If you request something and I either haven't read that book/books or don't feel qualified to write about them, the next one I publish I'll do my best to mention that I can't do that. Also, anyone else who wants to pick up and continue this idea or anything within this thing is very welcome!
These are one-shots only. Maybe two-shots. Or three. Probably just one, though.
If I mention the first book in a series, quite likely (as in this case) I'm just referring to the series as a whole. Either that or it's just that book. I suppose what I really mean it's set in that universe. Anyway. To the story!
Oh yeah, and every story I write about, I'm not getting any profit from it.
He couldn't remember the first time he got there.
He still didn't quite know how it happened; just that on some magical days, something would give and he'd slip through into dreamland.
His siblings said that he dreamed, but they didn't know the truth of the matter. They didn't know of the secret land he slipped into, just heard his talk of dryads, of the White Lady, and of ethereal beauty they never quite saw.
He thought that his mother gave him knowing glances, as if she'd been there too. And at first, when he called it the White Lady, she gave him a look quite unlike any he had been given in his short life: one almost like condemnation, or horror. But his returning gaze seemed to soothe the fear in her soul.
The White Lady: like another Lady whom he had seen, once, from a long way off, tall and noble and holding that land in a cold and glorious winter.
There was another tree he looked at in Rainbow Valley and saw Narnia in. Secretly, he called it the Queen, memory of another time when - once again afar off - he had seen a Queen, goldenhaired and merry, while the warm spring gently rejoiced in her.
And as he played in that garden, he thought too that he knew another who had been there, though she never spoke of it. But some otherworldly quality of her gaze suggested it to him. He never asked her.
And the days went by until he did not see that land again, not even in glimpses, until he was crushed into the war and painfully reminded of the happiness of that land, even during war. It had been Narnia where he first saw the Piper, Narnia from which he caught a shadowy glimpse. It was of that Narnian Piper that he spoke so eloquently in his most famous poem, and whom he saw, shadowy, the day before his death.
He wrote his last letter to his sister, and yet the girl whom he loved and who he thought loved him in return, and who had seen Narnia, recurred in his thoughts so that he spoke to her, and longed to mention that dear land, yet dared not.
And the next day one fatal bullet got through, and he fell, and with his falling all dreamland - all Narnia - fell too.
No one could dream with a broken heart.