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queenlucythevaliant · 1 month

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Northern Lights

I heard a voice that cried, “Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!”

Who knows what to call the lonely exhilaration of gazing out into a bright Northern sky? Who can name it?

Jill could.

It was the same feeling that came to her at the teetering edge of a cliff at the end of the world. The same feeling as when she said her goodbyes to Puddleglum and Scrubb before they freed the prince. It was the same feeling that engulfed her now, sitting in the professor’s library with a volume of poetry before her.

The wild northern wastes were well named: utterly wild, perfectly desolate, and terribly Northern.

It was lonely there and often cold, but the sky was an endless whorl of gales and gray clouds. The stones were indigo under the pale winter sunlight, and at sunset they glowed a soft gold, as though lit from within. The gorges and moors lay before her, and Jill loved them for their vastness and their distance. Little grew in that country, but that which did was full of vigor. The grass was short and coarse. Every tree was victorious.

On a still, deep breathing winter night, Jill lay on her back beneath a covering sky. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it until her tears began to blind her. Yet even then, she still couldn’t look away.

She felt bigger here in the wastes, like the landscape. Stronger, wider. The further she walked, the more she felt herself stretch out. One of these days, maybe, she would catch hold of herself at the edge and tug, and Jill Pole would open up clear as the Northern sky.

And through the misty air passed the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the battle with the serpent was this: there wasn’t any yelling. Always, it seemed, whenever she read stories about people fighting with swords, the combatants would let loose some guttural yell before their blows fell. They would scream and writhe in pain as they died. They would shout instructions to their fellows, “Look out!” or “Hit him there!” But the whole affair with the serpent passed with very little noise.

The poison-green coil constricted around the prince; he raised his arms and got clear, struck the serpent hard, and then Scrubb and Puddleglum dispatched the creature with heavy, hacking blows. The monster died writhing, but not screaming. And then it was over.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the moments before battle was, of course, the noise. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stop listening to her own breathing. Every footstep rang out like a gong, and any words exchanged rang with a kind of finality that made them sound louder than anything.

“You are of high courage,” Rilian told her when it was over.

Yet the thing in Jill’s chest just then didn’t feel like courage. It was a deep breath, a plunge, and a release. It was loud and quiet all at once, till she was standing, blinking in the night air as snowballs whizzed round her, and maybe that was something like courage after all.

And now, there was a stirring in her chest as she reread the words on the page. Sing no more / O ye bards of the North / Of Vikings and of Jarls! / Of the days of the Eld / preserve the freedom only / nor the deeds of blood!

She thought of grief. Of freedom.

The lonely ache in her belly grew stronger. She felt herself uplifted into the huge regions of sky that were just beyond those cliffs, weightless as the breath beneath her buoyed her up, further, further…

When she saw Caspian up close, Jill thought that he looked like the sort of person who was meant to live in a castle. A silly thought, perhaps, since she knew he was a king– only she wasn’t thinking of Cair Paravel. No, Jill was picturing the ruins of an old British castle she’d visited once on holiday. She still remembered how the stonework had loomed over her, all towering arches and crumbling walls. That was where Caspian seemed to belong. He had an air of ancient tragedy about him.

When Rilian disappeared, all things had wept but one. The serpent coiled beneath the earth and flicked its forked tongue, spewing poison.

Now, the king half rose to bless his son. He whispered a few words as he caressed Rilian’s cheek, words meant only for those beloved ears. Jill saw Caspian’s lips move and wondered what a man like that could possibly say, when time ran so short.

They laid him in his ship, with horse and harness, as on a funeral pyre. Odin placed a ring upon his finger, and whispered in his ear.

Jill furtively took Myths of the Northmen and held it up to the professor with a question in her eyes. She was still shy around him and Miss Plummer, though she wished she wasn’t.

“Would you like to take that with you?”

“...Please.”

It takes a certain kind of person to be exhilarated by the heights. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling.

They walked to the train station with an autumn wind blowing hard, and though Jill couldn’t fathom why, she turned and saw Lucy grinning, fierce and joyful– grinning and reaching a hand out towards her friend.

Jill reached back and grabbed it. “What will you do, once we’re back in Narnia?” she asked.

The wind blew harder. The feeling of anticipation grew and grew, until it felt so big that she couldn’t dream of containing it. And there was Lucy, holding Jill’s hand and laughing like it was easy.

Preserve the freedom only, not the deeds of blood!

The second time Jill went to Narnia, she found herself not at its edge, but at its end.

The thing about the Norse apocalypse is: it feels believable. It doesn’t reach beyond earth’s horizon to pull down hope beyond hope. It’s only the kind of courage that hopeless humans have: you are going to die, so you might as well die bravely.

They found the last king of Narnia bound to a tree. His eyes were faintly red from crying, and his wrists and ankles red from the coarseness of his fetters.

In the Norse myths, Loki broke free of his fetters at the end of the world. He escaped to the helm of a ship made from the fingernails of the dead.

The last king of Narnia fell forward onto the ground when Eustace cut his bonds. Jill crouched down beside him and watched as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. He wasn’t so much older than her, she thought. Jill was sixteen years old; the last king of Narnia could not be older than twenty-two.

In the myths, the gods were ancient, hewn from the bodies of giants old as the earth.

Jill put out a hand and helped the last king of Narnia to his feet. Not for the last time, she shivered. Something deep inside her (deeper than her chest, than her heart, than the marrow of her bones, deep as her soul, deeper) was singing an elegy and she didn’t know why, or how, or where it had come from. The king clutching her hand, who could have been her older brother, would have no heir.

Yet when he asked, “Will you come with me?” Jill could only smile.

“Of course,” she said. “It’s you we’ve come to help.”

And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!"

“This really is Narnia at last,” murmured Jill. The springtime wood had little in common with the wintry lands she had traveled the last time she was here– but it awakened the same feelings of Northernness in her chest.

Their party may as well have been the only people in the world, for how isolated their little wooden path seemed. Yet it wasn’t lonely, really, cocooned in all that green with the wind in the leaves and the primroses nodding and blue of the sky peeking through above.

Jewel told stories about what ordinary life was like when there was peace here. As he spoke, Jill could almost hear the trees' voices speaking out of the living past, whispering, stay, stay. She was caught up to a great height, looking down across a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance.

“Oh Jewel–” Jill said with a dreamy sigh, “wouldn’t it be lovely if Narnia just went on and on– like what you say it has been?”

She needn’t be a queen, as Susan and Lucy had been, but Jill would’ve liked to stay. She would've liked it all to stay, if it could. She might have been a woodmaid in a place like this: with the turn of the seasons, the swaying trees, swords into plowshares. Oh, if only she could stay!

Ahead, the last king of Narnia was softly singing a marching song. Jill tilted her head back and let warm shafts of sun caress her face.

I saw the pallid corpse of the dead sun borne through the Northern sky.

“So,” said the last king of Narnia, “Narnia is no more.”

He tried to send them back. Jill shook her head. It was very loud and very quiet. “No, no, no, we won’t. I don’t care what you say. We’re going to stick by you whatever happens, aren’t we Eustace?”

They couldn’t go back anyway. Neither would they flee, not south across the mountains nor North into the great wide wastes. No, they would stay. They slept in a holly grove on the edge of ruin, waiting for the bonfires to light.

Jill slept fitfully, but in between she dreamed. She was high up in the air, buffeted by clouds and pierced by shafts of silver sunlight.

They all died, in the myths. Jill knew that. It seemed beautiful and brave when she read it in her book, tucked away safe in the Professor’s library. It was terrifying now– and yet it was beautiful and brave still.

The dogs came bounding up, every one of them, running up to the king and his men with their tails wagging. One of them leapt at Jill and licked her face, tongue roughly lapping up the sweat and tears that had dried on her cheeks.

“Show us how to help, show us how, how, how!” the dogs were barking, almost ebullient in their enthusiasm. Jill bit back a sob. How lovely, she thought. How terribly beautiful. How dreadfully brave.

So perish the old Gods!

The white rock gleamed like a moon in the darkness when Jill finally reached it. She ran back to it alone, her hands shaking, while her friends stayed forward with their gleaming swords and Jewel’s indigo horn.

The while rock gleamed like the moon. Jill’s first shot flew wide and landed in the soft grass. But she had another arrow on her string the next instant. It was speed that mattered, not aim. Speed, and turning aside when she cried, so as not to drip tears on her bowstring.

The white rock gleamed. In the myths, a wolf devoured the moon. Peter’s wolf, slain many thousand years ago in this world, opened his jaw wide and darkness fell over everything.

Her next arrow found its mark. After that, she lost track. She pulled, and she prayed that her hands kept still another minute.

The unique thing–maybe the appealing thing–about the Norse myths, was that they told men to serve gods who were admittedly fighting with their backs to the wall and would certainly be defeated in the end. Jill let loose another arrow, felt the white rock at her back, and she knew that the clawing fear–beauty–bravery deep in her gut was the same feeling that she felt on the heights. The same feeling, but a different face. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling.

“I feel in my bones,” said Poggin, “that we shall all, one by one, pass through that dark door before morning. I can think of a hundred deaths that I would rather have died.”

“It is indeed a grim door,” said Tirian. “It is more like a mouth.”

“Oh, can’t we do anything to stop it,” said Jill. Better to be dashed to the ground than it was to be devoured.

“Nay, fair friend,” said Jewel. “It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we sup at his table tonight.”

A hand tangled itself in her hair and started to pull. Jill braced herself hard, for a moment, until her strength gave out. She was standing on the edge of a high, Northern cliff. She took another step, and fell.

Perhaps when the moment comes, our bite will prove better than our howls. If not, we shall have to confess that two millennia of Christianity have not yet brought us to the level of the Stoics and Vikings. For the worst (according to the flesh) that a Christian need face is to die in Christ and rise in Christ; some were content to die, and not to rise, with Father Odin.

The world inside the stable was beautiful. It made Jill’s chest ache in all the loveliest ways.

Build it again, O ye bards, fairer than before!

#okayyyy so #i've been down the tolkien/lewis/norse mythology rabbit hole lately #it's a lot #but i've been picking at this piece in my head for a while now #which is more a rhapsody than anything else #but another for my narnia/classic lit sequence of pieces #the quotes are mostly pulled from Longfellow's Tegners Drapa translation #which Jack discusses in Surprised by Joy as one of the works that inspired feelings of joy and 'Northernness' in his boyhood #there's also a Weight of Glory quote in there #(paraphrased)#and one from the intro to Joy Gresham's book on the 10 Commandments that Jack wrote #(that's that last passage in italics)#i'm not really sure i was trying to make a point with this so much as just. explore that feeling of northernness #bc really northernness is two things #it's joy and exhileration brought on by beauty #and it's that beautiful hopeless courage when faced with unwinnable battles #and i love how intertwined those two things are for lewis #and let's be honest for me too #so that's what this is #hope it holds together okay #narnia #chapter one #night under narnia #dying of thirst #pontifications and creations #leah stories

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tenshi-agerasia · 2 months

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ensemble stars characters as things i experienced on a cruise to mexico

i'm waiting for a flight that i'm ten hours early for so here's some rare 鬼畜 text content . incorrect quotes and imagined scenarios, long post under the cut

starting off with some incorrect quotes

rei: can you walk?

eichi: i think so, i'm much more energetic nowadays-

rei: no you're not. shiratori-kun, get him a wheelchair, we're skipping all the lines at the airport‎‎

‎-

eichi, getting physically patted down by tsa in a small dark room because his wheelchair couldn't go through the full-body scanner and it was too much physical effort to stand up: this is all sakuma-kun's fault

aira: tenshouin-senpai! you almost left your louis vuitton designer scarf at the security checkpoint! what if someone had stolen it?!

eichi: thank you, shiratori-kun! but it's fake

akatsuki in the elevator with a group of strangers

stranger, in a thick southern accent: so what're y'all up to t'night?

silence

souma stares straight ahead. he thinks the stranger isn't talking to them.

stranger, feeling slightly awkward: so, y'all stayin' in your room?

kuro: um... yeah

afterwards

keito: how did he know that our room doesn't have a window

kuro: ???

keito: ??? he said something about our stateroom not having a window like his

kuro: you mean when he asked if we were staying in our room?

hokuto: how much money have you spent at the arcade

makoto: uhhhh... i don't know, i'm not good at math

mao: how much did each of the figurine blind bags cost you

makoto: four plays is $4.50 and i get an average of 87 tickets at the piano game. the gachapon is 750 tickets each, and 750 / 87 = around 8.62 plays, and 8.62 x 4.50 / 4 = $9.6975

wataru: iiiiiit's..... showtiiiiiime....

yuta: can we leave

hinata: the waiters are dancing now, we can't just leave

one minute later

yuta: can we leave

hinata: i'd love to see you try to leave in this situation

three minutes later

yuta: can we leave

hinata: QUICK THEY STOPPED MAKE A RUN FOR IT

jun: i don't like my new haircut

jin, shaking his head knowingly: yeah you shouldn't have cut it on a cruise

jun: i lied. i love my new haircut it means the world to me

jun, still struggling to come to terms with his new haircut: now i kind of look like the scaramouche guy from genshin

hiyori: i was thinking more like edna from the incredibles

some people that i encountered!

kaoru as the guy that (successfully) invited one of the waitresses to dance

yuzuru as the sweet lady who asked me how to swipe her room card for the arcade because her son (tori) wanted to play a game

ritsu as my mom who spent most of the time sleeping

rinne as the tour guide that would add "rawr" to the end of his jokes

tsumugi as the poor woman who got stuck in a hammock and had to ask me for help

yuta as my brother who i forced to go on a rusty cable sliding thing you could only hold on to by hand, only for it to get stuck before it reached the middle

hinata as me who dragged the rope attached to the handle and tried to run (on sand) to pull yuta/my brother on the cable slide, only for him to fall (on sand)

rei as the people who watched and laughed

yuzuru as me playing the discord golf game with my friends on vc, only to get screwed over by the lag from cruise wifi

anzu as my friends who were still at home and took this chance to win by miles

makoto as my brother and i when we made one of the arcade machines run out of tickets to dispense three times

makoto as my brother who dominated the entire leaderboard of a piano game with his high scores

tomoya as my mom who was upset that she didn't get to see any flamingos up close

mao as the guest services guy who kept getting interrupted by phone calls that lasted less than 50 seconds

tsumugi as the worker who asked me "do you speak mandarin or chinese?"

adonis as my dad who would only eat meat because "it's more worth it that way"

hiyori as the hair stylist that gave me the scaramouche/edna haircut and kept calling me "madame" and insisted that i trust his vision (he was a lovely guy, i just wanted it more short :()

anzu as my aunts that were constantly trying to video call my mom on wechat, only for the call to disconnect because cruise wifi sucks

mayoi as the dinner waiter that jumpscared my mom on the lunch buffet line

midori as the buffet worker who kept sorting the lettuce leaves by size and color

rinne as the guy at the casino who told a worker he wanted to "have a gambling addiction responsibly"

tori and tsukasa as the little girls who tried to convince their mom to let them eat only cake for lunch

kaoru as the white guy who tried to engage in a conversation with me in the elevator but only made the situation more awkward

souma as the guy who got into an argument with someone (kaoru) over whether the fish he ate was bass or salmon (it was salmon with some bass)

shinobu as the boy who ran up and down the stairs yelling that he was looking for ducks (?)

wataru as the russian lady in charge of the dining room who would loudly whisper "iiiiiit's...... showtiiiiiiime" into a microphone every evening

tomoya as the waiter with a tired, dead inside expression who still had to dance for the russian lady's "showtime"

adonis as the guy that woke up at six in the morning to run laps around the deck for some unknown reason

wataru as the guy who posed for a picture like he was pinching the setting sun

hokuto as the guy taking the picture, but from an angle that made wataru look like he was pinching nothing and standing there stupidly

promo time ~ preorders for the niki's cookbook fanzine are open until march 12! i made some recipes for it, go check it out :)

#i saw someone with a “cyberwar veteran” tag and a “taylor swift 2024” election shirt at the airport #i cannot be certain of their pronouns but i can raise my eyebrow and go “oh they're one of those” /neutral #i regret going on this trip #ensemble stars #i get home at one in the morning sob #enstars #enstars textpost #we were like the only asian people on the cruise and wow were we stared at a lot #enstars incorrect quotes #not proofread i've been awake for too long #midori takamine #shinobu sengoku #rei sakuma #eichi tenshouin #aira shiratori #hell dorm #i love them #couldn't even read lofter or ao3 on the cruise #didn't even get another eisekai chapter written #and i brought my tablet only for it to stay in my bag unused :(#my hair stylist was apparently a hairdresser for famous bollywood actors but my mom doesn't believe him #i look like a flat mushroom head now #souma kanzaki #kuro kiryu #keito hasumi #i watched joy ride on the plane #it was pretty good #hokuto hidaka #makoto yuki #mao isara

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