5 Drabbles
Here are 5 short/semi-short drabbles for a contest that duskblue was hosting, for fun, at the social com for fictionland.
#01. Genre: Angst/Romance
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing: Caspian/Susan
Caspian clung to the pale hand of his wife, watching the autumn leaves fall in a slow cadence, a gentle wind sighing through the weathered branches of the trees all about them. Crisp, clean air filled the couple’s lungs as they strolled leisurely through the forest outside the castle walls, alone, but pleasantly, enjoying the silence and the company of the other.
Fall was one of the seasons were everything could almost be truly defined as perfect, with temperatures never rising above 80, the world always caressed with cooler breezes, and nature turning rich hues of the sunset. The nights were deep blue, always lighted with a near full moon and surrounding you with a sense of wakening exhilaration.
Susan, loosening her grip on her husband’s hand, bent down slowly to pick a leaf from the path they walked around their stone home. She trailed her slender fingers over its veins, and smiled at the color, a warm crimson; like apples ready to be picked or satin from Calormen. All at once though she weakened, and felt her head spin with fatigue, causing her to stumble, and if it hadn’t been for the strong secure hold of her love, she would had joined the collage of leaves upon the ground. He lifted her, and fitted the fur coat around her shoulders once more, kissing her cheek tenderly, stroking her neck.
She trembled and he pressed himself to her for an instant whispering. “Calm, Dearest.” Trying to quench her quavering within his own strength. It worked slowly, and he felt her relax and clasp his hand to reassure him. He kissed her again, then took a step away, leading her forward. Her degrading health had been a constant concern of his, often keeping him up nights watching as she collapsed into a fever, and then rejoicing when she felt well enough to stroll with him. Fall was her favorite period and he would have hated to see her miss the chance to delight in its scented wind and swirl of colors.
His tanned hands, with lines from battle and care, guided her toward the iron gates that led into their castle, narrow lighted windows staring down at them like dancing eyes. Susan faltered, halting their pace as her skin brushed against his knuckles, turning around to stare into the wood. He felt his heart twist in agony at her sadness, knowing it would be sometime before her feet stepped upon grass again, or her lungs were filled with the pure air of the outside…or that she saw her beloved season. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and drew her toward him, kissing the silken waves of hair on her head.
“Next autumn, my love…next autumn.”
#02. Genre: Mystery
Fandom: None. Fiction.
Mary Ma’Chellon shivered in the folds of her cloak, staring up in timidity at the dark structure, looming on its pedestal upon the hill, looking down like a wraith without eyes, waiting and watching for a hapless person to wander into its clutches. Her thin clothes offered little protection against the bitterly cold wind that drove her toward the mansion; her tattered cloak flapped in the gusts which whispered words into her numb ear, causing more than just the chill to daunt her steps. The ground below her worn slippers crunched, so hard and frozen was its surface, waiting in its cynic way for the first snow fall that threatened, this very day, in the grey clouds hanging over the sky that could be barely seen in the evening darkness.
A shrill cry echoed and Mary startled, looking up as several black birds, their sleek bodies silhouetted against the sky, swooped threateningly over the top of the estate, crowing at her, their beady little eyes observing her shaking and mockingly seeming to caw out a laugh, uncaring. She hastened her incompliant legs forward, watching as the shape of the manor seemed to change; the shadows giving it the illusion of being able to move. She felt claws clutching her throat as she took the first steps upon the pillared porch, ornate carvings of beasts seemed to leap out at her, their gargoyleish faces illumined within the nightmares of her mind. She let out a scream, but felt almost choked, unable to indulge her fear completely. With hands trembling she flew toward the door, her frail, thin form crashing into it with force enough to knock the very breath from her lungs; it swung, with shrieking hinges open to reveal dusty outlines of once splendid furniture.
Mary, slowly pushed herself up, staring into the interior at the dimness and the obscure objects that rose above her. She tried to calm herself, but continually terror came over her, fancying hearing footsteps…faint cries. With a bent head she crawled inside, curling up in the center of the entry hall, the massive opening to the curving staircase just to her side. For a minute there was nothing by the lashing of the air upon the old walls of the building, and then, gradually, the door in which she had fallen through, shut, creaking in the still same away. She sat bolt upright, eyes wide with horror as she glimpsed a hand grasping the brass handle, closing it with deliberate movement. She squealed, hearing the breathing, feeling the presence grow nearer to her in the pitch blackness that surrounded her that she could not see through. A boot stepped upon her dress and she could not stand, the form of someone was there, lighter then the background, but nearly invisible. Her voice was taken from her as hand reached down and gripped her, forcing her to stand, moving off the fabric of her garment. She clutched at muscled arm, crying pitifully, trying to wriggle away, helplessly.
“Mary!” A voice erupted like a crack of thunder, and then she felt a pain like fire on the back of her head that shocked through her skull before she lost her consciousness...
#3. Genre: Angst
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Characters: King Caspian X
King Caspian’s gaze strayed to the center of the court where the jester danced about, the bells upon his glozes jangling with ridiculous humor, tingling mockingly at the world. The painted white smile upon the man’s face did little to hide the animosity simmering in his eyes, or the real expression behind the make-up that stared back with a cold glitter whenever he turned to dip in service to his liege.
Caspian new the motive behind his hidden hostility, but was powerless to un-mask the bouncing idiot. He knew secrets which would have been better left hidden, and with bitterness he now watched the laughing man, the bearer of amusement, who held the dark reputation of assassin to those who had the displeasure of uncovering the fatal fact. When his uncle Miraz had been disposed, the former Prince had gone through every paper, letter, and report his despised relative had read or issued, and in that way collected much information about the states and affairs of the country he had inherited by right of birth. But in his search, in a small, hidden pocket, he had found a stack of short, terse messages written from the previous regent, his uncle, to the jester, all of them pertaining to murders he wanted done in the court. They weren’t sealed with the royal approval, and mentioned no names except ‘jester’ and the victims, and even the hand-writing had been foreign, but Caspian had been sure who they were drawn up for, and by.
In a twist of irony, upon the day when he was to arrest the jester and condemn him, for the safety of his whole kingdom, the papers were stolen and later, upon search in a fireplace in a little used room they had found ashes from many papers that had charred. Now he is free to work his evil, and my queen, and my people are in danger of his wrath. But he knows that I had found who he really is. I could unveil him if only… Caspian thought.
The minstrels halted their playing for a minute and a shout went up for a toast. The jester, with the same villainous smirk, bounded up and snatched a wine goblet when it was held out to him. “To the king!” he shouted, gathering the interest of all, knowing the moment held upon his words. Inside he was enraged and bemused, for he knew the most influential man in all the country knew his little secret, but in the same way he also knew he was powerless to act or be thought suspicious and be proved to have no legal proof. “That he may always remember that it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, then to speak out and remove all doubt.”
#4. Genre: Angst
Original Fiction
Rating: PG
“Please stay…” the soldier’s lips formed the words slowly, trembling with cold, cracked from the dry, frozen atmosphere in the stone cell. So many nights he had lain upon the bench made of metal, his joints cramped with the chill, rendered unable to move by loss of blood and battering, bruised features blank with helpless despair.
He felt her hands touch his fore-head, their soft finger tips caressing him, soothing a bit of his brokenheartedness, and bringing to his memory the visions of home, and boyhood, his Mothers hands upon him whenever he cried or limped to her; taking him back before the horror and the battle fields drenched with rain, crackling with fire. His eyes tried to make sense of the quavering colors that shifted in and out of his fading gaze. There was a voice, on high angelic tones that came to his ears, partially deaf from the sounds of war. “Rest. I’ll be back another day.” Lips danced across his filthy cheek and he tried to speak to her, but he found he had no voice, no power, only low moans escaped his mouth.
I’ll be back…he hung those words.
#5. Genre: Angst
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing/Character: Prince Caspian X, Caspian/Susan
Belief is a hard thing when words collide and for a moment touch in a crushing embrace, and then are torn away by fate, to separate places, like prisons of isolation from one another. It was this way with King Caspian, and the lovely Susan Pevensie, the queen of old, the gentle beauty who he met only briefly, and was drawn to. There was a lonely look of longing in her eyes when he had met her, that slowly filled with a mirth and kindness as they began to know each other better. But they had been ripped away and now he had begun to lose his belief…his trust, and his faith in her world, the world behind the great tree that still stood, its gateway closed but its memories poignant. I’ll always cherish your kiss, my love…but why do you not return to me?
#01. Genre: Angst/Romance
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing: Caspian/Susan
Caspian clung to the pale hand of his wife, watching the autumn leaves fall in a slow cadence, a gentle wind sighing through the weathered branches of the trees all about them. Crisp, clean air filled the couple’s lungs as they strolled leisurely through the forest outside the castle walls, alone, but pleasantly, enjoying the silence and the company of the other.
Fall was one of the seasons were everything could almost be truly defined as perfect, with temperatures never rising above 80, the world always caressed with cooler breezes, and nature turning rich hues of the sunset. The nights were deep blue, always lighted with a near full moon and surrounding you with a sense of wakening exhilaration.
Susan, loosening her grip on her husband’s hand, bent down slowly to pick a leaf from the path they walked around their stone home. She trailed her slender fingers over its veins, and smiled at the color, a warm crimson; like apples ready to be picked or satin from Calormen. All at once though she weakened, and felt her head spin with fatigue, causing her to stumble, and if it hadn’t been for the strong secure hold of her love, she would had joined the collage of leaves upon the ground. He lifted her, and fitted the fur coat around her shoulders once more, kissing her cheek tenderly, stroking her neck.
She trembled and he pressed himself to her for an instant whispering. “Calm, Dearest.” Trying to quench her quavering within his own strength. It worked slowly, and he felt her relax and clasp his hand to reassure him. He kissed her again, then took a step away, leading her forward. Her degrading health had been a constant concern of his, often keeping him up nights watching as she collapsed into a fever, and then rejoicing when she felt well enough to stroll with him. Fall was her favorite period and he would have hated to see her miss the chance to delight in its scented wind and swirl of colors.
His tanned hands, with lines from battle and care, guided her toward the iron gates that led into their castle, narrow lighted windows staring down at them like dancing eyes. Susan faltered, halting their pace as her skin brushed against his knuckles, turning around to stare into the wood. He felt his heart twist in agony at her sadness, knowing it would be sometime before her feet stepped upon grass again, or her lungs were filled with the pure air of the outside…or that she saw her beloved season. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and drew her toward him, kissing the silken waves of hair on her head.
“Next autumn, my love…next autumn.”
#02. Genre: Mystery
Fandom: None. Fiction.
Mary Ma’Chellon shivered in the folds of her cloak, staring up in timidity at the dark structure, looming on its pedestal upon the hill, looking down like a wraith without eyes, waiting and watching for a hapless person to wander into its clutches. Her thin clothes offered little protection against the bitterly cold wind that drove her toward the mansion; her tattered cloak flapped in the gusts which whispered words into her numb ear, causing more than just the chill to daunt her steps. The ground below her worn slippers crunched, so hard and frozen was its surface, waiting in its cynic way for the first snow fall that threatened, this very day, in the grey clouds hanging over the sky that could be barely seen in the evening darkness.
A shrill cry echoed and Mary startled, looking up as several black birds, their sleek bodies silhouetted against the sky, swooped threateningly over the top of the estate, crowing at her, their beady little eyes observing her shaking and mockingly seeming to caw out a laugh, uncaring. She hastened her incompliant legs forward, watching as the shape of the manor seemed to change; the shadows giving it the illusion of being able to move. She felt claws clutching her throat as she took the first steps upon the pillared porch, ornate carvings of beasts seemed to leap out at her, their gargoyleish faces illumined within the nightmares of her mind. She let out a scream, but felt almost choked, unable to indulge her fear completely. With hands trembling she flew toward the door, her frail, thin form crashing into it with force enough to knock the very breath from her lungs; it swung, with shrieking hinges open to reveal dusty outlines of once splendid furniture.
Mary, slowly pushed herself up, staring into the interior at the dimness and the obscure objects that rose above her. She tried to calm herself, but continually terror came over her, fancying hearing footsteps…faint cries. With a bent head she crawled inside, curling up in the center of the entry hall, the massive opening to the curving staircase just to her side. For a minute there was nothing by the lashing of the air upon the old walls of the building, and then, gradually, the door in which she had fallen through, shut, creaking in the still same away. She sat bolt upright, eyes wide with horror as she glimpsed a hand grasping the brass handle, closing it with deliberate movement. She squealed, hearing the breathing, feeling the presence grow nearer to her in the pitch blackness that surrounded her that she could not see through. A boot stepped upon her dress and she could not stand, the form of someone was there, lighter then the background, but nearly invisible. Her voice was taken from her as hand reached down and gripped her, forcing her to stand, moving off the fabric of her garment. She clutched at muscled arm, crying pitifully, trying to wriggle away, helplessly.
“Mary!” A voice erupted like a crack of thunder, and then she felt a pain like fire on the back of her head that shocked through her skull before she lost her consciousness...
#3. Genre: Angst
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Characters: King Caspian X
King Caspian’s gaze strayed to the center of the court where the jester danced about, the bells upon his glozes jangling with ridiculous humor, tingling mockingly at the world. The painted white smile upon the man’s face did little to hide the animosity simmering in his eyes, or the real expression behind the make-up that stared back with a cold glitter whenever he turned to dip in service to his liege.
Caspian new the motive behind his hidden hostility, but was powerless to un-mask the bouncing idiot. He knew secrets which would have been better left hidden, and with bitterness he now watched the laughing man, the bearer of amusement, who held the dark reputation of assassin to those who had the displeasure of uncovering the fatal fact. When his uncle Miraz had been disposed, the former Prince had gone through every paper, letter, and report his despised relative had read or issued, and in that way collected much information about the states and affairs of the country he had inherited by right of birth. But in his search, in a small, hidden pocket, he had found a stack of short, terse messages written from the previous regent, his uncle, to the jester, all of them pertaining to murders he wanted done in the court. They weren’t sealed with the royal approval, and mentioned no names except ‘jester’ and the victims, and even the hand-writing had been foreign, but Caspian had been sure who they were drawn up for, and by.
In a twist of irony, upon the day when he was to arrest the jester and condemn him, for the safety of his whole kingdom, the papers were stolen and later, upon search in a fireplace in a little used room they had found ashes from many papers that had charred. Now he is free to work his evil, and my queen, and my people are in danger of his wrath. But he knows that I had found who he really is. I could unveil him if only… Caspian thought.
The minstrels halted their playing for a minute and a shout went up for a toast. The jester, with the same villainous smirk, bounded up and snatched a wine goblet when it was held out to him. “To the king!” he shouted, gathering the interest of all, knowing the moment held upon his words. Inside he was enraged and bemused, for he knew the most influential man in all the country knew his little secret, but in the same way he also knew he was powerless to act or be thought suspicious and be proved to have no legal proof. “That he may always remember that it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, then to speak out and remove all doubt.”
#4. Genre: Angst
Original Fiction
Rating: PG
“Please stay…” the soldier’s lips formed the words slowly, trembling with cold, cracked from the dry, frozen atmosphere in the stone cell. So many nights he had lain upon the bench made of metal, his joints cramped with the chill, rendered unable to move by loss of blood and battering, bruised features blank with helpless despair.
He felt her hands touch his fore-head, their soft finger tips caressing him, soothing a bit of his brokenheartedness, and bringing to his memory the visions of home, and boyhood, his Mothers hands upon him whenever he cried or limped to her; taking him back before the horror and the battle fields drenched with rain, crackling with fire. His eyes tried to make sense of the quavering colors that shifted in and out of his fading gaze. There was a voice, on high angelic tones that came to his ears, partially deaf from the sounds of war. “Rest. I’ll be back another day.” Lips danced across his filthy cheek and he tried to speak to her, but he found he had no voice, no power, only low moans escaped his mouth.
I’ll be back…he hung those words.
#5. Genre: Angst
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing/Character: Prince Caspian X, Caspian/Susan
Belief is a hard thing when words collide and for a moment touch in a crushing embrace, and then are torn away by fate, to separate places, like prisons of isolation from one another. It was this way with King Caspian, and the lovely Susan Pevensie, the queen of old, the gentle beauty who he met only briefly, and was drawn to. There was a lonely look of longing in her eyes when he had met her, that slowly filled with a mirth and kindness as they began to know each other better. But they had been ripped away and now he had begun to lose his belief…his trust, and his faith in her world, the world behind the great tree that still stood, its gateway closed but its memories poignant. I’ll always cherish your kiss, my love…but why do you not return to me?