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elen_nareTitle: Soldier of Calormen
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Horse and his Boy
Rating: G
Length: 704 words
Content notes: For the "cliche" challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fan_flashworks, specifically for the "First person narration", "Minor characters", "Journeys and quests", and "missing scenes" cliches.
Author notes: Unbeta'ed, so please point out any mistakes!
Summary: The story of Rabadash's attack on Narnia, as experienced by one of his soldiers.
I look around me in wonder as we speed across the desert, swift as the wind. How quickly life changes! A mere year ago I was but a farmer’s second son, seeking a trade to support myself, for the farm must go to my brother. Then my riding skills caught the eye of a passing Tarkaan, who urged me to become a soldier. And now? Now I ride with two hundred others, following Prince Rabadash as he storms Narnia to retrieve his bride. Truly the Tisroc, may he live for ever, has a son to be proud of – and there is not a soldier in all the Calormene Empire who would not give all to ride behind him. I hope that I shall give my family reason to be proud of me in the battles to come.
I wonder what awaits us at the end of our journey? I think of the stories and legends I have heard. Some of the oldest speak of an evil sorceress, who held Narnia in a spell of ice and snow, until she was defeated by the Kings and Queens who now rule there. If it is indeed true, and not merely a myth made up to scare children, then these Kings and Queens must be powerful indeed – and it is said that a terrible lion-demon supports them. For a second I shiver, then remember who I am; a soldier of Calormen, favoured of the great Tash, from whom all demons flee. There is no reason for fear, for assuredly we shall triumph.
******
Thud. Thud. Thud. The battering ram strikes the castle gates again and again, and I see them shiver under the blows, but they still stand firm. The barbarians shoot down at those nearest the walls, but the arrows bounce off their upheld shields, and the rest of us are out of range.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Surely the gates must fall soon? My horse moves impatiently beneath me, and I whisper soothing words.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The monotonous sound is broken suddenly, not by the crash of breaking wood we await, but by the cry of another soldier.
“Look to the ridge! The Narnians attack!”
I turn my mount, and my heart seems to stop. Pouring over the ridge comes a veritable army. There are many horsemen, but it is not they who strike fear into my very soul. Rather it is the monsters with them; the half human half beast horrors, the demons in the form of beasts, and most terrible of all the towering giants. I had thought giants but myths, stories to frighten the gullible, but they are all too real as they charge towards us.
The Prince and the Tarkaans shout orders, and I shake off my confusion, readying to meet the Narnian charge.
The battle is joined, and I find there are many things the old tales neglected to tell. They did not speak of the pale barbarians’ skill with their strange straight blades. They did not tell of the accuracy of their archers. They did not say that their women also rode to war, yet I can see one leading the archers – the younger Queen, I guess, wondering at her brother allowing it, and am deeply grateful that my own sisters need follow no such barbaric custom. The old tales did speak of the giants’ ferocity, but did not reveal their cunning. They told the animal-demons spoke like men, but did not say they fought with speed and strength no man could ever hope to match.
And in one aspect, at least, the legends outright lied. For we have all been told that the army of the ever-living Tisroc is invincible, but as the demon cats speed towards us, all I can see says that we have lost. I wonder how many other lies we have been told.
******
There was at least one more lie, I think, as we ride slowly back in defeat. It is said that the barbarians and their demons show no mercy, yet – though I still feel the hot breath of the leopard on my face, though I still hear its growling, inhuman voice commanding my surrender – I live.
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Horse and his Boy
Rating: G
Length: 704 words
Content notes: For the "cliche" challenge at
fan_flashworks, specifically for the "First person narration", "Minor characters", "Journeys and quests", and "missing scenes" cliches.Author notes: Unbeta'ed, so please point out any mistakes!
Summary: The story of Rabadash's attack on Narnia, as experienced by one of his soldiers.
I look around me in wonder as we speed across the desert, swift as the wind. How quickly life changes! A mere year ago I was but a farmer’s second son, seeking a trade to support myself, for the farm must go to my brother. Then my riding skills caught the eye of a passing Tarkaan, who urged me to become a soldier. And now? Now I ride with two hundred others, following Prince Rabadash as he storms Narnia to retrieve his bride. Truly the Tisroc, may he live for ever, has a son to be proud of – and there is not a soldier in all the Calormene Empire who would not give all to ride behind him. I hope that I shall give my family reason to be proud of me in the battles to come.
I wonder what awaits us at the end of our journey? I think of the stories and legends I have heard. Some of the oldest speak of an evil sorceress, who held Narnia in a spell of ice and snow, until she was defeated by the Kings and Queens who now rule there. If it is indeed true, and not merely a myth made up to scare children, then these Kings and Queens must be powerful indeed – and it is said that a terrible lion-demon supports them. For a second I shiver, then remember who I am; a soldier of Calormen, favoured of the great Tash, from whom all demons flee. There is no reason for fear, for assuredly we shall triumph.
Thud. Thud. Thud. The battering ram strikes the castle gates again and again, and I see them shiver under the blows, but they still stand firm. The barbarians shoot down at those nearest the walls, but the arrows bounce off their upheld shields, and the rest of us are out of range.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Surely the gates must fall soon? My horse moves impatiently beneath me, and I whisper soothing words.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The monotonous sound is broken suddenly, not by the crash of breaking wood we await, but by the cry of another soldier.
“Look to the ridge! The Narnians attack!”
I turn my mount, and my heart seems to stop. Pouring over the ridge comes a veritable army. There are many horsemen, but it is not they who strike fear into my very soul. Rather it is the monsters with them; the half human half beast horrors, the demons in the form of beasts, and most terrible of all the towering giants. I had thought giants but myths, stories to frighten the gullible, but they are all too real as they charge towards us.
The Prince and the Tarkaans shout orders, and I shake off my confusion, readying to meet the Narnian charge.
The battle is joined, and I find there are many things the old tales neglected to tell. They did not speak of the pale barbarians’ skill with their strange straight blades. They did not tell of the accuracy of their archers. They did not say that their women also rode to war, yet I can see one leading the archers – the younger Queen, I guess, wondering at her brother allowing it, and am deeply grateful that my own sisters need follow no such barbaric custom. The old tales did speak of the giants’ ferocity, but did not reveal their cunning. They told the animal-demons spoke like men, but did not say they fought with speed and strength no man could ever hope to match.
And in one aspect, at least, the legends outright lied. For we have all been told that the army of the ever-living Tisroc is invincible, but as the demon cats speed towards us, all I can see says that we have lost. I wonder how many other lies we have been told.
There was at least one more lie, I think, as we ride slowly back in defeat. It is said that the barbarians and their demons show no mercy, yet – though I still feel the hot breath of the leopard on my face, though I still hear its growling, inhuman voice commanding my surrender – I live.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-10-02 10:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-02 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-06 06:14 pm (UTC)They did not say that their women also rode to war, yet I can see one leading the archers – the younger Queen, I guess, wondering at her brother allowing it, and am deeply grateful that my own sisters need follow no such barbaric custom.
Interesting cultural perspective here...I wonder what his sisters would think if allowed to speak for themselves?
I really like the way you took the thoughts of one soldier in a vast army and humanized him, making us feel sympathy for him.
The last line...*shiver* Yikes. Mercy or not? I can't decide.
no subject
Date: 2012-10-09 03:04 am (UTC)"I wonder what his sisters would think if allowed to speak for themselves?"
That's a very good question... though I suppose since they live in that same culture, they'd be horrified at the idea too. It's actually somewhat intriguing that Lucy fights, since there don't seem to be any other women in the Narnian army (not humans, at least), and in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, she and Susan are given weapons only for self-defense, not for battle - because, in the words of Father Christmas, "battles are ugly when women fight". Possibly Lewis changed his mind on that? *suppresses plot bunnies attempting to emerge - I already have two unwritten fics eating my head, I don't need more!*
I'm glad you liked how I wrote from one soldier's POV - the Calormenes do get treated as a nameless crowd quite a bit in canon, so it was interesting trying to isolate how one individual might have thought and felt.
" Mercy or not? I can't decide." I'm curious - why can't you decide?
no subject
Date: 2012-10-09 05:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-15 02:48 am (UTC)