All Heart's Desires Met - for bardship
Title: All Heart’s Desires Met
Author: liminalliz
Recipient: bardship
Rating: PG
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: References to elements in MN, LWW, & HHB. Smaller vaguer references to elements in PC, VDT, & SC. Also, references Hans Christian Andersen’s The Snow Queen.
Summary: The war at home.
AN: Thanks to my beta.
+
Jagged lettering; carved in the bark of a rotting willow tree.
"Crush. Burn. Capture. Pierce."
-
Edmund rides out into the melting snow twice a week, heading towards a ruin between two hills. The roar of rushing spring waters meets his ears. Trees are beginning to bud; animals scurry around with a lightness in their step. Years ago when he was a boy, fierce winter had turned to glorious spring and he had felt nothing but relief. Now, the tightness in his chest won't go away, no matter how fast he rides, or how rapidly his heart beats.
Her castle stands quiet across a river dotted with floating ice. He crossed the distance long ago; but never since. He doesn't want to know what survives, what remains behind crumbling stone and broken spells.
Breathing uneven, the young king braces himself against an ancient birch. Her face is a constant in his dreams; that pale skin and a sweet smile full of promise. Too ashamed to speak his fears aloud, they fester in his mind, intensifying the dream and deepening that ruby red smile.
He's ruled this land with his siblings for ten years; the spring thaw should feel natural, safe.
Once a traitor in Narnia…, he thinks.
+
Small, elegant cursive, reminiscent of the teachings of a land the writer has forgot; cream paper bearing the royal seal.
"Susan, Queen of Narnia under the High King Peter, to Lune, King of Archenland, our most royal and honorable cousin, Greeting.
"Please do me the honor of being our guests in the coming weeks for the Spring Festival this year, the fourth revolution of Alambil. As per usual, the celebration will have all manner of joyous revelry. There will be feasts, dancing, and tournaments; all heart’s desires will be met. For your pleasure, I promise to open the bottle of Terebinthian wine set down in the cellars on the day of your son's birth. I look forward to your visit, dear friend."
-
Susan sits at her writing desk, rechecking all of her lists for the upcoming festival. With Peter away to the north, she is Lady Regent of Cair Paravel and in charge of more than her usual share of duties. She could have easily handed the management of the Spring Festival to another courtier - but it's her favorite. Narnia is the most joyous when spring returns.
At a dead run, Lucy enters the room and collapses on the couch, giggling in between gasps for breath. There is a rapid clip-clop sound of a faun's hooves down the outside hallway. Continuing with her list review, Susan's lips slowly curve up.
"Victory!" the youngest queen boasts when Tumnus arrives at the door, eyes bright (until he sees Susan; and then a red color fills his cheeks).
"Your majesties," he says, also breathless.
"Mister Tumnus." Susan gives him a brief polite look. It's hard to fight back an amused grin.
"I should be-" he starts.
"I'll see you-" Lucy.
"There's a pressing matter-"
"Of course."
When Susan looks back up, she's alone with her sister, who is looking down at her hands, lips pursed together and cheeks pink. Lucy is eighteen and Susan remembers just how fast the heart beats at that age.
"So." Lucy's regained her breath now. "Peter's missing the festival."
Susan makes a face, remembering to strike all of Peter's favorite foods from the opening banquet. "Again."
"He should have crushed the giant rebellion already. What is this, the fourth crusade against them?"
"The third. I suspect he's engaged to some pretty giantess and is just too nervous to come home already to break the news."
"Susan."
The elder sister puts down her pen. "I'm sure he's doing his best to get home to us as quick as he can. And this winter has been one of the worst yet. I can't imagine what he faces up there in the snow and freezing temperatures, never mind the warlike giants."
"We need him," Lucy says softly and Susan wonders how much of the child is still lingering in her sister. They can easily rule Narnia, they can live without Peter (Susan, however, would rather not have to).
"And I need you," Susan replies. "You're handling the security for the festival. Archers, panthers, bears, centaurs. You know the drill - but double it. There are whispers in the trees of something coming. I don't like it."
"Maybe it's your Calormen suitor." It is Lucy's turn to hide a grin.
"Oh, shut up."
+
Calligraphy of a most unusual style; crisp, taupe paper with gold silk strands weaved in at the edges.
"Rabadash, crown prince and heir apparent to the throne of Calormen, right hand of the ever-living Tisroc, first Tarkaan of the realm, to the most illustrious Susan, Queen of Narnia under the High King Peter, Empress of the Lone Islands and Lady Regent of Cair Paravel, Duchess of Beruna and Countess of the South Province, Knight of the Order of the Lion. In the name of Tash the irresistible, the inexorable, Salutations and peace.
"Gentle queen, I write this as your most lowly and humble servant, and hopeful friend. May you forgive me, for I must deny your kind request for my presence at the Narnian celebration of the end of your snow white winter. I have pressing matters to the south of the expanse of Calormen. I send with this missive a host of gifts to settle my absence, and a promise that I will greet you in person, at last, some day soon.
"I have hope of not losing your favor, for your gentility is legendary; you are guileless and honorable. I dream of the day of beholding your most excellent beneficence. I commit you to the care of all the gods."
-
Susan corners her younger brother in the library. He's pouring over a history of Narnia's birth, of good King Frank and Queen Helen, of the mysterious other worlders, and of a witch-like temptress. (Susan read it years ago, looking for any kind of guidance on how to be queen.)
"Ed, I need your help with the governor from the Lone Islands. She's arrived weeks early and is desperate for some male company."
"Are you marrying me off already?" he asks, not looking up from his book. "I thought you were to be wed first to this southern prince of yours."
"Don't be ridiculous." Susan pulls the book out of his hands. "I haven't even met him. And you're not to marry the governor by any means, only to keep her out of trouble. Take her to the dance of the trees tonight; foreigners always like that."
Edmund nods, and his eyes dart to the book held in her hands.
Susan tries not to immediately hold it tighter. "And keep your ears open, the trees are whispering about some great oncoming storm and I would like to know what it is."
"Or who." He kisses her cheek, smiles. It's an empty smile. "You think of everything, sister." He turns to leave. Susan knows a fleeing man when she sees one.
"Are you alright?"
He hesitates in his step. "I'm fine."
Susan waits for him to be gone completely before she opens the book, reads: "And Aslan said, 'The Witch has won her heart's desire, she has unwearying strength and endless days like a goddess.'"
+
Elongated lettering; blue tinted paper.
"Travel Journal of Niccola Luca, Governor of the Lone Islands
"The stability of Narnia is impressive, especially with the High King absent and it being mud season with the spring thaw. Queen Susan's hand is strong in the movement of goods and people; and her subjects are very open with their love and respect for her. Quite different from our visits with the White Queen in years past; the thought of anyone loving Her sends a chill down my spine.
"Edmund took me to see the trees dance. I would have rather danced with him; but he was preoccupied with a very talkative dryad. I had the strong compulsion to light a match to the place."
-
The archers that walk the walls around Cair Paravel are used to the youngest queen's occasional presence. She often accompanies them in solemn silence, honoring their duty and holding her own bow at the ready for attack. Infrequently, she stands facing east, hardly moving as she stares out into the horizon. No one interrupts her vigil.
Many have been healed by her magical balm, or saved by her in battle, or granted her kind smile, or merrily drank with her to Aslan's health. All Narnian subjects love Queen Lucy; how could they not?
Near twilight a week before the festival and Lucy is standing at the eastern wall, a statue in the half light. Tumnus stands several feet behind her, not wanting to disturb her. She's grown increasingly distant.
"I wish," she says, at long last. Her eyes still gaze far beyond the crashing waves. "I wish he would come."
Tumnus nods, keeps his hands behind his back. "You miss your brother."
Lucy looks at him, her face a mask. "Yes, I miss both of them. But I was speaking of Aslan."
The faun blinks.
"Susan heard it first; can't you? The whisper in the trees."
Tumnus is silent.
"The war at home, Tumnus. It's more than I can handle on my own."
"You have me," he says, too quickly.
It's a giving smile she grants him, but her eyes remain troubled.
+
Scribbled script; damp white paper bearing the royal seal.
"Peter, High King, etc, to Susan, Queen, Empress, Lady Regent, Duchess, Countess, Knight, etc.
"I know giants and I know the way they think in war. Someone is giving them an edge in battle strategy. Giants aren't this smart.
"Wish I was at home. Win the tournament for me."
-
"Something is wrong with Edmund," Lucy says.
Susan is signing orders and thinking about advice to send back to Peter. "He's always in a foul mood when the weather changes, dearest."
"No, it's more than that. He's not himself."
Regina Susan, she scribbles. "He'll be fine."
She signs another order before looking up to see that Lucy's left the room.
"We'll all be fine," Susan says quietly. It's mostly a hope.
+
Magicked print, inked in with blood; the finest paper of unknown origin, located in an ancient book (now dust and nothingness in the absent place where Charn once stood).
"The dreaded sister of our queen is Jadis, the all knowing, all seeing, the undying. Her magic is strong, and her cunning may be our doom. Her servants are eternally hers, ever faithful. To fall once is to fall forever. Charn is troubled indeed. May the curse of all the Powers rest forever upon her, and may our noble queen prevail!"
-
Before dawn, Edmund arrives in the stables for the dumb, silent horses fit for riding to find Lucy standing there, readying his mare for a ride. She's fully dressed for a hunt; a quiver of arrows at her back and her long dagger on her belt.
He watches her for a long moment before clearing his throat.
"I thought I would ride with you." Her face is innocent; but it is far too early for any respectable person to be awake.
He knows he's damned when his mouth opens and cruel, familiar words come out. (A shard of the demon's mirror deep in his heart.) Lucy doesn't flinch, but her eyes are too bright.
She reaches out and puts her hand to his heart. Her hand is so warm. "Another time then," she says softly.
He rides twice as fast that morning.
+
Even lettering from the Lone Islands printing press; colorful paper wrapped around tin.
"sweet snow white delicacies: you can never have enough!
"the treasure of kings and tisrocs alike!
"savor the rose flavored jelly enrobed in the sweetest of powdered sugar!
"you'll long for more!"
-
The dryad of an old holly slides in next to him as he watches dawn break between the two hills, warming the ruined castle with a golden glow.
"My king." A holly's voice is low and resonant. "Have you come to see Her again?" Leaves rattle together in the morning breeze.
"She's dead." He doesn't believe the words even as he says them.
"She would have you again, Edmund, if you would have Her." It's more of a whisper in her leaves than anything, and he feels cold, colder than ever before. This is open treason, this is unthinkable, this is the most delicious feeling he's felt in months.
"Dance with us," the holly says. "She would have you dance."
Edmund breathes in hard and there's a strange, sweet smell in the air.
"The night before the festival, the lawn of the holly trees, come alone."
He turns, a question on his lips, to see the dryad flitting quickly away, faster than he can chase.
+
The tight, round cursive of an educated faun; an old page from a book with written notes in the margins.
"Known trees on Her side.
"The Holly: note the trickery of their poison berries, the sharpness of their leaves. Winter does not affect them; and She is cunning at providing incentives for their fealty. "
-
The night before the festival: Susan is dealing with the bunting merchants and thinking about changing the order of music in the opening ceremony when she hits her brick wall.
A good cry, shouting at someone, or fixing the problem, she ponders, shakily reaching for a glass of water. If I even fully understand the problem.
"Triple the festival security," she tells her assistant. "Send Lucy with a full host to the north to relieve my brother. And someone find Edmund."
+
Scratch markings; the back of an old pamphlet by Maugrim, Captain of the Secret Police.
"Lucy joins Peter. Susan suspects. Be swift."
-
Music lulls him deeper into a drugged stupor and it takes everything he has to concentrate on how he got to this point, what he must have drank. There was the dance, the dance of the holly trees, evergreen and bright with berries. A young holly had pulled him in, pulled him close, the ruby red smile on her dryad lips so familiar.
The music dies down with the prey being caught. He should have been smarter than this, he should have come with others; but he's been far past wise decisions for a while now.
"Take care, She will want him unharmed." The old holly.
It is a dwarf that answers, which explains why he is being roughly bound. "Why him? Why not kill them all?"
"It is not our place to question, fool."
The drugs are swift and he can hear no more. He readies his courage, holds in his doubts. He will be unafraid to face Her, flesh and whole, when he wakes.
For the first time in years, the young king of Narnia sleeps without dreams.
+
Neatly carved lettering; a limestone wall in a cave deep beneath the earth.
"Narnia was never right without a Son of Adam on the throne."
-
Susan stands on the dais, smiling at the throngs of Narnians and Archenlanders as well as a sprinkling of islanders and a few Calormen ambassadors.
She feels naked and alone; without her brothers and sister, she aches.
"Well beloved people--," Susan starts.
It happens swiftly.
She hears it before she sees it - the twang of arrows and the rush of blood in her ears. Moving fast, she ducks and sees flaming arrows hit the wall behind her, instantly catching wood and decorative cloth on fire. Heat swells at her back and the crowd roars.
Seeing clearly for the first time in months, Queen Susan the Gentle reaches for her bow and arrows, hidden in the confines of her gilded podium. She takes a cautious look in the direction of her would-be assassins, and shoots to kill.
+
Simple calligraphy; crisp, taupe paper.
"Verdeen Tarkaan to Ahoshta Tarkaan, Salutations and peace.
"In the name of Tash, the irresistible, the inexorable. An attempt on the life of the barbarian queen took place at the first day of their pagan ritual. In short, their enemies may be cunning, but the Narnians are brutal in their vengeance. The queen lives, having mercilessly slaughtered her attackers.
"Rumor has it that the giants in the north nearly destroyed the High King until he was relieved by the youngest of the barbarian queens. The younger king is missing. I am still confirming the facts.
"I would not take this as a sign that the country is weak and ripe for the plucking. I would not wage war against this land for all the gold in Tashbaan.
"On a related note, the Queen Regent may not be the best wife for our prince. As the wise poet says, 'beware the mother protecting her young; her claws are sharp.' And, of course, in the words of another poet: 'take a wife who cannot strike you back and you will live with ease.'
"I believe if any monarch will truly live forever, it will be her."
-
Edmund comes to in the ruins of Her palace prison, alone. He is not surprised at his disappointment; but he is ashamed for it.
Aching, he rises and stumbles out, remembering the way. The rays of the spring sun envelop him like a warm fur mantle, and he shivers.
+
Cursive in the Narnian style; white paper bearing the royal seal.
"Lucy, Queen, etc, to Susan, Queen, etc.
"By Aslan's will, we broke their lines yesterday. I'm pretty sure I killed a hag, disgusting creature. The giants are in retreat. We should be home before high summer.
"My love to you, to Edmund."
-
Susan reads her letters at Edmund's bedside. The room is full of a soft, lilting sound from Tumnus' flute, a Narnian lullaby for the feverish young king. She has resigned herself not to worry; Edmund will survive.
(After the chaos of the morning ceremony, she had sent four armed centaurs and five panthers to the ruins of the witch's castle, guessing where her pale, confusing brother could be. They brought him back quietly.
He was as cold as ice until she held him in her arms, and rocked him. "You were ours before you were Hers," she had whispered, his tears hot on her skin.)
She considers the possibility of a witch with unwearying strength and endless days. She has witnessed a return to life from death before, after all. All that power and the fealty it wields, she thinks, feeling slightly sick herself.
Breathing in, she holds down her fears. There's a festival to manage, a brother to heal, a suitor in pursuit of her, a host of enemies to hunt down, a castle full of guests to entertain, a kingdom to rule, and no magic in her veins. She has work to do.
+
Strong letters; firm wooden placards newly put up on the second day of the Spring Festival (and left for years to come).
"LONG LIVE SUSAN, GLORIANA, OUR QUEEN."
---
Original Prompt:
What I want: Pevensie sibling banter. Dryads coercing someone into doing something.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: None.
What I definitely don't want in my fic: Suspian, incest or slash.
Author: liminalliz
Recipient: bardship
Rating: PG
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: References to elements in MN, LWW, & HHB. Smaller vaguer references to elements in PC, VDT, & SC. Also, references Hans Christian Andersen’s The Snow Queen.
Summary: The war at home.
AN: Thanks to my beta.
+
Jagged lettering; carved in the bark of a rotting willow tree.
"Crush. Burn. Capture. Pierce."
-
Edmund rides out into the melting snow twice a week, heading towards a ruin between two hills. The roar of rushing spring waters meets his ears. Trees are beginning to bud; animals scurry around with a lightness in their step. Years ago when he was a boy, fierce winter had turned to glorious spring and he had felt nothing but relief. Now, the tightness in his chest won't go away, no matter how fast he rides, or how rapidly his heart beats.
Her castle stands quiet across a river dotted with floating ice. He crossed the distance long ago; but never since. He doesn't want to know what survives, what remains behind crumbling stone and broken spells.
Breathing uneven, the young king braces himself against an ancient birch. Her face is a constant in his dreams; that pale skin and a sweet smile full of promise. Too ashamed to speak his fears aloud, they fester in his mind, intensifying the dream and deepening that ruby red smile.
He's ruled this land with his siblings for ten years; the spring thaw should feel natural, safe.
Once a traitor in Narnia…, he thinks.
+
Small, elegant cursive, reminiscent of the teachings of a land the writer has forgot; cream paper bearing the royal seal.
"Susan, Queen of Narnia under the High King Peter, to Lune, King of Archenland, our most royal and honorable cousin, Greeting.
"Please do me the honor of being our guests in the coming weeks for the Spring Festival this year, the fourth revolution of Alambil. As per usual, the celebration will have all manner of joyous revelry. There will be feasts, dancing, and tournaments; all heart’s desires will be met. For your pleasure, I promise to open the bottle of Terebinthian wine set down in the cellars on the day of your son's birth. I look forward to your visit, dear friend."
-
Susan sits at her writing desk, rechecking all of her lists for the upcoming festival. With Peter away to the north, she is Lady Regent of Cair Paravel and in charge of more than her usual share of duties. She could have easily handed the management of the Spring Festival to another courtier - but it's her favorite. Narnia is the most joyous when spring returns.
At a dead run, Lucy enters the room and collapses on the couch, giggling in between gasps for breath. There is a rapid clip-clop sound of a faun's hooves down the outside hallway. Continuing with her list review, Susan's lips slowly curve up.
"Victory!" the youngest queen boasts when Tumnus arrives at the door, eyes bright (until he sees Susan; and then a red color fills his cheeks).
"Your majesties," he says, also breathless.
"Mister Tumnus." Susan gives him a brief polite look. It's hard to fight back an amused grin.
"I should be-" he starts.
"I'll see you-" Lucy.
"There's a pressing matter-"
"Of course."
When Susan looks back up, she's alone with her sister, who is looking down at her hands, lips pursed together and cheeks pink. Lucy is eighteen and Susan remembers just how fast the heart beats at that age.
"So." Lucy's regained her breath now. "Peter's missing the festival."
Susan makes a face, remembering to strike all of Peter's favorite foods from the opening banquet. "Again."
"He should have crushed the giant rebellion already. What is this, the fourth crusade against them?"
"The third. I suspect he's engaged to some pretty giantess and is just too nervous to come home already to break the news."
"Susan."
The elder sister puts down her pen. "I'm sure he's doing his best to get home to us as quick as he can. And this winter has been one of the worst yet. I can't imagine what he faces up there in the snow and freezing temperatures, never mind the warlike giants."
"We need him," Lucy says softly and Susan wonders how much of the child is still lingering in her sister. They can easily rule Narnia, they can live without Peter (Susan, however, would rather not have to).
"And I need you," Susan replies. "You're handling the security for the festival. Archers, panthers, bears, centaurs. You know the drill - but double it. There are whispers in the trees of something coming. I don't like it."
"Maybe it's your Calormen suitor." It is Lucy's turn to hide a grin.
"Oh, shut up."
+
Calligraphy of a most unusual style; crisp, taupe paper with gold silk strands weaved in at the edges.
"Rabadash, crown prince and heir apparent to the throne of Calormen, right hand of the ever-living Tisroc, first Tarkaan of the realm, to the most illustrious Susan, Queen of Narnia under the High King Peter, Empress of the Lone Islands and Lady Regent of Cair Paravel, Duchess of Beruna and Countess of the South Province, Knight of the Order of the Lion. In the name of Tash the irresistible, the inexorable, Salutations and peace.
"Gentle queen, I write this as your most lowly and humble servant, and hopeful friend. May you forgive me, for I must deny your kind request for my presence at the Narnian celebration of the end of your snow white winter. I have pressing matters to the south of the expanse of Calormen. I send with this missive a host of gifts to settle my absence, and a promise that I will greet you in person, at last, some day soon.
"I have hope of not losing your favor, for your gentility is legendary; you are guileless and honorable. I dream of the day of beholding your most excellent beneficence. I commit you to the care of all the gods."
-
Susan corners her younger brother in the library. He's pouring over a history of Narnia's birth, of good King Frank and Queen Helen, of the mysterious other worlders, and of a witch-like temptress. (Susan read it years ago, looking for any kind of guidance on how to be queen.)
"Ed, I need your help with the governor from the Lone Islands. She's arrived weeks early and is desperate for some male company."
"Are you marrying me off already?" he asks, not looking up from his book. "I thought you were to be wed first to this southern prince of yours."
"Don't be ridiculous." Susan pulls the book out of his hands. "I haven't even met him. And you're not to marry the governor by any means, only to keep her out of trouble. Take her to the dance of the trees tonight; foreigners always like that."
Edmund nods, and his eyes dart to the book held in her hands.
Susan tries not to immediately hold it tighter. "And keep your ears open, the trees are whispering about some great oncoming storm and I would like to know what it is."
"Or who." He kisses her cheek, smiles. It's an empty smile. "You think of everything, sister." He turns to leave. Susan knows a fleeing man when she sees one.
"Are you alright?"
He hesitates in his step. "I'm fine."
Susan waits for him to be gone completely before she opens the book, reads: "And Aslan said, 'The Witch has won her heart's desire, she has unwearying strength and endless days like a goddess.'"
+
Elongated lettering; blue tinted paper.
"Travel Journal of Niccola Luca, Governor of the Lone Islands
"The stability of Narnia is impressive, especially with the High King absent and it being mud season with the spring thaw. Queen Susan's hand is strong in the movement of goods and people; and her subjects are very open with their love and respect for her. Quite different from our visits with the White Queen in years past; the thought of anyone loving Her sends a chill down my spine.
"Edmund took me to see the trees dance. I would have rather danced with him; but he was preoccupied with a very talkative dryad. I had the strong compulsion to light a match to the place."
-
The archers that walk the walls around Cair Paravel are used to the youngest queen's occasional presence. She often accompanies them in solemn silence, honoring their duty and holding her own bow at the ready for attack. Infrequently, she stands facing east, hardly moving as she stares out into the horizon. No one interrupts her vigil.
Many have been healed by her magical balm, or saved by her in battle, or granted her kind smile, or merrily drank with her to Aslan's health. All Narnian subjects love Queen Lucy; how could they not?
Near twilight a week before the festival and Lucy is standing at the eastern wall, a statue in the half light. Tumnus stands several feet behind her, not wanting to disturb her. She's grown increasingly distant.
"I wish," she says, at long last. Her eyes still gaze far beyond the crashing waves. "I wish he would come."
Tumnus nods, keeps his hands behind his back. "You miss your brother."
Lucy looks at him, her face a mask. "Yes, I miss both of them. But I was speaking of Aslan."
The faun blinks.
"Susan heard it first; can't you? The whisper in the trees."
Tumnus is silent.
"The war at home, Tumnus. It's more than I can handle on my own."
"You have me," he says, too quickly.
It's a giving smile she grants him, but her eyes remain troubled.
+
Scribbled script; damp white paper bearing the royal seal.
"Peter, High King, etc, to Susan, Queen, Empress, Lady Regent, Duchess, Countess, Knight, etc.
"I know giants and I know the way they think in war. Someone is giving them an edge in battle strategy. Giants aren't this smart.
"Wish I was at home. Win the tournament for me."
-
"Something is wrong with Edmund," Lucy says.
Susan is signing orders and thinking about advice to send back to Peter. "He's always in a foul mood when the weather changes, dearest."
"No, it's more than that. He's not himself."
Regina Susan, she scribbles. "He'll be fine."
She signs another order before looking up to see that Lucy's left the room.
"We'll all be fine," Susan says quietly. It's mostly a hope.
+
Magicked print, inked in with blood; the finest paper of unknown origin, located in an ancient book (now dust and nothingness in the absent place where Charn once stood).
"The dreaded sister of our queen is Jadis, the all knowing, all seeing, the undying. Her magic is strong, and her cunning may be our doom. Her servants are eternally hers, ever faithful. To fall once is to fall forever. Charn is troubled indeed. May the curse of all the Powers rest forever upon her, and may our noble queen prevail!"
-
Before dawn, Edmund arrives in the stables for the dumb, silent horses fit for riding to find Lucy standing there, readying his mare for a ride. She's fully dressed for a hunt; a quiver of arrows at her back and her long dagger on her belt.
He watches her for a long moment before clearing his throat.
"I thought I would ride with you." Her face is innocent; but it is far too early for any respectable person to be awake.
He knows he's damned when his mouth opens and cruel, familiar words come out. (A shard of the demon's mirror deep in his heart.) Lucy doesn't flinch, but her eyes are too bright.
She reaches out and puts her hand to his heart. Her hand is so warm. "Another time then," she says softly.
He rides twice as fast that morning.
+
Even lettering from the Lone Islands printing press; colorful paper wrapped around tin.
"sweet snow white delicacies: you can never have enough!
"the treasure of kings and tisrocs alike!
"savor the rose flavored jelly enrobed in the sweetest of powdered sugar!
"you'll long for more!"
-
The dryad of an old holly slides in next to him as he watches dawn break between the two hills, warming the ruined castle with a golden glow.
"My king." A holly's voice is low and resonant. "Have you come to see Her again?" Leaves rattle together in the morning breeze.
"She's dead." He doesn't believe the words even as he says them.
"She would have you again, Edmund, if you would have Her." It's more of a whisper in her leaves than anything, and he feels cold, colder than ever before. This is open treason, this is unthinkable, this is the most delicious feeling he's felt in months.
"Dance with us," the holly says. "She would have you dance."
Edmund breathes in hard and there's a strange, sweet smell in the air.
"The night before the festival, the lawn of the holly trees, come alone."
He turns, a question on his lips, to see the dryad flitting quickly away, faster than he can chase.
+
The tight, round cursive of an educated faun; an old page from a book with written notes in the margins.
"Known trees on Her side.
"The Holly: note the trickery of their poison berries, the sharpness of their leaves. Winter does not affect them; and She is cunning at providing incentives for their fealty. "
-
The night before the festival: Susan is dealing with the bunting merchants and thinking about changing the order of music in the opening ceremony when she hits her brick wall.
A good cry, shouting at someone, or fixing the problem, she ponders, shakily reaching for a glass of water. If I even fully understand the problem.
"Triple the festival security," she tells her assistant. "Send Lucy with a full host to the north to relieve my brother. And someone find Edmund."
+
Scratch markings; the back of an old pamphlet by Maugrim, Captain of the Secret Police.
"Lucy joins Peter. Susan suspects. Be swift."
-
Music lulls him deeper into a drugged stupor and it takes everything he has to concentrate on how he got to this point, what he must have drank. There was the dance, the dance of the holly trees, evergreen and bright with berries. A young holly had pulled him in, pulled him close, the ruby red smile on her dryad lips so familiar.
The music dies down with the prey being caught. He should have been smarter than this, he should have come with others; but he's been far past wise decisions for a while now.
"Take care, She will want him unharmed." The old holly.
It is a dwarf that answers, which explains why he is being roughly bound. "Why him? Why not kill them all?"
"It is not our place to question, fool."
The drugs are swift and he can hear no more. He readies his courage, holds in his doubts. He will be unafraid to face Her, flesh and whole, when he wakes.
For the first time in years, the young king of Narnia sleeps without dreams.
+
Neatly carved lettering; a limestone wall in a cave deep beneath the earth.
"Narnia was never right without a Son of Adam on the throne."
-
Susan stands on the dais, smiling at the throngs of Narnians and Archenlanders as well as a sprinkling of islanders and a few Calormen ambassadors.
She feels naked and alone; without her brothers and sister, she aches.
"Well beloved people--," Susan starts.
It happens swiftly.
She hears it before she sees it - the twang of arrows and the rush of blood in her ears. Moving fast, she ducks and sees flaming arrows hit the wall behind her, instantly catching wood and decorative cloth on fire. Heat swells at her back and the crowd roars.
Seeing clearly for the first time in months, Queen Susan the Gentle reaches for her bow and arrows, hidden in the confines of her gilded podium. She takes a cautious look in the direction of her would-be assassins, and shoots to kill.
+
Simple calligraphy; crisp, taupe paper.
"Verdeen Tarkaan to Ahoshta Tarkaan, Salutations and peace.
"In the name of Tash, the irresistible, the inexorable. An attempt on the life of the barbarian queen took place at the first day of their pagan ritual. In short, their enemies may be cunning, but the Narnians are brutal in their vengeance. The queen lives, having mercilessly slaughtered her attackers.
"Rumor has it that the giants in the north nearly destroyed the High King until he was relieved by the youngest of the barbarian queens. The younger king is missing. I am still confirming the facts.
"I would not take this as a sign that the country is weak and ripe for the plucking. I would not wage war against this land for all the gold in Tashbaan.
"On a related note, the Queen Regent may not be the best wife for our prince. As the wise poet says, 'beware the mother protecting her young; her claws are sharp.' And, of course, in the words of another poet: 'take a wife who cannot strike you back and you will live with ease.'
"I believe if any monarch will truly live forever, it will be her."
-
Edmund comes to in the ruins of Her palace prison, alone. He is not surprised at his disappointment; but he is ashamed for it.
Aching, he rises and stumbles out, remembering the way. The rays of the spring sun envelop him like a warm fur mantle, and he shivers.
+
Cursive in the Narnian style; white paper bearing the royal seal.
"Lucy, Queen, etc, to Susan, Queen, etc.
"By Aslan's will, we broke their lines yesterday. I'm pretty sure I killed a hag, disgusting creature. The giants are in retreat. We should be home before high summer.
"My love to you, to Edmund."
-
Susan reads her letters at Edmund's bedside. The room is full of a soft, lilting sound from Tumnus' flute, a Narnian lullaby for the feverish young king. She has resigned herself not to worry; Edmund will survive.
(After the chaos of the morning ceremony, she had sent four armed centaurs and five panthers to the ruins of the witch's castle, guessing where her pale, confusing brother could be. They brought him back quietly.
He was as cold as ice until she held him in her arms, and rocked him. "You were ours before you were Hers," she had whispered, his tears hot on her skin.)
She considers the possibility of a witch with unwearying strength and endless days. She has witnessed a return to life from death before, after all. All that power and the fealty it wields, she thinks, feeling slightly sick herself.
Breathing in, she holds down her fears. There's a festival to manage, a brother to heal, a suitor in pursuit of her, a host of enemies to hunt down, a castle full of guests to entertain, a kingdom to rule, and no magic in her veins. She has work to do.
+
Strong letters; firm wooden placards newly put up on the second day of the Spring Festival (and left for years to come).
"LONG LIVE SUSAN, GLORIANA, OUR QUEEN."
---
Original Prompt:
What I want: Pevensie sibling banter. Dryads coercing someone into doing something.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: None.
What I definitely don't want in my fic: Suspian, incest or slash.