A/N: I hope you read this because it's the first chapter and you're obligated! Well, not really. But still, hear me out this once. This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic, as I've really only ever done one-shots. I'm trying my best to plan things out right and all so that things fit together, but this IS my first time and there is a chance I might screw up. So bear with me please! I hope you enjoy and reviews are always welcome.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia or anything relating to it
Part I
Chapter One: Clouds of Ash
Storm clouds gather A revolution is at hand And the serpents mass in the darkness of the night
Dusk approaches quickly now
It's potent allure perpetually growing stronger
The barometers spiked
Pearl droplets fill the air
Dancing tears from Heaven
It weeps, weeps for injustice
Storm clouds gather
Dousing daylight
Compelling,
Compelling thought, compelling night
Storm Clouds Gather, Mark Scotting
Prologue:
There's a moment in every battle where the brave soldier no longer feels so brave. A moment where the worthy cause isn't really worth it anymore. When the fear flows almost as freely as the blood and the courage wavers like the teetering flagpole.
Cian thought he was brave. He thought he was a soldier, too. But he was just a kit who thought that peace was achieved by bloodshed and loyalty was earned by fear. He now knows that there's nothing peaceful in what surrounds him and that not wanting to be turned to stone by Jadis is not the same as accepting her leadership.
Maybe Cian will die. Maybe he will just lie in the middle of the battlefield forever, listening to the clang of teeth on metal and feel the sting of claws on skin.
Maybe Cian will live. Maybe Aslan will hear the cries of the fallen creatures who died in his name, in his honor, and come to their rescue.
Cian doesn't think he is brave. He doesn't think is a soldier, either. And so he just lays there and listens. Everything sounds funny, like his head is being dipped in and out of water. He notices that he can't really breathe. He doesn't feel scared though, just a little bit numb. Cian can feel the warm, sticky stuff running down his side but it doesn't seem to have a source. He's just bleeding. Just like how he can't breathe. What should strike panic in him is nothing more than a casual, passing thought. Nothing of importance.
When Aslan bears his teeth winter meets its death.
Despite all that is taking place around him, Cian can't help but notice that for the first time that day, he doesn't feel cold. Is this what warmth feels like? No, it's not as pleasant as he thinks it should be. He is sweating and feels woozy. He knows what hot feels like, it's searing, like the bitter soup Maud makes. But in his short life, he's only ever known the sting of ice and the burn of fire.
Cian wonders what the sun felt like before the Witch brought this wretched winter over Narnia. He wonders if he will ever see a Narnian summer. A summer with the warmth of the sun on his back and fresh air-air that doesn't make him feel like his chest is freezing-in his lungs. Or a spring with cherry blossoms and sweet scents. Maybe even a nice autumn, with beautiful colors and falling leaves. But never, ever again does he want to feel the bite of cold winter air on his skin. He could live a thousand scorching summers before he ever wanted to see the endless white of the Witch's domain once more.
Cian knows that he is not brave. He knows he is not a soldier, either.
And it's there the young fox still lays, smelling the sweetness of cherry blossoms instead of the metallic scent of blood permeating the air. If he tries, he can imagine that the cries and screams are those of children playing in piles of fallen leaves like the ones he saw in drawings.
When he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.
And when Cian stares up at the sun, it isn't bluish in the frozen haze like it usually is. It's a bright orange, like his fur, almost as if someone had lit it with a flame. He doesn't feel hot or cold, but some nice in-between he's never experienced.
He turns his head to see if anyone else notices this strange phenomenon. When it's clear that he is alone in this discovery, Cian figures it's because he's dying. Just as he is about to close his eyes forever and open them to Aslan's country, he catches a speck of gold on the horizon.
Cian has seen white snow and red fire and today, an orange sun-but never before golden like this. A tawny figure steps further into the fray, and Cian wants to call out for him to stop. He knows that that pretty coat of fur will be stained with red if he comes any closer.
The creature steps forward and Cian opens his mouth to warn him. Before he can make a sound, a loud ringing knocks what little breath Cian has left out of his lungs. He realizes that the ringing is emanating from the mouth of this lovely creature, and that it's not ringing at all. It's a roar, so grand and holy that it cannot be heard by his own humble ears. For a moment, all fighting ceases, all noise silences. Slowly, as Cian closes his eyes, the ringing dulls and a soft voice calls to him. He doesn't know what is being said to him or why, but what he does know is that a great lion is standing before him and that for the first time in his existence, Cian's whole being feels warm.
Six Years Later
Cair Paravel
Clang! Peter practically tossed the small knife he was using back into the glass dish. He had been using it to spread jam onto his toast-now considered a Narnian delicacy, thanks to Edmund. The sound of silver on glass clinked noisily, prompting Susan to give her brother a rather nasty look.
"Honestly Peter, I would have thought after all these years, you would have at least picked up a few table manners. You didn't act this way last night at the banquet-I don't see the need for you to act like a barbarian here," Susan sighed, pushing a lock of raven hair out of her face.
A gentle breeze was trickling in through the doors opened to the terrace, but a particularly strong gust of wind blew her hair into a frenzy every once in a while. This was probably a large cause of her agitation. That, and the letter she was holding in her hands.
The three present monarchs were sitting-save Susan, who was pacing off to the side-in the little antechamber just off of the main part of Peter's solar. The nook opened out into a roomy veranda overlooking the Eastern Ocean. The Kings and Queens often sat for meals on the High King's veranda, as it was the largest, but the grim weather had the siblings opting to eat indoors. Instead of eating breakfast in the Great Hall with its bustling servants and flaunted grandeur, Peter, Susan, and Lucy had chosen to eat in the privacy of their own chambers for a change.
Peter had decided to go out of his way this morning to annoy his Sister.
"You're a KING of Narnia for goodness' sake! Must you really-oh Peter, please DON'T!" Susan just about shrieked at the sight of Peter sucking the jam off his fingers almost peevishly. He sent Susan a look that said, "What're you going to about it?"
Now, Peter didn't always act like this. In public, he was the image of all things stately and fine, whereas behind closed doors-
"Ugh, Peter, I swear sometimes you're worse than the chimpanzees!" She dismissed him in disgust with a wave of the parchment in her hands.
The High King certainly got a kick out of irritating his sister. He could be kingly and such when it came to attending banquets and leading soldiers into battle, but when he felt like it, Peter found quite good sport in pestering his siblings. Particularly, Susan.
Susan wasn't always so dour, either. While it was her job to keep everyone in line-her siblings and Narnia-the Queen could set aside her austerity and smile every now and again.
Susan finally sighed and sat down, still clutching the letter. The table had been laid meticulously with fine china. A silk tablecloth stained with little blotches of jam here and there-much to Susan's exasperation-drooped over the side of the table. Servants brushed in and out soundlessly, reluctant to disturb the monarchs' "peace". They weren't acknowledged beyond a preoccupied "thank you" or "more wine, please", but they really didn't seem to mind.
Instead of engaging in the trivial arguments of her eldest siblings, Lucy was absentmindedly sipping her tea while gazing out onto the Eastern Ocean. The only response she gave to Peter and Susan's bickering was a roll of her eyes.
Peter, it seemed, had decided that poor Susan had had enough aggravation for the morning and showed off some of his sorely missed manners.
As Susan nibbled distractedly at a scone, she kept glancing at the paper that she had rested on the table beside her plate. Her blue eyes stormed away as they kept darting back towards the letter, her fingers tapping in her lap nervously.
Peter gave the usually calm and collected Queen a puzzled look as he followed her gaze. Lucy, too, had taken notice of her sister's odd behavior and was pulled from her silent vigil. Before Susan could react, Peter had snatched the letter up from under her troubled gaze.
"Peter, I-" Peter held up his hand to silence her and began to read. His eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the letter, but didn't look as antsy as Susan about what it contained.
When he finished reading, Susan looked up at him expectantly, chewing at her fingernails. "Well?"
Peter shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, picking up his fork and returning to his breakfast. "I don't know what you're so riled up about Su, this has happened before," he shrugged again.
"What is it?" Lucy inquired, bewildered.
Susan ignored her and leaned forward in her seat. "But, Peter! What if it's different this time?"
"What?" Lucy repeated imploringly.
The youngest monarch was once again paid no heed. "Relax, Susan. Lorcan always has a conspiracy theory. No one really listens to him anyway," Peter replied.
"Lorcan? That annoying man we met at the summer festival last year? The one that kept talking down to Peter?" Lucy couldn't help but feel a flit of amusement through her frustration at the memory. The pretentious manner that the man had used towards Peter was practically an invitation to get his neck snapped. Lucy was surprised it hadn't.
No one answered her. Susan was staring petulantly out at the sky, which had now taken on a somber grey color. Peter was licking the crumbs off of his fingers, which surprisingly, garnered no attention from his sister.
Lucy was a growing rather tired of being disregarded.
"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" she slammed her cup of tea on the table, rattling the plates and glasses. Peter and Susan stared, alarmed, at their younger sister. It was very out of character for someone as placid as Lucy to lose her temper, though the impatient fourteen-year-old in her would make itself known every once in a while.
The rigidness in Susan's body slackened a bit and she finally addressed the younger girl with a sigh.
"Lune thinks that Lorcan is growing more uh, disagreeable towards our people."
The queen frowned. "What do you mean?"
It was Peter who answered this time. "He's been speaking up-or out, as Lune puts it-in council. The snobbish bloke's been acting more serious about his threats toward Narnia-'
"Which is exactly why we should be more cautious about this!" Susan cut across. "All these things going on by the Winding Arrow can't just be shrugged off as minor annoyances!"
"And they're not," Peter soothed. "Ed's down there right now, sorting things out. We've stationed soldiers, put out warnings, we're even letting our brother march into enemy territory to take the issue up with the Tisroc!"
Susan sighed and Peter reached over to pat her on the shoulder. "All that can be done, is being done. Besides, we've got the Ettins on our backs more than ever these days, and you know they don't wait their turn," he finished.
Lucy tilted her head in thought. "Peter's right, Susan. Lune's been struggling with his council for a while now and he has bigger problems than an egocentric Lord-"
"Isn't that always the problem?" Peter snorted.
Lucy ignored this. "And Edmund will straighten things out. He always does," she reassured.
Susan nodded, but she didn't look so reassured. That stormy look was back in her eyes, but this time, it didn't look so mixed up and confused. It was a hard glare, set in her deep blue eyes.
Wordlessly, she got up and left Peter's solar. As she departed, Peter watched her worriedly. Not long after, he followed her example and made some excuse about having to meet with Oreius about something. Within minutes, Lucy was alone, staring out onto the churning sea. The clouds had gone a nasty ash color and the gentle breeze had turned into a howling wind.
As Lucy got up to close the doors, she couldn't help but wonder something.
Was something more menacing than they thought brewing on the horizon? For the sake of Narnia and for the sake of her family, she could only hope not.