[Fic] "To All Good Will" -- Chronicles of Narnia
I thought I might as well write something while waiting to be told what to write. (Yeah, yeah, go ahead and mock all you want. What can I say -- I get bored easily.)
The internet informs me that Christmas in 1948 did in fact fall on a Saturday. The first two lines of Edmund's attempted limerick are a direct quote from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. The remaining three are, alas, entirely my fault. As for how the letters got back and forth so fast... let us say that either London's postal service was Just That Good, or they talked Peter into playing courier. *grin*
Five letters exchanged between Susan and Edmund Pevensie in the week leading up to Christmas 1948. (600 words)
[ETA: The ever-so-slightly revised final version is now up here on AO3 and here on ff.net.]
---------------------------------------------
To All Good Will
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Dear Ed,
Lucy stopped by yesterday to inform me that you'd been home a week and it was long past time I should come round and greet you. She also attempted to talk about subjects I thought we'd agreed that you would keep off limits.
Since the bargain is at least temporarily broken, I offer a proposition for the student of logic:
If a thing exists, it ought to exist all the time. Chairs don't simply vanish, do they? Life doesn't spontaneously generate. Even stars don't come from nowhere or turn to nothing.
If a thing appears to pop in and out of reality, there should be a discernable pattern to the shifts, and one ought to be able to discover where it goes when it's not here, and why it seems to be undetectable. Assuming that magic exists, perhaps a magical door between worlds can only be opened when certain conditions are right at both ends, but those conditions shouldn't be arbitrary.
If there is no pattern, somebody is playing silly buggers with the universe.
What kind of good example is that meant to be?
Yours,
Susan
---------------
Su,
There are worse universal purposes than laughter.
I'm sorry about Lu, but you know how hard it is to stop her when she feels deeply about the rightness of her argument. Her strength is as the strength of ten and so on. Expecting me to do anything when I'm not there in person seems a bit much.
Come home for Christmas supper on Saturday. We miss you.
-Ed
---------------
Dear Ed,
I'm not laughing. You're right about Lucy, though.
Tell Mother to expect me at noon. I'll help in the kitchen.
Yours,
Susan
---------------
Su,
I shall quote Eustace at you, with my own additions:
Some kids who played games about Narnia
Got gradually balmier and balmier,
You may find them quite wearing
But please be forbearing
And rely on your brother to warn you.
And here is where we realize, yet again, that I'm not a poet, as in order to make complete sense, the last line would have to include "when the conversation is going in directions you'd prefer to avoid, so you and he can preemptively change the subject," which would utterly destroy the meter. The assonance, however, I blame on Eustace, who invented the first two lines ages ago.
As for the rest of it, even if I can't keep Lu from pushing you when I'm not around, I think the two of us are more than capable of finding innocuous topics of conversation for one day. In return for my help, will you promise not to go after her and Peter while I'm home? You won't change their minds any more than they'll change yours. I'd much prefer to grill you on that arse I saw you out walking with last Friday. I knew his brother at school, and I assure you, if there's any family resemblance, you deserve infinitely better.
Merry Christmas, a few days early.
-Ed
---------------
Dear Ed,
You have my deepest respect on many levels, but please never attempt poetry again. I doubt my aesthetic sense could survive the abuse.
As for David Mooresby, don't worry. I have no intentions of getting over my head. I do wish you'd remember that I can read character perfectly well for myself, and that there's no harm accepting a free meal so long as one doesn't make any implicit promises about reciprocal favors -- speaking of which, in addition to your Christmas gift, expect a package once you return to university. Peacekeeping deserves rewards.
Yours,
Susan
---------------------------------------------
Inspired by the 1/2/11
15_minute_ficlets word #59: epidemic
---------------------------------------------
There is actually an explanation for how I got from the prompt word to the fic, but it's rather long, convoluted, and involves me singing the word to the tune of "Rock Me Amadeus," among other things, so I think it's best left untold. *wry*
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)
The internet informs me that Christmas in 1948 did in fact fall on a Saturday. The first two lines of Edmund's attempted limerick are a direct quote from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. The remaining three are, alas, entirely my fault. As for how the letters got back and forth so fast... let us say that either London's postal service was Just That Good, or they talked Peter into playing courier. *grin*
Five letters exchanged between Susan and Edmund Pevensie in the week leading up to Christmas 1948. (600 words)
[ETA: The ever-so-slightly revised final version is now up here on AO3 and here on ff.net.]
---------------------------------------------
To All Good Will
---------------------------------------------
Dear Ed,
Lucy stopped by yesterday to inform me that you'd been home a week and it was long past time I should come round and greet you. She also attempted to talk about subjects I thought we'd agreed that you would keep off limits.
Since the bargain is at least temporarily broken, I offer a proposition for the student of logic:
If a thing exists, it ought to exist all the time. Chairs don't simply vanish, do they? Life doesn't spontaneously generate. Even stars don't come from nowhere or turn to nothing.
If a thing appears to pop in and out of reality, there should be a discernable pattern to the shifts, and one ought to be able to discover where it goes when it's not here, and why it seems to be undetectable. Assuming that magic exists, perhaps a magical door between worlds can only be opened when certain conditions are right at both ends, but those conditions shouldn't be arbitrary.
If there is no pattern, somebody is playing silly buggers with the universe.
What kind of good example is that meant to be?
Yours,
Susan
---------------
Su,
There are worse universal purposes than laughter.
I'm sorry about Lu, but you know how hard it is to stop her when she feels deeply about the rightness of her argument. Her strength is as the strength of ten and so on. Expecting me to do anything when I'm not there in person seems a bit much.
Come home for Christmas supper on Saturday. We miss you.
-Ed
---------------
Dear Ed,
I'm not laughing. You're right about Lucy, though.
Tell Mother to expect me at noon. I'll help in the kitchen.
Yours,
Susan
---------------
Su,
I shall quote Eustace at you, with my own additions:
Some kids who played games about Narnia
Got gradually balmier and balmier,
You may find them quite wearing
But please be forbearing
And rely on your brother to warn you.
And here is where we realize, yet again, that I'm not a poet, as in order to make complete sense, the last line would have to include "when the conversation is going in directions you'd prefer to avoid, so you and he can preemptively change the subject," which would utterly destroy the meter. The assonance, however, I blame on Eustace, who invented the first two lines ages ago.
As for the rest of it, even if I can't keep Lu from pushing you when I'm not around, I think the two of us are more than capable of finding innocuous topics of conversation for one day. In return for my help, will you promise not to go after her and Peter while I'm home? You won't change their minds any more than they'll change yours. I'd much prefer to grill you on that arse I saw you out walking with last Friday. I knew his brother at school, and I assure you, if there's any family resemblance, you deserve infinitely better.
Merry Christmas, a few days early.
-Ed
---------------
Dear Ed,
You have my deepest respect on many levels, but please never attempt poetry again. I doubt my aesthetic sense could survive the abuse.
As for David Mooresby, don't worry. I have no intentions of getting over my head. I do wish you'd remember that I can read character perfectly well for myself, and that there's no harm accepting a free meal so long as one doesn't make any implicit promises about reciprocal favors -- speaking of which, in addition to your Christmas gift, expect a package once you return to university. Peacekeeping deserves rewards.
Yours,
Susan
---------------------------------------------
Inspired by the 1/2/11
15_minute_ficlets word #59: epidemic
---------------------------------------------
There is actually an explanation for how I got from the prompt word to the fic, but it's rather long, convoluted, and involves me singing the word to the tune of "Rock Me Amadeus," among other things, so I think it's best left untold. *wry*
You can also read this entry on Dreamwidth, where there are currently (
comments)