Fic : Skidded So Badly (Narnia, 1/1)
Aug. 8th, 2008 01:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
burntcopperTitle : Skidded so Badly
Author : Gunbunny
Fandom : Narnia.
Pairing : none (Lucy/Tumnus mentioned).
Rating : No sex and no violence in the actual fic. :sigh:
Summary : Caspian is really regretting sitting in on this storytelling session. (post-battle, PC)
Disclaimer : Not mine. CS Lewis's.
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol.
Archive : http://burntcopper.com/fic , anywhere else feel free.
Sitting round the fire. Caspian's still on edge, since nothing in his life prepared him for siege, revolution and battle in a matter of days. The Narnians of old - the Kings and Queens - are relaxed, as though they've been on a pleasant ride in the country. This is something they have already spent a lifetime doing. Back in the saddle, as King Peter put it.
And as is their way, in the aftermath of a battle, they're telling stories of battles and such past. Only he knows some of these as legends, details changed and blurred over the centuries. As ever, when the Narnians speak of such things, it can be quite jarring to hear such tales spoken of as if they were yesterday, and adult perspectives from the mouths of youths. One he remembers being told something of as a child; it had been merged in with another tale as a quest, seeking a prize. Now he finds that it was started over an assassination attempt, and that everyone got drunk the night before, and the mud was so thick underfoot that the fighters were skidding. A centaur skidded badly and tore a tendon in one leg and was set upon, battling to his last, the blood of his attackers merging with the mud around him. Edmund wrenched his shoulder badly and could only fight with one sword, Peter led an attack on their left flank that panicked their cavalry and funnelled them through the badly positioned archers as he'd intended, and Susan was standing so close to a particularly gory amputation that her whole left side was covered in blood, leading those who later greeted her to marvel that she was still standing.
Currently, they're talking of the celebration at Cair Paravel, held to celebrate the victory over the Calormenes who'd sent the assassin. They switch between the gore and the celebration in a mercurial fashion, not ever dwelling on the previous events, be they shocking or joyful, as though each experience was one and the same in their importance.
"And Lucy danced Tumnus into the floor!" Susan laughs. "It's not often you'll see a faun danced off his feet."
Lucy smirks, taking a sip of her wine, and says in a smug tone "I never let him forget it, either."
"It seems Queen Lucy was quite the wild one in her time, aye?" Caspian asks, a little hesitantly. He doesn't wish to offend, but some interaction is expected from him. Queen Susan and King Edmund poked him earlier about sitting there wide-eyed and gaping, which brought him up fast. No matter the company, or that this is not court. He was raised better than to indulge in such behaviour in front of anyone, no matter their strangeness or status. As for the tale of Lucy dancing people into the floor, he's not that far from believing it of this merry child. Each time she features in a tale of theirs, it is always as someone who lived for the moment, without introspection or hesitation.
"That's our Lucy." Peter grins, and elbows her. "It's not often you can say a faun is a steadying influence on someone. We were all heaving a sigh of relief when you took him to bed, Lu."
Caspian desperately tries to keep his reaction from showing on his face at that particular revelation, though the flickering firelight is helping somewhat there. He knew talking beasts were common in Old Narnia, and from the tales told tonight and other nights, it's clear that they fought alongside them, counted them as trusted advisors and companions and valued and esteemed them greatly. That they talk of the fact that they thought nothing of bedding such creatures, who are not even human, half-human at best, and to let it slip so casually as an aside, shows how truly different these figures from legend really are. Telmarines have been known to talk of such things as barely above beasts, as fantastical creatures fit for the tales of children only. To even think of bedding such a one would be on a par to admitting to enjoying the company of sheep in the minds of the more high-minded Telmarines. And they clearly did not intend to shock him with it, for there was no pause; he could understand some gentle jibing, as they revel in keeping him off-balance. It was merely a detail provided by the storyteller to help the outsider gain some perspective on later events, such as when Susan told him that they had won a favourable trade agreement a month prior to the assassination attempt to the detriment of the Calormenes.
Around him, the reminisces continue uninterrupted. "He wasn't that much of a steadying influence." Susan drawls. "Remember that time the two of you drank half a regiment under the table the night after a battle?"
Lucy flushes. "Oh, shush you. It's not like you never indulged." She pauses as she sips at her wine again, then adds a rejoinder. "Besides, I'm not the one who got regular visits from Bacchus."
Peter points a finger at her. "That doesn't count. You know perfectly well Bacchus was fascinated by someone that obstinate."
Caspian's eyes are flicking to Susan as the most likely recipient of these jibes when Edmund mutters "Can you leave me out of this?" He clears his throat. "Besides, Caspian here is looking a little wild-eyed. I think we broke him again."
Caspian smiles, recovering in time. "Truly, I am fine." He grins. "It is merely that Queen Lucy seems so innocent." Inside, he's swallowing hard. Very hard. He keeps being lulled into forgetting that the Narnian Kings and Queens are so truly different inside, for all they merely look a little old-fashioned. The Telmarines already call them savages and barbarians - he'll definitely concede their savagery, he's seen them up close in battle. He dare not disclose that they talk so blithely of bedding the more bestial races of Narnia. It might be a little more than any Telmarine could cope with, since they have only been recently alerted to the fact that any Narnians still lived, and that is shock enough.
Susan interjects into his thoughts darkly "We're all dreading the return of her seventeenth birthday."
Caspian swallows, using the wine as a cover. "I think I may need more wine to be able to cope with that tale."
"You have no idea how much wine we needed just to get through it." Peter grins.
Lucy smiles sweetly and pats his arm. "It's all right, Caspian, they're exaggerating." Peter snorts in disbelief.
Caspian feels it's his duty to turn the conversation away from that subject, he can just see the tales of drunken escapades and debauchery laying in wait behind that snort of Peter's. It would definitely be more than he could cope with right now. He doesn't want to hear any more about someone who he cannot think of anything but as a child while she's still sitting in front of him, no matter her expressions and jokes that prove she understands every single innuendo or implication of the sly jibes. "So, ah, who was Bacchus?"
They launch into a tale of a young god with grapes in his hair that lived in a state of drunken revelry that veered from orgies and parties to violence who no-one could resist running with for a short while at least. Unless you were Edmund, who Bacchus tracked down for resisting his call. Still, at least it's a tale that will preserve his sanity a little better than some of the previous ones.
END
Author : Gunbunny
Fandom : Narnia.
Pairing : none (Lucy/Tumnus mentioned).
Rating : No sex and no violence in the actual fic. :sigh:
Summary : Caspian is really regretting sitting in on this storytelling session. (post-battle, PC)
Disclaimer : Not mine. CS Lewis's.
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol.
Archive : http://burntcopper.com/fic , anywhere else feel free.
Sitting round the fire. Caspian's still on edge, since nothing in his life prepared him for siege, revolution and battle in a matter of days. The Narnians of old - the Kings and Queens - are relaxed, as though they've been on a pleasant ride in the country. This is something they have already spent a lifetime doing. Back in the saddle, as King Peter put it.
And as is their way, in the aftermath of a battle, they're telling stories of battles and such past. Only he knows some of these as legends, details changed and blurred over the centuries. As ever, when the Narnians speak of such things, it can be quite jarring to hear such tales spoken of as if they were yesterday, and adult perspectives from the mouths of youths. One he remembers being told something of as a child; it had been merged in with another tale as a quest, seeking a prize. Now he finds that it was started over an assassination attempt, and that everyone got drunk the night before, and the mud was so thick underfoot that the fighters were skidding. A centaur skidded badly and tore a tendon in one leg and was set upon, battling to his last, the blood of his attackers merging with the mud around him. Edmund wrenched his shoulder badly and could only fight with one sword, Peter led an attack on their left flank that panicked their cavalry and funnelled them through the badly positioned archers as he'd intended, and Susan was standing so close to a particularly gory amputation that her whole left side was covered in blood, leading those who later greeted her to marvel that she was still standing.
Currently, they're talking of the celebration at Cair Paravel, held to celebrate the victory over the Calormenes who'd sent the assassin. They switch between the gore and the celebration in a mercurial fashion, not ever dwelling on the previous events, be they shocking or joyful, as though each experience was one and the same in their importance.
"And Lucy danced Tumnus into the floor!" Susan laughs. "It's not often you'll see a faun danced off his feet."
Lucy smirks, taking a sip of her wine, and says in a smug tone "I never let him forget it, either."
"It seems Queen Lucy was quite the wild one in her time, aye?" Caspian asks, a little hesitantly. He doesn't wish to offend, but some interaction is expected from him. Queen Susan and King Edmund poked him earlier about sitting there wide-eyed and gaping, which brought him up fast. No matter the company, or that this is not court. He was raised better than to indulge in such behaviour in front of anyone, no matter their strangeness or status. As for the tale of Lucy dancing people into the floor, he's not that far from believing it of this merry child. Each time she features in a tale of theirs, it is always as someone who lived for the moment, without introspection or hesitation.
"That's our Lucy." Peter grins, and elbows her. "It's not often you can say a faun is a steadying influence on someone. We were all heaving a sigh of relief when you took him to bed, Lu."
Caspian desperately tries to keep his reaction from showing on his face at that particular revelation, though the flickering firelight is helping somewhat there. He knew talking beasts were common in Old Narnia, and from the tales told tonight and other nights, it's clear that they fought alongside them, counted them as trusted advisors and companions and valued and esteemed them greatly. That they talk of the fact that they thought nothing of bedding such creatures, who are not even human, half-human at best, and to let it slip so casually as an aside, shows how truly different these figures from legend really are. Telmarines have been known to talk of such things as barely above beasts, as fantastical creatures fit for the tales of children only. To even think of bedding such a one would be on a par to admitting to enjoying the company of sheep in the minds of the more high-minded Telmarines. And they clearly did not intend to shock him with it, for there was no pause; he could understand some gentle jibing, as they revel in keeping him off-balance. It was merely a detail provided by the storyteller to help the outsider gain some perspective on later events, such as when Susan told him that they had won a favourable trade agreement a month prior to the assassination attempt to the detriment of the Calormenes.
Around him, the reminisces continue uninterrupted. "He wasn't that much of a steadying influence." Susan drawls. "Remember that time the two of you drank half a regiment under the table the night after a battle?"
Lucy flushes. "Oh, shush you. It's not like you never indulged." She pauses as she sips at her wine again, then adds a rejoinder. "Besides, I'm not the one who got regular visits from Bacchus."
Peter points a finger at her. "That doesn't count. You know perfectly well Bacchus was fascinated by someone that obstinate."
Caspian's eyes are flicking to Susan as the most likely recipient of these jibes when Edmund mutters "Can you leave me out of this?" He clears his throat. "Besides, Caspian here is looking a little wild-eyed. I think we broke him again."
Caspian smiles, recovering in time. "Truly, I am fine." He grins. "It is merely that Queen Lucy seems so innocent." Inside, he's swallowing hard. Very hard. He keeps being lulled into forgetting that the Narnian Kings and Queens are so truly different inside, for all they merely look a little old-fashioned. The Telmarines already call them savages and barbarians - he'll definitely concede their savagery, he's seen them up close in battle. He dare not disclose that they talk so blithely of bedding the more bestial races of Narnia. It might be a little more than any Telmarine could cope with, since they have only been recently alerted to the fact that any Narnians still lived, and that is shock enough.
Susan interjects into his thoughts darkly "We're all dreading the return of her seventeenth birthday."
Caspian swallows, using the wine as a cover. "I think I may need more wine to be able to cope with that tale."
"You have no idea how much wine we needed just to get through it." Peter grins.
Lucy smiles sweetly and pats his arm. "It's all right, Caspian, they're exaggerating." Peter snorts in disbelief.
Caspian feels it's his duty to turn the conversation away from that subject, he can just see the tales of drunken escapades and debauchery laying in wait behind that snort of Peter's. It would definitely be more than he could cope with right now. He doesn't want to hear any more about someone who he cannot think of anything but as a child while she's still sitting in front of him, no matter her expressions and jokes that prove she understands every single innuendo or implication of the sly jibes. "So, ah, who was Bacchus?"
They launch into a tale of a young god with grapes in his hair that lived in a state of drunken revelry that veered from orgies and parties to violence who no-one could resist running with for a short while at least. Unless you were Edmund, who Bacchus tracked down for resisting his call. Still, at least it's a tale that will preserve his sanity a little better than some of the previous ones.
END
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 12:40 am (UTC)This is lovely.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 10:42 pm (UTC)Edmund is made of awesome, and deserves a little fun now and then with lithe young wine-stained gods. It's a fact.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 01:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 04:29 am (UTC)Thanks for posting, this really made me smile. :D
no subject
Date: 2008-08-08 10:46 pm (UTC)