Story The Oddest Ends [Multi-Fandom Medley for the Kessel Run 2025]

Title: The Oddest Ends

Author: devilinthedetails

Characters: A variety

Fandoms: A medley

Genres: Multiple

Summary: A compilation of multi-fandom stories written in fulfillment of the Kessel Run Challenge prompts. More information on each individual story will be listed in the below index and in the post containing the story.

Index of Entries:

Call on the Ocean and the Moon. Avatar: The Last Airbender Fandom. Yagoda. General; Drama; Vignette. Week 1 Secret Prompt. Post #2.

The Horse Teaches a Second Boy to Ride. Narnia fandom. Bree; Cor; Ram; Aravis. General; Friendship; Family; Mush; Fluff. Week 2 Secret Prompt. Post #5.

An Ember Island Wedding. Avatar: The Last Airbender Fandom. Iroh; OC's. Romance; Drama; Fluff; Mush. Week 3 Secret Prompt. Post #11.

A Prince in the Wilderness. Narnia fandom. OC's; Jadis. Drama; General. Week 4 Secret Prompt. Post #15.

A Flower's Journey. Harry Potter Fandom. Fleur Delacour; Bill Weasley; Apolline Delacour. Romance; Double Drabbles; Family; Character Study; Drama.Week 5 Secret Prompt. Post #18.

Epoch of Exploration. Narnia fandom. OC's; Caspian I. Adventure; General. Week 6 Secret Prompt. Post #21.

The Coolest Uncle in Republic City. Avatar: The Last Airbender; The Legend of Korra. Suki; Sokka; Kya; Bumi; Tenzin. General; Romance; Fluff; Mush; Family; Humor. Week 7 Secret Prompt. Post #24.

Whatever Souls are Made of. Harry Potter fandom. Albus Dumbledore; Gellert Grindelwald. AU (Dark); Romance (Dark); Drama. Week 8 Secret Prompt. Post #28.

The Fury and the Flame. Avatar: The Last Airbender fandom. Ozai. Poetry; Angst; Drama; General. Week 9 Secret Prompt. Post #31.

The Truest Treasure. Narnia fandom. Tirian; Erlian. Family; Mush; Fluff; Drama; General. Week 10 Secret Prompt. Post #34.

The Curse-Breaker's Daughter. Harry Potter fandom. Victoire Weasley; Bill Weasley; Fleur Delacour; Teddy Lupin. Family; Drama; Romance; General. Long Vignette. Post #38.

Kessel Run completed 3/31/2025. Thread remains open for reading and commenting

 

Title: Call on the Ocean and the Moon

Characters: Yagoda.

Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender

Genres: General; Drama; Vignette.

Summary: In which Yagoda heals a young child of pneumonia for the first time.

Call on the Ocean and the Moon

In the Northern Water Tribe’s hospital of snow and ice, Yagoda crouched beside the sick bed of a frail young child who shivered beneath a thick layer of polar wolf furs. Sweat beaded the boy’s forehead, and he was searing hot to the touch despite his chattering teeth. A sure sign of fever.

At only thirteen winters, Yagoda was barely more than a child herself, though she would have insisted until she was blue in the face to anyone who would listen that she was a young woman now. That soon some handsome and strong warrior would be kneeling before her. Offering her a betrothal necklace carved by his own hand from the ivory tusk of a whale-walrus he had slain himself.

That she was ready to stand alongside the fully-fledged woman healers of her tribe in their fight against the outbreak of pneumonia that was ravaging their city this winter.

Trailing soft fingers along her little patient’s chest, Yagoda could feel the excess moisture pooling there. Making it difficult for him to breathe. Coughed out of him in desperate, racking hacks that rattled his small frame.

Yagoda closed her eyes. Calling on the Spirits of the Ocean and Moon to swim and swirl within her like they did in the calm, warm waters of the Spirit Oasis by which she had so often meditated on moonlit nights. Feeling their magic seep and sink inside her. Like a waxing moon or a cresting wave.

Only then did she begin to tug like ropes on a sailboat the excess threads of moisture from the little boy’s lungs. Reversing the tide. Forcing water back from the flooded shore into the salty sea.

She was a force of nature. Connected to the Spirits of the Ocean and the Moon. In her element.

For the first time in her life, she felt powerful.

 

@earlybird-obi-wan Thank you so much for reading and commenting I'm so glad that you found this a beautiful beginning to my Kessel Run and that you found it moving to see Yagoda healing a young boy afflicted with pneumonia. That is such a scary story about your mother's brother being sick and having his parents watch him sweat it out because there was no cure. Pneumonia truly is a terrifying disease that has killed many throughout history as I know from seeing my own mother fight it multiple times Indeed my mom's fights against pneumonia were part of this inspiration for this story where we see Yagoda battling it with her healing magic here.

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha As always, thank you so much for reading and for the kind words I'm happy to hear that you appreciated the details of the serious illness I included and that you felt Yagoda's musings about betrothals and about being a woman and a healer were realistic for her age. And she does indeed get to prove her strength by healing the patient here as you so wisely note!

---

Title: The Horse Teaches a Second Boy to Ride

Characters: Bree; Cor; Ram; Aravis.

Fandom: Narnia.

Genres: General; Friendship; Family; Mush; Fluff.

Summary: Bree teaches Cor's son how to ride.

The Horse Teaches a Second Boy to Ride

It was Bree, not any of the grooms in the royal stables at Anvard, who taught Ram how to ride a horse. Teaching Ram to ride on his own proud, dapple-gray back as he had once instructed a small fisherman’s boy named Shasta in the art of riding.

A small fisherman’s boy living in drudgery and exile in Calormen as Bree himself had been after disregarding his wise mother’s warnings as an adventuresome foal and wandering too far down the southern slopes to be captured and sold as a warhorse to a cruel master. A small boy who hadn’t known his true name was Cor.

Who hadn’t known he was a lost prince of Archenland. Who hadn’t known much about the world at all, in fact, but had the same itch in his bones to escape and travel that Bree had been born with. A desire that brought their souls, Horse and boy, together. Forged an unbreakable iron friendship.

That small boy had grown into a gold-crowned king in his own right who stood with his arm wrapped around the waist of his beautiful Queen Aravis. Queen Aravis that brave, witty Tarkheena who had fled Calormen and a marriage she had not wanted. Never would have chosen or tolerated for herself. Was now in a marriage she had chosen for herself. A marriage in which she delighted in lashing and taunting her husband with her sharp, barbed tongue on a daily basis. For his own benefit and edification as she termed it.

Her husband was now watching their little Ram approach Bree in the palace courtyard with warm tenderness in his radiant eyes and heart. Gazing on with fatherly love as Ram reached up to stroke Bree’s snout. As Bree’s nose nuzzled affectionately through the shafts of wheat-blonde hair Ram had inherited from Cor.

When Bree proclaimed in his grandiloquent manner that it would be he, not any clumsy groom in the king’s stables, who taught Ram how to ride, Ram felt a frisson of fear cut through him, however.

He was afraid to ride. Had never admitted that terrifying truth to anyone save himself. Afraid that he would fall. That he wouldn’t be as good a rider as his mother, who carved such an impressive figure on her well-bred white mare. That his skin would bruise and swell like plums. That his bones would snap like twigs trodden beneath booted heels.

Scenting the prince’s fear with his keen Horse nose–made by Aslan to smell apples, grass, and all that was good–Bree whickered in the lad’s ear, “There is no need to be afraid. I will teach you all you need to know. As I did your father.”

“What if I fall?” whispered Ram. Gnawing at his lip as he voiced his deep, dark fear aloud for the first time. “If I bruise? If my bones break?”

“You will fall as your father did a thousand times when he learned to ride.” Bree saw Cor wince at the memory of a thousand falls and their accompanying purple bruises and smiled a toothy Horse grin. “But the grass will be soft. So your skin will bruise but your bones won’t break. And you will rise again with courage and determination every time as your father did. Each time you fall, you will become stronger and smarter as he did. Learning what not to do, which is just as important as learning what to do.”

Emboldened and daunted in equal measure by this speech, Ram allowed himself to be guided by Bree’s firm orders in dressing the Horse in leather saddle, bridle, and rein. Bree imperiously forbade the use of spurs or bit. Scorning them as painful and unbefitting the dignity of any Talking Horse.

Ram with the many promised and prophesied falls learned to ride under his parents’ proud eyes first around that palace courtyard. Then, as the days and weeks of Bree’s visit progressed, along the hills and valleys of the fertile country surrounding Anvard. Hills and valleys blanketed in heather that cushioned Ram’s falls with a flowery, wafting fragrance that reminded him of the one his mother wore.

Fertile country green covered in delicious blades of grass for Bree to munch on during their noon rests beneath the shade of oak and elm trees. Grass Bree would roll in, legs kicking and galloping through the summer air, whenever there was no one but Ram around to witness and to laugh.

Under Bree’s tutelage, after many falls over many years, Ram learned to ride. Became a better rider even than his valiant mother. The best rider in Archenland and Calormen.

Forgot he had ever been afraid to ride or to fall.

 

Once again, I am absolutely enjoying this collection so far!


Call on the Ocean and the Moon

This line was very endearing, even on its surface. Yet it's more than a young teenager insisting that she's "all grown up" - this is a young woman who knows who she is and what she wants to do with life. Her self-knowledge and bravery are both commendable as such. Especially with:

Just like that.

This was just so lyrical and vivid and perfect! The last line was the cherry on top - so much so that I never would have guessed that it was a prompt at first, if I didn't already know.



The Horse Teaches a Second Boy to Ride

Narnia is, once again, a fandom I know little about - but this is a story my horse girl self can get behind, no matter the fandom.

Look at all of that pretty prose! And then, I can't say that I blame Ram in the slightest. It is a scary idea, not only falling - as is natural - but failing, with the weight of his heritage both looming over him and spurring him on, all at once.

I absolutely adore this line.

This is such a good lesson! And, again, told with so many beautiful words.

Because that's just how it goes.


Keep up the wonderful work! I can't wait to see where the prompts take you next.

 

@earlybird-obi-wan Thank you so much for reading and commenting! I'm so glad that you loved seeing Bree teach Ram how to ride and them having fun together

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha As always, thank you so much for reading and for the kind words I'm so delighted that you enjoyed reading about the sense of adventure that Bree and Cor have in common and that bound them together as friends, and that section about their friendship put a smile on my face as I was writing, so I'm super happy to hear that it was a highlight for you as well!

I did get a chuckle out of Aravis loving to snark at Cor, the one she chose to marry! She has a strong personality indeed

Bree does teach Ram a lot with his assurances that Ram will fall when learning to ride but that he will get up with renewed determination and strength, and I'm so glad that lesson resonated with you.

And it was an absolutely joy to write about the gorgeous scenery where Bree and Ram took their rides and about Bree frolicking blissfully in the grass

@Nehru_Amidala Thank you so much for reading and for the double review on the first two installments of my Kessel Run I'm so happy to hear that you enjoyed both pieces and that even though you haven't seen ATLA you were still able to appreciate seeing Yagoda caring for and curing her young charge despite being a teenager herself. An outbreak like the Northern Water Tribe was facing definitely does shine a light on the importance of healing and of Yagoda's growing powers. And Bree teaching Ram to ride was indeed adorable and put a big smile on my face to write!

@Chyntuck Thank you so much for reading and reviewing I totally understand not wanting to read my week 2 entry if you haven't gotten a chance to read the Narnia books yet, but I'm so glad that you were able to enjoy Call on the Ocean and the Moon and found it to be a wonderful use of the first week's prompt! I definitely saw it as something of a coming of age piece in terms of Yagoda demanding to be thought of as a grown-up in that way common to teenagers but at the same time demonstrating to herself and everyone else the strength of her healing abilities when she heals the young boy of pneumonia. The imagery of the Spirit Oasis has always really resonated with me and the sea always seems to work well with the Water Tribe so it was very powerful for me to be able to draw on both when describing Yagoda's healing process. I'm super flattered that when you read my ATLA stories you have the feeling that I really "get" this universe and that the aren't just flashy displays but are deeply linked to each tribe's culture and lifestyle since that was one of my favorite things about the world of ATLA and I do want to try to capture it in my fanfic whenever I can! And it was so satisfying for me to be able to write about a young Yagoda thinking of herself as a force of nature after doing the work of the ocean and the moon and you are so right that she completely deserves to feel powerful after that!

@Mira_Jade Thank you so much for reading and for the detailed review that put a big grin on my faceI'm so pleased that you found that line endearing, and you are so right that it is more than just Yagoda being a youngster insisting she is grown up. Despite her youth, she already has a strong conviction about who she is and what she wants to do with her life. And her self-knowledge and conviction are indeed commendable as you say especially in this piece about her growing awareness of her own power and connection with the moon and the ocean as a waterbender and healer.

Yes, just like that indeed She makes me so proud!

And I'm so flattered that you found that section so lyrical, vivid, and perfect since I spent a long time trying to craft the words and get them to flow just right. And there really can be no higher compliment than that you never would have guessed it was a prompt line at the end if you hadn't known that it came from the prompt itself

I'm so glad that you could enjoy the Narnia fic despite knowing little about the fandom. Bree is indeed a wonderful horse that can charm the heart of anyone who loves horses

I'm so happy that you found the prose in that section so pretty, and like you, I can't blame Ram for being afraid not only of falling (and the pain associated with it) but more broadly with failing especially with the weight of his heritage both looming over him and spurring him on as you say. Ram was definitely a very relatable character for me in this story, and I was thrilled that in the end, he could find his confidence in riding and his happy ending after all his hard work learning to ride with Bree as his mentor!

That line warmed my heart to write, and I'm so thrilled it was a standout for you as well!

Bree does provide an excellent lesson there and in beautiful words as you say! He is a very wise and eloquent horse!

That is how it goes indeed, and we get our happily ever after as our payoff

---

Title: An Ember Island Wedding

Characters: Iroh; OC's.

Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender

Genres: Romance; Drama; Fluff; Mush.

Summary: Iroh and Akira marry on Ember Island.

Notes: Akira is an OC of mine introduced in "Love in a Caldera City Teashop" from a previous Kessel Run for those interested in learning more about her and her journey. However, reading that piece is not necessary for understanding and appreciating this one as this one is designed to be enjoyed independently of that one and can very much standalone.

An Ember Island Wedding

Akira stood at the mirror of the bride’s dressing room in the small oceanside shrine where she was eloping with Iroh. It had to be called eloping, she thought, when one married the Fire Lord’s heir without the Fire Lord’s knowledge and consent even if one’s own family members and friends were in proud, excited attendance at the wedding.

She could hear the gentle rhythm of the waves crashing against the famous black sand of the Ember Island beaches as her best friend Emi adjusted the array of white ume blossoms crowning her bun. Emi had worked long, feet-aching hours alongside her in the Caldera City teashop where Akira had first met Iroh.

Where he had sat down and ordered a pot of jasmine tea and plates of mango and lychee rice cakes as if he were a middle class merchant rather than a prince of the Fire Nation. Where he had admired her rustic Hing Wa accent. Had remarked that it reminded him of his late mother and the sweet memories he had with her.

Neither she nor Emi would ever have to work in that teashop again, Akira reflected with some satisfaction. They would no longer have to fake courteous smiles for guests who addressed them curtly. Akira would be a princess of the Fire Nation. Emi would be her companion and attendant. Princesses of the Fire Nation had companions to attend upon them. To divert them and keep them company apparently.

Akira swore, though, that she would not forget her humble roots. First on the backwater Hing Wa island. Then as a waitress toiling away for a meager income in a Caldera City teashop. She would advocate for the common citizens of the Fire Nation. Advocate for reforms that would be to their advantage. Donate to charities. Serve them as best she could now that she had been elevated in rank far beyond her wildest dreams.

Emi had been on shift with Akira the day she met Iroh. Had giggled with Akira over how handsome he was. A warm, sunbright memory now that brought a pleasant pink blush to her cheeks as her mother and younger sister smoothed the train of the most glamorous red gown Akira had ever worn in her life. Red for good fortune. For passion and ardor. For flames of love that could never be extinguished. The traditional color for a Fire Nation bride.

“You look beautiful,” her mother murmured. Tears already glowing like crystals in her eyes though the ceremony had not yet begun.

“Beautiful enough to ensnare a prince,” Akira’s little sister added. “Except that you already did.”

Akira’s father, the one who would shortly walk her down the aisle to a waiting Iroh, popped his head into the dressing room. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes, Father.” Akira nodded. Stepped into the hallway. Saw that two of Iroh’s officer friends in their military best were standing at attention behind her father. Prepared to escort Emi and Akira’s sister to their positions of honor near the shrine’s altar.

Bells chimed overhead. Their melody a signal that the wedding would now be underway.

In a blissful watercolor blur, Akira watched Emi and her sister precede her up the aisle. Then her father, clinging to her elbow, led her to the altar where Iroh awaited her, a beaming vision in gold.

“Are you sure you want to marry me?” she had asked Iroh yesterday as they filled out the paperwork that needed to be filed to obtain a marriage certificate from the local prefect’s office. (There was always a mountain of paperwork that must be filled out to achieve anything in the Fire Nation. They were a very bureaucratic people.) “Even though I am not of noble blood or a Fire bender?”

“Nobility is in our actions, not our blood, and few are as noble in their actions as you.” His eyes had twinkled at her as he wrote on the form. “And you bend the fire in me powerfully. You are the oxygen my lungs need to breathe. My fire needs to burn.”

When she reached Iroh now, they gazed at each other with melting love in their eyes as the Fire Sage presiding over the ceremony handed them each a blazing candle.

“I promise to tend to the flame of your life as diligently as I do my own,” they vowed in unison. Bowing to one another. Then kneeling to present their burning candles as an offering to the spirits of fire by the feet of a crimson dragon statue.

Once they had risen again, the Fire Sage tied a scarlet thread about their wrists. Linking them together. “May your fates be bound as one into eternity by this thread,” intoned the Fire Sage. A solemn proclamation and invocation dictated by sacred Fire Nation custom.

She and Iroh kissed. Were offered a glass of rice wine by one of Iroh’s friends. A glass of rice wine they lifted to their lips together. Sipping as one. Symbolizing their commitment to provide for each other. To be one in all they did. As the scarlet thread wrapped about their wrists required.

Then they were showered in a white rain of rice. Rice for prosperity and good fortune though who could be more prosperous than a Fire Nation princess, Akira wondered? And what better fortune could there be than for a humble peasant girl to marry a prince?

Surely that was more good fortune than could be earned in a thousand lifetimes. Although it was said that only the Avatar lived and remembered a thousand lifetimes, and he had been gone from the world for almost eight decades now. Lost and rumored to be so forever. The cycle of reincarnation broken. A wheel of rebirth that had ceased spinning.

She would not, however, let such melancholy musings taint this most joyous day. The happiest of her life so far.

She leaned forward. Kissed Iroh again. Tasted the rice wine on his lips. Savored the feeling of his mouth beneath hers. Wishing this single moment could last for a thousand lifetimes.

 

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha As always, thank you so much for reading and for the kind words! I'm so glad that you found the details of this joyous occasion between Iroh and my OC Akira to be so lovely I'm also so pleased that all the symbolic elements resonated with you, and that you loved Akira's happy reflections on how she and Iroh had met and her pleasure at the thought of no longer having to serve curt customers but having the opportunity to be a Princess of the Fire Nation and use her position to do good for the ordinary people she feels so connected to! I'm so thrilled that you found the exchange of vows sweet, and you highlighted some of my absolute favorite lines at the end, so yay

@earlybird-obi-wan Thank you so much for reading and being a faithful reviewer of this Kessel Run I'm so flattered that you thought the scenery was lovely and that you appreciated the details of Akira's life and how she came to meet Iroh. She is indeed that peasant girl who has now become a princess through her marriage to Iroh!

@Chyntuck Thank you so much for reading and for the thoughtful words that put a big smile on my face I'm so overjoyed that you went back to read "Love in a Caldera City Teashop" before checking out this story of Iroh and Akira's wedding, and there can be no higher compliment than to hear that you love both Akira as an OC and the backstory I gave her! You're right that regrettably there is nothing in official sources about Iroh's wife, so it is a pleasure to be able to fill that gap with my own writing and to create an identity and a history for Iroh's wife.

I agree that it definitely feels appropriate to Iroh's personality and character that he would fall in love with a commoner in a teashop (especially because he is such a fan of tea), and that he would chose to elope with her rather than have the crazies of the royal family involved as you say.

I'm so pleased that you felt that was such an Iroh line since I could hear his voice in my head as I wrote it, and I think you are spot-on that between Iroh and a common born mother who never forgot her roots, Lu Ten was a lucky child.

Even though I agree with you that sadly it seems that Lu Ten's mother and Iroh's wife seems to have died an untimely death

It is awesome to hear that you felt the story was lovely with fantastic world building and character-building details that made you want to know more about Akira's future life as a Fire Nation princess because this story was such a pleasure for me to write

---

Title: A Prince in the Wilderness

Characters: OC's; Jadis.

Fandom: Narnia.

Genres: Drama; General.

Summary: A lost prince wanders the wintry wilderness of Narnia after the White Witch's conquest.

A Prince in the Wilderness

Don’t stop. Don’t think. Don’t look back. That was my constant creed. Recited at a steady, silent tempo in my own echoing skull that kept time with my unflagging pace through the wintry woodlands, the snowy dales, and the frozen rivers of Narnia.

A Narnia that had known nothing but unrelenting winter with no hint or hope of spring for three dreary years. Since the White Witch invaded. Since the great tree of protection planted by the Lord Digory in the earliest days of creation meant to bar the White Witch from Narnia for as long as it stood was cut down.

My furred boots had holes in them. Holes I couldn’t repair because I was a prince in exile, wandering a wintry wilderness, not a cobbler’s son.

(I had been the second-born prince of Narnia. The spare to my brother’s heir, but I didn’t begrudge him that, of course. He was my companion and playmate through all the innocent seasons of my youth. I called him Ned. Short for Edward. He called me Dicken. His preferred nickname for Richard. Nothing except the howling wind sweeping through the bare forest branches called me anything now.)

I could not pause until I had worn myself past the point of exhaustion because stopping made my blood run ice cold in my veins. Increased the likelihood that the Witch’s wolves would detect my scent. Would hunt me down where I rested and tear out my throat. After all, the usurper Queen Jadis had decreed that no son of Adam or daughter of Eve would be allowed to breathe the frigid air of Narnia. Would be permitted to live as a challenge to her stolen claim to the throne.

Only when I was on the cusp of collapse did I yank down a bed and blanket of pine needles from the firs above me. (So different from the goosefeather mattresses and silken sheets I had slept on as a child at Cair Paravel but I tried not to remember that. Remembering that ripped my heart anew.) I had to be careful which firs I took my rest beneath because even some of the trees I had turned traitor. Spying for Queen Jadis. Reporting to her any chance of rebellion or plot of sedition.

Even when I closed my eyes, I tried not to look back. To recall that last, doomed battle my family waged against the White Witch because the memory was like an arrow piercing the heart. A dagger slicing the vulnerable throat. A sword wielded by a supposed ally stabbing into the exposed back.

I refused to remember how the White Witch’s wand had felled my father, the good King Edward, my brother’s namesake. My brother had been devoured by her ravenous wolves. My father’s proud, elite legion of leopards and lions crushed by her giants. My fair mother Queen Emma and sweet sisters, the Princesses Isabella and Sophia, murdered by her foul hags.

With my eyes clenched shut, I willed myself to be numb as the air I inhaled. Callously commanded myself not to think about how my father had taken my brother and me on a hundred rides to the tree of protection that had stood at Lantern Waste near the border with Archenland.

Sometimes in the spring, with the dryads of birch and blossom dancing about us in splendor (there was no dancing in Narnia now), my father would treat with the king of Archenland, our sister country. Other times in the autumn with the harvest of crisp apples and pears around us and the canopy of leaves in their glorious raiment above us. Their copper, bronze, gold, and rich, earthen brown. (There were no such colors to be found in Narnia. Everything in Narnia was bleak black and bone white.)

Most often he would take us there in the summer. Have us admire the jade and emerald green of the leaves in the sunlight as he spun for us the yarn of how the tree was planted to shield Narnia from the evil who had entered the world at the Dawn of Time. The evil who hated Aslan. Despised His light and the song of His creation. The cunning evil who sought without ceasing to darken His light. To throw the harmony of His creation into discord.

It was easy for me not to think about that.

Not to think about anything that caused me discomfort or distress.

My father, ever critical, had often chastised me for not stopping to think before I acted, after all.

Certainly I had not stopped to think before I struck down the tree of protection with my fatal ax on a spring morning that had swiftly turned to winter. The sap of the tree staining my hands the burgundy of blood and guilt.

For that crime, many of the loyalist creatures, who still bore allegiance in their secret heart to the line established by King Frank and Queen Helen at the Dawn of Time by the will of Aslan, named me villain. Would have happily seen me suffer a traitor’s death at the Stone Table as the ancient law of the land required.

But I was not a traitor.

The White Witch, the usurper Queen Jadis, was the true traitor. It was she who slipped like a serpent into my head with her seductive lies. Who promised that I would be her king. That we would fill the thrones of Cair Paravel together.

I never got to sit in that throne at Cair Paravel.

She stole the crown from my father and from me.

The thought of that scalds me.

So I don’t stop. Don’t think. Don’t remember or look back. Even in my restless sleep in the winter wilderness where I am in eternal exile.

 

@earlybird-obi-wan Thank you so much for reading and commenting! Our narrator is indeed betrayed by the White Witch, tricked into believing her lies and committing his own act of treachery in the process. He is also tortured by the memories of what has been done to him and his once happy past that has been destroyed. Eventually the White Witch will be defeated and all of Narnia will be saved, so there is a happy ending and future in that

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Thank you so much for reading and for the thoughtful words Our narrator certainly has a lot of culpability and things to regret but the Anakin Skywalker parallel is very apt in the sense that while he made his choice of his own free will, he was also led astray and twisted by the lies of the great evil or big bad of their respective universes. They both have things to feel guilty about and regret but probably their biggest regrets are in listening to the lies to begin with and being led astray by the temptations presented to them. I'm sure that if both had a chance at a "redo" each would choose a different path, which makes them different from the big bads, who would happily repeat their evil. In that way, there is something very tragic about these characters because they surrendered to a temptation that in hindsight I am sure they would have wanted to resist as giving into the temptation ends up costing them dearly.

---

Title: A Flower's Journey

Characters: Fleur Delacour; Bill Weasley; Apolline Delacour.

Fandom: Harry Potter

Genres: Family; Drama; Romance; Character Study; Double Drabbles.

Summary: Fleur's journey from France to England and finally to Egypt.

A Flower's Journey

Flower

“Why did you name me for a flower?” fifteen-year-old Fleur asks her maman as they sit at the kitchen table during her Easter holiday from Beauxbatons. Potting fragrant lavender and sweet-smelling violet to hang outside the windows of her family’s Marseille apartment. Lavender and violet to be used in perfumes, pastries, and potions according to the secret recipes passed along through the generations of Maman’s Veela ancestresses. “For a fragile, ephemeral thing that blooms in the spring before dying in the winter?”

“Not all flowers are ephemeral,” Maman corrects mildly. “Some are perennials, not annuals. And not all flowers die in the winter either. Some blossom in winter like poinsettias.”

Fleur snorts. Tosses her sheet of silver hair with adolescent disdain.

“Flowers are emblems of hope,” continues Maman as though oblivious to Fleur’s snort. “Symbols and reminders of all that is beautiful and graceful in the world.”

Fleur bristles. Rolls her eyes. Already old enough to hate how men’s gazes linger lustfully on her in the street. How she is no more than an object of beauty and desire to them. How their women glare at her for the supposed crime of stealing the fickle hearts of their weak men.

Emblem

Three years later, Fleur’s heart softens to flowers in England when a handsome, red-headed man with a long ponytail and a fanged earring presents her with a lotus flower.

She places it on her desk at Gringotts. Sniffs it whenever she needs to refresh her nose after inhaling too much dust from the old scrolls the goblins require her to read as part of her duties at the bank. Whenever she needs a reminder that there is beauty and grace even in a world where Voldemort is resurrected. That she is meant to be that beauty and grace.

“Why a lotus flower?” she presses Bill as they share scoops of pistachio ice cream covered in caramel and hot fudge at Florean Fortescue’s after work.

“The lotus was an emblem of creation and rebirth in ancient Egypt.” Bill smiles. “Its opening and closing with the daily cycle of the sun represented rejuvenation. One myth even claimed that at the beginning of time, the sun rose from a giant lotus flower.”

“It’s a pain reliever, too.” Fleur recalls that bit of trivia from her Potions lessons at Beauxbatons.

“Yes.” Bill nods. “Ancient Egyptian potioneers and healers were the first to discover that.”

Journey

Five months after Voldemort is defeated, with the seed of her first child growing strong in her womb, Fleur travels to Egypt with Bill. A journey that feels not only like a trip to a different place but also like traveling through time. As if in Egypt time is not linear but looped in on itself like the tail of an ouroboros devouring itself only to be reborn from its own demise. As if in Egypt time flows upstream like the lapis lazuli Nile.

A feeling that is only intensified when she stands in the sandy shadow of the Great Pyramids of Giza. Bill whispering in her ear that the last Cleopatra lived closer in time to them than to the construction of these wonders of the ancient world.

Exploring the tombs of the long-dead pharaohs, Bill murmurs to her about the scales ancient Egyptians believed Anubis used to weigh the hearts of the deceased before their passage into the afterlife. Their journey into eternity. Their hearts weighed against the light feather of Ma’at, goddess of justice. Their souls to be destroyed if heavier than the feather.

Fleur’s soul feels feather-light on its journey with Bill and their unborn child.

 

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Thank you so much for reading and for the kind words! I'm so glad that you found the settings beautiful and that you enjoyed seeing Fleur learn about the flowers that are her namesake and can be used to create beautiful and useful things like perfume Fleur does indeed have a disdainful teen reaction to her mother's words about hope but those words do end up sticking with her as she works at the bank. Especially once she receives that lotus flower from Bill, and her relationship with Bill is most definitely a source of joy and beauty for her as you so wisely note!

@earlybird-obi-wan Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm so happy to hear how you appreciated seeing flowers integrated throughout Flour's journey from childhood to work and adulthood

---

Title: Epoch of Exploration

Characters: OC's; Caspian I.

Fandom: Narnia

Genres: Adventure; General.

Summary: In an epoch of exploration, an unexpected portal to another world is discovered in a desert island cave, or the story of how the Telmarines first came to the world of Narnia through the perspective of its principal participant.

Epoch of Exploration

It was the epoch of exploration and colonization. A fever dream of mingled excitement and greed gripped the wharfs and streets of the port city of Valencia where Hernan grew up, too fast and hard according to his despairing madre. When bold and opportunist adventurers like Cristobal Colon proved the world was both larger and smaller than anyone in Europe had previously imagined.

When conquistadors like Cortes and Pizarro showed just how much gold was out there for the claiming if one didn’t scruple about bloodying one’s sword with the sweeping murders of whatever native population happened to inhabit the land one wished to seize for wealth and the glory of Spain.

In this rabid atmosphere of hunger and ambition, it was no wonder that Hernan signed on to be a cabin boy on Captain Alejandro’s ship at the precocious age of nine. Signed on to run the captain’s errands, cook in the cramped ship’s kitchen, carry buckets of food to the forecastle where the ordinary seamen wolfed down their meals, and scramble up the rigging whenever the ship’s sails needed to be trimmed. Signed on to be beaten and boxed about the ears by any gruff seamen feeling especially grumpy or queasy that day. All in exchange for the smallest slice of whatever profits the ship’s crew made by raiding other vessels.

Some in the ports where they docked to trade and to take on fresh supplies of food and water would scorn Captain Alejandro as a pirate who deserved to be hung in a gibbet for seagulls and crows to peck at, but Captain Alejandro himself always insisted he was a privateer licensed by the Spanish government to attack any merchant vessels belonging to rival nations. There were many rival nations in those days.

It was Captain Alejandro who taught Hernan how to read a map on paper or scrawled in the stars above him. How to find true north by a compass clutched in the hand or by staring up at the Dog Star on clear nights. How to be a helmsman. Holding the wheel to keep the ship steady on the course determined by the maps, the compass, and the stars.

These lessons in navigation stayed with Hernan all his life. Even when he found himself in another world. The ultimate terra incognita. Beneath constellations he had never seen before. Charting the terrain of this new world. Naming its stars by the shapes he glimpsed in them.

Hernan, quick and eager to learn, rose swiftly in the ranks. From cabin boy to seaman to boatswain responsible for the ship’s maintenance and shore parties to quartermaster in charge of punishing insubordination, settling minor disputes, and leading battles.

Captain Alejandro never married. Never had any children. Passed along his ship and all its crew to Hernan when he died of scurvy. Buried in canvas at sea with no priest to say prayers over his soul before body was dumped into the fathomless depths of the vast, aquamarine ocean that stretched past the horizon in every direction. There had never been a priest aboard Captain Alejandro’s ship in all the years Hernan had sailed on it. A fact that would have distressed his madre if he had maintained any contact with her after signing on to serve as cabin boy in Valencia so many years ago.

In the Pacific Islands, like many of his crew, Hernan married (not in front of a priest), a Polynesian woman with yellow hibiscus in her hair. A Polynesian woman named Makani for the wind that cut across the sea. Powering their sails.

Makani and the other Polynesian wives of the crewmen joined the sailors on the ship–on their quest for treasure and glory (not for Spain, as Captain Alejandro might have sought, but for themselves)--despite the old mariner’s maxim about women aboard ships always presaging disaster.

Perhaps there was some truth behind that ancient axiom for one day a tropical cyclone capsized their vessel. Forcing them to take refuge on a tiny desert island that appeared on none of the maps Hernan had studied by lantern-light in the cabin he had inherited from Captain Alejandro.

They clambered across the sand that knived toward their eyes. Retreating from the pelting rain and howling winds into a cave a squinting Hernan managed to spot just off the shore. A cave he pointed at, screaming until his throat was hoarse for his crew and their woman to follow him. To seek shelter there.

With his crew and their women stumbling behind him, Hernan led them ever deeper into the cool, stony bowels of the cave. So deep that they became lost without any light to guide them. So deep that they crossed a flickering portal from one world into another. Followed the light of a distant sun into a strange land they named Telmar.

They had found, Hernan realized, staring up at unknown constellations, a true new world. Not another part of Earth as Cristobal Colon had, but another world entirely. A world with its own sun, moon, and stars. A world with its own oceans, rivers, and forests.

Under Hernan’s iron leadership, they navigated this true new world. The men making axes to clear the forest by the sweat of their brows while the women gathered seeds to plant in the freshly hewn fields.

Hernan and Makani had a son that first spring in Telmar. Part of a new generation born breathing the air of Telmar.

Hernan told his son (called Caspian after a sea in that world he had left behind) and later his grandsons (many of whom were also named Caspian) the story of how he had stumbled through a cave into this new world of Telmar. This story became a myth and then a legend. A legend that was long forgotten by the sons and daughters of Telmar by the time a dreadful famine tore through Telmarine during the days of Hernan’s eleventh generation descendent, another Caspian.

It was this Caspian who ordered the Telmarines onto their ships. Who commanded them in their conquest of that fertile land of Narnia that had belonged only to Talking Beasts who could not be trusted. This Caspian who had the blood of privateers, adventurers, colonizers, and conquistadors flowing hot in his veins though he didn’t know it. This Caspian who became the first of his name to rule over Narnia.

 

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Thank you so much for reading and for the kind words I'm so happy to hear that you found the details of this era of exploration so marvelous and that you appreciated the examination of the various motivations behind such explorations. I'm also so overjoyed that you felt the backstory of how Hernan and his crew landed in Narnia was so riveting, and that it made sense to you how there was such long gap between that event and the Caspian who first ruled Narnia. 11 generations is definitely enough time to turn the Telmarine origin into a myth as you say especially because it is just the kind of story that can seem so impossible to believe in though it is true!

@Chyntuck Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm so thrilled that you loved A Flower's Journey and found it to be such a beautiful exploration of Fleur's character at three pivotal moments in her life When I saw the "flower" prompt, Fleur immediately sprang to my mind, and I knew that I wanted to make her name a connective thread between the drabbles, and it felt very moving for me to travel with Fleur on her journey from rejecting the meaning of her name in teenage fashion to appreciating it and then to finally living out the meaning of her name with the "seed" of her and Bill's child growing within her. And I can assure you that I got such fun writing about her wonderment at the treasures of Egypt because Egypt to me is a truly fascinating civilization to study, and I can only imagine that Bill would be an excellent tour guide for Fleur because he would have lived there for years as a Curse-Breaker and know so many great facts. Fleur associating her environment with her emotions was something that I wanted to convey throughout these double drabbles, so I'm so pleased that aspect resonated with you, and the last sentence absolutely warmed my heart to write, so it makes my day to know it had a similar effect on you as well

---

Title: The Coolest Uncle in Republic City

Characters: Suki; Sokka; Kya; Bumi; Tenzin.

Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender; Legend of Korra.

Genres: General; Romance; Fluff; Mush; Humor; Family.

Summary: Sokka and Suki watch their niece and nephews in Republic City Park.

The Coolest Uncle in Republic City

“Really–” Sokka observed ruefully to Suki as they sat, hand entwined in hand, on a bench at the thronging Republic City Park. They were visiting Republic City for two weeks, Sokka representing the Southern Water Tribe on behalf of his dad at a diplomatic summit, and had volunteered to babysit their niece and nephews while Aang and Katara enjoyed a rare, precious afternoon alone together.

Sokka and Suki, therefore, were now watching a gleefully giggling Kya bend water from the once serene surface of the park pond into a sweeping spray to soak her laughing older brother Bumi. Their rambunctiousness drawing a reproachful honk from a nearby turtle-duck whose feathers had most definitely been ruffled. Meanwhile, Tenzin, in an uncharacteristic display of levity and exuberance, was bouncing about on a ball he had conjured from literal air.

“Who would have thought that serving the three kids matcha cupcakes and cherry-berry lemonade for lunch would result in such wild antics?” Sokka scratched and tugged at his ear as if this were truly one of the great mysteries of their existence.

“Well–” Suki grinned wryly– “I did try to warn you about the perils of that.”

“So you did.” Sokka’s face flamed crimson with one of his endearing blushes. “But I wanted to be the coolest uncle in Republic City, so I didn’t listen to you.”

“And so you are.” Suki kissed his burning cheek. Amused. “The coolest uncle in Republic City.”

“I have an idea!” Sokka’s chagrined mien brightened. “An idea to prevent Katara from murdering me and permanently revoking my uncle privileges. We’ll claim to Aang and Katara that we only bought the kids ramen and cucumber-aloe water for lunch so we can’t be to blame for the kids turning into tiny tornado terrors. If we both stick to the story, they can’t prove anything.”

“Yeah.” Suki’s lips quirked. Humor glinting in her eyes like sunlight on the park pond. “Any stranger at the park could’ve served them matcha cupcakes and cherry-berry lemonade. It certainly wasn’t you. The self-proclaimed coolest uncle in Republic City.”