Kings for a Little Time (2/2)
Fandom: Supernatural/Chronicles of Narnia
Title: Kings for a Little Time
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Sam, Dean, various Narnians
Category: Drama, crossover, a touch of hurt/comfort, bits of crackified humor
Rating: PG/K+
Spoilers: 3.16
Summary: “Dude, of all the ways I imagined you coming for me, that was never one of them.” “With a giant talking lion? Yeah, me neither.”
Word Count: 2555
Disclaimer: I’m sorry for making you roll over in your grave, Mr. Lewis. I know this doesn’t belong to me and I’m being a very naughty girl. :(
Author’s Note: I am done now. If you want more you should write it yourself. (And then let me know, because I am morbidly curious.) It’s back to JACKNDEAN for me.
Narnia was changing them. Sam could see it in his brother and feel it in himself. Maybe it was something in the air, the water, both so incredibly pure. Maybe it was the atmosphere of peace, the kindness of the inhabitants, the beauty of the nature surrounding them, or the undeniable white magic that underpinned everything about this world. Whatever it was, it was powerful.
Both of them felt stronger and healthier than ever, once Dean had fully recovered from his time in Hell. They could run farther, jump higher, laugh longer. All of their senses were sharp, fully tuned in to enjoying what each moment had to offer. They poured themselves into each waking hour and slept hard and soundly every night.
There was a joy in Sam now that made waking up every day a new pleasure. And he knew that the same joy was in Dean, too, because while Dean didn't smile as often anymore, when he did it was almost always real, full and wide, not sarcastic or ironic or false, hiding his true feelings.
Everything about Dean seemed a little deeper, a little softer and gentler. He'd never been a harsh man, but it astonished Sam now to watch how he interacted with the talking animals, the dryads and naiads, the fauns and dwarfs and centaurs. There was a respect there, a generosity and giving, that had always before been reserved for his family alone.
Once, Sam joked lightly about Dean "getting it on" with the nymphs, and his brother made a face, as if the thought had never, ever occurred to him. "Dude, they're made of wood. How would that even work? Besides, it would just be wrong."
Sam leaned back a little in confusion. Okay, he'd totally been kidding, but he had thought that his brother would tease back, not bristle like this, so instantly defensive of his woodland groupies. "Hey, man, I'm just saying that they really, really like you."
"It's not their fault, Sam. It's…um, it's pollinating season. They're, they're blossoming. Quit being such a jerk!"
He stood up and stormed off, Sam staring after him in mute astonishment. That was not how he had expected that conversation to go at all.
And goodness, Dean didn't even swear anymore. Now that he thought about it, neither did Sam. It was as if Narnia was turning them into children.
No, it was turning them child-like. And that was okay. Sam could still remember where they had come from, the death and darkness and blood, and he knew that Dean still had nightmares. The Winchesters weren't innocent, and they both knew it. But they felt free, here, they felt right and good. Everything in Narnia was simple, clear, and that wasn't a bad thing. It was as if they had left behind everything they didn't need here.
Plans for the coronation continued apace. There were fittings, discussions about what kind of jewels should be in the crowns, and protracted taste-testing sessions in the kitchens to prepare for the feast afterward. Dean particularly insisted on the last one, and the cheerful family of talking hedgehogs that ran the kitchen was happy to oblige.
A few days before the ceremony, a cacophony of cheers outside alerted them to the return of Aslan. They went down to the courtyard to meet him, Dean standing shyly a bit behind his younger brother. It felt completely natural to kneel down before the magnificent lion, bending their heads in fealty. Sam felt the touch of Aslan's breath on the back of his neck, the massive mane brushing his face, as the great lion accepted their obeisance by bending his head to meet theirs.
When they rose to their feet, Aslan stood nose to nose with Dean, deep golden eyes gazing into nervous green. "Walk with me, Dean, son of Adam."
Dean could only nod, mute and helpless as a kitten. There was no resisting that voice, those eyes.
Sam watched them walk away, offering Dean an encouraging smile when his brother threw a wild glance back at him, eyes wide and blank with terror. Yeah, it was scary, walking with that gigantic figure of concentrated power and awe. But it was good, too. Dean would be fine.
Still, Sam made his way up to the rampart to keep an eye on them, watching Aslan and Dean as they strolled leisurely down to the beach and picked their way among the black rocks. He could see them talking, mostly Aslan at first. But Dean responded more and more confidently, the anxious hunch of his shoulders gradually loosening, fading away. Dean said something Sam knew was a joke, face twisted in that familiar lop-sided grin, and Aslan threw back his head and let out a roaring, rumbling laugh that was audible miles away and echoed off the surrounding cliffs. Sam pressed his hands over his ears and ducked down below the castle wall, grinning madly. That was his brother, one minute scared out of his wits, the next making giant talking lions laugh at his stupid jokes.
When he stood back up and looked for them again, Dean and Aslan had made their way to the headland, bathed in golden afternoon sun. Sam could see them with incredible clarity, as if he was standing right there, and though he couldn't hear what they were saying, he knew what was happening. Dean's face was broken open, vulnerable, tears streaming down his cheeks. Aslan's face was magnificent, kind, sympathy pouring from his eyes. Dean slowly dropped to his knees and lowered his head, and Aslan bent down to nuzzle his hair, as gently and powerfully loving as a mother bear with a cub.
Sam ducked down again, and this time sat on the cool stone, his back to the crenellated wall, and covered his mouth with his hand to keep his own tears inside. His love for his brother threatened to overwhelm him in that moment, along with the surging adoration he felt for that kingly lion. Dean had been needing something, something Sam couldn't give him, for such a very long time. And he knew, he knew, that Aslan had finally been able to provide it. His gratitude was so great that he was momentarily afraid that it would simply lift him up and carry him away, he felt so light, so free and expansive and glad to be in this world.
That night they played chess in the firelight, in a large room that was open to the sweet darkness outside, yet somehow felt as intimate as the smallest alcove. Dean was distracted and barely even put up a fight, letting Sam checkmate him time and time again-usually he was prone to wild, unpredictable moves that at least forced Sam to think for a bit before destroying him utterly. Each time, though, he simply gave Sam a sunny grin and started resetting the board, saying, "I'll get you this time!"
He was so relaxed and content, so clearly, deeply happy and comfortable in his own skin, that Sam dared to ask. "What did Aslan say? I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. What he said was just for you. But, y'know. If you want to."
Dean looked up, considering, turning a knight gently between his fingers. "Well, one thing he said wasn't just for me. He said that you were right, that when we leave Narnia we'll be back in our world only a little bit after we left. And he said that we wouldn't be kings here for long, that it would be a short time, but a good one, and Narnia would always remember us fondly."
"Well. That's good, I guess." Sam stared down at the board, trying to hide his disappointment. Not at the news-he'd suspected that their reign would not be a long one. But at what Dean wasn't saying.
"Hey." Dean reached over and poked him with the knight piece. "Look at me, Sammy."
He looked up, surprised to find Dean still smiling that deep, full smile. "What?"
"You wanted to know what else he said, right? Well, okay."
Sam sat up straighter, giving his brother his full attention. But Dean suddenly went shy, peering down at the white pieces on his side of the board, adjusting each one into the very center of their squares. At last Sam couldn't take it anymore. "Well? What did he say?"
Dean met his eyes, not smiling now, though the contentment and relaxation was still there. "He told me that we would be good kings. That I would be a good king. That I…that I was worthy. And… And I believed him, Sam. I believed him."
"Well, yeah." Sam smiled back, relieved and warmed from his toes to the top of his head. "You don't not believe the giant magical talking lion. He's Aslan."
"Exactly." Dean laughed softly and made the opening move, jumping his knight over the row of pawns. "He's Aslan."
X
The coronation was a riotous affair, except for the approximately two minutes in which the actual ceremony took place. A hush fell over the assembled crowd as Sam and Dean made their way solemnly to the stones on the top of the cliff overlooking Cair Paravel and the sea, the trains of their robes carried by various talking animals and dwarfs. There they sat, and a centaur-the same who had met Sam when he first arrived-gently lowered the crowns onto their heads.
Aslan, standing behind them, rumbled in a voice that crashed against the hills and rebounded to the plains, "I give you your new rulers, sons of Adam, now kings of Narnia, for this little time, only, but a good one, and brave. King Dean the Generous. King Samuel the Wise. Treat them well, and they will love you greatly."
The Narnians roared their approval, leaping and cheering. The applause was thunderous as Dean and Sam rose, grinning fit to split their faces. The rush of delight was heady, overpowering. Better than the sweetest, strongest wine.
But there was wine, too, at the party afterward. Plenty of it. Sam and Dean wandered through the crowd of celebrants, talking, laughing, drinking and eating. They danced with the dryads to music played by fairies and wrestled on the ground with eager cubs, the parents looking on fondly. They took part in races and competitions and games for which there seemed to be no rules, grinning when they won and laughing loudly when they lost, which was more often.
At one point, Dean got into a drinking match with five already-inebriated dwarfs, and Sam looked away, hoping to see Aslan. The great lion lay at the edge of the crowd, badger and mouse children sleeping between his paws, a young female centaur braiding his mane in small, careful plaits. Sam made his way slowly toward him, frequently interrupted by this Narnian or that to toast or talk or laugh at some raucous jest.
At last, though, he made it to Aslan and knelt by his paws, looking up into his face. Aslan looked back, meeting his earnest gaze. "You have a question for me, Samuel the Wise?"
"I just wondered…you told Dean that our time here would be short. That's all right-I don't ask for more. I just wondered, how will we know it's time to leave?"
"Ah. Well, there will be no need for you to use that crude, clumsy spell, son of Adam."
Sam smiled sheepishly. Of course Aslan had seen what he was trying to hide even from himself.
"When you have taken all you need from Narnia, and given back all that Narnia requires of you, then it will be time for you to leave. The door will appear and you will pass through it, full and satisfied, carrying nothing with you."
"But when will that be?"
"Just the right amount of time, my son. Then you and your brother will return to your world and finish your task there. You will be rested and well, and fully equipped to face the terrible things you must fight. That is what Narnia will give to you."
"And what will we give in return, Aslan?"
"Why, everything that you have, of course." A low chuckle tumbled through Aslan's chest, more like a purr than a roar. "Be not dismayed. It will cost you nothing, and cause you no pain. Already you are well on the way, as is your brother."
Sam looked over at Dean, who was laughing uproariously at some dwarf joke, tears of laughter squeezing from his eyes. "Yes, I suppose he is." He leaned his head on Aslan's shoulder and was still for a time, just being.
Later Dean drew him back into the crowd, grinning, pulling on his arm. "Sam, Sam! I told you I'd introduce you!" He led the way to a tall gray rabbit wearing a breastplate, a sword on his belt. He looked like a stern beast, his face set in a warning expression. "Didn't I tell ya? This is Cinderfluff! He's awesome."
Cinderfluff looked Sam up and down and crossed his paws over his chest. "Hmph. I see we have some work to do."
"He's gonna teach us to use these!" Dean patted the sword hilt at his hip. They were both wearing them-it was part of the whole king get-up.
"I thought…" Sam faltered. "I thought they were decorative."
The rabbit snorted through his nose. His pink, delicate nose. "Not hardly, young sire. Don't you know that the northern giants are getting restless again? We may have to sally forth inside the year. You must be ready!" He unsheathed his sword with a ringing swoop and hoisted it into the air. "FOR NARNIA!"
"FOR NARNIA!" roared the crowd around them, unaware of the conversation but perfectly happy to take part in some gratuitous cheering.
Once the noise died down a little Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder, all but bouncing from one foot to the other in excitement and delight. "Didja hear that, Sam? Giants. There are giants in Narnia. And they're bad. So we get to fight them."
Sam grinned back. Looking at Dean Winchester now, with his sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, full and flush with health and the best food and drink in the universe, it was almost impossible to imagine that little more than a month ago he'd been pale, sick, and silent, barely able to walk from one side of a room to another.
However long their time here would be, he knew that it was going to be good. And everything they gave-"King Dean the Generous," he remembered with silent joy-would be returned to them tenfold.
"Yeah, Dean," he said gently. "I heard. That sounds great."
Dean squeezed his shoulder and turned away, already discussing a northern campaign with Cinderfluff, gleefully quaffing more ale.
Sam looked back to Aslan, but the great lion was gone. That was all right, though. Sam knew he was still around, somewhere.
They would be kings for a little time, but a good one, and a brave. They would return ready for the battle ahead of them, and for the first time, Sam truly believed that they would win it. Everything was going to turn out right.
The End
Title: Kings for a Little Time
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Sam, Dean, various Narnians
Category: Drama, crossover, a touch of hurt/comfort, bits of crackified humor
Rating: PG/K+
Spoilers: 3.16
Summary: “Dude, of all the ways I imagined you coming for me, that was never one of them.” “With a giant talking lion? Yeah, me neither.”
Word Count: 2555
Disclaimer: I’m sorry for making you roll over in your grave, Mr. Lewis. I know this doesn’t belong to me and I’m being a very naughty girl. :(
Author’s Note: I am done now. If you want more you should write it yourself. (And then let me know, because I am morbidly curious.) It’s back to JACKNDEAN for me.
Narnia was changing them. Sam could see it in his brother and feel it in himself. Maybe it was something in the air, the water, both so incredibly pure. Maybe it was the atmosphere of peace, the kindness of the inhabitants, the beauty of the nature surrounding them, or the undeniable white magic that underpinned everything about this world. Whatever it was, it was powerful.
Both of them felt stronger and healthier than ever, once Dean had fully recovered from his time in Hell. They could run farther, jump higher, laugh longer. All of their senses were sharp, fully tuned in to enjoying what each moment had to offer. They poured themselves into each waking hour and slept hard and soundly every night.
There was a joy in Sam now that made waking up every day a new pleasure. And he knew that the same joy was in Dean, too, because while Dean didn't smile as often anymore, when he did it was almost always real, full and wide, not sarcastic or ironic or false, hiding his true feelings.
Everything about Dean seemed a little deeper, a little softer and gentler. He'd never been a harsh man, but it astonished Sam now to watch how he interacted with the talking animals, the dryads and naiads, the fauns and dwarfs and centaurs. There was a respect there, a generosity and giving, that had always before been reserved for his family alone.
Once, Sam joked lightly about Dean "getting it on" with the nymphs, and his brother made a face, as if the thought had never, ever occurred to him. "Dude, they're made of wood. How would that even work? Besides, it would just be wrong."
Sam leaned back a little in confusion. Okay, he'd totally been kidding, but he had thought that his brother would tease back, not bristle like this, so instantly defensive of his woodland groupies. "Hey, man, I'm just saying that they really, really like you."
"It's not their fault, Sam. It's…um, it's pollinating season. They're, they're blossoming. Quit being such a jerk!"
He stood up and stormed off, Sam staring after him in mute astonishment. That was not how he had expected that conversation to go at all.
And goodness, Dean didn't even swear anymore. Now that he thought about it, neither did Sam. It was as if Narnia was turning them into children.
No, it was turning them child-like. And that was okay. Sam could still remember where they had come from, the death and darkness and blood, and he knew that Dean still had nightmares. The Winchesters weren't innocent, and they both knew it. But they felt free, here, they felt right and good. Everything in Narnia was simple, clear, and that wasn't a bad thing. It was as if they had left behind everything they didn't need here.
Plans for the coronation continued apace. There were fittings, discussions about what kind of jewels should be in the crowns, and protracted taste-testing sessions in the kitchens to prepare for the feast afterward. Dean particularly insisted on the last one, and the cheerful family of talking hedgehogs that ran the kitchen was happy to oblige.
A few days before the ceremony, a cacophony of cheers outside alerted them to the return of Aslan. They went down to the courtyard to meet him, Dean standing shyly a bit behind his younger brother. It felt completely natural to kneel down before the magnificent lion, bending their heads in fealty. Sam felt the touch of Aslan's breath on the back of his neck, the massive mane brushing his face, as the great lion accepted their obeisance by bending his head to meet theirs.
When they rose to their feet, Aslan stood nose to nose with Dean, deep golden eyes gazing into nervous green. "Walk with me, Dean, son of Adam."
Dean could only nod, mute and helpless as a kitten. There was no resisting that voice, those eyes.
Sam watched them walk away, offering Dean an encouraging smile when his brother threw a wild glance back at him, eyes wide and blank with terror. Yeah, it was scary, walking with that gigantic figure of concentrated power and awe. But it was good, too. Dean would be fine.
Still, Sam made his way up to the rampart to keep an eye on them, watching Aslan and Dean as they strolled leisurely down to the beach and picked their way among the black rocks. He could see them talking, mostly Aslan at first. But Dean responded more and more confidently, the anxious hunch of his shoulders gradually loosening, fading away. Dean said something Sam knew was a joke, face twisted in that familiar lop-sided grin, and Aslan threw back his head and let out a roaring, rumbling laugh that was audible miles away and echoed off the surrounding cliffs. Sam pressed his hands over his ears and ducked down below the castle wall, grinning madly. That was his brother, one minute scared out of his wits, the next making giant talking lions laugh at his stupid jokes.
When he stood back up and looked for them again, Dean and Aslan had made their way to the headland, bathed in golden afternoon sun. Sam could see them with incredible clarity, as if he was standing right there, and though he couldn't hear what they were saying, he knew what was happening. Dean's face was broken open, vulnerable, tears streaming down his cheeks. Aslan's face was magnificent, kind, sympathy pouring from his eyes. Dean slowly dropped to his knees and lowered his head, and Aslan bent down to nuzzle his hair, as gently and powerfully loving as a mother bear with a cub.
Sam ducked down again, and this time sat on the cool stone, his back to the crenellated wall, and covered his mouth with his hand to keep his own tears inside. His love for his brother threatened to overwhelm him in that moment, along with the surging adoration he felt for that kingly lion. Dean had been needing something, something Sam couldn't give him, for such a very long time. And he knew, he knew, that Aslan had finally been able to provide it. His gratitude was so great that he was momentarily afraid that it would simply lift him up and carry him away, he felt so light, so free and expansive and glad to be in this world.
That night they played chess in the firelight, in a large room that was open to the sweet darkness outside, yet somehow felt as intimate as the smallest alcove. Dean was distracted and barely even put up a fight, letting Sam checkmate him time and time again-usually he was prone to wild, unpredictable moves that at least forced Sam to think for a bit before destroying him utterly. Each time, though, he simply gave Sam a sunny grin and started resetting the board, saying, "I'll get you this time!"
He was so relaxed and content, so clearly, deeply happy and comfortable in his own skin, that Sam dared to ask. "What did Aslan say? I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. What he said was just for you. But, y'know. If you want to."
Dean looked up, considering, turning a knight gently between his fingers. "Well, one thing he said wasn't just for me. He said that you were right, that when we leave Narnia we'll be back in our world only a little bit after we left. And he said that we wouldn't be kings here for long, that it would be a short time, but a good one, and Narnia would always remember us fondly."
"Well. That's good, I guess." Sam stared down at the board, trying to hide his disappointment. Not at the news-he'd suspected that their reign would not be a long one. But at what Dean wasn't saying.
"Hey." Dean reached over and poked him with the knight piece. "Look at me, Sammy."
He looked up, surprised to find Dean still smiling that deep, full smile. "What?"
"You wanted to know what else he said, right? Well, okay."
Sam sat up straighter, giving his brother his full attention. But Dean suddenly went shy, peering down at the white pieces on his side of the board, adjusting each one into the very center of their squares. At last Sam couldn't take it anymore. "Well? What did he say?"
Dean met his eyes, not smiling now, though the contentment and relaxation was still there. "He told me that we would be good kings. That I would be a good king. That I…that I was worthy. And… And I believed him, Sam. I believed him."
"Well, yeah." Sam smiled back, relieved and warmed from his toes to the top of his head. "You don't not believe the giant magical talking lion. He's Aslan."
"Exactly." Dean laughed softly and made the opening move, jumping his knight over the row of pawns. "He's Aslan."
X
The coronation was a riotous affair, except for the approximately two minutes in which the actual ceremony took place. A hush fell over the assembled crowd as Sam and Dean made their way solemnly to the stones on the top of the cliff overlooking Cair Paravel and the sea, the trains of their robes carried by various talking animals and dwarfs. There they sat, and a centaur-the same who had met Sam when he first arrived-gently lowered the crowns onto their heads.
Aslan, standing behind them, rumbled in a voice that crashed against the hills and rebounded to the plains, "I give you your new rulers, sons of Adam, now kings of Narnia, for this little time, only, but a good one, and brave. King Dean the Generous. King Samuel the Wise. Treat them well, and they will love you greatly."
The Narnians roared their approval, leaping and cheering. The applause was thunderous as Dean and Sam rose, grinning fit to split their faces. The rush of delight was heady, overpowering. Better than the sweetest, strongest wine.
But there was wine, too, at the party afterward. Plenty of it. Sam and Dean wandered through the crowd of celebrants, talking, laughing, drinking and eating. They danced with the dryads to music played by fairies and wrestled on the ground with eager cubs, the parents looking on fondly. They took part in races and competitions and games for which there seemed to be no rules, grinning when they won and laughing loudly when they lost, which was more often.
At one point, Dean got into a drinking match with five already-inebriated dwarfs, and Sam looked away, hoping to see Aslan. The great lion lay at the edge of the crowd, badger and mouse children sleeping between his paws, a young female centaur braiding his mane in small, careful plaits. Sam made his way slowly toward him, frequently interrupted by this Narnian or that to toast or talk or laugh at some raucous jest.
At last, though, he made it to Aslan and knelt by his paws, looking up into his face. Aslan looked back, meeting his earnest gaze. "You have a question for me, Samuel the Wise?"
"I just wondered…you told Dean that our time here would be short. That's all right-I don't ask for more. I just wondered, how will we know it's time to leave?"
"Ah. Well, there will be no need for you to use that crude, clumsy spell, son of Adam."
Sam smiled sheepishly. Of course Aslan had seen what he was trying to hide even from himself.
"When you have taken all you need from Narnia, and given back all that Narnia requires of you, then it will be time for you to leave. The door will appear and you will pass through it, full and satisfied, carrying nothing with you."
"But when will that be?"
"Just the right amount of time, my son. Then you and your brother will return to your world and finish your task there. You will be rested and well, and fully equipped to face the terrible things you must fight. That is what Narnia will give to you."
"And what will we give in return, Aslan?"
"Why, everything that you have, of course." A low chuckle tumbled through Aslan's chest, more like a purr than a roar. "Be not dismayed. It will cost you nothing, and cause you no pain. Already you are well on the way, as is your brother."
Sam looked over at Dean, who was laughing uproariously at some dwarf joke, tears of laughter squeezing from his eyes. "Yes, I suppose he is." He leaned his head on Aslan's shoulder and was still for a time, just being.
Later Dean drew him back into the crowd, grinning, pulling on his arm. "Sam, Sam! I told you I'd introduce you!" He led the way to a tall gray rabbit wearing a breastplate, a sword on his belt. He looked like a stern beast, his face set in a warning expression. "Didn't I tell ya? This is Cinderfluff! He's awesome."
Cinderfluff looked Sam up and down and crossed his paws over his chest. "Hmph. I see we have some work to do."
"He's gonna teach us to use these!" Dean patted the sword hilt at his hip. They were both wearing them-it was part of the whole king get-up.
"I thought…" Sam faltered. "I thought they were decorative."
The rabbit snorted through his nose. His pink, delicate nose. "Not hardly, young sire. Don't you know that the northern giants are getting restless again? We may have to sally forth inside the year. You must be ready!" He unsheathed his sword with a ringing swoop and hoisted it into the air. "FOR NARNIA!"
"FOR NARNIA!" roared the crowd around them, unaware of the conversation but perfectly happy to take part in some gratuitous cheering.
Once the noise died down a little Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder, all but bouncing from one foot to the other in excitement and delight. "Didja hear that, Sam? Giants. There are giants in Narnia. And they're bad. So we get to fight them."
Sam grinned back. Looking at Dean Winchester now, with his sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, full and flush with health and the best food and drink in the universe, it was almost impossible to imagine that little more than a month ago he'd been pale, sick, and silent, barely able to walk from one side of a room to another.
However long their time here would be, he knew that it was going to be good. And everything they gave-"King Dean the Generous," he remembered with silent joy-would be returned to them tenfold.
"Yeah, Dean," he said gently. "I heard. That sounds great."
Dean squeezed his shoulder and turned away, already discussing a northern campaign with Cinderfluff, gleefully quaffing more ale.
Sam looked back to Aslan, but the great lion was gone. That was all right, though. Sam knew he was still around, somewhere.
They would be kings for a little time, but a good one, and a brave. They would return ready for the battle ahead of them, and for the first time, Sam truly believed that they would win it. Everything was going to turn out right.
The End