Categories > Books > Chronicles of Narnia
Author's Notes: I played fast and loose with the movie, in that I put in some things that weren't filmed, but it doesn't fall outside the realm of possibility. Also, I so totally reached back into the books (specifically, /The Magician's Nephew/, which told how the Witch came to be in Narnia in the first place). This is for Krissy (JLR) who sort of randomly said, "I want some White Witch fic." And suddenly Jadis was whispering in my ear...
It had been a long time since she'd smelled human blood; she almost didn't remember what it was when she saw the Son of Adam standing in the snow. Such a plain, vulgar odor; rich and red and tangy, with no magic at all in their veins. He had the look about him of a virgin, as most humans did; she would stake her wand on him never having uttered a single incantation.
She remembered, in a distant, hazy sort of way, the two human children who had wakened her before Charn was utterly destroyed... as Narnia would be unless her bloodthirst was satisfied. She remembered the fumbling, drunken fool who had fancied himself a magician, a wizard. She remembered how he had imagined to have some claim on her -- her! Jadis, Empress of Charn, sorceress supreme. It was her voice that had uttered the Deplorable Word and brought the world screeching to a halt until that child had rung the bell. It was her hand that had waved over the world of Narnia and brought it all to winter.
Winter... the snow and ice that these silly, frail creatures found so unbearable. It did not bother her in the least; she was cold-blooded. All witches were. The snow was simply ambience to her. But this Son of Adam was trembling in it, and she smiled at him, the sweetness and charm coming unstuck slowly like a rusty pump just being primed after many long years of disuse. She had not had reason for deceit in so long... it was like flexing stiff muscles.
When her hand first brushed him when she tucked her cloak around him, she was startled to remember how warm human skin was. How hot their blood ran through their veins! How strange and different from her he was.
She ran a finger down his cheek for the simple novelty of feeling the warmth, of feeling the blood rushing beneath that pale, blushing skin. He shuddered and she remembered other things about humans -- remembered their emotions and the way they could be so easily manipulated. Men who fell easily to pride and power.
The prophecy promised him that he would become king; she would promise him the same. But appealing to the dark heart that pumped that wonderfully hot, rich blood, she wooed him with food and drink and the heady fantasy of total rulership.
He looked up at her with dark eyes that were already shifting with the deceit she was weaving into his heart, and her smile came effortlessly this time. Her thumb brushed across his lower lip and she let it linger, feeling the pulse that throbbed there.
It had been so long... so long. Just a little while longer, she told herself, removing her hand. If she waited she could have four instead of just one. One was all she needed for the prophecy -- if only three sat on the thrones of Cair Paravel, her winter would not be broken and her reign would continue. But if she waited... if she waited, she could fill her nostrils with the addictive, bourgeouis scent of human blood as it was spilled. Her eyes dilated at the mere thought and she curled her fingers more deeply into the fur on her cloak.
She could wait a few more days. She wasn't going anywhere, and the Stone Table would still be there.
It had been a long time since she'd smelled human blood; she almost didn't remember what it was when she saw the Son of Adam standing in the snow. Such a plain, vulgar odor; rich and red and tangy, with no magic at all in their veins. He had the look about him of a virgin, as most humans did; she would stake her wand on him never having uttered a single incantation.
She remembered, in a distant, hazy sort of way, the two human children who had wakened her before Charn was utterly destroyed... as Narnia would be unless her bloodthirst was satisfied. She remembered the fumbling, drunken fool who had fancied himself a magician, a wizard. She remembered how he had imagined to have some claim on her -- her! Jadis, Empress of Charn, sorceress supreme. It was her voice that had uttered the Deplorable Word and brought the world screeching to a halt until that child had rung the bell. It was her hand that had waved over the world of Narnia and brought it all to winter.
Winter... the snow and ice that these silly, frail creatures found so unbearable. It did not bother her in the least; she was cold-blooded. All witches were. The snow was simply ambience to her. But this Son of Adam was trembling in it, and she smiled at him, the sweetness and charm coming unstuck slowly like a rusty pump just being primed after many long years of disuse. She had not had reason for deceit in so long... it was like flexing stiff muscles.
When her hand first brushed him when she tucked her cloak around him, she was startled to remember how warm human skin was. How hot their blood ran through their veins! How strange and different from her he was.
She ran a finger down his cheek for the simple novelty of feeling the warmth, of feeling the blood rushing beneath that pale, blushing skin. He shuddered and she remembered other things about humans -- remembered their emotions and the way they could be so easily manipulated. Men who fell easily to pride and power.
The prophecy promised him that he would become king; she would promise him the same. But appealing to the dark heart that pumped that wonderfully hot, rich blood, she wooed him with food and drink and the heady fantasy of total rulership.
He looked up at her with dark eyes that were already shifting with the deceit she was weaving into his heart, and her smile came effortlessly this time. Her thumb brushed across his lower lip and she let it linger, feeling the pulse that throbbed there.
It had been so long... so long. Just a little while longer, she told herself, removing her hand. If she waited she could have four instead of just one. One was all she needed for the prophecy -- if only three sat on the thrones of Cair Paravel, her winter would not be broken and her reign would continue. But if she waited... if she waited, she could fill her nostrils with the addictive, bourgeouis scent of human blood as it was spilled. Her eyes dilated at the mere thought and she curled her fingers more deeply into the fur on her cloak.
She could wait a few more days. She wasn't going anywhere, and the Stone Table would still be there.
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