Narnia fic: A Pagan Place, Book I: Come Into My Parlour (Part 1, WIP)
Title: A Pagan Place, Book I: Come Into My Parlour (Part 1, WIP)
Fandom: Narnia (book/movie)
Rating: all ages
Warnings: none so far
Summary: Sequel to Carpetbaggers. The Pevensies are growing up, and the challenges of ruling Narnia are maturing with them.
Notes: A Pagan Place is a story cycle rather than a unified novel like Carpetbaggers; the first story, or book, is Come Into My Parlour, and is itself a WIP.
Previous section here.
Seven days after the vernal equinox, Narnian Year 1002
On the western edge of Lantern Waste, before the land begins to climb into the foothills, is a small, and very old, Faun holt in a grove of great oak trees. It sits not far from the trail to Cauldron Pool, and in good weather travelers and locals will gather in the trees' shelter and drink Faun wine and Dwarf ale, and share stories.
This early spring day was clear, and it was warm enough in the sun for one to sit without a jacket, and listen to the snowmelt trickling down the gullies, and the occasional thump of snow falling off a branch. The Faun Pausanius had brought out two kegs from the winter's brewing, and was serving rough-carved wooden mugs of ale in exchange for old Narnian coins, fresh eggs, a string of trout, and even a hank of wool dyed a marvelous crimson.
The crowd around the kegs was as diverse as Narnia herself: Dwarves, Fauns, Satyrs (distinguishable from the Fauns by their horsetails and heavier build), two squabbling Fishers who kept spilling their drinks, a willow Dryad shedding leaves into her cup, a River-Wiggle, and sitting apart from each other, a young Wolf with a mottled brown coat and a Human Girl wearing a remarkably ugly hat over her ragged hair. With such a gathering, it was no surprise that the conversation wandered freely.
The Fauns were concerned about the year's acorn harvest; the Dwarves about the price they were getting for the seaweed they had carried in their great packs from the northwest coast; the Wiggle about whether the spring salmon run would provide enough to carry them through to harvest. The last two years had been lean indeed, with the growth of the population after the end of the Witch's winter, and the fear of starvation was uppermost in Narnian minds.
The Dryad said, at a lull in the discussion, "And there's that business up in the Wild, too. I've heard they're felling trees for bonfires and seige engines."
One of the Satyrs snorted inelegantly (for Satyrs do nothing elegantly). "Stories, that's all, just winding us up."
The Wiggle shook her head, the flat greenish locks of her hair bouncing against her pale face. "I don't know. There's something odd in the water, and the Naiads are unhappy. Could be bad; more bad, after a bad winter. Floods and famine again, I shouldn't be surprised..."
The Satyr rolled his eyes, but one of the Fishers, surprisingly, piped up, "It's true! My cousin Flipclaw saw them, up in the high valleys north of the river! Goblins and Minotaurs all gathered together--and Hags, too! He got out of there as fast as he could, and told me he was going to Archenland."
"Goblins and Hags!" repeated the Dryad, her eyes wide. She shivered, dropping a cascade of leaves into the Wiggle's drink. "Shouldn't we tell someone?"
"Tell who?" challenged the Satyr. He was a big male, burly with muscle, and his stamping hooves drove deep slots into the soft ground. He finished his ale with a gulp and tossed the cup to his host with a meaningful grunt.
Pausanius, looking worried, hurried to pour another serving. "Well, what about the Kings and Queens?" he suggested, his voice uncertain.
"And what would they do?" scoffed the Satyr. "Away in their castle like they are, eating off gold plates and such?"
The Girl coughed, and nearly spilled her drink, but recovered with a thump on the back from the Red Dwarf seated closest to her.
"What about that fellow Fraxinus, over in White Rush Vale?" offered one of the Dwarfs.
The big Satyr shrugged. "He's all right, but he's just another Faun, all in all."
"Doesn't he have soldiers? I heard that he does," said the Wiggle. "Though I'm sure their armor's rusty and their weapons dull."
"And what could a handful of soldiers do if the whole of the Wild roars down on us?" responded the Satyr.
"I thought you didn't believe there was anything out there," said the Girl, speaking for the first time. She was nearly as small as the Dwarfs, a thin and peaky-looking child with a pale face and dirty fingernails. Her fleece-lined cloak was stained but had once been of good quality, and her boots were spattered with mud.
The Satyr (whose name happened to be Athanias) scowled at the Girl, who merely sipped from her cup, looking interested and not at all afraid. "Well, I don't, but so what if there are people up there looking to come down? They're not just Hags and Goblins! They're Narnians, same as us, and there's more than one of us here has got kin up in the Wild, I'll warrant."
At this the Red Dwarf frowned, his bushy red eyebrows meeting over the great prow of his nose. "You may have exiles and rebels as kin, but take care you don't cast your net too far. Some of us here are loyal to Narnia and Aslan, and always have been." There was a small stir, and rumbles of agreement came from the Fauns and the Dryad. The Fishers and the Wiggle looked uncomfortable, however, and one of the Black Dwarfs muttered something into her ale.
"Loyal?" Athanias sneered. "Loyal to what? The Lion who left us in the Witch's grasp for a hundred years? The Humans, who weren't even here and now they think they can tax us and look down on us? We're not dumb beasts, we're Narnians and we should have Narnians ruling us!"
"Not that old cry, Athanias," said one of the Fauns wearily. He was an older fellow, with red-brown fur on his legs and a yellow woolen waistcoat that made him look quite dapper. "Narnia for the Narnians, fine, but who will lead us if we can't agree on anything? At least the Humans have Aslan's approval, and that does count for something between the mountains and the Eastern Sea, whether you trust him or not."
"And we know that the only thing that really matters here is whether Athanias trusts him!" offered the larger of the Fishers, to general laughter. Even the big Satyr himself raised his cup at the hit, and the conversation turned again, to the plight of a local Boar who had broken a tusk in a wrestling match.
Half an hour later, the company had grown smaller: the shadows lay long across the clearing and the air had cooled. The Human Girl moved closer to the rest, and fetched up next to Athanias, who was working on his seventh or eighth serving of ale.
"Look here," said the Girl quietly, "there are Human Narnians, as well."
Athanias jerked, spilling his ale, and looked down at the Girl darkly. "How's that?" he grumbled.
The Girl motioned to Pausanius for more ale in her cup. (If anyone had been watching, they would have known that this was only the Girl's second serving, and half of the first had gone into the mud.) "Well, these new kings and queens may be from some faraway land, but there were Humans in Narnia before the Witch came. And not just kings, either."
Up close, Athanias looked like a Satyr who had seen hard times: he had scars on his arms and hands like someone who had fought, and some newer bruises on his prominent ribs. "Well, that's true enough. There was an Earl of Lantern Waste who was Human, once, my grand-sire used to say."
"And my grand-sire's father lived in southern Narnia," said the Girl, keeping her voice low. "His mother was a Naiad, but he looked as Human as any king. He had a farm west of the Great River, grew apples and raised sheep. It's all gone now, of course," she finished, and her mouth twisted.
Athanias whistled softly, his hard look tempering to sympathy. "You're one of those, then, come back from exile. And they won't take your claim?"
The Girl smiled, but it turned into a sneer. "They said they would be fair. That was what they said, your fine kings. But my father asked again and again, and gave them all the papers, all the proof they needed, and they sat on their fine thrones and ate their oysters and beef, and my father died of the lung fever while their precious commission talked and talked and talked."
With a quick look at Pausanius, who was rolling an empty keg across to the door of the holt, Athanias asked, "And then?"
A shrug from the Girl's narrow shoulders. "And then the papers all went missing. And some Red Dwarf, so friendly with that king, the boy the Witch liked, he gets the estate. Just like that!" The Girl's face tightened, her dark eyes glittering. "They say they want things to be fair and honest and all, just like Aslan would want. But they're just like all the rest, come the end of the day. In it for themselves and their friends. Punishing us for Naiad blood, maybe, as if there's a Human between Archenland and Galma who hasn't any." She hunched her shoulders and spat to the side. "Dirty thieves. And my mother in Arrowhead, living on scraps--my father spent every copper piece he had to come north."
There was a considering light in Athanias' eyes. He called to Pausanius for more drinks, and waited until the Faun had shuffled away, grumbling, before he spoke again. Keeping his voice to a low grumbling whisper, he said, "I think, my girl, that I have some friends you'd like to meet."
TBC
Crossposted from DW, where there are
comments; comment here or there.
Fandom: Narnia (book/movie)
Rating: all ages
Warnings: none so far
Summary: Sequel to Carpetbaggers. The Pevensies are growing up, and the challenges of ruling Narnia are maturing with them.
Notes: A Pagan Place is a story cycle rather than a unified novel like Carpetbaggers; the first story, or book, is Come Into My Parlour, and is itself a WIP.
Previous section here.
Seven days after the vernal equinox, Narnian Year 1002
On the western edge of Lantern Waste, before the land begins to climb into the foothills, is a small, and very old, Faun holt in a grove of great oak trees. It sits not far from the trail to Cauldron Pool, and in good weather travelers and locals will gather in the trees' shelter and drink Faun wine and Dwarf ale, and share stories.
This early spring day was clear, and it was warm enough in the sun for one to sit without a jacket, and listen to the snowmelt trickling down the gullies, and the occasional thump of snow falling off a branch. The Faun Pausanius had brought out two kegs from the winter's brewing, and was serving rough-carved wooden mugs of ale in exchange for old Narnian coins, fresh eggs, a string of trout, and even a hank of wool dyed a marvelous crimson.
The crowd around the kegs was as diverse as Narnia herself: Dwarves, Fauns, Satyrs (distinguishable from the Fauns by their horsetails and heavier build), two squabbling Fishers who kept spilling their drinks, a willow Dryad shedding leaves into her cup, a River-Wiggle, and sitting apart from each other, a young Wolf with a mottled brown coat and a Human Girl wearing a remarkably ugly hat over her ragged hair. With such a gathering, it was no surprise that the conversation wandered freely.
The Fauns were concerned about the year's acorn harvest; the Dwarves about the price they were getting for the seaweed they had carried in their great packs from the northwest coast; the Wiggle about whether the spring salmon run would provide enough to carry them through to harvest. The last two years had been lean indeed, with the growth of the population after the end of the Witch's winter, and the fear of starvation was uppermost in Narnian minds.
The Dryad said, at a lull in the discussion, "And there's that business up in the Wild, too. I've heard they're felling trees for bonfires and seige engines."
One of the Satyrs snorted inelegantly (for Satyrs do nothing elegantly). "Stories, that's all, just winding us up."
The Wiggle shook her head, the flat greenish locks of her hair bouncing against her pale face. "I don't know. There's something odd in the water, and the Naiads are unhappy. Could be bad; more bad, after a bad winter. Floods and famine again, I shouldn't be surprised..."
The Satyr rolled his eyes, but one of the Fishers, surprisingly, piped up, "It's true! My cousin Flipclaw saw them, up in the high valleys north of the river! Goblins and Minotaurs all gathered together--and Hags, too! He got out of there as fast as he could, and told me he was going to Archenland."
"Goblins and Hags!" repeated the Dryad, her eyes wide. She shivered, dropping a cascade of leaves into the Wiggle's drink. "Shouldn't we tell someone?"
"Tell who?" challenged the Satyr. He was a big male, burly with muscle, and his stamping hooves drove deep slots into the soft ground. He finished his ale with a gulp and tossed the cup to his host with a meaningful grunt.
Pausanius, looking worried, hurried to pour another serving. "Well, what about the Kings and Queens?" he suggested, his voice uncertain.
"And what would they do?" scoffed the Satyr. "Away in their castle like they are, eating off gold plates and such?"
The Girl coughed, and nearly spilled her drink, but recovered with a thump on the back from the Red Dwarf seated closest to her.
"What about that fellow Fraxinus, over in White Rush Vale?" offered one of the Dwarfs.
The big Satyr shrugged. "He's all right, but he's just another Faun, all in all."
"Doesn't he have soldiers? I heard that he does," said the Wiggle. "Though I'm sure their armor's rusty and their weapons dull."
"And what could a handful of soldiers do if the whole of the Wild roars down on us?" responded the Satyr.
"I thought you didn't believe there was anything out there," said the Girl, speaking for the first time. She was nearly as small as the Dwarfs, a thin and peaky-looking child with a pale face and dirty fingernails. Her fleece-lined cloak was stained but had once been of good quality, and her boots were spattered with mud.
The Satyr (whose name happened to be Athanias) scowled at the Girl, who merely sipped from her cup, looking interested and not at all afraid. "Well, I don't, but so what if there are people up there looking to come down? They're not just Hags and Goblins! They're Narnians, same as us, and there's more than one of us here has got kin up in the Wild, I'll warrant."
At this the Red Dwarf frowned, his bushy red eyebrows meeting over the great prow of his nose. "You may have exiles and rebels as kin, but take care you don't cast your net too far. Some of us here are loyal to Narnia and Aslan, and always have been." There was a small stir, and rumbles of agreement came from the Fauns and the Dryad. The Fishers and the Wiggle looked uncomfortable, however, and one of the Black Dwarfs muttered something into her ale.
"Loyal?" Athanias sneered. "Loyal to what? The Lion who left us in the Witch's grasp for a hundred years? The Humans, who weren't even here and now they think they can tax us and look down on us? We're not dumb beasts, we're Narnians and we should have Narnians ruling us!"
"Not that old cry, Athanias," said one of the Fauns wearily. He was an older fellow, with red-brown fur on his legs and a yellow woolen waistcoat that made him look quite dapper. "Narnia for the Narnians, fine, but who will lead us if we can't agree on anything? At least the Humans have Aslan's approval, and that does count for something between the mountains and the Eastern Sea, whether you trust him or not."
"And we know that the only thing that really matters here is whether Athanias trusts him!" offered the larger of the Fishers, to general laughter. Even the big Satyr himself raised his cup at the hit, and the conversation turned again, to the plight of a local Boar who had broken a tusk in a wrestling match.
Half an hour later, the company had grown smaller: the shadows lay long across the clearing and the air had cooled. The Human Girl moved closer to the rest, and fetched up next to Athanias, who was working on his seventh or eighth serving of ale.
"Look here," said the Girl quietly, "there are Human Narnians, as well."
Athanias jerked, spilling his ale, and looked down at the Girl darkly. "How's that?" he grumbled.
The Girl motioned to Pausanius for more ale in her cup. (If anyone had been watching, they would have known that this was only the Girl's second serving, and half of the first had gone into the mud.) "Well, these new kings and queens may be from some faraway land, but there were Humans in Narnia before the Witch came. And not just kings, either."
Up close, Athanias looked like a Satyr who had seen hard times: he had scars on his arms and hands like someone who had fought, and some newer bruises on his prominent ribs. "Well, that's true enough. There was an Earl of Lantern Waste who was Human, once, my grand-sire used to say."
"And my grand-sire's father lived in southern Narnia," said the Girl, keeping her voice low. "His mother was a Naiad, but he looked as Human as any king. He had a farm west of the Great River, grew apples and raised sheep. It's all gone now, of course," she finished, and her mouth twisted.
Athanias whistled softly, his hard look tempering to sympathy. "You're one of those, then, come back from exile. And they won't take your claim?"
The Girl smiled, but it turned into a sneer. "They said they would be fair. That was what they said, your fine kings. But my father asked again and again, and gave them all the papers, all the proof they needed, and they sat on their fine thrones and ate their oysters and beef, and my father died of the lung fever while their precious commission talked and talked and talked."
With a quick look at Pausanius, who was rolling an empty keg across to the door of the holt, Athanias asked, "And then?"
A shrug from the Girl's narrow shoulders. "And then the papers all went missing. And some Red Dwarf, so friendly with that king, the boy the Witch liked, he gets the estate. Just like that!" The Girl's face tightened, her dark eyes glittering. "They say they want things to be fair and honest and all, just like Aslan would want. But they're just like all the rest, come the end of the day. In it for themselves and their friends. Punishing us for Naiad blood, maybe, as if there's a Human between Archenland and Galma who hasn't any." She hunched her shoulders and spat to the side. "Dirty thieves. And my mother in Arrowhead, living on scraps--my father spent every copper piece he had to come north."
There was a considering light in Athanias' eyes. He called to Pausanius for more drinks, and waited until the Faun had shuffled away, grumbling, before he spoke again. Keeping his voice to a low grumbling whisper, he said, "I think, my girl, that I have some friends you'd like to meet."
TBC
Crossposted from DW, where there are
comments; comment here or there.