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bedlamsbardFirst! Three-sentence-fic:
SGA
The match flickers and goes out. John checks the clip by feel, counts the remaining bullets in his head -- thirteen, prime -- and settles back down, resisting the urge to press his palm to the dirty bandage on his leg.
Soon, he hears bootsteps.
Narnia
He will not weep or wail or beg, although it hurts that he will not have even one last glimpse of Narnia before he leaves forever. Peter and Susan had that, at least, and Edmund never thought he'd have otherwise. Still, he squares his shoulders and waits for Aslan to open a door in the sky, ignoring the tears that prick at the corners of his eyes.
*
There are strange cliffs in some of the most remote parts of Narnia, tall and many-colored, with layers like faded rainbows. In places on the cliffs that no human can reach are carvings and paintings, familiar faces in unfamiliar places, incorporating the bands of stone into the surprisingly elaborate artwork. Caspian looks at them from the back of his horse, at a long stripe of gold that forms hair and crown, and wonders at the past, both far and near.
*
"Do you know who that is?" she asks the children who huddle in the How hoping desperately for Aslan's protection, tapping her fingers against the paintings on the wall.
They shake their heads, and Lucy closes her eyes.
"He was the first friend I had in Narnia," she says.
*
"This ship," Edmund says, deep in his cups and slurring his words slightly, "is practically a rowboat."
Eustace, who's refused to touch a drop of alcohol since the disastrous incident off the Lone Islands -- damn that mouse -- opens his mouth to agree eagerly, but doesn't get the words out before Edmund goes on.
"In our day, the Navy would have wiped the floor with the Dawn Treader," he says, and drinks deep.
*
He gains a reputation in his classes for a sharp tongue, sharper than his professors would like, and more insightful too.
"Clearly an idiot," he says, shoving back in his seat, barely avoiding putting his feet on the desk. "No wonder they lost the bloody empire."
*
He is somewhat distressed to find that being king of Narnia doesn't involve as much fun as he'd thought, and considerably more schoolwork than he'd ever done in England. He gets a tutor in the form of an old, old faun with a pince-nez and a seemingly never-ending stack of books, some of them, he's sure, that predate the White Witch. When he goes complaining to Susan, she just raises an eyebrow at him and says, "As if the rest of us aren't doing as much or more, Ed."
And commentfic from the other day.
ETA: Edited to include cut tags for each story, mostly because I need to be able to link.
Snowmen (take that as you will!) for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
almostinstinct
Edmund has been of the firm opinion that the High Reaches stories about giant man-shaped snow creatures are nothing more than that, stories, because they seem like the sort of thing the White Witch would have pulled out for the last battle, but all that goes out the window when a sodding thing rises out of the snowdrifts in front of him. All he sees is that it's taller than a centaur, man-shaped, covered in white hair, and really pissed off.
Someone in his Guard lets out a scream of pure terror and darts off across the plain; Edmund staggers a few steps back, jerking his sword out of its sheath and trying not to lose his footing in the snow. Mozhan roars, jaw opening wide, and the creatures swats him aside as if he's nothing more than a toy. Edmund takes another step backwards, tightening his grip on his sword, and sneaks a look at Mozhan's limp body out of the corner of his eye as the creature advances on him. It's not as if it hasn't been four years since the White Witch fell; this thing's been hiding for how many years now?
The thing brings a wave of cold with it and Edmund clenches his jaw, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Suddenly he might as well not be wearing any of his many layers; his gloved hands are already clenching on his sword hilt. He swings clumsily, but too early; the thing isn't in striking range yet, and the movement sends him staggering forward, stiff from cold. It swipes a paw at him (almost a hand, but with claws, heavily furred); he turns and just barely avoids having his ribs crushed, but it still sends him sprawling to the ground, trying to scramble to his feet. At least he keeps his grip on his sword, and brings it up as the beast looms over him, scoring a bright line across its chest. Its blood is freezing cold as it drips down on him, mouth opening to reveal a maw of sharp yellowing teeth and a lot of bad breath. Edmund stabs up, clumsily.
It's surprised to see him keep fighting and rears back, hissing, and Edmund scrambles the rest of the way up, wincing as pain stabs up along his ribs. He lunges forward. The creature avoids him, veering sideways to snatch up Mozhan's limp body before stumping off into the swirling snow, vanishing after a moment. Edmund takes a step forward, meaning to follow, and stops, because he has no idea where the thing's gone. But it took one of his Guard with it, and Aslan alone knows what's going to happen to Mozhan, if he's still alive, or if he's dead --
He shouts, helplessly, and the sound is lost.
*
Susan teaching someone else to shoot (Pevensie, Narnian, girl at St Finbar's, whatever) forwestingturtle
"Head up, shoulders back," Pevensie snaps, and Margaret jumps. She doesn't mean to, but she does anyway, and rather hates herself for it. It's just that Pevensie sneaks. No one ever hears her coming, not even the professors. And sometimes Margaret appreciates that, and laughs along with the other girls, but it's different when it's her.
"Feet apart," Pevensie adds from behind her, hands suddenly on her body as she repositions Margaret to her satisfaction. Her touch is brief and impersonal, not lingering, and after a moment she stand back, making a sound of satisfaction.
"Arms up. Draw. Don't look down the shaft, your aim will be shot." She pauses, and Margaret holds her breath. "No pun intended," Pevensie adds finally.
"If I don't look, then how will I be able to aim?" Margaret ventures.
For a heartbeat, there's a ghost of a smile lingering around Susan's mouth. "You just know," she says. "You just have to trust that the arrow knows where it's going."
*
Tirian getting in trouble as a teen forsnacky
He slinks into the council meeting an hour and a half after he's supposed to have been there, hoping that no one will notice. It's a vain hope, of course, but that's what hope's for. Lord Prejun glares at him fiercely and Tirian looks down, gathering the untouched file folder left in front of his chair in his hands and flipping it open, trying to ascertain what they're talking about without having to ask.
"I hope your night was worth it," his father says without looking at him, and Tirian winces. It's not just because of his hangover.
After the meeting's over, he doesn't bother to linger and try and explain. His father doesn't call him back.
*
Edmund, later Golden Age, swords, hammocks, and tarantulas forkatakokk
He takes a great deal of pleasure in the fact that Susan screams.
It's harder and harder to faze her these days, which doesn't stop them from trying, but usually all it gets them is a raised eyebrow and a turned back as Susan sweeps away, her skirts flaring around her legs. But this time he gets a scream.
"What, are you twelve?" she hisses at him, the heat rising in her cheeks as the Guard looks around at them curiously, apparently amused by their monarchs' antics.
"At heart," Edmund tells her, and raises the baby spider he's holding. It waggles one foot at her, and Susan jumps back. "Su! Don't you want to be nice to your subjects?"
"It's a spider!"
"But it's not just any spider," he says slyly.
"No, it's a spider the size of a large cat!"
"You're hurting its feelings," he says, pulling the spider back against himself. Its fur is soft beneath his palms, feet a little sticky where it clings to his shirt. "They're supposed to be extinct," he adds protectively. "Gone over the sea years ago into Aslan's Country. You've seen the cave paintings on the White Cliffs --"
"Edmund. That thing is clearly not extinct." She's holding herself stiffly, a little aways from him, and he makes a face.
"Be nice, Su," he chides. "Someone brought a litter of them in from Terebinthia, from the forests. Or maybe the Labyrinth, they were kind of unclear on that point. But they're supposed to be extinct, and they've been there for years, centuries, before the White Witch even, and isn't that -- she wiped out so many peoples, but if they've been hiding out for so long, then maybe --"
"That's fabulous, Edmund," Susan informs him. "I'm sure you could have told me as much without sticking a giant spider in my face."
One of the great cats coughs.
"Yes, but where's the fun in that?" he grins.
*
Edmund and knives. Edmund being snarky and sneakingly clever somewhere outside of Narnia forcaramelsilver
It's not that Eustace needs to be told that there's something wrong with his cousins, but all comes to a horrrible, horrible head the time he trips over one of the books Edmund leaves around his bedroom floor for the sole purpose of driving him 'round the bed and Edmund sits up with a knife in his hand.
Eustace stares at him in the dim light of the bedrooom, too surprised to even say anything. If he could think of anything to say, which he can't.
"Oh," Edmund says, sounding disappointed. "It's you." And then he puts the knife away, or something, because Eustace doesn't see what he actually does with it, just that it's there one moment and then gone the next, and lies back down.
Eustace, sitting on the floor, just keeps staring at him. Because -- a knife! In his bedroom! Edmund could be planning to murder him in his sleep. It does not seem entirely unlikely, he concludes grimly.
*
Peter and his RAF team, at any point in time? rumors during down time while waiting to be sent up would be AWESOME especially forbe_themoon (Uh, my only explanation is that I took my Arab-Israeli Conflict final today.)
Pevensie sprawls on his back, one leg dangling lazily over the edge of the bench as he blows a smoke ring in the air above him, flicking the ash aside off the edge of his cigarette. "I like them," he says idly.
"Like who?" Damian demands, wondering if it's worth dumping a bucket of water over his head when he's fairly certain it will evaporate off his skin in a matter of minutes. God, he hates Palestine, and he's damned glad that they're leaving within the year, even if it looks like the country's about to explode into chaos around them. Scratch that, because the country's already exploded into chaos around them. It makes him twitchy.
"The Jews. They're scrappy. I like it." He flicks off more ash. "I rather like the country, too."
"You would." He gives up and dumps the water, closing his eyes in pleasure as for a moment he's soaked and blissfully cold. Then the heat starts kicking in.
Pevensie grins. "I'll miss the place."
"They'll blow it to hell the moment we're gone."
"Nah, they won't." He sits up, swinging his legs around, and crushes the cigarette out with the toe of his boot. "Places like Palestine? They stick around a long, long time."
*
Mayor, mud, and mayhem? forjuliekarasik
Mayor isn't sure actually when his life hit the point where he thinks saving a human boy from the Leadbeater twins is a good idea, but somehow he finds himself in between that new human, the one from Land's End, and Gunderic Leadbeater's fist, gloomily bidding farewell to the remnants of his dignity.
To Mayor's surprise, Gunderic pulls his punch. Maybe he's surprised. Maybe he actually does have a self-preservation extinct.
"What the fuck're you doin', Mayor?" he demands. "You got a taste for white meat, or something?"
Mayor bares his teeth delicately. "Maybe I do," he says, and eyes Gailamir over Gunderic's shoulder. "Maybe I just don't like the idea of all of us having to do laps in the yard until the Nose is bored just because you two like starting in fights. My mum'll have my hide if I come in with mud all over again."
"Huh," Gailamir says, apparently considering the outcome of his actions for the first time.
"Besides," Mayor says, delivering the final argument, "just think what Hesychia will say if she has to get mud in her fur again."
Gailamir rears back, eyes going wide, and grabs his twin's arm. "Come on," he says, "if Mayor's a human-lover, that's his problem."
"Oh, just because you've got it for some nanny --"
Gunderic's still protesting as Gailamir drags him off.
The human levers himself away from the wall, unclenching his fists. He smells like fear, and has gone a funny pale color. Mayor doesn't see humans often in the Pearl. "Thank --"
"Don't even talk to me," Mayor instructs. "I just didn't want to have to run again." And he leaves, hearing the human's fast breathing behind him.
The human catches up with him at lunch. "Look," he says, "I know I'm -- not what you usually see around here --"
"Oh, you think?" Mayor demands, gritting his teeth as he hears Hyacinth snickering. He decides he hates rusalki.
The human goes an interesting color. "Look, this isn't exactly what I'm used to, either! I'm from Land's End, and -- I'm not -- look, okay, fine, you don't want to talk to me, that's fine. Anyway. My name's Elizar Confesor."
Mayor eyes him. "May Your Life Be Long and Your Enemies Honorable," he says, and the human -- Elizar Confesor -- blinks, opening his mouth. "My name," he adds, irritated. "Everyone calls me Mayor."
"Nice to meet you, Mayor," the human says politely. "Um --"
"Now get away from me," Mayor says, and shoves past him.
SGA
The match flickers and goes out. John checks the clip by feel, counts the remaining bullets in his head -- thirteen, prime -- and settles back down, resisting the urge to press his palm to the dirty bandage on his leg.
Soon, he hears bootsteps.
Narnia
He will not weep or wail or beg, although it hurts that he will not have even one last glimpse of Narnia before he leaves forever. Peter and Susan had that, at least, and Edmund never thought he'd have otherwise. Still, he squares his shoulders and waits for Aslan to open a door in the sky, ignoring the tears that prick at the corners of his eyes.
*
There are strange cliffs in some of the most remote parts of Narnia, tall and many-colored, with layers like faded rainbows. In places on the cliffs that no human can reach are carvings and paintings, familiar faces in unfamiliar places, incorporating the bands of stone into the surprisingly elaborate artwork. Caspian looks at them from the back of his horse, at a long stripe of gold that forms hair and crown, and wonders at the past, both far and near.
*
"Do you know who that is?" she asks the children who huddle in the How hoping desperately for Aslan's protection, tapping her fingers against the paintings on the wall.
They shake their heads, and Lucy closes her eyes.
"He was the first friend I had in Narnia," she says.
*
"This ship," Edmund says, deep in his cups and slurring his words slightly, "is practically a rowboat."
Eustace, who's refused to touch a drop of alcohol since the disastrous incident off the Lone Islands -- damn that mouse -- opens his mouth to agree eagerly, but doesn't get the words out before Edmund goes on.
"In our day, the Navy would have wiped the floor with the Dawn Treader," he says, and drinks deep.
*
He gains a reputation in his classes for a sharp tongue, sharper than his professors would like, and more insightful too.
"Clearly an idiot," he says, shoving back in his seat, barely avoiding putting his feet on the desk. "No wonder they lost the bloody empire."
*
He is somewhat distressed to find that being king of Narnia doesn't involve as much fun as he'd thought, and considerably more schoolwork than he'd ever done in England. He gets a tutor in the form of an old, old faun with a pince-nez and a seemingly never-ending stack of books, some of them, he's sure, that predate the White Witch. When he goes complaining to Susan, she just raises an eyebrow at him and says, "As if the rest of us aren't doing as much or more, Ed."
And commentfic from the other day.
ETA: Edited to include cut tags for each story, mostly because I need to be able to link.
Snowmen (take that as you will!) for
almostinstinctEdmund has been of the firm opinion that the High Reaches stories about giant man-shaped snow creatures are nothing more than that, stories, because they seem like the sort of thing the White Witch would have pulled out for the last battle, but all that goes out the window when a sodding thing rises out of the snowdrifts in front of him. All he sees is that it's taller than a centaur, man-shaped, covered in white hair, and really pissed off.
Someone in his Guard lets out a scream of pure terror and darts off across the plain; Edmund staggers a few steps back, jerking his sword out of its sheath and trying not to lose his footing in the snow. Mozhan roars, jaw opening wide, and the creatures swats him aside as if he's nothing more than a toy. Edmund takes another step backwards, tightening his grip on his sword, and sneaks a look at Mozhan's limp body out of the corner of his eye as the creature advances on him. It's not as if it hasn't been four years since the White Witch fell; this thing's been hiding for how many years now?
The thing brings a wave of cold with it and Edmund clenches his jaw, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Suddenly he might as well not be wearing any of his many layers; his gloved hands are already clenching on his sword hilt. He swings clumsily, but too early; the thing isn't in striking range yet, and the movement sends him staggering forward, stiff from cold. It swipes a paw at him (almost a hand, but with claws, heavily furred); he turns and just barely avoids having his ribs crushed, but it still sends him sprawling to the ground, trying to scramble to his feet. At least he keeps his grip on his sword, and brings it up as the beast looms over him, scoring a bright line across its chest. Its blood is freezing cold as it drips down on him, mouth opening to reveal a maw of sharp yellowing teeth and a lot of bad breath. Edmund stabs up, clumsily.
It's surprised to see him keep fighting and rears back, hissing, and Edmund scrambles the rest of the way up, wincing as pain stabs up along his ribs. He lunges forward. The creature avoids him, veering sideways to snatch up Mozhan's limp body before stumping off into the swirling snow, vanishing after a moment. Edmund takes a step forward, meaning to follow, and stops, because he has no idea where the thing's gone. But it took one of his Guard with it, and Aslan alone knows what's going to happen to Mozhan, if he's still alive, or if he's dead --
He shouts, helplessly, and the sound is lost.
*
Susan teaching someone else to shoot (Pevensie, Narnian, girl at St Finbar's, whatever) for
westingturtle"Head up, shoulders back," Pevensie snaps, and Margaret jumps. She doesn't mean to, but she does anyway, and rather hates herself for it. It's just that Pevensie sneaks. No one ever hears her coming, not even the professors. And sometimes Margaret appreciates that, and laughs along with the other girls, but it's different when it's her.
"Feet apart," Pevensie adds from behind her, hands suddenly on her body as she repositions Margaret to her satisfaction. Her touch is brief and impersonal, not lingering, and after a moment she stand back, making a sound of satisfaction.
"Arms up. Draw. Don't look down the shaft, your aim will be shot." She pauses, and Margaret holds her breath. "No pun intended," Pevensie adds finally.
"If I don't look, then how will I be able to aim?" Margaret ventures.
For a heartbeat, there's a ghost of a smile lingering around Susan's mouth. "You just know," she says. "You just have to trust that the arrow knows where it's going."
*
Tirian getting in trouble as a teen for
snackyHe slinks into the council meeting an hour and a half after he's supposed to have been there, hoping that no one will notice. It's a vain hope, of course, but that's what hope's for. Lord Prejun glares at him fiercely and Tirian looks down, gathering the untouched file folder left in front of his chair in his hands and flipping it open, trying to ascertain what they're talking about without having to ask.
"I hope your night was worth it," his father says without looking at him, and Tirian winces. It's not just because of his hangover.
After the meeting's over, he doesn't bother to linger and try and explain. His father doesn't call him back.
*
Edmund, later Golden Age, swords, hammocks, and tarantulas for
katakokkHe takes a great deal of pleasure in the fact that Susan screams.
It's harder and harder to faze her these days, which doesn't stop them from trying, but usually all it gets them is a raised eyebrow and a turned back as Susan sweeps away, her skirts flaring around her legs. But this time he gets a scream.
"What, are you twelve?" she hisses at him, the heat rising in her cheeks as the Guard looks around at them curiously, apparently amused by their monarchs' antics.
"At heart," Edmund tells her, and raises the baby spider he's holding. It waggles one foot at her, and Susan jumps back. "Su! Don't you want to be nice to your subjects?"
"It's a spider!"
"But it's not just any spider," he says slyly.
"No, it's a spider the size of a large cat!"
"You're hurting its feelings," he says, pulling the spider back against himself. Its fur is soft beneath his palms, feet a little sticky where it clings to his shirt. "They're supposed to be extinct," he adds protectively. "Gone over the sea years ago into Aslan's Country. You've seen the cave paintings on the White Cliffs --"
"Edmund. That thing is clearly not extinct." She's holding herself stiffly, a little aways from him, and he makes a face.
"Be nice, Su," he chides. "Someone brought a litter of them in from Terebinthia, from the forests. Or maybe the Labyrinth, they were kind of unclear on that point. But they're supposed to be extinct, and they've been there for years, centuries, before the White Witch even, and isn't that -- she wiped out so many peoples, but if they've been hiding out for so long, then maybe --"
"That's fabulous, Edmund," Susan informs him. "I'm sure you could have told me as much without sticking a giant spider in my face."
One of the great cats coughs.
"Yes, but where's the fun in that?" he grins.
*
Edmund and knives. Edmund being snarky and sneakingly clever somewhere outside of Narnia for
caramelsilverIt's not that Eustace needs to be told that there's something wrong with his cousins, but all comes to a horrrible, horrible head the time he trips over one of the books Edmund leaves around his bedroom floor for the sole purpose of driving him 'round the bed and Edmund sits up with a knife in his hand.
Eustace stares at him in the dim light of the bedrooom, too surprised to even say anything. If he could think of anything to say, which he can't.
"Oh," Edmund says, sounding disappointed. "It's you." And then he puts the knife away, or something, because Eustace doesn't see what he actually does with it, just that it's there one moment and then gone the next, and lies back down.
Eustace, sitting on the floor, just keeps staring at him. Because -- a knife! In his bedroom! Edmund could be planning to murder him in his sleep. It does not seem entirely unlikely, he concludes grimly.
*
Peter and his RAF team, at any point in time? rumors during down time while waiting to be sent up would be AWESOME especially for
be_themoon (Uh, my only explanation is that I took my Arab-Israeli Conflict final today.)Pevensie sprawls on his back, one leg dangling lazily over the edge of the bench as he blows a smoke ring in the air above him, flicking the ash aside off the edge of his cigarette. "I like them," he says idly.
"Like who?" Damian demands, wondering if it's worth dumping a bucket of water over his head when he's fairly certain it will evaporate off his skin in a matter of minutes. God, he hates Palestine, and he's damned glad that they're leaving within the year, even if it looks like the country's about to explode into chaos around them. Scratch that, because the country's already exploded into chaos around them. It makes him twitchy.
"The Jews. They're scrappy. I like it." He flicks off more ash. "I rather like the country, too."
"You would." He gives up and dumps the water, closing his eyes in pleasure as for a moment he's soaked and blissfully cold. Then the heat starts kicking in.
Pevensie grins. "I'll miss the place."
"They'll blow it to hell the moment we're gone."
"Nah, they won't." He sits up, swinging his legs around, and crushes the cigarette out with the toe of his boot. "Places like Palestine? They stick around a long, long time."
*
Mayor, mud, and mayhem? for
juliekarasikMayor isn't sure actually when his life hit the point where he thinks saving a human boy from the Leadbeater twins is a good idea, but somehow he finds himself in between that new human, the one from Land's End, and Gunderic Leadbeater's fist, gloomily bidding farewell to the remnants of his dignity.
To Mayor's surprise, Gunderic pulls his punch. Maybe he's surprised. Maybe he actually does have a self-preservation extinct.
"What the fuck're you doin', Mayor?" he demands. "You got a taste for white meat, or something?"
Mayor bares his teeth delicately. "Maybe I do," he says, and eyes Gailamir over Gunderic's shoulder. "Maybe I just don't like the idea of all of us having to do laps in the yard until the Nose is bored just because you two like starting in fights. My mum'll have my hide if I come in with mud all over again."
"Huh," Gailamir says, apparently considering the outcome of his actions for the first time.
"Besides," Mayor says, delivering the final argument, "just think what Hesychia will say if she has to get mud in her fur again."
Gailamir rears back, eyes going wide, and grabs his twin's arm. "Come on," he says, "if Mayor's a human-lover, that's his problem."
"Oh, just because you've got it for some nanny --"
Gunderic's still protesting as Gailamir drags him off.
The human levers himself away from the wall, unclenching his fists. He smells like fear, and has gone a funny pale color. Mayor doesn't see humans often in the Pearl. "Thank --"
"Don't even talk to me," Mayor instructs. "I just didn't want to have to run again." And he leaves, hearing the human's fast breathing behind him.
The human catches up with him at lunch. "Look," he says, "I know I'm -- not what you usually see around here --"
"Oh, you think?" Mayor demands, gritting his teeth as he hears Hyacinth snickering. He decides he hates rusalki.
The human goes an interesting color. "Look, this isn't exactly what I'm used to, either! I'm from Land's End, and -- I'm not -- look, okay, fine, you don't want to talk to me, that's fine. Anyway. My name's Elizar Confesor."
Mayor eyes him. "May Your Life Be Long and Your Enemies Honorable," he says, and the human -- Elizar Confesor -- blinks, opening his mouth. "My name," he adds, irritated. "Everyone calls me Mayor."
"Nice to meet you, Mayor," the human says politely. "Um --"
"Now get away from me," Mayor says, and shoves past him.