sit back and wait for the daylight

2038-01-19T03:14:07Z

Hard drive cleaning time! Yay! I come bearing a few Susan/Caspian drabbles, which are actually drabbles and actually unconnected. I know. Please promptly die of shock.

Story: along this road he lost his soul
Title: Storybook
Summary: [One hundred drabbles for the casue100 prompt table.] Sometimes she wonders what exactly makes their story romantic.
Notes: NOT ANGST. NOT AT ALL. NOT ONE WHIT. WHOOT. Prompt: because.

~

Sometimes she wonders—what makes their story romantic?

Is it the flash of steel, the blunt tip of her arrows, how his throwing knives make a clang like bells when they strike armor?

Or is it the heady fire of their dance, when she stops her feet and tosses her hair and her heels press so firmly to the ground that she can feel decades of stone and centuries of earth sending pin pricks of pain and desire up through the callouses on her toes until the sweat sticks wisps of hair to her forehead and he chases the fire with his lips?

Or is it the men that have come before and failed, the knights with jasmine on their shields and promises of ships and gold and silks, their empty eyes and heady promises, their sworn fealty of heart and mind and soul that never broke through to her heart?

Or is it the legend, the whispered stories of the queen of old and the king of new, the bolstered tales that mothers and nurses tell to their little children in the dark?

Or is it the moment when he takes her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles and says I love you, my queen?

Or is it when the smile curves her lips and she says I know and she means this is how it was always supposed to be.

~

Title: Watch Your Garden Grow
Summary: [One hundred drabbles for the casue100 prompt table.] When they are married, Susan makes Caspian a crown of daisies.
Notes: Prompt: flower.

~

When they are married, Susan makes him a crown of daisies. He doesn’t see her split the stems with the nail on her thumb, or watch her thread the blossoms together into a faintly lopsided circlet, but when she makes to place it on his head, he stops her with a firm grip on her wrists, and waits for the tears. They don’t come until after they are done, and they have danced and drunk wine and are settled back in the faintly musty chambers he now occupies. I miss her so much, Susan whispers, and Caspian feels foolish when he kisses her tear-tracks. I know, is all he can say, and the words don’t mean anything at all.

~

Title: Here It Comes (at last)
Summary: [One hundred drabbles for the casue100 prompt table.] She is sixty when they find the tumor.
Notes: Prompt: gone.

~

She is sixty when they find the tumor (malignant) in her left breast.

“Oh,” she wheezes on an exhale, looking her doctor (young-ish, male) in the eye.

“Well, how long do I have?”

“Not long,” he says, and he attempts to sound sympathetic, but everything about him (the shock of dark hair, the white of his coat and the room and the fluttery paper gown she has tied around her shoulders) counters emotion. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hull.”

“Ms. Pevensie,” she corrects him absently. “I haven’t been married for fifteen years.” Her lips purse for a second, then relax. “I suppose that this was going to happen eventually.”

He has her sign a few lines on her chart, and taps a blue pen against his knee as he finishes scanning the paperwork. “Are you—is there anyone I can call for you?”

She can’t fight the smile at the rather earnest look on his face. She hasn’t seen such genuine concern in many years. “No,” she says. “I have to go to them.”

[this river is wild]

sit back and wait for the daylight