Fic: "Scents on the Wind" (femgenficathon '09)
Title: Scents on the Wind
Author:
miss_morland
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Prompt: 24) Farewells can be both beautiful and despicable. Saying farewell to one who is loved is very complicated. -- Sei Shonagon (circa 966-1017), Japanese author and court lady circa 10th to 11th centuries, best known for her book of observations and musings, The Pillow Book.
Summary: Hwin, finding her way back.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2009 femgenficathon. This piece is based upon the novel The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis; no infringement is intended. Many thanks to redsnake05 for beta-reading!
Hwin took a tentative step forward from where she had stopped, the grass soft under her hooves. She breathed deeply, her heart swelling with love for that grass, and for all the other things surrounding her: the stones, the trees, the narrow stream. "Dear grass," she whispered, bending down and brushing her nose over it; then, walking over to rest her head against a tall birch, "Dear trees." She felt happy in a way that was entirely new to her, even after these last joyful days.
She had parted ways with Bree earlier that day -- he said his family had lived in the east, close to Cair Paravel, and that he would go there to look for them, but Hwin suspected him of still being a little ashamed of his appearance (and perhaps of hers, as well), and of wanting to spend some time alone. In some ways, she missed him already, but they had agreed to visit Anvard together later in the summer. And besides, who could feel sad when there was such gladness to be felt?
Thirsty from the heat of the sun, she went over to the stream to have a drink; then, shaking herself, she raised her head and looked about her once more. She was standing on a meadow bordering a grove of trees; behind her, the mountains rose into the sky, marking the border between Narnia and Archenland. She'd headed north, mostly by instinct -- her family had lived close to the Great Waterfall, and although she did not have many clear memories from her childhood, she had some vague knowledge or feeling of where to go, a prickling sensation in her body directing her: north, north, further north.
And here, on this little meadow, she had come to a halt. And here she noticed something.
Horses' noses are very finely tuned, much sharper than the noses of humans, and Hwin normally registered the smells around her quite without thinking, the same way you and I may look at a bland landscape without remembering much about it afterwards. But the wind here was different, the smells different; they made her stop, stretch her neck, turn her ears.
The wind carried scents -- strange and familiar all at once, causing her nostrils to vibrate and her eyes to fill with tears.
Another gust of wind, much stronger this time, made her tremble, sudden trepidation mingling with her happiness without her really knowing why -- it had nothing to do with what she looked like, or with her love of rolling in the grass, or any such trifles; no, it was deeper than that, related to the love of these trees and this grass and these stones, and to the scents brought to her from somewhere beyond the grove, and to her own secret hopes.
"Oh," Hwin muttered to herself, stamping her feet nervously. "Whatever shall I do?"
She closed her eyes for a moment; when she opened them again, Aslan was standing a little distance away from her, the gold of his mane brighter than the sun. Hwin trembled again -- not out of surprise or shock, as might be expected -- but out of awe and wonder. She walked towards him, slowly, and lowered her head.
"Tell me what is troubling you, daughter," said Aslan.
"I don't know," Hwin said wretchedly. "I honestly don't know, Aslan -- it's so wonderful to be home. I am home now, aren't I? I'm so glad, and yet..."
She faltered, not finding the words; but then she looked into Aslan's eyes, and it seemed to her that perhaps she didn't need to.
"Freedom is a strange gift," Aslan said. "It is both wonderful and merciless: dumb slaves may follow their masters unconditionally in return for oats and grooming, but free Horses of Narnia must follow their own heart, even if it means getting their coat full of dirt. Your instincts and your courage have led you here without fail; on the other side of the grove, you will find your kin. Are you afraid of meeting them, Hwin?"
"Yes," she whispered, blinking. "Oh, Aslan, I know I must be stupid -- and I really don't care what my tail looks like, it's not that, and I'm so glad we are all safe -- I'm so glad we escaped, and came here -- and that we helped to save Archenland -- but all that's over, and I don't know what will happen next."
"You will never know what happens next," Aslan said, a hint of humour in his deep voice. "No one ever does. But every ending is also a beginning. You ended slavery for yourself the day you chose to share your dreams with Aravis Tarkheena. You began your life in freedom the day you ceased pretending to be a slave. Your exile has been long, but you must know that there is no Talking Horse in Narnia who would not be proud to count you among their number. And if your kinsmen have forgotten you, do not grieve over what could have been -- for you will never know that, either -- but remember what was, and be proud of what you did."
The wind was blowing, the scents richer than ever, manifesting in her mind as images from long ago, sun-lit and carefree. Hwin closed her eyes again, feeling Aslan's breath warm upon her forehead -- he touched it with his tongue, a Lion's kiss. In that moment, all trepidation, all nervousness was gone; she breathed deeply, joy and strength flooding through her veins.
"Be brave, my daughter," Aslan said. Then he was gone.
Hwin opened her eyes. She was standing alone in the meadow, facing the grove -- it must be traversed, she knew, if she was to find what she had been looking for. The scents were coming from the other side, carried by the wind; they were rich and familiar, holding nothing but promises.
"I will," she said out loud. "This is it. Oh, at last, this is it!"
There was a track close by, worn down by the countless hooves of horses who'd found their way through the grove over the years. Hwin followed it in between the trees, walking slowly at first; then, as the track widened, she blew her nose and started trotting.
Author:
miss_morland
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Prompt: 24) Farewells can be both beautiful and despicable. Saying farewell to one who is loved is very complicated. -- Sei Shonagon (circa 966-1017), Japanese author and court lady circa 10th to 11th centuries, best known for her book of observations and musings, The Pillow Book.
Summary: Hwin, finding her way back.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2009 femgenficathon. This piece is based upon the novel The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis; no infringement is intended. Many thanks to redsnake05 for beta-reading!
Hwin took a tentative step forward from where she had stopped, the grass soft under her hooves. She breathed deeply, her heart swelling with love for that grass, and for all the other things surrounding her: the stones, the trees, the narrow stream. "Dear grass," she whispered, bending down and brushing her nose over it; then, walking over to rest her head against a tall birch, "Dear trees." She felt happy in a way that was entirely new to her, even after these last joyful days.
She had parted ways with Bree earlier that day -- he said his family had lived in the east, close to Cair Paravel, and that he would go there to look for them, but Hwin suspected him of still being a little ashamed of his appearance (and perhaps of hers, as well), and of wanting to spend some time alone. In some ways, she missed him already, but they had agreed to visit Anvard together later in the summer. And besides, who could feel sad when there was such gladness to be felt?
Thirsty from the heat of the sun, she went over to the stream to have a drink; then, shaking herself, she raised her head and looked about her once more. She was standing on a meadow bordering a grove of trees; behind her, the mountains rose into the sky, marking the border between Narnia and Archenland. She'd headed north, mostly by instinct -- her family had lived close to the Great Waterfall, and although she did not have many clear memories from her childhood, she had some vague knowledge or feeling of where to go, a prickling sensation in her body directing her: north, north, further north.
And here, on this little meadow, she had come to a halt. And here she noticed something.
Horses' noses are very finely tuned, much sharper than the noses of humans, and Hwin normally registered the smells around her quite without thinking, the same way you and I may look at a bland landscape without remembering much about it afterwards. But the wind here was different, the smells different; they made her stop, stretch her neck, turn her ears.
The wind carried scents -- strange and familiar all at once, causing her nostrils to vibrate and her eyes to fill with tears.
Another gust of wind, much stronger this time, made her tremble, sudden trepidation mingling with her happiness without her really knowing why -- it had nothing to do with what she looked like, or with her love of rolling in the grass, or any such trifles; no, it was deeper than that, related to the love of these trees and this grass and these stones, and to the scents brought to her from somewhere beyond the grove, and to her own secret hopes.
"Oh," Hwin muttered to herself, stamping her feet nervously. "Whatever shall I do?"
She closed her eyes for a moment; when she opened them again, Aslan was standing a little distance away from her, the gold of his mane brighter than the sun. Hwin trembled again -- not out of surprise or shock, as might be expected -- but out of awe and wonder. She walked towards him, slowly, and lowered her head.
"Tell me what is troubling you, daughter," said Aslan.
"I don't know," Hwin said wretchedly. "I honestly don't know, Aslan -- it's so wonderful to be home. I am home now, aren't I? I'm so glad, and yet..."
She faltered, not finding the words; but then she looked into Aslan's eyes, and it seemed to her that perhaps she didn't need to.
"Freedom is a strange gift," Aslan said. "It is both wonderful and merciless: dumb slaves may follow their masters unconditionally in return for oats and grooming, but free Horses of Narnia must follow their own heart, even if it means getting their coat full of dirt. Your instincts and your courage have led you here without fail; on the other side of the grove, you will find your kin. Are you afraid of meeting them, Hwin?"
"Yes," she whispered, blinking. "Oh, Aslan, I know I must be stupid -- and I really don't care what my tail looks like, it's not that, and I'm so glad we are all safe -- I'm so glad we escaped, and came here -- and that we helped to save Archenland -- but all that's over, and I don't know what will happen next."
"You will never know what happens next," Aslan said, a hint of humour in his deep voice. "No one ever does. But every ending is also a beginning. You ended slavery for yourself the day you chose to share your dreams with Aravis Tarkheena. You began your life in freedom the day you ceased pretending to be a slave. Your exile has been long, but you must know that there is no Talking Horse in Narnia who would not be proud to count you among their number. And if your kinsmen have forgotten you, do not grieve over what could have been -- for you will never know that, either -- but remember what was, and be proud of what you did."
The wind was blowing, the scents richer than ever, manifesting in her mind as images from long ago, sun-lit and carefree. Hwin closed her eyes again, feeling Aslan's breath warm upon her forehead -- he touched it with his tongue, a Lion's kiss. In that moment, all trepidation, all nervousness was gone; she breathed deeply, joy and strength flooding through her veins.
"Be brave, my daughter," Aslan said. Then he was gone.
Hwin opened her eyes. She was standing alone in the meadow, facing the grove -- it must be traversed, she knew, if she was to find what she had been looking for. The scents were coming from the other side, carried by the wind; they were rich and familiar, holding nothing but promises.
"I will," she said out loud. "This is it. Oh, at last, this is it!"
There was a track close by, worn down by the countless hooves of horses who'd found their way through the grove over the years. Hwin followed it in between the trees, walking slowly at first; then, as the track widened, she blew her nose and started trotting.