called_lioness | (no subject)

Entry tags:

lucy pevensie,
yuna

(no subject)

She slept late--well, that's half true. She woke when Caspian did, because he tripped over Lavender getting out of bed and knocked half the nightstand over.

It involved a minor fire (his pants), a slight burn to the fingers (hers), and entirely too much excitement before tea was had (for either), in Lucy's opinion. And no chocolate at all, thank you. Which isn't something that she's going to stop thinking about in the next few days, Lucy thinks, and is vaguely irritated by this.

But she's the blessing of not needing to rise so early as he, so she'd taken the chance to go back to bed, after fires were put out and burns tended to.

And she's not precisely grumpy, but Lucy finds she could use some peaceful moments after a morning starting like that, and so she's found herself a mug of tea and gone out to walk by the lake. Corella will likely be taken for a ride, later, but for the moment it's nice to stretch her legs.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"He didn't get to Spira from here," she says. "At least--oh!"

"He never said so," she says slowly. "But that was before I knew he came here, too."

"I meant more--people here tend to get used to the idea of other worlds. Mayhap he came from here or not, but I don't think there are many here who would be surprised to hear such news."

She shrugs, a little. "Sometimes the door doesn't let people go home."

She nods. "When I first came here, I wasn't able to leave for a day."

"Are you able to come and go, then?"

"I...have different rules to follow than many," she says after a moment.

"I died a year ago. If someoen opens the door for me, I can go to their world. But if I open the door for myself, I can only go to Aslan's Country through it. And I can't ever go back to my own world."

"Oh," she says, a little still.

"Aslan's Country--is that like the Farplane?"

"I think it's like a lot of things," she answers.

"But mostly home and peace. If that's like the Farplane, then yes."

"It is," Yuna says quietly.

She's not sure how much she should tell Lucy, about who she is, or what she does; it doesn't seem like a happy topic.

"Who is Aslan?" she asks, instead.

"Oh, he's the Lion, Yuna," and there's something in the way she says it like that should be enough.

But she knows it isn't most the time, so she continues with a small smile. "He's the King. King over all others in Narnia. All other kings and queens must swear obedience to him. His father is the Emperor over the Sea, and he's--he's not tame, not at all, Yuna, and if you meet him it's the most terrifying and wonderful thing both at the same moment. He defeated the Witch and ended the Hundred Years Winter in Narnia, and he works the Deepest Magic from before the Dawn of Time, and--and he's the Lion," she repeats, softly, still smiling.

When Lucy thinks of Aslan, everything else fades away for the moment, like it barely matters.

"Oh," she says.

She smiles warmly. "He sounds--wonderful, but I think there's still a lot I don't understand."

She looks sheepish after a moment, and a little younger.

"I rambled. I'm sorry, Yuna."

"No," she says quickly, apologetically. "We just come from different worlds. Three worlds."

She picks the phrase that intrigued her the most: "A hundred years of winter?"

"The White Witch," and Lucy does not often spit names like they're something distasteful from her mouth, but for some there must be exceptions, "she cursed Narnia. For a hundred years. Always snow and ice and winter, and never holidays or warmth or spring. That was how I found it, when I was a little girl."

"Oh," Yuna says. (She seems to be saying that a lot in this conversation.)

She decides not to tell Lucy about Macalania, ever.

"And Aslan ended that?"

"He did. There were prophecies," Lucy says, and it's a little slower again as she thinks out how to say something that she doesn't think belongs in words. "And magic and things of that nature. But--but he died. He let her kill him, for love's sake, and it was enough that he came back to life the next day. And then he killed her. And she didn't," and it's a bit grim, "come back."

It's the opposite of the High Summoners and Sin, then.

(And maybe--if it was the right time--maybe--no.)

"That's wonderful. And Narnia became the beautiful land you've told me about?"

"For a long time, yes. Oh, Yuna, I wish I could show you it," she says suddenly, earnestly, because she thinks Yuna would like Narnia.

But she thinks almost anyone would, if they saw it.

"We were there fifteen years. And I think it was one of the happiest times of my life, really. It was--there was always so much to do, but it was simple, in a way. I knew what was expected of me and I think sometimes I even managed it." She adds, after a moment, "And I ramble again. But--but I meant to ask. Sin isn't--when you say 'Sin', you mean a--a monster of some sort?"

She hesitates, because it isn't pretty. Not a bit.

"Yes. An enormous monster, the size of a village."

"Sin is a punishment, for what our ancestors did. Their vanity, and their pride. Any time there are too many people in one place, or too much machina, Sin will come. Sometimes it just comes anyway."

"It's been that way for a thousand years."

"Oh, Yuna."

And she doesn't know what to follow that with except, "I'm sorry."

It's all right," she says, meaninglessly, because it isn't.

And then: "I'm going to kill it."

Because she has to get used to saying it. To believing it.

"It doesn't sound like it's all right," Lucy says back after a moment's pause, and then blinks at Yuna's second statement.

"How? With the--the faith you spoke of the other day?"

She nods quickly, decisively. "With the Final Aeon. That's the reason for my pilgrimage--to train my abilities until I can handle summoning an aeon strong enough to defeat Sin."

"I hope you manage it." She means it, though she looks a little troubled.

"I have to," she says; quickly, almost shortly. It's hard to tell what she's feeling when she's like this. Her voice is very quiet and very level, her expression frozen and solemn.

There's a pause, and then the words seem to almost escape against her will. "It's not as crazy as it must sound, you know."

"I didn't say it sounded crazy," she points out softly.

"I'm sorry," she says, in the same affectless voice, looking away.