Lucy Pevensie | The Chronicles of Narnia (Golden Age)

[illuminescent]

Character: Lucy Pevensie
Canon: The Chronicles of Narnia

Comments

[illuminescent]

[She isn't quite sure where she is.

A moment ago - it was only a moment, she's sure of it - she was in Narnia, on a hunt, her party with her, but now she's alone. She had gotten off her horse, she thought she had heard something, and she crossed a stream and-

-and when she turned around, everyone was gone, and she was alone, and it was dark, as well. In the distance, she can see the lights of something, but there's an odd tug, like she ought to walk away from the light and not towards it. What an odd feeling! Wherever could she be?

Fortunately, Lucy is no stranger to odd things, to queer happenings in strange woods. She hitches her skirts and walks towards the light, despite the tug in her stomach getting stronger. The moon is bright and full, and she thinks-

Is that a wolf, baying in the distance?]

[doggedly]

[The very next thing that happens to Lucy is: a massive black dog runs headlong into her.

It might seem like a mistake, but it isn't. Padfoot catches the scent of a girl on the wind--human, person, target, danger danger--and he's off, tearing through the woods before anyone else tears off toward her. Behind him, the smell of Moony is thick in his nose, and the sound of his howl makes Padfoot want to turn around and go for him instead, nose against him.

He doesn't. He bowls into the girl instead, a dark furry weight, solid mass of dog. He's up faster than she is--four legged advantage--and he wuffs, low, commanding. Get up.]

[illuminescent]

[When he slams into her, she bowls over, and it takes her a moment; the dog was dark in a dark night, she didn't see him running towards her and she only heard him after it was too late to get out of the way.

The lucky thing is that Lucy is not only unafraid of dogs, but she also doesn't assume that they just want to play. She knows right away that he is no Talking dog, but she knows a warning when she hears one, so she gets up and hitches her skirts again, grateful for her riding boots, and turns.

The howl that follows them is no wolf, she knows that now. There are werewolves in Narnia, too.

So she runs.]

[doggedly]

[This is no Talking dog, but it is a dog of uncommon cleverness. Padfoot knows the Forbidden Forest. He herds her along, darting back and forth behind her with an agility that is perhaps surprising for his size. At times he presses quite close, guiding her away from places that might entrap her, or otherwise slow her down. At times he lopes ahead, ears back and tail low, a shadow among shadows.

And all the while, always behind them, is the baying of the werewolf, in pursuit. Always behind them. That's a small comfort.

Once, that howl sounds particularly lonely, and Padfoot actually stops, and turns, his ears pricked a moment. His tail droops lower; his head bows. Guilt, for a moment, crushing and complete, and his whine is sharp.]

[illuminescent]

[She doesn't stop until he does, looking up, looking at the dog. It's a miracle that she's in one piece, and a testament to her stamina that she's not doubled over, breathing hard.]

Is he your friend? Oh, poor thing-

[She has never been good at holding circumstances against someone. To think that this is a friend and not a foe, and she's being shepherded along by someone who should be somewhere else-

She sets her hand on the top of the dog's head and gives him a good scratch.]

Thank you, so much.

[illuminescent]

[The treaty came slowly; a foreign queen and a newly crowned king in the north. It was, by all accounts, Sansa who arranged so much of it, and Samwell Tarly, who found this odd royal family. And then came the bargaining with the Narnian ambassadors, the ceaseless negotiations. Which queen, they asked, and Sansa said it did not matter, so Sam said the bravest one and the ambassadors laughed. The Westerosi did not know that one of their queens was known for her bravery.

It was less easy to convince Jon, Lucy has heard. They sent him no image of her because she refused to let them, and she only sent him a single letter, saying that she would marry him and have him if he would promise to be good. When she arrived in the North - cold lands, with Edmund coming along, she wept, and Edmund held her and told her it would be all right.

She still does not like the cold.

This, however, was their wedding day; she had spied him from the tents that the Narnian entourage had set up, in the fine crisp Westerosi spring, knowing he could not see her. Him? she asked, pointing, and one her maids nodded. Yes, the handsome one with the fine curly hair, and Lucy had looked him up and down as he spoke to Edmund. Oh, he's much more handsome than the Ambassador had said she revealed.

And they giggled over it.

The wedding was in the tradition of the Northmen, but Lucy went veiled in the tradition of the Narnians, the oldest ways, and so it was not until after, until after the ceremony and Jon's stern face scowling the whole time (Lucy had heard him ask is she disfigured that she won't let me see her?) and after she's carried up to his chambers, that she sits and waits, under her veil.

There's quiet until he enters. The king. She's his queen. He's her lord. Edmund did not sell her - there was no selling, she agreed to this, to this adventure in a cold land across a wide sea, away from home, for the promise of giants and armies she brought with her, and grain and apples and horses for the north and an alliance against Telmar for Narnia - but she feels like a piece on a gameboard.

What if he does not like her?]

I think to say you look displeased, my lord.

[She does not take the veil off.]

[song_of_ice]

[It was Davos who had finally convinced Jon of the need to marry and the importance of the alliance. Being a king was more than simply being given the crown and waging a war. He had to hold the throne and the best way to secure alliances was through marriage. While Sansa and Davos didn't say anything about the woman in particular, Sam had at least reassured Jon that the queen was beautiful.

Still he dreaded the day that she would arrive. One of the only benefits of being a bastard was that he didn't have the pressure of arranged marriages, not in the way Robb would. Those days ended at the Wall and beneath the Red Woman's touch. He wasn't just a bastard anymore, he was the King in the North and he no longer had a say.

He wandered the campsite as the Narnians erected their tents and settled against the cold of the north. He hadn't seen Lucy, but eyed each woman curiously, wondering if they might be her. Eventually, he gave up anticipating her appearance and allowed himself to be lead through the motions by his men. His frustration eventually got the better of him when he saw Lucy in full veils, her face obscured. He said something, but hadn't thought overly much before the words were out of his mouth.

The rest of the events passed in a haze. It was only when he was standing in front of her in his rooms that he realizes everything was at an end. How did he get here? When did the time slip away so quickly that he couldn't even remember coming here? He's in such a state of surprise that he doesn't think to remove her veil. All he can do is stare at his room, as though it's unfamiliar to him.

Her voice breaks the spell and pulls him from his thoughts.]

I'm not displeased.

[That's just his face, Lucy.]

[illuminescent]

[Her first words to her husband as a married woman. She wonders about the grave countenance of this man, barely not a boy. But then she is barely not a girl; she has no place to be unkind in that regard. She slowly stands up, then, his cloak heavy on her shoulders. There were other traditions that she did not like, and in deference to the foreign queen, they were not done, so she is clothed in the same dress, layers and layers of fabric that do her no great favors.

She can barely see him, but she reaches out for his hands. Her own are small, but there are calluses on them. Hands no one would expect a queen to have; from where she holds a bow and where she holds a sword.]

Here.

Tell me something true, first. Do you worry I will not please you, or do you worry you will not please me?

[Her hands are on his; his hands are so broad. Capable. They close a little around hers as if by instinct. She thinks she could find trust in those hands.

When Edmund told her about him, when they sat with her and discussed this, the ambassador had said that he was a serious man, devoted to his family, and deeply loyal. It was that which attracted her enough to say yes.]

[song_of_ice]

[He's being grim and rough, he is aware of that, but this arranged marriage had been difficult to wrap his head around. It wasn't the fault of her or her family but circumstances, as well as a life of being told he was beneath such things. Now he was a king and had to reconcile with the idea of being married to someone for an alliance.

It would be better if he could see her, but before he can remove her veil, she is taking his hand. He stares down at her fingers with a measure of wonder. They were soft. He had never known soft hands in his life.]

I'm not worried about you not pleasing me or...[whatever else] This isn't the life I was brought up to have. I don't know what I'm doing.

[It was the most honest he could be.]

[illuminescent]

[It has been just a few days; near to a week, and things, they have for the large part been nothing but good; even Sansa notes it, how Jon is softer, but not in a way that would send the Lords into hysterics over the loss of their northern king. A week, and Lucy is playful, and funny, and is learning everyone's name, knows everyone's character, from the maids to the highest lords.

It only takes a week.

Edmund leaves, then, because he has to, and yes, Lucy cries over it, but it's fine, it is. She waits and watches as he goes, and then goes to find her husband, in his study, Sir Davos going over some document with him and then smiling when he sees her.

She exchanges the barest pleasantries before Davos leaves, and Lucy is there, and Jon, he looks-

Tired, a bit.]

I think I have kept you from too much sleep, Jon.

[She says it, teasing, as she crosses the room. Sometimes in daylight they are a little awkward and unsure, but Lucy presses a kiss to his temple now, a soft thing. A small hello.]

[song_of_ice]

[It had been a strange adjustment for him, having a wife and a queen where he never expected to before. She seemed to be well received and admired. While he still struggled to talk to others or think beyond his duty, she was reaching and showering all she met with kindness. She knew names, personal details and so much else. She contributed where he failed, offering light and goodness in a place that was cold and dark.

Yet at night, he found himself turning to that light, in need of that warmth and comfort. Multiple times he spilled in her, marveling that he was able to do so and that she desired him. He found himself becoming protective of her and affectionate, enough that he worried about the day when Edmund would depart.

When she comes to him, he sees that she has been crying, indicating her brother's absence in Winterfell. Gently, he takes her hand to silently offer comfort.]

No, it's the reports from the armory.

[The costs of it all and training, along with storing food for Winter. These were things he never had to consider before but did now as king.]

I will have an audience this afternoon with the Lords of the North.

[His way of inviting her to attend.]

[illuminescent]

Oh, reports from the armory.

[She takes one in hand, and looks at it, and sets it down again. It's not that it's boring as much as it's boring, so she leans forward a little, so they're close, for just a moment.]

Yes, Lyanna Mormont so said to me, when I saw her come to Winterfell. She is a formidable girl, and I like her very much.

[She's smiling and wrinkling her nose. She reminds Lucy of Peter, too young to be a ruler and yet so adept at it, and Lyanna, brave and steadfast and steady, likely thinks that Lucy is a little flighty, and so-]

I should like to come and sit at your right hand, if you will join me in a walk, first. In the Godswood?

[Set down your work, Jon. Let her get to know you slowly.]

[song_of_ice]

We need more supplies for my men and the soldiers that will join us.

[Thankfully, Narnia had pledged a number of swords and archers to the cause. But the men of the North needed to be better prepared and gold was difficult to provide in these times.

It was a relief to have her next to him, pulling him from his thoughts and dark concerns.]

She speaks her mind and will tell you what she thinks honestly. [He took her hand, glancing up at her.] The Lords seem fond of you.

[Which was his way of saying she could join him. He pushed away from the desk, rising with a weary sigh, not unlike Lord Stark.]

Have you visited the Godswood with Sansa?

[song_of_ice]

[Time went by steadily enough, and before it seemed possible, a year had passed them. His marriage to Lucy had provided a small reprieve from everything else that taxed on his mind. Trade with Narnia was good, but there were still other threats that he had to contend with. The Lannisters were truly never settled, and as much as he had hoped peace would remain steady with the Vale, the Lord Paramount, Sansa's cousin, had gotten it in his head that the North hadn't done enough for him.

It was the usual trials of ruling, the things that weighed Jon down and exhausted him by the end of the day. Having Lucy helped a great deal, as she looked after other details, namely the distribution of goods and food for the small folk, as well as managing Winterfell. He didn't need to consider these things, he could rely on her to see it done.

On occasion she would visit him, coming during the middle of the day when he was in his office. Which is why it didn't disturb him when she entered as he looked over Robin's demand for money, men and resources, valuable compensation for his help in reclaiming Winterfell. He set aside the scroll with a sigh and rubbed at his tired eyes.]

Is lunch ready?

[illuminescent]

[A year has gone by and she thinks she loves him.

He is a good man; almost overwhelmingly so, gentle, and kind, and good to her, when he doesn't have to be. She thinks that for the past year they have been well suited to each other, but she knew they would be, and she thinks that for the last year they have been consistent with each other. But that doesn't usually mean love.

And yet the king has been so good for her.

He looks so tired, so she crosses the space between them and presses a fond, easy kiss against his temple, and takes his hand in hers.]

Yes, of course. But you look as though it is sleep you need.

[She holds his hand, easily.]

[song_of_ice]

[He has never been a man to express his feelings verbally. He tried to show her his affections in subtle ways, in asking for her advice, in deferring to her judgement, in sharing a bed with her, and offering gentle touches whenever he felt compelled to.

He couldn't say what his feelings were, but she was dear to him and he felt something deep. He had stopped questioning what it exactly was and accepted that it was true and long lasting, extending far beyond his heart and into his soul.]

It's better I don't. I have to hear petitions later today. Sleep will only fog my head.

[He gave her fingers a squeeze.]

What have you done today?

[illuminescent]

[She smiles at him, gently, then more widely, because he looks so hopeful that she is living the life that he could be living, if only he didn't have to listen to petitions. But alas.

She presses her nose against his hair, coming in close to him.]

Quite an extraordinary amount. I looked over our larder, handled a maid who stole some salt meat, oversaw the Karstark tribute, and ordered several bolts of silk from the south for when summer comes.

And then I thought my lord husband was likely hungry, and bored, as I was bored.

[illuminescent]

[It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Lucy had been out with bannermen, and ladies, on a ride. She only rides after she and Jon quarrel, for all that they don't quarrel very often. It was a stupid thing that she cannot remember now, because a few hours out of Winterfell and they were waylaid by bandits, or, maybe, they aren't bandits, not in the traditional sense.

The thing they didn't know was that they had the King in the North's wife, and Lucy, being smart, certainly wasn't letting that on. It was pure luck that when they took all the women, they thought they had only noble women to ransom. They figured it out quickly enough, and that saved Lucy and her maid from a rape.

It has been three days, and they were going to move again when the banners came, when Jon came, seeking his wife, when the men were all taken and Lucy and her maid were found by one of Jon's men, on horseback with one of the bandits, tied together as the bandit tried to flee with them.

She's being brought back now, her hair a mess, her knife missing from where she stabbed one of them in the stomach the day that she was taken, her clothes torn and dirty, her cloak missing. Her lower lip is split, and there's an ugly bruise there, purple and thick where someone backhanded her. It was fortune, again, that she did not loosen any teeth on that blow.

She sees Jon first.]

Jon!

[She hasn't cried in three days, but she's crying now, coming down off the horse.]

Jon, Jon!

[song_of_ice]

[He had been exhausted and frustrated when Lucy had ridden out after their disagreement. It was something he had come to expect after their rare arguments. Usually she returned after an hour or so, both ready to speak in easier terms.

It wasn't until sundown that he grew concerned. A few guards returned, bloody and injured, telling of an ambush by wandering mercenaries from the Lannister army. Having not been paid by the Mad Queen, they sought other ways to earn coin. One of them was taking noblewomen hostage and ransoming them back to their family.

He was in no mood for these sorts of men and refused to allow them to exist on his lands, tormenting people. Worse still, they took his wife and held her prisoner.

Gathering 20 men, he rode out to where their camp supposedly was. The attack was swift and merciless, striking down each of the bandits until there were only a few left that would face his justice and ruling. His primary thought was Lucy and when he spied her, he sheathed his sword and reached for her, enfolding her in his arms.]

You're safe.

[illuminescent]

[He smells like sweat and fear and he has blood on him but she doesn’t care. His men are tying prisoners together and minding the horses and not looking at their sovereigns, tightly holding each other. She presses her face against the fur at his neck, her hands curling at his hair. She’s shaking just a little.]

You’re here, you’re here, I knew you would come, Jon-

[She’s still crying a little but she’s managing to stop, to pull back and look at him, to use her hands to move his hair away from his face. He looks worried, tired. She breathes against him.]

You slept not at all, I can see it.

[She breathes out.]

They only hurt me with their fists. A slap, and a shove. Nothing more.

[song_of_ice]

[He holds her firmly, waiting for her trembling to subside. It didn't matter if it was noticed or not, his relief at having her back was palatable. It was hard to forget Rickon's image, which had flashed continually in his mind while he rode to retrieve Lucy. He had prayed that this time would be different, that for once, family would not be taken from him.

Having her back left him stunned at his luck and uncertain how he had even managed. But her faith and words brought him back to the moment.]

No, I wouldn't have been able to if I tried. [Not while she was held hostage.] It doesn't matter. You're safe now.

[He frowned, looking for evidence of bruises.]

They'll face justice when we return home. You don't have to be present for that, if you don't want to be. You should rest and be looked after.

[illuminescent]

[Since her kidnapping, since the day that she took moon tea, things have been tense between them. Lucy can't convince him that it was for the best, that they cannot bear to have their child have even the slightest doubt that it might be Jon's, because then-

-because it will torment everyone. Jon has been sleeping away from her, been keeping himself away from her.

Today is the day of the execution.

Lucy does not have to go; she can go home, and not stand here, and watch her husband do his duty. She keeps her breath as she watches the execution, as she watches the men who hurt her die, and she stands, impassive. It makes the northerners who watch her commend her; she is the kind of woman who they wanted as their queen.

They all return to the keep, and she finds him hours later, in the dark of his study.]

My lord husband.

Can we please stop this?

[song_of_ice]

[It wasn't his intention to hurt Lucy, but in moments like this when the loss was too heavy, it was easier for him to retreat into himself and keep only his thoughts for company. He understood her actions to an extent, but knowing what he was, he couldn't condemn a child for being born from another. Had his mother struggled with a similar decision? Did his father hesitate? The end result was that he was raised, and while he never wanted a bastard of his own, it was what this other child deserved as well.

But the decision was made and long since past. It was only the recovering and grief that was left to him, something that should be shared with his wife were he any other man, but not so simply for Jon.

The execution was standard, though his mind was simply blank during it all. He didn't even recognize the man, only that he was kneeling before him.

He retreated to his study to clean and sharpen Longclaw, preferring the familiar and tedious work to anything else. And while Lucy's appearance caught him off guard, he couldn't be completely surprised either.]

You say that as though it's simple to move on.

[illuminescent]

[She looks at him, and finally she lets herself feel everything that she has been holding back since they came home and this terrible separation began. She feels the weight of it in her bones.]

I did not say that.

But you cannot even look at me.

[She has been so good. Everyone said this was folly, that she did not have to marry this cold Westerosi man. She found him warm and loving, in truth, and she loves him so much she can feel it in her blood.]

So we must stop this. Please.

[song_of_ice]

You made your decision, but did not allow me say.

[The words were calm, simply stated as he continued sharpening his sword, channeling his thoughts and feelings into that.]

It's not so easy as that.

[She wanted him to stop, but he didn't know how. He didn't know how to bridge this gap.]