Lucy Pevensie (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
illuminescent) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cribellate2019-01-17 08:48 pm
illuminescent) wrote in cribellate2019-01-17 08:48 pm
narnia au;
how did you get here? through a wardrobe, or through death, or maybe a portal gone terribly astray. a ring. the roar of a lion. in the bottom of a cup. because you were looking for something, or missing something. no matter how you got there, this is where you belong.
i'm so sorry i wrote you an entire fic, it just sort of happened.
Who will fail it.
His Nephilim classmates sit in the first two rows, a comforting barrier between them and the room full of Shadowhunters, many of whom George has heard story after story about in his two years at the Academy. Jace Herondale and Clary, Isabelle, Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane and their wee, blue babe. George wiggles his fingers at Max from the line, though he knows the whole group's attention is not on him but on Simon.
When it's his turn, he tries not to think about the odds of everyone surviving the ceremony. He tries not to think about Sunil, Leilana, and Boris and their choice to leave.
Simon did brilliantly, of course. George always thought Simon was just at the Academy training to step back into his life. When the blue light encompasses Simon in its sudden flare, George has no doubt that Simon will still be standing in its wake.
He kneels before Consul Penhallow as the Silent Brothers shuffle in their parchment-colored robes, rubbing out Simon's name from the circle of runes surrounding them, scrawling in George's instead.
He makes his vows in front of the Clave, swearing to protect that which is human and mortal, with no recompense but honor, swearing to be a shield for the weak, a light in the dark, a truth among falsehoods, a tower in the flood, an eye to see when all others are blind.
There's such a weight to the words, such a heaviness, but George has been working toward this for what feels like his whole life, and he swears without question. The Consul hands him the cup, and George holds it in his hand. It's warm, almost pulsing with life, and the liquid within looks like pure light, like gold turned to wine. It's too much for him to look at, so instead he lifts the cup with a grin and toasts the crowd with a hearty,] Sláinte!
[The laughter echoes in his ears as he drinks.
There is fire in his veins, burning away every drop of blood and leaving ash in its wake. There's a scream. It might be his, but it just keeps going, and surely he can't scream that long. The fire burns still, until it has consumed him whole, and when it spits him out, he is naked and smoking but not charred, not properly burned, under a blazing sky in a desert landscape.
He has no idea where he is, but he can feel the strength of the Angel in him now, a fire still smoldering in his veins. So he walks, because the only other option is to sit in the sun and hope someone stumbles across him. He walks farther and faster than he would have managed as a mundane, but he's still seen no other humans by the time the sun sinks into the horizon, and very few signs of animal life.
As the sky begins to darken, George hears a wind kicking up behind him, sudden and fierce. He doesn't have to turn and look to know a storm is coming. Up ahead there is a cliffside. If he can reach it and find a cave, he can wait out the storm. It takes every ounce of strength in him—and a vivid hallucination of Scarsbury in the back of his head telling him he's running like a mundane—to make it to the cliff before the storm is on him, and even then there are pebbles pelting him when he skids around a rock and into a shallow cave in the side of the cliff.
The storm rages outside, and George slides to the cool floor of the cave, letting the heat of his sunburned skin leech out into the stone. It seems massively unfair of the Angel to make him a Shadowhunter and then strand him in a desert without so much as a stele or even a witchlight stone.
He can't quite see the back of the cave, but beneath the howling of the wind, he hears something else, an echoing drip, and suddenly he can no longer ignore his parched throat and swollen tongue. He creeps along a wall of the cave toward the dripping sound. His toes find the edge of a pool of water, and George falls straight to his knees to drink.
A low, rumbling growl from deeper in the cave makes him pause, and a flash of lightning in the storm behind illuminates an enormous lion, lounging on the far side of the pool, no more than ten feet away, its eyes flashing in the darkness.
George hesitates for about half a second, then he speaks, his voice low and soothing,] You really don't want to eat me, I'm sure. But honestly? It's you or dehydration, and you'd be quicker. I promise not to drink all your water if you promise not to kill me?
[The growling continues, and George nods.]
Right. Well, I'm going to take that as a solid maybe and proceed accordingly.
[Lightning flashes again, and when George meets the lion's golden eyes, and is uncomfortably reminded of the cup and the glowing liquid within.
Now as the last time, he drinks anyway, muttering a quiet] Sláinte, [under his breath and feeling a sudden pain of loss at being so far from his friends.
The water is cool and sweet, and George drinks deep under the lion's watchful gaze.
Once he feels like he can swallow without pain, he leans back against the wall, letting himself catch his breath. He can feel the lion's eyes on him, and he glances over.]
So, thanks for not eating me. I'm…going to try and sleep now. I'd like to threaten to wrestle you if you try anything, but honestly, I'm well knackered, so probably I won't.
[With what is likely a gross display of stupidity, George curls up with the lion to his back and the storm ahead, on the cool, stone floor.
After a day walking in the unforgiving sun, the coolness of the cave had felt welcome at first, but it doesn't take long for the warmth to leak from George's body, leaving him shivering and curling up into a tighter ball. If this is some test the Angel puts mundanes through before they can be Shadowhunters, George is going to have some words with the Clave when he gets back.
He doesn't realize the lion is behind him until he feels its warm, heavy weight settling over him. He's too cold and too exhausted to struggle, but the lion's claws are sheathed, and George drops heavily to sleep in its warmth.
When he wakes, the lion is gone, but in the grey light of morning, he finds, at the mouth of the cave, a pile of clothing, the color of desert sand, a water skin, and a stele.
Armed with the few, simple runes he can remember, he sets off into the desert and, in another day's walk, he stumbles upon a caravan and has his first meal in days.
~~~
It's three months before the group of traders George fell in with arrive at the great city of Tashbaan, and thus it's three months before George discovers that the agreement they'd reached for George to provide them protection, only lasted until the merchants thought they could get more coin for him than for their merchandise.
He's sold to the Great Tisroc (may he live forever) and given as a birthday gift to Prince Rabadash, to serve as his personal body guard. He keeps his stele a secret along with the purpose of his runes. He lets the prince think they are tattoos from some barbaric northern ritual, and it adds to the mystique and intimidation of Prince Rabadash's pale warrior, and the prince delights in it, suggesting new tattoos on occasion. George only just manages to talk Rabadash out of tattooing his face, and Rabadash compromises with a piece of detailed calligraphy up the side of his rib cage. It tells the story of George's encounter with the lion in the desert, which Rabadash likes to tell to amuse visitors to the court with tales of his imposing guard's fierceness, that he lies with lions. They begin to call him Rabadash's Lion.
In another year, George has become the prince's shadow. Where Rabadash goes, George follows. People begin to whisper that the barbarian has enchanted the prince with his northern magic, that the prince is his slave rather than the other way around. George finds the rumors hilarious because anyone who has ever seen him and the prince together must know that George is the reluctant one here. He still bears scars from the fighting pits, where he'd been sent to teach him obedience. Rabadash has never beaten George or had him beaten, but he quickly discovered that his barbarian had a soft heart, and ever since, he would threaten to beat other slaves if George did not do as he was told.
Still, because of the rumors, the Great Tisroc commands that Rabadash get rid of George. So when the prince travels north to Narnia to court their famously beautiful queen, George is among the retinue, there as a gift to Queen Susan, a personal guard from the prince's own household. Before they left, the prince gave him another tattoo, this one over his chest, starting on his right pectoral and fading out over his shoulder.
Rabadash means it as a reminder that George is still his lion, but George thinks the lion was sent by Raziel, and that makes it more like an Angelic mark than a mark of slavery.
Narnia is…like something out of one of Simon's stories. Or his gran's. George feels something in his being relax as they cross into Archenland, and the horizon turns from brown to green, and the mountains they cross make him ache for home.
From the moment they cross into Archenland, George can see that he and the other slaves make these people uncomfortable.
George likes them already.
When they are presented before the four thrones of Caer Paravel, George can see why they call Susan such a renowned beauty, and he hopes that she will see through Rabadash, not accept his suit, even if that means George is taken back to Calormen as well.
It's the queen's sister, though, Queen Lucy, who catches George's eye. There is something in her expression beyond the discomfort he's seen on other faces when confronted with the prince's slaves.
When Rabadash speaks, gesturing for George to step forward, George's eyes are on Lucy.]
High Queen Susan, as a token of my suit, I wish to gift you my personal guard, Rabadash's Lion.
[George isn't sure how long it's been since someone used his name.]
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She does not always come to these things. Edmund found her in a tree only a few hours before the Calormen arrived, her feet dangling as she talked to the dryad of the tree, and convinced her to come down, to change from her petticoats and her bodice into a proper dress, to come and sit on her throne and not leave it empty when the Prince Radabash came courting. I could go there in my underthings, she says, and Edmund quips that it certainly would be one way to make people look at her instead of at Susan. She does not like that particular comment, but she goes and changes anyway, into a midnight blue dress and her jewelry all diamonds like stars.
Lucy does not like watching the retinue come into the castle. She does not like knowing that so many of those people are slaves, when slavery is illegal in Narnia and will always be illegal in Narnia. She does not like the way that Radabash looks at Susan, no matter how much Susan looks back at him in almost the same way, which is surprising. Susan is not easily swayed with pretty words.
She thinks they will be here a month, for parties, and for courting, and hunts, and Lucy is already exhausted, right until-
-he's so tall. And he doesn't stop looking at her, even when he is gifted to Susan, as if a human can be a gift. Susan blushes, and Peter looks distinctly uncomfortable, and so do all the other Narnians, but Lucy can't keep her eyes off him. There is something about this man that makes her think he is more, and better. He is certainly no one from Calormen.
Susan accepts all the gifts, the flowers and fruits and smoked meats and jewels, and the party starts, and it's a whirl. Lucy waits as Susan opens the dancing, she waits as Edmund makes noises about slavery, she waits until her own guards finally go to mingle, she waits, remarkably patient, until she spots that man, that guard who is meant to stay in Narnia if Susan does not marry him and comes up near him.
He is so much taller than she is, and she reaches and touches his wrist, gently.]
Will you accompany me, please?
[There's a balcony, wide, with benches, and the air is cool and crisp.]
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Having been banned from the prince's side, George takes up a place to the side of the room, watching the proceedings. Usually in these sorts of situations, George amuses himself by wondering what his friends would think or do if they were here. Jon Cartwright would probably hit it off with the minotaurs. Beatriz and Julie would dance like fierce ballerinas. Simon would...
But he never gets to what Simon would do because someone is touching his wrist and George looks down to see Queen Lucy, and he chastises himself for having let his attention wander so much.]
Me?
[He glances around like she might mean someone else, but then he catches himself.]
I mean...yes, your majesty.
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[Her smile is bright - she saw Susan get fluttery and nervous; he is so unsmiling, so unhappy, and Susan does not care for that and does not have the demeanor to remedy it.
Lucy does. She has always been the one among them foremost in making friends, in cheering others up, in wanting other to be cheered up. This is no exception. He is here now, and he is Susan's guard, or that is the intention. Lucy does not suspect it will happen that way.
She takes his arm and leads him out, and there's no one there. This is Narnia. The royalty here do not fear assassination attempts by their own, and the very wind rises up in their defense.]
You are not from Calormen. I can tell by your coloring. But your scowl, that certainly does match the mood.
Will you tell me your name?
[It's a cool night but he's large enough to be a buffer against any chill.]
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He lets himself be led, if only because he's intrigued, and when he glances quickly to the prince, Rabadash's attention is all on Susan.]
I'm not from Calormen, no, your majesty. My name is...George. George Lovelace.
[It sounds almost odd to his ears after so long, and his brow furrows.]
But everyone calls me the Lion.
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And it is still a pair of weeks before they're free when there is a hunt, and Lucy (as usual) wanders south, near to the border with Calormen. She doesn't know that's what has happened until they're waylaid by bandits - no. Not bandits. By slavers, coming far north for prized, pale skinned Northeners.
It's a dangerous thing. Lucy is afraid - terrified - and she is more afraid for George than for anyone. They are outnumbered, and then they are cornered, and then George is fighting and Lucy is helping as much as she can, but one of them manages to truly hurt George.
Lucy is screaming her way into it just as the roar of a lion - or maybe the roar of the Lion - echoes over the rocks around them, and even Calormen slavers fear the Lion of Narnia.
They're too injured, they say, this is not a prize worth the risk, and the Queen's lion - George - is too big, still standing, somehow, somehow.
He's not standing for long after they're gone, and Lucy manages to get him to his horse, manages to get them back. She curses herself for not bringing her cordial, and when they're greeted at the gate she's commanding those who are helping to take him to her room, yes, she means it, her own bed, he saved her life, no, her scratches are just that, do not contradict her-
-it is after the doctor has come and gone and the healers have cleaned him up - and her - that she comes by and takes his hand.]
You should sleep.
[She says it and she's doing her best not to cry. So far she's managing.]
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He refused the drugged wine the healers suggested, and his side throbs where the scimitar had sliced him across the ribs. He takes her hand in both of his and kisses her fingers.]
Soon. Will you bring me my pouch?
[Someone must have taken it off him while they were cleaning him up, because it's no longer around his neck.]
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She doesn't want to let go of his hand, but he asks, and so Lucy gets up. His things - they were bloody, dirty, so she has to really hunt for it, but finally she finds it where it was discarded with his things, specifically with the things that were going to be cleaned. She takes it and she brings it back.]
Here.
[She hands it to him, and she wants to crawl into the bed with him, but she won't, not yet.]
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[He takes the pouch in one hand and her hand in the other, and he looks at the pouch for a long moment. This is a secret he's been keeping for a long time now. He'll trust Lucy with it, but he's not sure how to broach it.]
My queen...Lucy, I need to tell you something about myself. It's nothing bad, only, I haven't told anyone in Narnia or Calormen.
[He lets go of her hand to open the pouch and pull out his rod of crystal, warm and glowing faintly in his hand.]
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But she nods just the same.]
Then you should tell me.
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No one says a word about Lucy's behavior, no one says anything about George, and it starts to feel a little better. Of course, Lucy is still busy, especially the closer that it gets to Susan going away. She still wants to marry that horrible man, and Lucy, Lucy can't persuade her otherwise. She is too gentle, she is too kind, and she loves just as deeply as Lucy does.
The night before she leaves there is a party, enormous and fancy, and Lucy, for the first time in a long time, slips away from even George, needing a moment to herself. She is in her ballgown, silver and shining, in a tree up high when she sees the Lion. She comes down to speak to him, and when she's done, she can't help but go back into the tree, to think.
She isn't surprised when George finds her shortly after that.]
George.
What does it mean to you, if I say that Simon misses you?
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When Lucy slips away at the party, he sees her go, but she's not in any danger or distress, so he lets her have a moment to herself.
He isn't surprised to find her up a tree, but he is surprised by her question.]
What? Why...why would you ask that?
[The unexpected reminder of home slices through him, stealing his breath.]
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Aslan was here.
[She says it carefully.]
He asked me some things, and told me others. And he told me that-
Many things. One of them was that Simon missed you.
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Simon is...my brother.
[There are many words for what Simon is to him, but that was the one they'd decided on together.]
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He told me, ah.
[She doesn't know how to say this.]
He told me that soon, I will have to make a choice, and that choice may change the entire world. And part of that choice includes you. I do not fully understand it. But it may mean that I can choose to let you go back. To Simon. And your family.
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It's enough to make him lose track of where he's going.
Limbo should be the answer. He should be flying through the seam between the fabric of dimensions, never stepping foot in one or the other, never finding his place. But instead he steps out of the portal, the same as any other time, and finds himself in a wood. There are pools here and there, surrounded by trees. It's peaceful, but unnerving in a way, and Magnus wants out.
Especially so when a lion appears.
It's like nothing he's ever seen before, massive and majestic and every nerve in Magnus' body tingles at its presence. Not in a wholly comfortable, thrilling way either. He stares at the beast, full of trepidation, before it does something remarkable.
It calls him by his real name.
The thought to cower leaves him, replaced by an aching sweetness he can't begin to describe. He's known.
"You're hurting."
"Yes."
"That pain will never leave, as you know. But I know a way to ease it."
A green ring appears on Magnus' finger, right beside his wedding ring.
The lion leads him to a pool in particular. Magnus hesitates.
"Can't I stay with you? For a little longer?"
He doesn't understand how he can feel both terrified of and desperate for the lion's attention and presence. But he does. He's not scared of what he might find on the other side of the pool, but he wants to stay in the warm glow of the beast.
"You know better than to stay in one place," the creature says. And, again, he calls him by name, and nudges him towards the water.
Magnus takes a deep breath and leaps.
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This is not a typical state of affairs. Lucy doesn’t often find herself bored; she is far, far too engaged for bored, but there is a diplomatic mission from Telmar in Cair Paravel and everything is in a specific order and everyone is busy and Lucy does not want to be in the castle to deal with all of that. She found her way to a copse of pear trees, and crawled up one, and she’s considering how to alleviate her boredom without disrupting Susan’s perfect setup or without irritating Peter or without giving Edmund ammunition for a later session of teasing when she hears someone coming through the woods.
She clambers up the tree a little, and she can see him, but she doesn’t think he can see her. He looks-
-she has never seen anyone who looks like him. She stills, and her dress gets tangled in the tree, but she doesn’t want to move anyway.
She keeps looking at him. “The sweetest pears are the very pinkest ones,” she says, when she sees him reaching for one. There are ones with a pink rosy blush, and she peers over a branch. “Are you a Telmarine?”
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He finds himself near to an orchard, which he figures is as good a place as any to start. Sauntering through the sun dappled lines of trees, his attention is taken by one such sweet pear when a voice speaks.
He doesn't start; that's not like him. But he does look towards the source -- ah, a young woman -- with brows raised in interest. She's a pretty thing, beautiful in a way that shines, that's more than just appearance.
Grinning at her, he plucks a pear. "No. Guess again."
It doesn't matter that he has no idea what a Telmarine is. He'll figure that out later. Right now, he wants to make a pretty girl smile.
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She looks curious, her eyes bright. "You are not from Calormen. And I would know you, if you were Narnian."
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Magnus has no idea that there is such a thing as a High King here, nor does he know where Naria -- or Telmar or Calormen or any islands to the east (other than Manhattan) -- is. But he takes a bite of his pear as he strolls closer.
She's right. It's quite good. Perhaps the most delicious pear he's ever tasted. He frowns down at it for a moment before continuing.
"You know every single person in Narnia, do you? Quite a memory you have."
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They leave Telmar and when they cross back to Narnia, the moment it happens, Lucy brightens, and even her horse gets more energy. The trees wake up as they cross, advancing the cry - the Queen returned, the Queen returned.
They almost don't stop until they get to Cair Paravel, and Lucy stops them just before they get there. She can see the flag that signifies that all the monarchs are in attendance is down. She looks over at George, and she reaches for his hand. She will not be alone. She refuses to be alone.
When they get in, she's immediately pulled into a meeting with all of her siblings, and she drags George along, and it gets -
- rough.
Lucy will absolutely hold her own, even as Edmund and Susan yell at her, even as she argues, and refuses to apologize, and then she says she's married and there's silence, and Peter snaps at her. It's family bickering, and Lucy could have withstood almost anything, but Peter yells, and she starts to cry, and she fights them even through all of that.
When they leave, after the fights, hours later, Lucy is drained, and she thinks it's over but then Edmund pulls George back, and Lucy tries to find energy for another fight when Susan comes and takes her.
It's hours later when they finally meet again, and Lucy is so tired.]
George?
[She sits up from her chair when she hears someone come into her apartments. She's changed outfits, bathed, and she looks smaller, for a sad, tiny moment.]
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It's not as bad as he'd expected, though George stays mostly out of it, keeping himself near Lucy, providing as much physical support as he can. But the monarchs are arguing and, married or not, he doesn't have a place in that argument. He steps in only when Lucy cries, and even then, what can he do? Tell off the high king for yelling at his sister?
It's exhausting, and when they leave, George wants desperately to go with Lucy, to make sure she's all right, but Edmund pulls him back, and he knows it will be more of the same, worse now because Edmund will expect him to have answers, explanations, and he doesn't have any more to give than what Lucy already has.
By the time he gets back to Lucy's rooms, he thinks he would rather fight Calormenes for hours without rest than be subject to another Pevensie family argument.
But he hears Lucy's voice, and something in him relaxes.]
It's me, mo chridhe.
[He hasn't bathed, or changed, or anything else, really, but he gathers her into his arms the moment he sees her.]
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It was dark, and terrible.]
What happened? What did they say?
[She shouldn't have let him go alone. He didn't deserve it. She owes him more than that.]
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Much of the same.
[There had been yelling, and George had managed to hold his temper, but only just.]
I'm not to have a title; they were quite clear on that. [It doesn't matter. He doesn't want one.] But I may stay with you here.
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-and she knows duty before pleasure. But still. She presses her face against his shoulder and holds onto him like maybe he is holding her to the earth.]
You are my sweetest grace, George.
I am sorry. I wish you had fallen in love with a normal girl, who could give you a normal life. Whose family would see you and know how good, and how kind, and how honorable you are.
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