Between Sleeping and Waking - for elenielofnarnia
Title: Between Sleeping and Waking
Author: metonomia
Recipient: elenielofnarnia
Rating: PG
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Minor spoilers for The Magician's Nephew
Summary: The Wood Between Worlds is more than just a wood.
Notes: This fell away from the original prompt a fair amount, but I tried to keep to the spirit of what you wanted, and I hope it is enjoyable all the same!
In another world, a world between worlds, there is a wood. It is appears infinite, but comfortably so, silent and golden green, a wood that is the essence of a wood.
There is in the wood a girl, who has been there forever - however long that is - and who thinks she might be a tree of sorts herself. There are many kinds here, after all, growing up strong or weak or pale or dark from their different pools of water, and only at the level of foliage twisting together into one mass of indiscernible trees. She has seen trees of wild colors and some not of wood at all, and once, one that seemed to be made of water, spiralling up from its pool in a silent geyser. Still, it is a wood, and all in it are trees. She drinks from the pool she has sat beside since she can remember, and the light that filters down through the leaves warms her and nourishes her; she can feel it passing through her skin and into her bloodstream, some strange photosynthesis boiling sun into blood and sugars. So she is a tree, and she sits with the patience of one, moving only to bend herself in the direction of the light.
She waits.
The wood is waiting with her; their silence is a sleep, though she has never closed her eyes here. Something is missing, but it is too much trouble to think what. Stillness is the only cure for what has been hurt in them, though she thinks - she remembers, perhaps - that both she and the wood are not meant to be still. She remembers constant, incandescent motion, remembers feeling that if she ever stopped she’d never start up again - but that cannot be, for she has been here forever.
There is noise, loud and discordant, and it should be wrong but the girl and the wood lean toward it, welcome it. She watches in languid interest as a blue box materializes a few yards away, settling itself into the wood as if it belongs. For a moment the silence returns, but now it is alive, a bated breath rather than a stupor.
They do not have much longer to wait.
The door of the strange blue box opens, and a man and a woman step out, speaking animatedly; they do not notice her, and after so much quiet she does not yet want to speak.
“Oh, brilliant,” the man breathes, spinning about and dashing into the woods a ways, calling back to the woman, “I knew it, as soon as you mentioned your Wood, I knew it was a TARDIS, Polly.”
But the woman does not seem to hear him, and the girl knows that this Polly has belonged to the wood.
“Oh, this is gorgeous,” the man prattles on, peering up into the leaves and into the pools of water. “Best design I’ve seen in ages, very clever, you!” He shouts to the wood, and the girl feels it coursing with pride, bathing in the attention for which it has been waiting. She waited for attention, once. She needed help, and no one gave it.
“But, Doctor,” the woman named Polly has wandered over to him, and in the few moments she has been in the wood, she has grown younger, sharper. “It’s a bit...broken, isn’t it? I mean, there aren’t any controls, we just stumbled around and guessed, before.”
“You had those clever rings, didn’t you?” She makes a face, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval.
“He was no Time Lord, but I do admire that Andrew fellow,” he says, and it has the air of an old debate. “So little knowledge, but the intuition! This beauty’s been abandoned - the wood is some form of stasis, see, she’s making herself available even without a pilot - but he managed to figure out she was here, even if he didn’t know what he’d found. Atlantean dust, phah! It was rift-energy, and he - well, he qualified it, I suppose. Very clever.”
“The man was a fool, and a dangerous one at that,” Polly says unforgivingly, but she is staring down into a pool marked by an old scuff-mark, some memory taking the edge off her words.
“She is rather limited,” the Doctor frowns, pulling out a strange instrument and waving it haphazardly through the air. “The time function is held in some sort of stasis, like it’s been looped into the TARDIS herself, and only the space is fluid - “
“Literally,” Polly giggles a bit. It’s a nice sound, one the girl suddenly finds she misses. There was someone she used to laugh with, before.
“Yes, and - hello!” The Doctor spins about again and finally sees the girl. “Are you her? A strange manifestation, but if she needed a - a gardener, or - no, you just got sucked in somehow, hmm? The rift in your universe, maybe. A flaw in the stasis model, you must have been stuck here for some time.”
“Oh, hush,” Polly tells him, and sits down next to the girl. “I know it leaves you a bit muddled,” she says, “but talking helped me; you’ll remember in a minute, and we can get you where you need to go. If you haven’t moved much, this is probably even your pool right here.”
“Hello,” she says, and words have always been her undoing, and she remembers now. So many words, broken promises and challenges and curses. No one ever listened to her. But the wood likes these two, and she is done with waiting. She has not been here forever, and it is not her home, but her refuge, her last flight. They must think her destroyed, or trapped, but this Doctor and Polly have some odd magic; they can return her.
“My name is Morgana,” she tells them, “and I have a rebellion to get back to, if you don’t mind directing me to Camelot.” Her eyes flash gold, and she stands up.
Original Prompt that we sent you: What I want: Set in the Golden Age, a mysterious figure comes up to the Kings and Queens and asks for help, but they don't know if this person is telling the truth about the trouble they're in. Or: Crossover with either Doctor Who, BBC's Merlin or Robin Hood, Harry Potter, or Game of Thrones, it's the author's choice. Set during Caspian's reign or the Golden Age (again, the author's choice), a character from one of the other fandoms pays Cair Paravel a visit.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: "He/she is quite... gruesome-looking." (Said by any one of the Pevensies) Crossover: "Help is needed, but not from a boy".
Author: metonomia
Recipient: elenielofnarnia
Rating: PG
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Minor spoilers for The Magician's Nephew
Summary: The Wood Between Worlds is more than just a wood.
Notes: This fell away from the original prompt a fair amount, but I tried to keep to the spirit of what you wanted, and I hope it is enjoyable all the same!
In another world, a world between worlds, there is a wood. It is appears infinite, but comfortably so, silent and golden green, a wood that is the essence of a wood.
There is in the wood a girl, who has been there forever - however long that is - and who thinks she might be a tree of sorts herself. There are many kinds here, after all, growing up strong or weak or pale or dark from their different pools of water, and only at the level of foliage twisting together into one mass of indiscernible trees. She has seen trees of wild colors and some not of wood at all, and once, one that seemed to be made of water, spiralling up from its pool in a silent geyser. Still, it is a wood, and all in it are trees. She drinks from the pool she has sat beside since she can remember, and the light that filters down through the leaves warms her and nourishes her; she can feel it passing through her skin and into her bloodstream, some strange photosynthesis boiling sun into blood and sugars. So she is a tree, and she sits with the patience of one, moving only to bend herself in the direction of the light.
She waits.
The wood is waiting with her; their silence is a sleep, though she has never closed her eyes here. Something is missing, but it is too much trouble to think what. Stillness is the only cure for what has been hurt in them, though she thinks - she remembers, perhaps - that both she and the wood are not meant to be still. She remembers constant, incandescent motion, remembers feeling that if she ever stopped she’d never start up again - but that cannot be, for she has been here forever.
There is noise, loud and discordant, and it should be wrong but the girl and the wood lean toward it, welcome it. She watches in languid interest as a blue box materializes a few yards away, settling itself into the wood as if it belongs. For a moment the silence returns, but now it is alive, a bated breath rather than a stupor.
They do not have much longer to wait.
The door of the strange blue box opens, and a man and a woman step out, speaking animatedly; they do not notice her, and after so much quiet she does not yet want to speak.
“Oh, brilliant,” the man breathes, spinning about and dashing into the woods a ways, calling back to the woman, “I knew it, as soon as you mentioned your Wood, I knew it was a TARDIS, Polly.”
But the woman does not seem to hear him, and the girl knows that this Polly has belonged to the wood.
“Oh, this is gorgeous,” the man prattles on, peering up into the leaves and into the pools of water. “Best design I’ve seen in ages, very clever, you!” He shouts to the wood, and the girl feels it coursing with pride, bathing in the attention for which it has been waiting. She waited for attention, once. She needed help, and no one gave it.
“But, Doctor,” the woman named Polly has wandered over to him, and in the few moments she has been in the wood, she has grown younger, sharper. “It’s a bit...broken, isn’t it? I mean, there aren’t any controls, we just stumbled around and guessed, before.”
“You had those clever rings, didn’t you?” She makes a face, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval.
“He was no Time Lord, but I do admire that Andrew fellow,” he says, and it has the air of an old debate. “So little knowledge, but the intuition! This beauty’s been abandoned - the wood is some form of stasis, see, she’s making herself available even without a pilot - but he managed to figure out she was here, even if he didn’t know what he’d found. Atlantean dust, phah! It was rift-energy, and he - well, he qualified it, I suppose. Very clever.”
“The man was a fool, and a dangerous one at that,” Polly says unforgivingly, but she is staring down into a pool marked by an old scuff-mark, some memory taking the edge off her words.
“She is rather limited,” the Doctor frowns, pulling out a strange instrument and waving it haphazardly through the air. “The time function is held in some sort of stasis, like it’s been looped into the TARDIS herself, and only the space is fluid - “
“Literally,” Polly giggles a bit. It’s a nice sound, one the girl suddenly finds she misses. There was someone she used to laugh with, before.
“Yes, and - hello!” The Doctor spins about again and finally sees the girl. “Are you her? A strange manifestation, but if she needed a - a gardener, or - no, you just got sucked in somehow, hmm? The rift in your universe, maybe. A flaw in the stasis model, you must have been stuck here for some time.”
“Oh, hush,” Polly tells him, and sits down next to the girl. “I know it leaves you a bit muddled,” she says, “but talking helped me; you’ll remember in a minute, and we can get you where you need to go. If you haven’t moved much, this is probably even your pool right here.”
“Hello,” she says, and words have always been her undoing, and she remembers now. So many words, broken promises and challenges and curses. No one ever listened to her. But the wood likes these two, and she is done with waiting. She has not been here forever, and it is not her home, but her refuge, her last flight. They must think her destroyed, or trapped, but this Doctor and Polly have some odd magic; they can return her.
“My name is Morgana,” she tells them, “and I have a rebellion to get back to, if you don’t mind directing me to Camelot.” Her eyes flash gold, and she stands up.
Original Prompt that we sent you: What I want: Set in the Golden Age, a mysterious figure comes up to the Kings and Queens and asks for help, but they don't know if this person is telling the truth about the trouble they're in. Or: Crossover with either Doctor Who, BBC's Merlin or Robin Hood, Harry Potter, or Game of Thrones, it's the author's choice. Set during Caspian's reign or the Golden Age (again, the author's choice), a character from one of the other fandoms pays Cair Paravel a visit.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: "He/she is quite... gruesome-looking." (Said by any one of the Pevensies) Crossover: "Help is needed, but not from a boy".