the deep moans round with many voices

Summary: Mountain dreams were meant for the young, those old enough to no longer be children, but young enough to not yet have children of their own. Navila got hers when she was twenty-seven: married, widowed, and mother of three. [455 words]

Note: Written 10/16/20 in response to the fan_flashworks challenge: nightmare.

As per the community rules, this post will just be a link to the fic text on fan_flashworks until the current challenge closes on October 20, at which point I will move the actual ficlet over here. But for now, a link: Mountain Dream

( Mountain Dream )

For reference, this is loosely set in an original world that I don't think I've ever talked about on this journal. It exists mostly in a litany of deities and some fragmentary worldbuilding.

The litany is as follows:

These are the gods of Tenich Valley:
Corgan who sits in her cave alone
Hopal in whose footsteps flowers grow
Elisu who is brother to water
Najia who brings the night
Merimadhu who speaks with birds
Morgada whose smile is like the sun
Sennone by whose hand the hungry are fed
And Kemmess who walks among the stars

As for the worldbuilding, for now I'll just say that Kemmess walking among the stars is 100% literal and not a trick necessarily restricted to deities, and Simjia Mountain is very important to the people of the Valley for reasons that merely start with Corgan's cave being set near its peak. The other symbolically important mountain is the Pilgrim's Horn; together, those peaks flank the main pass into the Valley.

And someday, I will actually work out a proper story to set in this world because dammit, the worldbuilding is really cool and it would be a crying shame not to do something equally cool to showcase it. *wry*

Misc fic/worldbuilding stuff I was thinking about while falling asleep last night:

The last rulers of Narnia before Jadis takes over are Queen Beacon and King Rue. She's the ruling queen; he's technically King Consort. For various reasons there was growing anti-Human sentiment among the Beasts and Beings and a desire for Narnia to be a human-free land like the Western Wild. Some of this was homegrown, but the Lady of the Green Kirtle (acting on Jadis's behalf) stirred that into a much stronger and more ideologically strident movement than might otherwise have existed. There was unrest and some local violent outbreaks before the Tree of Protection got chopped down.

Other members of the royal family between Frank & Helen and the disaster include:

-several other Franks and Helens (because why mess with a good thing)
-King Halfdan
-Queen Maude (probably more than one)
-Queen Bobbin, her sister Needle, and her brother Thread
-Queen Hickory
-King Meadowsweet
-King Cadwallader (because look, Archenland's Welsh flavor had to come from somewhere)
-Queen Artemisia

Then I started wondering if there might have been a King Robin, which lead me on to Robin Goodfellow and whether Puck and Shakespeare-type fairy courts might have a presence in Narnia, which is a fascinating topic I want to explore at some later time. :D

And then there was some other stuff that's more directly relevant to the story I've been beating my head against for the past month, so I won't post about that here. :DDD

While the first ficathon post, is still open for fills and comments, there is also a second post for new prompts if you want to keep playing. :)

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( 31. ) For reccyls: Any fandom, any characters, let's do this again sometime, written 1/9/19 [AO3 version]

Make New Friends (125 words)

Rose would be the first to admit she was skeptical of Jade's efforts to introduce all her friends to each other -- friendship, despite many people's irrational belief, is not an inherently transitive property, and she doesn't think she has much in common with people who frequent furry sites and terrible webcomics, or forums devoted to pranks or coding experiments, respectively -- and yet, she finds herself smiling more than she's done in months as she watches red, blue, and green text mingle on her screen; it's frustrating that the tyranny of time zones forces her to be the first to depart.

TT: I reiterate my assessment that you all need extensive therapy to resolve your myriad psychological woes, but that aside, I suppose you're not terrible company.
TT: Let's do this again sometime.

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( 32. ) For anonymous: Any, any, flu season, written 1/9/19 [AO3 version]

Zoonosis (125 words)

"I wasn't aware that anyone besides humans could catch the flu," Peter said in a puzzled tone, "but certainly, we'll do our best to organize the distribution of simples to the outlying settlements."

"Oh, it won't be necessary for all of them," said Blackbristle the Sow, squinting up toward the four thrones, "since you're quite right that most diseases stay within specific peoples, but we Swine, and many of the Cattle, and almost all of the Talking Birds do fall ill with our own types of influenza. I don't know if you've ever had to deal with a litter of sneezing, feverish Piglets, but I'd prefer not to suffer through that again, to say nothing of the time we were stuck hosting a whole flock of flu-stricken Geese."

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( 33. ) For inkpaws: Any, any, You Hit Rock Bottom As Soon as You Stop Digging, written 1/9/19 [AO3 version]

I want a shot at redemption (100 words exactly)

The first step to fixing things is to stop making them worse, everyone says, and okay, Vriska can admit that that's logical -- you don't reach sunlight by digging a deeper hole -- but see, if you're already so deep you're halfway through the planet, climbing out would take half of forever plus who wants to trip over all the endless reminders of your failures.

And planets are round; so if you keep on digging, eventually you've got to break through to daylight on the other side of the world, and that has to be more worthwhile than giving up, right?

Right????????

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( 34. ) For anonymous: Any, any, ramming speed, written 1/10/19 [AO3 version]

Folk Etymology of Naval Jargon (100 words exactly)

Note: Slightly edited from the version on the Ficathon page.

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"I'm fairly sure 'ramming speed' has to do with crashing one boat into another bow-first, not with, well, that," Peter said absently, one hand hooked around a stay to compensate for any abrupt motions of their ship.

"I suspect you're right, at least in the other place," Edmund said from his perch in the rigging, "but you can't deny it's effective."

Across the narrow channel, a Narnian skiff pulled alongside yet another pirate ship just long enough for its contingent of Bears to launch a pair of Rams onto the larger vessel's deck, tripling both the chaos and the screaming.

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( 35. ) For adaeze: any crossover, any, subterranean rivers, written 1/10/19 [AO3 version]

Here There Is Life (200 words exactly)

Note: The crossover is Snow White and Meredith Ann Pierce's Darkangel Trilogy.

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"I've never seen so much water," Winterock said as she followed the seven duaroughs down into the tunnels, away from Solstar's blazing light and the softer, blue-green glimmer of Oceanus, "not even when the Aeriel and her shadow came to repair the Ancient magic that seeds the skies with rain, and my father's second wife ordered the condensation gathered and piped into a fountain for her pleasure."

The duaroughs exchanged indulgent smiles as they led the way along the bank of the shining, rushing river, toward a doorway carved in the stone that opened on a warm, sand-paved cavern with a hearth, a long trestle table, and several further doorways whose mouths were covered with bright-colored cloths for privacy, and strings of beads and chimes to blend the illusion of leaf-rustle and bird-song into the river's laughing chatter.

"It took all the Ancients' wisdom to kindle and sustain life on our world's surface," said the youngest duarough, a sturdy woman with hairpins shaped to look like golden pickaxes, "but here underground, life has always welled more easily; and so too has magic, so put aside your fears of your step-mother's anger and let us show you how to relearn joy."

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( 36. ) For alexseanchai: any, ambition, anxiety, adrenaline, written 1/10/19 [AO3 version]

Stewardship (175 words)

Note: Evelyn Scrapemoss is the same person mentioned in The Golden Age: A Historical and Cultural Survey.

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"I still say this is a terrible idea, sister, and it will end in civil war," Edraed hissed in Evelyn's ear as they waited in the entry chamber just off the Great Hall's dais in Cair Paravel, while their herald droned through the reading of the omens; "Why couldn't you have more reasonable ambitions?"

"Because politics is about ideas and images as much as cold iron, good roads, and rich harvests, and it does Narnia no good to let the world mock us for groveling before our past as if the Pevensies may yet return," Evelyn muttered in return, only the bloodless pallor of her clenched fingers betraying her nerves, "besides which I am queen in all but name already, so why not make it true in law as well as practice?"

The herald reached the end of her speech before Edraed could answer, and Evelyn Scrapemoss, First of Her Name, swept forward through tumultuous waves of both cheers and protests to take her new crown in both hands, and place it upon her brow.

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And I think that's it for me for this iteration of the ficathon. Thirty-six ficlets is a nice, satisfying number, and while there are two prompts that still have stories itching in the back of my head, those are both ideas that will take a lot more than three sentences to do justice. *wry* We'll see if anything comes of them... but even if not, this has been a pretty good run.

I'm looking forward to next time! :)

If I had the time, the focus, and a whole bunch more knowledge about sailing than I do, here is a story I would like to write:

In the first chaotic year of the Telmarine conquest of Narnia, a young woman -- Margaret, called Maggie -- of Fensmouth (the small port at the mouth of the Shribble) decides that her country is dying and if Aslan won't come on his own to save it, she will go find him. After all, the gods help those who help themselves, right? And if something is blocking him, perhaps he needs a mortal to lend a hand, the way the Pevensies helped bring down the White Witch.

So she gets into a boat and heads east. Probably she has a few companions at the start, but one by one they drop away -- maybe one stays in the Seven Isles, maybe another one is caught by slavers in the Lone Islands, maybe one gets eaten by a dragon; maybe some mutiny and turn back and Maggie has to build herself a new, smaller, less seaworthy boat and continue alone. It is an impossible quest. But she keeps going out of sheer bloody-mindedness, until she reaches the uttermost east, where the waters turn sweet and strange new stars appear in the sky: the eternal stars of Aslan's country shining through the border into the mundane world.

She lands on Ramandu's island.

Ramandu tells her Aslan won't come until the appointed time. And Maggie, who has come all this long way, clinging to the hope that she can save her country, clinging to her faith, despairs.

It's a very long winter.

But spring comes again, and though Ramandu is very strange and inhuman, he does his best to be kind. He asks Maggie what stories humans tell about the stars and their dance (navigators have to know a fair bit of practical astronomy), and tells her what the heavens are like from a first-person perspective. She asks him how the stars know what future to foreshadow in their patterns, and tells him what the earth and sea are like for the people who live there instead of seeing the world whole and peaceful from miles in the air.

I don't think they actually have sex. Probably Maggie has some kind of grievous accident while working to repair her boat and/or going diving in the shoals around the island. Maybe some kind of encounter with the fierce sea people? Anyway, Ramandu heals her via sharing some of his light, and he misjudges slightly since he's not used to working with humans. Hey presto, one mystical pregnancy.

Maggie is extremely ambivalent about the whole thing. Ramandu is also extremely ambivalent, but he's pretty sure there must be a reason behind it. They have a bunch of arguments on the subject.

Eventually Maggie gives birth to a daughter, whom Ramandu names Tarazeth. (I think Maggie asked him to provide the name, so she wouldn't have to deal with that emotional morass.) She's a strange child, only half-human. She knows things without being taught, and she grows to maturity within a month. (Stars, you see, are born at a certain age and only change very gradually thereafter. Ramandu was created old.) Maggie finds her daughter unnerving, does her best to love her anyway, and eventually concludes that she has to leave the island.

"Will you return to Narnia and work for its freedom?" Tarazeth asks.

"Don't you and your father already know the answer?" Maggie says.

Tarazeth shakes her head. "Mortals are of the world and so follow its patterns, but your great gift and curse is the ability to choose your own steps and so refashion the dance."

"Your gift as well," Maggie says. "Don't forget. You're my daughter as much as his. You get to choose your own path, too."

Tarazeth nods silently.

"I sail east," Maggie says after a minute. "There's nothing I can do in Narnia that a hundred other people aren't already doing. There's no telling if I'd even reach its shores; getting here should have killed me a dozen times over. But I can sail east and remind Aslan that the world isn't pure and whole when you're living on the ground, that grand plans grind people to dust no matter how elegant or necessary they may be.

"They say that before the Witch grew proud and usurped the throne, she was Narnia's hangman, the accuser who brought traitors to court. Well, I say I'll step into her shoes and hold Aslan to account until the day my people breathe free once more. And if he won't let me into his land, knowing what I mean to say, then he's no god of mine and I'll take whatever fate I find beyond the edge of the world."

She pauses. "Do you hate me for that? Trusting in plans, as you and your father do?"

"Someday I hope to be half as brave as you," Tarazeth says instead of answering directly, and tucks her head into her mother's shoulder to hide the tears as they embrace one last time.

Maggie sets sail to the east. Tarazeth watches until her ship fades into the dazzle of sun on the silver lilies.

Nobody ever hears from her again.

I spent last night sort of idly spinning ideas for a Daredevil A/B/O fic of the sudden-change-inflicted-on-a-previously-normal-world type (because A/B/O is one of my bingo card squares, and I think one of the best ways to get to grips with a trope is to try writing it) and...

Well. Occasionally it becomes really obvious that I'm asexual, because I drifted off into alien retroviruses transmitted via magic spells, three-caste social pack systems and their awkward overlay on human sexual dimorphism, varying development/exhibition of A/B/O traits based on the presence or absence of a more socially dominant member of one's caste (similar to arrested development of secondary sex characteristics in male orangutans, because that's always struck me as fascinating), and the whole porn aspect got almost completely lost along the way. I had to keep reminding myself that hey, there's supposed to be a sex thing here, right? This is a porn trope, right?

Apparently my hindbrain disagrees!

Possessive behavior, sure. Pheromones, sure. Marking bites, sure. People dealing with bodies gone strange and unfamiliar, sure. I am totally into that stuff. But bluntly, I don't often find sex especially sexy. Power and fangs and stuff like that are way the hell more of a turn-on, as is found family, pack bonding, and people renegotiating social relationships. Meanwhile, sex qua sex can go hang for all I care; I do not need to interrupt my delicious plot and character dynamics with random bedroom grunting. *wry*