Secret Santa: Day 1
Dec. 24th, 2010 04:57 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
writeonkate.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
nffr_partyHappy Christmas Eve!!!
Below please find the first 3 gifts of NFFR's first ever Secret Santa. I want to extend a sincere thank-you to EVERYONE involved. To all the staff for their fervent support, to all the participants for making this possible, and especially to the entire Narnia community: You guys are pretty much the most awesome crowd ever. As I sit here waiting to open Christmas presents from my family, I feel blessed to be a part of this extended NFFR family of great people.
Without further ado, start checking here daily for when your stocking shows! We're not doing these in any particular order, so be sure to check back soon!
A gift for Justine Rohm
~ Among The Stars ~
A/N: This is a gift-fic for Justine Rohm, a Narnia fan who, for Christmas, asked
for a fic about Rilian. In the spirit of the holiday, I dedicate this piece to her.
They call it madness.
During the day, I wear a black suit of armor with a helmet and visor, so that no
one can see my face. I am silent. I am attentive. I am obedient. I am calm. I
am a man unnamed and unknown.
At night, I rave. I beg to be released from this chair. I struggle. I foam. I
scream.
And it is the only time when I am not mad.
For then my body is freed of that cursed movable prison of armor. Freed of the
spell of that equally cursed Witch who styles herself a Lady. At night, her half-
breed magic is imperfect. She cannot imprison me then, when the light of my
ancestors shines on the world.
By Aslan’s grace, my heart is then free to fly back to Narnia. Free to soar
through the stars which run through my blood. I remember the hills and fells of
my country, and I long for the chance, just one chance with my own eyes, to see
the stars again.
-#-
Rilian rode straight in his saddle at the Witch’s side, mute as ever even though
he was screaming inside his skin. The Witch knew of his struggles—he saw the
knowledge on her face, the secret smile that others always took for benevolent
sweetness. A Jinn’s curse. He’d heard of them, in the stories of old, but never
believed they were more than frightening fairytales until now. The Witch had
learned the art, if not perfected it. He could not move a muscle nor speak a word
except that which she chose for him, and now, she bade him be silent and still.
For there were travelers approaching.
His hopes soared for a moment, but a moment only. The tall man-frog lumbering
up the road had with him only two human children, mere pups. They could not
help him. They would not even sense his distress, trapped inside this prison of
steel and spellwork.
The Witch spoke kindly to them. He heard the danger in her words—no stranger,
he, after ten years of being forced to her will. With despair, he saw the smiles of
gratitude on the children’s faces as the Witch sent them to what would be an ugly
death. Rilian turned his eyes to the Marsh-wiggle, whose gaze had not moved
from the Witch.
In the creature’s eyes was a spark of suspicion, which could be borne only by
a lifetime of dark views of the world. Rilian had never worn such a cheerless
mantle until his imprisonment. He had ever been hopeful, ever trustful of the
good in people. His parents had done him a fault—yes, a grievous one—by
blinding him to the evil present in the hearts of all men ... and the awful truth that
some were too weak to refute it. He had never learned such a lesson until it was
much too late.
But this creature ... he knew. In his bearing was a suspicion of things turning
out for the worst. But in the way he stood, just ahead of the children, was the
willingness to protect them from it. Rilian’s throat clenched with the need to cry
a warning. He stared hard at the man-frog, willing him to understand the danger.
Aslan protect them.
And then, as if the Lion had heard Rilian’s plea, the Marsh-wiggle gave him a
last, lingering look before continuing with his young companions up the road.
Rilian turned his gaze to the sky just as the first flakes of a fresh snow began to
fall on Ettinsmoor.
-#-
They are here, they are here! Thank you, Aslan, for seeing them safe. Rilian
wanted to crow with joy, for the arrival of the Marsh-wiggle and his human-child
friends must surely mean that Aslan had heard Rilian’s silent pleas for their
safety after all. But his spellbound throat gave no glad shout, only simpering
words of adoration as he told them of the Lady of the Green Kirtle.
Lady, Lady! No Lady at all, but a thousand things that would not bear repeating
if he had the free use of his tongue. He hated that he was made to speak well of
her. Hated that he could see what the newcomers thought of him on their faces
as they left him alone in the room with the detestable chair. They thought him a
fool, a gull, a simpleton who could not see of what evil she was made. He could,
he could, and he would break himself to pieces if only he could say so!
As he closed his eyes and sat back in the silver chair that night, he prayed. He
had no concept of time, other than that it had recently snowed. Had Christmas
come and gone yet? It was hard to believe Christmas existed, somewhere out
there in the world.
He was alone. Alone with a spell which nightly loosened its grip, only to torment
him with the promise of escape before regaining its strength again. Almost a
punishment for his recklessness.
After minutes or hours of futile struggle—he did not know how long—he stilled.
At last, a sobering weight settled in his soul. It was not his parents’ fault that he
had succumbed to this cursed Witch.
The blame was all his own.
Tears stung his eyes. He had been wrong, so wrong to throw all sense to the
wind and hunt the serpent. Wrong to seek reparation for his capture by placing
the guilt on others all these years. He should have known how to look for the
evil himself. He should have known not to chase phantoms in his arrogant need
to avenge his mother. Please, he thought desperately. If I may have no other
gift all the rest of my life, please free me of this crushing prison, which I have
fashioned out of my own foolhardy need for empty vengeance. Please let me go
home and beg the forgiveness of my father. If I had not been so blind and self-
righteous, I might be home still, guarding my country by his side.
Speak my name, said a voice in his head, so loud it drowned out Rilian’s
despairing moans.
Rilian froze. He ceased rubbing his fingers raw, trying to undo the ropes which
held him in his chair. He strained to hear. Had the voice come from somewhere
outside the room, or from the feverish ravings in his head? Had the spells finally
won out and driven him mad after all?
He had no time to think on it, because an instant later, the Marsh-wiggle and
the children returned to the room. The spell upon Rilian forced him to tell the
travelers what the Witch would want him to say: to keep him in his hated chair.
Then the voice in his head gave a low growl and repeated, Speak my name, Son
of Adam and blood of the stars! Time grows short.
Wild with the need to escape before the spell regained its force, Rilian demanded
the travelers release him. They lingered, paused, debated. He tried again, and
still they faltered. The Lion in his head roared—for it could be no other than
Aslan—and the words burst forth from Rilian’s mouth: By Aslan himself, I charge
you, free me!
-#-
He was free. Free, and under his own power, for the first time in ten years. All
during their defeat of the Witch and escape from Underland, Rilian could scarely
speak for the clutching tightness in his throat. And now, as he paused at the
opening of what he now knew to be a tunnel to the Overland, breath seemed to
have deserted him as well as speech. He could no more speak now than he had
been able under the Witch’s spells.
Moonlight spilled through the opening of the tunnel. Rilian sagged against his
horse’s side with tears burning at the backs of his eyes. Slowly, so slowly, he
stepped out of the tunnel.
Starlight.
He raised his eyes to the sky. The heavens glimmered with stars—the Ship, the
Leopard, the Hammer. Wondering, Rilian led the horses out of the tunnel. The
air was frigid, and bluish light spilled down onto a blanket of snow. He closed
his eyes and bathed in the starglow, letting it wash the last traces of the Witch’s
spells from his heart. Hello, my Mother, he thought. For he knew now that she
had never gone from him, but returned to her place in the sky to grow young
again. Unseen, but felt with a power that flowed through him on his mother’s
grace. Stars did not die, could not die. Rilian sucked the cold air into his chest
with a glad smile.
It didn’t matter if Christmas had come and gone. Every day from here on that he
breathed free air, every day that he lived to guard innocents from harm, he would
treat it as Christmas.
He dropped to his knees in the snow and seized handfuls of it in his fists, then
hugged the stuff to his chest, not minding the cold seeping through his clothes.
“Thank you,” he gasped out, both to the Narnian creatures around him and to
the Lion whose voice still filled his being.
-#-
King Caspian’s ship returned to Narnia on Christmas Day. The snow had come
late that year. The Dance of the First Snow, which Rilian and his companions
had come upon in their emergence from the Underland, was the beginning of a
great blow of snowfall that winter. Rilian blessed every flake that fell from the
wide, open sky.
When his father’s entourage reached the quay, Rilian knew something was
wrong. The King of Narnia, Caspian, Tenth of that Name, lay dying on his litter.
Aslan was calling him home to His Country. Rilian bent by his aged father’s side,
struck mute for a moment in his grief at their lost years. “Forgive me, father. I
was blind, I was reckless to seek out that serpent. I have been a great fool.”
With a smile, Caspian laid a hand on Rilian’s head. “Be at peace, my son. No
man can be wise who has not first learned foolishness.” He kissed Rilian’s hand.
“Rule with your wisdom, Rilian, King of Narnia. I go now into the Lion’s paws.”
And the king’s white head dropped back to the pillows, and he was gone.
-#-
The Narnians gave Rilian the title “Disenchanted” and lived fully and happily
under his monarchy. Some grumbled about his chief advisor, a lanky Marsh-
wiggle named Puddleglum, whose gloomy outlook could scarcely be borne.
Rilian just laughed and said he could not find a wiser creature in all the worlds
put together.
Some called King Rilian eccentric, or unusual, or even (at times, and surely not
within his earshot) strange. But no one could deny his good heart or his fierce
protection of the innocent from all danger. And no one who knew him ever
questioned the enchanted, ever-lush Christmas tree that stood every day of his
reign in the Great Hall of Cair Paravel. It was decorated with shining candles and
bright ornaments. And at the top, gleaming with a breathtaking magical light as if
of its own making, was a beautiful star.
~ The End ~
A gift for Fierce Queen
Peter Pevensie walked blearily down the moonlit hall. Ever since they’d returned to England,
he’d found it difficult to sleep through the night. He supposed it had something to do with the fact
that he had been previously used to things that were fit for-well, for a king. Now as he walked
toward the large stained glass window that reminded him of his beloved castle, Cair Paravel, he
heard the sound of a muffled cry. Curiously, he went in search of the source, which just happened to
be the spot he was headed toward. Apparently it didn’t remind only him of their glorious castle by
the sea.
He squinted trying to figure out which one of his sisters was sitting on the window seat
sobbing. While Edmund was not opposed to showing emotion when needed, the sound was
definitely feminine. Peter shook his head; they were in England, they were children again. His
sisters, while still beautiful, were no longer the stunning Queens that princes sought to make their
brides. That meant that the figure had to be Susan. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her
dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders.
“Su?” Peter whispered.
“Peter?” Susan sniffed trying to cease the tears streaming down her face. “What are you
doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep, what’s wrong?” Peter asked, refusing to be distracted. Knowing Susan,
she’d make sure that everyone else was taken care of before looking after herself. He’d seen her
neglect her rest until sickness took over and she was forced to succumb to the healer’s ministrations.
“Why did He send us back here?” Susan asked, interrupting Peter’s memories.
“I wish I knew. But He has his reasons, I’m sure. Maybe we were simply sent there to
establish peace.”
“But if that were true, why did He not send us back sooner? Why wait until we’d built up
relationships and them rip them away? Did we make Him mad?”
“I don’t know, I really haven’t a clue why He sent us here to grow up all over again. But the
fact remains that he did, so perhaps we just need to make the best of it until we can ask him.”
Susan sniffed again and looked up at her brother with tear filled eyes. “You really think so?”
she asked. “Do you really think we could go back?”
“I think it’s a very distinct possibility. You remember what the professor said, right?”
“Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia.”
“He did say that, but I actually meant that we shouldn’t go looking for it. When Aslan calls
for us to come home, we will go.”
“What if the time comes and I don’t want to go back?”
“Why wouldn’t you want to go home?” Peter asked, a horrified expression washing over his
fair features.
“Not now of course, I miss it much too badly. But what if he waits until we’re grown with our
own children; how could we just abandon them like that? Like d—,” Susan stopped short shocked by
what she had almost said.
“Like Dad did,” Peter finished for her.
“Yeah, he knew we needed him, didn’t he?” She asked looking up at her brother.
“Yes, his country needed him as well though. If the Nazi’s invade, then he wouldn’t have a
family to need him. You know what that’s like,” Peter smiled sympathetically.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Have I ever led you wrong before?”
“Not intentionally.” She smiled.
“Aren’t you the funny one of the family?”
“Somebody has to be,” Susan said yawning as she stood.
“Good night Su, may the Lion guard your sleep,” Peter whispered pulling her into an embrace.
“May your dreams be filled with His face,” Susan replied using the traditional Narnian
manner of bidding a loved one goodnight as she stepped away from him. Peter watched her walk
down the hall to the room she shared with Lucy before he sat on the window seat she’d occupied a
moment before.
“Aslan, look after her. Please let her know you still see us; that Narnia hasn’t forgotten her
Gentle Queen,” Peter asked the Lion. He couldn’t be sure that Aslan even existed in this world, but
he was somehow certain that he’d been heard.
Below please find the first 3 gifts of NFFR's first ever Secret Santa. I want to extend a sincere thank-you to EVERYONE involved. To all the staff for their fervent support, to all the participants for making this possible, and especially to the entire Narnia community: You guys are pretty much the most awesome crowd ever. As I sit here waiting to open Christmas presents from my family, I feel blessed to be a part of this extended NFFR family of great people.
Without further ado, start checking here daily for when your stocking shows! We're not doing these in any particular order, so be sure to check back soon!
A gift for Justine Rohm
~ Among The Stars ~
A/N: This is a gift-fic for Justine Rohm, a Narnia fan who, for Christmas, asked
for a fic about Rilian. In the spirit of the holiday, I dedicate this piece to her.
They call it madness.
During the day, I wear a black suit of armor with a helmet and visor, so that no
one can see my face. I am silent. I am attentive. I am obedient. I am calm. I
am a man unnamed and unknown.
At night, I rave. I beg to be released from this chair. I struggle. I foam. I
scream.
And it is the only time when I am not mad.
For then my body is freed of that cursed movable prison of armor. Freed of the
spell of that equally cursed Witch who styles herself a Lady. At night, her half-
breed magic is imperfect. She cannot imprison me then, when the light of my
ancestors shines on the world.
By Aslan’s grace, my heart is then free to fly back to Narnia. Free to soar
through the stars which run through my blood. I remember the hills and fells of
my country, and I long for the chance, just one chance with my own eyes, to see
the stars again.
-#-
Rilian rode straight in his saddle at the Witch’s side, mute as ever even though
he was screaming inside his skin. The Witch knew of his struggles—he saw the
knowledge on her face, the secret smile that others always took for benevolent
sweetness. A Jinn’s curse. He’d heard of them, in the stories of old, but never
believed they were more than frightening fairytales until now. The Witch had
learned the art, if not perfected it. He could not move a muscle nor speak a word
except that which she chose for him, and now, she bade him be silent and still.
For there were travelers approaching.
His hopes soared for a moment, but a moment only. The tall man-frog lumbering
up the road had with him only two human children, mere pups. They could not
help him. They would not even sense his distress, trapped inside this prison of
steel and spellwork.
The Witch spoke kindly to them. He heard the danger in her words—no stranger,
he, after ten years of being forced to her will. With despair, he saw the smiles of
gratitude on the children’s faces as the Witch sent them to what would be an ugly
death. Rilian turned his eyes to the Marsh-wiggle, whose gaze had not moved
from the Witch.
In the creature’s eyes was a spark of suspicion, which could be borne only by
a lifetime of dark views of the world. Rilian had never worn such a cheerless
mantle until his imprisonment. He had ever been hopeful, ever trustful of the
good in people. His parents had done him a fault—yes, a grievous one—by
blinding him to the evil present in the hearts of all men ... and the awful truth that
some were too weak to refute it. He had never learned such a lesson until it was
much too late.
But this creature ... he knew. In his bearing was a suspicion of things turning
out for the worst. But in the way he stood, just ahead of the children, was the
willingness to protect them from it. Rilian’s throat clenched with the need to cry
a warning. He stared hard at the man-frog, willing him to understand the danger.
Aslan protect them.
And then, as if the Lion had heard Rilian’s plea, the Marsh-wiggle gave him a
last, lingering look before continuing with his young companions up the road.
Rilian turned his gaze to the sky just as the first flakes of a fresh snow began to
fall on Ettinsmoor.
-#-
They are here, they are here! Thank you, Aslan, for seeing them safe. Rilian
wanted to crow with joy, for the arrival of the Marsh-wiggle and his human-child
friends must surely mean that Aslan had heard Rilian’s silent pleas for their
safety after all. But his spellbound throat gave no glad shout, only simpering
words of adoration as he told them of the Lady of the Green Kirtle.
Lady, Lady! No Lady at all, but a thousand things that would not bear repeating
if he had the free use of his tongue. He hated that he was made to speak well of
her. Hated that he could see what the newcomers thought of him on their faces
as they left him alone in the room with the detestable chair. They thought him a
fool, a gull, a simpleton who could not see of what evil she was made. He could,
he could, and he would break himself to pieces if only he could say so!
As he closed his eyes and sat back in the silver chair that night, he prayed. He
had no concept of time, other than that it had recently snowed. Had Christmas
come and gone yet? It was hard to believe Christmas existed, somewhere out
there in the world.
He was alone. Alone with a spell which nightly loosened its grip, only to torment
him with the promise of escape before regaining its strength again. Almost a
punishment for his recklessness.
After minutes or hours of futile struggle—he did not know how long—he stilled.
At last, a sobering weight settled in his soul. It was not his parents’ fault that he
had succumbed to this cursed Witch.
The blame was all his own.
Tears stung his eyes. He had been wrong, so wrong to throw all sense to the
wind and hunt the serpent. Wrong to seek reparation for his capture by placing
the guilt on others all these years. He should have known how to look for the
evil himself. He should have known not to chase phantoms in his arrogant need
to avenge his mother. Please, he thought desperately. If I may have no other
gift all the rest of my life, please free me of this crushing prison, which I have
fashioned out of my own foolhardy need for empty vengeance. Please let me go
home and beg the forgiveness of my father. If I had not been so blind and self-
righteous, I might be home still, guarding my country by his side.
Speak my name, said a voice in his head, so loud it drowned out Rilian’s
despairing moans.
Rilian froze. He ceased rubbing his fingers raw, trying to undo the ropes which
held him in his chair. He strained to hear. Had the voice come from somewhere
outside the room, or from the feverish ravings in his head? Had the spells finally
won out and driven him mad after all?
He had no time to think on it, because an instant later, the Marsh-wiggle and
the children returned to the room. The spell upon Rilian forced him to tell the
travelers what the Witch would want him to say: to keep him in his hated chair.
Then the voice in his head gave a low growl and repeated, Speak my name, Son
of Adam and blood of the stars! Time grows short.
Wild with the need to escape before the spell regained its force, Rilian demanded
the travelers release him. They lingered, paused, debated. He tried again, and
still they faltered. The Lion in his head roared—for it could be no other than
Aslan—and the words burst forth from Rilian’s mouth: By Aslan himself, I charge
you, free me!
-#-
He was free. Free, and under his own power, for the first time in ten years. All
during their defeat of the Witch and escape from Underland, Rilian could scarely
speak for the clutching tightness in his throat. And now, as he paused at the
opening of what he now knew to be a tunnel to the Overland, breath seemed to
have deserted him as well as speech. He could no more speak now than he had
been able under the Witch’s spells.
Moonlight spilled through the opening of the tunnel. Rilian sagged against his
horse’s side with tears burning at the backs of his eyes. Slowly, so slowly, he
stepped out of the tunnel.
Starlight.
He raised his eyes to the sky. The heavens glimmered with stars—the Ship, the
Leopard, the Hammer. Wondering, Rilian led the horses out of the tunnel. The
air was frigid, and bluish light spilled down onto a blanket of snow. He closed
his eyes and bathed in the starglow, letting it wash the last traces of the Witch’s
spells from his heart. Hello, my Mother, he thought. For he knew now that she
had never gone from him, but returned to her place in the sky to grow young
again. Unseen, but felt with a power that flowed through him on his mother’s
grace. Stars did not die, could not die. Rilian sucked the cold air into his chest
with a glad smile.
It didn’t matter if Christmas had come and gone. Every day from here on that he
breathed free air, every day that he lived to guard innocents from harm, he would
treat it as Christmas.
He dropped to his knees in the snow and seized handfuls of it in his fists, then
hugged the stuff to his chest, not minding the cold seeping through his clothes.
“Thank you,” he gasped out, both to the Narnian creatures around him and to
the Lion whose voice still filled his being.
-#-
King Caspian’s ship returned to Narnia on Christmas Day. The snow had come
late that year. The Dance of the First Snow, which Rilian and his companions
had come upon in their emergence from the Underland, was the beginning of a
great blow of snowfall that winter. Rilian blessed every flake that fell from the
wide, open sky.
When his father’s entourage reached the quay, Rilian knew something was
wrong. The King of Narnia, Caspian, Tenth of that Name, lay dying on his litter.
Aslan was calling him home to His Country. Rilian bent by his aged father’s side,
struck mute for a moment in his grief at their lost years. “Forgive me, father. I
was blind, I was reckless to seek out that serpent. I have been a great fool.”
With a smile, Caspian laid a hand on Rilian’s head. “Be at peace, my son. No
man can be wise who has not first learned foolishness.” He kissed Rilian’s hand.
“Rule with your wisdom, Rilian, King of Narnia. I go now into the Lion’s paws.”
And the king’s white head dropped back to the pillows, and he was gone.
-#-
The Narnians gave Rilian the title “Disenchanted” and lived fully and happily
under his monarchy. Some grumbled about his chief advisor, a lanky Marsh-
wiggle named Puddleglum, whose gloomy outlook could scarcely be borne.
Rilian just laughed and said he could not find a wiser creature in all the worlds
put together.
Some called King Rilian eccentric, or unusual, or even (at times, and surely not
within his earshot) strange. But no one could deny his good heart or his fierce
protection of the innocent from all danger. And no one who knew him ever
questioned the enchanted, ever-lush Christmas tree that stood every day of his
reign in the Great Hall of Cair Paravel. It was decorated with shining candles and
bright ornaments. And at the top, gleaming with a breathtaking magical light as if
of its own making, was a beautiful star.
~ The End ~
A gift for Fierce Queen
Peter Pevensie walked blearily down the moonlit hall. Ever since they’d returned to England,
he’d found it difficult to sleep through the night. He supposed it had something to do with the fact
that he had been previously used to things that were fit for-well, for a king. Now as he walked
toward the large stained glass window that reminded him of his beloved castle, Cair Paravel, he
heard the sound of a muffled cry. Curiously, he went in search of the source, which just happened to
be the spot he was headed toward. Apparently it didn’t remind only him of their glorious castle by
the sea.
He squinted trying to figure out which one of his sisters was sitting on the window seat
sobbing. While Edmund was not opposed to showing emotion when needed, the sound was
definitely feminine. Peter shook his head; they were in England, they were children again. His
sisters, while still beautiful, were no longer the stunning Queens that princes sought to make their
brides. That meant that the figure had to be Susan. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her
dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders.
“Su?” Peter whispered.
“Peter?” Susan sniffed trying to cease the tears streaming down her face. “What are you
doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep, what’s wrong?” Peter asked, refusing to be distracted. Knowing Susan,
she’d make sure that everyone else was taken care of before looking after herself. He’d seen her
neglect her rest until sickness took over and she was forced to succumb to the healer’s ministrations.
“Why did He send us back here?” Susan asked, interrupting Peter’s memories.
“I wish I knew. But He has his reasons, I’m sure. Maybe we were simply sent there to
establish peace.”
“But if that were true, why did He not send us back sooner? Why wait until we’d built up
relationships and them rip them away? Did we make Him mad?”
“I don’t know, I really haven’t a clue why He sent us here to grow up all over again. But the
fact remains that he did, so perhaps we just need to make the best of it until we can ask him.”
Susan sniffed again and looked up at her brother with tear filled eyes. “You really think so?”
she asked. “Do you really think we could go back?”
“I think it’s a very distinct possibility. You remember what the professor said, right?”
“Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia.”
“He did say that, but I actually meant that we shouldn’t go looking for it. When Aslan calls
for us to come home, we will go.”
“What if the time comes and I don’t want to go back?”
“Why wouldn’t you want to go home?” Peter asked, a horrified expression washing over his
fair features.
“Not now of course, I miss it much too badly. But what if he waits until we’re grown with our
own children; how could we just abandon them like that? Like d—,” Susan stopped short shocked by
what she had almost said.
“Like Dad did,” Peter finished for her.
“Yeah, he knew we needed him, didn’t he?” She asked looking up at her brother.
“Yes, his country needed him as well though. If the Nazi’s invade, then he wouldn’t have a
family to need him. You know what that’s like,” Peter smiled sympathetically.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Have I ever led you wrong before?”
“Not intentionally.” She smiled.
“Aren’t you the funny one of the family?”
“Somebody has to be,” Susan said yawning as she stood.
“Good night Su, may the Lion guard your sleep,” Peter whispered pulling her into an embrace.
“May your dreams be filled with His face,” Susan replied using the traditional Narnian
manner of bidding a loved one goodnight as she stepped away from him. Peter watched her walk
down the hall to the room she shared with Lucy before he sat on the window seat she’d occupied a
moment before.
“Aslan, look after her. Please let her know you still see us; that Narnia hasn’t forgotten her
Gentle Queen,” Peter asked the Lion. He couldn’t be sure that Aslan even existed in this world, but
he was somehow certain that he’d been heard.
Please remember not to reveal yourselves until the new year! Happy Holidays!!
~Kate and Meto
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Re: A girft for Fierce Queen
Date: 2010-12-25 12:21 am (UTC)Aslan's Blessings and Merry Christmas!
~Fierce
no subject
Date: 2010-12-26 03:45 am (UTC)Wonderful fics, too, the Santas did an amazing job! Thanks for your work, NFFR elves!
no subject
Date: 2010-12-27 11:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-28 08:37 pm (UTC)The Rilian fic, my secret writer, is so lovely and dark and captures both Rilian's despair and his hope for deliverance. The most beautiful lines are, Hello, my Mother, he thought. For he knew now that she had never gone from him, but returned to her place in the sky to grow young again. Unseen, but felt with a power that flowed through him on his mother’s grace. Stars did not die, could not die.
And the Peter & Susan fic is so sweet and sad and really just begs for expansion. Poor Susan, who wants to return but is also so mindful of the pain that might come if she had leave those she loved.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 08:31 pm (UTC)Thank you so much!
Wise Queen
aka Varna