bedlamsbard | Fic Roundup 2008

lassiterfics)
Peter/Edmund closet porn (with

lassiterfics)
Narnia/Merlin, take 2 (with

lassiterfics)
Narnia/HP (with

lassiterfics, except I think we were writing separate stories alongside each other)
Narnia/Merlin, take 1 (with

lassiterfics)
Lucy/Edeny Yricsdottir
Sing the Sun to Flight, Narnia/Stardust (with

lassiterfics)
Petaverse Dust
Peta/Edwina (with

ineptshieldmaid)
OT3 'verse (with

lassiterfics)
Wild West AU (with

lassiterfics)
In This Hollow Valley, immortal!Susan/resurrected!Peter (with [Unknown site tag])
too many clothes
refugees
juggling knives
politics
poisoning rebels
Peter/Narnia(/Edmund)
truth
restless
Petaverse

WIP teases

Be Like Water: 55,846 words

“If I may?” Caspian offers, and Peta nods.

“My uncle,” he continues, “has ever been fond of the legends of Narnia of old, of the High Queen and her siblings. He has called the fall of the High Queen a great tragedy ever since I have known him, and if there is anything he holds dear to his heart, it is those legends, those stories. He knows them better than anyone else in Telmar except for my tutor, Professor Cornelius. If you left some sign behind of yourselves, some symbol of your power, then I think he would recognize it and guess who you are.”

“Oh, bugger,” Edmund says.

Peta puts her head curiously to one side. “Feel free to elaborate any time now,” she offers.

Edmund sighs. “When we broke in – using your professor’s window like you said, Caspian – there was no one in the room, but there were books open all over his desk, and they were history books. History books about us. And one of your arrows was stuck through a book, Su. If I had to guess, I’d say the soldier we caught trying to drown Trumpkin brought it back to the castle when he reported to General Glozelle and Miraz. But the color of your arrows – that’s so obscure, how could anyone –”

“My uncle would know,” Caspian says again.

Edmund shakes his head. “All that from an arrow and the garbled story of a terrified soldier. May Aslan help us; the man’s no idiot. Or he knows his history, at least.”

Dust in the Air 9: 3,020 words

The first thing Peter says when he wakes up is, “Oh, Lion’s mane, I’m on a boat,” and leans over to throw up in the basin someone has so thoughtfully provided.

“Not,” a woman’s voice says meaningfully from behind him, “exactly the reaction I was expecting.”

Must Be Tuesday: 2,685 words

“Poison,” he whispers.

“Damn,” Edmund replies softly, back to the wall beside the window. He reaches out and twitches forward the curtain to try and get a look outside.

The crossbow bolt goes an inch into the polished oak of Peter’s desk.

“That was a gift!” Peter hisses, crouching low to the ground as he edges towards the weapons rack on the wall. He reaches up to pull down the big rosewood hunting bow there, along with a quiver full of broadhead war arrows. “He could at least have hit the damned paperwork.” He slides bow and quiver across the floor towards Edmund and exchanges the cutlass for Rhindon, buckling on his sword-belt quickly before he draws his sword.

A Legend's Not a Legend Till It Ends: 1,910 words

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Caspian says, and he grins again, briefly elated in triumph. It’s not the sort of thing that would have amused him once, but that was long ago and in another country and besides, that man is dead.

“You didn’t,” he says. “Come here.” He won’t be given a second chance; there are things Caspian should know. There was no one to tell him this after his own coronation; he White Witch had killed every clan chief, every village councilman, every pack and herd leader, when she took her throne. They had learned to rule by guess and by God, half their early successes by the grace of Aslan alone. Whatever help he can give Caspian, he’ll give it.

Old Timber to New Fires: 15,318 words

“Yellow,” Peter says, and when previously they’ve used the entirety of the largest ring, now they confine themselves to the next-largest.

Caspian is aware he’s staring, because they’re both better than he ever dreamed any mortal man could be. The High King Peter and King Edmund he knew weren’t this good, but this – this is the High King and his brother at the peak of their reign; this is the Great Summer and the Kings of Summer in the Flowering of Narnia. This isn’t his faint shadow of a Narnia that’s long-broken and overshadowed.

Till Human Voices Wake Us: 10,717 words

He has to force himself upright, every nerve in his body on edge, his hands shaking, and blinks into the darkness. His head is pounding, but he can’t tell if he’s wounded or if it’s just nerves. There’s no sound but screaming, and Peter coughs as rock dust filters up into nose and mouth, his eyes tearing up as he blinks furiously.

“Silence!” he yells, trying to channel Oreius’ bark of command, the note in his second’s voice of assurance and absolute power. “SILENCE!” His voice cracks on the second syllable, which is neither kingly or general-like, and he curses himself silently and wishes for the day when his command voice will actually sound commanding, instead of a boy playing dress-up.

It takes a few minutes for the screams to die down to muffled sobs, and in those few minutes Peter hears his own breath torn from his throat, ragged and gasping and raw with fear. He chokes that down as hard and fast as he can; he doesn’t have time for fear. Someone relights one of the extinguished torches, and he’s suddenly aware of the mist before his eyes; he tugs off one glove to wipe them clear. His fingers come away the almost-black of blood in faint torchlight, and wet.

The Crosstree and the Grail (with

lassiterfics): 5,934

Peter joins him at the edge of the guard’s perimeter, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’s still pale and gaunt from the sea voyage over, but with two nights on solid land there’s color back in his cheeks; he’s starting to look more like his own self. “Do you think –” he begins, nodding at the valley below them.

Edmund looks down. The valley is filled with villages, all thatched roofs and mud streets – very English, and oddly familiar for it – and on the opposite end, nestled in the hills, they can just see the white walls of Uther’s castle. He automatically does an inventory of how it doesn’t look at all like the Camelot in his head. “If Camelot’s here, Pete,” Edmund muses, “then what else is? How many of our legends back in England came from this world somehow?”

Peter claps his shoulder. “We haven’t met any legends yet,” he says. “Come on, I want to be on the road in an hour. Uther’s escort is supposed to meet us around noon.”

Usually I would not go into so much detail, but I wanted to hunt down everything (and I know I didn't) because I wanted to get a pretty close guess at exactly how much fic I'd written this year, counting deleted scenes and WIPs. (And I also didn't get everything, because some of it's handwritten and back at Tulane, and some of it's handwritten and here, and some of it is lost in the depths of the Internet.)

Total fic wordcount: 349,842

And if I wanted to add in my original fic -- that was what I was writing for the first five months of the year, thank you very much, senior project novel -- about 50K of which was written this year, the other 50K last NaNo -- that gives me a total wordcount of somewhere just over 400K.

If y'all will excuse me, I'm going to go...not write...now.

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
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4	5	6	7	8	9	10
11	12	13	14	15	16	17
18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30	31

beyond the wide world's end

laissez les bons temps rouler

Fic Roundup 2008

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