oh my love, oh it was a funny little thing
Title: Solstice
Format: Short fic (~800 words)
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle (mild slash)
Warnings: Crossover
Summary: A legend of Narnia.
Disclaimer: I own neither The Professionals nor The Chronicles of Narnia.
Notes: Thanks to squeeful for read-throughs and all-caps encouragement.
There was only ever one High King, but in the years of his absence the palace at Cair Paravel did not always stand empty.
In the beginning, regents and stewards served in place of the kings and queens, always expecting their swift return. But when they did not appear, there seemed no need for stewards, and in but a few lifetimes the great hall was closed up, left to gather dust in the silence.
Then came the princes.
They were a pair, strong men and bold, as different as they were alike. Summer prince and winter prince, sons of Adam who emerged from the forest and stood side by side on the shore before Cair Paravel. They were proclaimed as heirs to the thrones of Narnia, but they protested and would accept only the title of prince--for they were neither of them born to be kings, they said.
The palace woke swiftly from its long slumber, sons of the sons of the High King's subjects rushing to make ready the halls for their new princes.
They asked that but one chamber be prepared for them, with a single bed. The servants did not balk at their request, for such was not unheard of, and all sons of Adam are loved equally by Aslan.
The sight they made was both fair and forbidding. The summer prince's hair reddened in the sun, and upon his tumbled curls was laid a crown of ivy leaves the colour of his eyes. An old wound marred the bone of one cheek, yet it could not detract from the handsomeness of his face.
The winter prince was pale of skin and dark of hair, with eyes the deep blue of shadows on snow. The peoples of Narnia were leery of him, when first he came, for they had not forgotten the cruel reign of the White Witch. But the ice of the winter prince was softened by his lover, and just so, he alone could calm the rare storms of the summer prince's fury.
In the great hall, their carved chairs rested below the dais of the High King. When the princes were called to court, they sat side by side, their fingers twined between them. They lived and laughed and reigned together, and for a time Narnia knew again an echo of the High Summer.
They were kind to their people, and terrible to their enemies. When Narnia was threatened, they took arms to defend her, bearing swords with an ease that seemed to surprise them, as though their hands had been used to grasping other weapons. In the eve after battle, they would forsake all else until they found one another, and confirmed their survival with eyes and lips and hands. In this way passed decades in which the Narnians lived without fear, and their princes ruled justly and well.
They were men of great wisdom and great years when they walked together into the hills and did not return.
Some say they left that they might spend the time that remained to them in wandering together. As the years darkened about Narnia and her enemies closed in, the voices that had once spoken such praise of the princes turned bitter, accusing them of abandonment and treachery. For how could they leave their kingdom to crumble so?
In truth, they had always intended to return to Cair Paravel. Their walk was to be but the pleasure of an afternoon--yet fate had willed otherwise.
They rambled widely among the hills, for even at such an age they were hale and whole, stirred to action beyond the stately trappings of the palace. They came at sunset upon a tumbledown archway, twined about with fading autumn ivy. It seemed familiar to them, somehow, though they could not say when or where they had seen it before.
In silent agreement, they passed under its span, and found themselves standing below a carved wooden lintel, youthful once more--if not quite young--in a world they had nearly forgotten.
A world in which their clasped hands were not welcome. Yet before they moved apart, their fingers tightened for a heartbeat, a momentary defiance that meant they would not forget.
In the weeks that followed, they grew accustomed once more to the weight of guns in their hands, remembering the noise and light and smell of the city. They learned to answer to their former names, and they did not speak of what had passed between them in that other world, the scars they no longer bore and the battles they were not sure they fought. But if on the edge of sleep or in a moment of passion one should call the other my prince, the meaning was ever understood.
They stood side by side for forty years or more in that other world.
They stand together still.
Format: Short fic (~800 words)
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle (mild slash)
Warnings: Crossover
Summary: A legend of Narnia.
Disclaimer: I own neither The Professionals nor The Chronicles of Narnia.
Notes: Thanks to squeeful for read-throughs and all-caps encouragement.
There was only ever one High King, but in the years of his absence the palace at Cair Paravel did not always stand empty.
In the beginning, regents and stewards served in place of the kings and queens, always expecting their swift return. But when they did not appear, there seemed no need for stewards, and in but a few lifetimes the great hall was closed up, left to gather dust in the silence.
Then came the princes.
They were a pair, strong men and bold, as different as they were alike. Summer prince and winter prince, sons of Adam who emerged from the forest and stood side by side on the shore before Cair Paravel. They were proclaimed as heirs to the thrones of Narnia, but they protested and would accept only the title of prince--for they were neither of them born to be kings, they said.
The palace woke swiftly from its long slumber, sons of the sons of the High King's subjects rushing to make ready the halls for their new princes.
They asked that but one chamber be prepared for them, with a single bed. The servants did not balk at their request, for such was not unheard of, and all sons of Adam are loved equally by Aslan.
The sight they made was both fair and forbidding. The summer prince's hair reddened in the sun, and upon his tumbled curls was laid a crown of ivy leaves the colour of his eyes. An old wound marred the bone of one cheek, yet it could not detract from the handsomeness of his face.
The winter prince was pale of skin and dark of hair, with eyes the deep blue of shadows on snow. The peoples of Narnia were leery of him, when first he came, for they had not forgotten the cruel reign of the White Witch. But the ice of the winter prince was softened by his lover, and just so, he alone could calm the rare storms of the summer prince's fury.
In the great hall, their carved chairs rested below the dais of the High King. When the princes were called to court, they sat side by side, their fingers twined between them. They lived and laughed and reigned together, and for a time Narnia knew again an echo of the High Summer.
They were kind to their people, and terrible to their enemies. When Narnia was threatened, they took arms to defend her, bearing swords with an ease that seemed to surprise them, as though their hands had been used to grasping other weapons. In the eve after battle, they would forsake all else until they found one another, and confirmed their survival with eyes and lips and hands. In this way passed decades in which the Narnians lived without fear, and their princes ruled justly and well.
They were men of great wisdom and great years when they walked together into the hills and did not return.
Some say they left that they might spend the time that remained to them in wandering together. As the years darkened about Narnia and her enemies closed in, the voices that had once spoken such praise of the princes turned bitter, accusing them of abandonment and treachery. For how could they leave their kingdom to crumble so?
In truth, they had always intended to return to Cair Paravel. Their walk was to be but the pleasure of an afternoon--yet fate had willed otherwise.
They rambled widely among the hills, for even at such an age they were hale and whole, stirred to action beyond the stately trappings of the palace. They came at sunset upon a tumbledown archway, twined about with fading autumn ivy. It seemed familiar to them, somehow, though they could not say when or where they had seen it before.
In silent agreement, they passed under its span, and found themselves standing below a carved wooden lintel, youthful once more--if not quite young--in a world they had nearly forgotten.
A world in which their clasped hands were not welcome. Yet before they moved apart, their fingers tightened for a heartbeat, a momentary defiance that meant they would not forget.
In the weeks that followed, they grew accustomed once more to the weight of guns in their hands, remembering the noise and light and smell of the city. They learned to answer to their former names, and they did not speak of what had passed between them in that other world, the scars they no longer bore and the battles they were not sure they fought. But if on the edge of sleep or in a moment of passion one should call the other my prince, the meaning was ever understood.
They stood side by side for forty years or more in that other world.
They stand together still.