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edenfallingMore Narnia genderswap! This is set the year before the Pevensies go to Narnia the first time, as should be obvious from the title. (Apparently Lewis wrote a semi-official timeline at some point, claiming that Peter was born in 1927, Susan in 1928, Edmund in 1930, and Lucy in 1932, which means that here Mary is twelve, Stephen eleven, Edith nine, and Laurie seven.) Stephen POV, because family dynamics are fun and unreliable narrators are even better -- as you can see, comparing this story to Fester Like a Sore, Stephen and Edith interpret the same basic situation somewhat differently.
I wrote this longhand at work tonight -- it was a very slow evening! -- then typed it up when I got home, doing a quick edit as I went. (1,250 words)
[ETA: The AO3 crosspost is now up!]
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Summer of '39
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Mother and Mary were fighting again, standing at either end of the narrow kitchen hurling glares and furious not-quite-whispers at each other. Stephen weighed the risks of getting between them and decided he didn't need a glass of water that badly after all. It would be simpler and safer to cup his hands under the faucet in the upstairs bathroom instead.
He let the door inch shut and turned back toward the stairs.
Edith and Laurie had followed him down, but had stopped halfway, sitting on the stairs and watching the kitchen door. Laurie was fretting, chewing on his thumbnail. Edith sat two steps above him, her legs spread to either side and her hands resting on Laurie's shoulders.
"You've only been home two days -- can't Mary try not to upset Mother?" Edith asked as Stephen sat on the step below Laurie. "What set her off this time?" She sounded more sour than ever.
"Don't be too hard on Mary," Stephen said reflexively. "It takes two people to fight."
"Mother only wants what's best for us," Edith said, glaring at the kitchen door as if she could make Mary stop arguing with nothing but her mind and will.
"Mother loves us," Stephen agreed. "But I think Mary won't stay home today." She'd had the tense set to her shoulders that said if she didn't leave she might explode.
Edith's scowl deepened. "She said she'd play hide and seek with Laurie and me. I shouldn't have believed her. She's always running away and leaving us."
"But she still loves us, right?" Laurie asked, tilting his head back to look at Edith. "She came and sang me a lullaby when I had a bad dream at Easter. She wouldn't do that if she didn't love us, right?"
For a long second Edith looked as if she'd bitten into a rotting lemon. Then she dredged up the fool's gold smile she'd started hiding behind, and patted Laurie's shoulder. "Of course she loves us. We all love you, Laurie. Don't worry about that -- Mary's just getting too old to play hide and seek anymore."
With that, Edith stood abruptly and dusted off her pleated skirt. "Come on, let's go out to the garden. It's too nice a day to sit around waiting for Mary when we can play hide and seek just as well on our own."
"It's more fun with more people," Laurie said, but he stood and took Edith's hand obediently. "Will you play with us?" he asked Stephen. "You're not too old yet, are you?"
Stephen glanced back toward the kitchen door. Mother was still whispering, but Mary was starting to shout, the anger in her voice clearly audible though the words themselves were still blurred by wood and distance. She'd break and run any minute now.
"Not today," Stephen said. "Why don't you ask the Bennett brothers if they want to join you?"
The garden door slammed, hard enough to rattle the good china in the display cupboard.
Edith drew herself up stiff and proud. "Fine. Go after Mary instead of staying with us. See if I care." She tugged Laurie down the stairs and through the parlor toward the front door. As she turned the knob, she called over her shoulder, "Tell Mother I'm taking Laurie to the Bennetts' house and we'll be back for lunch."
Laurie waved to Stephen as he and Edith vanished outside into the sunshine of early summer.
Stephen waited a minute after his little sister and brother left, then cautiously pushed open the kitchen door. Mother was sitting on a stepstool, her head in her hands and a half-empty tumbler of gin on the counter beside her, but she looked up and composed herself when she heard the door knock softly against the wall. "Oh, Stephen," she said. "How are you? What do you need?"
"I'm fine," Stephen said. "I only want a glass of water, then I'm going out. Edith wants me to tell you that she and Laurie went to the Bennetts' house until lunch."
He meant to get the water himself, but Mother stood, pulled a glass from a cabinet, filled it at the sink, and handed it to him. He didn't protest -- if she wanted to take care of him, that was fine.
"Thank you for passing on the message," Mother said. She watched Stephen drink his water with a pensive expression, her tumbler cradled between her hands.
"I'll bring Mary home for supper," Stephen said. "She'll be fine." Mother looked stricken, and he added, "You know she doesn't mean what she says to you."
Mother laughed without humor, putting on a pretty mask for him like Edith did for Laurie. "She may not mean all of it, but she means enough. I don't know where your father and I went wrong -- I try and I try, but she keeps shutting me out. Thank you for watching over her. I don't know what I'd do without you, or without Edith looking after Laurie."
Stephen set his glass in the sink and shrugged, uncomfortable at the implied slight to his older sister. "Mary watches over me as well." And Edith might be less bitter if Mother told her she was doing a good job taking care of Laurie, instead of just trusting her to be good. But if he said that he'd only start his own argument, and he didn't want to upset his family more than they already were.
He kissed Mother on the cheek and hurried out the garden door and over the wall into the alley before she could call him back. If he was lucky, Mary would be waiting. If he wasn't, she would be long gone and he'd have to spend all day wandering the streets and parks until he found her, dirty and bloody and wrung out enough to sit still through Mother's worry and Father's lectures during supper.
Today he was lucky: Mary was waiting in the alley, perched on their neighbors' half-filled rubbish bin. She smiled when Stephen landed on the dusty pavement.
"Took you long enough," she said, folding her arms in false haughtiness.
"I wanted a drink," Stephen said, folding his own arms and leaning against the garden wall. "What are we doing today?"
Mary shrugged. "Who knows? It's our first proper day of summer holidays. Let's look for adventure and see what finds us." She slid off the rubbish bin and strode down the alley, the rolled-up cuffs of Father's trousers flapping around the tops of her stolen boots.
Stephen thought for a moment about telling Mary that Laurie worried she didn't love him anymore, that Edith was starting to hate her, that Mother was drinking Father's gin earlier and earlier in the day, that Father had pulled Stephen aside last night to ask if Mary might be getting 'ideas' about any of the neighborhood boys...
"Stop that," Mary said, interrupting his thoughts. "Whatever you want to tell me, save it for later. I can't worry about anyone else right now. I need to run. Are you coming with me?"
His big sister stood in the mouth of the alley, haloed by the midmorning sun, shining like the fearless girl who knew the answers to all of Stephen's questions, who would never let him be hurt, who would always watch over him. She looked like Mary again, even if it was an illusion. Even if it wouldn't last.
"Always," Stephen said, and ran out into the freedom of summer.
Mary passed him after a moment, her golden hair streaming behind her like a beacon. Stephen followed as he always did.
Just for now, he could pretend everything would be all right.
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End of Story
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Stephen isn't a mother figure like Susan, but he's still a peacemaker of sorts. He does this mostly by not saying things, which is not always helpful in the long run, but it does keep him on speaking terms with everyone, and means he doesn't spark fights... except occasionally with Edith, who wants him to pick a side (preferably hers) and stay there, and doesn't always manage to bite her tongue and play "good daughter" when she's really angry.
I think Stephen and Mary are somewhat closer than Susan and Peter, because Stephen looks to Mary as an example in a way that Susan never looked to Peter. This also means that Stephen doesn't look after Laurie the way Susan sometimes looked after Lucy; that's Edith's job, which she alternately embraces and resents.
...
I still need a name for this, and I cannot think of a good one. *sulks*
I wrote this longhand at work tonight -- it was a very slow evening! -- then typed it up when I got home, doing a quick edit as I went. (1,250 words)
[ETA: The AO3 crosspost is now up!]
---------------------------------------------
Summer of '39
---------------------------------------------
Mother and Mary were fighting again, standing at either end of the narrow kitchen hurling glares and furious not-quite-whispers at each other. Stephen weighed the risks of getting between them and decided he didn't need a glass of water that badly after all. It would be simpler and safer to cup his hands under the faucet in the upstairs bathroom instead.
He let the door inch shut and turned back toward the stairs.
Edith and Laurie had followed him down, but had stopped halfway, sitting on the stairs and watching the kitchen door. Laurie was fretting, chewing on his thumbnail. Edith sat two steps above him, her legs spread to either side and her hands resting on Laurie's shoulders.
"You've only been home two days -- can't Mary try not to upset Mother?" Edith asked as Stephen sat on the step below Laurie. "What set her off this time?" She sounded more sour than ever.
"Don't be too hard on Mary," Stephen said reflexively. "It takes two people to fight."
"Mother only wants what's best for us," Edith said, glaring at the kitchen door as if she could make Mary stop arguing with nothing but her mind and will.
"Mother loves us," Stephen agreed. "But I think Mary won't stay home today." She'd had the tense set to her shoulders that said if she didn't leave she might explode.
Edith's scowl deepened. "She said she'd play hide and seek with Laurie and me. I shouldn't have believed her. She's always running away and leaving us."
"But she still loves us, right?" Laurie asked, tilting his head back to look at Edith. "She came and sang me a lullaby when I had a bad dream at Easter. She wouldn't do that if she didn't love us, right?"
For a long second Edith looked as if she'd bitten into a rotting lemon. Then she dredged up the fool's gold smile she'd started hiding behind, and patted Laurie's shoulder. "Of course she loves us. We all love you, Laurie. Don't worry about that -- Mary's just getting too old to play hide and seek anymore."
With that, Edith stood abruptly and dusted off her pleated skirt. "Come on, let's go out to the garden. It's too nice a day to sit around waiting for Mary when we can play hide and seek just as well on our own."
"It's more fun with more people," Laurie said, but he stood and took Edith's hand obediently. "Will you play with us?" he asked Stephen. "You're not too old yet, are you?"
Stephen glanced back toward the kitchen door. Mother was still whispering, but Mary was starting to shout, the anger in her voice clearly audible though the words themselves were still blurred by wood and distance. She'd break and run any minute now.
"Not today," Stephen said. "Why don't you ask the Bennett brothers if they want to join you?"
The garden door slammed, hard enough to rattle the good china in the display cupboard.
Edith drew herself up stiff and proud. "Fine. Go after Mary instead of staying with us. See if I care." She tugged Laurie down the stairs and through the parlor toward the front door. As she turned the knob, she called over her shoulder, "Tell Mother I'm taking Laurie to the Bennetts' house and we'll be back for lunch."
Laurie waved to Stephen as he and Edith vanished outside into the sunshine of early summer.
Stephen waited a minute after his little sister and brother left, then cautiously pushed open the kitchen door. Mother was sitting on a stepstool, her head in her hands and a half-empty tumbler of gin on the counter beside her, but she looked up and composed herself when she heard the door knock softly against the wall. "Oh, Stephen," she said. "How are you? What do you need?"
"I'm fine," Stephen said. "I only want a glass of water, then I'm going out. Edith wants me to tell you that she and Laurie went to the Bennetts' house until lunch."
He meant to get the water himself, but Mother stood, pulled a glass from a cabinet, filled it at the sink, and handed it to him. He didn't protest -- if she wanted to take care of him, that was fine.
"Thank you for passing on the message," Mother said. She watched Stephen drink his water with a pensive expression, her tumbler cradled between her hands.
"I'll bring Mary home for supper," Stephen said. "She'll be fine." Mother looked stricken, and he added, "You know she doesn't mean what she says to you."
Mother laughed without humor, putting on a pretty mask for him like Edith did for Laurie. "She may not mean all of it, but she means enough. I don't know where your father and I went wrong -- I try and I try, but she keeps shutting me out. Thank you for watching over her. I don't know what I'd do without you, or without Edith looking after Laurie."
Stephen set his glass in the sink and shrugged, uncomfortable at the implied slight to his older sister. "Mary watches over me as well." And Edith might be less bitter if Mother told her she was doing a good job taking care of Laurie, instead of just trusting her to be good. But if he said that he'd only start his own argument, and he didn't want to upset his family more than they already were.
He kissed Mother on the cheek and hurried out the garden door and over the wall into the alley before she could call him back. If he was lucky, Mary would be waiting. If he wasn't, she would be long gone and he'd have to spend all day wandering the streets and parks until he found her, dirty and bloody and wrung out enough to sit still through Mother's worry and Father's lectures during supper.
Today he was lucky: Mary was waiting in the alley, perched on their neighbors' half-filled rubbish bin. She smiled when Stephen landed on the dusty pavement.
"Took you long enough," she said, folding her arms in false haughtiness.
"I wanted a drink," Stephen said, folding his own arms and leaning against the garden wall. "What are we doing today?"
Mary shrugged. "Who knows? It's our first proper day of summer holidays. Let's look for adventure and see what finds us." She slid off the rubbish bin and strode down the alley, the rolled-up cuffs of Father's trousers flapping around the tops of her stolen boots.
Stephen thought for a moment about telling Mary that Laurie worried she didn't love him anymore, that Edith was starting to hate her, that Mother was drinking Father's gin earlier and earlier in the day, that Father had pulled Stephen aside last night to ask if Mary might be getting 'ideas' about any of the neighborhood boys...
"Stop that," Mary said, interrupting his thoughts. "Whatever you want to tell me, save it for later. I can't worry about anyone else right now. I need to run. Are you coming with me?"
His big sister stood in the mouth of the alley, haloed by the midmorning sun, shining like the fearless girl who knew the answers to all of Stephen's questions, who would never let him be hurt, who would always watch over him. She looked like Mary again, even if it was an illusion. Even if it wouldn't last.
"Always," Stephen said, and ran out into the freedom of summer.
Mary passed him after a moment, her golden hair streaming behind her like a beacon. Stephen followed as he always did.
Just for now, he could pretend everything would be all right.
---------------------------------------------
End of Story
---------------------------------------------
Stephen isn't a mother figure like Susan, but he's still a peacemaker of sorts. He does this mostly by not saying things, which is not always helpful in the long run, but it does keep him on speaking terms with everyone, and means he doesn't spark fights... except occasionally with Edith, who wants him to pick a side (preferably hers) and stay there, and doesn't always manage to bite her tongue and play "good daughter" when she's really angry.
I think Stephen and Mary are somewhat closer than Susan and Peter, because Stephen looks to Mary as an example in a way that Susan never looked to Peter. This also means that Stephen doesn't look after Laurie the way Susan sometimes looked after Lucy; that's Edith's job, which she alternately embraces and resents.
...
I still need a name for this, and I cannot think of a good one. *sulks*
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(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-15 02:37 am (UTC)I think my core concern with Mary is that she doesn't seem to have the value of family that is so heavily embedded in Peter. Peter can be a prat (at least in LWW), but I tend to look more toward his archetype... which is why I had such issues with the Prince Caspian film.
Very much love Edith, though.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-15 03:48 am (UTC)Stephen has a lot of Susan's tendency to accept the status quo and kind of flow along with it -- a passive temperament, if you will. It's interesting to think of how that might play out in a boy instead of a girl. Also (and this will come up when they get to Narnia, assuming I keep writing this AU), he does not like fighting or killing. He will fight, especially under Mary's command, but war is never his forte.
I am surprised by how easy it is to write Edith, actually -- she's by far the most distinct of the four siblings at the moment, though I am working on the others. Laurie, oddly enough, is the most vague, perhaps because he's the least obviously different from his canon counterpart.