Amnesty Prompts

A/N: I told myself I wasn't going to do the amnesty prompts, I was too tired…but it's three days later and, well, here's some (hopefully, if Calyn's horse doesn't catch me) flash fiction.

Tell a tale from under the sea—near Narnia or in the Dawn Treader's explorations, you pick.

Spoilers for the love I fear.

Again and again Hetherra, sister of Ileana, dived to the depths. Again and again she surfaced, held up her hand and examined what it held, and tossed it away. A few precious items she saved, placing them on a floating raft of driftwood and seaweed, rested a moment, and dived again.

Her sister had given her a stone with the song of the stars. For her sister's wedding, she would give her a bracelet of the purest, whitest, or pinkest shells.

"We teach everything by stories. Much more sensible than what passes for schooling in that other world." ~ Gerald Morris

"Once upon a time—"

"What time?"

"The time before the Telmarines came."

…"That's been a long time."

"Yes, it was. In that time, there was a lion."

"What's a lying?"

"It's like a very large, gold cat, with extra fur around its head."

"Like our fur?"

"No, Trufflehunter, it's gold, and about this long."

"Oh."

"This particular lion wanted to meet Aslan."

"Me too! Me too!"

"But Aslan made him wait."

"Why?"

"The story will tell you that, but only if you stop interrupting. This is a story about Aslan's timing."

… "I'll be quiet."

"Good. Once upon a time…"

Did Narnia ever find herself without an heir?

King Breth closed his eyes and lay back. All around him were the sounds of Narnia, going about its business—the Dryad's limbs rustling as they moved, the thumps of Moles and Dwarfs' footsteps, and the quiet hops of Rabbits.

So much life.

But not within his own body.

He wondered if it was a failure of himself as a king, that Aslan had not given him and his wife a child. Aslan was the source of life, all knew that—and yet He had not seen fit to give a new life to the King.

Why?

Was it something Breth had done?

A new sound filtered through his ears—a small, timid crying. Breth listened for a moment, but no comforting sounds followed it, nor sounds of help or scolding, so he opened his eyes and heaved his old body off the grass. He followed the sound to a very large bush, and bending down, saw to his surprise a human boy crying beneath it.

"Come out of there, little one, and let me see if I can help you."

The sounds of crying instantly stopped, but Breth, peering through the branches, saw that the boy shrank closer to the trunk and held it with whitening fingers.

Well. Fear was something all men faced, and Breth had dealt with it before. He laid himself back down on the grass, on his stomach this time, and began reaching for the closest fallen leaves and sticks.

"You know," he said conversationally as he began building, "a shelter is sometimes the nicest thing in the world. A bush, a small room no one comes into, the hollow of a tree—but sometimes I like to build shelters, and imagine what will hide inside them. This house here—it's not going to be very big. Perhaps a baby Chipmunk might find it. I'd better make it right for him, then. So his body would be about this big—just as long as this leaf, but fatter—and they like small holes to enter through. I don't think I can make it round, but I can make it small. And he'd crawl in, but he might still want to see the sky—can you picture him, peering through these sticks? Safe, of course, but able to see?"

Gradually the boy came a little closer, won by the easy, non-pressing voice and the kind hands. Eventually the King persuaded the boy to make a chipmunk house of his own, and then, after that, persuaded him to come with the King to get some food. Once his wife got a hold of the boy, there were many tears and fewer fears, the releasing of all the boy had carried.

They never did find his parents; but they became them.

Explore the relationship between one of the Four and one of their parents.

Peter's first glimpse of his mother upon coming back took his breath away.

He'd seen a little of it before they left; the brave front she put up, the love behind it that spilled into touches on his sisters' faces and pats on his shoulder.

But he hadn't known the rest. Not till Narnia; the stark bravery of one who sees the darkness, faces it, and refuses to let it enter. Her eyes roamed the crowd—many mothers' eyes were doing that—but there was fear in their faces, in their voices, and hers held only bravery, and the burning love that gave without asking back.

She had not seen them yet.

Peter suddenly wanted her to, wanted her to know she was no longer alone, that he and his siblings also had that fire, that burning light of love that diminished the dark. She did not have to fence herself from the dark anymore; they would push it away.

Her eyes met his, suddenly, and she knew him, knew him instantly, even as changed as he was.

Her smile was as bright as Lucy's, and Peter instantly caught up his younger sister and made for his mother, knowing Susan and Edmund would follow.

He was so glad to see her again; to be sheltered by her love, and to shelter her in turn.

The Friends of Narnia meet to make music, for music often evokes memory.

Susan started it. She'd been sweeping the floor on a day when the sunlight streamed through the windows, and something about her plain skirt swishing through the air reminded her of Narnian dances. She began humming.

Peter, in the next room, placing books, papers, and other various belongings back where they belonged, heard her and began singing the wordless tune in his deep voice. Lucy, washing dishes in the kitchen, heard him, and joined in.

(Edmund later declared it was not fair that he was outside running errands and did not get to join.)

For a moment, children though they were, they danced once again in ballrooms, even while their hands held brooms or soapsuds. The song faded, and so did the memory, but the smiles remained. And it became one of their patterns, that when they were all doing chores at the same time, they would sing together—Narnian songs or English.

And then one day, while meeting with the Professor and Aunt Polly, they did the same, and of course the Professor asked all kinds of curious questions about the songs they sang and listened very intently, and Polly demanded to be taught the songs—and somehow the same music became a memory to the older folk as well, of visits and companionship and the magic of the world they'd seen come to life.

*Break*

There were not many chores in Aslan's country, but there was much caring for other things, and out of habit Lucy began singing—and hundreds of voices joined her own. For Aslan loves all good things that give joy, and music is one of them; His country resounds with it.