three sentence fic~
So so lovely to come back while this is still going! My favorite ficathon :)
Medieval History, Richard II/Anne of Bohemia + Richard III/Anne Neville, history repeating
"I think...they are saying my husband had me murdered, to make way for his brother's daughter."
"Oh, my dear, there will always be Edwards and Richards and Henrys reigning and marrying and dying; we're out of it now, here at least, for ourselves, we can decide how it went. It was the plague, dear, and he loves you and mourns you."
Narnia, Peter/Lucy, she loves him like the stars
He is her favorite sibling, still, but not in the guilty, secretive manner of picking amongst brothers and sisters. This love is deeper, more visceral, and more shameful, even in Narnia where loves of all kind lay thick as autumn leaves upon the ground. She loves him like the stars, twinkling and watching from afar, as close as their names and as desperately untouchable as their distant, dancing selves.
LOTR/Narnia, Lucy and Aragorn, their hands can heal, their hands can bruise
"I always say it's not a true quest until you've made friends with the mysterious stranger who ambushed you and knocked you out," Lucy says, quite cheerfully for a girl with a lump on her head and her weapons still in the hands of said stranger.
"Are we friends already?" he asks, quietly amused, reaching across to hand her a cup of tea.
"We are if you let me try your pipeweed!"
LOTR/Narnia: Eowyn, any, Susan's horn
Eowyn knows horn calls, has spent her life in thrall to the gut-wrenching reliefs and pains of clear notes blaring across the Mark. This sound is like none she has ever heard, low and gentle and insistent, a declaration and a challenge and a peace offering all at once. And when she steps outside, the woman winding it lowers her horn and smiles, as if she were sounding it for Eowyn and no one else.
Medieval History, Richard II/Anne of Bohemia + Richard III/Anne Neville, history repeating
"I think...they are saying my husband had me murdered, to make way for his brother's daughter."
"Oh, my dear, there will always be Edwards and Richards and Henrys reigning and marrying and dying; we're out of it now, here at least, for ourselves, we can decide how it went. It was the plague, dear, and he loves you and mourns you."
Narnia, Peter/Lucy, she loves him like the stars
He is her favorite sibling, still, but not in the guilty, secretive manner of picking amongst brothers and sisters. This love is deeper, more visceral, and more shameful, even in Narnia where loves of all kind lay thick as autumn leaves upon the ground. She loves him like the stars, twinkling and watching from afar, as close as their names and as desperately untouchable as their distant, dancing selves.
LOTR/Narnia, Lucy and Aragorn, their hands can heal, their hands can bruise
"I always say it's not a true quest until you've made friends with the mysterious stranger who ambushed you and knocked you out," Lucy says, quite cheerfully for a girl with a lump on her head and her weapons still in the hands of said stranger.
"Are we friends already?" he asks, quietly amused, reaching across to hand her a cup of tea.
"We are if you let me try your pipeweed!"
LOTR/Narnia: Eowyn, any, Susan's horn
Eowyn knows horn calls, has spent her life in thrall to the gut-wrenching reliefs and pains of clear notes blaring across the Mark. This sound is like none she has ever heard, low and gentle and insistent, a declaration and a challenge and a peace offering all at once. And when she steps outside, the woman winding it lowers her horn and smiles, as if she were sounding it for Eowyn and no one else.