Diving right in...

Aug 08, 2008 14:56

New here. New to livejournal. I've had this little piece of writing locked away for quite some time, but thought maybe it was worth sharing if only out of gratitude for the amount of enjoyment I've taken from reading everyone else's lovely musings.
Thanks all!

Untitled, brought on by wondering 1) exactly what it was that Susan and Peter HAD learned this time around that kicked them out of Narnia (totally not addressed....yet); 2) What sends Susan on the road to denying Narnia. To me, it seems like movie!Susan would have to spin out of control quite a bit to reach that point.
Please overlook my complete and total disregard for military rules. Poetic license: I has it.
Content is...not too mature. T, perhaps for Reckless!Susan.


When I dream, it is still of rich brocades or the feel of an arrow between my fingers. I don’t dream often, which is something of a blessing.
Sometimes, though it is not nearly as bad as it was before, I think Peter would leave school for the war effort, just to feel that rush again. (I’m not sure I blame him.) I envy my younger siblings their ability to live with one foot in both worlds so effortlessly. Perhaps it is because they know they will go back again. I thought we had learned this time around. There isn’t that gaping, wounded sense of loss there was the last time, when we didn’t make the choice on purpose, but I’m still having more trouble than I thought I would.
I push myself harder and harder at school, trying to find some sense of purpose and acclaim. I’ve taken firsts in everything, and somehow, it is still less than gratifying. I have trained whole divisions of archers; stood firm in the face of siege engines, even caught the eye of a prince.
I try to hold the knowledge dear and close, to feel that just having it sets me apart enough. After all, it was that over emphasis on his own worth that made Peter unbearable for the last year. Still, I feel like I’m languishing, and my options are diminishing. It seems ridiculous that I could have had more freedom in a culture that is, essentially, Medieval. Girls around me are already speaking of marriage. That feels like nothing short of surrender.
I might have considered it with him though.
These thoughts are hard to push aside, as boys start to notice me. I play with them. Lucy notices; Peter starts hearing things from his classmates. They say I am both hot and cold. They call me a tease. I once had more suitors than I knew what to do with, but there is one, never formally courted, against whom I measure these boys.
They have spots and wear their uniform shirts rumpled and untucked. They laugh and shove each other, or they bury their noses in books and try to impress me with lengthy, half-informed treatises on the history behind the war we are fighting. Eventually, none of them are even worth a raised eyebrow.
I catch the eyes of soldiers on the train, and cross my legs, allowing the childish gray wool slide up my leg just a little. In these men who have looked death in the face and go off to do it again, I see a little of what I am missing. Intensity. These men are resigned to their fate, but will do their task with honor anyway, believing they fight an enemy worth fighting. They believe they serve a country worth dying for. Do they have photos in their pockets of young women blushing and rolling down their stockings?
I meet a pilot one afternoon. He has dark eyes and dark hair, though his is shorter even than the mother-sanctioned schoolboy cuts I’m used to. He says his name is Michael, and he promises, with words hot against my ear, that he’ll take me up in his plane. I feel the first stirrings of excitement I’ve had in months.

That night, I crawl out my bedroom window. I’m pretty sure Lucy wakes up, but she doesn’t say anything. Later it will be sad eyes and a disappointed tone, but my hand is tight in Michael’s and for a moment I am pulled close to stiff uniform, and I don’t care about my younger sister’s disapproval.
He drives like a madman to the airfield, as I recklessly kiss his neck and ear.
We sneak into the hangar through the shadows of the base. It is just like storming Miraz’s castle, and for a moment, I can remember his eyes in the dark over his uncle’s bed. Michael tells me I’m terribly good at this skulking about, and I just smile. Inside, he dresses quickly and tells off the men on guard. They look at me and back at Michael and subside. One of them even hands me a thick, wool-lined jacket. It’s huge on me, but I hug it close, knowing it will be cold in the air. I remember the numbness in my fingers on my bow as we swooped down over castle turrets. I had almost fumbled that first important arrow.
The space inside the plane is small and the craft vibrates right into my bones. It is nothing like flying with a gryphon, but I am off the ground, and it is almost enough. I ask him if someone might think we are Germans making a pass. He doesn’t think so, but it doesn’t completely remove the giddy exhilaration that someone might try to take us down for being out and about, rather unauthorized. I know he will be disciplined for this, and I’m pretty sure he knows it too. Maybe he wants out. Maybe he is not the brave man I have made him out to be. Regardless, for his sacrifice, I promise myself to him. For the first night in many, I have managed to be outside of myself. I should at least, allow him the same.
He lands the plane in the middle of nowhere and we fumble with each other’s clothing. All I see are dark eyes bearing down into mine and I allow my head to fall back, neck bared to kisses that are almost right.
When I let myself go, gripping tight to Michael’s narrow hips, it is with Caspian’s face behind my closed lids. I manage to keep his name behind my teeth. I haven’t purged him yet, and I don’t know if I will ever be able to.

rating: t, fanfiction: catch-all, author: lady_kinara

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