#narnia exchange

THE SPRING NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE

 for@noctusfuryfrom@southernsuns

Lucy couldn’t sleep.

 She wasn’t quite sure what was keeping her awake - the uncomfortable bed in Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta’s guest bedroom that caused her to toss and turn every few minutes or so, the photo of a beaming Peter and Susan on her nightstand that served as a reminder that they were off on wonderful adventures while she and Edmund were stuck in Cambridge with their horrid extended family, or the painting of a ship on the wall that was a punch to the stomach every time she glanced up at it because it reminded her of a place she couldn’t get to.

 Perhaps it was all three, simultaneously.

 She yawned and blinked her eyes, which were starting to sting as a result of being awake for longer than she intended to be. She knew laying awake and staring at the ceiling wouldn’t do any good, so she stood up and quietly made her way to the bedroom door. Peeking out, she could see that there was no one in sight and the house was completely silent.

 The floorboards in the Scrubb household tended to squeak very easily, so Lucy was careful not to be too loud or too clumsy as she tiptoed down the stairs. She wondered if a nice cup of tea would help her fall asleep. It was a trick she learned from Susan, who slept less and less after she last returned from Narnia. The two would stay up together seated at the kitchen table and talk. Susan always had a variety of conversation topics to choose from, whether it be a rumour about a teacher at school or new gossip that had started to float around her friend group. Lucy never found much joy in what Susan rambled on about, but had to admit that some of it was quite funny, and often found herself stifling giggles with her sister so as to not wake their parents or their brothers.

 She shuffled into the kitchen and bumped into someone’s shoulder. Panic set in for a moment, thinking it was her aunt or uncle or cousin, but was replaced with relief soon after upon the revelation that it was Edmund.

 “Ed?” She hissed. “What’re you doing up?”

 “Our cousin snores like a bloody freight train,” He replied, reaching up into the cupboard. “And I’m hungry.”

 She noticed him grab a handful of chocolates, ones that Aunt Alberta had carefully stowed away so that Eustace wouldn’t get at them.

 “I saw her rummaging through this cupboard yesterday,” Edmund remarked, unwrapping one of the chocolates in front of Lucy. “I knew exactly where she hid them. She’s not as sly as she thinks she is.”

 Lucy couldn’t help but snort at that as she retrieved the milk and sugar for her tea. When she had finished stirring it to her liking, she shuffled towards the kitchen table and sat down across from Edmund.

 “Would you like one, Lu?” He offered, sliding one toward her.

 “Yes, please.” She smiled, unwrapping it and putting it in her mouth. Her brows furrowed as she chewed it, unsure of the taste and the texture. It definitely wasn’t the type of chocolate she was used to eating in Finchley. Then again, she wasn’t surprised. Aunt Alberta always had a knack for odd foods others couldn’t quite stomach.

 She immediately took a sip of her tea after swallowing the small piece of chocolate. “Oh, these are awful.”

 “I don’t mind them.” Edmund chuckled.

 “I do.” Lucy snickered.

 The two sat quietly laughing for a while, and Lucy suddenly forgot the unease and upset she felt earlier. Sitting here, in the dark, laughing with her brother, erased all of that.

 “Tell Aunt Alberta I ate these and you’ll owe me.”

 “I’ve got your back, Ed.”

                         THE SPRING NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                 for: @l-oh-herainfrom@oflucyandlorien.

determination.

Peter stands in the ruin of Cair Paravel, his palace, his kingdom, and the years come crashing down on his shoulders. A year since he and his siblings went missing, fifteen years as High King, centuries since he last stood where he stands now. Lucy seems near tears, Edmund angry, and Susan just looks sorry.

The treasure room was the last straw; sixteen steps to the bottom and their gifts from Father Christmas hanging on the wall and the “do you remember” of the whole place was almost more than any of them could bear. The thrill of realizing it was Cair Paravel had been dulled by how many years it must have been since they lived there. Their friends must be long gone, even if the apple trees–apple trees they planted, just before the Calormen ambassador came–are still here.

“This is my sword, Rhindon,” Peter says. “With it I killed the wolf.” From his siblings’ expressions he knows that his voice is more that of the High King than of Peter Pevensie from Finchley. There is magic in the air, and even if he looks more or less as he did when they were in the railway station, Narnia’s magic is working on him in other ways.

Sheathing his sword, he follows his siblings out of the treasure chamber and helps Edmund to build a fire without thinking about it. He bids Lucy good night automatically and stretches out with his back to the fire.

They must have been summoned.

Lucy’s finding the wardrobe was not a mistake, or if it was, it was because the wardrobe was a doorway. Railway platforms do not turn into woods all on their own. That had been magic. The woods are silent; something must be terribly wrong in Narnia. Cair Paravel was attacked, but Peter and his siblings were not called when that attack took place, so why now?

As much as he turns it over in his head, he can’t make sense of it. It isn’t logical, but perhaps it doesn’t need to be. It’s not logical that the stars are any different from England, but they’re still more familiar from his years spent studying and watching with the centaurs. Looking up into the Narnian sky, he notes that Tarva and Alambil are in close conjunction. If Peter had to guess, the great conflict indicated has yet to take place, and that is what he and Susan, Edmund, and Lucy are here to aid Narnia in.

Under the stars, on the cold, stony ground that was once theirs, Peter silently vows to put Narnia to rights, whatever necessary.

Eventually, he sleeps.

                         THE SPRING NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                 for: @quecksilvereyesfrom@luxaofhesperides.

my darling, i will be your hearth and home.

cross-posted on ao3 here
Lasaraleen does what she can to be soft in a cruel world; they call her leisurely because they are so used to conflict that they cannot understand someone who chooses not to cause needless pain. She is out of place and worn down by the pain that surrounds her.

Aravis offers her a way out, a new life. All she has to do is be courageous enough to take it.

*

 Lasaraleen is not a warrior. She prevents violence as best she can, trying to settle flared tempers with words, anxiously waiting for a fight to break out while desperately hoping to avoid it. Her hands were never made to hold weapons or spill blood; they call her leisurely, but she thinks herself as soft.

 The world could use a little more softness.

 There is enough hurt and bloodshed and fear. Lasaraleen has lived with it haunting her every step, forever waiting for the next clash, the next cry, the next bellow of a war horn. She sees how the men don themselves in armour everyday even when they insist that they are safe within the walls of the city. She sees how weary travelers are, on edge and never trusting of anyone they come across. She hears her husband, whom she was married off to quickly and without care, speak ill of the Narnian monarchs and call for battle.

 This world will always hurt the people within it, but that is no excuse to allow that hurt to go unchallenged.

 Lasaraleen leaves food and money besides the poor who sit huddled in alleys, she nurses sick birds back to health, she gives medicine to the maids who desperately try to provide for their families. It’s not much, but it’s all she can do.

 It feels like the weight of the world bears down on her, determined to crush her and leave her beaten and broken. Calormen, her beautiful, vibrant Calormen, is stuck in a cycle of pain and denial; everyone ignores the wounds and pretends they’re not rubbing salt into them.

 Another day, another conflict.

 Lasaraleen can do nothing but watch as her world consumes itself in an effort to ignore the pain forced upon it.

 She resigns herself to suffocating slowly as she holds her gentleness like a shield, or a bared neck, when Aravis appears.

*

   Aravis has always been much stronger than her; there’s a fire inside her that burns through even the darkest of nights. Even as a child, Lasaraleen had admired her strong will, her sense of justice, her fearlessness as she chases after her own destiny regardless of how others view her.

 Lasaraleen has always been far too aware of how other people see her, and never had the courage to change.

 Aravis often reminds her of a griffin, or a phoenix; strong and free, wings unclipped and eyes only ever looking towards the future. In her loneliest nights, Lasaraleen thinks of Aravis and her crooked smile and warm laughter. She has missed her friend dearly, more than words can express.

 And then Aravis appears, as though out of a dream, suddenly in the street just in front of Lasaraleen. It feels like a wish come true, seeing her again.

 It takes no time at all to convince Aravis to come with her, to follow her home for a meal and a place to sleep; Aravis looks haggard and tense, on edge, in a way that Lasaraleen has never seen before. It makes the fear well up in her again, threatening to swallow her whole. It doesn’t, if only because she has grown used to the feeling years ago.

 Her husband speaks of attacking Narnia, taking the kingdom of Archenland, speaks of war and years of violence and fear and death. Lasaraleen is not as surprised as she should be; all the signs were there, and she saw them, though she didn’t know how they connected.

 Another day, another conflict.

 Had she been alone, Lasaraleen would spend many nights unable to sleep, fearing the future, throwing herself into helping other even more in what little ways she could. But she is not alone, not tonight; tonight, Aravis holds her hand and says, “I need to warn them. I have to go to Archenland and let them know of what is coming.”

 “You’ll throw away your life here,” Lasaraleen whispers, but what she means is      You’ll leave me forever if you go.  

“Come with me,” Aravis says. She looks into her eyes and Lasaraleen can’t breathe, not when she sees the light in Aravis’ eyes, how determined she is to do good despite how much she’ll risk in the process. She’s beautiful, and Lasaraleen wants to cry.

 “Come with me,” Aravis begs. She brings up a hand to cup Lasaraleen’s cheek, sweeping her thumb over her cheekbone. Lasaraleen can’t help but lean into the touch. There is longing in her lungs, drowning her with how much she wants this. The fear is still present, as it always is, but with Aravis by her side, Lasaraleen allows herself a moment of bravery.

 She opens the water-door and says, “Let’s go,” and pulls them both through.

*

 Often, Lasaraleen wonders if she made the right decision. Trying to outrun and army is hard and deeply terrifying. She knows very well that she’s a burden, another person to take care of when Shasta and Aravis are barely getting by with the few supplies they have. She knows Hwin struggles under the weight of another person, that she’s slowing everyone down just by being there.

 But the alternative of staying, of losing Aravis, of waiting for any news from Archenland and being unable to do anything is unbearable. Her whole life Lasaraleen has been unable to do anything but sit pretty. Now that Aravis has given her this chance, she won’t allow herself to regret it.

 Lasaraleen is not a warrior. Aravis is, even more so once Shasta parts from them to reach Archenland faster. She fights off scouting parties and patrols, cuts her way through soldiers who come a little too close to them, destroys what she can of their camps to slow their progress even more.

 She does this alone.

 It hurts to know that she can’t help, but Lasaraleen knows her limits better than anyone and refuses to become a liability to the one person who has never looked down on her. Yes she’s weak and soft, even leisurely as people used to say; her kindness is her greatest strength and Lasaraleen will not let anyone take it from her.

 Lasaraleen is not a warrior. Aravis is; scarred and hurting, tired but enduring. Lasaraleen cannot fight besides her, watch her back, or be her shield in battle. But she can be the hearth Aravis returns to. She can tend to her wounds and mend her clothes, make sure she’s fed and hold her while she sleeps.

 Aravis has no choice but to be hard in order to survive this world. Lasaraleen will be soft for her.

 And as they reach the end of the Great Desert and Archenland comes into view, Aravis weeps lightly in relief and Lasaraleen holds her as Hwin picks up the pace. The soldiers behind them shout as they catch sight of the three of them approaching Archenland, and Lasaraleen holds onto Aravis’ waist tighter, praying desperately to every god she has heard of to see them to safety.

 “We’re almost there,” Aravis whispers soothingly, “We’ll be alright.”

 Lasaraleen manages to nod and tries not to look back.

 The lion is a surprise, appearing suddenly to the side and roaring at them. Hwin startles and runs faster, but the lion is quickly closing the distance between them. Lasaraleen watches, shaking, as it approaches, and sends another desperate prayer for Aravis’ safety. And when it lunges, Lasaraleen gathers up her meager courage and kicks out.

 Her foot knocks into its face and manages to push it to the side so it just barely misses them. The sand beneath them turns into stone and grass, and when she looks away from the lion, who stares after them, unmoving, they are in Archenland.

 A sob forces itself out of Lasaraleen’s throat, and Aravis quickly turns around and cradles her face between her hands. She, too, is shaking.

 “It’s alright,” she says, pressing their foreheads together. “We’re almost there.”

 Lasaraleen nods, biting her lip to force her tears back. As soon as they reach the castle and warn Archenland of the invading army, they can rest. She lets out an unsteady breath, and manages to say, “Let’s go.”

 Aravis lingers for a moment, then pulls back to kiss Lasaraleen’s forehead. “Let’s go.”

*

 Shasta greets them when they reach the castle. He leads them to the throne room and introduces them. Aravis quickly describes the army, their forces, and when they might arrive. Lasaraleen asks for medical aid and asks of setting up shelters for citizens in rural towns fleeing the Calormen army.

 King Lune thanks them for their efforts, sends some of his advisors off to create the shelters and begin aiding citizens seeking safety in the capital, then sends them off to the medical wing.

 Aravis, worn down to the bone, falls asleep immediately after getting her wounds rebandaged and drinking a herbal tea to aid her recovery. Lasaraleen sits on the bed besides her, keeping hold of one of Aravis’ hands. Finally safe, she can’t help but curl into herself as she cries, quietly, until exhaustion pulls her into a fitful sleep.

 When she wakes, she’s in Aravis’ lap. Hands comb through her hair gently, undoing old braids and redoing them. She must make some sound, still half-asleep and unable to process much beyond the comforting touch, since the hands pull away. She blinks to clear her eyes and looks up to Aravis, who smiles down at her.

 “Good morning,” she says, tucking Lasaraleen’s hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?”

 Although she wants nothing more but to stay where she is, Lasaraleen pushes herself up to sit and properly face Aravis. “Better. And you? Does anything hurt?” She reaches out and brushes against the bandages on her shoulder from a sword she couldn’t dodge in time.

 “Nothing hurts. They’ve been taking good care of me. You’vebeen taking good care of me.”

 Lasaraleen’s cheeks flush, pleased, and she takes hold of Aravis’ hand to kiss the palm.

 Aravis looks so gentle; no longer weary or on edge, facing the world alone. Here, with Larasaleen in a quiet hospital wing in Archenland, she’s finally relaxed and at ease. “Narnia has sent aid. I have no doubt that Rabadash’s army will be defeated.”

 “What comes next?”

 “Anything you want. We can go back to Calormen. We can stay here in Archenland. We can travel anywhere we want, do anything we want.”

 “And I can stay with you?”

 Aravis tugs at Lasaraleen’s wrist, pulling her in. “As long as you want. I’ll always want you by my side.” She kisses the corner of Lasaraleen’s mouth, barely brushing against her lips, and Lasaraleen feels her heart leap, flutter, take flight.

 She’s no longer bound to her husband. There are no expectations forced upon her in Archenland. There’s a new life she can live where she doesn’t have to hide acts of kindness or be treated like an ornament for someone’s arm. Lasaraleen can be soft without judgement, can be more than just another pretty face in high society.

 She wants Aravis, in any way she can, wants a life together. Wants home and hearth and heart.

 “Where you go, I go,” she promises. “I’ll be happy as long as I’m with you.”

 Aravis grins, wild with delight and unrestrained. “King Lune has offered us reward for our efforts to help Archenland. Want to see if we can make a life here?”

 “I’d love to.” Lasaraleen is light with joy when she finally kisses Aravis and welcomes the peace it fills her with.

*

 Lasaraleen is not a warrior, and neither is Aravis, not anymore. The worst has come to pass.

 Though Aravis is haunted by nightmares of battle and blood, Lasaraleen is besides her, soothing her fears and holding her steady. The war is over; the wound is finally tended to.

                         THE SPRING NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                 for: @youknowthelinesfrom@quecksilvereyes.

cutting growths.

“You’re falling now. You’re swimming. This is not
          harmless. You are not
                    breathing.”
― Richard Siken, Crush

your mother once told you that the world does not stop for your terror. now, it looks at you from within needle-sharp teeth and trembling breaths. now, it looks at you as though you are not still choking on paint, as though this world, and all its salt, is home now to you as it is to your cousins and their laughing mouths, pulled taut by longing.

your mother is clutching the phone again. “helen”, she says, her voice soft, her knuckles white, “there’s something wrong with your children.”
you don’t hear her answer, but your mother hangs up, her lips pursed. she doesn’t look at you. in his chair, your father turns a page.

your lungs are still lined with sea salt, you see. your skin is still stretched over the hollow of your bones, you see. your teeth are dull. your hair is dripping with water, still.
it collects at your clavicles, and at the bottom of your feet. below you, the wooden floor rots. your mother doesn’t look at you.

your father turns a page.

your nails are weak, and dull. your stomach lies, clawed open and empty, under the stretch of your ribs. come, child. press a hand against your chest. can you feel your heart beating still?

in the mornings, before your mother comes to open all the windows and all the doors, with a sharp mouth and sharper hands, your cousins lie curled into one another. she is the inhale to his exhale, his fingers on her pulse point, her ear pressed against his chest. to the twin-beats of their hearts, they lie in this home full of teeth. she reaches for you.

your skin peels from you in welts. your teeth shed from you from the roots upwards. the world tilts and levels and stops.

“stand up straight”, your mother says as the world around you melts into a swirl of colour and sound, the corners of her mouth tilted upwards, “the world won’t stop for you.” and England never has. rounded and full of edges and full of cousins with secrets hidden in their smiles, it kept on turning, no matter how much you ripped open your skin trying to make it stop.

but this world is flat. this world lies, unmoving, with the ocean flowing from it on all sides. this world stops. your cousins bloom, here. your world changes, here.

 *

take your skin. take your nails and your teeth and your shoulder blades. don’t pull at them. don’t pick at them. look into that mirror and don’t flinch. look at your cousins and the way they never really stop touching, tucked into a space they’ve carved into this England. look at this world and don’t ache for mouses who have long since walked off the edge of it.

 *

when you first meet susan, she is carefully wrapped in petticoats. her lips are painted scarlet, her dress fans out when she turns. from within her smile, you can still see the weight of the world and how it has long since worn them dull.

she looks at you. if you tilt your head right, you can see the constellation caspian had sailed after in them. under your nails, your skin breaks. under your teeth, your gums break. susan doesn’t reach for you. she takes a cup and a lighter. she lights the stove and starts spooning coffee into the coffee machine. peter kisses her bare shoulder. she wraps a hand around his wrist.

and then she turns to look at you. her skirt sways. “i’m sorry”, she says. her voice is soft, and untrembling, and you can hear edmund in it. he hits his rs the same way. you cannot stop looking at her. there is not a freckle on her skin.

from within her, the world looks at you, still and unmoving. Untrembling, with her hair in perfect curls, the world has stopped for you. your feet are wet. the water drips from your fingertips. the fire drips from your lungs into the hollow of your ribs. you do not respond.

would you even know how to?

 *

the war still sits in all your bones, see. it’s not the same war that has burrowed itself under your skins. or rather, your cousins have wars hidden in their gums that you cannot conceptualise. there are tremors in their hands and sharp edges in their jaws. your mother purses her lips when susan cooks coffee in the mornings, and spends hours nursing just one cup of it. peter lies his head in her lap, edmund takes the curlers out of her hair and lines them up on the kitchen table. lucy sits outside, with her head tilted upwards, with her bare feet on the grass.

and susan looks at you.

until your skin crawls, she looks at you, with her dark eyes and her smiling mouth.

edmund kisses the top of her head, and peter snores softly. susan cups her coffee with both hands and leans forwards.

come on. take a breath. and then another.

this is it.

“i’m sorry”, she says again. “it will never be the same again, after you’ve been there. there’s no going back for us. it changes you, and turns you inside out. and then you’re back here and nothing feels right.”

behind her, the kettle boils.

 *

susan pevensie has the world in her smile. from within the red stretch of her, it breathes, and it lies, frozen, until you might be pulled back into it. when you are, you will have to leave them here, with the boiling kettle. with the world turning, still. it doesn’t stop for their terror, see.

here, you’re all just children. here, there is something wrong with the edges of your teeth. here, your cousin wraps herself in girdles and petticoats and draws a line on the back of her legs with kohl. somewhere in the bones of her lies a queen.

                       THE AUTUMN NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

               for: @calormenfrom@the-best-bibliophile.

          Okay, Drinian was talking. Consciously, Caspian knew that. But he was too busy looking over the man’s shoulder at someone else. That someone just happened to be named King Edmund, and he was laughing over something his sister, Queen Lucy, was saying. Drinian was probably saying something important. Say something back!

           “Mm-hmm. Yes,” Caspian said, very intelligently. He looked at Drinian, who raised an eyebrow.

           “Your Majesty, I just said we’ll be docking at a new island soon, and asked you who we should send to explore it,” the man said. “You could at least pretend to pay attention.”

           “I was! I mean, I was pretending. I’m sorry, Drinian,” Caspian said with a sigh. His attention wandered back to Edmund, who ran a hand through his short dark hair. He really did look criminally good in the too-large shirt he was wearing, the dark crimson color in a sharp contrast to his pale skin. Wait a minute…is that my shirt?

           “Your Majesty,” Drinian said, waving a hand in front of Caspian’s face.

           “Oh. I’m sorry,” Caspian said.

           Drinian sighed, then looked behind him. He looked back at Caspian. “You could pretend to be a little less infatuated, Your Majesty,” he said.

           Caspian balked. “I’m not infatuated.”

           “Aren’t you? You haven’t been able to stop staring at King Edmund since he got on board the Dawn Treader.”

           “And?” Caspian crossed his arms, as if he could defend himself better that way.

           “And it’s been three weeks, Your Majesty. It’s become a bit annoying, really.”

           Caspian sighed again. “I really am sorry, Drinian. You said we’re approaching a new island?”

           Drinian nodded, stepping toward the edge of the deck. He pointed straight ahead, where a spot of crimson lay on the horizon. Caspian narrowed his eyes.

           “What is that?” he asked.

           “I don’t know, Your Majesty. No one has ever gone this far east before. This is an entirely new island.”

           Caspian raised his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose we’d better explore it then.”

           “Explore what?”

           Caspian jolted as Edmund and Lucy approached them. Edmund stepped up to Caspian and slung his arm around Caspian’s shoulders, which just made Caspian blush. Drinian looked like he was resisting rolling his eyes.

           “We were just discussing the new island,” Caspian said, as well as he could. He nodded towards the spot of crimson on the horizon that was growing larger by the second.

           “Huh,” Edmund said.

           “It certainly looks interesting,” Lucy said.

           “Sure. Let’s go,” Edmund said with a grin.

           “What do you mean, let’s?” Caspian said with a frown.

           Edmund laughed. “I mean, you and me. Who else better to explore a new island than Narnia’s kings?”

           “Oh, sure, leave me out,” Lucy said with a scowl.

           “Come on, Lu. You led the last expedition. It’s only fair that Caspian and I do this one.”

           To Caspian’s horror, Drinian nodded. “You two could lead the expedition, then the rest of us can follow if you say it’s safe. As long as there’s nothing dangerous, it should be fine. Besides, I’m sure you two could do some talking.” He said this with a knowing look at Caspian, who quickly looked down.

           “What’s he talking about?” Edmund said, removing his arm from around Caspian’s shoulders, as soon as Drinian walked away.

           “Dunno,” Caspian said, pointedly looking towards the island. Anywhere but at Edmund’s face. That seemed to cut off conversation, and Edmund and Lucy walked off. Caspian couldn’t help it, and turned around as they walked away. He swore the shirt Edmund was wearing was his own. He recognized the slightly frilled collar, the crimson color. Maybe he could ask Edmund? But how did one ask someone if they were wearing another’s shirt? Caspian blushed at the thought.

—

           Reaching the island took little time. Once they were there, Caspian’s jaw dropped. It was an island of autumn—trees with leaves in every shade of red, gold, and orange. A cold wind blew over the ship as they dropped the anchor, and the crew readied the rowboat to take Caspian and Edmund onto the island.

           “Beautiful,” Edmund said, standing beside Caspian.

           Caspian nodded. “It certainly is. Are you ready?” He turned to the other boy.

           Edmund nodded with a cavalier grin. “I’m game if you are.”

           “You know I am.”

           “Then come on.” Edmund hopped into the small boat, and Caspian followed suit. They were lowered down, and soon they were rowing toward the island. Edmund waved to Lucy, and Caspian waved to Drinian and the crew, as they started rowing.

           “What do you think we’ll find?” Edmund asked as he rowed.

           Caspian mused over the question for a moment, caught up in the motion of moving the oars back and forth. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Could be a monster. Could be nothing.”

           Edmund laughed. “I’d prefer a monster.”

           Caspian raised an eyebrow. “Really, Your Majesty? You’d dive headlong into danger?”

           “How many times have I told you to call me Edmund? And yes, I do love a good adventure. Makes things so much more fun, don’t you think?”

           Caspian raised his eyebrows. “And you’re dragging me into this?”

           “Hey, you’re the captain. I’m just following you.” Edmund grinned.

           “I don’t think you could follow anyone’s orders if you wanted to.” Caspian realized the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He blushed, and said, “No, I mean, that is—”

           Edmund just laughed, long and loud. “No, you’re right. I couldn’t. Peter would certainly agree with you. Besides, I don’t want us to have that kind of relationship.”

           Caspian straightened. “And what kind of relationship would you prefer us to have, Edmund?” Again, he’d spoken without meaning to. But the words were out, and he kind of wanted to hear the answer.

           But Edmund didn’t answer. He avoided Caspian’s gaze, and said, “Oh, we’re here.” Their boat skidded onto the shore, and soon they were pulling it aboard and into the trees, which came practically up to the waves. Caspian couldn’t stop looking at everything around him. As they walked, leaving the small boat behind, it felt as if they weren’t on an island at all, but a new land unto itself. The forest was thick and clearly ancient, if the enormous, towering trees were any indication. Some trees were so tall Caspian couldn’t see the top, with trunks so large ten men couldn’t reach around them. Caspian’s gaze caught on a flash of movement, and he saw a doe scamper into the trees. He didn’t know if it talked, but he called to it all the same.

           “What? What did you see?” Edmund asked, stepping up close to Caspian. Caspian tried to ignore the heat of Edmund’s body against his, but it was so difficult what with him standing right there. Caspian swallowed and said,

           “A doe. But I don’t think she heard me. Either that, or she doesn’t speak.”

           Edmund shrugged. “That’s true. We don’t know if there are talking animals here. But let’s keep going, shall we?”

           Caspian nodded, and they continued walking. As they did, he kept sneaking glances at Edmund. He was definitely wearing Caspian’s shirt. But how to approach the subject?

           Edmund looked so comfortable in it. The sleeves were too long on him, but he just kept pushing them up so that the cuffs didn’t hang over his fingers. Though admittedly, it was adorable to see Edmund with his hands swallowed by the too-large fabric. Caspian wondered what it would be like to see Edmund wearing his clothes in a different context…

           Caspian blinked hard and shook his head. Now was not the time to be thinking like that. Besides, Edmund was right there. It felt somehow indecent to be having such thoughts around someone who was ignorant of them.

           Besides, it was unlikely that Edmund was as in love as Caspian was.

           As they walked through a perfect autumn forest, Caspian accepted that he was in love with Edmund Pevensie. Maybe he’d known for weeks, since Edmund had first arrived on board the Dawn Treader. He didn’t know quite what to do with this realization. Should he say something? Should he keep it to himself? Should he—

           “Woah,” Edmund shouted, putting a hand in front of Caspian. Caspian blinked, and found he was standing on the edge of a large ravine, and that he’d very nearly fallen in.

           “By Aslan’s mane,” he muttered, stepping backwards. “Thanks,” he said, turning to Edmund.

           “It’s no trouble. You know, just saving your life.”

           Caspian rubbed the back of his neck and gave a wry smile. “Sorry. I really should pay attention to where I’m going, shouldn’t I?”

           Edmund raised his eyebrows. “Yes, you should. You’re the king of Narnia, you know.”

           “So are you,” Caspian retorted.

           “Sort of.” Edmund kicked at a stone on the ground. He shrugged. “What were you thinking about? Must have been interesting.”

           Caspian flushed. He couldn’t very well tell Edmund he’d been thinking about how he was in love with him. What was he supposed to say?

           “Spoons,” he said, very intelligently.

           “Spoons,” Edmund echoed, dubious.

           “Yes.” Caspian was digging his heels in. He’d said it, and he wasn’t going to back down. “You know, since we’ve been on the Dawn Treader, we haven’t had the silver spoons of Cair Paravel. I miss those spoons.”

           Edmund was beginning to chuckle. “Okay. I miss them too, I guess.”

           Caspian grinned. “No, really. I do. I miss the spoons.”

           Edmund was full-on laughing by now. “Of course, you do,” he said, bending over.

           “I could write a song about them,” Caspian insisted, putting a hand to his chest. He took a deep breath in, as if he was about to sing at the top of his lungs.

           “No!” Edmund cried, still laughing. He gripped Caspian’s hand. “If you do, I’m afraid I shall die of laughter.”

           “As you wish then, Your Majesty,” Caspian said, giving an exaggerated bow. “I will stop talking about spoons.”

           Edmund chuckled, his breath calming. “You are ridiculous, you know that?” He kept a tight hold on Caspian’s hand.

           “It’s one of my more endearing qualities,” Caspian said with a nod. He was still riding the high of Edmund’s joy, so he barely noticed when the other boy stepped closer. But he did notice when Edmund leaned his forehead against Caspian’s and said softly,  

           “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

            The air seemed to still. Suddenly, the autumn trees around them faded into the background of Caspian’s consciousness, as all he could think about was Edmund Edmund Edmund. He was standing so close.

           “Edmund,” Caspian said, almost under his breath. “May I—”

           “If you don’t, I’m afraid I really will die this time,” Edmund said, matching Caspian’s tone.

           So, Caspian kissed him.

           It was meant to be a soft, chaste kiss. But when Caspian’s lips touched Edmund’s, all caution went out the window. Edmund stepped backwards, and Caspian followed his lead until Edmund’s back was against a tree. Caspian wasn’t sure what he was doing; Edmund had just invited him to kiss him. Did this mean his feelings were reciprocated? What was going on?

           Caspian lost track of his thoughts, lost track of all time, as he kissed Edmund. At one point, Caspian bit down softly on Edmund’s bottom lip, causing the other to gasp in pleasant surprise. Caspian could do this forever.

           But finally, as all good things must, it ended. They came up for air, looking at each other even as the wind blew around them. Caspian noticed that Edmund’s pupils were wide, taking up almost all of his irises.

           At some point, Edmund had wrapped his arms around Caspian’s neck, and was gripping onto Caspian’s shirt. Caspian didn’t want to move; he didn’t dare. Instead, he said,

           “Um, Edmund, I have a question.”

           “Yeah?” Edmund said, barely above a whisper.

           “Are you wearing my shirt?”

           Edmund looked surprised for a moment, then he laughed. “Yes, of course, it is. It took you this long to figure it out?”

           “No,” Caspian said. “I just never asked you until now.”

           “So, it took us kissing to get you to ask.”

           “Maybe,” Caspian muttered, looking down.

           “Hey.” Edmund placed a finger under Caspian’s chin and tilted his head up. “Do you regret it?”

           Caspian instantly knew what Edmund meant. “No,” he said in a rush. “To be honest, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks, and—”

           “So have I,” Edmund said, a warm smile on his face.

           The world rushed back in. Caspian was suddenly hyper-aware of the wind on his face, of the leaves crunching beneath his feet. “What?” he asked.

           “Did you not notice?” Edmund said, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve hardly been able to stop staring at you since Lucy and I arrived.”

           If it was possible for Caspian to blush more than he already was, he would have. “What? Really? How did I not…”

           Edmund grinned. “Whatever the case may be, I’m happy we got it sorted.” He took a deep breath. “I suppose I’d better ask it, then.”

           “Ask what?”

           “If I can court you,” Edmund said, biting his bottom lip.

           Caspian smiled wide. “If you don’t, I shall be eternally miserable.”

           “Oh, we wouldn’t want that.”

           “No, we wouldn’t.” Caspian shook his head.

           “What shall we do to remedy the situation?” Edmund said, leaning back in.

           “I suppose I could allow you to court me, then,” Caspian said. As Edmund was a hairsbreadth away from kissing him again, Caspian held up a hand. Edmund frowned. “We’re going to have to get back to the ship again eventually, you know,” he said.

           “I know,” Edmund said, pouting. “But let me have one more kiss?”

           “Fine,” Caspian said, and indulged him.

—

           They finished exploring the island, and eventually returned to the Dawn Treader, holding hands all the while. If Drinian noticed, he didn’t say anything. Lucy certainly did, though. She wouldn’t stop gushing over how adorable Caspian and Edmund apparently looked. She then revealed that not only had she known about Edmund’s theft of Caspian’s clothes, but she’d helped him do it.

           “Am I to expect more clothing theft in the future?” Caspian said to Edmund as they leaned against the rail.

           “Oh, absolutely,” Edmund said with a nod. “I mean, I am king.”

           “So am I,” Caspian said.

           “I suppose that gives you leave to my clothes then. If you can fit.”

           Caspian gave a laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

           Edmund leaned his head on Caspian’s shoulder. “You know something Caspian?” he said.

           “Hm?”

           “I really am glad to be back in Narnia.”

                      THE AUTUMN NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

              for: @tomyfortuneoftoilboundfrom@flexhealer.

MORE THAN MYTHS.

He had been told stories. For years, in secret he was told of the kings and queens of old. Myths, legends, tales of old, and even they had not held up to the real thing.

He always admired the Valiant Queen’s tenacity. In every story he was told, she threw all of herself into what she did. She cared little what happened to herself, as long as those she cared about were taken care of. The tales he heard of her in and out of battle always left him breathless. How he had admired the courage that went into protecting those one loves, even when they themselves seem against you.

Meeting her… he had never expected her to be younger than him. She seemed ageless in the stories. Just like her siblings, she had been through so much. But her laughter still rung true. The smallest of gestures to those who came across her…The pure selflessness she radiated warmed his heart. After everything, she still smiled. She had welcomed him as one of their own, holding his hand in her own, holding him in a tight embrace as if he were one of her brothers. When he would comment on it, she would just laugh and tell him, well of course, you are a brother to me. Just as the dryads and dwarves are my siblings, they are yours too.

The Just King had always held his rapt attention, maybe even more so than his younger sister had. His story had taken his heart and tore it. He saw the young boy who had just wanted to be seen, to be taken seriously. He had felt the hurt and betrayal. Not for one moment did he doubt that he wouldn’t redeem himself, but he still breathed in relief when he was told of how he worked so hard to protect their kingdom.

It didn’t take him even a second thought to know who the dark haired king was when they met. Although he had never seen him before, there was something about his eyes that seemed to pierce right through him; mind, body and soul. He could almost feel how he was sizing him up, his soul being weighed by the man who was known for being just above all else. None of it prepared him for how a smile slipped onto his face so easily as they spared. The young king’s laugh had bellowed into the night air, catching him off guard. He fell to the ground from a blow, and instead of being berated he found a hand being offered to him instead. C’mon don’t be so serious, he had said with a smile on his lips. Let’s go again, you’re doing good.

As a young prince, diplomacy and the intricacies of monarch relations had always been at the bottom of the list of things he was interested in. As he grew older, as he began to see the cracks and flaws in his own family’s government, he gained a newfound respect for the Gentle Queen. She handled everything with poise and grace, never stuttering or stumbling. Even in her mistakes, she rectified them and made up for it tenfold. She was everything a monarch could hope to be in the realm of royal company.

The tales in which he grew up on, had spoken much about her beauty, but nothing had compared to seeing her in front of him. It made sense why in seemingly every story, she had suitors falling at her feet, begging for her hand in marriage. In the same vein, it made sense why she had rejected each and every one of them. She had no greater love than the love for her family and country. How could she focus on suitors, when she already had everything she wanted? He felt shallow, for a while, thinking about how he had dismissed her beforehand for taking on the traditionally more feminine role in government and even now for focusing on her beauty. He had always admired her younger sister for her ferocity in battle, in protecting their family. But seeing her now, he knew she was just the same. Her deadly accuracy coupled with her wit… it was enough to make anyone wary to anger her. In fact he went out of his way to make sure he never got on her bad side. Others may have thought he would ask her to train him in archery, instead he opted for reading quietly in the same room as her. The atmosphere was comforting, it had always felt like a welcoming space. You know you don’t have to be afraid of me, she spoke quietly once. Even if you are, I’ll still hold you dearly all the same.

The High King…. He always held respect for him. Maybe it was more intimidation, maybe it was jealousy. The tales of the Magnificent King always left him with a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was a good man, a man who cared for his country just as he cared for his siblings. Was this who he was supposed to model himself after as a king? Would he ever live up to this standard? The way he led his country, the way he leaned on his siblings for support while protecting them and their kingdom, was this who people expected him to be? The same weird feeling came back the moment he realized the boy who held a sword to him was the same as the man from the stories. This… arrogant, angry boy was the magnificent king of Narnia? They had argued, they had fought. Anger bubbling beneath the surface of both of them. But time changes things. He began to understand the man that he had been, the standards and expectations he had for himself. Somehow he would find the two of them staying up into the wee hours of the morning talking about nothing and everything. Of politics of this time, to stories they both had been told as children, to their own insecurities as leaders of their people. Don’t sell yourself short, the king had told him softly one evening, You are already a better man than I.

They were not born of this land, he had been told.

His uncle and those in his company would sneer and jeer at even the slightest mention of them. They were not from here, why would we still hold them in high regard? This was not their land, after all. It always confused him. How could they say the kings and queens of old had no right to this land? This land that they loved and cared for with every fibre of their being? He had seen it with his own eyes. In the younger queen’s smile, in the older’s patience. He had seen it within how the younger king held himself, and how the older let his flaws be seen. They belonged to this world, just as much as any of them did. This world had changed them, and they had changed this world. In every action, every word, every glance, this world was part of them, just as they were part of the world.

It made sense, hearing how the people had loved them. They had loved the people just as much as they loved each other. Just as much as he loved them.

Just as much as they loved him.

He knew that they would leave Narnia at the end of all of this. He knew from the moment he met them. Every moment was bittersweet. From laughing with the youngest, to arguing with the oldest. From sitting in companionable silence with the younger brother, to training with the older sister. There was an ache in his chest almost every moment But one day they would also return. This was their home, just as it was his, just as it will be his children’s, and their children’s.

For this family he had been welcomed into, would always come back together. May it be days, years, or even centuries past. They would find each other again, in this life or the next.

                      THE AUTUMN NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

              for: @the-best-bibliophilefrom@tiriansjewel.

There was a chill in the air, fresh and strange and faint. It came from the North, whispering through withering leaves, and from the sea, salty and frigid and grey, and Lucy knew.

Winter was coming yet again.

Even though the Witch was long gone, there was something eerie about the first signs of cold, the waning daylight, and the newly brown grasses. She had noticed that Edmund seemed stiffer these days, Peter seemed graver, and Susan’s temper was short, and all of it made her sad. Was there no joy to be found in the changing seasons? Would snow always remind them of the ashen face of Jadis and the kidnapping of their dear brother? No, Lucy would not allow it to happen.

She was a queen, now, but she was also still a kid. Peter and Susan handled most of the important things with the help of advisers, which left her a lot of time to frolic about Cair Paravel and the meadows surrounding it. Of all her royal activities, she found that speaking with the Narnians was her favorite. She was learning their lilting speech day by day, how it was English but not quite, how it had mixed with the strange tongue of the spirits of nature, how it felt wild and free and like wild vines encircling everything. She learned their customs and their stories and their folklore, all of it tangible, and she let her hair grow into strawberry blonde curls which flew in her face without abandon as she ran to greet the next talking creature or laugh with the naiads in the streams. There had to be something she could do for her siblings and the Narnians alike to make the onset of winter just a little cheerier.

She was running, running, running, feeling the breeze in her face and in her skirts, allowing the morning air to revitalize her, when suddenly her foot caught on something. She felt her legs go out from under her and soon she was sprawling in the dirt, wondering what on earth she’d tripped on. She sat up and looked behind her only to see that the offending object was a rather plump looking pumpkin. She let her fingers play across the looping ridges and thought about how she’d missed pumpkin pastries and trick-or-treating and… and there it was! Everyone needed a bit of autumn cheer back in their lives! It was time for Narnia to have its first Halloween celebration in 100 years.

The next few days were a bustle of book-reading and decorating and spreading the word. Lucy found that the Narnians had celebrated Halloween, although a little differently than they did in England. Their traditions felt older to her, more mysterious, as for them Halloween welcomed winter and honored the souls of the dead. The fauns would dance in the forest and the tree spirits would sing a solemn song as their leaves left them. Lucy thought it all seemed very nice, so she arranged for pumpkins to be picked and fires to be prepared. She was sure Susan thought her a bit mad to be putting so much effort in for a little holiday, but it was all for a good cause.

When the night came, there was something eerie about it. The tree spirits’ song sent a chill down her spine, or maybe that was the wind. Or maybe both, she couldn’t know. The fauns began their dance, but it wasn’t strictly cheerful, it spoke of change and death and rebirth again, and all the Talking Beasts bowed their heads in reverence as they prayed for their long lost loved ones. Lucy didn’t know if she could call it cheerful, but it was beautiful. This was the Narnians’ own. They were their own again, and that was all that mattered.

And she glanced over and saw the smiles on her sibling’s faces, and knew she had completed a job well done.

                      THE AUTUMN NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

              for: @flexhealerfrom@tomyfortuneoftoilbound.

WINTER DAY.

There’s a stillness in the air when Lucy wakes, and the light is wrong. For a moment, she thinks she’s back in England, and her heart breaks, just a little. Susan knocks quickly on her door, and enters.

“Come on, Lucy, we’ve got so much to do,” she says, throwing the decidedly un-British drapes open to reveal snow falling.

“How do you mean?”

“Peter promised at the last hearing of grievances that we’d spend the first day it snowed making sure everyone had whatever they needed for the winter, and that’s today. He and Edmund are already at breakfast.”

“Oh, of course,” Lucy says, sliding out of bed. “Does everyone seem to be doing alright so far?”

“As far as I can tell, yes, but it’s hardly as though I’ve left Cair Paravel. Peter wants to set out right after breakfast.”

“Or…we could leave now,” Lucy says. “I promised Mr. Tumnus we’d have tea the first day it snowed, even before Peter made his promise to the people. I want to be able to keep both. We’ve been friends nearly a year now, you know, and we want to celebrate.”

“It’s been a good year,” Susan smiles warmly. “Come on, let’s go and have breakfast.”

Lucy blinks the rest of her sleep away as they enter the dining hall.

“About time you woke up,” Edmund greets her around a mouthful of bread. “The snow’s almost finished falling, and Peter’s been wanting to leave for half an hour.”

“Don’t you want to?” Lucy frowns at him.

“Of course I do, but we might as well wait for you, and until the snow’s done falling.” Edmund explains this as though it were obvious.

“It’ll be done in a moment and we ought to be ready to go when it is,” Peter says shortly. “We have to reassure everyone that spring will come, and make sure they all have whatever is needed for the winter.”

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Lucy says quietly to the tension in Peter’s shoulders, his voice and hands.

“It isn’t,” Susan insists gently. “Of course, we’ll do whatever we can, but we’re part of how Aslan ended the winter. You can’t take responsibility for everything, Peter.”

“Even the raid on the–” Edmund begins, and Lucy gives him a look. “The girls are right,” he concludes. “Come on, Peter, we can get ready and leave as soon as you think we should.”

“Right,” Peter stands and nods to them. “Thank you all, and I’ll see you in the stables soon.” He leaves; Susan smiles and follows him, putting a hand on his arm as they head down the corridor. Lucy finishes breakfasting hastily and they head outside, taking the shortcut through the courtyard to the stable.

“They’re the oldest and we’re the youngest,” Edmund says, seemingly from nowhere.

“Yes,” Lucy says. “As it should be.” She pauses before going on. “Would you like to have tea with Mr. Tumnus and I later?”

“If you think I’d be welcome…” He trails off, and a shadow passes over his face.

“I know you would,” Lucy says firmly, and the sun breaks through the snow clouds, setting the world on fire.

                      THE WINTER NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

              for: @jaydotwhyfrom@quecksilvereyes.

there is a saying, woven into Narnia’s sea, and washing into her shores. it drips from a dragon’s maw and a mermaid’s teeth; a mouse’s fur. it glints in the sinking evening sun, heavy and fat on the horizon, a glow even as it dies. from the ache of a suffocating tree, it is woven into nursery rhymes and into the wind that blows east.

I love you. let me be the thing that buries you. let me be the thing that sees your last breath suspended in starlight. let me make a grave for you so peaceful that even the soil forgets to breathe.

-

“They sound like vows”, says Eustace, with soft hands and soft teeth and a spilling, trembling voice. Underneath his hands, Reepicheep shifts. His ear flicks.

“They might have been”, he says. He doesn’t reach for Eustace’ tears. He doesn’t grip his sword. “A long time ago, perhaps they were vows. We don’t know, now. I fear we’ve quite forgotten.” Eustace’s hands are wet and sticky with the juice of a peach, his trousers and his shirt stiff and rough with salt. Reephicheep looks at him, with big, black eyes. “I thought they might know, when Narnia first called them home. But it is older than them, too.”

Behind Reepicheep, the sea is still and clear as glass, blooming in the light of the eastern sun, and if Eustace leans forward enough, he can see the bottom of it lined with pearls. Next to him, Lucy is crying. Big, fat tears that leave angry red marks on her cheeks, her freckles already fading even under this sun, she buries her face in Edmund’s tunic and Edmund-

Edmund looks like he might be sick.

With trembling hands, he holds onto Lucy. With his pale skin and his back hunched and the world on a needle’s point, he looks at Eustace.

Eustace looks at Reepicheep. Beneath their little boat, something moves. Eustace’ skin aches. It’s soft and smooth and raw and-

 -

          where is your scream, Son of Adam?
          where is your voice?
          don’t tell me it’s still drowned in these waters
          fashioned from paint
          fashioned from want

          open your mouth
          is it not your mother’s voice nestled within it?
          is it not your father’s chill
          all the way within your hollowed bones?

     we are both
     half Beast, half hope.

where is your fight, Talking Mouse?
can you still feel the rope on your teeth?
there is a table beneath your feet -
it’s cracking, see?
does not the cavity within you still taste like hemp?

open your eyes
is it not a human pup, with human terror
and human aches
holding you so gently
as though you might break?

the sun catches in his hair, see.
it’s in the tears on his cheeks.

 -

my sweet. my dear thing. the sea is so quiet now. so still as though it does not fall off the edges of this world in front of your disbelieving eyes. your friend’s fur is soft against your skin. his eyes are a starless night, as is the sky stretched above you. the stars have not yet reached this corner of me, you know. they are not yet enough to fill me whole. this mouse wasn’t born Speaking. you were not born with heat in your guts and tears in your eyes. if you tilt your head, can you see yourself in his eyes? do you think he can see himself in yours?

it isn’t enough to love him. it isn’t enough to hold him. you, undragoned and afraid, must be that which buries him. with human hands that have once known divinity you must send him East. do this, not for a lion or a cousin with a dripping tunic. not for a Star so hungry for the world she took herself out of it. do this, wailing, with the earth moving beneath you, because there has never been a Talking Mouse this far East.

do this for love, child. place him in his boat, and bury him as far East as you can go. with your hands upon me, I will hold my breath and all that moves this world, for a mouse.