfully still Ben," 'cause is it really that bad to not be Ben? Even if that facet had served me well and could still serve me? $1,000,000 could serve me well, but uselessly pining after it doesn't serve me.

I didn't prepare myself for loss because I really wasn't sure I was gonna lose a part of me - and, in any case, grieving preemptively is a waste of energy if you ask me. Instead a turned to the Bison - not my own bison theriotype, but the archetype of the Bison. When one woowoo solution fails, why not try another?

The Bison has always been a good teacher to me - better than any self-help seminar or psychiatrist. The Bison takes everything in stride. The Bison survives until it can thrive. The Bison ruminates on the present, it doesn't ponder the future. The Bison doesn't grieve or fret unnecessarily. It exists in the now. I exist in the now.

Of course, the chance that anyone reading this works with the Bison spirit is slim, but I think its teachings can help everyone - regardless of spirituality.

When turning to other worlds doesn't aid you, accept it, and turn to the present world. Let your worries pass through you, you can't see clearly when you're pent up with worry. You can't prevent the seasons from turning, all you can do is turn with them. Accept your lack of control, instead of trying to grasp at the uncontrollable. Sometimes change is unexpected, and you may not like it, and it might not even open up new doors for you. Not all change is good. But you cannot prevent every unwanted change, and you have to keep living regardless.

My fictionkinity doesn't have the intensity of my first few years post-awakening, but it also doesn't have the casual reassuredness of decade-old kintypes. It comes and goes, and when it comes it's like a whisper. And one day it might become too quiet for me to notice. One day it might not return.

But I think I can live with that.

[quecksilvereyes]

oh, sister, I am sorry. your eyes are sunken and your skin is bruised. your lips are chapped, your nailbeds bitten raw. your husband's hand on your waist is a ghost's touch held by the band on your left ring finger and I-

I am dead.

I got on the train, Su. Nevermind your tears, nevermind the plea you could not shape with words, nevermind your fingers on the pulse point of my wrist. "stay", you'd said, as you have always done, dictionary in hand and baby teeth yet lodged in your jaw. "don't go where i cannot."

I step through a wardrobe and you follow, damned be reason. I slay a wolf and you follow, I cling to the little ones and you follow, I am crowned and you follow, I am-

I go past a lamp post, and you follow, damned be dread. I go to a train station and you follow, trembling hands and tender heart. I go, and I go, and I go, and you follow. Sun of my skies. Light of my life.

I go. you stop.

are we too old for stories, now? ten-and-four and ten-and-three, budding bodies and steel bones, we are cast from our home. i hold the little ones until i drown in them. you grip your skirts until no iron can press the shape of your palms from them. and you have ever been, cruelly reasonable and logically callous.

say you, glass shard eyes and rouge-red lips: we are english. we are children. she thinks she has found a magical land in the upstairs wardrobe.

say I, trembling hands and coiling guts: we are narnian. we are monarchs. if she's not mad and she's not lying, then logically she must be telling the truth.

my sister Susan, beautiful as folk tales are and twice as sharp, did you intend every invitation you took for me to twist the knife a godly animal once thrust into my guts? perhaps it was the way your eyes turned blue, or the sound of your laughter losing its bells. perhaps it was just my trembling fingers at the back of your legs, drawing stocking lines where no stockings had ever lain.

the line came out shaking, and you rubbed it off until your skin cried red. the hem of your dress still dripped wet when you left that day, turning on heels too narrow for you to walk in.

do you remember? it took you days to come home, and mother wailed for all of them. you crawled into my bed that night, as you did when we were parents to our little ones, those terrible months. your head on my shoulder, your breath in my ear, I held you until morning.

your mouth in my throat, eyes heavy with sleep, tongue heavy with champagne: we are here now. we must make the best of it. he cannot have all our lives, and all our joys. i wish you would laugh again.

doesn't little lucy, shrieking mouth and tumbling legs, laugh enough for us all?

lucy's manic. if she didn't laugh she'd cry.

i think sometimes, in the parts of my guts that are still a schoolboy, and are mean and cruel to match, that the alcohol makes you softer than the daylight ever could. i do not tell you.

i press my lips to your forehead. i wrap my arms around you. the year between us rings heavy, and when I get up in the morning, you do not follow.

I tried, Su. I did. I applied for university, I saw that girl with that smile. with those eyes. I let you take sections from the paper before I ever touched it, I held the little ones in my arms, and I made coffee in the morning. I sat all my exams.

I smiled when the little ones came back smelling of home.

Aslan's wounds, did I try. but-

I have ever been a thing made for stories. brave the way knights are, bloody knuckles and buckling pride. a horse between my calves, a sword in my hands.

I think, sometimes, that I was born for my sword, for the hollow ringing of my heart when I first held it. a part of me, even then, ten-and-three and soaked to the bone.

such bravery is not made for real world boys and real world taunts. there is a map, I think, from the summits of my knuckles to the jaws of every boy who ever looked at me and bared his teeth.

I am sovereign. I am the skies for your sun to burn in.

I am made wrong, for this england, and I cannot take this life you want. I belong, I think, into myths and legend, the star-studded shards of our home.

so I went on the train, Susan. so I died, and I named what you have chosen. so I banned you from their scorning mouths. so you grip your husband's hand, realest of us all, and you cry. you do not follow.

Forgive me.

[chaotic-banana-fish]

ASH LYNX & RELIGION

The other day, like many others, I found myself thinking about religion and religous imagery in Banana Fish, something which I find fascinating. And I found myself asking the question of wether Ash ever believed in God. We see him pray once for Eiji's safety, as he leans and falls against the window, light pouring from it, the image itself religious. Yet, there doesn't seem to be any other instance of Ash being religious in any way, so I wonder if his prayer came from a moment of complete desperation or if something in him truly believed there could be a higher power able to keep Eiji safe. I've seen people offer both perspectives, saying he's never believed in god at all but will do anything to try and save Eiji, or that he maybe once believed in god but stopped believing after everything that happened to him. However, as far as I know, we're never given a definite answer.

So, I began to question, if Ash were to be religious, where and how did that begin? His up-bringing was almost certainly not religious at all, as his father is the furthest away from Christian as one can be, and the town itself doesn't show any indication of being especially religious. Plus Massachusetts is (according to google at least) one of the least religious states in the US. After running away from home his life obviously changed drastically and he was enduring an incredible amount of abuse and would not exactly have time to think about religion.

So, as I calmly wondered about all of this, suddenly an obvious revelation hit me like a truck. Aslan. His name, given by his mother meaning "day-break" is an ancient prayer word. * If there was anyone religious around Ash it was his mother. Now, even though Ash was given this name because he was born with the dawn, and his mother was a hippie drug addict, this doesn't necessarily mean that this word or religion didn't hold importance for her. Furthermore, Ash doesn't know anything about his mother other than she left, I doubt he even knew she was just a teenager. So, in his mind, given the origin of his name, his mother may have been religious, and that belief, God, and his name is the only thing that ties him to her. When Ash prays to God, it's the same as praying to his mother. He's praying to that figure that should have been there, taking care of him, loving him, keeping him away from danger, that person that he tries to reach out for when looking at the sky only to find nothing. Both are blurry and without a shape or name.

He's shown to grieve the loss of his mother whom he never knew, he wants to believe she loved him but wonders why then, she abandoned him. His faith in that love is as unreachable and otherworldly as belief in god, and yet he clings to both in times of desperation. It is then a twisted fate that the only thing we see him ask of God is to die in place of Eiji, which he does, and after which he is buried next to his mother.

(* I want to note that this etymology isn't actually correct, but I assume it was just a mistake from Akimi Yoshida's part.)

[missdawnandherdusk]

All Good Things to Those Who Wait

Draco x Hufflepuff!Reader

There goes the last great American dynasty

Who knows if she never showed up, what could have been

There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen

She had a marvelous time ruinin' everything

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4

Chapter 5   Chapter 6   Chapter 7   Chapter 8

Chapter 9   Chapter 10   Chapter 11  Chapter 12

The Chapter That Never Happened  Chapter 13

Chapter 14  Chapter 15

Summary: tying up some loose ends :)

A/n: *emerges from the void*

Everything has an ending. The best stories, and the worst ones. Looking back at my story, there was no better ending I could have asked the stars for. I lost people I loved but I also stood for what I believed in and led an army to victory. No one would forget what had happened in those days. The days of the Great War. 

But what is life without tying up a few loose ends. You’ve come with me this far on this journey, and now as I look back, perhaps there are some things that you’d like to know. Some conversations you’d like to hear. Some people you’d like to meet or see again. So, here are those loose ends, tied together.

**********************************

I stepped onto the porch of my childhood home. It was in the efforts to try and find my mother, and try to find some peace and meaning after the past years. Draco came with me, at my side. 

“She’s not here,” I sighed, knowing before we even stepped foot in the house that my mother wasn’t waiting for me. “And somehow that hurt’s more,” 

“She’ll come in her own time love,” Draco soothed. Maybe he was right, or maybe I’d always be searching for her in the stars like I looked for my father. 

Draco and I sat on the porch that night, watching the sun set and the fireflies come to life in the meadow that blanketed around us. 

“You cast a patronus,” Draco said as I laid my head on his shoulder, watching the wildflowers dance in the wind. 

“I know,” A smile touched my lips. 

“It was a dragon,”

“Yeah,” I took his hand into mine, thinking back to the first night Draco cast his own patronus with my father’s wand. How things had changed since then. “My mother always told me that one day I’d find my patronus and it would watch over me like my father,” 

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. 

“I don’t think you need anyones protection,” The humor in his voice gave way to the smile that I couldn’t see. 

“It’s still nice to have someone beside me—to fight alongside me,” 

He was quiet a moment before airing his doubts. “Do you think that maybe…” I knew where he was going with the thought, because it had been chipping at the back of my mind. 

“Because they’re so different we’re not meant to be together?” I mused, finishing his worried thought. 

“Yeah,” He sighed.

“No,” I sat up, facing him. “I think they’re just right for us. I’ve thought about it—more than I should. But in reality… if we think about it, your lion,” 

“Aslan,” Draco’s fingers brushed over my locket. A smile crept to my lips and I nodded. 

“And the first task,” 

“The what?” I had caught him off guard, a beautiful sight to behold. 

“Our fourth year, that first task of the tournament.” Realization struck him. 

“Our patronus’ show the start of us—when we really first started to trust each other.” I took his hand back into mine. “They’re not so different after all,” 

He laughed without fear and kissed me softly, before pulling me closer. “The start of us,” Draco mused, and maybe he could see them like I could: a younger me standing there, skeptically looking at a younger Draco. Before the war, before the long nights, secret kiss, tears, laughter, love and loss. Two kids who took a chance. 

When the sun cleared the horizon and its final rays fading, Draco and I headed inside—to the empty house that still promised to protect me. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a knock on the door. In the week that we had been here, no one had disturbed out haven. No one knew we were here.

Draco looked up from his book. I dislodged myself from the couch and his arms, and went to answer the door, on guard. I stared at the one standing before me, not knowing how to quite process it. 

“Hi, mum,” I whispered. 

“Hello,” 

Time stilled around us. Everything came rushing to the surface only to be stopped by my unparted lips. One thought escaped. 

“I did it,” my voice was barely audible. 

“I’m so proud of you,” 

Tears stung my eyes. After all was said and done relief flooded through me more than anger did. Perhaps it was the peace that blanketed the Wizarding world that calmed my hurt. 

“Mum,” My voice broke into tears. Amity wrapped around us as—after years—I got a hug from my mother. 

“I’m so sorry, honey,” She whispered, stroking my hair. “I’m so sorry,” 

I nodded into her shoulder, letting all of my bottled-up tears come out. All of the stresses from war and the nightmares that plagued me at night—my mother was still there to hold me tight. It didn’t matter that I was still hurting from wounds she inflicted, to know she was there, willing to hold me tight, and call me hers was enough. 

“Y/n, are you—” Draco came out and paused. I pulled away from my mother and looked at him. He gave me a soft smile and nodded, heading back into the house. 

“Is he upset with me?” My mother asked. I laughed hopelessly. 

“I don’t know,” I said, wiping away my tears. 

“Are you?” She asked. 

“I don’t know,” My voice softened. “There’s so much right now… so much to sort through…” 

“There is.” She didn’t deny it, and maybe it was comforting that someone outside of my peers acknowledged that I had been through a lot, and in turn that had caused a lot of heavy burdens on my heart and soul. 

My gaze drifted back to hers. 

“Do you wanna come in?” I asked. 

She shook her head. “That’s not what you want, nor need,” Reaching our she placed per hand on my arm, soothing me before I could argue. “I’ll be around if you need me, but until then, the house is for you—it always has been. Build a life,” She smiled and looked through the window—probably at where Draco was inevitably spying on us. “You’ve found a good one,�� 

A smile touched my lips. 

“Thanks mum,” 

My mother inhaled sharply and nodded. “I’ll be off then,” Turning to go down the porch stairs, she paused. “He would be so proud of you,” 

Tears burned my eyes again, as I wrapped my arms around her, needing her to hold me just once more before I could let her go. Because in her arms was also the love of my father that was taken from me too soon by this war. A war that I saw an end to. And maybe in that moment, the war within me ended too. I wasn’t the daughter of a Death Eater and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I was the daughter of Walt and Elizabeth. And that was enough

“Goodbye my love,” My mother said softly. “I’ll always be around.” 

“Bye mum,” I smiled as she wiped away my tears. “I love you,” 

“I love you too sweetheart,” 

I waved goodbye, and with a spell, she was gone. I turned to go inside. The door clicked softly behind me. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Professor McGonagall?” My brows pulled together. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here?” 

“This is a summons for you,” She held out a parchment, the usual stern look on her face was replaced with pity. 

I took the parchment and opened it, scanning the delicate print. My heart sank. 

“This is… this—“ I gaped. 

“I’m afraid so,” McGonagall sighed. “There was nothing I could do,” 

“Draco?” I called into the house. He was beside me in a moment. I handed him the parchment. “This is serious?” She nodded again. 

“I’m sorry my dear,” 

“A court summons? They’re putting her in trial!?” Draco demanded. 

“Kingsley is very set on it. And he is the new Minister,” 

“I saved the school! I helped defeat the Dark Lord! I—really!?” Tears pricked my eyes. 

“There’s got to be some mistake,” Draco insisted. “She’s not a Death Eater, she doesn’t even have the mark!” 

“I’m sure that the ministry will see that, but I’m afraid that I cannot do anything about the summons,” 

I scrubbed my face and sighed. “Thank you Professor. Can I invite you in for some tea?” 

“That’s very kind dear, but I’m afraid I must be on my way,” She bowed slightly then disaperated from the porch. 

I stood there a while, lost in my thoughts. Draco gave me a gentle squeeze and kissed the crown of my head before disappearing inside. My feet took me off the wood of the porch and into the softness of the grass. I sank to the ground beside a fence post. The sun began to set. My eyes watched the horizon. Millions of thoughts swirled around my mind with no discernible direction. 

Was there even a case for me to be innocent? Is this what everything I had worked for come to? To be seen as a criminal for holding a crumbling cause together? 

____________________

“Where is she?” Abby asked, helping Pansy through the fireplace. 

“Out front, watching the sunset,” Draco sighed, opening the front door. “She’s been out there a while,” 

“Can’t imagine why,” Pansy muttered. “They’re seriously putting her on trial?” 

“Yep,” Draco sighed. “All this time I thought I’d be the one, and yet…” 

“I’ll go talk to her,” Abby kissed Pansy’s cheek. “You guys get to work,” 

“Thank you, both,” Relief flooded Draco’s voice. 

Abby snagged an old afghan off the back of the armchair and went out through the small meadow. She draped the blanket around your shoulders and sat beside you in the grass. You laid your head on her shoulder. She could see the dried tear tracks on your cheeks. 

“How—how could they do this?” Your weak voice held deep betrayal. 

“I don’t know,” Abby answered honestly, taking your hand into hers. “But we’re not going to let them get away with it.” 

“I don’t—I can’t defend myself in court—I,” You dissolved into tears. “Haven’t I done enough?” 

“More than enough,” Abby affirmed. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna work it out—you’ll see,” 

“How?” You asked. 

“Well, you’ve gathered quite a few allies who owe you once or twice,” Abby pointed out. “And others who just love you anyway. Draco and Pansy are working on it now,” 

“Wha—what?” 

“We’re gonna build your case,” Abby promised. “And get you acquitted.”  

“They’re…” A sad laugh left your lips. You laid back on the grass. Abby knew you were searching for the first stars in twilight. 

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Abby smiled at you. “Just rest,” 

The days past and my trial date approached like a storm on the horizon—but whether it was just rain or a hurricane, I couldn’t tell. Draco assured me that it would all be okay—he tried to tell me about everything done to build my case, but I wasn’t interested. Grateful, thoroughly, but I knew that if I learned anything about it, I would pick it up myself and try to fix it and my weary heart couldn’t handle that and keep beating like it was supposed to. 

So, I dressed smartly and took Draco’s hand before we took the Floo to the Ministry. I kept my head low, and tears at bay. 

Though Draco, Abby and Pansy accompanied me into the court room, I had to sit alone for the trial. The distance was drowning. I sat in the hard wooden chair, facing malice and prejudices. Kingsley looked almost predatory, as if he could pin the entire war on my shoulders, casting the blame on me. 

I flinched as the charges were read against me. The list of dead was longer than I thought. I didn’t dwell on the days of the Battle of Hogwarts, nor the events that occurred. They haunted me in my dreams, make no mistake, but what was real and what was a nightmare I lost the ability to discern. 

Was that much blood really on my hands? 

My faith in myself began to waver. Maybe I did deserve to be locked up. A few years in Azkaban with dementors sucking my life force might make me forget what I had done. 

Surprise flickered on my face as I saw Remus Lupin stand to my defense as an attorney. It was the first time that I had actually taken note of who was in the room. There had to be at least thirty people all gathered behind Draco and Pansy that I could see—more filed out the door in the back. All faces of those I loved, I had fought beside, I had grown up with. 

The static in my ears tuned in and out of Lupin and Kingsley conversing. It wasn’t until their voices raised to shouting that the static was drowned out. My eyes flickered up from he thread in my hands. 

“She cast unforgivables! She killed! She’s dangerous!”

“Death Eaters who were threatening our lives! The lives of wizard kind everywhere! She stopped a genocide!” Remus shouted back, obviously frustrated. “She showed remarkable strength and courage in a time of great darkness, and you will not diminish that.” 

“They are unforgivables! We have laws for a reason!”

“If I may,” McGonagall stood and the entire room quieted. “That list of names that you read was a long list of Death Eaters who have either escaped from Azkaban, or are known Death Eaters and have killed before. Miss Y/n had very hard decisions to make. The ministry found itself incompetent for lack of a better word. She, along with her friends, engineered an army to face the Dark Lord. Over the years what she went through has turned her into who she is today. She fought along side the other heroes who stand before you. She will be counted among them. You would not punish an Auror for the same thing and you will not punish her.”

“But—” Kingsley was red in the face. 

“If you put her in jail, you put the rest of the rebellion too,” The voice that piped up from the crowd surprised me. It was Harry. He stood and all eyes went to him. “Without her, I never would have been able to defeat Voldemort. Dozens more would be dead. You send her to Azkaban… then you’ll send me too,” A hushed gasp filled the room. A small one escaped my own lips.

“Mr. Potter,” Kingsley tried to regain control of the room. 

“And me,” Abby spoke up. 

“And me,” Neville stood. 

Soon everyone around me was standing on my behalf. Pansy, Luna, Ginny, all of the Weasleys actually, Ernie, Hannah, Emme, Blaise, Draco, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fleur, Tonks, Remus, McGonagall, Moody, Sprout, Flitwick, and others I couldn’t see in the vast room. Kingsley faltered at the large defense behind me. 

“You send her then you send each one of us,” Harry spoke clearly. “I’m your stupid chosen one, even if she did something wrong, don’t I have clearance to pardon her or something?” 

A smile crossed my face. Intense silence stretched on consuming time and space until it was suffocating me. 

“Very well,” Kingsley sank back into his chair. “Y/n you have been cleared of all charges and sentencing. You are free to go,” 

Relief flooded through me as the room erupted in cheers. I met Draco’s eyes and he was smiling with pride. I collapsed back into that wooden chair in tears. There was a swarm of people around me, all making sure that I was alright, but they all parted for Draco to reach me. 

“Love?” He asked softly, kneeling before me. “I’m here,” He pulled me into his arms and we shared the embrace of lovers. As I exhaled, the weight of the world fell to the floor. 

I was free. 

I was acquitted. 

Now, I just had to find my innocence. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Draco?” It was a crisp autumn morning. He looked up from the newspaper. “I’ve been thinking,” 

He smiled and set down the paper, giving me his full attention. I almost wished he didn’t. 

“I… I know it’s been a long road here… and since we’ve met it’s kinda been hell.” A sad laugh left my lips. “There’s a whole world out there Draco,” My eyes flickered to the willow growing outside the kitchen window. 

“Yeah?” He prompted softly. 

“Don’t you want to go see it? Be young and reckless and not have to feel like—like you’re running an entire school?” I gestured. 

“I do,” He confessed softly. “We are still young Y/n, we have a long life ahead of us,” 

“…You still want it with me?” I felt as if the oxygen was being vacuumed from my lungs. “We were just kids when we met Draco. We went through a war together—and now it’s over. The war. You don’t have to stay here,” This house was just as haunted as I was.

“What—where is this coming from?” Draco stood, rounding the small breakfast table. “I want to be with you. I want to share my life with you,” He took my hands into his. “So, let’s go travel the world together—learn who we are outside of the war.” 

Hope sparked in my chest. “Really?” 

He laughed softly. “Oh my darling, you are one of my best friends, I’ll go anywhere with you,” His words lured me to melt into his warm embrace. We sat on the kitchen floor. He stroked my hair softly. 

“Just for a while,” I mumbled. “There’s so much we haven’t seen,” 

“I know,” The smile was evident in his voice. “And it’s going to be incredible—and we’re going to learn how to heal along the way,” I nodded into his shoulder. 

“I was thinking about maybe even living muggle for a little bit,” The confession was a weight from my shoulders. “I need space.” 

“Okay,” His soft agreeable caught me off guard. “I think it would be good for both of us actually. And maybe even fun,” 

I laughed softly as tears formed in my eyes. Leaning against him I watched the morning sun move across the wooden floor. 

“I love you,” I whispered softly. “And if you… if I’m not…”

“Hush,” it was a soft reprimand. “I think you’re right. We need time away from it all. To find who we are away from it all,” 

I nodded and rested my head on his shoulder. 

“We’ll come back,” I promised. 

“I know we will,” Draco smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Knowing you, you’ll want to come back and help build a better system,” 

My cheeks flushed red. I hadn’t told anyone about my ideas to make Hogwarts better—to make the Ministry better, hell to even make Azkaban better. It was time for things to change. I smiled to myself. Maybe I was more rebellious than I thought. 

And yet, Draco knew—he knew all the little plans in my head that were hidden just for me. Being known felt like belonging—and I belonged with him. 

**********************************

Traveling with Draco would always be saved in my memories until I died, and when it started to slip, it would be saved into a pensieve. I wouldn’t forget. 

We bought a muggle car and drove it until it felt right to stop. It wasn’t the famous places where we found ourselves, rather it was the forgotten places where we felt most at home. Where I could stand on a cliff edge and just scream and laugh and no one was around to hear me. Where Draco and I would sit at the edge of a river and send down leaves that held our biggest regrets, our losses, and our fears, learning to let go. Where we would sit in cafes and draw what we saw around us and enjoy pastries and tea. Where we could dance in the middle of a crowded room with other couples who didn’t know us from Adam. 

But that is a story for another time. 

For now, I’m sure you have a burning question that you’ve been waiting for me to answer. 

And yes. 

Draco did take me to go and see Phantom of the Opera in Paris like he promised. 

Oh, and we got married.

But, again, that is a story for another time. 

There is one last person I want you to meet before I close. 

**********************************

My heart caught in my throat. 

“Draco?” I squeaked out, leaning against the bathroom counter. “Draco!” 

“What? Are you alright? What’s wrong?” He was frantic, looking for danger. 

“I’m… pregnant,” I whispered, looking at him in wonder. “Draco… I’m—“

“Holy harpies,” 

Realization flickered across his face as it rose into an elated expression of joy. A victorious laugh as he scooped me up and twirled me around our lavish bathroom, in our muggle flat in the suburbs of London. His joy was contagious as I giggled in his arms, holding onto him. He set me down, stroking my face softly. Then he pressed a kiss to my forehead. 

Draco must have seen some fear linger in my stare. Some uncertainty that was well justified. 

“The war is over,” Draco reassured drawing me back into his arms. “They’ll be safe. We’ll make sure of it,” 

I nodded, curling my fingers into his sweater, my smile returning. 

“I’m gonna be a mum,” I laughed. 

“And you’re going to be absolutely brilliant.” He pressed a kiss to my lips. “Absolutely brilliant.” 

“And you’re gonna be a great dad,” Tears pricked my eyes. “God, I don’t know the first thing about being a parent,” A nervous giggle left my lips. 

“We’ll learn and figure it out,” He stroked my cheek softly, stealing another kiss. 

A thousand parenting books, a baby shower, and a few doctors appointments later, Draco and I were curled up on the couch in our flat as the fire crackled in the hearth. 

We had yet to settle on a name—to be fair we narrowed it down a lot, but with every new suggestion came a new round of anxiety that it wouldn’t be just right. It left me up at all hours thinking of it; so much so that Draco had to find a pregnancy safe sleeping potion so I could get proper rest. 

“Elizabeth?” Draco mused, after my mother. I pursed my lips. It had been a suggestion that circled around. 

“I’d like it as a middle name,” I decided, the thought had been mulling over in my mind. 

“Okay done,” He smiled, reaching over to stroke my stomach before resuming his massage of my sore feet. 

“Still need a first name.” I pondered, leaning my head against the back of the couch. “Narcissa?”

Draco snorted. “I’m not calling our daughter by my mothers name,” 

My heart fluttered when he said our daughter. 

“Well we need something,” 

“How about Lucy?” That was a new suggestion: one not voiced by either of us. 

“If that’s some way to get me to name her after your father I swear to Merlin—“

Draco burst out laughing shaking his head. 

“Godric, no. Ugh,” he chuckled. “No, love, Lucy as in the first one to find Narnia. Ya know, that book you read to me all those years ago. The current theme of our nursery?” 

“Oh,” my eyes widened at the thought, my heart softening. “Lucy,” I looked down, caressing my stomach when I felt something odd. Frowning I pressed my palm over the area. Draco caught my confusion and grew very concerned. 

“What? Is she alright? What wrong?” 

“Nothing,” I grinned. “She’s kicking—I think she likes her name,” I reached out for his hand and placed it in the same spot where mine resided as I felt her kick again. 

“Hello little Lucy,” Draco whispered softly. “I can’t wait to meet you,” 

Tears pricked my eyes as I watched him talk to her softly. And like every night, Draco got up and made me my tea that had Sleeping Draught in it—which he brewed specifically for me. It reminded me of our school days when he would spend class time brewing me anti-anxiety potions. It warmed my heart that his habit didn’t wane even with the years past.

That night my eyes fluttered open. I woke in the night, barely awake and ready to fall asleep again when I heard a soft voice. At first I thought Draco was trying to speak to me but I quickly realized that he was talking to someone else. 

“You’re going to be one of the greatest wizards to ever walk the earth,” he murmured softly. “You’ll be kind and smart like your mother. You’re going to love her so much. We already love you so much.” 

I let my eyes drift closed as a smile touched my lips. I resisted the urge to reach out and take Draco’s hand, in fear that he might become bashful about the situation. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A small bundle of warmth rested on my chest, peacefully sleeping. My hand rose and cradled the small thing, tears pricking my eyes. My other hand was still clinging to Draco’s. 

 Lucy Elizabeth Malfoy. 

There were tears in Draco’s eyes as he reached out and with the softest touch caressed her tiny head. 

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured. “You did so well,” 

Exhausted, I let my eyes close, knowing that all was right with the world. Lucy would grow up in a world free from the threat of Voldemort and Draco would be by my side to protect her. We had already bled and fought and now we would make this new world we fought for, right for her. 

A new legacy. 

A new hope. 

.

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[queen-lucy-the-valiant]

On my last rewatch of Prince Caspian, I wondered what it would be like to be one of the Narnian’s in the battle planning scene; watching the supposed High King suggest what is essentially a suicide mission. The fight is really between the High King, the myth come to life, and Prince Caspian, the Telmarine prince they’ve accepted as the leader of their rebellion; both plans offer hope, both plans might work, but both plans also seem like a stretch; the most likely outcome is that they all die. But no one is saying that the most likely outcome is death, they’re all just dancing around it. Caspian and Peter are both saying their plan has the highest chance of success, but neither of them are saying that the rebellion might fail, that everyone in the How might die in a few short days.

And there has to be a disconnect here; how many of the Narnians were like Trumpkin when he first met the Pevensies, how many of them assumed these apparent children wouldn’t be able to help them. They accept them, of course they accept them, Caspian himself is a child, if an old one. So you have this apparent child, claiming to be the high king of legend, suggesting an insane plan, and even though he’s sure the plan will work, maybe you can’t get over the fact he’s young, maybe you can’t get over the fact young usually means inexperienced. And during all of this, his youngest sister, supposedly a queen in her own right, is casually sitting on the stone table itself, and maybe this angers you, because no one has dared to touch the stone table, the place where Aslan died and was born again, because to do so would be to disrespect him; but there she sits, silent until she challenges her brother, silent until she voices the thought everyone is thinking but no one dares to say; “That’s what I’m worried about,” she says after the first pledge of ‘or die trying’ has been made, “You’re all acting like there’s only two options. Dying here, or dying there” she says. “I’m not sure you’ve really been listening, Lu,” the high king says, a little patronizingly, a little dismissively; and it occurs to you that maybe he cannot see past the child to the woman she used to be, as you cannot see past the child he appears to the man he used to be. If he cannot, how can you? Maybe you expect her to back down, this is the high king after all, but she has already been brave enough to voice what everyone else didn’t dare. So she doesn't back down; “No, you’re not listening” she says emphatically, “or have you forgotten who really defeated the white witch, Peter,” and she refers to an event a thousand years past, one so wrapped up in legends and myth that maybe the truth really has been forgotten, maybe everyone in the How has also forgotten who really defeated the White Witch. Or maybe you simply do not expect her to call on Alsan, when she appears to be so casually disrespecting him. “I think we’ve waited for Aslan long enough” the high king says, and then walks away, ending the argument, after all, they’ve already decided to attack the castle, what’s the point in arguing about it more. 

In this moment, Lucy is the only one thinking about Aslan, because everyone else agrees with Peter, they have waited for Aslan long enough, centuries of waiting while the Telmarines hunted them to near extinction, and now the kings and queens of old are here, surely sent in Aslan’s sted; they’ve decided it is time to act and the high king has offered a plan, something they can do, rather than continue to sit around and wait. He’s the high king, he’s so confident the plan will work, and it’s the only plan they have, so of course they do it, (and it seems like it might’ve worked if caspian understood that you can free people from the dungeons and execute miraz after you’ve managed to take the castle, but that’s not what this is about). 

I don’t know, it just seems like this moment would be really strange to see as a bystander; the Pevensies haven’t even been there that long, maybe a couple of days, so even if everyone accepted them as the kings and queens of old, they still don’t really know them, let alone understand them; it’s doubtful that the Pevensies they know from the stories are anything like the real Pevensies that stand before them. They’ve suddenly been confronted with kings and queens of legend who appear in the bodies of children, who look like young ones but behave like old ones, who saw the history of a thousand years ago, who are the history of a thousand years ago. Even if they believed the Pevensies are the kings and queens of old, maybe they’re finding it hard to stop discounting them as children; and then they see the high king himself do it, in the same breath as dismissing Aslan. In this moment they see that the high king is just like them; he to is avoiding the inevitability of death, dancing around it with grand plans and heroic deeds, and he fully believes they will work, after all, he’s never lost a battle before; but he’s avoiding it all the same, casting off Aslan as the rest of them seem to be doing; not intentionally, of course not, but they’ve waited, and waited, and he hasn’t come, so they will follow the high king who acts in Aslan’s name. And maybe in this moment they begin to stop discounting Lucy, as the youngest of the kings and queens, because she has not lost her faith in Aslan, while so many of them have, she is willing to wait for him as the rest of them are not.

I feel like we don’t talk about the point of view of the caspian era narnians enough; we talk about how strange it would be for the Pevensies, to come home and have home be unrecognizable, but we don’t talk about how desperate the caspian era narnian’s must have been to accept that four humans were their kings and queens of old, even with the cave paintings; we see more detailed in Cornelius's office, but how many of the narnian’s would have had access to that art? They put their lives in the hands of the Pevensies, on the faith that they are who they claim to be, on the faith that these children have more experiences than anyone else, and maybe it’s during this scene that the faith begins to become belief. Then they fail and everything falls apart again before they pull it together one last time, but that’s not my point. My point is, how desperate would you have to be to believe four strangers are the heroes out of your myths come to save you; how hard would it be for you to believe it, truly believe it, instead of just following along, hoping they succeed because everyone else has failed you.

this is very disjointed, so I hope you actually made it to the end and I thank you if you did, hope you enjoyed my random mutterings.

[luunaz]

[When you come back, part 2] Peter Pevensie

pairing: Peter Pevensie x reader

type: angst 🍂

warning: the death of the main character

part 1

The clash of swords and human speech could be heard outside the castle gates. You gripped your sword in your hands and looked back at your soldiers behind you. It was a small group of centaurs, fauns and beasts who were ready to die for Narnia and Aslan. They knew they had no chance of winning, but they were determined. The courage of the Narnians gave you strength. You closed your eyes and an image of Peter appeared in front of you. It made your heart ache…

…You went out into the courtyard of the castle and called out to Susan. She was standing by her horse and preparing bags for a short walk through the woods. As soon as she saw you, a warm smile lit up her face.

— There you are, — you breathed a sigh of relief, — you do remember that I need your help trying on a wedding dress? — Seeing your worried look, Susan took your hands in hers reassuringly.

— Of course! This trip won't take long time.

— I'd like to be there, too, — Peter said, suddenly appearing behind you. He hugged you and kissed you on the temple.

— No, you will see it only on the wedding day! — you tried to make a serious face, but the feeling of endless happiness was so strong that you immediately smiled and kissed Peter on the cheek.

— Get a room already! — Edmund, who had just entered the courtyard with Lucy, muttered in displeasure. The girls laughed. Peter reluctantly walked away and mounted his horse. He looked at you with his deep blue eyes. His gaze was always full of adoration and tenderness. You couldn't help but be fascinated by him.

— Don't miss us here. We'll be back soon.

— Yes, take care of Narnia while we're gone, — Edmund said, after which the kings and queens left Cair Paravel.

Neither of Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy returned that day. They did not return the next day either. The guards you sent to look for Pevensie found their horses deep in the woods, not far from Mr. Tumnus's house, near a lantern. All their belongings were still there, but the kings and queens were nowhere to be found. Is it worth describing the pain you felt in those days? Your wedding to Peter was a few months away. It was planned that the whole of Narnia would celebrate for several days. But the feast turned into mourning.

The first time you didn't leave your bedroom. The tears on your cheeks didn't have time to dry. You didn't understand what was going on. Where's Peter? Why did he leave you? Where did Edmund, Susan and Lucy go? You sent the best bloodhounds to look for them, but to no avail. Mr. Tumnus tried to help you in some way, but you refused to eat, walk, and socialize. There was an emptiness in your heart that was filled only with a lingering feeling of longing and sadness. You waited for Mr. Tumnus to come just to find out if there was any information about kings and queens, but the faun just sadly turned away.

One rainy evening, you decided to lock up all your feelings. The pain of losing loved ones has been tormenting you for too long. One of those memories was the beautiful wedding dress that you never wore. You picked up Peter's sword and tore the hem of your dress with one swing. You continued, and the tears continued to flow from your eyes. It felt like every blow was stabbing into your heart. When you fall on the floor, you felt a little better. There will be no more reminders of a happy future, so you can give up hope and move on.

So the years passed. The Narnians trusted you, so they chose you as their queen until the Pevensie return. You ordered the things of the kings and queens to be packed and hidden in a hiding place. Maybe they'll come back, but you should be with Narnia now. You took on this responsibility for them. The last time you saw Pevensie, you promised that you would take care of Narnia. Even if you have to give up your life…

You opened your eyes abruptly when the massive doors swung open with a loud bang. The Telmarines began to storm Cair Paravel. You waved your hand, giving the command to the archers to shoot. The dense line of soldiers thinned out a bit, but there were still too many of them. The Telmarines surrounded you, it was all over.

— You can't escape, Narnians, — the army commander said in disgust. He aimed his sword at you, — you will die first.

One of your soldiers tried to protect you, but you signaled for him to return to the ranks. Yes, it's possible that you and your squad will meet death here, but you've given the rest of the Narnians enough time to hide in the woods. Perhaps the kings and queens will return soon, then they can save Narnia again. But not you. The last thing you remember that day was the bright blue sky that could be seen through the ruined ceiling of the once beautiful Cair Paravel.

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

Alright everyone, buckle up. My Susan post talks about what happens to her after the story unfolds.

But what about the rest of the Pevensies?

Today, Lucy. ________________________________________

Lucy misses Narnia with every breath she takes.

England holds no magic, nothing as exasperating as the call of the fauns, the thrill of battle, the lightness that comes when she drinks too much meade.

Lucy comes back to an England in the middle of a war, is told to put up and shut up. Gone are the country days; Lucy is prepared for a normal life. And she manages. Mostly.

Because despite the quick wit and the inner light, that has only grown stronger, England can make little sense of the girl. A girl much wilder than the rest of them, much more polite.

Lucy takes to boarding school like a fish takes to dry land. No teacher ever sees the girl watching the board, and yet she never misses a word. Other girls do not understand her, this girl that only speaks in riddles and never wears shoes when it isn't mandatory.

Lucy, full of Aslan's words and eager to make something of herself, tries, really tries, to be friends with her schoolmates.

But her maturity goes far beyond being ahead on the school material. Her sense of morals and silver tongue do not allow for the backstabbing, gossiping girls that every boarding school has to cast her out, but she doesn't really belong, neither.

Everyone knows Lucy always listens. Few stay in her company long enough to figure out she also understands. No 13 year old girl should know that much about the war economy. Or about anything, really.

She's wild. Her books are full of drawings, her speech contains figures of speech no one has ever heard.

At school they take self-defense lessons one day -the war could come to England, after all- and Lucy cleaves a wooden block clean in two.

Her partner doesn't even see her move her leg.

Lucy always lifts her finger when drinking tea, has never broken a promise. She sits straight up in her chair, doesn't make a single error when she speaks. She doesn't get into fights with other girls, no matter how hard they try. It is impossible to outmanouver her verbally.

Everyone wonders if her brothers taught her to curse along with the debate training she has obvioulsy had.

Well-behaved isn't the word; Lucy is peculiar.

The only one who gets it, aside from Susan, is her dancing instructor. The man had taught royalty, ages ago. He moves four times the pace with her as he does with the rest of the class. There is an elegance to her, once you get used to the wandering eyes and the bare feet.

Lucy moves like a hurricane on legs. He teaches her tango, ballroom. Soon he has nothing to offer but better instructors. Lucy never misses a step. When dancing, her eyes are blazing. She is a district champion before the age of 14; on course to be a world champion before 18.

The old man does tell stories, however. Of when he was a young man, when he taught the queen. Lucy only feels alive then.

She moves through the years normally. In time, girls come to respect her maturity, learn not to ask who taught her how to ride horses and dance and throw knives. Lucy is always positive, rarely without a smile. She's not diplomatic like her sister. People come to her nonetheless. It feels impossible to remain somber in her presence. Yet she stays ahead of her peers. She isn't mature earlier, but rather just more.

Like she's lived another life.

The boys take notice, too. She has an inner light that shines very brightly, seems to believe in and embody magic. They try to woo her during gala's and dancing competitions, making bets among themselves who can get her to dance. Rarely do they succeed; Lucy sees through them almost instantly. Only when true and without ulterior motive does she accept invitations for dinner, drinks or dancing. And not without reason; a kiss from her is a nightcap unlike anything else.

Lucy's and the Pevensies' personal history becomes somewhat of an urban legend. Everyone has a theory, no one ever knows. One of the girls gets the bright idea to steal Lucy's diary from her room when she is away, but the stories are in a language none of them can read.

The next day, the girl doesn't show up. She's suddely gotten acne so bad she needs to take medication for it. Lucy's diary remains untouched for the rest of her years in the boarding school.

She has strange friends. Old professors, middleaged women, younger acquitances. They are all wild and like her. Among themselves they speak a language no one understands. Everyone thinks it must be an As(l)ian one.

The bond with her sister deteriorates over the years; at the end of her time there they are not close like they were at the beginning. Every girl in her dorm has a crush on one of the Pevensie brothers, however. They visit often, seem taller than they should.

Lucy smiles and dances and flirts and lives. But she is the one that misses magic the most. She sees the looks, feels the distance. She is the sun, but while everyone feels her warmth, none come too close.

When the spectre appears to warn them of problems in Narnia she finally feels like herself again. A queen of old, called on for aid. She jumps at the chance. She finds the rings, gets on the train.

When it crashes, she is thinking of Narnia.

[portrait-of-ariel]

Qimir Headcanons

—

• He was born in 166 BBY on Jedha - a planet located in the Mid Rim. Rich in kyber crystals, it is also long regarded as a holy land of both ancient and failed religions.

• His mother died from severe blood loss, minutes after giving birth to him.

• He and his two brothers are raised by their widowed father, Aslan—a force-sensitive commoner with a history of mental heath issues. The strain of destitute living conditions, raising three children, and death of his wife worsen his long-declining mental state. He begins hearing voices, beating the children, and unintentionally torturing them with his powers.

• One fateful day, Aslan snaps and strangles the oldest boy with his bare hands. The middle child tries to protect himself and his little brother, wielding a knife. The six year old watches in horror as his father quickly disarms his brother, tosses the blade, and beats the child to death. Now the only one left, his powers are awakened just in time to spare his life. He force-throws Aslan against the wall and knocks him out. In a fit of rage, he grabs the knife and drives it into Aslan’s face dozens of times … until he’s unrecognizable.

• Vernestra Rwoh happens upon the blood-splattered child days after the massacre, sleeping on the street. She senses the trauma, fear, and darkness inside him and offers to take him in. She tries making conversation with him but he repeatedly murmurs, “Qimir” - the name of the middle brother who died protecting him. Vernestra asks him if that’s his name and he lies that it is. She senses the immensity of his powers, but is unable to read his thoughts. She’s very concerned but can’t get him to explain what happened to him or what he’d done. Soon after, she takes him to Coruscant in secret.

—

I keep toying with the idea of writing a fanfic but it’s so much work lol. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t 🤷🏾‍♀️.

[queenlucythevaliant]

harder than you think

i. When the Narnians stole Edmund away from beneath the Witch's blade, they told him he was safe. This wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

ii. They brought him to the Stone Table. It was night. Edmund doubted very much that he would find safety there, for he still recoiled at the name of Aslan. He slept fitfully and woke the next morning before the sun was up.

iii. A sliver of gold just beyond the tent flap captured his attention, there in the dark. Unaccountably, Edmund felt the urge to rise and go towards it.

iv. And there was Aslan, who was supposed to be fearsome, supposed to be dangerous, supposed to be powerful, and he was he was he was. Dimly, Edmund felt himself hitting the ground.

v. But then Aslan said, “Come, Son of Adam. Let us walk a while, and reason together.”

vi. And as they walked together, in the cool dewy grass of early morning, the Lion told Edmund everything that he had ever done.

vii. They were standing in front of the Table when the conversation turned. Aslan spoke a riddle of a house blasted into rubble which he would piece back together overnight. He spoke of flesh being pierced, blood being shed, and of rejected stones being used for new foundations. He spoke about water welling up forever, washing you clean of everything you ever did wrong, all the blood that you ever thought of shedding, everything you ever tried to steal, and a river that carries you home when you can't walk anymore and spits you out brand new when it reaches the sea.

viii. Edmund's head swam. Silently, he yearned for the wisdom to understand what he was being told; or, failing that, at least to remember it for as long as it took him to puzzle it out.

ix. And then, the Witch. Then, the battle. The thrones. A year passed, and winter came. In its time, it melted back to glorious spring.

x. “Edmund,” said Lucy one day. “There's something we need to tell you.” She and Susan were cloaked in springtime gossamer, like fairy queens in poems he only half remembered. They sat on the window seat in his study, holding hands white-knuckled: his two beloved sisters.

xi. “It's about Aslan,” Susan said. “And the White Witch, and how he made her renounce her claim on your blood. The night before Beruna, he went back to the Stone Table.”

xii. “He let her kill him,” Lucy cut in. “Instead of you. And then, because he hadn't done anything wrong, the Emperor's Deeper Magic brought him back to life.”

xiii. “We've been arguing all year about how much to tell you,” said Susan wryly. Then, a little gentler, “We don't want to hurt you, but we feel you ought to be told what he did for you.”

xiv. And Edmund, who had never forgotten what Aslan told him on that cool, dewy morning before the sun came up, shut his eyes and whispered, “I know.”

xv. I know, he said. I know that he died. I know that he did it for me. I know he lived again because I saw him the next day, and the next, and the next. I think I know what it means - or at least, I know the shape of it.

xvi. “Oh,” said Lucy. “We should have realized that he would have told you himself.”

xvii. “Yes. But please, tell me the story all the same.”

[thehobbitchronicles]

You should date a girl who reads.

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

if you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

— Rosemarie Urquico

[blueberrywhale123]

Shasta to Cor

Do you ever think about the Horse and His Boy and just get floored by the biblical parallels?? Cuz of course they're there, C.S. Lewis wrote them all to be allegorical on some level and even this book has it though it's not as obvious as the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. But when Shasta starts out he's a poor boy that has been condemned to a life of slavery and is given the "good news" that there is hope and freedom and safety in Narnia (salvation). So he goes with Bree, by faith, trusting that when he reaches the end, he will be free.

And when he gets there to the north, he has an encounter with Aslan - one of his many but this time he can see Him for who He really is - the King who has protected him and guided him and was waiting for this moment to speak with him.

And later Shasta discovers he's a prince (the son of the King, if you will) and that he has a new name, Cor, to go with his new clothes and new life. No longer is he a slave but now royalty. He has been given a new name to do away with the former things. His slave clothes are gone and replaced with royal garments.

And one day we will be given new names by Jesus!

I hope this makes sense but I just love this parallel with Shasta/Cor's story and salvation.