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Entry tags:
we'll take our hearts outside / leave our lives behind / and watch the stars go out
The title of this fic is from the very pretty song "Stars" by Dubstar, which you can listen to and/or download here. I totally forgot this song existed until Channel V played it randomly. Hooray for Southeast Asia being where the 90s go to die. One section of the fic is almost entirely lifted from my end of a conversation with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bedlamsbard about how SUSAN IS AWESOME, so a tip of the hat to you, good sir.
to know these songs and to sing them
Chronicles of Narnia. Peter/Susan. So, uh, warning: INCEST, though it's PG13 otherwise. Thanks to Groovay for the read-through.
ebbs and flows.
“If only there was a way,” Susan muses, “to receive these fine gifts without bothering with the suitors who bring them.”
Peter raises an eyebrow. “Do the suitors not please you?”
She laughs and takes his hands, tugging him closer. “Well,” she says, her lips a breath away from his, “I suppose they are all right.”
+
“Do you think the servants wonder?”
“If they do, I don’t think they dare question.”
“They may gossip.”
“It is the prerogative of kings and queens to be talked about.”
+
She is a heavy sleeper, which makes it easy for Peter to slip unnoticed into her chambers and her bed. Susan awakes in his arms, unsurprised and drowsy, and pulls the covers to their chins before rolling over and going back to sleep.
+
When the Duke of Archenland, his daughter, and their retinue finally leave, Lucy comments, “Susan is much prettier than her.”
Peter wonders if he’s being tested. It’s hard to tell with Lucy. He replies, “That’s not the point.”
+
They tumble out of the wardrobe and land in an ungraceful heap, dressed in scratchy utility clothes instead of silk and brocade.
That evening, Susan finds her brother studying himself in the hall mirror, touching his soft boy face with too-small hands. Peter meets the reflection of her gaze and asks, “What now?”
Susan didn’t expect how light and high his voice would be, and she can tell he wasn’t expecting her hug by the way he stiffens in her arms and hesitates before hugging her back.
+
“Are you busy?”
“I’m just reading.”
“Would you like to take a walk?”
When he doesn’t answer right away, she grows nervous. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked at all.
Peter replies, “Of course.”
He even takes her hand.
+
“I untied his ropes,” Susan whispers into the darkness. “Lucy and I. I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” Peter admits. He puts his arm around her, because that’s all he can do now, and this is how the Macready finds them the next day, sleeping under borrowed blankets in the back of the spare room. She shakes them awake and scolds them, and stomps indignantly as she escorts them through the halls.
“Children these days!” she sniffs, and Susan laughs.
+
In London, more things slip through their fingers and away from memory. They don’t often match up: he makes to touch her face and she shies away, and when she embraces him he is perfunctory, awkward.
+
There are no handmaids in the ruins of Cair Paravel, so it is Peter who buttons the buttons and ties up the laces where she can’t reach. The actions are almost familiar, this puzzle of knots and eyelets, and he’s reminded of the whisper of silk skirts as they fall to the floor.
Susan twirls before him, arms above her head, and it looks like dancing. She is smiling. “How do I look?”
Peter tilts his head. “Like a queen.”
+
The proclamation that they can never come back hangs heavy on them both. She sees disbelief on Peter’s face, then anger, and then there is resignation, which is what she has felt all along. Narnia does not need them in the way it used to. It is wounding to be sent away but it would be as hurtful, she suspects, to stay.
Susan takes his hand but he pulls it away.
+
She tells him, “You talk about Narnia the way you talk about a lover.”
“You can say she was my first love,” he says with a smile. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving her.”
“That’s because you’re her High King.” But there is something pitying in Susan’s voice, or maybe it is just concern. Still, Peter doesn’t like it; it makes him feel like a child.
He may not be an adult anymore, but he is not a child.
+
The Pevensies go to the park when they can. Trees and greenery comfort them, and even Mrs. Pevensie welcomes the distraction from counting all the ways the war has changed her husband.
When it is just Peter and Susan alone, Susan sits with her back against a tree and reads her book, and Peter lies with his head in her lap, reading his. He falls asleep lulled by the feel of her fingers in his hair, and she marks his page for him when he does.
+
“You didn’t think we’d go back last time either,” Peter points out, “but then we did.”
And she just sighs. “You’re not king here, you know. You’re under no obligation to have all the answers, and I wish you would stop pretending to know everything.”
“Once a King or Queen of Narnia.”
“Once upon a time we were,” Susan replies, “but not now.”
As if she has forgotten how the adage goes.
+
He untangles the ribbons from her hair.
He unbuttons the buttons on the back of her dress and she shrugs it off, lets it fall.
He peels off her layers, one by one, and when he kisses the inside of her wrist he feels her pulse racing against his lips. “You’re trembling,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Are you scared?”
“I don’t know.”
+
She finds him in the study when no one is home and kisses him with the fervor she claims she’s outgrown.
+
“Oh, Lucy,” she sighs, pushing past her sister and clasping on an earring as she rushes to answer the door. “I have no time for games right now.”
Susan’s delighted laughter wafts to the parlor, where Peter leafs listlessly through a book. He hears the confident overtures of the boy on her arm, and is reminded of countless men from Narnia’s neighboring countries and far-distant isles, laying gold and ivory at her feet, bringing wine to match her lips and sapphires to match her eyes.
+
From time to time, and especially after an argument, Susan thinks that she is more loyal to the spirit of Narnia than any of them: don't get caught up in other people's lies about yourself, embrace the world thrust upon you, keep your heart open and your mind clear.
She doesn’t need Narnia to be herself, despite what her siblings say. Whether she is Queen of Narnia or a Pevensie of Finchley are just little details. She will not carve herself hollow to have space to store old memories, and vows she will make new ones instead.
+
He misses the echo of marble and living by the sea.
+
It is raining. He finds Susan wrapped in a blanket on the window seat, her eyes far away. When she finally notices him she reaches out a blanket-draped arm, looking like half of a bird, and he is drawn to her. She adjusts it around them both and he finds himself kissing her cheek, her eyelids, and she smiles and kisses the tip of his nose. Peter kisses the edge of her mouth, but when he tries to kiss her lips she turns away.
They hold each other and watch the rain.
bedlamsbard about how SUSAN IS AWESOME, so a tip of the hat to you, good sir.to know these songs and to sing them
Chronicles of Narnia. Peter/Susan. So, uh, warning: INCEST, though it's PG13 otherwise. Thanks to Groovay for the read-through.
ebbs and flows.
“If only there was a way,” Susan muses, “to receive these fine gifts without bothering with the suitors who bring them.”
Peter raises an eyebrow. “Do the suitors not please you?”
She laughs and takes his hands, tugging him closer. “Well,” she says, her lips a breath away from his, “I suppose they are all right.”
+
“Do you think the servants wonder?”
“If they do, I don’t think they dare question.”
“They may gossip.”
“It is the prerogative of kings and queens to be talked about.”
+
She is a heavy sleeper, which makes it easy for Peter to slip unnoticed into her chambers and her bed. Susan awakes in his arms, unsurprised and drowsy, and pulls the covers to their chins before rolling over and going back to sleep.
+
When the Duke of Archenland, his daughter, and their retinue finally leave, Lucy comments, “Susan is much prettier than her.”
Peter wonders if he’s being tested. It’s hard to tell with Lucy. He replies, “That’s not the point.”
+
They tumble out of the wardrobe and land in an ungraceful heap, dressed in scratchy utility clothes instead of silk and brocade.
That evening, Susan finds her brother studying himself in the hall mirror, touching his soft boy face with too-small hands. Peter meets the reflection of her gaze and asks, “What now?”
Susan didn’t expect how light and high his voice would be, and she can tell he wasn’t expecting her hug by the way he stiffens in her arms and hesitates before hugging her back.
+
“Are you busy?”
“I’m just reading.”
“Would you like to take a walk?”
When he doesn’t answer right away, she grows nervous. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked at all.
Peter replies, “Of course.”
He even takes her hand.
+
“I untied his ropes,” Susan whispers into the darkness. “Lucy and I. I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” Peter admits. He puts his arm around her, because that’s all he can do now, and this is how the Macready finds them the next day, sleeping under borrowed blankets in the back of the spare room. She shakes them awake and scolds them, and stomps indignantly as she escorts them through the halls.
“Children these days!” she sniffs, and Susan laughs.
+
In London, more things slip through their fingers and away from memory. They don’t often match up: he makes to touch her face and she shies away, and when she embraces him he is perfunctory, awkward.
+
There are no handmaids in the ruins of Cair Paravel, so it is Peter who buttons the buttons and ties up the laces where she can’t reach. The actions are almost familiar, this puzzle of knots and eyelets, and he’s reminded of the whisper of silk skirts as they fall to the floor.
Susan twirls before him, arms above her head, and it looks like dancing. She is smiling. “How do I look?”
Peter tilts his head. “Like a queen.”
+
The proclamation that they can never come back hangs heavy on them both. She sees disbelief on Peter’s face, then anger, and then there is resignation, which is what she has felt all along. Narnia does not need them in the way it used to. It is wounding to be sent away but it would be as hurtful, she suspects, to stay.
Susan takes his hand but he pulls it away.
+
She tells him, “You talk about Narnia the way you talk about a lover.”
“You can say she was my first love,” he says with a smile. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving her.”
“That’s because you’re her High King.” But there is something pitying in Susan’s voice, or maybe it is just concern. Still, Peter doesn’t like it; it makes him feel like a child.
He may not be an adult anymore, but he is not a child.
+
The Pevensies go to the park when they can. Trees and greenery comfort them, and even Mrs. Pevensie welcomes the distraction from counting all the ways the war has changed her husband.
When it is just Peter and Susan alone, Susan sits with her back against a tree and reads her book, and Peter lies with his head in her lap, reading his. He falls asleep lulled by the feel of her fingers in his hair, and she marks his page for him when he does.
+
“You didn’t think we’d go back last time either,” Peter points out, “but then we did.”
And she just sighs. “You’re not king here, you know. You’re under no obligation to have all the answers, and I wish you would stop pretending to know everything.”
“Once a King or Queen of Narnia.”
“Once upon a time we were,” Susan replies, “but not now.”
As if she has forgotten how the adage goes.
+
He untangles the ribbons from her hair.
He unbuttons the buttons on the back of her dress and she shrugs it off, lets it fall.
He peels off her layers, one by one, and when he kisses the inside of her wrist he feels her pulse racing against his lips. “You’re trembling,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Are you scared?”
“I don’t know.”
+
She finds him in the study when no one is home and kisses him with the fervor she claims she’s outgrown.
+
“Oh, Lucy,” she sighs, pushing past her sister and clasping on an earring as she rushes to answer the door. “I have no time for games right now.”
Susan’s delighted laughter wafts to the parlor, where Peter leafs listlessly through a book. He hears the confident overtures of the boy on her arm, and is reminded of countless men from Narnia’s neighboring countries and far-distant isles, laying gold and ivory at her feet, bringing wine to match her lips and sapphires to match her eyes.
+
From time to time, and especially after an argument, Susan thinks that she is more loyal to the spirit of Narnia than any of them: don't get caught up in other people's lies about yourself, embrace the world thrust upon you, keep your heart open and your mind clear.
She doesn’t need Narnia to be herself, despite what her siblings say. Whether she is Queen of Narnia or a Pevensie of Finchley are just little details. She will not carve herself hollow to have space to store old memories, and vows she will make new ones instead.
+
He misses the echo of marble and living by the sea.
+
It is raining. He finds Susan wrapped in a blanket on the window seat, her eyes far away. When she finally notices him she reaches out a blanket-draped arm, looking like half of a bird, and he is drawn to her. She adjusts it around them both and he finds himself kissing her cheek, her eyelids, and she smiles and kisses the tip of his nose. Peter kisses the edge of her mouth, but when he tries to kiss her lips she turns away.
They hold each other and watch the rain.
no subject
"What do you need me for?!?"
For being cute -- as they say -- as a button.