So, um, it's not quite what I (or you, I think) had in mind, but IT JUST CAME TO ME and here it is. Seriously, the logistics of actually getting them to speak to each other are just too much for my brain right now. (I also digressed a bit where Edmund is concerned, but I do not think you will blame me).
Jadis smiles knowingly; she has met men like Uther before.
Once in Charn, but he was weak and his mind crumpled and shattered under the weight of his loyalty to her, and she had used him up before he could be of any real service.
Twice in Narnia, and although both were torn from her, one still returns. (His past is too much a part of him, and there is too much to escape from, nowhere to run to, no one to protect him. He comes to her unwillingly, fighting the pull in his very blood, but magic does not sleep and does not let one rest and she is a comfort to him when no one else can reach him, when no one else can calm the fury that lives beneath his skin. He hates himself for every inch that he gives her, for it is another inch lost that he cannot hope to regain).
(She knows this).
This world is no different than the others she had come to rule. There are still kings, still servants, still weaknesses and hopes and fears in the hearts of its men. There are stones to be overturned, secrets to be exploited—and magic is still ready and willing at her fingertips.
Uther welcomes the newcomer to his court, impressed by the air of her authority, taken in by the sweetness of her lies. It will not be long before he is as the others were, needing what only she can give, blinded by their mundane and selfish desires.
Uther, however, is different. She sees this now. The traces of magic linger in Camelot, moribund, hidden. His fear of magic's power is palpable, yet he has more knowledge of its sharp and jagged edges than any other she has known before: Uther's own son is tied to him even more strongly by magic than by love.
Upon making this discovery, Jadis smiles again, different from the assured predator of before, as someone who has seen a challenge and lusts to overcome it.
The roots of magic are deep beneath Uther's kingdom--built so heavily atop them as if to smother them--yet nourished with the blood of those he has used, thanked, condemned, and killed.
no subject
Jadis smiles knowingly; she has met men like Uther before.
Once in Charn, but he was weak and his mind crumpled and shattered under the weight of his loyalty to her, and she had used him up before he could be of any real service.
Twice in Narnia, and although both were torn from her, one still returns. (His past is too much a part of him, and there is too much to escape from, nowhere to run to, no one to protect him. He comes to her unwillingly, fighting the pull in his very blood, but magic does not sleep and does not let one rest and she is a comfort to him when no one else can reach him, when no one else can calm the fury that lives beneath his skin. He hates himself for every inch that he gives her, for it is another inch lost that he cannot hope to regain).
(She knows this).
This world is no different than the others she had come to rule. There are still kings, still servants, still weaknesses and hopes and fears in the hearts of its men. There are stones to be overturned, secrets to be exploited—and magic is still ready and willing at her fingertips.
Uther welcomes the newcomer to his court, impressed by the air of her authority, taken in by the sweetness of her lies. It will not be long before he is as the others were, needing what only she can give, blinded by their mundane and selfish desires.
Uther, however, is different. She sees this now. The traces of magic linger in Camelot, moribund, hidden. His fear of magic's power is palpable, yet he has more knowledge of its sharp and jagged edges than any other she has known before: Uther's own son is tied to him even more strongly by magic than by love.
Upon making this discovery, Jadis smiles again, different from the assured predator of before, as someone who has seen a challenge and lusts to overcome it.
The roots of magic are deep beneath Uther's kingdom--built so heavily atop them as if to smother them--yet nourished with the blood of those he has used, thanked, condemned, and killed.
He will not sway easily.