Fic: Guidance
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia/LWW
Rating: G
Characters: Lucy Pevensie, Mrs. Beaver
Words: 1047
Summary: One day, Narnians would know her as Queen Lucy the Valiant, but she didn’t start out that way. In fact, when she first ascended the throne, she was downright scared!
Genre: Frendship
Warnings: None
For oonaseckar in the Halloween Goodies meme
Thanks to Kathy for the beta!
Guidance
Mrs. Beaver hummed an absent-minded tune as she worked the treadle of her sewing machine. With the Witch gone and their new majesties on the throne, items that had once been rare luxuries were becoming commonplace. The bright calico that she had obtained for her dress would have been hard to come by only a year ago. And, she thought brightly, there would be enough left over for a neckerchief for Mr. Beaver as well.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and she called out a cheerful, “Come in, come in!” When her visitor obeyed, though, her eyes widened beneath wire-rimmed spectacles and she rose at once and curtseyed deeply. “Your majesty,” she murmured. “You are most welcome here.”
Queen Lucy’s expression shifted rapidly from hopeful to dismayed. “Oh, Mrs. Beaver!” she exclaimed, her voice breaking, “Not you too!”
Was that a sob in her new sovereign’s voice? Concern won out over protocol. “I’ll just put a pot of tea on, shall I, Dearie?” she said. Without waiting for an answer, and forgetting that one ought never turn one’s back on a queen, she bustled over to the stove to do precisely that. “And then, you can tell me what’s troubling you.”
Lucy hesitated. “Might I? A-and you won’t think me ungrateful? And it... it won’t be as if I’m throwing Aslan’s g-gifts back in his face?”
Mrs. Beaver paused in the act of reaching for the tea kettle. “Why, your majesty!” Her voice was kind. “Lord love you, Lucy. Whatever’s brought this on?”
The human girl sank onto a wooden stool. “I suppose I’m being silly,” she admitted. “Mr. Tumnus was to call on me this morning to instruct me in statecraft... or protocol... or something like that. And I just couldn’t stand another day of learning all those details. Of knowing all of the things that could happen if I forgot something or made the wrong choice or...” Her voice broke. “Oh, Mrs. Beaver, I feel as if this has all been some horrible mistake,” she confessed. “I didn’t go looking for any of this. I didn’t want to be a queen. If it weren’t for the War, I’d... Why, I suppose I’d be home in London and getting ready for school by now. We were sent away because of the air raids, you know,” she continued at a rush. “I don’t know that my parents are all right or whether I’ll see them again or what the professor will be able to tell them when we can’t be found and,” her eyes filled with tears, “and, oh, I can’t bear the thought of them wondering through the years what’s become of us and never knowing. Mrs. Beaver, am I never to see my parents again?”
Mrs. Beaver cast about for a handkerchief and finally handed over one of the larger calico scraps. “Blow, child,” she said gently. “I daresay I don’t understand more than half of what you’ve just told me, but I understand that you’re young and frightened and not quite sure of yourself. Aslan set you and your siblings over us as rulers and that’s a fearsome charge indeed.”
Lucy looked up sharply. “That’s it exactly!” she exclaimed. “Everyone seems to think that because we’re humans... Sons of Adam, Daughters of Eve, that this should all be natural to us. But it isn’t! It isn’t!” She stamped her foot, little caring that she was acting perhaps a bit younger than she ought. “What if I make a mistake? What if we sink Narnia into a war? How can Aslan have so much faith in us... in me... when I haven’t a bit in myself?”
A furry paw covered her hand. “Many’s the time that one of my own kits has sat at that very table and asked much the same thing. As I did of my own dear mother.” Mrs. Beaver’s brown eyes were very bright and very kind. “Oh, their fears were different on the surface, of course; none of my brood ever dreamed of ruling over anything other than their own dams. But at the heart of the matter, there’s that same dread. Of not being able to do what’s expected; or worse, never knowing that you can.” She sighed. “And all I can say to that is what my mother said to me and what I’ve said to mine each time.” She gave Lucy’s hand a friendly squeeze. “Do your best and things will work out as they will. Perhaps, not always as you expect them to, but that’s part of the adventure. And Lucy, child,” she added with a great deal more seriousness than Lucy had ever heard from her, “if Aslan has enough faith in you to raise you as queen over us, then it’s because he knows you better than you know yourself. I daresay you’ll rise to the occasion, when it’s demanded.”
The tears were still glistening in her eyes as Lucy forced herself to ask, “And my parents...?”
“That’s a hard question, my dear,” Mrs. Beaver admitted. “But if it’s meant to be, you’ll see them again, I daresay.”
“And if it’s not? Oh, Mrs. Beaver, what if I never...?”
Mrs. Beaver sighed. “There, there, child,” she said. “Don’t lose hope. Just do your best...”
Lucy forced a smile. “...And things will work out as they will. It just feels so... so... daunting.”
“Of course it does... now,” Mrs. Beaver smiled back. “You’ve only just started to come into your own. You’ll learn. Aslan wouldn’t have put you in this position if he didn’t think you worthy of it.” She slapped a hand to her head. “Oh, dear, dear, dear. I’ve still not put the kettle on. Now you stay right there and...”
But Lucy was already getting up. “No. Thank you Mrs. Beaver. Perhaps I’ll be back another day. But I think... if I must be a queen, and if I’m to be a good one, then I ought to return to Cair Paravel and hear what Mr. Tumnus has to say. If I hurry, he won’t have left, yet.”
“Go on, then, your majesty,” Mrs. Beaver said gently. And as the door to the little house closed behind the youngest queen of Narnia, she added, “And Aslan guide you.”
This entry was originally posted at http://dragonbat2006.dreamwidth.org/33630.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Rating: G
Characters: Lucy Pevensie, Mrs. Beaver
Words: 1047
Summary: One day, Narnians would know her as Queen Lucy the Valiant, but she didn’t start out that way. In fact, when she first ascended the throne, she was downright scared!
Genre: Frendship
Warnings: None
For oonaseckar in the Halloween Goodies meme
Thanks to Kathy for the beta!
Guidance
Mrs. Beaver hummed an absent-minded tune as she worked the treadle of her sewing machine. With the Witch gone and their new majesties on the throne, items that had once been rare luxuries were becoming commonplace. The bright calico that she had obtained for her dress would have been hard to come by only a year ago. And, she thought brightly, there would be enough left over for a neckerchief for Mr. Beaver as well.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and she called out a cheerful, “Come in, come in!” When her visitor obeyed, though, her eyes widened beneath wire-rimmed spectacles and she rose at once and curtseyed deeply. “Your majesty,” she murmured. “You are most welcome here.”
Queen Lucy’s expression shifted rapidly from hopeful to dismayed. “Oh, Mrs. Beaver!” she exclaimed, her voice breaking, “Not you too!”
Was that a sob in her new sovereign’s voice? Concern won out over protocol. “I’ll just put a pot of tea on, shall I, Dearie?” she said. Without waiting for an answer, and forgetting that one ought never turn one’s back on a queen, she bustled over to the stove to do precisely that. “And then, you can tell me what’s troubling you.”
Lucy hesitated. “Might I? A-and you won’t think me ungrateful? And it... it won’t be as if I’m throwing Aslan’s g-gifts back in his face?”
Mrs. Beaver paused in the act of reaching for the tea kettle. “Why, your majesty!” Her voice was kind. “Lord love you, Lucy. Whatever’s brought this on?”
The human girl sank onto a wooden stool. “I suppose I’m being silly,” she admitted. “Mr. Tumnus was to call on me this morning to instruct me in statecraft... or protocol... or something like that. And I just couldn’t stand another day of learning all those details. Of knowing all of the things that could happen if I forgot something or made the wrong choice or...” Her voice broke. “Oh, Mrs. Beaver, I feel as if this has all been some horrible mistake,” she confessed. “I didn’t go looking for any of this. I didn’t want to be a queen. If it weren’t for the War, I’d... Why, I suppose I’d be home in London and getting ready for school by now. We were sent away because of the air raids, you know,” she continued at a rush. “I don’t know that my parents are all right or whether I’ll see them again or what the professor will be able to tell them when we can’t be found and,” her eyes filled with tears, “and, oh, I can’t bear the thought of them wondering through the years what’s become of us and never knowing. Mrs. Beaver, am I never to see my parents again?”
Mrs. Beaver cast about for a handkerchief and finally handed over one of the larger calico scraps. “Blow, child,” she said gently. “I daresay I don’t understand more than half of what you’ve just told me, but I understand that you’re young and frightened and not quite sure of yourself. Aslan set you and your siblings over us as rulers and that’s a fearsome charge indeed.”
Lucy looked up sharply. “That’s it exactly!” she exclaimed. “Everyone seems to think that because we’re humans... Sons of Adam, Daughters of Eve, that this should all be natural to us. But it isn’t! It isn’t!” She stamped her foot, little caring that she was acting perhaps a bit younger than she ought. “What if I make a mistake? What if we sink Narnia into a war? How can Aslan have so much faith in us... in me... when I haven’t a bit in myself?”
A furry paw covered her hand. “Many’s the time that one of my own kits has sat at that very table and asked much the same thing. As I did of my own dear mother.” Mrs. Beaver’s brown eyes were very bright and very kind. “Oh, their fears were different on the surface, of course; none of my brood ever dreamed of ruling over anything other than their own dams. But at the heart of the matter, there’s that same dread. Of not being able to do what’s expected; or worse, never knowing that you can.” She sighed. “And all I can say to that is what my mother said to me and what I’ve said to mine each time.” She gave Lucy’s hand a friendly squeeze. “Do your best and things will work out as they will. Perhaps, not always as you expect them to, but that’s part of the adventure. And Lucy, child,” she added with a great deal more seriousness than Lucy had ever heard from her, “if Aslan has enough faith in you to raise you as queen over us, then it’s because he knows you better than you know yourself. I daresay you’ll rise to the occasion, when it’s demanded.”
The tears were still glistening in her eyes as Lucy forced herself to ask, “And my parents...?”
“That’s a hard question, my dear,” Mrs. Beaver admitted. “But if it’s meant to be, you’ll see them again, I daresay.”
“And if it’s not? Oh, Mrs. Beaver, what if I never...?”
Mrs. Beaver sighed. “There, there, child,” she said. “Don’t lose hope. Just do your best...”
Lucy forced a smile. “...And things will work out as they will. It just feels so... so... daunting.”
“Of course it does... now,” Mrs. Beaver smiled back. “You’ve only just started to come into your own. You’ll learn. Aslan wouldn’t have put you in this position if he didn’t think you worthy of it.” She slapped a hand to her head. “Oh, dear, dear, dear. I’ve still not put the kettle on. Now you stay right there and...”
But Lucy was already getting up. “No. Thank you Mrs. Beaver. Perhaps I’ll be back another day. But I think... if I must be a queen, and if I’m to be a good one, then I ought to return to Cair Paravel and hear what Mr. Tumnus has to say. If I hurry, he won’t have left, yet.”
“Go on, then, your majesty,” Mrs. Beaver said gently. And as the door to the little house closed behind the youngest queen of Narnia, she added, “And Aslan guide you.”
This entry was originally posted at http://dragonbat2006.dreamwidth.org/33630.html. Please comment there using OpenID.