What the Forgotten Remember
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing: Susan, Caspian
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Narnia. All the Christian metaphors- please I'm an atheist people. Definately not mine.
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What the Forgotten Remember
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Something bitter and small has filled her up.
She knows this and yet is too angry to care.
Sometimes she does not know who she is angry at. At the time she hadn't thought to ask Aslan why. Why could they not return? Why did they have to go in the first place? Why had he done this to them? Why?
She feels too old for her young body, too old for the classrooms she sits in and the girls who curl their hair and talk of boys and lipstick shades. The planes in the sky and the posters on the walls scream of war and people walk quietly through the streets with their heads down and shoulders low and the grayness of it stifles her soul. The green isles of her kingdom and cavernous valleys start to fade from her memory.
She begins to hate Aslan. What had once seemed like a blessed escape now remains as only the worst of cruelties in her mind. She is tormented by the ghosts of things that once were, the velvet of heavy skirts and the feathery shafts of her arrows have been replaced by starch linen uniforms and leather patent shoes.
Lucy and Edmund return. She listens to them and tries to appear unaffected. They talk so animatedly about the dawn treader and its wide sweeping sails and she wonders if the light in their eyes ever really belonged in hers. Jealousy swells in her chest and she breathes slowly and evenly, afraid they can see.
She dances and drinks and kisses boys with dark hair that looks and curls at the ends just like his. The eyes are always wrong so she drinks more until they almost look right. She lets them press her into the wall and tug at her clothes and tries to forget about an unnamed daughter of the stars and the prince who claims her as his. She tries to forget that she has been forgotten.
Once Peter is waiting for her when she stumbles through the door. He is frowning and the weight of his judgment dampers her buzz. The anger returns and she reminds him coldly that he is High King of no-one in this place. After that no one waits for her and she cannot decide whether she should cry or laugh at this. Gentle Queen Susan has driven everyone away.
She is angry at them all. At Peter who seems fine with their exile. At Lucy and Edmund who still have what she does not. At Aslan who gave her everything and then took it all away.
But as always her anger returns to him and she hates that he let her kiss him. She hates that he let her walk away. She hates that he didn't stop her. Her hate for him burns deep in the dead center of her, like a stubborn ember that refuses to go out.
And it is only in the early hours of the morning when she is buttoning up her dress and wiping the taste of boy and champagne from her mouth that she allows herself to admit that what she feels is not hate at all.
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fin
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Pairing: Susan, Caspian
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Narnia. All the Christian metaphors- please I'm an atheist people. Definately not mine.
-
-
-
What the Forgotten Remember
-
-
-
Something bitter and small has filled her up.
She knows this and yet is too angry to care.
Sometimes she does not know who she is angry at. At the time she hadn't thought to ask Aslan why. Why could they not return? Why did they have to go in the first place? Why had he done this to them? Why?
She feels too old for her young body, too old for the classrooms she sits in and the girls who curl their hair and talk of boys and lipstick shades. The planes in the sky and the posters on the walls scream of war and people walk quietly through the streets with their heads down and shoulders low and the grayness of it stifles her soul. The green isles of her kingdom and cavernous valleys start to fade from her memory.
She begins to hate Aslan. What had once seemed like a blessed escape now remains as only the worst of cruelties in her mind. She is tormented by the ghosts of things that once were, the velvet of heavy skirts and the feathery shafts of her arrows have been replaced by starch linen uniforms and leather patent shoes.
Lucy and Edmund return. She listens to them and tries to appear unaffected. They talk so animatedly about the dawn treader and its wide sweeping sails and she wonders if the light in their eyes ever really belonged in hers. Jealousy swells in her chest and she breathes slowly and evenly, afraid they can see.
She dances and drinks and kisses boys with dark hair that looks and curls at the ends just like his. The eyes are always wrong so she drinks more until they almost look right. She lets them press her into the wall and tug at her clothes and tries to forget about an unnamed daughter of the stars and the prince who claims her as his. She tries to forget that she has been forgotten.
Once Peter is waiting for her when she stumbles through the door. He is frowning and the weight of his judgment dampers her buzz. The anger returns and she reminds him coldly that he is High King of no-one in this place. After that no one waits for her and she cannot decide whether she should cry or laugh at this. Gentle Queen Susan has driven everyone away.
She is angry at them all. At Peter who seems fine with their exile. At Lucy and Edmund who still have what she does not. At Aslan who gave her everything and then took it all away.
But as always her anger returns to him and she hates that he let her kiss him. She hates that he let her walk away. She hates that he didn't stop her. Her hate for him burns deep in the dead center of her, like a stubborn ember that refuses to go out.
And it is only in the early hours of the morning when she is buttoning up her dress and wiping the taste of boy and champagne from her mouth that she allows herself to admit that what she feels is not hate at all.
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fin
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