FANFIC | weekly drabble challenge
Title - Between the Summer and the Winter
Author - Kitoky
Fandom - Narnia
Characters/Pairings - Lucy; Susan/Caspian
Rating - K+
Summary - It seemed, Susan thought, Narnia was not so fond of winter after the presence of the White Witch.
Disclaimer - I own nothing. Not even my imagination which was programmed into me by aliens when they operated! Narnia belongs to CS Lewis & Walden Media.
Author's Note - Written in response to the weekly drabble challenge: #21 frost @ susancaspian . This could have been better tightly written, but it works for just getting me into the fandom again. And it's Thanksgiving break! Yay!
.between the summer and the winter.
.:..:..:..:..:..:..:..:..:..:.
Susan wasn’t sure if she had ever seen frost in Narnia. There was plenty of it in England, when the grass died and the trees prepared for the inevitable cold of winter. On the trips to the grocer’s during the brisk winter mornings, Susan would always be fascinated by the glitter upon the windows of shops. Once, Susan had showed Lucy to breathe against the glass, spreading invisible, tiny crystals. Lucy, only five or six then (Susan couldn’t remember), always drew pictures against the makeshift canvas. Susan had always written words. Small words, and once wrote simply: frost.
Lucy had asked what it meant, to which Susan promptly explained, “It’s all the white that you see on the grass when it hasn’t snowed.”
“How does it get there then?” asked innocent Lucy.
Susan smiled down at her and took her hand to go into the shop that their mother was in. She knew how it got there. It was all this stuff about the air being the right temperature and water vapors, but Lucy was only five or six then (well, Susan couldn't recall exactly) so it wouldn’t have done her any good to try and explain it all to her.
So, Susan said, “Magic, I suppose.”
They went through the door only vaguely aware of the chiming of the bell. “Do you believe in magic, Su?” Lucy asked, eyes full with wonder.
“Well, if magic’s what got the frost on the ground all these mornings, then yes. Magic is all around us, you see.” Replied Susan.
Lucy had gone the entire day with wide eyes and bright smiles. Their mother asked her what she had done to make her sister so giddy and joyous. All Susan said was that she told her about frost.
Thinking, Susan can’t remember a time when there was frost when they had first entered Narnia. It was winter then, or rather, a very long, long winter for the Narnians. Snow and icicles filled every meadow and knoll around them as they ventured through the land to get to Aslan’s camp. All snow and icicles but no frost, Susan recalled. And when they had gotten there, there was no snow and still no frost.
The war was fought and the White Witch defeated. And slowly the snow had melted away and all the icicles trickled their last drops of water. Still, Susan remembers, there was no frost.
They lived, as Kings and Queens live, at Cair Paravel upon the threshold between land and sea. And even then, Susan reminisces, there was no frost. She knew that frost was rare so close to the sea. The warmth of the Eastern Ocean glided over the castle and the air could never cool properly to make frost. (This was all the stuff she had thought about telling Lucy when she was either five of six, she didn’t remember.)
Years of living at Cair Paravel, she soon missed seeing frost. Even as winter came, it was winter. Not before winter, or after winter when frost liked to appear. It seemed, Susan thought, Narnia was not so fond of winter after the presence of the White Witch. It would rather get winter here and done with so as to move on to spring and then summer.
Well into the Golden Age, Susan remembered feeling rather displaced. She knew of frost and was pleased with the miracles it imprinted, but she couldn’t recollect when she had first seen it or how she came to know of it. She dreamed of distant memories guarded by ice and glass. It was not until they had tumbled out through the wardrobe again, that she saw the frost against the house windows, on the open lawn, and upon all the edges of old Mrs. Macready’s car.
She pulled her thick cloak across her shoulders and took a deep breath of the brisk air. Clutching and hugging the velvets to her body, she felt the crisp morning breeze.
“Susan?” She turned her head, and saw Caspian make his way towards where she stood at the door of the balcony. “It’s not even dawn.”
“I know,” Susan said and looked across the horizon to wear the sun would peak out in a little while. “I was just admiring all the frost.”
“The frost?” Caspian leaned his forearm above her head and gazed at the view the balcony had to offer. “It’s not so exciting, is it?”
“It is,” replied Susan and she fell silent, her eyes drifted from bush, to meadow, to distant knoll, even the edge of the balcony had bits of frost. Caspian watched her line of sight, but eventually he settled his own eyes on her alone. Her porcelain skin looked pale against the dark of night, but her cheeks had the blush from the cold. He gave a small smile at her image; windswept hair and cold cheeks, yet she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
Leaning closer to her, he pressed his nose against her ear. He felt just how cold it was, and he could hear the rhythm of her breathing and how she edged closer to his touch like a magnet. Caspian closed his eyes and tried to identify the scent of her but nothing came. No flowers nor perfumes.
“Professor Cornelius once told me,” Caspian started, leaning back just enough for her to turn to him. “that the frost was a result of the naiads dancing across the lawns when they traveled from river to river.” Caspian gazed into her eyes, beautiful bright orbs against the night. “It was much like---.”
“Magic,” Susan finished for him. He paused for only a moment, but smiled at just how at peace she was at the thought. Most Telmarines would be against such talk of dancing naiads, but Susan, neither Telmarine nor Narnian, seemed to love the idea.
Susan looked across the meadow again, but nestled closer into Caspian’s open arms. “I wished I had seen them dance their dance.” Susan said. She had missed the frost, Susan decided. She had missed the magic. Winter was winter for the White Witch and Aslan cared not for its beautiful prologue.
Here, Susan laid her head in the crook of Caspian’s neck, frost thrives between the summer and the winter.
.:..:..:..:..:..:..:..:.
Fin.
Author - Kitoky
Fandom - Narnia
Characters/Pairings - Lucy; Susan/Caspian
Rating - K+
Summary - It seemed, Susan thought, Narnia was not so fond of winter after the presence of the White Witch.
Disclaimer - I own nothing. Not even my imagination which was programmed into me by aliens when they operated! Narnia belongs to CS Lewis & Walden Media.
Author's Note - Written in response to the weekly drabble challenge: #21 frost @ susancaspian . This could have been better tightly written, but it works for just getting me into the fandom again. And it's Thanksgiving break! Yay!
.between the summer and the winter.
.:..:..:..:..:..:..:..:..:..:.
Susan wasn’t sure if she had ever seen frost in Narnia. There was plenty of it in England, when the grass died and the trees prepared for the inevitable cold of winter. On the trips to the grocer’s during the brisk winter mornings, Susan would always be fascinated by the glitter upon the windows of shops. Once, Susan had showed Lucy to breathe against the glass, spreading invisible, tiny crystals. Lucy, only five or six then (Susan couldn’t remember), always drew pictures against the makeshift canvas. Susan had always written words. Small words, and once wrote simply: frost.
Lucy had asked what it meant, to which Susan promptly explained, “It’s all the white that you see on the grass when it hasn’t snowed.”
“How does it get there then?” asked innocent Lucy.
Susan smiled down at her and took her hand to go into the shop that their mother was in. She knew how it got there. It was all this stuff about the air being the right temperature and water vapors, but Lucy was only five or six then (well, Susan couldn't recall exactly) so it wouldn’t have done her any good to try and explain it all to her.
So, Susan said, “Magic, I suppose.”
They went through the door only vaguely aware of the chiming of the bell. “Do you believe in magic, Su?” Lucy asked, eyes full with wonder.
“Well, if magic’s what got the frost on the ground all these mornings, then yes. Magic is all around us, you see.” Replied Susan.
Lucy had gone the entire day with wide eyes and bright smiles. Their mother asked her what she had done to make her sister so giddy and joyous. All Susan said was that she told her about frost.
Thinking, Susan can’t remember a time when there was frost when they had first entered Narnia. It was winter then, or rather, a very long, long winter for the Narnians. Snow and icicles filled every meadow and knoll around them as they ventured through the land to get to Aslan’s camp. All snow and icicles but no frost, Susan recalled. And when they had gotten there, there was no snow and still no frost.
The war was fought and the White Witch defeated. And slowly the snow had melted away and all the icicles trickled their last drops of water. Still, Susan remembers, there was no frost.
They lived, as Kings and Queens live, at Cair Paravel upon the threshold between land and sea. And even then, Susan reminisces, there was no frost. She knew that frost was rare so close to the sea. The warmth of the Eastern Ocean glided over the castle and the air could never cool properly to make frost. (This was all the stuff she had thought about telling Lucy when she was either five of six, she didn’t remember.)
Years of living at Cair Paravel, she soon missed seeing frost. Even as winter came, it was winter. Not before winter, or after winter when frost liked to appear. It seemed, Susan thought, Narnia was not so fond of winter after the presence of the White Witch. It would rather get winter here and done with so as to move on to spring and then summer.
Well into the Golden Age, Susan remembered feeling rather displaced. She knew of frost and was pleased with the miracles it imprinted, but she couldn’t recollect when she had first seen it or how she came to know of it. She dreamed of distant memories guarded by ice and glass. It was not until they had tumbled out through the wardrobe again, that she saw the frost against the house windows, on the open lawn, and upon all the edges of old Mrs. Macready’s car.
She pulled her thick cloak across her shoulders and took a deep breath of the brisk air. Clutching and hugging the velvets to her body, she felt the crisp morning breeze.
“Susan?” She turned her head, and saw Caspian make his way towards where she stood at the door of the balcony. “It’s not even dawn.”
“I know,” Susan said and looked across the horizon to wear the sun would peak out in a little while. “I was just admiring all the frost.”
“The frost?” Caspian leaned his forearm above her head and gazed at the view the balcony had to offer. “It’s not so exciting, is it?”
“It is,” replied Susan and she fell silent, her eyes drifted from bush, to meadow, to distant knoll, even the edge of the balcony had bits of frost. Caspian watched her line of sight, but eventually he settled his own eyes on her alone. Her porcelain skin looked pale against the dark of night, but her cheeks had the blush from the cold. He gave a small smile at her image; windswept hair and cold cheeks, yet she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
Leaning closer to her, he pressed his nose against her ear. He felt just how cold it was, and he could hear the rhythm of her breathing and how she edged closer to his touch like a magnet. Caspian closed his eyes and tried to identify the scent of her but nothing came. No flowers nor perfumes.
“Professor Cornelius once told me,” Caspian started, leaning back just enough for her to turn to him. “that the frost was a result of the naiads dancing across the lawns when they traveled from river to river.” Caspian gazed into her eyes, beautiful bright orbs against the night. “It was much like---.”
“Magic,” Susan finished for him. He paused for only a moment, but smiled at just how at peace she was at the thought. Most Telmarines would be against such talk of dancing naiads, but Susan, neither Telmarine nor Narnian, seemed to love the idea.
Susan looked across the meadow again, but nestled closer into Caspian’s open arms. “I wished I had seen them dance their dance.” Susan said. She had missed the frost, Susan decided. She had missed the magic. Winter was winter for the White Witch and Aslan cared not for its beautiful prologue.
Here, Susan laid her head in the crook of Caspian’s neck, frost thrives between the summer and the winter.
.:..:..:..:..:..:..:..:.
Fin.