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[...and names the constellations with him...]
The chapter headers are from, respectively, 'The Small Vases from Hebron' and 'Late August Hours Before the Year 2000' by Naomi Shihab Nye. Much thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
boogalooed for the beta.
Hidden Pictures
Chronicles of Narnia. PG.
Two drabbles set during the beginning of Prince Caspian: one from Lucy, and one from Trumpkin.
01 // a crushed glass under the feet/still shines
“The Magnificent,” he adds, and Lucy giggles but her heart aches for him all the same.
Trumpkin gives Peter the fish-eye. Lucy’s dress itches at the back of her waist and she resists the urge to scratch it – that would be unbecoming for a queen. The velvet and brocade hang heavy on her but she doesn’t mind. Narnia has called her and she is glad to be back - she is ready to do her duty. The Beavers and Mr. Tumnus and all her old friends may be gone, but she is here, and so is Aslan, and as they go forth setting Narnia right she will think of her old friends and honor them with victory.
Like before, there would be music. There would be dancing. Like before, there would be feasts, with all sorts of foods and fruits as have no name on Earth, for they do not exist there. Everything would be all right.
Peter, though. Peter has different memories of Narnia, and whatever memories they are, they have only turned him inwards. He is perhaps the one who has missed Narnia as much as she has. To think they could have had such lovely talks reminiscing and remembering the way things used to be, but instead he just got into all sorts of trouble.
In the ruins of Cair Paravel, Lucy watched Peter blow the dust off his shield, and his expression grew contemplative as he took in the embossment of the Great Lion. He had been the first to finish changing into his old clothes, the first to finish polishing his sword and shield. She thought he did look like a king then, like someone who was ready and willing, someone who was able, and – most importantly – he looked like the Peter she once rubbed noses with and on whose shoulders she once rode, and she was proud of him again.
“You probably could have left that part out,” says Susan, and Lucy doesn’t voice her disagreement. It has been ages – apparently a little over a millennium – since Peter has been able to rightfully claim that title.
02 // the root goes deep/on all that came before
When the High King looks down the dizzying heights of what he used to insist was a viable crossing, Trumpkin thinks he sees the boy go green. Fair enough. Being a Dwarf, Trumpkin has never much liked heights. Still, he has learned not to take it for granted that all men and beasts would have the sense to realize that - if you’ve no wings - you ought to stay quite close to the ground, where you can only fall to your death if you are an idiot.
Trumpkin hopes this lot aren’t idiots.
The girls are all right when they’re not calling him by that horrid nickname. The dark-haired boy is courteous enough, but Trumpkin recognizes him for the type who keeps his own counsel and lets none get too close; this doesn’t so much make Trumpkin uneasy as it reminds him that these are the traits of a successful enemy.
The High King is the worst of the lot. He speaks with the fervency of a child and makes the promises of a politician. As he led them through the rocky hillside that would eventually take them to this dead end, the boy had spoken of forging a peace across all the countries of this world like it isn’t just something out of a legend. His legend.
One night, Trumpkin stays up much too late with the older girl, Susan. The other three are sound asleep, so the two of them sit close together and speak at a volume only one another can hear. He stokes the embers of the fire with his sword and appreciates the girl’s quiet presence; she is pleasant without being imposing. When she looks up at the stars and names the constellations with him, he sees a sadness about her that is less apparent in the daylight. This one had been born for the night’s soft shadows.
“I’ve missed Narnia so much,” she says to him.
He replies gruffly, “You shouldn’t have left, then, Your Majesty.”
“I didn’t want to! None of us wanted to, I hope you know that. We were given no choice in the matter.” She sighs. “I just hope this time he gives us fair warning before he sends us back again.”
Trumpkin raises a bushy eyebrow at her. “How’re you so sure you’ll be sent back this time, too?”
Susan shrugs, hugs her legs to her chest, and rests her chin on her knees. “I’m not. I just... I just daren’t hope that this time it’s for good.”
It is a while before either of them talks again. Trumpkin asks her, “Are you prepared to leave whatever it is you’ve been doing for thirteen hundred years to rule over us again?”
He receives no answer, which doesn’t surprise him.
previous | next
boogalooed for the beta.Hidden Pictures
Chronicles of Narnia. PG.
Two drabbles set during the beginning of Prince Caspian: one from Lucy, and one from Trumpkin.
01 // a crushed glass under the feet/still shines
“The Magnificent,” he adds, and Lucy giggles but her heart aches for him all the same.
Trumpkin gives Peter the fish-eye. Lucy’s dress itches at the back of her waist and she resists the urge to scratch it – that would be unbecoming for a queen. The velvet and brocade hang heavy on her but she doesn’t mind. Narnia has called her and she is glad to be back - she is ready to do her duty. The Beavers and Mr. Tumnus and all her old friends may be gone, but she is here, and so is Aslan, and as they go forth setting Narnia right she will think of her old friends and honor them with victory.
Like before, there would be music. There would be dancing. Like before, there would be feasts, with all sorts of foods and fruits as have no name on Earth, for they do not exist there. Everything would be all right.
Peter, though. Peter has different memories of Narnia, and whatever memories they are, they have only turned him inwards. He is perhaps the one who has missed Narnia as much as she has. To think they could have had such lovely talks reminiscing and remembering the way things used to be, but instead he just got into all sorts of trouble.
In the ruins of Cair Paravel, Lucy watched Peter blow the dust off his shield, and his expression grew contemplative as he took in the embossment of the Great Lion. He had been the first to finish changing into his old clothes, the first to finish polishing his sword and shield. She thought he did look like a king then, like someone who was ready and willing, someone who was able, and – most importantly – he looked like the Peter she once rubbed noses with and on whose shoulders she once rode, and she was proud of him again.
“You probably could have left that part out,” says Susan, and Lucy doesn’t voice her disagreement. It has been ages – apparently a little over a millennium – since Peter has been able to rightfully claim that title.
02 // the root goes deep/on all that came before
When the High King looks down the dizzying heights of what he used to insist was a viable crossing, Trumpkin thinks he sees the boy go green. Fair enough. Being a Dwarf, Trumpkin has never much liked heights. Still, he has learned not to take it for granted that all men and beasts would have the sense to realize that - if you’ve no wings - you ought to stay quite close to the ground, where you can only fall to your death if you are an idiot.
Trumpkin hopes this lot aren’t idiots.
The girls are all right when they’re not calling him by that horrid nickname. The dark-haired boy is courteous enough, but Trumpkin recognizes him for the type who keeps his own counsel and lets none get too close; this doesn’t so much make Trumpkin uneasy as it reminds him that these are the traits of a successful enemy.
The High King is the worst of the lot. He speaks with the fervency of a child and makes the promises of a politician. As he led them through the rocky hillside that would eventually take them to this dead end, the boy had spoken of forging a peace across all the countries of this world like it isn’t just something out of a legend. His legend.
One night, Trumpkin stays up much too late with the older girl, Susan. The other three are sound asleep, so the two of them sit close together and speak at a volume only one another can hear. He stokes the embers of the fire with his sword and appreciates the girl’s quiet presence; she is pleasant without being imposing. When she looks up at the stars and names the constellations with him, he sees a sadness about her that is less apparent in the daylight. This one had been born for the night’s soft shadows.
“I’ve missed Narnia so much,” she says to him.
He replies gruffly, “You shouldn’t have left, then, Your Majesty.”
“I didn’t want to! None of us wanted to, I hope you know that. We were given no choice in the matter.” She sighs. “I just hope this time he gives us fair warning before he sends us back again.”
Trumpkin raises a bushy eyebrow at her. “How’re you so sure you’ll be sent back this time, too?”
Susan shrugs, hugs her legs to her chest, and rests her chin on her knees. “I’m not. I just... I just daren’t hope that this time it’s for good.”
It is a while before either of them talks again. Trumpkin asks her, “Are you prepared to leave whatever it is you’ve been doing for thirteen hundred years to rule over us again?”
He receives no answer, which doesn’t surprise him.