she's convinced she could hold back a glacier

Merlin BBC, "the night too dark by far"

2009-02-15T08:49:19Z

Title: the night too dark by far
Day/Theme: Grey
Series: Merlin BBC
Character/Pairing: Morgana/Gwen
Rating: R

Gwen asks, "what can I do to help?" her voice soft and close, dark hair curling against her cheek. Morgana reaches out and pulls her down, and the kiss is not so much sweet or romantic as it is desperate, and Morgana thinks she could cut herself to the bone on the edge of her own fear, flayed down the muscle and viscera.

The world is shades of gray, but Morgana sees blood set to the backdrop of her eyelids, and only Gwen is sweet and close enough to feel alive.

Gwen gathers her up in her arms like a child, breasts crushed together, Morgana's silk against the rough, warm fabric of Gwen's gown. Morgana knots her hands in Gwen's skirt, combs her fingers frantically through Gwen's hair, touches her to feel her warm and solid, to hear her soft and startled cry. Gwen is warm, and real, the hint of night chill lingering on her fingertips, and she says her name--"my lady, my lady, are you all right?"--and Morgana says, "almost."

She can't bring herself to let go.

She thinks, you feel so real as Gwen's lips part softly against her own, and she finds Gwen's skin beneath her skirts, and they both make it to the covers and beneath, rolling into the warm hollow Morgana's body has left. Morgana kisses Gwen's chin, the corner of her mouth, shakes with the nightmares that consume her from the inside out.

Tomorrow they'll probably be tired. Tomorrow there will be answers, and they'll even probably find the questions first. Tomorrow it won't be as simple as the quiet night, for once reassuring, and the warmth of Gwen's skin, her soft sure mouth and parted legs, her callused fingers and soothing croon that shudders when Morgana kisses along the curve of her breast, hungry and curious. Every touch anchors Morgana a little more in her own skin with the weight of her fascination.

"You keep me sane," she whispers, her voice cracking like eggshells, her soul unspeakably fragile, on the cusp of devastation.

"Oh Morgana," Gwen says, and kisses her deep and sweet.

The warmth closes over her and when she closes her eyes she sees only the dark and hears only Gwen's voice, and there is no room for death in her for now.

Prompt Table Directory

2009-02-14T18:35:57Z

All right, since I'm only allowed four links, I'm going to consolidate the links for prompt tables in this post for easy access.

tableaday directory: mouth-made sounds

tableaday directory: colours

30_breathtakes directory

CoN, tableaday: orange, Ephemeral

2009-01-12T18:07:48Z

Title: Ephemeral
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing/Character: Susan, Doctor Cornelius
Rating: PG
Prompt: Orange

She was not sure how he found her.

Lucy wouldn't have told him, and Peter didn't know where she was. Edmund was observant enough to have noticed, but he understood the value of privacy.

No, she suspected Doctor Cornelius had figured it out all on his own.

When she had first mounted the long steps to the castle wall, greeting the icy gray predawn light, she would have said company would not be welcome. But by now, Queen Susan--fingers resting on the stone and long gone numb, nose undoubtedly unnattractively red and eyes stinging from the wind--couldn't bring herself to protest his company.

She'd been brought up better, in both worlds.

He approached her slowly, the heavy fabric of his robes looking comfortably insulating, cleaning his glasses with a piece of fine white cloth. "Your Majesty," he said, very gently, bowing. "It is early."

Susan curtseyed deeply, instilling in it all the respect one gesture could communicate--and if you had grown up a Queen, you learned the art of making one movement say very much indeed--and smiled to see him very nearly blush, eyes twinkling. "For you as well, Doctor."

He came to her side and they looked out over Narnia together. "I like the early hours," he replied only. Dwarfs, she recalled, were often comfortably nocturnal as they pleased, not living along sunlight's rhythms early on as they were usually born underground.

"It's so beautiful," she said, gazing out over the spiny tops of evergreen-dark trees, the liquid jewellike gleam of water, the sharp line of the proudly jutting mountains and the clean-washed sky; stained with soft watercolor smears of pink and orange and even faintest lavender. "And so quiet." She sometimes thought she hadn't known the meaning of peace until she came to Narnia.

"Aye, your majesty," he said gently. "It is."

"I don't want to miss a moment of it," she whispered, like it was a shameful secret, the words knotting and trembling in her throat. "I'm afraid that--"

And there the words stuck.

He covered her hand with his own, very gently, and replaced his glasses. "Yes, my lady," he reassured her, in the same warm, gentle tone he must have used to comfort Caspian as he grew. "I know."

The sun was rising, spreading blazing streamers of color through the wispy streaks of clouds, bright orange and red, backed by the sweetheart blush of pink. Susan sank to her knees from the beauty of it all, chill stone biting her skin through her skirts, throat too tight to speak, and he held her as she wept like a child for the loss she knew would come too soon, even if took forever and a day to arrive.

tableaday, Colours (1)

2008-12-29T03:47:44Z

I believe I'll try Merlin (BBC) this time around. Susan, I still love you! But Buried Queens should hold you for a bit.

Colours
1. Red.	2. Orange.	3. Yellow.	4. Green.	5. Blue.
6. Violet.	7. Brown.	8. Black.	9. White.	10. Grey.

Merry Christmas, Solstice and assorted!

2008-12-26T02:36:45Z

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Wishing you all a lot of love, happiness, and also wonderful presents~

Fanfiction Inventory

2008-12-15T01:54:39Z

My current Susan/Caspian stories in the works.

Buried Queens
AU for LB. Susan Pevensie has been living alone in London since her siblings died, alone with her grief and determination. She's long since abandoned childish fantasies, but her recent dreams of a great lion give her comfort where nothing else does.

And then she is catapulted into Narnia again; but a very, very different Narnia indeed. Torn between two Telmarines--King Miraz, and a Caspian she hardly recognizes, a ruthless prince fighting a guerilla war that suspects her of being Miraz's spy. A very old enemy indeed has returned to aid Lord Miraz, and Susan get free, find her siblings, call Aslan home, protect Caspian, and defeat the White Witch once and for all.

High Tide
AU. The Four Great Kings and Queens of old, who once ruled land and sky, have vanished, leaving Narnia a place of wild, feral magics. Two strange creatures are being taken in chains from Miraz's city. The rightful King is building his army and attacking Miraz's navy. One dangerous encounter could change the course of history, and it all rests on the hope for forgiveness within one woman's heart.

A Day Called Jaguar
AU. (for V challenge on au_abc) They say Narnia is a land of untold savagery and untamed beasts, and it is their duty to conquer it. The four great Kings and Queens of Narnia seem to have slept for over a thousand years. All it takes it proper alignment and one rebelling Prince to change the world. Now one young woman stumbles into an enemy city, barely able to speak and quickly trapped in the castle as a blood bank; a strange young man finds himself in what seems to be a magician's den, and they have to escape and find their siblings to restore peace and balance--and fight conflicted loyalties along the way.

To The Edge of the World
AU. Aslan gave her a choice, and Susan took it. Now the King and Queen of Narnia are travelling to the end of the world and what may lay beyond, seeking out the greatest mysteries of their time.

Investigation of priorities

2008-12-10T21:44:36Z

Okay. Um. OMG.

Now that that's over, let's take a breather.

This journal will never be my main writing journal. It won't even be my main writing journal for Susan/Caspian. Insanejournal is always going to fill this gap. But I might make it my writing journal for the tableaday challenge. Either way; for the moment I'm taking a break from tableaday, so upcoming smut (and I promised myself I'd wait until I finished the table to write it, so it's been building up, so oh is it coming pun not intended) will be on IJ, though there might be some in future tables.

Still: it was fun! Looking forward to doing it again! In a bit.

tableaday, Chew

2008-12-10T03:14:47Z

Title: Presents
Day/Theme: Chew
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian, Lucy
Rating: PG13

"Isn't it nice?" Lucy asked, biting into her apple with a crisp sound, small sharp teeth sinking home.

Susan gave her a sideways look.

"I think he made it for you," her little sister told her cheerfully, swinging her legs and watching Trufflehunter scold Trumpkin down by the edge of the stream.

"And I," Susan said very primly indeed, "do not think it any of your business."

"I was just saying--" Lucy began, all tones of injured innocence.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Susan said sternly.

Lucy obediently finished chewing and swallowed. "I just thought it was nice of him, that's all."

"None of your business," Susan reminded her.

Lucy waved a hand, dismissive. "It's pretty, though, isn't it?"

Susan's fingers flew to her throat and a flush climbed her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly. "Beautiful."

"Did you thank him?" Lucy pursued.

Susan turned a sharp eye on her. "Yes," she said. "Not your business."

"Is that why you were gone last--"

Susan pushed her smartly off the rock and into the creak, and only made it three steps before Lucy, thoroughly distracted and sopping wet, tackled her onto the grass.

tableaday, Moan

2008-12-10T03:09:01Z

Title: a moment in war
Day/Theme: Moan
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG13

Susan drew the bandage tight and grimaced at the choked-off moan the faun gave, his teeth bared and eyes glittering. Blood was dried on her hands; she flexed her fingers, gave a curt and sympathetic nod, and gestured for the next patient.

This one she knew.

"Caspian," she said, startled. "You're--"

He shook his head. "It is inconsequential." But he didn't protest when she pushed him down, and the hiss she gave when she peeled his fingers away from his upper arms was mingled concern and disgust.

"Inconsequential. It's ugly."

He managed a one shouldered shrug and a pale, brave smile. "There are others worse off."

"Men," she muttered between her teeth, a familiar lament, and reached for bandages. She was no more rough than she had been with the faun, and maybe a little more gentle; she certainly had not paused after tending to the faun, her hand on the warm curve of his shoulder, and said softly, "are you well enough for battle?"

He looked up at her, eyes dark, mouth implacable, every inch a prince and unyielding. "It does not truly matter," he said, and then he caught her hand and pressed his mouth to her knuckles, a soft and tender kiss.

Susan nearly stopped breathing.

And then he was gone, and she was turning away, her eyes prickling with hot tears and worry, as she gestured for the next of the wounded.

tableaday, Yawn

2008-12-10T03:05:35Z

Title: so they linger
Day/Theme: Yawn
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian, Lucy
Rating: PG13

It was a chill, bright morning when Lucy scrambled out of bed early enough to catch Susan in the hall. She'd been waiting and only barely managed to sleep last night; at the decisive click of her sister's heels she'd gone scrambling out of bed, catching the paper off her bedside table as she went.

"Susan!" Her whisper sounded harsh and too-loud in the hallway, filled with pale, watered-down sunlight. Susan turned, skirt swirling out, and came back to kiss Lucy on the cheek, half yawning as she straightened.

"What is it, Lu?" She looked lovely and composed, her pale eyes sleepy, her dark hair gracefully twisted back.

"I was cleaning the study," Lucy said, pinned between accusation and wonder. "And I found some of your papers."

And there--a flicker, quivering over Susan's face, turning it into a pale mask for a long, unhappy moment. "I don't keep my business papers in Peter's study, you know that."

"Oh, Peter just commandeered it, you know that," Lucy said crossly. "It's all of ours. And they weren't your business papers."

Susan took a steady step back, as wary as though Lucy was not only as tall as her chin. "I don't know what you--"

Lucy thrust it at her, a silent challenge.

Susan's eyes dropped, even though from the multitude of pictures she must have the image she was recreating memorized by now.

A man's face, dark eyed and beautiful, soft shadows along the cheek and jaw. Lucy liked this one best because it was the most tender; each line labored over, every angle tended to with exquisite care, the near-wistful look in his eyes leaping off the paper.

Susan was pale, and she couldn't seem to look away from it. "I don't--"

"Susan," Lucy said plaintively.

Susan shook her head hard, hair coming free and slithering over her shoulders. "No, Lucy! It's just--just a dream. Just a foolish dream that won't go away and I--" She took more steps back, her composure shattered.

"Just burn it, Lucy," she whispered. "Just leave it alone."

And then she was gone, leaving Lucy with only the scent of her perfume, the hasty clatter of her heels, and the memory of the incredible pain on her face.

tableaday, Whimper

2008-12-10T03:05:05Z

Title: midnight watch
Day/Theme: whimper
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG13

Somewhere deep in the night one of the animals woke her; whimpering in its sleep, a stirring furred shape that lapsed quickly into slumber once more but left her painfully alert.

And it took her only a second to pick him out, a dark shape crouched in front of the fire; his hair fell over his face, shoulders curved forward, fingers interlaced. When she sat up a cloak fell free of her body where someone had carefully draped it to keep her warm; she gathered it in her hands and lifted it to her face, breathing him in; the scent of metal, and sweat, and the warm spice of his body.

When she looked up she met his eyes; his were wide and dark, dancing with light, and they both paused for an excruciatingly awkward moment as a flush started high on his cheekbones.

"This is--yours?" She asked, even though she was certain of the answer.

"You looked chilled," he said quietly, something that might have been apology hovering in his tone.

"Thank you," she said, and he managed a courtly approximation of a bow even in a crouch.

That made her smile; she gathered her legs under her and stood, skirting sleeping bodies to join him at the fire and offer it to him. "If you--"

"Keep it," he said, quiet and unreadable. "Let it warm you. It is the least I can offer."

Susan drew in a deep, unsteady breath, released it. In Narnia she was familiar with rules concerning the giving of gifts, an intricate layer of protocol and unspoken messages--but he was a Telmarine prince, unfamiliar with their customs, and in any case who was to say she would have refused him had it been properly presented?

She drew it close around her shoulders instead, and now had an excuse, in the form of the cave's chill, to pull it close and breath him in. "Thank you," she murmured, again, and sank to her knees beside him to keep the long night's vigil.

tableaday, 13. Cry

2008-12-10T02:11:01Z

Title: secrets
Day/Theme: 13. Cry
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan, Lucy, Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG

There was a time--long after Susan had begun renouncing the existence of Narnia--when she fell ill, sick with fever, coughing wet and racking and shivering long into the night.

Lucy stayed with her deep into the night, hurting alongside her, wiping her forehead and holding her hand and crooning half-remembered lullabies until she reached a fitful sleep.

She rarely stayed in it long, though; it was a long night, and a hard one, and the doctor would not make house calls and Peter and Edmund were gone. And deep in the night, deep in delirium, in a voice as softly choked with pain as a child, Susan called one name again and again.

And that was why Lucy could never quite forgive her; because she knew that she was lying when she denied it, she knew Susan had never really, not truly forgotten Narnia, only pushed it away for all the pain it caused her, and frivolous or no, there was a core of Susan that still belonged to Narnia and had not simply forgotten it but rejected it.

And lost twofold.

shiegra @ 2008-12-09T17:43:00

2008-12-10T02:03:17Z

Title: Midnight
Day/Theme: 4. Sob
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG13

It was hardest during the days when she would have given anything for Lucy to be there to tell her stories of a land she firmly maintained was imaginary; when she would have sacrificed anything to see Edmund's aggravated look, or hear Peter's slow sigh.

Those days she spent curled in bed, her whole heart a raw wound, her face buried in a pillow as she struggled not to cry until her eyes swelled and her throat hurt from strangling sobs.

Those days she felt most lost and utterly alone; those days she held the chill disconnect of winter deep in the pit of her belly, and dreamed uneasy dreams of a White Witch with mad hungry eyes--was this the reason for her hunger and her cruelty this inability to care when all is lost--dizzy, chilled and yet fever dreams of what she didn't believe in anymore.

She found it hard to rise. She was sick inside with pain.

It was during her darkest night, when she thought her heart might simply stop, that she dreamed of something else.

A slow, soft touch--trailing over her shoulder, down the curve of her spine, over her hip. Not quite chaste but not intrusive; perhaps wanting but reserved, reaching out only for comfort.

And in the gentle breathless quiet of those moments she thought she heard her family's voices somewhere far away, and when the tears slipped out of her like blood cleaning a wound, the touch pressed over her belly, melting that pit of ice and flushing her with heat, and someone said her name, gentle and low in a dark-velvet voice with the quiet purr of an accent.

It was the first night she truly slept after the train crash.

tableaday, 5. Cough

2008-12-10T01:53:30Z

Title: Balance
Day/Theme: 5. Cough.
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG13

She dreamed she was back on an empty battleground, an arrow nocked, the earth scattered and disturbed in great furrows, massive stones still laying embedded in turf but the scene empty of corpses, bereft of any other warriors.

Her skin was still prickling, and she was breathing too fast, like she'd been in battle, like she'd been preparing for a fight.

Scattered drifts of mist slid across the ground, lending a dreaming softness to the brutal scene of aftermath. She turned in a slow circle, scanning the line of trees.

She wasn't quite expecting what she saw, but it hit her hard enough to knock the breath clear; she gasped for it and then cried out his name, half-lunging forward.

Unexpectedly the charnel smell of a battleground hit her, making her cough rackingly, clutching her throat, gagging on the aroma of bloody death and pain, cries echoing in her ears.

And then pain, raw and jagged in her chest, of every injury and every heartbreak condensed into one horrible, grating moment. She staggered and nearly went to her knees, her whole soul pulsing with the pain, spun out into one long aching thread of agony.

Someone caught her arms, keeping her from falling; gloved hands, dark hair, the impression of his warmth and smell and his lips against her ear. "For all of this," he whispered, velvet-rich and close, "despite everything you have and would suffer--you wanted to stay?"

Her fingers locked onto his arms. "For Narnia," she whispered, the loss as shivering-new as though it had been yesterday, and then a thought so strong it pulsed between them like a heartbeat. For you.

He cupped her skull gently, mouth touching her cheek, fingers sliding into her hair and wrist warm against her neck, and the touch of his mouth was like silk--

Susan shot upright in bed, hand pressed to her thundering heart, and stared wide-eyed into the dark, feeling the touch still burn on her wrist, pain echoing in her chest, and when she turned her hand up her palm was marked with indentations that echoed mail armor.

shiegra @ 2008-12-09T16:46:00

2008-12-10T01:21:09Z

Title: Lost Words
Day/Theme: 24. Talk
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG13

I wish we had more time.

She still dreamed of him sometimes.

Small things. Quiet things. The way he looked at her that first time, eyes flickering back, dark and focused. The way he spoke to her. How firmly his fingers folded around hers; a fighter's grip, an equal's grip.

Susan had never seen the sense of diaries, but she had a better comprehension now; the need to confess to something, the need to spill it out like opening up a blocked pipe, so it spills out messily but at least abates. She wrote letters to him, conversations they'd never have, her hand scrawling with uncommon haste and disarray across the page.

She burned them all.

Her sleep got erratic sometimes, her fingers ink-stained. Susan packed all her heart into those letters and bit by bit, with each burning paper, it became too painful to remember.

To painful to even express the words that she would never, could never say.

tableaday, 25. Slurp

2008-12-10T00:45:23Z

Title: aftermath
Day/Theme: 25. Slurp
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian, Lucy
Rating: PG13

She dragged on the hot soup, too tired to care that she was slurping, too wrung out on adrenaline and battle-fever to care what might be in it. She was careful not to spill, at least, and other than that she didn't care.

Lucy had barely managed to down hers before sleeping, curled again Susan's legs. And just beside her, close enough for Susan's skin to be excruciatingly alive, Caspian drank his, eyes heavy with weariness but still sharp enough to habitually sweep the cavern, and did not speak.

She couldn't honestly find the strength for anything more coherent than praying the war was over.

Susan was only aware of her own dozing when Caspian caught her arm to prevent her from falling backward. Awake too fast she was already reaching for an arrow even as she clutched at his forearm, gasping for breath in a sudden rush of reaction.

He was looking at her hands on his arms, and his on hers, and after a moment they both let go at once. Even as she pulled her arm to her chest, she could feel his shirt, pressing into her fingers, warmed by his body.

He smiled--brief, fleeting, reserved--and inclined his head. "Perhaps you should retire," he said. "The battle is finished."

Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She rubbed a hand against her lips and set down the bowl, exhaustion aching at her. "I suppose," she said.

Caspian rose to his feet; Susan shook Lucy awake and they both accepted his offer of a hand up. Susan released her fingers but reluctantly; Lucy, sleepy-eyed, hung on.

He walked with them and Susan moved almost close enough to be touching, his body a line of warmth against her side after the chill stone, and the feeling at once lulled her and stirred her.

tableaday, 18. Hum

2008-12-09T20:32:45Z

Title: missing
Day/Theme: 18. Hum
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan Pevensie, Lucy Pevensie, implied Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG

Sometimes, when she had time, Susan sang Lucy to sleep.

She didn't have time a lot. She had social appointments and boyfriends and even a job, and was here and gone leaving only traces of perfume and the echo of high heels and the tightness in her voice when she complimented Lucy on her imagination, trying too hard to sound airy and only sounding like someone wounded.

Sometimes her voice got soft enough, drifting into a gentle hum, and her eyes unfocused and face gentled, fingers stroking tenderly over Lucy's forehead, that Lucy felt she knew her again.

That she had her old sister back, too-practical and sometimes prone to lecturing but still a Narnian Queen, still the girl who had swung off the horse and looked up at Lucy with her clear, gentle eyes and sent her on, unflinching at her own fate.

And then--because of how much Susan shunned the word Narnia--Lucy asked instead, once, "don't you miss him?"

And one hot tear dropped on Lucy's face, and then another, trailing down her forehead and cheeks in a steady rain, and Lucy's throat went tight as well with shared pain.

After that, she didn't ask.

tableaday, Hiccup

2008-12-09T20:18:16Z

Title: Revels
Day/Theme: hiccup
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG13

Lucy was hiccuping, Susan was gaining the beginnings of a headache, and in about five minutes she really would be driven to the point where she'd gladly bash Peter on the head for this.

The mead was sweet, golden, and packed a punch. Lucy had taken three sips before she started flushing and giggling, and Trumpkin was watching over her keenly, unaffected by his own drink. Dwarfs always had possessed the hardest heads for drinking that Susan had ever known. Peter was laughing with a faun and encouraging rounds and Edmund, sipping his mug quietly, looked sardonic.

She really might throttle Peter for this. Whisking a refill out of Lucy's reach, she pressed water into her hands again, direcing a dagger stare at her oldest brother that he didn't even notice.

"You're such...such a...wet blanket, Susan," Lucy said plaintively, swaying in her seat. "Getting as bad as you were befff--" She stuttered, stopped, and with a dreamy smile slid gently off her chair.

Susan and Trumpkin caught her as a group effort, alarmed.

"Might have a headache in the morning," he rumbled, scowling. Susan lifted Lucy in her arms; much more awkward, now, than it had been once but still manageable.

"I'll take her to her rooms," she said.

"I could--"

"No, that's all right. I'm unlikely to enjoy the festivities anyway." She took a narrower hall out of the great light-filled room, following the trail of torches. She might not carry a map in her head, but she did have a good sense for directions, and she'd been careful to acquaint herself with the castle.

The new castle, she thought, even though she'd made herself promise to not think about Cair Paravel now that it was gone in much the same way she'd made herself promise not to think of Narnia when it had been gone.

Both efforts were markedly unsuccessful.

Lucy clung to Susan when she tried to put her down but when dislodged curled into her bed with barely a murmur of protest. Susan knelt beside her, smoothing her hair back and smiling helplessly down into her peaceful face. Oh, little sister.....

For a second love swelled inside her so intensely it hurt, and then she kissed Lucy's forehead, stood, and left the room.

Outside it was dark--the spiraling hallway to bedrooms carrying less torches--and a window blew cool air across her face. She crossed the hall to it and braced her palms against the sill, craning her neck to gaze at the stars, scattered in shimmering drifts across the sky.

"You are not returning?"

Caspian's velvet-soft voice startled her, making her spin; for a second she was keenly away of her lack of weapons, and then her shoulders loosened.

"No," she said, and felt the smile come, for once tonight not stiff and forced but blooming over her mouth. "No, I'm...not in the mood to be boisterous tonight, it seems."

When she had been Queen she had enjoyed them more, hadn't she? The memory seemed hard to grasp. Her dignity had always been important to her, as their face of diplomacy. But it seemed...it seemed things had weighed on her less, then, when she had never been afraid of Narnia's end.

He approached her with a panther's silent tread, and she saw that he carried her horn at his hip, and in his hand he carried a flask.

"I don't--" She began, raising a hand.

"Just a sip," he coaxed softly, a smile hooking up the corners of his mouth. "To victory."

Half-laughing, Susan shook her head slowly and stepped closer, reaching out. Their fingers touched, a contact that sent a thrill of pure heat down her spine, and she lifted it to her lips, touching the edge to her mouth and drinking.

He did not let go, and she did not move her hand, and his eyes were dark and yet full of fire.

It flowed through her like liquid sunshine, fiery in her belly, making her cough; she released the flask to cover her mouth, laughing again. He grinned at her like a boy and lifted the flask to his own lips, rotating it in a quick twist of his wrist--subtle and almost unnoticeable--to put his lips where hers had been.

It should have been childish, an indirect kiss straight from playground. Instead, her heart skipped a beat.

"To victory," she echoed after a long moment, her throat suddenly dry again.

He bowed, short but graceful, and she swept a curtsey before she could stop herself, red skirts fanning around her legs.

"To the Gentle Queen," he said softly, and this time when he offered she did not hesitate.

tableaday, Sneeze

2008-12-09T19:49:04Z

Title: high tension
Day/Theme: Sneeze
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG13

She had the arrow trained on him before she could think, fingers taut on the string, body poised for the release, every muscle humming with reaction.

Caspian's dark eyes went wide, and then slowly narrow and focused, and he lowered the point of his sword slowly. It still took her a moment to calm her racing heart and force the arrow point down.

"You startled me," she said quietly, and the faintest reserved flicker of a smile touched his mouth.

"I can see that."

Above their heads a squirrel gave a nervous sneeze and then began chattering on at high speeds, tail flickering like a banner. She could barely catch one word in ten; the gist seemed to be relief that he wasn't dead, something she could sympathize with.

She lowered the bow, unnocking the arrow and sliding it into the quiver, skidding down in a drift of leaves. He caught her arm to steady her and she grimaced at the noise she'd caused, it distracting her only a moment from the close presence of his body.

A flush flared; she backed away, taking careful steps, and gave him a curt nod. "Where are the reinforcements?" She asked softly.

He gestured with one gloved hand. For moving quietly, he'd disregarded heavy armor for supple leather and light mail, and they both moved with careful quiet in the direction he indicated. Her fingers were already itching for another arrow, her shoulders so tense she barely noticed how easily and fluidly they completed each other's movements, skirting out in a formation so practiced they might have been fighting side by side for years.

tableaday, 3. Wail

2008-12-09T19:19:59Z

Title: Regrets
Day/Theme: 3. Wail
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing:
Rating: PG13

She didn't have the words for this--this anger, a hard pitted knot curling like an ember in her chest.

In the shadow of Aslan's How, a Narnian wailed a keen lament, voice throbbing with pain. A survivor, maybe regretting the surviving. Susan tips her head back, draws in deep unsteady breaths, pretends she isn't trying not to cry. Her fingers dug into her breastbone, like she could rub the painful coal of resentment and grief to the surface if she tried hard enough.

Men and pride and war. She wanted to curse.

Really, Peter, is it that hard to just walk away?

She hard the step and twisted, sharply, tensing--and then she was facing Caspian, his dark eyes too wide, his face shifting from grim, hard lines to surprised ones, but not losing the deep marks of pain and regret around his mouth.

They stared at each for a long moment and then Susan said, her voice toneless, "sit. It's all right."

He sank down, looking out over the pale, chill morning, and his hand lay still on his leg, face expressionless.

"Right now," Susan said in a distant voice, "I think Narnia would be better off without us."

His eyes flashed towards her, dark and startled, and after a long moment he said quietly, "no. The plan might have worked."

Susan stared at her lap then, teeth sinking into her lower lip. "And it might have been called off."

Caspian looked away again, his eyes on the misty shapes of the trees. "And nothing of this has blame that can be placed on you."

"Do you think that matters when people are dead?" She asked tightly.

"No," he said softly. "To a Queen, I suppose it must not."

That made her look at him, startled, trying to divine the meaning beneath the surface of the words, but he watched the trees still.

Finally she simply lowered her head and looked at her hands where they lay on the dark earth, tender shoots of grass ticking her palms. The words were thick in her throat, out of her blind grasp, and she drew in a deep breath, let it out, felt the pain unfurl in her heart, releasing from the burning knot of pain and thwarted anger to something cleaner.

They shared the stillness and the pain and the burden, and in the quiet of the morning it was almost enough.

WHY SELF WHY

2008-12-09T19:07:33Z

Why am I such a freaking angst bucket lately? Why, I ask you? I'll tell you. I made myself promise I'd wait to write pr0n for them until I finished this table, and misery loves company.

**sulks**

tableaday, 14. Growl

2008-12-09T18:43:33Z

Title: poor choices
Day/Theme: 14. Growl
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan Pevensie, Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG13

"You're such a bloody snob," her latest boyfriend says in disgust. Susan listens without expression; she's had hurtful words hurled at her a thousand times before, only a fraction of those occurrences in the case of a breakup, where the wounded try to wound back as best they can. A Queen must be implacable and she has not forgotten those lessons.

She doesn't even know why she went out with him--he had dark eyes and dark hair and not dark enough but almost enough for her to pretend--and she's not at all hesitant to cut him off at the knees when he gets too demanding--he's thinking about a ring--so here they are, and she's preparing to be alone again.

"Won't you even say something?" He demands, and Susan puts down the brush with a care lingering from a time when even her toiletry supplies were made of precious materials.

She slides her hair back and levels him with a long stare, the kind of stare that made enemies pull up short even when she had no bow in her hands. It has no less of an effect on him. "You," she says, in an almost kindly tone, "are saying plenty."

He sputtered, makes a furious little growl. Susan is not afraid of him, though maybe she should be; he is much taller than her, probably stronger. But he doesn't have the spine to hurt her, not even when she's wounded his pride this way.

Her thoughts skew. He was a warrior, he was a tried and tested killer, but there were so many other reasons that she would never have feared his hands and indeed, never have hurt him this way if she could help it--

"You don't even care," he accuses.

"No," she agrees, surprising him. You can't hurt me. I've had all the hurt I can take for one lifetime. "Goodbye."

She keeps hoping they can heal her in some way, and yet never being able to bear separating herself from the problem.

tableaday, 22. Pant

2008-12-09T07:41:30Z

Title: a fair day
Day/Theme: 22. Pant
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan Pevensie, her siblings
Rating: PG13

She's panting when she pushes her head up out of the water, dragging in breaths, her hair slicked to her shoulders. The air is warm, the water biting-cold; it's a lake with clear air and trees dipping to stroke the water in leafy hands, as close as she can get to touching Narnia now.

Edmund hugs himself and gives her a look, a 'are you stark raving mad?' look. She smiles, dips lower again, splashes. She always was the best swimmer.

"Aren't you coming in?" She called. Lucy, sprawled on the picnic blanket, giggles and shakes her head furiously. Peter glances up from a sandwich and raises his eyebrows at her, quiet amusement in his face.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Not at all." She's going to have to get out soon--the cold is seeping through her bones--but for now she backstrokes, graceful in the water, her hair fanning out around her. It's--freeing.

The sky is so beautiful like this, almost like--

Susan shakes herself and goes under, spluttering when she comes up. Maybe she'll get out now after all.

The gravel is rough on her feet, stones turning awkwardly; she picks her way with mincing care toward towards her siblings, accepts a blanket and a thermos and thanks Lucy with a smile. "It's beautiful," Lucy says, her voice as wistful as Susan's thoughts were a moment ago.

"A good break from the city," Susan says, her voice too bright, and Peter gives her a sidelong look.

But Lucy brightens, glad for the distraction. "Yes," she says happily. "It's so much nicer than St. Finbar's."

The tea warms her, gently filling her with honeyed heat, and she sighs with relief. Edmund joins them on the picnic blanket and they jostle, bickering companionably over the nicest patch of sunshine--as though the sunshine was patchy at all--and Susan and Lucy exchange sisterly eyerolls, Lucy tucking herself against Susan's side as she bites lightly on the cap of her own thermos.

"It really is beautiful," she says quietly, her voice full of longing, and Susan knows that the distraction had been unsuccessful, and that she had known it could not have worked.

Narnia, however long lost, is not something so easily dismissed.

They watch the sky, listening to their brothers laugh, and let the afternoon while away in memory.

tableaday, 1. Scream, Chronicles of Narnia

2008-12-09T05:34:48Z

Title: the train's gone down
Day/Theme: 1. Scream
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan Pevensie
Rating: PG13 (angst)

Someone screams--a high shattering wail, pain and denial packed into one, riding the fine edge of hysteria. The breath is gone from Susan's lungs, she is scraped raw in her soul, bloodied by an internal wound, no makeup, hair flying, wearing Peter's boots.

She is gone. She is dying inside with each breath as her eyes search survivors. Behind her in her flat the phone was ringing as she ran out the door, banging it shut behind her, hurtling down the stairs. No. No. Oh no, please-- She finds the hard bloody edge of hope inside her, cutting even as it fills her throat, polishes it with every passing second.

The woman's scream spikes and is cut off, so abruptly it's probably by a hand. Their names run through her in a litany, burnishing each trembling fracture of light. Survivors, there are survivors, aren't there? Oh please--

She could die, here, and no one would see, her heart stuttering into a stagnant darkness, her throat trembling with each indrawn breath. She is broken apart, fractured, torn by loss. The people she'd arranged to meet will be wondering where she is.

There is nothing left in her to care. Each passing moment eats her heart away.

"Lucy!" She screams, her throat raw. Her hands smack against coats, backs, she shoves violently, puts all the strength in her arms into it, claws like a wild thing. "Peter! Edmund!" There is hysteria in her own voice, now, a hard-bitten terror that drags bloody-raw from her throat. "Lucy!"

Hers is only one voice, and easily swallowed.

I need that horn, now, she thinks dizzily, and then cannot remember what she thinks of, what use a horn would be to her now. On the ride over her nails gouged bloody into her palms. She cannot breathe; her ribs feel broken, it is the same jagged, pulsing pain and pressure, and yet she cannot remember ever suffering such an injury. The world blurs.

Her voice is one more lost keen, wordless and desperate. She can smell the metal. She can smell the smoke. She can smell the panic.

She knows they are lost to her, and she cannot say why, only that she can feel it.

She must not go down in this crush of people but she cannot help herself; crouching she sobs, harsh tearing noises that she hears seemingly from a distance. Ohgodithurts--she is shoved, knocked about, her knees crack concrete and she cries out, one more inconsequential sound. Once they would have-- she begins, and yet cannot grasp the memory that touches her, painfully fleeting, of a time when her pain would not have gone unremarked.

The pain is vast and unending, like dawn, and between the people, crushed to and fro, she is lost, one small girl and all alone, and the only heart left to her an open wound.

They never have to tell her. She, of all of them, always knew most keenly what she had lost.

tableaday, 20. Snore, Chronicles of Narina

2008-12-09T04:01:54Z

Title: Disruptive, dear sir
Day/Theme: 20. Snore
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan Pevensie
Rating: PG13

Someone was snoring, quiet and disruptive, a persistent buzz of breath. Susan tapped the red feather she'd purchased in a small curio shop against her book, watching the water move, and listened to the wind stir, too-quiet, over the waves.

In Narnia, a ship was never quiet. It wasn't here, either, not really, the ship's engine going, distant sounds of music, but it was a cleaner noise in Narnia.

Everything seemed cleaner, in her memories of Narnia.

The man continued to snore. She tapped again, once more, twice, wondered if anyone would notice if she rose to go roll him over on his deck chair, wondered if it would be worth it.

When I was Queen, she thought in a sudden spurt of crossness, no matter how hard she'd been trying to direct the thoughts away from what-was and what-could-have-been, I could have ordered him thrown overboard. She never would have, of course, but it was a comforting thought.

The snore crescendoed in a fit of snorting; perhaps he'd inhaled something, a fact more likely by the moment as he continued to choke and finally irritably stood up. Susan fixed her eyes on the cover of her book, brushing the feather over her pursed lips to hide her smile--this, however, was familiar--a Queen must be decorous always, her dignity a precious commodity--and waited until his shadow passed her to look up again, watching the waves.

If she focused right, the railing blurred and she was left only with the endless swallowing expanse of water, the bright irrepressible stretch of the sky, marred only occasionally by faint scudding clouds. The birds with their white wings, catching drafts of rising air, soaring without boundary.

She could almost ignore the engine, and the people murmuring around her. She could almost ignore the folded sunglasses in her lap, and the book in her hand.

It was almost like being home.