lady_songsmith: owl (Default)

3: The Empress

Lucy is thrilled by this adventure. Everything about it is new, except the sea - and she has always loved the sea. Every morning she wakes up to the sound of the sails flapping and ropes creaking, the slap of waves against the hull. She has fallen asleep to those same sounds, of course, and they fill her dreams as well, but they ring differently in the morning light. At least, she thinks so. There's a damp scent in the mornings a little like the smell of fresh turned earth but fiercer, and it lies over the ship, muffling the wind and waves but making the snap of ropes sharper. Lucy thinks the ocean, too, prefers to wake gently, relishing the dawn in silence.

Afternoons are brighter, even on cloudy days. Dawn Treader's golden prow competes with the waves for sparkles, together throwing reflections so many ways that the ship sails in a cloud of light. The sailors go about their work singing, or tell stories. These are always of adventures, at least half tall tale, each man trying to outdo the last, and their endings are often lost in shouts of laughter. Lucy climbs all over the ship, scrambling up the rigging as easily as the sailors, for the sheer joy of it, and no one tells her no. (Though Caspian cringes when she balances on the yard, and Drinian asks her to please not chat with the man on duty in the top.)

Evening smells of smoke, the rich full scent of the galley mingling with the tongue-coating sizzle of the oil lamps and the sweet-sharpness of the men's tobacco. Lucy goes about with the life of the ship in her throat and her mouth and her nose while the sun dips toward the horizon, sinking down onto Narnia in a glory of fire. The winds calm - Drinian tells her she imagines this, but she is certain of it - to farewell the day in proper splendor. On cloudy days the pressure of smoke is so great she climbs the rigging to escape it; watches the sunset cradled by the ropes and rocked by the sea.

Even the storm does not bother her overmuch, though she is as sick as anyone of the relentless rain and of being ordered to keep to her cabin whenever possible (for even a queen must obey a captain on his own ship, she knows). She interprets the order to mean she should stay off the deck, and so twice daily makes the pilgrimage through the fury: from her cabin to the galley, where at least she has company, and back again. She does what she can to cheer the company, for she has little else to offer, and even manages to coax her brother out of ill humor one evening when Edmund comes belowdeck questing for a dry shirt and quips that it's 'a jolly adventure, eh?' She replies that the storm can't be that bad if his sense of humor is still dry, and he laughs and leaves without the mythical dry shirt.


"Mother Nature shows herself in her original wildness" - Banzhaf, 41

lady_songsmith: owl (Default)

3: The Empress

Lucy is thrilled by this adventure. Everything about it is new, except the sea - and she has always loved the sea. Every morning she wakes up to the sound of the sails flapping and ropes creaking, the slap of waves against the hull. She has fallen asleep to those same sounds, of course, and they fill her dreams as well, but they ring differently in the morning light. At least, she thinks so. There's a damp scent in the mornings a little like the smell of fresh turned earth but fiercer, and it lies over the ship, muffling the wind and waves but making the snap of ropes sharper. Lucy thinks the ocean, too, prefers to wake gently, relishing the dawn in silence.

Afternoons are brighter, even on cloudy days. Dawn Treader's golden prow competes with the waves for sparkles, together throwing reflections so many ways that the ship sails in a cloud of light. The sailors go about their work singing, or tell stories. These are always of adventures, at least half tall tale, each man trying to outdo the last, and their endings are often lost in shouts of laughter. Lucy climbs all over the ship, scrambling up the rigging as easily as the sailors, for the sheer joy of it, and no one tells her no. (Though Caspian cringes when she balances on the yard, and Drinian asks her to please not chat with the man on duty in the top.)

Evening smells of smoke, the rich full scent of the galley mingling with the tongue-coating sizzle of the oil lamps and the sweet-sharpness of the men's tobacco. Lucy goes about with the life of the ship in her throat and her mouth and her nose while the sun dips toward the horizon, sinking down onto Narnia in a glory of fire. The winds calm - Drinian tells her she imagines this, but she is certain of it - to farewell the day in proper splendor. On cloudy days the pressure of smoke is so great she climbs the rigging to escape it; watches the sunset cradled by the ropes and rocked by the sea.

Even the storm does not bother her overmuch, though she is as sick as anyone of the relentless rain and of being ordered to keep to her cabin whenever possible (for even a queen must obey a captain on his own ship, she knows). She interprets the order to mean she should stay off the deck, and so twice daily makes the pilgrimage through the fury: from her cabin to the galley, where at least she has company, and back again. She does what she can to cheer the company, for she has little else to offer, and even manages to coax her brother out of ill humor one evening when Edmund comes belowdeck questing for a dry shirt and quips that it's 'a jolly adventure, eh?' She replies that the storm can't be that bad if his sense of humor is still dry, and he laughs and leaves without the mythical dry shirt.


"Mother Nature shows herself in her original wildness" - Banzhaf, 41

lady_songsmith: owl (Default)

2: The High Priestess

Watching Caspian led away by the nobleman, Edmund stills the first bloom of irritation. It wasn't as if the young king could have refused to go, though he might at least have supported Lucy, or even suggested that the noble take her instead. If Caspian found an opportunity to help them, he would. In the meantime, undoubtedly some other chance would present itself, and he would have to be ready for it. Eustace was certainly not going to be any help, and Reepicheep was all too likely to leap without looking and land them all in worse trouble still.

Lucy he might depend on, of course, but he wants to protect her. She would undoubtedly be furious to know he was sheltering her, but the habits of a lifetime aren't easily set aside. She is no damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued, but she is his sister - his little sister - and he does not like Pug's insinuations at all.

The slavers' ship is dark and stuffy, and closes in around him until he gasps for breath. He wants out, now - but it isn't time. There's a rhythm to these things, a rise and fall, and though his fingers itch for a blade he knows the moment isn't right. That it will be right, he has no doubt. They don't end here. There is far too much to do, the end of the world to find, and anyway he'll be damned if they've survived the White Witch and the Ettins and Miraz to be bested by a stupid brute of a slaver. It's just a matter of waiting.

He learned a long time ago that a good storyteller was not to be rushed. Their tale isn't over yet, and it is told by the greatest of all tellers.


"This card is an expression of trust in our inner voice that shows us a specific path and reliably tells us time and again whether we should take action and when, where, and how this should be done." - Banzhaf, 37

lady_songsmith: owl (Default)

2: The High Priestess

Watching Caspian led away by the nobleman, Edmund stills the first bloom of irritation. It wasn't as if the young king could have refused to go, though he might at least have supported Lucy, or even suggested that the noble take her instead. If Caspian found an opportunity to help them, he would. In the meantime, undoubtedly some other chance would present itself, and he would have to be ready for it. Eustace was certainly not going to be any help, and Reepicheep was all too likely to leap without looking and land them all in worse trouble still.

Lucy he might depend on, of course, but he wants to protect her. She would undoubtedly be furious to know he was sheltering her, but the habits of a lifetime aren't easily set aside. She is no damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued, but she is his sister - his little sister - and he does not like Pug's insinuations at all.

The slavers' ship is dark and stuffy, and closes in around him until he gasps for breath. He wants out, now - but it isn't time. There's a rhythm to these things, a rise and fall, and though his fingers itch for a blade he knows the moment isn't right. That it will be right, he has no doubt. They don't end here. There is far too much to do, the end of the world to find, and anyway he'll be damned if they've survived the White Witch and the Ettins and Miraz to be bested by a stupid brute of a slaver. It's just a matter of waiting.

He learned a long time ago that a good storyteller was not to be rushed. Their tale isn't over yet, and it is told by the greatest of all tellers.


"This card is an expression of trust in our inner voice that shows us a specific path and reliably tells us time and again whether we should take action and when, where, and how this should be done." - Banzhaf, 37

lady_songsmith: owl (Default)

1: The Magician

Caspian calls himself nine kinds of an idiot for letting it come to this.

He didn't think that the situation in the Lone Islands might have changed. He didn't think that it was foolish to go strolling about without soldiers. He didn't think that those thugs might be slavers. He didn't think what might happen to Lucy, a lady and a queen to whom he owes allegiance, in the hands of those slavers.

He doesn't have much to do but think, now.

Uncomfortably aware of the sinking feeling of failure twining in his gut, he knows he has to do something to correct his cascade of errors. But what? He can hardly overpower this lord and Pug and whatever guards are called to subdue an 'escaped slave.' He has nothing but his wits now - and his face.

He seizes chance with both hands.


"This card represents intelligence and skill, as well as the will and the power to master the tasks that are given to us in life" - Banzhaf, 36

lady_songsmith: owl (Default)

1: The Magician

Caspian calls himself nine kinds of an idiot for letting it come to this.

He didn't think that the situation in the Lone Islands might have changed. He didn't think that it was foolish to go strolling about without soldiers. He didn't think that those thugs might be slavers. He didn't think what might happen to Lucy, a lady and a queen to whom he owes allegiance, in the hands of those slavers.

He doesn't have much to do but think, now.

Uncomfortably aware of the sinking feeling of failure twining in his gut, he knows he has to do something to correct his cascade of errors. But what? He can hardly overpower this lord and Pug and whatever guards are called to subdue an 'escaped slave.' He has nothing but his wits now - and his face.

He seizes chance with both hands.


"This card represents intelligence and skill, as well as the will and the power to master the tasks that are given to us in life" - Banzhaf, 36

lady_songsmith: owl (Default)
0: The Fool

The forward bulwark is his favorite part of the ship. Here he can sit with his whiskers to the east, nothing but ocean between him and fate. Sometimes, when the water is glassy, he feels he might be able to walk across it himself, and he edges further out until the lookout cautions him about falling. He wishes he could climb still further, perch on the dragon's head, for as swift as Dawn Treader is, she's never fast enough to satisfy him. He settles for being the first one to greet each mile, the first to see each new sight.

Some of the sailors have spoken of turning back after the Lone Islands, where the charts end. He lets it be known very loudly that he will hear none of this cowardice. They shame the king, the quest, and the whole company with such talk, for had not each man among them promised to sail east for the full year and day of the quest? And how should any man - or mouse - of honor turn away from the mystery offered by the true unknown, whatever its dangers?

Indeed, what sort of quest would it be if they faced no danger greater than that of being over-feasted or thrown in a tournament? A knight makes no name for himself by staying home in safety. This company will be spoken of until the end of Narnia, even if they should never return. And if they do return, what stories they will have! The blank edges of the maps filled in with their courage as parchment and the blood of their foes as ink. No terror of the seas can stand against a knight of Narnia! Let come what may, he will teach them to fear the sword of a valiant mouse!

That idiot boy grabs his tail, and he snatches for his sword.


"[The Fool] joyfully tries new things, without the fear of embarrassment or failure, or of making itself look ridiculous." - Banzhaf, 30.

lady_songsmith: owl (Default)
0: The Fool

The forward bulwark is his favorite part of the ship. Here he can sit with his whiskers to the east, nothing but ocean between him and fate. Sometimes, when the water is glassy, he feels he might be able to walk across it himself, and he edges further out until the lookout cautions him about falling. He wishes he could climb still further, perch on the dragon's head, for as swift as Dawn Treader is, she's never fast enough to satisfy him. He settles for being the first one to greet each mile, the first to see each new sight.

Some of the sailors have spoken of turning back after the Lone Islands, where the charts end. He lets it be known very loudly that he will hear none of this cowardice. They shame the king, the quest, and the whole company with such talk, for had not each man among them promised to sail east for the full year and day of the quest? And how should any man - or mouse - of honor turn away from the mystery offered by the true unknown, whatever its dangers?

Indeed, what sort of quest would it be if they faced no danger greater than that of being over-feasted or thrown in a tournament? A knight makes no name for himself by staying home in safety. This company will be spoken of until the end of Narnia, even if they should never return. And if they do return, what stories they will have! The blank edges of the maps filled in with their courage as parchment and the blood of their foes as ink. No terror of the seas can stand against a knight of Narnia! Let come what may, he will teach them to fear the sword of a valiant mouse!

That idiot boy grabs his tail, and he snatches for his sword.


"[The Fool] joyfully tries new things, without the fear of embarrassment or failure, or of making itself look ridiculous." - Banzhaf, 30.

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