Between the Worlds 2/2 - for gothic_hamlet

[nfe-gremlin.livejournal.com]

Title: Between the Worlds
Author: makinhistory
Recipient: gothic_hamlet
Rating: T
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Contains elements of other fandoms.
Summary: Digory and Polly, in an effort to return to Narnia, end up getting more fantastical worlds than they bargained for.

The waves rushed by unceasingly beneath the two children as they flew southward, buoyed by the potent fairy dust sprinkled upon them by the unseen Tink. The sun grew hot on the backs of their necks, and their skin, accustomed only to the drab and smog-smothered London sun, began to burn. Digory quickly started to think that this whole venture was a stupid idea to begin with, and that deciding to fly from an unknown location to another unknown location was the stupidest of all the other stupid decisions they had made that day. How were they supposed to know where Narnia was? What would happen if they got tired and land was nowhere to be seen? As it was, there was nothing behind or before them except water and more water.

Time passed. It might have been hours, but Digory and Polly couldn't keep track; all they knew was that the sun was setting rapidly in the west, and still there was no land to be seen! Despite this, neither of them said anything but things like "This is quite relaxing, don't you think?" and "Look at that lovely sky!"

At long last, Digory noticed that the water seemed rather closer than it had before. At first, he thought it was just his exhausted brain playing tricks on him; but as their travels drew on, he began to feel the occasional faint spray of saltwater on his legs and arms, something they had previously been too high in the air to experience.

"Polly," he said nervously, "does it seem to you that—"

"That we're falling?" Polly finished, her voice much higher than normal. "Why, yes, it does."

The feeling was gradual, but they both realized that, no matter how hard they tried, whatever fairy dust had been sprinkled on them was rapidly wearing off, and they were plunging towards an unfathomably cold and deep ocean.

Suddenly, over the rush of wind and waves, Polly let out a cry. "Look, Digory! Ships!"

Digory looked so quickly in the direction she pointed that he cricked his neck. But sure enough, off to their right was a fleet of ten or more masted sailing ships, each bearing sails of bright white canvas. He chided himself for not seeing them before, but then realized that the yellow light of the setting sun had obscured them from his sight.

"I think we can reach them," Digory said to Polly. "If we're lucky, we can land on the deck of one!"

"Oh, I do hope they're not pirates," she said as they sank lower and lower.

"I hope it's the White Star Line," Digory said.

As they neared the surface of the water, though, the ships suddenly became less like the theatrically charming sailboats of the children's previous experience and more like churning, thrashing, hurrying machines of ancient warfare. Long oars jutted from both sides of each vessel, turning in unison and leaving huge wakes as the rowers worked in tandem with the gentle wind; the sails snapped and billowed on masts and ropes that were much higher from the decks than Digory had first thought; long and treacherous mastheads were painted black and red, and shields of varying colors and designs lined the decks.

Digory gulped.

The two children sank lower and lower, faster and faster, until they had to lift up their feet to avoid getting tangled in the rigging of ships they passed over. Occasionally, sailors spotted them and would point and shout, but their words were lost in the clamor of water against wood and wind in sail.

"This is our last chance, Digory," Polly cried, pointing to the head ship. They had not yet been able to land on a deck, but were rapidly nearing the point of no return—their only hope was the craft that seemed to be the most important: its sails were purple, and it was leading the other eleven boats by a distance significant enough to be noticeable but not nearly enough so to be considered separate.

"You first," Digory shouted back, nearly losing his balance as one foot caught on a wave.

Polly hopped in midair, landed on the railing, teetered a moment, and then stepped down onto the deck. For a moment, Digory watched her greet the sailors, her white bow bobbing, but then the next second, both his feet were sinking in the water; he grasped for the side of the ship, but it was too late—an oar came swinging around, drenched whatever parts of him were still dry, and then struck him mightily on the side of the head.

--

When Digory awoke, it was long past sunset, and the inky blackness of ocean nighttime was pierced only by sputtering torches. The smoke burned his aching eyes, and he heard Polly say, "Oh, good. You're awake."

"My head," was the only thing Digory could think to say.

"Very clever," said Polly dryly. "Really, Digory Kirke, I'd expected more of you."

Digory squinted at her; he could barely make out her face in the dim light. "My head hurts."

"That's slightly better, although I had hoped you would tell me something I hadn't already guessed. No, don't touch it!"

He had reached up to feel the aching tenderness at his temple, and just before Polly snatched his hand away, he felt the uncomfortable stiffness of dried blood. "Oh, dear."

"I told you not to touch it."

Wrinkling his nose at her, he pushed himself up on his elbows and surveyed the scene. He was laying on a rough blanket at the side of one of the ships (he supposed it was the purple-sailed one, although it was too dark to see the color) with Polly at his side; in front of them, facing away, sat two dozen or so men who, having pulled in their oars for the night, were drinking and playing games of dice.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone for so long," he said guiltily.

"Oh, don't be," Polly said lightly, sitting Indian-style. "They're quite nice."

"Who are they?"

She shrugged. "They don't speak a word of English. Mind you, I do recognize some of the words, but I don't know what they mean. They seem to have picked up our names, though, so theirs can't be too far from ours."

Digory frowned. "I take it they're not Narnian, then."

"Not Narnian, no."

"Then what are we to do?"

Polly looked up. "Here comes one of them, I think he's seen that you're awake. I think he's in charge around here, but one can't be sure."

The man approaching them was rather short by Digory's standards, and his beard was long and unkempt, his skin leathered, but his eyes sharp and knowing, as if he'd seen more than any mortal before him. With a long, scarred finger, he pointed at Digory. "Pws kefali soy?"

Digory blinked. "I don't speak…your language, sir."

The man frowned. "To kefali sas," he said, touching his own temple with a questioning look.

Digory began to understand. "My head? Oh…" He touched the wound and grimaced.

"Brilliant, Digory!" said Polly.

Nodding, the man took a ceramic jar and offered it to Polly, who looked at it quizzically. "What is it?" she asked, pointing and shrugging rather theatrically.

" Nero," said the man, making drinking motions with his hand. "Poto ayto, tha kalytera."

"He wants us to drink it," Digory translated.

"I do realize that," Polly said dryly. She took a long drink from the jar. "Mm. It's cool."

"What is?" Digory asked, his own mouth salivating.

She handed it to him. "Water."

Water had never tasted so good. Digory hadn't thought he'd been thirsty, but the minute the water touched his lips, he felt as dry as a desert.

When he'd finished, he handed the jar back to the man with a sheepish look. "Thank you."

"Epith," said the man with a smile. He then placed a hand on his chest. "Eimai o Odysseus. Odysseus."

"I think he's saying that is name is Odysseus," Polly said. "Now, where have I heard that name before?"

Now, Digory and Polly hadn't been paying attention in history class when their teacher discussed Arthurian legend, but Digory had had the benefit of a bookish father who enjoyed regaling his son with tales of ancient Greek heroes. Grabbing Polly's sleeve, he said, "Odysseus! The Odyssey—we are a very long way from Narnia, Polly."

Polly sat back, utterly defeated. "Oh. Oh, oh, oh."

Odysseus looked on, evidently under the impression that he had done something to offend.

"I am Digory," Digory said, sitting up with an effort and wracking his brains for some way to get this information across to the Greek hero. Touching his clothes and Polly's pinafore, he shook his head and touched Odysseus's tunic. "This is Polly. We're lost. We're not Greek."

"Eiste ksenoi," said Odysseus, appearing to understand. He pointed at them, then made the gesture of rocking a small child to sleep. "Paidi."

"Is he calling us children?" Digory said indignantly.

"Well," said Polly gently, "we rather are, you know."

Odysseus continued to rock the invisible child, but pointed at himself. "Mhtera? Oi goneis? Patera?"

Polly gasped. "Patera! I think—I think he's asking where our parents are, Digory. Patera, father! My dad always calls himself the paterfamilias, and he says it means he's the father of the family."

"Brilliant, Polly!" Digory enthused, then immediately regretted it as his wound throbbed.

Polly turned to Odysseus. "Our…our patera…" She pointed at herself and Digory. "They're…not here. Not here." She shook her head vigorously, then looked around and appeared very confused.

Odysseus's bushy eyebrows went up, and he exclaimed, "Eiste xathei! Ftwxa paidia!" He touched both of them with the greatest of sympathy, then frowned a moment and pointed to himself and his men. "Ithaca."

"Ithaca," Digory repeated. "I think that was—is—his kingdom."

"I think you're right," Polly said.

"But how do we get home?" Digory asked Odysseus, tracing the shape of a building on the wooden slats. "I want…I want my mhtera."

"So do I," Polly said mournfully.

Odysseus watched their faces carefully, and appeared to understand. " Na ekneyrizomai," he said gently. "Tha spitia sas."

With that, he stood up and motioned for one of the men to bring the children some food. "Do you think that he'll help us?" Digory asked around a mouthful of rather dry bread.

"I think so," said Polly thoughtfully. "I think so."

--

The children slept fitfully. Scarcely had they closed their eyes, it seemed, than they were being woken up by the creak of oars and the shouts of the sailors; the sun was barely cresting the eastern horizon, but already the entire fleet had opened their sails and set to rowing.

"Why the haste?" Polly asked.

"Because they're sailors," Digory answered with the utmost patience. "I imagine they don't want to waste their time floating about."

"I know that," she retorted crossly. "But everyone's running about and setting to and working rather quickly, don't you think?"

At that moment, Odysseus noticed that they were awake. "Koitakste, paidia!" he cried, pointing. "Ksemparkarw!"

Digory and Polly shaded their eyes and looked out to starboard where the Greek was pointing. There, looming mistily in the distance, was a great mass of land. "Oh, thank heavens!" Digory sighed.

The wind was to the fleet's advantage, and it seemed like only a few moments before the sails were reefed and sand crunched under the hull of Odysseus's ship. As Odysseus leapt from the prow onto the beach and stood, fists on his hips, surveying the craggy cliffs and hills that towered above them, there was an eerie silence.

Digory held his breath for no apparent reason, and Polly took his hand.

"Xairetismoys, taksidiwtes," came a loud voice. It seemed to sweep down from the mysterious hills and rustle the sails and Digory's hair, tickling his ears.

Around the children, the sailors clamored excitedly, some looking at the sky and others reaching for their weapons.

"Xairetismoys," said Odysseus, suddenly striding forward and out of Polly and Digory's line of sight. "Eimai Odysseus toy Ithaca. Emeis anapayla xanontai…mporw na thesei?"

"Tha bohthhsoyme," came the other voice. "En andrwn na moy. Eimai Aeolus, ploiarxos anemoi."

A silent moment passed, and then Odysseus cried, "Proerxontai! Apobibazontai—edw. Akakios, Aeolus."

"What's going on?" Polly whispered, her eyes wide. "Oh, I do wish I spoke ancient Greek…!"

Digory was about to reply when a burly sailor strode towards them and picked up first Polly, who shrieked, then tucked her under one arm and did the same with Digory. As if they weighed no more than feathers, the sailor strode across the ship and leapt onto the shore.

"That was quite unnecessary, thank you," said Digory crossly the moment he was set down, fixing his shirt.

Polly elbowed him. Standing next to Odysseus was a small but very thin man dressed in a white tunic; he was watching them beadily and tapping his chin with one long finger. "I den oti eseis ftasei, eiste," he said to them.

Digory and Polly looked at each other and shrugged.

The man frowned. "Sen Türkler misin?"

Polly stomped her foot. "I do wish someone would give us breakfast, instead of asking us all sorts of questions we can't understand anyway."

"Aha!" cried the man, laughing. "You speak English!"

Digory blinked. "Why…y-yes, as a matter of fact. But…"

"Oh, dear," sighed Polly.

The man bowed again. "Forgive me. I am called Aeolus, Master of the Winds, and this is my island, Aeolia." He gestured to the lands behind him. "Come. While Odysseus is gathering his men, we will walk together to my house."

It was Digory's turn to grab Polly's hand, and they walked after Aeolus, knees knocking and palms sweating.

"I hope you will pardon our rocky introductions," Aeolus said over his shoulder, the pebbles of the beach crunching under his sandals. "I receive few visitors here."

"I can't imagine why," said Polly faintly.

Evidently Aeolus took this as a compliment, for he smiled graciously. "Thank you, young maiden. Now, Odysseus tells me you are not Greek."

"I'm not sure what's what anymore, quite frankly," said Digory. "In fact, I demand to know just what in blazes is going on here! All we're doing is trying to get to Narnia, and we keep getting knocked around from world to world. And how on Earth can you speak English?"

Aeolus smiled with infinite forbearance. "Dear boy. Don't you know that you don't get everything you ask for?"

"If you ask me," Polly broke in, "we're asking some very sensible questions."

"Patience, patience," Aeolus said, gesturing them through a low doorway set into a whitewashed wall. "'Tis quite fortunate you came here, for I am the Master of the Winds."

"Well, what's that?" Polly asked. Their footsteps echoed on mosaic floors.

Holding up a finger, Aeolus seemed to listen for a moment, then went off to the right, where a little spiral staircase led up to a large window through which streamed golden sunshine.

"Loony," Digory said under his breath.

Polly shushed him, and together they watched Aeolus lean out the window, take a deep breath, and blow, his cheeks puffed out to a ridiculous size. Suddenly, in the midst of their muffled laughter, a great wind ripped through the hall, flattening Digory's shirt against his back and making Polly's pinafore flutter and snap like a sail.

"That is what I do," said Aeolus, coming back down the staircase with a slight cough. "My warehouses are filled with wind—West, South, East, North, zephyrs, breezes, gales, and hurricanes.

"What I propose, then," he continued, ambling around the gallery and spinning the weathervanes and various other meteorological paraphernalia that decorated the room, "is to simply place you upon the North Wind and have it blow you to your terminus."

Digory and Polly were silent for a moment. "Isn't that a bit…" Polly said hesitantly, "dangerous?"

"No more dangerous than fairy dust," Aeolus replied, looking at his nails. "Or consulting with sorcerers, for that matter."

"Well, what do you consider yourself to be, then?" Digory demanded, bristling at the idea that this strange fellow seemed to know all about them.

Aeolus arched an eyebrow. "I am a demigod. We are of a rather…different breed than sorcerers. That's how I came to speak your language."

"Could we have a moment to decide?" Polly asked, and the demigod bowed.

"I'm against it," Digory said as soon as they had gone a few paces away. "I'm tired of being kicked around. Polly, think about it—do you know for certain where we'll end up next? It—it could be Timbuktu!"

"But isn't there a chance we could get to Narnia?" Polly asked gently. "Or even back to London? I rather miss my mum, you know."

"A very small chance," Digory grunted.

Polly's face fell, and she played with her now raggedy bow. "I don't want to go without you."

"Perhaps it'll be good for the both of us."

"Oh, don't say that. You know just as well as I do that if it weren't for me, you'd be very lonely indeed."

Digory crossed his arms and looked around at the high-ceilinged hall with all its interesting trappings and corridors. "I think I like it just fine here."

"Suit yourself." Polly shrugged and turned to walk back to Aeolus.

Suddenly, the enormity of what he had been just about to do dawned on Digory—the rest of his life on an ancient Greek island?—and he grabbed Polly's hand. "I was just poking fun," he muttered.

She smiled.

"Have you made your decision?" Aeolus asked.

"Yes," said Polly. "We'll ride your North Wind."

Aeolus smiled and bowed. "Very good. If you please, ascend that staircase and I'll be right along."

So saying, he went off down a corridor, the echo of his sandals dying away as Digory and Polly went slowly up the stairs. "It is very beautiful," said Polly when they reached the top, looking out of Aeolus's wind-blowing window at the sky, a clear blue despite the mist that had seemed to surround the island. "It's as if…well, it's as if the world has just begun."

Digory sighed. "It'll be rather boring, don't you think, if we get back to Our World after this?"

Polly shrugged, leaning on the sill. "Perhaps not. I think that we'll find plenty of adventure there, too, if we just look.

Aeolus called to them from below. "Children!"

They looked. He was carrying under one arm a rich purple sack, so full of whatever it was inside that the seams were straining, though he didn't seem to be tired of the weight at all.

"What should we do?" Polly asked.

"Just turn your backs to me," Aeolus instructed, "and close your eyes!"

Digory didn't like that idea much, but Polly took his hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze, and he managed to convince himself to close his eyes.

A moment's silence ensued, but the peace was soon broken by a whistle, a groan, and the sound of a thousand sighs all issued at once. The wind was warm and tingly, and it lifted Digory and Polly right off their feet and cradled them like babies.

"Oh!" said Polly as the island moved away from under them.

That about summed up Digory's feelings, as well. Though the action made his eyes water, he looked back once more at the island and saw Aeolus waving from his window and Odysseus's fleet in the bay.

"Wherever we're going," Polly shouted to him, "I don't think I'd mind if it took a while."

And so they settled down, borne on the back of the North Wind, sailing high above the birds, but feeling as though they were curled up in the softest of feather beds.

--

The North Wind carried them so far and so fast that it seemed as though no time at all had passed when the children found themselves slowly drifting downwards. At first, Digory had the sickening sensation of being pushed off the high dive at the public swimming pool, but then he noticed a small island—much smaller than Never-Land and Aeolia, at any rate—and suddenly felt like laughing.

Gently, as if placing a baby bird back in its nest, the North Wind set Digory and Polly down on the beach of that tiny island, then swirled around them one last time and was gone. Digory was so caught up in the exhilaration of the moment, his stomach and feet still feeling as though he were flying, that he didn't notice Polly's quiet sobs until a few minutes later.

"Oh, Polly," he said, feeling suddenly awkward, "what's wrong?"

She was hugging her knees, her dingy pinafore half-buried by the white sand she was sitting on. "What's wrong? We're not anywhere, that's what's wrong! This isn't Narnia, and it—it's certainly not England."

With a loud, unladylike sniff, she wiped her nose.

Digory sat in the sand next to her. "Don't cry, Poll. Really. We could be like…like Robinson Crusoe and Friday!"

This only made her cry harder, and Digory could do nothing but sit with his hands in his lap until she decided she was finished and dried her face.

"We'll make do, I suppose," she said with a sigh.

"Children."

Digory and Polly turned around. There, standing on the sand not ten paces away from them, was a great tawny lion—one that Digory was simultaneously terrified of and drawn to.

"Aslan?" Polly ventured.

The lion bowed his noble head. "Polly, Digory."

"Does this mean we're in Narnia?" Digory asked excitedly. All the memories of that glorious morning—the song—Fledge—Jadis—once dulled by other concerns, now flooded his mind again.

Aslan stretched out his paws and settled down in the sand, twitching his tail to the rhythm of the pounding waves. "I'm afraid not, Digory."

Polly gave a devastated "Oh!" but Digory, encouraged by the lion's gentle demeanor, stepped forward a few paces and knelt down just out of reach of the giant paws.

"Aslan, sir, we have tried so hard to get to your country…to you. We've tried nearly everything!"

"Are we doing something wrong?" Polly asked tentatively.

Aslan chuckled a deep lion-laugh, and it rumbled in Digory's chest. "Are you doing something wrong?" he repeated. "Oh, children. What you are doing is not wrong."

Polly and Digory grinned, but Aslan wasn't finished.

"It's how you're setting about doing it in the first place that's wrong."

"Oh, but—" Polly started.

"I am well pleased that you seek me and my country," Aslan went on. "After all, none who experience Narnia can ever fully leave it—they will always come back, some sooner than others."

"Does this mean we can—" began Digory, but Polly had caught on and so elbowed him into silence.

Aslan lowered his head to their levels, his golden eyes piercing theirs. "But you cannot find Narnia—Narnia finds you. Try as hard as you might, Digory," he added as Digory's jaw jutted forward, "but doors to it open only when you're not looking for them."

"So…how did we come to see all these different worlds?" Polly asked.

"Because you sought the help of mortals," Aslan replied. "Yes, even Aeolus will someday meet an end, just as you will. You see, Digory, Polly, this is what happens when you try to get to Narnia through any other means than the ones ordained for it by the Ancient Magic. Of all the worlds you saw, none could compare to Narnia, can they?"

Polly and Digory sat in silence, shaking their heads as the import of Aslan's words washed over them. "Will we never get back into Narnia, then?" Polly asked, sounding absolutely miserable. "I don't…I don't know if I could bear to never see you again."

Aslan leaned forward and gave her a gentle lion's kiss with his rough tongue. "I did not say that, dear one. Just because Narnia is not in Your World does not mean I am not."

Once again, Digory opened his mouth to speak, but something in Aslan's face made him shut it again and remain in silence. Together, the three of them sat in the warm sand and watched the gulls soar high above them, swooping down to catch fish and splash in the ocean with their wings.

At last, Polly broke the silence. "You know, I'm dreadfully hungry."

Aslan laughed another lion's laugh, and Digory couldn't help but laugh along. "I believe it is nearly evening in Your World," he said, standing up on his four paws. "You'll be just in time for supper."

As if they shared one mind, the two children threw their arms around Aslan's neck and buried their faces in his mane as he licked their cheeks and purred deep in his chest. "Thank you so much, Aslan," said Polly. "I won't lie and say I'm not disappointed, but it is good to know that you haven't forgotten us!"

"Forgotten you?" Aslan asked. "Never."

And he breathed warm lion's breath on them. Digory instinctively closed his eyes and breathed deeply; it smelled of every good thing under the sun, and he tried desperately to burn the memory of it into his mind.

When he opened his eyes, though, the warm sun and sand had gone, and instead of Aslan and the gulls, he found himself and Polly back in Uncle Andrew's study. The old man was pacing back and forth on the other side of the room, wringing his hands dreadfully and muttering to himself.

The disappointment in seeing Uncle Andrew rather than Aslan was acute, but Polly squeezed his hand and said, "Mr. Ketterley?"

Uncle Andrew gave a great start. "Oh—good heavens—jiminy cricket—thank heaven you're both still alive!"

He rushed towards them with hands outstretched. "Oh, oh…"

"What happened, Uncle Andrew?" Digory asked firmly.

"What? Oh, yes, yes, that unfortunate incident—well, I've sent Mrs. Lefay packing, I'll have you know—she's gone, and gone for good. Wretched old hag."

At that moment, a voice from downstairs called out, "Digory! Uncle Andrew! Supper!"

Uncle Andrew started again. "Oh, good heavens—look, you two, whatever you do, don't tell your mothers where you've gone!"

"We won't," Polly and Digory promised, and they went downstairs.

"Look," Digory said as Polly put her hand on the front door. "I'm…well, I'm sorry about whatever I've said about you not being a brick. Because…because you are rather a brick Polly."

Polly beamed. "I think rather highly of you, too, Digory. See you?"

"Yes—see you."

She waved once and snuck out the door, and Digory went right into the dining room where Mother and Aunt Letty were just sitting down at the table.

"Hello, Mother," he said. "Did you have a good day?"

"Good gracious!" she exclaimed with a laugh the moment she clapped eyes on him. "Digory Kirke, you're an absolute disgrace! Just look at your jumper. Honestly, son, you and your games…I'll never understand them."

"Well, you wouldn't believe them if I told you, anyway," Digory said, and hopped into his chair with a smile.

Aunt Letty winked.


Original Prompt:
What I want: A bookverse fic involving Digory Kirke and/or Polly Plummer set after their adventure in Narnia. Either shipfic, or genfic with one or both characters is fine.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: Growing up
What I definitely don't want in my fic: Graphic sex

Comments

[autumnia]

Though they never did get to Narnia, both Polly and Digory did at least have a grand adventure. It's like traveling through the pools in the Wood Between the Worlds but differently. And yet, not even those fantastical words could compare to Narnia or even drab and dingy London. At the very least, they did get to see Aslan again and now they know that He is here in our world too. Also lovely was how Aslan tells them that Narnia will find those she needs and not to go looking for her; nice foreshadowing to the Pevensies and the Wardrobe. Well done!

[rthstewart.livejournal.com]

Oh mystery writer, I adored this. I really did. The humor:
"Oh, I do hope they're not pirates," she said as they sank lower and lower.
"I hope it's the White Star Line," Digory said.

And before that,
Peter Pan ignored him. "Here's what we'll do," he said, bobbing excitedly in midair. "Fairy dust! Tink will give you some, and you'll fly to Narnia. You know the way?"
"I think," said Polly rather uncertainly. "South?"

This was so much FUN. I do feel badly that Polly and Digory don't get to Narnia, but they find rather more don't they?

And goodness but we have had some wonderful Polly/Digory fics. Morgan LeFay, and Merlin and Peter Pan and then Odysseus, and finally the demi-gods.

This was a lovely, lovely fic and I so enjoyed it. Terrific humor and poignancy and a wonderful moment with Aslan at the end.

Brava!

[liminalliz.livejournal.com]

I LOL'D AND LOL'D ALL THE WAY THROUGH THIS; what a charming, funny, endearing fic! Beatifully executed, completely and utterly adorable. Loved it!

[cofax7]

Oh, what fun! Such a lovely adventure.

[min023.livejournal.com]

I love your story, dear author. I simply adore the romp through mythology and tale, only to find Aslan, and to learn the lesson that the Pevensies would learn later - that he must be sought in their own world, and that they would find their way to his country in his time. Brilliant : )

[snacky]

Oh my gosh, so much fun! It really had me laughing! All the places they went, all the people they met, trying so hard to get to Narnia. I love how Aslan was amused at them too. Such an adorable adventure!

[wingedflight21.livejournal.com]

What a fun fic! Love the cute little details you have here, and the style quite similar to Lewis', and the whole general idea of the two children trying and trying to get back to Narnia but ending up in other stories instead. And the end with Aslan was quite adorable!

[ilysia-039.livejournal.com]

Oh, I do love this! I can just see Polly and Digory trying so hard to get back into Narnia (who wouldn't?) by any means. Traveling though all the other worlds, like a Wood but not, was lovely, and you did the otherworldly elements to well. Thank you!

[venilia.livejournal.com]

This is delightful! Though I would love to know what Odysseus was saying.

[(Anonymous)]

I was rather worried when the two met Odysseus, he has such a knack for getting distracted... Wonderful I loved this story!