breakingdreams | chronicles of narnia | the rapport between water and sand

Title: the rapport between water and sand
Character(s): Susan Pevensie, Lucy Pevensie
Wordcount: 1053
Summary: Cair Paravel is full of strangers that night, fine men in fine clothing who do not quite belong in these halls usually filled with Talking Beasts and dwarves and all sorts of other Narnians. Takes place about a month or two after the Pevensies become Kings & Queens of Narnia.
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer: I do not claim any ownership over the Chronicles of Narnia.
Notes: The title was taken from a line from Andrew Zawacki's Credo. This was written for

pencildragon11 as a part of the

narniaexchange. I was given a long list of prompts and scenarios to choose from, but the ones I ultimately ended up using were these:

Lucy being inept at homemaking/sewing/cooking
"We are never deceived; we deceive ourselves" —Goethe
"In quietness and confidence shall be your strength."

This fic was originally posted here, but since the authors have now all been revealed, I figured that it was time to post it over here. ♥

the rapport between water and sand
Cair Paravel is full of strangers that night, fine men in fine clothing who do not quite belong in these halls usually filled with Talking Beasts and dwarves and all sorts of other Narnians.

Susan feels awkward and ill at ease. She does not see how she fits here, for all that she's dressed in clothing both more beautiful and more fine than anything she's ever seen, let alone worn. Here, she is surrounded by adults, men and women who have ruled or spoken for their countries for years, and she cannot help but feel the lack of every one of her own years despite it being Aslan himself who declared her fit to rule.

Before, when she had stood in her room and looked at herself in the looking glass, she had felt beautiful, adult, confident, in all ways a Queen of Narnia. Now, she can only smile and hope that the people around her do not see her falter.

Peter does not share her fears, it seems. He speaks to their guests boldly, and what he lacks in dignity he makes up for in confidence. Edmund is quieter, but he is confident in his own way as well, his voice steady and sure when he speaks. As for Lucy—

"Are there not four of you?" one man— an ambassador, she recalls, although she cannot remember the name of his country at the moment— asks her.

"Yes," she says, with all the dignity she can muster. "We have another sister, Queen Lucy. She should be along shortly."

It is then a centaur announces Lucy's arrival. Susan smiles at the ambassador and turns to the entrance, beginning to feel gracious and adult for the first time the entire evening. Wondering where Lucy has been this entire time is only an idle thought.

The smile slips straight off of her face when she sees her. She herself had helped Lucy dress to make certain that she be presentable before she had gone to get prepared herself. Yet Lucy's dress, once a beautiful, airy thing made of some light green cloth neither had recognized, is clearly rumpled, with an odd dark-colored stain around the hem. Tendrils of hair fall wildly from her carefully crafted hair. Lucy takes a step forward, and Susan cringes as the folds straighten out to reveal a sizeable tear.

"Queen Lucy?" the ambassador mutters to his companion in an undertone that Susan thinks that she was not meant to hear. She flushes, bright and hot.

As soon as she can extract herself from the conversation, Susan makes her way to where Lucy is speaking to another one of those men from that country whose name she still can't recall, although she's quite certain it began with a 'C'. She makes their excuses as well as she's able, and pulls Lucy to the side.

"By the Lion, what were you thinking?" Susan asks through her teeth.

Lucy looks up at her, unabashed. "I thought we were supposed to talk to our guests," she replies.

"Not that," Susan says. "What took you so long, and whatever happened to your dress?"

"Oh, that." Lucy checks over her dress for a moment, before shrugging and looking back up at her. "I only wanted to go visit some friends in the forest; I didn't mean to take so long. I know I got my dress a little dirty, but is it really so bad as that?"

"Your dress is torn and wrinkled! And what is that awful stain?" Susan exclaims, her voice pitched low. She can imagine that she feels the stares boring into the back of her neck, but when she glances back over the room, most of the attention of the various ambassadors and rulers seem to be directed towards Peter and Edmund, not she and Lucy. She catches a few curious glances, but they are just that— glances.

"Tree sap," Lucy says, as though it were self-explanatory, and Susan's attention snaps straight back to her sister.

"Tree sap?" Susan echoes, half in disbelief.

At least this time Lucy has the decency to blush. "Well, I ripped my dress when I was getting down from a tree, and a nice dryad offered, and I thought that since it was sticky that it might work like glue..."

"Glue," Susan repeats, her voice flattening. "Lucy, you mend tears with needles and thread, if anything. You don't glue them together and you most certainly do not smear them with tree sap!"

All traces of embarrassment are gone now. Lucy lifts her chin. "I don't see why you're so bothered," she says, stubborn. "We can always wash it, and it's not like this is my only dress." In her eyes Susan can see the queen Aslan saw, the girl who hid besides her and mourned as they watched Aslan die, who went up to the wounded and dying after that awful battle and healed them without flinching.

The queen that no one around them can see, hidden as she is by a ruined dress and the baby fat of her cheeks.

Susan lets out a breath, her irritation gone as if it had never been. "Because you're a Queen of Narnia now, Lu," she says, her voice gentle. "We have to make these people here believe that."

Lucy blinks up at her, eyelashes dark against rosy cheeks. "Why would that matter?" she asks. "We are Kings and Queens of Narnia. Aslan said so and Aslan crowned us, and nothing that anyone here thinks will ever change that."

Susan's breath catches like a frog in her throat. It does not seem as though it could truly be so simple, but Lucy's words ring of conviction. She cannot help but think of Peter and Edmund, both just as confident in their own ways and just as incomprehensible to her. Is it really so simple?

She recalls, just for a moment, Aslan's breath, hot against her face, and how his fur felt, entwined in her fingers.

"You're right," she says softly, and if Lucy hears the wonder in her voice, she does not take offense.

It really is that simple.

Susan smiles, offering her hand. "Come. We have kings and queens to charm."

Lucy takes her hand with a delighted laugh, and together they step forward, bright and confident and beautiful.