Fanfic: Facets, Five things about Susan
Aug. 27th, 2011 08:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mari4212Title: Facets: Susan
Fandom/Timeline: Narnia, Golden Age/Pevensie reign, pre-Horse and His Boy.
Character: Susan, mentions of other Pevensies and random OCs.
Warnings: None
Summary: There are sides we don't always show to everyone, sides that no one else sees clearly.
Author's Note: I forgot to mention this with my other post, but all of the facets stories currently up on my lj are available under the facets tag list. That includes the one written for Lucy, which was previously published on my lj.
1.
Susan loves thunderstorms.
She normally feels them in the air before they arrive, the ground beneath her feet grows tense and expectant, and the breeze becomes taut and energized. Moreover, she simply senses them as the years go on and she becomes accustomed to Narnian weather, and her skin begins to prickle with the knowledge of the approaching storm.
When she feels them come, she makes her apologies as are fitting and leaves for her place. All the Narnians and her siblings know by now not to question it, they accept her need for this as they do Lucy’s flights from the castle, as something each sister needs. As for the ambassadors and occasional suitors, well, one learns quickly not to rebuke a Queen in her own castle.
She leaves the common areas behind her. There is a small room, two-thirds of the way up on the second highest of the towers, which opens up onto a sheltered balcony. It falls in the lee of the castle in all but the worst storms, and Susan knows from long experience that she may stand there without fear of her dress suffering anything worse than a slight dampening.
But when she is up on the balcony she remains high enough and far enough out to truly feel the presence of the storm. The winds will strike against her skirts until they snap like sails upon the sea, and blow her hair into tangles she will regret only later, if at all. The lightning cracks she feels as buffets upon her senses, and when the thunder peals in reply she feels it as much in her bones as she does with her ears. It is cataclysmic, cathartic in its intensity, and the fury of the storm purges her as gold is refined in the fury of the forge.
These storms leave her free to breathe again.
2.
She remembers the most about where they came from of all of them. Lucy and Peter at times seem to even forget that anything existed save for Narnia, and Edmund, she fears, remembers only the worst, so that he will not lose sight of how he has been changed by the transition.
Only she seems to remember any details of what happened Before. She recalls it only in fragments, scraps that she pieces together as if they were to become a quilt-top like the one Mrs. Beaver helped her sew last autumn. A lullaby and the sent of lavender and soap have become mother for her, while impossibly broad hands, tobacco smoke, and a laugh which is echoed more and more each day by Peter’s own she knows meant father before the war. She remembers a beach with human children playing noisily while the animals are strangely silent, scratch woolen skirts falling only as far as her knees, and skies a washed-out blue gray she never sees in Narnia.
And she remembers with a pang the joy and sorrow of the other place. The fear she felt when the skies erupted at night with terrifying bangs and the scent of burning buildings on the air, the safety of being a cherished daughter, the odd waxy taste upon her lips the one time her mother had dressed her up for a special occasion.
She misses not having to be the one in charge the most, she thinks. It would at times be a great relief to only have to worry about herself and her family, instead of considering the fate of an entire country filled with creatures she loves too well to ever allow herself to fail.
3.
She enjoys the grand balls, the diplomatic missions to far off kingdoms, the chance to see things she’s never experienced and taste new foods. But more than that, she loves the quiet pleasures of home, her siblings at her side and everyone in their proper place.
The warmer months are when they are most likely to be scattered. Travel to foreign lands is safer on land or by sea in the summer months, when the roads are well traveled and the worst of the storms and difficult weather have passed. This is true for both diplomats and armies, she knows well, as there have been several incursions along their boundaries upon all sides, incursions she and her siblings have necessarily ridden out to combat.
So she rejoices when they are all home, where they belong. When she knows that should she need her brothers, she need only step out into the training yards, or into the study, or to one of only a few other places and be certain of finding them there. When she knows that her sister is never that far away, to be found in the company of any of the Narnians. When she can spend the day working, in the kitchens, or the sewing rooms, or in the main hall, doing what she knows she is well suited to do, being the calm voice to end quarrels between her subjects. And underneath it all along is the constant reassurance that she is not alone, that her siblings are safe with her.
At those times, she thinks that she will never wish to leave her land and her family.
4.
She does like the suitors. Most of them are really quite charming, even if she has learned not to trust that their charm demonstrates their true character. It is still rather pleasant to be courted, to be told, and told honestly, that she is lovely, that they believe her to be special, that she is worthy of admiration and respect. It’s hard not to find herself becoming flattered by all the attention with which she is showered. And while she is flattered, she still finds it a relatively simple task to look beyond the gracious words and see the men within, to send them on their way with a smile, a laugh, and a treaty of peace, rather than her hand, for none of them have ever made her wish to leave her home and her family to go with them. She begins to think she is wise about the hearts of men.
It is only after Rabadash, after that disaster where she fails, for the first time, to see clearly and look beyond the lovely words to the cruel and ugly heart, that she wonders if she’s been mistaken all along.
She cannot confide in her younger siblings on this matter, they are too close for her ease to the events of her failure, and too far in terms of age for her to willingly burden them all the more with her anguish at the pain their people have endured on her account. When Peter returns from the north a fortnight later, she lets Edmund recount the tale in public, and catches his gaze after the story is completed. He will seek her out later, she knows, and she can make a clean breast of all of it with him.
Hours later, in their private study, she confesses all, the desire for her suitors’ flatteries, her hubris in believing that she could always determine what they wished from her, her pain at the loss of her subjects in the battle that followed. She weeps at the end of it, gasping, shuddering sobs which drench the shoulder of his tunic as he holds her. When he speaks, finally, it is with words of comfort and support, for the main. The only exception comes when he exasperatedly asks her how she could possibly need her suitors to flatter her, when she should know quite well that all of Narnia holds her in high regard, and that her siblings and Aslan both loved her beyond words.
She’d never thought of it that way, before.
5.
She loves baking bread.
After all these years, she’s still not sure what it is about baking, or the bread in particular, that calls out to her and soothes her so much. Perhaps it is the order and simplicity in the act which appeals to her, the certain knowledge that, as long as she follows the recipe correctly, she will always be able to follow the same procedure and gain the same result. With so much else in her life contingent and changing, the never-ending dance of diplomacy where none speak their minds plainly, the constancy of bread is a balm to her spirits.
Perhaps it is just that it is the work of her hands. A few hours of effort, and she will have something discernable to show for it, something that her family and her subjects all enjoy afterwards. Most of her other tasks are subtle, the results barely detectable to an outside perspective, and at times she enjoys being able to physically prove that what she does matters, that she can have an impact.
All she can say for certain is that she loves to slip down to the kitchens wearing her oldest gown, the blue linen that is no longer suitable to wear on normal occasions, and be set to work amid the flour and the yeast and the bread bowls. Lucy comes along sometimes, and they have some of their best conversations when she helps Susan kneed the dough and braid it into elegant loaves. It’s there that they can at last relax and be sisters together, not queens.
She wouldn’t trade that part of it for all the world.
Fandom/Timeline: Narnia, Golden Age/Pevensie reign, pre-Horse and His Boy.
Character: Susan, mentions of other Pevensies and random OCs.
Warnings: None
Summary: There are sides we don't always show to everyone, sides that no one else sees clearly.
Author's Note: I forgot to mention this with my other post, but all of the facets stories currently up on my lj are available under the facets tag list. That includes the one written for Lucy, which was previously published on my lj.
1.
Susan loves thunderstorms.
She normally feels them in the air before they arrive, the ground beneath her feet grows tense and expectant, and the breeze becomes taut and energized. Moreover, she simply senses them as the years go on and she becomes accustomed to Narnian weather, and her skin begins to prickle with the knowledge of the approaching storm.
When she feels them come, she makes her apologies as are fitting and leaves for her place. All the Narnians and her siblings know by now not to question it, they accept her need for this as they do Lucy’s flights from the castle, as something each sister needs. As for the ambassadors and occasional suitors, well, one learns quickly not to rebuke a Queen in her own castle.
She leaves the common areas behind her. There is a small room, two-thirds of the way up on the second highest of the towers, which opens up onto a sheltered balcony. It falls in the lee of the castle in all but the worst storms, and Susan knows from long experience that she may stand there without fear of her dress suffering anything worse than a slight dampening.
But when she is up on the balcony she remains high enough and far enough out to truly feel the presence of the storm. The winds will strike against her skirts until they snap like sails upon the sea, and blow her hair into tangles she will regret only later, if at all. The lightning cracks she feels as buffets upon her senses, and when the thunder peals in reply she feels it as much in her bones as she does with her ears. It is cataclysmic, cathartic in its intensity, and the fury of the storm purges her as gold is refined in the fury of the forge.
These storms leave her free to breathe again.
2.
She remembers the most about where they came from of all of them. Lucy and Peter at times seem to even forget that anything existed save for Narnia, and Edmund, she fears, remembers only the worst, so that he will not lose sight of how he has been changed by the transition.
Only she seems to remember any details of what happened Before. She recalls it only in fragments, scraps that she pieces together as if they were to become a quilt-top like the one Mrs. Beaver helped her sew last autumn. A lullaby and the sent of lavender and soap have become mother for her, while impossibly broad hands, tobacco smoke, and a laugh which is echoed more and more each day by Peter’s own she knows meant father before the war. She remembers a beach with human children playing noisily while the animals are strangely silent, scratch woolen skirts falling only as far as her knees, and skies a washed-out blue gray she never sees in Narnia.
And she remembers with a pang the joy and sorrow of the other place. The fear she felt when the skies erupted at night with terrifying bangs and the scent of burning buildings on the air, the safety of being a cherished daughter, the odd waxy taste upon her lips the one time her mother had dressed her up for a special occasion.
She misses not having to be the one in charge the most, she thinks. It would at times be a great relief to only have to worry about herself and her family, instead of considering the fate of an entire country filled with creatures she loves too well to ever allow herself to fail.
3.
She enjoys the grand balls, the diplomatic missions to far off kingdoms, the chance to see things she’s never experienced and taste new foods. But more than that, she loves the quiet pleasures of home, her siblings at her side and everyone in their proper place.
The warmer months are when they are most likely to be scattered. Travel to foreign lands is safer on land or by sea in the summer months, when the roads are well traveled and the worst of the storms and difficult weather have passed. This is true for both diplomats and armies, she knows well, as there have been several incursions along their boundaries upon all sides, incursions she and her siblings have necessarily ridden out to combat.
So she rejoices when they are all home, where they belong. When she knows that should she need her brothers, she need only step out into the training yards, or into the study, or to one of only a few other places and be certain of finding them there. When she knows that her sister is never that far away, to be found in the company of any of the Narnians. When she can spend the day working, in the kitchens, or the sewing rooms, or in the main hall, doing what she knows she is well suited to do, being the calm voice to end quarrels between her subjects. And underneath it all along is the constant reassurance that she is not alone, that her siblings are safe with her.
At those times, she thinks that she will never wish to leave her land and her family.
4.
She does like the suitors. Most of them are really quite charming, even if she has learned not to trust that their charm demonstrates their true character. It is still rather pleasant to be courted, to be told, and told honestly, that she is lovely, that they believe her to be special, that she is worthy of admiration and respect. It’s hard not to find herself becoming flattered by all the attention with which she is showered. And while she is flattered, she still finds it a relatively simple task to look beyond the gracious words and see the men within, to send them on their way with a smile, a laugh, and a treaty of peace, rather than her hand, for none of them have ever made her wish to leave her home and her family to go with them. She begins to think she is wise about the hearts of men.
It is only after Rabadash, after that disaster where she fails, for the first time, to see clearly and look beyond the lovely words to the cruel and ugly heart, that she wonders if she’s been mistaken all along.
She cannot confide in her younger siblings on this matter, they are too close for her ease to the events of her failure, and too far in terms of age for her to willingly burden them all the more with her anguish at the pain their people have endured on her account. When Peter returns from the north a fortnight later, she lets Edmund recount the tale in public, and catches his gaze after the story is completed. He will seek her out later, she knows, and she can make a clean breast of all of it with him.
Hours later, in their private study, she confesses all, the desire for her suitors’ flatteries, her hubris in believing that she could always determine what they wished from her, her pain at the loss of her subjects in the battle that followed. She weeps at the end of it, gasping, shuddering sobs which drench the shoulder of his tunic as he holds her. When he speaks, finally, it is with words of comfort and support, for the main. The only exception comes when he exasperatedly asks her how she could possibly need her suitors to flatter her, when she should know quite well that all of Narnia holds her in high regard, and that her siblings and Aslan both loved her beyond words.
She’d never thought of it that way, before.
5.
She loves baking bread.
After all these years, she’s still not sure what it is about baking, or the bread in particular, that calls out to her and soothes her so much. Perhaps it is the order and simplicity in the act which appeals to her, the certain knowledge that, as long as she follows the recipe correctly, she will always be able to follow the same procedure and gain the same result. With so much else in her life contingent and changing, the never-ending dance of diplomacy where none speak their minds plainly, the constancy of bread is a balm to her spirits.
Perhaps it is just that it is the work of her hands. A few hours of effort, and she will have something discernable to show for it, something that her family and her subjects all enjoy afterwards. Most of her other tasks are subtle, the results barely detectable to an outside perspective, and at times she enjoys being able to physically prove that what she does matters, that she can have an impact.
All she can say for certain is that she loves to slip down to the kitchens wearing her oldest gown, the blue linen that is no longer suitable to wear on normal occasions, and be set to work amid the flour and the yeast and the bread bowls. Lucy comes along sometimes, and they have some of their best conversations when she helps Susan kneed the dough and braid it into elegant loaves. It’s there that they can at last relax and be sisters together, not queens.
She wouldn’t trade that part of it for all the world.