[Fic] "The Spell Begins To Break" -- Chronicles of Narnia, genderswap AU

[edenfalling]

The vast majority of this ficlet is heavily copied and/or paraphrased from the equivalent scene in LWW, because the point is to reflect and comment on canon, not to abandon it utterly. The main changes (beyond the Pevensies' sexes and genders, obviously) are a reversed order of gifts; the removal of Lewis's gender role prescriptivism; a bit of subtle mucking around with his punctuation, capitalization, and sentence phrasing; and some changes to the Beavers' dialogue and actions at the end. Also I changed the simile for describing the red lion on the shield, mostly because I do not find ripe strawberries a particularly intuitive association with tools of war. *wry*

There are two places where "As the Morning and the Night" goes drastically askew to canon. The first is Edith's relationship with Jadis. This -- the meeting with Father Christmas -- is the second. (1,050 words)

[ETA: The AO3 crosspost is now up!]

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The Spell Begins To Break
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"And now," said Father Christmas, "for your presents. There is a new and better sewing machine for you, Mrs. Beaver. I will drop it in your house as I pass."

"If you please, sir," said Mrs. Beaver, making a curtsey. "It's locked up."

"Locks and bolts make no difference to me," said Father Christmas. "And as for you, Mr. Beaver, when you get home you will find your dam finished and mended and all the leaks stopped and a new sluice gate fitted."

Mr. Beaver was so pleased that he opened his mouth very wide and then found he couldn't say anything at all.

"Laurence, Adam's son," said Father Christmas.

"Yes, sir," said Laurie, stepping forward. Mary stepped beside him and rested her hand on his shoulder; after a moment, Stephen moved to stand at Laurie's left.

Father Christmas smiled at them and handed Laurie a little bottle of what looked like glass (but people said afterwards that it was made of diamond) and a small dagger. "These are your presents, and they are tools, not toys," he said. "In this bottle there is a cordial made of the juice of one of the fire-flowers that grow in the mountains of the sun. If you or any of your friends are hurt, a few drops of this will restore you. And the dagger is to defend yourself at great need. For you are not to be in the battle."

"Why, sir," said Laurie, "I think -- I don't know -- but I think I could be brave enough."

"That is not the point," Father Christmas said. "But battles are ugly when children fight."

Mary's hand tightened on Laurie's shoulder, and Stephen made a small noise that might have been a cough, or a swallowed word.

"Stephen, Adam's son," said Father Christmas next. "These are for you." He handed him a bow, a quiver full of arrows, and a little ivory horn. "You stand at a step back and watch over your family from behind. The bow will help you in that task. It does not easily miss. And when you put this horn to your lips and blow it, then, wherever you are, I think help of some kind will come to you."

Stephen slung the quiver over his shoulder and the horn around his waist.

Last of all, Father Christmas said, "Mary, Eve's daughter."

Mary let go of Laurie and stepped forward. "Here, sir," she said.

Father Christmas turned to his sledge for a moment and withdrew a shield and a sword. The shield was the color of silver and across it there ramped a red lion, as bright as blood at the moment it wells from a pricked finger. The hilt of the sword was of gold, it had a sheath and a sword belt and everything it needed, and it was just the right size and weight for Mary to use.

He handed her the shield immediately but held the sword a minute longer.

"To bear a sword into battle is a grave thing, and more so for a woman than a man. You challenge not only your foes but their sense of how the world is stitched together. You risk not only death but violation," said Father Christmas. "But women are as brave as men, and all people have the duty and the right to choose how to spend their time, their talent, and their faith. Therefore, Mary Pevensie, knowing all this: will you take up the sword, to live and die by its edge and honor? Or will you forge another path?"

Father Christmas balanced the sheathed blade across his palms.

Mary's free arm hovered uncertainly in the air. "Do you think...?" she said, half turning to face Stephen and Laurie. "Would it be...?"

Laurie nodded enthusiastically.

Stephen shrugged. "It's not our choice. Don't do what you think other people want. Do what you think is right. Remember?"

"What if I'm wrong?" asked Mary, but her eyes were fixed on the sword with naked longing.

Mr. Beaver cleared his throat. Mrs. Beaver stepped on his paw before he could say anything. "Hush," she whispered. "Let the girl choose her own story."

Mary took the sword.

She gripped it awkwardly in her right hand, the shield hanging loosely from her left arm, looking rather like a small girl playing dress-up in her father's clothes. And then a curious thing happened. As the others watched, she drew a deep breath and straightened. She buckled the sword around her waist and hung the shield on her back, over her borrowed coat. And of a sudden, the sword seemed to fit.

She looked, Stephen thought, like Mary again: the older sister he'd been searching for since she went off to school and came home twisting in on herself.

Laurie darted over and hugged her. "Merry Christmas," he said as Mary tugged him closer and ruffled his golden hair.

"You have chosen," said Father Christmas with a solemn air. "Bear your gifts well. The time to use them is perhaps near at hand. And now" -- here he suddenly looked less grave -- "here is something for the moment for you all!" He brought out (perhaps from the big bag at his back, but nobody quite saw him do it) a large tray containing five cups and saucers, a bowl of lump sugar, a jug of cream, and a great big teapot all sizzling and piping hot. Then he cried out, "Merry Christmas! Long live the true king!" and cracked his whip, and he and the reindeer and the sledge and all were out of sight before anyone realized that they had started.

Mary had just drawn her sword from its sheath and was looking at it in wonder when Mrs. Beaver said, "Now then, now then! Don't stand gawking there 'til the tea's got cold. Come and help to carry the tray down and we'll have breakfast. What a mercy I thought of bringing the bread knife."

So down the steep bank they went and back to the cave. Mr. Beaver cut some of the bread and ham into sandwiches, Mrs. Beaver poured out the tea, and they all enjoyed themselves. But Mary sat silent at the edge of the cave with the sunlight pouring over her shoulders and a solemn joy in her eyes, and long before the others had finished enjoying themselves, she said, "We should be moving on now."

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End of Story

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I wrote the bit from Father Christmas's speech to Mary up to Mrs. Beaver stepping on her husband's paw back in March, but only got around to the rest of the story tonight.

...

Incidentally, my pre-Narnia Mary character study (otherwise known as "How Does Your Garden Grow?") is now at 1,950 words. I just can't figure out how to tie it up properly, which is driving me nuts. Ah well, sooner or later it will come to me.

Comments

[theodosia21]

This is very interesting- thanks for posting!

[edenfalling]

Thank you!

[hungrytiger11.livejournal.com]

I fid your gender swap very interesting.

[edenfalling]

It is more of an intellectual thought experiment than a story, in a lot of ways, isn't it? Really, I wanted someone else to write it in epic form so I could get lost reading it for a day or two, but since nobody else seemed to be doing exactly what I wanted to read... eh. I am frequently guilty of committing meta in story form instead of writing organized essays. This is not out-of-pattern in the slightest. *wry*

[hungrytiger11.livejournal.com]

I am frequently guilty of committing meta in story form instead of writing organized essays.

I often find the most interesting stories probably start out like this because they have something to say :)

[rthstewart.livejournal.com]

Well,hooray for meta! a number of things that are especially striking -- how battles are ugly when children fight is a terrific way to re-phrase that very problematic language. Also, I really liked the line of how "You stand at a step back and watch over your family from behind." That is very evocative of Stephen's character and Susan's. Last, there is Mary and the challenge/offer that Father Christmas makes. This is as knowing a choice as Mary can make -- deliberate. There's less of the Monty Python-esque taking a sword from a watery tart and much more a sense of choice and destiny. The line about Mary choosing her own story is also a great one.

[edenfalling]

Thank you!

If I step sideways from myself, I think I see what Lewis was getting at with his "battles are ugly when women fight" business. First, he is invoking the idea of chivalry. Second, if women are fighting as well as men, for most of history that would imply that nobody is home to tend the fields and therefore we are in a total war scenario -- ugly by definition. Third, well, rape. (Men can be and are raped too, of course, but still.) Despite that, I still think it is massively patronizing and sexist, and denies Susan and Lucy free will. I hesitated for a bit over changing the line to "children," since Stephen and Mary are not exactly adults themselves, but it was the best workaround I could find. :-/

I liked tying the bow to Stephen's personality (and therefore Susan's personality) rather than tying it to Susan's sex and gender.

I very badly wanted to give Mary a choice -- a voice in her own destiny -- because she needed to regain her sense of purpose and the understanding that it was fine to be who she wanted to be, not who she thought the world was trying to make her be. And I have always liked the bits Aslan says in other books about telling people their own stories instead of anyone else's, so I liked echoing that phrasing here.

(On a completely different topic, I will try to catch up on "Harold and Morgan" this weekend, now that I seem to be back in a Narnian mood. I am really looking forward to reading about the Lone Islands!)

[rthstewart.livejournal.com]

I get all the reasons for the "battles are ugly" line -- I just like it better tying it to children rather than gender -- yes, product of time, midst of war, etc. etc. And yes, they are children too but Mary is making the choice, a very clear choice, as you presented it, so it does all tie up neatly.

As for H&M, that would be lovely, of course, if you are so inclined. My writing isn't for everyone and I've lost most of my original readers for whatever reasons and H&M has one of the oddest feedback patterns ever. I can't figure it out for the life of me.

[aishuu.livejournal.com]

Interesting. I know you were concentrating on Mary, but I found the change of meaning behind Stephen and Lawrence's gifts just as intriguing - it's very much about the intention of the giver (and Santa not being a chauvinist).

Swords are such phallic symbols that in a way, giving the sword to Mary is giving her the tools of a man.

[edenfalling]

If Laurie is male, then Father Christmas's rationale for him not fighting in the battle must be different from his rationale for Lucy not fighting. And that passage always made me spitting mad anyway, so I was quite happy to make Father Christmas not be a sexist jerk. :-) Also, I think the reasoning behind the bow -- that Stephen stands behind his family instead of fighting in the front lines -- is a personality assessment that fits Susan equally well.

For me, Mary choosing a typically male role is... Hmm. How to put this? Okay, forgive me for what I am sure will be bad phrasing.

The thing is, Mary is choosing an archetypal male role, but she's still female. She doesn't become a boy just because she can fight, or even because she likes to fight (for good causes). And that, right there, is interesting to me. Because how much of the role of "noble protector" is male because it is male, and how much is male just because we are conditioned to expect it to be acted out by men instead of women?

Actually, to bring your comment on "How Does Your Garden Grow?" into the mix, I think that is why I never considered the possibility of Mary being (or identifying as) trans. The point of this universe is that she's female and has Peter's personality and role anyway. It would be fascinating if she were trans, but that would take the story in a direction that negates half of what I'm trying to do. I want Mary and Edith to be strong and female, whatever roles they choose to express that strength, and I want them to succeed magnificently. I want Stephen to be gentle and male, and have that be okay. I want Laurie to be open and loving and male and have that be okay too.

I choose to think Aslan and Father Christmas would support that, whatever Lewis might have thought. :-)