A Sadder and a Wiser Man - for miss_morland
Title: A Sadder and a Wiser Man
Author: bottleofsmoke19
Recipient: miss_morland
Rating: K, or All Ages
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: All of VoDT
Summary: "It was so strange, to see these figures that had been asleep for years, that had been such a bland, boring part of the background, to suddenly come to life before my eyes." The Four Great Lords, upon awaking from their years-long sleep.
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.
‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ Part VII, st. 24-25, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
They woke, not with a quick snap of the head, but slowly, quietly. Their bodies had not been used in ages, becoming almost petrified. They drew themselves up, twisting and turning and stretching, trying to acclimate themselves to movement.
It was so strange, to see these figures that had been asleep for years, that had been such a bland, boring part of the background, to suddenly come to life before my eyes. It seemed like they had been a part of my entire life, these strange men who had fallen asleep, head first, in their dinner.
They looked over themselves, examining their hands and clothes and hair. Wrinkles that had never existed had slowly crept in; liver spots dotted their hands and arms. But these small, little changes were disregarded when they felt the long, ridiculous beards and tresses that now adorned their heads. They quickly ran their fingers through their beards and hair, the locks slick with oil and sweat, coarse and ratty from years of unintended disregard.
They touched their cheeks, sunken in, and squinted, light now a new, foreign concept. It was like watching baby birds hatching, testing the world and their bodies. I smiled at the thought. These poor men were certainly not expecting to have to reintroduce themselves into the world.
Once they searched all they could of their bodies, they then turned to each other. The three who had been sleeping the longest looked around in horror as they saw themselves reflected in the other’s appearance - thin, swallow, and raggedy. They clenched their hands and jaws as their eyes grew wide. Their strange and innocent wonder was suddenly filled with quiet disgust, as recognition of their setting and others set in. The wide smile that had been on my face before had slowly slipped away.
They tried speaking, tried to make words with their stiff, thin mouths, but nothing came out at first. Dry rasping sounds and mumbled sentences spilled from their lips as they tried to relearn what they had picked up so long ago. I felt my cheeks flush, embarrassed at their awkward, feeble attempts.
They soon abandoned trying to talk, once they saw that they were not alone on the island. Despite my attempts to remain as quiet as I could, they saw me, standing beside a pillar. One of the men ran up to me, slinging his beard over his shoulder and brushing his massive bangs out of his eyes. He grabbed my shoulders and gripped me tight, looking over me. There was the same curiousness in his eyes that there had been when he first woke up, as he tried to remember me. I swallowed, unprepared for this reaction.
I looked into his eyes, dark and wide. I felt myself squirm, uncomfortable under his gaze. I flicked my eyes around, trying to avoid his piercing, awkward stare. His gaze, though, captivated me in its intensity, and my eyes would always wander back to his. He was trying so hard to remember, to remember his surroundings and what had happened.
All at once, a strange, desolate look filled his eyes, as realization hit him. Slowly, pieces of the past came back, first from the table and its luxurious feast, to me and my father. I prayed that he had no strange, unresolved anger within him, but he soon dropped his arms. He slumped his shoulders, admitting defeat.
I looked back up at the table, to see the others carrying that same look. My eyes strayed to the one lord who had just arrived earlier, to see him with that same, sad look. I felt my throat clench, sympathy filling me. Ten years of their life had been wasted, because of stupid decisions. They had been caught up in the politics of their court, and were sadly to blame.
I walked over to the table, standing silently before them. I didn’t want to prod or push them. The new lord cleared his throat and looked up at me, stifling the sadness in his eyes.
“Will Caspian take us back, good lady?” he asked, his voice quiet and calm.
“Yes, I suppose. When he returns,” I said, rubbing my arm. I looked out at the sea and felt, with a strange stab of my heart, a sense of loss. Would I be waiting on an island, like them, as well?
I looked back at them. They had settled into their chairs as before, sitting up with slumped shoulders and crossed hands. They had been young, in the prime of their life, when they had first come to the island; now they were old and sick, wasted figures of what once had been.
“What - happened?” one of them asked, his voice thick and creaky. “Why - are we so - old?”
“And why is - Rhoop - here?” another coughed.
I breathed in, trying to gather all of my strength. “When you argued over what to do next, one of you picked up the knife from the Stone Table - the knife used to slay Aslan.”
“Aslan - that Narnian - thing?” one of the lords gasped.
I nodded, quietly. They cast a look of disbelief to each other, surprised that a myth of the natives was, in fact, real. “That knife is a sacred artifact that must not be handled irreverently, which you did. Rather than strike you dead, though, Aslan granted pity on you and spared your life with sleep.” The words rushed out of my mouth, unpleasant and bitter. I looked around the table, the lords taking in the information. They all sat expressionless, their eyes wide open and their lips drawn. I closed my eyes, the sight too much for me.
“How - are we - awake?” the lord who had clung to me asked.
“The only way to break the sleep was for someone to sail to the end of the world. I suppose someone must have,” I replied, the information like knives on my tongue sharp and stinging.
“How long have we - been asleep?” he continued, his voice gaining speed but still harsh.
“For almost ten years,” I muttered.
They sat in silence, their eyes down and their lips tight, drawn. They looked like prisoners, freed after years of false imprisonment. No joy at being free, but bitterness of living half lives.
“I am here because Caspian’s son rescued me from that atrocious island I went after,” the new lord replied, quietly. “Young Caspian defeated Miraz a few years ago and has been king ever since. He has been on a long journey to find all of us.”
“And this is - what he finds,” one lord scoffed. My throat grew tighter and tears welled in my eyes. I quickly turned away. I had had enough of these men.
“What a waste,” one exclaimed, as I walked away.
Original Prompt:
What I want: I'd love to read a story about the seven lost Lords of Narnia -- perhaps from the perspective of Rhoop, post-Dark Island? Or a story exploring the idea that the dragon Eustace saw was, in fact, Lord Octesian. Or... What's the reaction of the lords on the Island of Ramandu when they finally wake up? (Bonus points if you can fit some slash into your story and make it work, although this is by no means required.)
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: Loss
What I definitely don't want in my fic: AU, mpreg, explicit non-con, narrative-approved racism/sexism/homophobia (though I don't mind if a character expresses such sentiments, as long as this isn't presented as a good thing).
Author: bottleofsmoke19
Recipient: miss_morland
Rating: K, or All Ages
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: All of VoDT
Summary: "It was so strange, to see these figures that had been asleep for years, that had been such a bland, boring part of the background, to suddenly come to life before my eyes." The Four Great Lords, upon awaking from their years-long sleep.
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.
‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ Part VII, st. 24-25, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
They woke, not with a quick snap of the head, but slowly, quietly. Their bodies had not been used in ages, becoming almost petrified. They drew themselves up, twisting and turning and stretching, trying to acclimate themselves to movement.
It was so strange, to see these figures that had been asleep for years, that had been such a bland, boring part of the background, to suddenly come to life before my eyes. It seemed like they had been a part of my entire life, these strange men who had fallen asleep, head first, in their dinner.
They looked over themselves, examining their hands and clothes and hair. Wrinkles that had never existed had slowly crept in; liver spots dotted their hands and arms. But these small, little changes were disregarded when they felt the long, ridiculous beards and tresses that now adorned their heads. They quickly ran their fingers through their beards and hair, the locks slick with oil and sweat, coarse and ratty from years of unintended disregard.
They touched their cheeks, sunken in, and squinted, light now a new, foreign concept. It was like watching baby birds hatching, testing the world and their bodies. I smiled at the thought. These poor men were certainly not expecting to have to reintroduce themselves into the world.
Once they searched all they could of their bodies, they then turned to each other. The three who had been sleeping the longest looked around in horror as they saw themselves reflected in the other’s appearance - thin, swallow, and raggedy. They clenched their hands and jaws as their eyes grew wide. Their strange and innocent wonder was suddenly filled with quiet disgust, as recognition of their setting and others set in. The wide smile that had been on my face before had slowly slipped away.
They tried speaking, tried to make words with their stiff, thin mouths, but nothing came out at first. Dry rasping sounds and mumbled sentences spilled from their lips as they tried to relearn what they had picked up so long ago. I felt my cheeks flush, embarrassed at their awkward, feeble attempts.
They soon abandoned trying to talk, once they saw that they were not alone on the island. Despite my attempts to remain as quiet as I could, they saw me, standing beside a pillar. One of the men ran up to me, slinging his beard over his shoulder and brushing his massive bangs out of his eyes. He grabbed my shoulders and gripped me tight, looking over me. There was the same curiousness in his eyes that there had been when he first woke up, as he tried to remember me. I swallowed, unprepared for this reaction.
I looked into his eyes, dark and wide. I felt myself squirm, uncomfortable under his gaze. I flicked my eyes around, trying to avoid his piercing, awkward stare. His gaze, though, captivated me in its intensity, and my eyes would always wander back to his. He was trying so hard to remember, to remember his surroundings and what had happened.
All at once, a strange, desolate look filled his eyes, as realization hit him. Slowly, pieces of the past came back, first from the table and its luxurious feast, to me and my father. I prayed that he had no strange, unresolved anger within him, but he soon dropped his arms. He slumped his shoulders, admitting defeat.
I looked back up at the table, to see the others carrying that same look. My eyes strayed to the one lord who had just arrived earlier, to see him with that same, sad look. I felt my throat clench, sympathy filling me. Ten years of their life had been wasted, because of stupid decisions. They had been caught up in the politics of their court, and were sadly to blame.
I walked over to the table, standing silently before them. I didn’t want to prod or push them. The new lord cleared his throat and looked up at me, stifling the sadness in his eyes.
“Will Caspian take us back, good lady?” he asked, his voice quiet and calm.
“Yes, I suppose. When he returns,” I said, rubbing my arm. I looked out at the sea and felt, with a strange stab of my heart, a sense of loss. Would I be waiting on an island, like them, as well?
I looked back at them. They had settled into their chairs as before, sitting up with slumped shoulders and crossed hands. They had been young, in the prime of their life, when they had first come to the island; now they were old and sick, wasted figures of what once had been.
“What - happened?” one of them asked, his voice thick and creaky. “Why - are we so - old?”
“And why is - Rhoop - here?” another coughed.
I breathed in, trying to gather all of my strength. “When you argued over what to do next, one of you picked up the knife from the Stone Table - the knife used to slay Aslan.”
“Aslan - that Narnian - thing?” one of the lords gasped.
I nodded, quietly. They cast a look of disbelief to each other, surprised that a myth of the natives was, in fact, real. “That knife is a sacred artifact that must not be handled irreverently, which you did. Rather than strike you dead, though, Aslan granted pity on you and spared your life with sleep.” The words rushed out of my mouth, unpleasant and bitter. I looked around the table, the lords taking in the information. They all sat expressionless, their eyes wide open and their lips drawn. I closed my eyes, the sight too much for me.
“How - are we - awake?” the lord who had clung to me asked.
“The only way to break the sleep was for someone to sail to the end of the world. I suppose someone must have,” I replied, the information like knives on my tongue sharp and stinging.
“How long have we - been asleep?” he continued, his voice gaining speed but still harsh.
“For almost ten years,” I muttered.
They sat in silence, their eyes down and their lips tight, drawn. They looked like prisoners, freed after years of false imprisonment. No joy at being free, but bitterness of living half lives.
“I am here because Caspian’s son rescued me from that atrocious island I went after,” the new lord replied, quietly. “Young Caspian defeated Miraz a few years ago and has been king ever since. He has been on a long journey to find all of us.”
“And this is - what he finds,” one lord scoffed. My throat grew tighter and tears welled in my eyes. I quickly turned away. I had had enough of these men.
“What a waste,” one exclaimed, as I walked away.
Original Prompt:
What I want: I'd love to read a story about the seven lost Lords of Narnia -- perhaps from the perspective of Rhoop, post-Dark Island? Or a story exploring the idea that the dragon Eustace saw was, in fact, Lord Octesian. Or... What's the reaction of the lords on the Island of Ramandu when they finally wake up? (Bonus points if you can fit some slash into your story and make it work, although this is by no means required.)
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: Loss
What I definitely don't want in my fic: AU, mpreg, explicit non-con, narrative-approved racism/sexism/homophobia (though I don't mind if a character expresses such sentiments, as long as this isn't presented as a good thing).