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So here's another scene from the Narnia/ASOIAF fic I'm not writing, where Susan ends up at the Wall, when Jon Snow finds and sounds her horn...
Susan looked at Satin, kneeling opposite her on the other side of Jon's body, a shocked look on his face. "Hold his head up," she ordered, pulling the stopper from the bottle, praying that the cordial would work in this world, cursing the fates that this was how she must find out. One hand she slid around Jon's neck, slippery with blood, but thank the gods, she could still feel his pulse, weak and thready under her fingertips. Her other hand tilted the bottle, which glittered in the firelight like the ice of the Wall. She watched as a single drop of the blood-red liquid fell into his open mouth. And then all she could do was wait.
"Jon, please, Jon…" She might have prayed, but her god turned his back on her long ago, and the gods in this world didn't know her. His name and the plea was enough. It was all she had, and it had to be enough.
It felt like an eternity she waited, but it was the space between one heartbeat and the next, and then Jon coughed weakly and his eyes fluttered open. He stared up at her, and his look was confused and frightened, and filled with pain. Susan felt like laughing, like crying, but she just murmured, "It's all right, my darling, it's all right," as she felt the wound closing under her fingers. "It hurts, I know, but it'll be done soon. Close your eyes, you need to rest."
Jon's eyes slipped shut, and Susan knew from experience with the cordial that it wasn't out of obedience to her words. The healing — especially from a wound as grave as this — takes a toll on the body, and she had never known anyone to remain awake during it. She remembered how Edmund slept for almost a week one time, a sleep so deep they were afraid he might never wake, after being nearly crushed to death by a giant's hammer. And she knew that sleep was the only thing that kepr the pain of the injuries healing away.
She looked up to see Satin staring sorrowfully at her, and she realized he thought she was offering Jon a final comfort, that Jon was slipping away as they knelt in the snow soaked red with his blood. She couldn't explain now, though, not in the midst of the chaos, and then Ghost was upon them, whining and bending his head to nose at Jon. Susan spoke firmly to the man, as she capped the cordial and put it back in its place on her hip. "We need to get him inside, to his chambers. He can't lay here."
Unbetaed, obviously.
Susan looked at Satin, kneeling opposite her on the other side of Jon's body, a shocked look on his face. "Hold his head up," she ordered, pulling the stopper from the bottle, praying that the cordial would work in this world, cursing the fates that this was how she must find out. One hand she slid around Jon's neck, slippery with blood, but thank the gods, she could still feel his pulse, weak and thready under her fingertips. Her other hand tilted the bottle, which glittered in the firelight like the ice of the Wall. She watched as a single drop of the blood-red liquid fell into his open mouth. And then all she could do was wait.
"Jon, please, Jon…" She might have prayed, but her god turned his back on her long ago, and the gods in this world didn't know her. His name and the plea was enough. It was all she had, and it had to be enough.
It felt like an eternity she waited, but it was the space between one heartbeat and the next, and then Jon coughed weakly and his eyes fluttered open. He stared up at her, and his look was confused and frightened, and filled with pain. Susan felt like laughing, like crying, but she just murmured, "It's all right, my darling, it's all right," as she felt the wound closing under her fingers. "It hurts, I know, but it'll be done soon. Close your eyes, you need to rest."
Jon's eyes slipped shut, and Susan knew from experience with the cordial that it wasn't out of obedience to her words. The healing — especially from a wound as grave as this — takes a toll on the body, and she had never known anyone to remain awake during it. She remembered how Edmund slept for almost a week one time, a sleep so deep they were afraid he might never wake, after being nearly crushed to death by a giant's hammer. And she knew that sleep was the only thing that kepr the pain of the injuries healing away.
She looked up to see Satin staring sorrowfully at her, and she realized he thought she was offering Jon a final comfort, that Jon was slipping away as they knelt in the snow soaked red with his blood. She couldn't explain now, though, not in the midst of the chaos, and then Ghost was upon them, whining and bending his head to nose at Jon. Susan spoke firmly to the man, as she capped the cordial and put it back in its place on her hip. "We need to get him inside, to his chambers. He can't lay here."
Unbetaed, obviously.
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"Lay him on the pallet," she ordered, and as the men obeyed her without question, she realized she sounded like Queen Susan of Narnia once again. For the longest time, she thought that part of her was gone, because without Narnia, without her family, what reason does she have to be a Queen? But now she has one, and she knows. Only for Jon will she be a Queen again.
Also, having her hold back her Queen Susan side works in a meta way, because otherwise I'm afraid she'd be all Mary Sue-ing it up in Westeros, and taking over Jon's story. :D