Work Text:
The air grows crisper,
The breeze grows sharper,
The fields have been reaped,
The trees have shed their fruit.
From my perch in a high fir, just beyond the castle walls,
Cair Paravel stands supported on a slope of flaming leaves.
I was inside a moment ago, where a party still swirls,
Where they are celebrating the falling leaves,
The barren fields.
Where they talk of ice skating
And snowball fights
And Christmas,
As if the last winter was just a bad dream.
I remember the last winter – everyone does.
My grandfather, great five times over,
lived and died during that winter.
Squirrels don't live that long of course,
but eight generations is no short time for any creature.
Eight generations of frostbite
Eight generations of scarcity
Eight generations of hunger
And I was the first to see the spring.
I remember hearing the echo of lion's paws
when the ground was still frozen solid
And I remember the first time I saw a flower bloom.
It was on a branch of the dogwood where I lived
And I had no words.
Then came the battle, the victory!
We laid our few dead to rest in ground soft enough to cradle them.
Then came summer
And quickening sap
And flourishing food
I stored as much as my hollow would fit and ate everything it wouldn’t.
But then came fall.
It was nice for a while
As autumn harvests rolled in,
But now it is nearly past and winter is coming again.
Winter is coming and they are cheering!
Fawns dance and centaurs sing
Dryads waltz and nyads spin
The queens laugh and twirl as if nothing is wrong,
And the high king laughs as brightly as ever.
The only one with any sense is the younger king,
The quiet one, with a darker mood every day.
I see him glance at the sky like it owes him something,
See him cringe away from the chilly breeze.
Does he hear her laughter too?
I know I should not be afraid of the cold,
I know the witch is defeated and the curse broken,
I know I should have faith in Aslan like everyone else,
But it's just so hard when the days fall short.