I Know a Tale, or, The Lost King (3/3) - for wingedflight21
Title: I Know a Tale, or, The Lost King
Author: pencildragon11/OldfashionedGirl95
Recipient: wingedflight21
Rating: T to be safe.
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Familiarity with LWW, parts of PC, and one element in MN is assumed. Supporting character defoliation, and someone whose mother probably didn't have soap with which to wash out his mouth when he was a kid.
Summary: "Great Lion, grant me a son," prayed Queen Althea in the days before the winter, “I will teach him to give magnanimously, to love tenderly, to judge wisely, and to fight courageously; that he may restore your peace to Narnia."
I Know a Tale, or, The Lost King, part 3
Burnt are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men.
Yet, ere the sword cool in the sheath
Charlie will come again.
~ Skye Boat Song
These are the generations. . . .
~ The Bible
I have a song to sing-o!
Sing me your song-o.
~ Gilbert & Sullivan
XIX.
Telmar
The Thirty-Fourth Year of Chief Belisan
“Drake of Narnia?” said Peter.
“I do not know,” said Lady Gree. “I know the tale from my mother as she heard it from her father.”
“What tale have you?” said Lucy.
The woman smiled. “I know a tale. Shall any listen? That is how my grandfather began his stories, yes. It is the tale of my family.”
“We listen,” said Lucy. “Tell us your tale.”
“A hundred summers and winters ago, Glen son of Drake came over the mountains from Archenland with Lark his bride and Bram her elder brother. Glen was a man of brawn and bravery, Lark a girl of youth and beauty. Her brother Bram was a silent man with thoughts of his own. Together they built this cabin and bought a cow from the Chief, who was then a great-grandfather of Uvilas and called by the same name. Not long after, Lark gave birth to a son, and they named him Olvin, for a great hero in their land.”
“Olvin of Archenland,” said Peter.
“Do you know the story?” said the lady. “We have forgotten it, and remember only that he was a hero.”
“Should say he was. He was an Archenlander. He killed the Giant Pire, who had carried off King Clive's daughter Liln, Princess of Narnia, and won her hand in marriage.”
“Ah,” said Gree. “Someday you must tell me of it. Have you enough salt?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Lucy. “Please go on.”
“In those days, Telmar was prosperous, for much snow fell in the winter and watered the land. Glen bred his cow, and she calved, and he began to build a herd. Young Olvin was weaned, and his mother yearned for a second son, as was the custom of her land. Her belly swelled with the ripening wheat, and she reaped a son in the dead of winter, but he did not live through the night.
“Five children did she bear, and only Olvin and his girl-sibling Olive lived more than a day, but the herd of cattle grew, and Glen got good harvest from his fields of wheat and alfalfa. So Lark grew marrow-sick with grief. In her sadness she quarreled with her brother Bram, and he dressed for the mountains, took his bow, and went west to hunt, but he did not return.
“Olvin grew tall and strong like his father, and he preferred to wander in the mountains and seek the legendary buffalo with his bow and quiver than to sit at home and watch the buckwheat grow. His sister Olive glided behind him like a shadow, learning the wood-signs; soon she grew to be a greater tracker than he and nearly as good with a bow. Long they searched for the buffalo, the great beast said to live in the mountains and to be as great as a mountain himself. But at home, Lark their mother, pined, and she chose a wife for Olvin from among the people of Telmar-a slender, fair-haired girl like herself, whose name was Arla.
“Olvin loved the mountains and his bow, and he spent little time in the company of women besides his sister, but he married the girl to please his mother, for his father insisted. Arla bore a son, and Olvin fled again to the mountains with Olive gliding silently behind him. After some months, he returned for a brief time, but soon took off again. Three sons did his wife bear in four years, and perhaps a year in all was he at home.
“Olvin's father, Glen, fed Arla and her and sons out of his own plenty, but whenever Olvin returned to the mountains his father would reproach and his mother would rail. Silently, his sister at his shoulder, he would listen. And then he would take up his bow and go away again. The third time, he did not come back for two summers and winters. His youngest son, born some months after he left, began to walk, and Olvin's wife and parents thought him dead.
“Then at last, when the buckwheat was ripe, Olvin and Olive walked down out of the mountains, carrying packs of dried meat and a horned and shaggy head between them. They had found the buffalo, in the plains on the far side of the mountain, and they had killed it. 'There are more,' they said. 'Hundreds of buffalo, rolling away like a black cloud on the plains.' But the people of Telmar had no interest in hunting buffalo. 'We have cattle,' they said. 'Why should we climb the mountains to hunt buffalo?'
“Olvin's father Glen took him out in the fields, and showed him the cattle and the wheat. 'I grow old, and all this will soon be yours,' said he. 'You have killed your buffalo. Now let the marrow of your bones be at peace and learn to farm.' So Olvin went with his father, and studied the cattle and the wheat, and when his father died he lived as a farmer. His sons grew. His mother grew old, and cantankerous. And his wife gave birth to a daughter, whom he named Arla after her mother. Often he looked at the horns of the buffalo which hung on his wall, and he sighed for the free life of the mountains, but no more did he go hunting with his sister, and he lived out his days in quietness.”
XX.
England
The Fifth Year of King Edward VII
In the parsonage of Little Sunbury that Saturday morning, the vicar's wife went into her guest room and looked at the little boy curled in the covers at the foot of the bed. Colin usually appeared in the spring with lost or wounded baby animals, but this year's assortment of squirrel, raccoon, kittens, and puppies had all grown, recovered, and gone on, either back to the wild or to homes among her husband's parishioners. Recently, they had taken in a half-grown, injured tom cat-Stripetail. As a middle-aged vicar's wife, Susie wasn't fazed by overnight guests or homeless wanderers, but this boy-the three-year-old who named the cat, crawled under the tablecloth, didn't know how to say his prayers, and slept burrowed into the bedclothes-she didn't know quite what to make of him.
“Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?”
A little freckled face poked out of the covers, topped with longish, tangled brown hair. “G'mornin', Aunt Thuthie.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thankee.” He crawled out of the tangle of blankets, clutching his frayed stuffed lion, and padded after her into the kitchen, where he happily consumed scrambled eggs and muffins with milk, again sharing the milk with the cat. Unsanitary, probably, but she ignored it and contented herself with periodic questions about the boy's family, home, life-anything she could think of. While she did the washing-up, he told her at length about a lion with some foreign name who had made “ever'fing and Fwank” and who lived across the sea with his father. The lion's father, not the boy's father.
He was obviously an imaginative boy, but she couldn't decide whether he had an entire clan of imaginary playmates or whether the relatives who cared for him had constructed an elaborate game like something out of the Jungle Book. It was his entirely-neglected Christian education-what kind of pagan taught that God was a giant lion?-that disturbed her. She resolved to begin him that afternoon on the most basic catechism, after she cut his hair. There were some serviceable clothes in the poor box (he'd been wearing some kind of outlandish Red Indian skins), but further alterations could wait, and she took him with her to work in the garden while it was still cool.
Telling him to go on and play, she turned to see what was to be done, but he tugged her skirt.
“Aunt Thuthie?”
“Yes?”
“Are yo' twees safe?”
He was entirely in earnest, standing there with his hair in his eyes, dragging his stuffed lion by one paw.
“Certainly,” she said. “As long as you don't fall out of one and break your leg.”
He nodded seriously, and with a “Thankee,” ran off.
She went to work bedding down the garden for the winter and thinking. She and Colin had wanted children of their own for years. Susie's younger brother Bill had four children, all in their teens. Her school friend Mabel's son was nineteen years old, a quiet, studious young man. The good Lord had not so blessed Colin and Susie, and she had contented herself with mothering kittens, puppies, birds, wandering tradesmen, and parishioners. Except for the parishioners, none stayed for long.
She glanced over at Frank, who was several yards away, holding a whispered conference with a rabbit. His hand was on the animal's head in the same oddly formal gesture he had used with Stripetail-who now was stalking the two of them, his belly low in the grass. The cat came too near; the rabbit sprang away; the boy went after the cat and scolded it sternly.
Susie shook her head and went back to work. This carrot was particularly stubborn and didn't want to leave the ground. Frank certainly belonged to somebody-someone was certainly looking for him-three-year-old boys certainly don't appear on church doorsteps without an explanation.
“Good morning!”
Susie looked around. “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Finch. Come right in. Would you like some tea?”
Mrs. Finch, about sixty years of age and Little Sunbury's leading busybody, unlatched the gate and came right in. “Oh, no, I couldn't trouble you. So this is the boy. Vicar called and mentioned you'd picked up a boy you didn't know what to do with and I thought I'd better come and see for myself.”
“It's not that we don't know what to do with him, Mrs. Finch, but that we don't know where he belongs.”
“I daresay.” Mrs. Finch peered at Frank over her spectacles. “Looks healthy enough, though his hair is girlish. What's wrong with him?”
“Nothing's the matter with him, except that his religious education has been neglected and he has quite the imagination.”
“Hm! Likely he hasn't been spanked enough. You never know with these foundlings, but the rod certainly will drive the foolishness out of a child.”
“It seems quite harmless, really, Mrs. Finch-his imagination, I mean. Do come in and have a spot of tea.”
“Don't mind if I do,” said the old lady, and they moved toward the house. “I hope, Susan, that you aren't intending to keep the child. Orphans are so unreliable, you know. One can never tell what sort of parents they had.”
XXI.
Telmar
Listening to the story of Peridan's family, Lucy forgot to think about what she was eating, and it gave her a jolt when Gree asked if she wanted more.
“Ye-yes, thank you,” said Lucy. “It's lovely. But what happened to Olvin's sister?”
“Oh, she lived with the deer and the elk and the bears more than with people. I believe it was shortly after Arla-the younger Arla-was born that Olive went into the snowy eastern mountains to search for something her Uncle Bram had once told her of, a pure-white stag. She never returned.”
Lucy and Peter exchanged a glance.
“That winter, Lark grew sick, and when the snow was deep she died. Glen had loved her fiercely, and by spring he, too, lay still in his bed and his herds and fields were Olvin's to manage.”
Lucy made a crooning little sound in her throat.
“They were old, and had lived many winters,” said Gree. “Those next years were peaceful ones, and Olvin grew to love his wife Arla as he should. The herds and fields prospered, and all was well. Their sons married girls of their own choosing, and their daughter married a man named Erimon, who had curly black hair, twinkling eyes, and laughter like a spring brook rippling over stones. Soon her belly swelled like ripening wheat, and she reaped a daughter, a tiny little thing, whom she named Gree.
“Sometimes there is peace in Telmar for many summers and winters. Sometimes there is war, and the dry land runs with a cloudburst of blood. There had been peace for several generations, and when I, Gree was nearly fifteen winters old, the war came. Dark men from the south-Calormenes-came bringing gifts, and Chief Uvilas the son of Uvilas welcomed them. But one of his men, Belisan son of Nothor, looked upon the Calormenes with suspicion. Before long, Belisan and Uvilas fought for the Cutlass, and the whole valley was divided with them. Olvin and his sons were on the side of Chief Uvilas, and neighbors whose cows were pastured with Olvin's fought for Belisan. It was a long and bloody struggle, for the Calormenes from the south came to the aid of Chief Uvilas.”
“Probably they hoped to add Telmar to their Empire,” said Peter.
Peridan nodded, and his mother went on.
“At last, Chief Belisan was victorious. He drove the Calormenes back beyond the mountains to the south, and with the edge of the Cutlass he slew Chief Uvilas, King of the Mountains, Captain of the Telmarines and many who had supported him, including Olvin, all Olvin's sons, and Erimon. Arla and Gree he spared, lest his friends call him bloodthirsty, but without their men they could not care for the great herd and the fields, so they sold most of their property and kept only the few cows they could milk themselves.
“Gree wished to marry, but many young men had died in the battles, and the maidens outnumbered the youths. It was ten years before she received an offer of marriage from an old widower named Zardin, and she accepted. Zardin had supported Uvilas, but had been too old and lazy to fight and so had not been killed. Nevertheless, I married him. When I reaped a son I named him Peridan, and when I reaped another I called him Casp.”
XXII.
Narnia
In Narnia, Queen Althea lived as one who knows her days are counted out, one by one, the last grains running through the hourglass. When Frank searched fruitlessly for his brother, she comforted and diverted him, her lips moving in silent prayer to Aslan. Grubbledelve and Moldywarp finished the tunnel, complete with a hidden trap door to conceal it from casual eyes, and set off, with Althea's thanks and blessing, for the east. Althea crafted careful plans and instructed her son's guardians-Sootquill, Twinkletacks, Clearscry, Nightshadow, and Quicktrack-in her commands if she were to suddenly die; she also told her Centaur advisor of her plans and made arrangements with a certain (miraculously loyal) clan of Badgers who lived east of Ravenswood. When all was done, she searched the flat horizon for smoke and played determinedly with her lonely son.
In the days of Swanwhite Father Christmas had stayed the entire twelve days of Yule, but those times were long gone, and that year he came and went in the dead of night. For Frank he left a soft yellow lion, made of cloth and stuffed with wool; for Althea, only a message with Sootquill the Owl: Thy son abideth safe in Archenland, doted upon by Lady Celia and all her family.
When Sootquill repeated the message to the Queen, she covered her face and wept.
Three days after Christmas, Prince Frank celebrated his first birthday-or rather, his father the King threw a great feast to commemorate the first anniversary of the Crown Prince's natal day. The sleepy boy himself made an official appearance in a scarlet velvet doublet. The Queen, desperately wondering if her other son still cried for her and if Lady Celia remembered his birthday, was agonizingly relieved that the King asked only to see his heir and primogeniture.
In Narnia, Christmas lasts for the full twelve days of Yule, and then comes the New Year. King Drake feasted away the days with his swollen court, blind to the state of his country, but Queen Althea and her court stayed away from the revelry. She and Frank strung cranberries and hung star- and flower-shaped biscuits on a small tree in the garden for the wild birds. Then, gathered around the fire, they listened to Mrs. Twinkletacks tell the tale of Narnia's first Christmas. The young Narnians were frightened by the snow, but King Frank reassured them that it was harmless, and soon Father Christmas came to promise the return of Spring.
“Now a coverlet of snow lies thick and warm over Narnia,” said Mrs. Twinkletacks. “Old Father Winter has put all the land to bed and he himself sleeps, wrapped in a white cloak, below the Great Waterfall; but after we have all had our long winter naps, Lady Verna will trip over the hills from the east, wreathed in flowers and the breath of the Lion. From Mount Pire in the southeast and along the river she will wake the land. The Trees will dress themselves, the Waters will skip and laugh, and the Hedgehogs will come out of their burrows. Then Lady Verna will come to Old Father Winter where he sleeps, and she will shake him until he yawns, mumbles into his beard, and wanders away into the North for another summer.” Mrs. Twinkletacks yawned herself, covering her mouth delicately with a paw. “My, but I'm sleepy.”
The rebellion lulled as many Animals sought their dens and holes and burrows and settled down to their winter's sleep. Dragons do not hibernate, but Milophylax stayed on the warmer southern slopes of Narnia, farther from Ravenswood, and for those twelve days there was an almost-peace. Queen Althea wrote a letter to the Centaur Prophet on the ninth day, wishing him and his herd a Happy Christmas. She closed thus:
“My deepest gratitude to thee for thy counsel and friendship when I did most need it. I oft bethink myself of thy words at our last meeting, and I do trust thou wilt remember thy promises to me.
“I have not seen Aslan since that night, yet constantly do I pray to him; I know he is beside me and I know he will guard my son far better than shall ever be within mine ability to do. May he also be with thee and with all his faithful ones through the winter.”
Timeseer paused in his rendition of the tale, and Lucy thought for a moment she saw a tear in his eye, but already she knew that a Centaur never cries.
Then, the day after the New Year, Clearscry came to the Queen and said, “Madam, a foreign queen hath come to Ravenswood.”
“Who is she?” asked Althea.
“Queen of the Lands of the North, she says. She is taller than most Humans, pale and-they say-very beautiful. You know I cannot see as you see.”
Something stirred in Althea's memory. That evening, King Drake called for his Queen to join him and their honored guest at dinner, in a celebration of the New Year and new friendships. A great calm descended upon Queen Althea as she dressed herself in her most queenly robes, arrayed her hair, and put on her crown. The Prince was already asleep, for in those days the King dined late, after the Calormene fashion, so the Queen lingered only a moment over her son, kissed him, and left all but Nightshadow to watch him. With the Panther at her side, she walked regally through the halls.
XXIII.
Telmar
All afternoon, Peter and Lucy told Peridan and Gree tales of Narnia and of Aslan, and there was much laughter in the little cabin, especially once the remains of the roast beaver tail were cleared away. In the evening, Peter began to feel lightheaded and queasy.
“Ah, the marrow of your bones is too thick, King Peter,” said Lady Gree. “When the hunters sleep high in the western mountains and drink not enough water, their marrow thickens and they grow ill. Drink more and rest.” She pumped him full of water and made him lie down.
It was too early to go to bed, so Peridan and Lucy walked down to the pasture together. The Wolves were snoozing near the remains of a large deer, and several wild foxes were feasting on the scraps. Clearscry was far away, soaring through the sky and seeing all that passed beneath; the Winged Horses were grazing well aloof of the Telmarine ponies.
“Queen Lucy!” called Chrysophylax. “Queen Lucy, come and see!”
He was curled proudly around a little pile of glittering gray-gold stones, like the ones Lucy had seen the girls wearing in their hair, and Peridan laughed. Lucy remembered Lady Gree's story of Erimon with the laugh like a spring brook, and she thought Peridan must have his grandfather's laugh.
“That's not real, Dragon,” said Peridan. “That's mountain gold.”
Chrysophylax drew himself up. “Mountain gold? Whatever is that?”
Peridan laughed again. “They're just pretty rocks. It's not worth anything.”
Lucy could tell that the Dragon really was disappointed, but he said rather archly, “Did I say it was gold? I simply called the Queen to come see the glittery rocks I had gathered.”
“They are pretty, Chrys,” she said. “Where did you find it?”
“There's piles of it by the stream,” he said, mollified. “Want me to show you?”
“I know the place,” said Peridan. “We're going that way anyhow.”
“Why do you call it mountain gold?” she asked as he led her away from the Dragon.
“I imagine when the Telmarines came here from, well from wherever they came from, they thought it was gold. It looks real enough if you haven't anything to put next to it. They must've tried to trade it and had rather a shock.”
She smiled. “I suppose my brother and I shall negotiate a treaty tomorrow with Chief Belisan.”
He bent down and picked up something from the stones of the river. “See?” It was one of the sparkling rocks, as large as a hummingbird's egg. “What sort of treaty?”
“Trade and export, likely, now that we have peace. We've few cows in Narnia. Perhaps we shall buy some from you, even trade horses for them and improve your stock.”
“Might be good. What else?”
“Well . . . Felimathian wool is the best, but your leather seems very fine, and I should like to have more of those turquoise stones. 'Twould be simply stunning in Susan's hair.”
“Queen Susan is your sister?”
“Yes.”
“What is she like?”
“Quite beautiful, really, with terribly long black hair and dozens of suitors. King Aran of Terebinthia is courting her presently. What is your brother like?”
He picked up another piece of mountain gold and gave it to her. “Casp? He likes cattle and farming. I'd rather go hunting in the mountains, but I'm the elder, so what's left of the fields and cows is supposed to be mine. But come on, there's a big rock on the other side of the brook where we can watch the sun set. Won't you tell me more about knights?”
The rock was pleasantly warm from the sun, and as they sat on it she told him about how Aslan knighted Peter, and about the jousting. “All the knights carry handkerchiefs or tokens from their ladies when they fight. They believe it aids them to be braver and more courtly and honorable.”
“Does anyone carry your handkerchief?”
She laughed. His tanned, freckled face looked oddly familiar, as if she had once known a person very like him. “Usually Peter carries Susan's token and Edmund carries mine, but before the Midsummer joust King Edmund said he would not be fighting, and then Susan gave hers to King Aran of Terebinthia. When I discovered that, I ran to Peter and begged him to take mine. The knight is supposed to ask the lady, but I feared Lord Shar would request mine, and then I should feel as if I had to grant it.”
“Lord Shar?”
“He's an Archen lord who thinks me terribly beautiful, and whenever he's in Narnia he tries to speak with me, and says he thinks me fairer than my sister. 'Tis amusing on the whole, yet I do not think I should like to give him my handkerchief.”
“I'd like to be a knight.”
“If you came and trained at Cair Paravel, then perhaps my brother would dub you a knight.”
He jumped up and stood before her. “By the gods my people worship, I would like to do that. Would you allow it?”
Just out of reach behind him, a prairie dog popped out of its hole and stood, listening for her answer.
“I see no reason against it. Yet you should ask the blessing of you mother and your chief.” She pondered it a moment. “The young men of Telmar yearn for adventure, do they not? Is that why they hunt in the Western March? Perhaps . . . my brother will invite them to Narnia, that they may see more of the world and be trained in knighthood. Think you the plan is good?”
XXIV.
Narnia
The King was dining privately that eve, with only his chief councilor and the two Queens. Althea reached the chamber, was announced, and went in. The foreign queen was the first person she saw-very tall and very pale, her lips very red and her hair very black. The second was the King, already drunk.
“Ah!” he cried as Althea was seated. “My Queen hath deigned to grace us with her face-no longer young, perhaps, but still, as she herself hath told me, a 'very Narnian Queen.' ” He laughed. “And our most distinguished guest-Queen Jadis, from the Lands of the North!”
The two Queens nodded stiffly to each other, and smoothly the pale one said, “Your Narnian forefathers were enemies of my land, but 'tis not a day for war. I have come to your fair land with pleasanter aims: that peaceful relations might be established between our countries.”
At that moment, (I believe) Queen Althea knew, for Nightshadow smelled the sudden fear run over her.
But just then the King noticed the Panther and said, “What, a wild beast here to sup? This may not be. Let the Queen's great kitten be sent away. If she wisheth to while away the hours in taming him, I care not, but let him not join us at table.”
So Nightshadow was turned out of the room, and though he tried to listen at the door, the guards forced him away, and he returned to the Queen's apartments, where all was quiet. Sootquill stood guard, Mrs. Twinkletacks sat by Frank's bed, mending a tear in his breeches, Clearscry's head was under her wing, and Quicktrack snoozed by the fire. Nightshadow paced. It was two or three hours before the Queen returned, staggering a little though not drunk on wine. “He sayeth . . . as beautiful as Swanwhite,” she said. “Aslan save Narnia.” And without even removing her crown, she lay down on her bed and closed her eyes.
It was several minutes before Nightshadow realized he could no longer hear her heartbeat.
He pawed at her arm and licked her face, but she did not move-and “If I die,” she had said more than once, “do not pause to grieve me until my son is safe.” So Nightshadow woke the others. “Oh my!” said Mrs. Twinkletacks, and began to dress Frank for the snow, hushing him so he would not cry out; Sootquill flew through the window to see how the moonlight lay in the garden; but Quicktrack the Hound sat up on his haunches and slowly licked his nose. “The Queen dead? Then we must get ourselves away from here. Two days ago I destroyed the last of the silver apples. Milophylax will soon return to finish off this last Human stronghold, and Narnia will belong wholly to the Beasts, her free and rightful citizens.”
And he loped off down the corridors. At last the Panther and the Eagle recovered their wits enough to rush after him. Turning several times, they rounded a corner and stopped, for there he was, detained by the small, determined figure of Khesa, who demanded,
“But where is Queen Althea?”
“I told you, I don't know. Listen, girl, run along to your dam. The Animals are kidnapping the prince and I must alert someone.”
He pushed past. The little girl watched him for a moment, then ran off the other way. Nightshadow followed her, between the tapestries and the walls. Clearscry kept after Quicktrack, who soon located some guards and barked, “The Queen's beasts are kidnapping the Prince!”
One of the soldiers yawned and said, “Aw, it's just another of those talking critters,” but another sat up. “And whose head will roll if the King's heir is kidnapped?” So they got up and followed the traitorous Dog.
Meanwhile, though, Khesa had run to her mother. “O-my-mother-and-o-the-delight-of-my-eyes, Quicktrack the Hound hath said unto your daughter that the Queen is away and her courtiers, the Talking Beasts which she keepeth, are stealing Prince Frank away in the dead of night. O my mother, may it please you to go and stop them.”
“Nay, o my daughter and o the thorn in my side,” said her mother. “For am I not also mother to the King's children? and was not my son born first? If the barbarian prince is stolen by wild beasts, shall not thy father the King make thy brother his heir?”
The King's mistress hurried by another way, and met the guards as they came to the Queen's chambers. “Guards!” she called. “ 'Tis a false alarm. Pay no attention to the words of the creature, but begone from these corridors, for our beloved Prince sleeps safe in his bed.” And because she was the King's favorite lady, they listened to her.
In this strange way, Aslan watched over the Prince. Mrs. Twinkletacks bundled him safely-if sleepily-out into the garden and down the Mole's tunnel, lowering the cover behind them; then it was under the castle wall and away east and south until they came to the warm, cozy, lamplit sett of the Badgers. All the Badgers were awake (because Badgers, of course, sleep during the day) and they were warmly welcomed. Clearscry the Eagle, Sootquill the Owl, and Nightshadow the Panther arrived not long after, and they continued to guard the Prince for the next two years.
XXV.
Telmar
The air in the valley of Telmar cooled swiftly once the sun set behind the mountains, and Peridan and Lucy hurried to get back before dark. The next morning, Peter felt a good deal better, and Lady Gree pronounced his marrow properly thinned. After breakfast, a boy arrived from Kahuna Lodge, inviting King Peter and Queen Lucy to come and negotiate a treaty.
They sat on straight-backed chairs at a table pulled up to Chief Belisan's great throne and discussed terms. It took most of the day, but at last they hammered out an agreement in which Narnia got cows and leather and turquoise, Telmar got horses and silk and steel; Telmarine youths could come to Narnia to be trained as knights, and if they brought a cow and a calf with them, they would be provided with a mount. To seal the bargain, High King Peter of Narnia presented the chief with a Dwarf-wrought sword and a bolt of Dryad silk, and Chief Belisan, King of the Mountains gave them three cows, two with calves and one that would freshen in the fall.
As for Peridan, (Belisan said) take him and good riddance. When Lucy told Peter of the plan, he got that look on his face that meant he had an idea, but he merely said that it was a good plan. Lady Gree beamed when Peridan asked her blessing and if she wanted to come, too.
“Aye, son. Go to Narnia and learn who this Aslan is. I am too old to travel across the mountains and learn new people, but you are no older than was Glen your great-great-grandfather when he came to Telmar.” She glanced at Lucy. “Marry a good woman, and bring your children back to visit.”
“Aye, mother. I'll do my best.”
The next morning they rose before the sun touched the tips of the western mountains and loaded Chrysophylax with the sack of buckwheat, the loaves of bread and the skins of milk Gree had given them. The Winged Horses pawed the ground, eager to be off, and Loneruff let off a long, joyful howl that woke any remaining sleepers in town. Peter announced that he would do the chivalrous thing-let Lucy ride on Chrys while he walked with the cows and Wolves-and Lucy suppressed a smile.
Then Lady Gree embraced them all in turn, and Lucy really was sorry to leave, even if Chief Belisan was a rude old man. Lady Gree was tiny, but she was comforting to hug, and Lucy thought she smelled like a mother. “Come back any time,” she whispered. “I'll be saving milk for that dragon of yours, and we'll talk story again.”
“I will,” Lucy whispered back. And she would, she knew.
The cows with their calves didn't want to move through the mountains at more than glacial speed, but Narnia was calling and Peridan had a sharp stick with which to poke them along. They made reasonable time, and got home on the fifth day. King Aran had gone home, but Susan threw a great feast anyway, and there was storytelling and dancing and singing and laughter late into the night.
“Lucy,” said Susan quietly when the dinner was over and Peter was calling for a tale.
“Yes?”
“I expect I shan't be marrying King Aran after all.”
“Oh.” Lucy didn't know whether to say, That's wonderful! or I'm sorry. “What about . . . you know?” Timeseer had said a great deal on the Necessity of Heirs to the Kingdom in his last letter.
Susan smiled her secretive smile. “Peter thinks he has a plan for that.”
Peridan rose. “My liege, I know a tale. Shall any listen?”
“What tale have you?” said Peter.
“A tale of adventure and strange lands, a sequel to the tale of King Frank the Lost.”
“We listen. Tell us your tale.”
“Peter?” Lucy heard Susan whisper.
“Yes?” he whispered back.
“Don't you think he looks rather a lot like-”
“I am Peridan,” he said, raising and deepening his voice so it would carry through the Great Hall. “Peridanian Gree, Gria Arla, Arlia Olvin, Olvinian Glen, Glenian Drake.”
“Shh,” whispered Peter. “He's starting. Of course he does.”
XXVI.
England
The first year of King George VI
“And then what happened, Grandma Susie?” cried Lucy.
Grandma Susie handed a now-untangled square of knitting back to Susan. “Well, we asked everyone in town. Each person had his own opinion about what we should do, but even Mrs. Finch didn't know anything about little Frank.”
“Did you ask the police?” said Edmund, looking up from the toy soldiers he was commanding.
“Yes, we did, and we placed advertisements in several papers, but they went unanswered.”
“So you kept him!” said Lucy, who could listen to Grandma Susie tell stories all day.
“Well, at last we decided that the good Lord had sent him to us. We wanted a son, and Frank wanted a home. I've always wondered what happened to his family. We decided to do the thing properly, and christened him in the church as Frank Colin Pevensie, with my schoolfriend Mabel Ketterly and her husband for his godparents, and he called us Mother and Father.”
“What did did Mrs. Finch say?” asked Peter.
“Oh, she said that nothing good would come of it. He certainly was a queer boy, and it took him awhile to stop talking about that lion, but he has grown into a fine young man-generous, courageous, fair, and he's always been gentle with animals. He married a good girl, and they aren't doing too poorly with you young ones. All in all, I don't think I could wish for a finer son than little lost Frank.”
XXVII.
Narnia
The first year of High King Peter
“What happened in those two years?” asked Peter when Timeseer fell silent.
“Many things,” said the Centaur, staring into the dying coals of the fire. “Many terrible things. The Northern Queen remained all winter at Ravenswood, and though she went back to the north for the hottest month of summer, she returned when the leaves began to change, bringing with her more of the bird-women and wolf-men, as well as horrible creatures never before seen in Narnia. The Freed Narnians ran wild again that summer. Almost all the remaining Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve left Narnia, some for the Islands, some for Archenland. In the autumn, King Drake married Queen Jadis.”
Edmund had been poking the fire again; he looked up sharply and his knuckles turned white on his stick.
“Yes,” said Timeseer. “He must have realized some inkling of who she was and tried to fight back. Perhaps he contacted the King of Archenland and asked for help, but already his new wife had grasped far too much power. Shortly after the New Year she took him down to the Stone Table and killed him there.”
No one said anything.
“That winter was the bitterest ever, and Milophylax the Dragon flew over the mountains to Archenland, where he was killed by the King of Archenland and his knights.”
“Was that when the Winter began?” said Susan.
“No. Though late, spring came. By that time and without Milophylax to rouse them, most of the Freed Narnians had decided that Drake was the one against whom they had really been revolting, but now he was dead. They called Jadis a second Swanwhite-Snow-white, some said, and truly, her beauty had not the warmth of the legendary Queen but the chill pallor of snow-and they heralded her rule as the beginning of a new peace.
“But as long as the Prince, now Narnia's true king, was still hidden within her borders, the witch's powers could not take full control. This she soon realized, and systematically hunted down his guardians-those secretly calling him King Frank the Seventh. Nightshadow and Sootquill she captured and killed on the Stone Table, but the boy himself was kept well hidden.
“Then, one terrible day, not long after a joyless Christmas-the first Christmas in Narnian history for which Father Christmas had not come-she and her wolves found them. They tore the entire sett apart, turning whomever she saw to stone. Every tunnel was followed, every corner searched. Clearscry and Mrs. Twinkletacks, who were there that day with our young King-then just three years old-were turned to stone with all the Badgers. Perriwig the Dwarf, who went often from his mine-shafts to the sett, was not there, and for all we know escaped. Young King Frank was never found.”
“Where was he?” said Lucy.
“I do not know. Mrs. Twinkletacks was teaching him to hold up three fingers for his age when she heard the wolves growling and snapping overhead. She looked up, and then a warm breeze blew through the place where they were sitting, though it was winter and underground, and it carried the scent of springtime and sunshine.”
“Aslan?” said Lucy.
Timeseer nodded. “She looked to see whence the breeze came, and when she looked back, Frank was gone. Then the witch and her wolves were upon her.”
He stopped speaking and gazed again into the coals.
“What happened next, sir?” asked Peter at last.
“The witch, furious, turned a lot of other Narnians to stone, including the Centaur prophet. And so the Long Winter began. That is my tale.”
He bowed and drained the last of his wine. The tale had put all into a solemn mood, and though they clapped and thanked him, they sat in silence for a long time.
At last Lucy, her chin in her hand, spoke. “I wonder what happened to King Frank the Lost. I wish he had grown up here and killed the Witch.”
“We do not know what would have happened if young Frank stayed in Narnia, Aslan always keeps his promises,” said Timeseer quietly, “and I believe he kept his word to Queen Althea.”
“But how?” This from Susan.
The Centaur smiled a rare smile. “You have filled the four thrones of Cair Paravel, those of Shale and Birk, Wren and Silva; you have brought the death of the witch and the end of the winter; and you have restored Narnia. Where Aslan took the boy-king I do not know, but it was I, the Centaur Prophet, who blessed the twin princes, and it is I who say this:
“You, High King Peter, are blond as so many good Narnian Kings of old. Like King Frank the First, you lead your people in peace and in war, and are generous with all you have. Queen Susan, you are the true successor to Swanwhite-as the witch, with her frozen beauty, never was-for you have the warmth and love that made Swanwhite's reign such a bright time of peace. Already your people love you, and I have seen that you love your family and your people with the gentle tenderness of a mother.
“You, King Edmund-as Clearscry the Eagle remarked on the morning after the Battle of Beruna Ford-you have the walnut-brown hair and freckles of young King Frank; and Aslan has given you the wisdom to give his people fair and impartial justice. And last, our golden-haired Queen Lucy. Young though you may be, you are courageous and valiant . . . and already you look a great deal like your grandmother.”
Part 1
Part 2
Original prompt we sent you:
What I want: I love new places (countries or settlements never mentioned in the books) and lesser-known mythological creatures. It's always fun to see an outsider's view of the Pevensies (or any of the Friends of Narnia, for that matter). In that frame of mind, I also love the slow gathering of clues by the children's parents that leads to the eventual realization that there's more to those kids than meets the eye. I do prefer action to introspection.
I have a sweet spot for AUs - dark, technologically advanced, gender-swapped, what-ifs... I'd list specific ideas, except I'd probably never stop.
Other than that, I'll leave this pretty open in terms of characters and time periods and the like. Go crazy - I'll love it.
Author: pencildragon11/OldfashionedGirl95
Recipient: wingedflight21
Rating: T to be safe.
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Familiarity with LWW, parts of PC, and one element in MN is assumed. Supporting character defoliation, and someone whose mother probably didn't have soap with which to wash out his mouth when he was a kid.
Summary: "Great Lion, grant me a son," prayed Queen Althea in the days before the winter, “I will teach him to give magnanimously, to love tenderly, to judge wisely, and to fight courageously; that he may restore your peace to Narnia."
I Know a Tale, or, The Lost King, part 3
Burnt are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men.
Yet, ere the sword cool in the sheath
Charlie will come again.
~ Skye Boat Song
These are the generations. . . .
~ The Bible
I have a song to sing-o!
Sing me your song-o.
~ Gilbert & Sullivan
XIX.
Telmar
The Thirty-Fourth Year of Chief Belisan
“Drake of Narnia?” said Peter.
“I do not know,” said Lady Gree. “I know the tale from my mother as she heard it from her father.”
“What tale have you?” said Lucy.
The woman smiled. “I know a tale. Shall any listen? That is how my grandfather began his stories, yes. It is the tale of my family.”
“We listen,” said Lucy. “Tell us your tale.”
“A hundred summers and winters ago, Glen son of Drake came over the mountains from Archenland with Lark his bride and Bram her elder brother. Glen was a man of brawn and bravery, Lark a girl of youth and beauty. Her brother Bram was a silent man with thoughts of his own. Together they built this cabin and bought a cow from the Chief, who was then a great-grandfather of Uvilas and called by the same name. Not long after, Lark gave birth to a son, and they named him Olvin, for a great hero in their land.”
“Olvin of Archenland,” said Peter.
“Do you know the story?” said the lady. “We have forgotten it, and remember only that he was a hero.”
“Should say he was. He was an Archenlander. He killed the Giant Pire, who had carried off King Clive's daughter Liln, Princess of Narnia, and won her hand in marriage.”
“Ah,” said Gree. “Someday you must tell me of it. Have you enough salt?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Lucy. “Please go on.”
“In those days, Telmar was prosperous, for much snow fell in the winter and watered the land. Glen bred his cow, and she calved, and he began to build a herd. Young Olvin was weaned, and his mother yearned for a second son, as was the custom of her land. Her belly swelled with the ripening wheat, and she reaped a son in the dead of winter, but he did not live through the night.
“Five children did she bear, and only Olvin and his girl-sibling Olive lived more than a day, but the herd of cattle grew, and Glen got good harvest from his fields of wheat and alfalfa. So Lark grew marrow-sick with grief. In her sadness she quarreled with her brother Bram, and he dressed for the mountains, took his bow, and went west to hunt, but he did not return.
“Olvin grew tall and strong like his father, and he preferred to wander in the mountains and seek the legendary buffalo with his bow and quiver than to sit at home and watch the buckwheat grow. His sister Olive glided behind him like a shadow, learning the wood-signs; soon she grew to be a greater tracker than he and nearly as good with a bow. Long they searched for the buffalo, the great beast said to live in the mountains and to be as great as a mountain himself. But at home, Lark their mother, pined, and she chose a wife for Olvin from among the people of Telmar-a slender, fair-haired girl like herself, whose name was Arla.
“Olvin loved the mountains and his bow, and he spent little time in the company of women besides his sister, but he married the girl to please his mother, for his father insisted. Arla bore a son, and Olvin fled again to the mountains with Olive gliding silently behind him. After some months, he returned for a brief time, but soon took off again. Three sons did his wife bear in four years, and perhaps a year in all was he at home.
“Olvin's father, Glen, fed Arla and her and sons out of his own plenty, but whenever Olvin returned to the mountains his father would reproach and his mother would rail. Silently, his sister at his shoulder, he would listen. And then he would take up his bow and go away again. The third time, he did not come back for two summers and winters. His youngest son, born some months after he left, began to walk, and Olvin's wife and parents thought him dead.
“Then at last, when the buckwheat was ripe, Olvin and Olive walked down out of the mountains, carrying packs of dried meat and a horned and shaggy head between them. They had found the buffalo, in the plains on the far side of the mountain, and they had killed it. 'There are more,' they said. 'Hundreds of buffalo, rolling away like a black cloud on the plains.' But the people of Telmar had no interest in hunting buffalo. 'We have cattle,' they said. 'Why should we climb the mountains to hunt buffalo?'
“Olvin's father Glen took him out in the fields, and showed him the cattle and the wheat. 'I grow old, and all this will soon be yours,' said he. 'You have killed your buffalo. Now let the marrow of your bones be at peace and learn to farm.' So Olvin went with his father, and studied the cattle and the wheat, and when his father died he lived as a farmer. His sons grew. His mother grew old, and cantankerous. And his wife gave birth to a daughter, whom he named Arla after her mother. Often he looked at the horns of the buffalo which hung on his wall, and he sighed for the free life of the mountains, but no more did he go hunting with his sister, and he lived out his days in quietness.”
XX.
England
The Fifth Year of King Edward VII
In the parsonage of Little Sunbury that Saturday morning, the vicar's wife went into her guest room and looked at the little boy curled in the covers at the foot of the bed. Colin usually appeared in the spring with lost or wounded baby animals, but this year's assortment of squirrel, raccoon, kittens, and puppies had all grown, recovered, and gone on, either back to the wild or to homes among her husband's parishioners. Recently, they had taken in a half-grown, injured tom cat-Stripetail. As a middle-aged vicar's wife, Susie wasn't fazed by overnight guests or homeless wanderers, but this boy-the three-year-old who named the cat, crawled under the tablecloth, didn't know how to say his prayers, and slept burrowed into the bedclothes-she didn't know quite what to make of him.
“Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?”
A little freckled face poked out of the covers, topped with longish, tangled brown hair. “G'mornin', Aunt Thuthie.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thankee.” He crawled out of the tangle of blankets, clutching his frayed stuffed lion, and padded after her into the kitchen, where he happily consumed scrambled eggs and muffins with milk, again sharing the milk with the cat. Unsanitary, probably, but she ignored it and contented herself with periodic questions about the boy's family, home, life-anything she could think of. While she did the washing-up, he told her at length about a lion with some foreign name who had made “ever'fing and Fwank” and who lived across the sea with his father. The lion's father, not the boy's father.
He was obviously an imaginative boy, but she couldn't decide whether he had an entire clan of imaginary playmates or whether the relatives who cared for him had constructed an elaborate game like something out of the Jungle Book. It was his entirely-neglected Christian education-what kind of pagan taught that God was a giant lion?-that disturbed her. She resolved to begin him that afternoon on the most basic catechism, after she cut his hair. There were some serviceable clothes in the poor box (he'd been wearing some kind of outlandish Red Indian skins), but further alterations could wait, and she took him with her to work in the garden while it was still cool.
Telling him to go on and play, she turned to see what was to be done, but he tugged her skirt.
“Aunt Thuthie?”
“Yes?”
“Are yo' twees safe?”
He was entirely in earnest, standing there with his hair in his eyes, dragging his stuffed lion by one paw.
“Certainly,” she said. “As long as you don't fall out of one and break your leg.”
He nodded seriously, and with a “Thankee,” ran off.
She went to work bedding down the garden for the winter and thinking. She and Colin had wanted children of their own for years. Susie's younger brother Bill had four children, all in their teens. Her school friend Mabel's son was nineteen years old, a quiet, studious young man. The good Lord had not so blessed Colin and Susie, and she had contented herself with mothering kittens, puppies, birds, wandering tradesmen, and parishioners. Except for the parishioners, none stayed for long.
She glanced over at Frank, who was several yards away, holding a whispered conference with a rabbit. His hand was on the animal's head in the same oddly formal gesture he had used with Stripetail-who now was stalking the two of them, his belly low in the grass. The cat came too near; the rabbit sprang away; the boy went after the cat and scolded it sternly.
Susie shook her head and went back to work. This carrot was particularly stubborn and didn't want to leave the ground. Frank certainly belonged to somebody-someone was certainly looking for him-three-year-old boys certainly don't appear on church doorsteps without an explanation.
“Good morning!”
Susie looked around. “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Finch. Come right in. Would you like some tea?”
Mrs. Finch, about sixty years of age and Little Sunbury's leading busybody, unlatched the gate and came right in. “Oh, no, I couldn't trouble you. So this is the boy. Vicar called and mentioned you'd picked up a boy you didn't know what to do with and I thought I'd better come and see for myself.”
“It's not that we don't know what to do with him, Mrs. Finch, but that we don't know where he belongs.”
“I daresay.” Mrs. Finch peered at Frank over her spectacles. “Looks healthy enough, though his hair is girlish. What's wrong with him?”
“Nothing's the matter with him, except that his religious education has been neglected and he has quite the imagination.”
“Hm! Likely he hasn't been spanked enough. You never know with these foundlings, but the rod certainly will drive the foolishness out of a child.”
“It seems quite harmless, really, Mrs. Finch-his imagination, I mean. Do come in and have a spot of tea.”
“Don't mind if I do,” said the old lady, and they moved toward the house. “I hope, Susan, that you aren't intending to keep the child. Orphans are so unreliable, you know. One can never tell what sort of parents they had.”
XXI.
Telmar
Listening to the story of Peridan's family, Lucy forgot to think about what she was eating, and it gave her a jolt when Gree asked if she wanted more.
“Ye-yes, thank you,” said Lucy. “It's lovely. But what happened to Olvin's sister?”
“Oh, she lived with the deer and the elk and the bears more than with people. I believe it was shortly after Arla-the younger Arla-was born that Olive went into the snowy eastern mountains to search for something her Uncle Bram had once told her of, a pure-white stag. She never returned.”
Lucy and Peter exchanged a glance.
“That winter, Lark grew sick, and when the snow was deep she died. Glen had loved her fiercely, and by spring he, too, lay still in his bed and his herds and fields were Olvin's to manage.”
Lucy made a crooning little sound in her throat.
“They were old, and had lived many winters,” said Gree. “Those next years were peaceful ones, and Olvin grew to love his wife Arla as he should. The herds and fields prospered, and all was well. Their sons married girls of their own choosing, and their daughter married a man named Erimon, who had curly black hair, twinkling eyes, and laughter like a spring brook rippling over stones. Soon her belly swelled like ripening wheat, and she reaped a daughter, a tiny little thing, whom she named Gree.
“Sometimes there is peace in Telmar for many summers and winters. Sometimes there is war, and the dry land runs with a cloudburst of blood. There had been peace for several generations, and when I, Gree was nearly fifteen winters old, the war came. Dark men from the south-Calormenes-came bringing gifts, and Chief Uvilas the son of Uvilas welcomed them. But one of his men, Belisan son of Nothor, looked upon the Calormenes with suspicion. Before long, Belisan and Uvilas fought for the Cutlass, and the whole valley was divided with them. Olvin and his sons were on the side of Chief Uvilas, and neighbors whose cows were pastured with Olvin's fought for Belisan. It was a long and bloody struggle, for the Calormenes from the south came to the aid of Chief Uvilas.”
“Probably they hoped to add Telmar to their Empire,” said Peter.
Peridan nodded, and his mother went on.
“At last, Chief Belisan was victorious. He drove the Calormenes back beyond the mountains to the south, and with the edge of the Cutlass he slew Chief Uvilas, King of the Mountains, Captain of the Telmarines and many who had supported him, including Olvin, all Olvin's sons, and Erimon. Arla and Gree he spared, lest his friends call him bloodthirsty, but without their men they could not care for the great herd and the fields, so they sold most of their property and kept only the few cows they could milk themselves.
“Gree wished to marry, but many young men had died in the battles, and the maidens outnumbered the youths. It was ten years before she received an offer of marriage from an old widower named Zardin, and she accepted. Zardin had supported Uvilas, but had been too old and lazy to fight and so had not been killed. Nevertheless, I married him. When I reaped a son I named him Peridan, and when I reaped another I called him Casp.”
XXII.
Narnia
In Narnia, Queen Althea lived as one who knows her days are counted out, one by one, the last grains running through the hourglass. When Frank searched fruitlessly for his brother, she comforted and diverted him, her lips moving in silent prayer to Aslan. Grubbledelve and Moldywarp finished the tunnel, complete with a hidden trap door to conceal it from casual eyes, and set off, with Althea's thanks and blessing, for the east. Althea crafted careful plans and instructed her son's guardians-Sootquill, Twinkletacks, Clearscry, Nightshadow, and Quicktrack-in her commands if she were to suddenly die; she also told her Centaur advisor of her plans and made arrangements with a certain (miraculously loyal) clan of Badgers who lived east of Ravenswood. When all was done, she searched the flat horizon for smoke and played determinedly with her lonely son.
In the days of Swanwhite Father Christmas had stayed the entire twelve days of Yule, but those times were long gone, and that year he came and went in the dead of night. For Frank he left a soft yellow lion, made of cloth and stuffed with wool; for Althea, only a message with Sootquill the Owl: Thy son abideth safe in Archenland, doted upon by Lady Celia and all her family.
When Sootquill repeated the message to the Queen, she covered her face and wept.
Three days after Christmas, Prince Frank celebrated his first birthday-or rather, his father the King threw a great feast to commemorate the first anniversary of the Crown Prince's natal day. The sleepy boy himself made an official appearance in a scarlet velvet doublet. The Queen, desperately wondering if her other son still cried for her and if Lady Celia remembered his birthday, was agonizingly relieved that the King asked only to see his heir and primogeniture.
In Narnia, Christmas lasts for the full twelve days of Yule, and then comes the New Year. King Drake feasted away the days with his swollen court, blind to the state of his country, but Queen Althea and her court stayed away from the revelry. She and Frank strung cranberries and hung star- and flower-shaped biscuits on a small tree in the garden for the wild birds. Then, gathered around the fire, they listened to Mrs. Twinkletacks tell the tale of Narnia's first Christmas. The young Narnians were frightened by the snow, but King Frank reassured them that it was harmless, and soon Father Christmas came to promise the return of Spring.
“Now a coverlet of snow lies thick and warm over Narnia,” said Mrs. Twinkletacks. “Old Father Winter has put all the land to bed and he himself sleeps, wrapped in a white cloak, below the Great Waterfall; but after we have all had our long winter naps, Lady Verna will trip over the hills from the east, wreathed in flowers and the breath of the Lion. From Mount Pire in the southeast and along the river she will wake the land. The Trees will dress themselves, the Waters will skip and laugh, and the Hedgehogs will come out of their burrows. Then Lady Verna will come to Old Father Winter where he sleeps, and she will shake him until he yawns, mumbles into his beard, and wanders away into the North for another summer.” Mrs. Twinkletacks yawned herself, covering her mouth delicately with a paw. “My, but I'm sleepy.”
The rebellion lulled as many Animals sought their dens and holes and burrows and settled down to their winter's sleep. Dragons do not hibernate, but Milophylax stayed on the warmer southern slopes of Narnia, farther from Ravenswood, and for those twelve days there was an almost-peace. Queen Althea wrote a letter to the Centaur Prophet on the ninth day, wishing him and his herd a Happy Christmas. She closed thus:
“My deepest gratitude to thee for thy counsel and friendship when I did most need it. I oft bethink myself of thy words at our last meeting, and I do trust thou wilt remember thy promises to me.
“I have not seen Aslan since that night, yet constantly do I pray to him; I know he is beside me and I know he will guard my son far better than shall ever be within mine ability to do. May he also be with thee and with all his faithful ones through the winter.”
Timeseer paused in his rendition of the tale, and Lucy thought for a moment she saw a tear in his eye, but already she knew that a Centaur never cries.
Then, the day after the New Year, Clearscry came to the Queen and said, “Madam, a foreign queen hath come to Ravenswood.”
“Who is she?” asked Althea.
“Queen of the Lands of the North, she says. She is taller than most Humans, pale and-they say-very beautiful. You know I cannot see as you see.”
Something stirred in Althea's memory. That evening, King Drake called for his Queen to join him and their honored guest at dinner, in a celebration of the New Year and new friendships. A great calm descended upon Queen Althea as she dressed herself in her most queenly robes, arrayed her hair, and put on her crown. The Prince was already asleep, for in those days the King dined late, after the Calormene fashion, so the Queen lingered only a moment over her son, kissed him, and left all but Nightshadow to watch him. With the Panther at her side, she walked regally through the halls.
XXIII.
Telmar
All afternoon, Peter and Lucy told Peridan and Gree tales of Narnia and of Aslan, and there was much laughter in the little cabin, especially once the remains of the roast beaver tail were cleared away. In the evening, Peter began to feel lightheaded and queasy.
“Ah, the marrow of your bones is too thick, King Peter,” said Lady Gree. “When the hunters sleep high in the western mountains and drink not enough water, their marrow thickens and they grow ill. Drink more and rest.” She pumped him full of water and made him lie down.
It was too early to go to bed, so Peridan and Lucy walked down to the pasture together. The Wolves were snoozing near the remains of a large deer, and several wild foxes were feasting on the scraps. Clearscry was far away, soaring through the sky and seeing all that passed beneath; the Winged Horses were grazing well aloof of the Telmarine ponies.
“Queen Lucy!” called Chrysophylax. “Queen Lucy, come and see!”
He was curled proudly around a little pile of glittering gray-gold stones, like the ones Lucy had seen the girls wearing in their hair, and Peridan laughed. Lucy remembered Lady Gree's story of Erimon with the laugh like a spring brook, and she thought Peridan must have his grandfather's laugh.
“That's not real, Dragon,” said Peridan. “That's mountain gold.”
Chrysophylax drew himself up. “Mountain gold? Whatever is that?”
Peridan laughed again. “They're just pretty rocks. It's not worth anything.”
Lucy could tell that the Dragon really was disappointed, but he said rather archly, “Did I say it was gold? I simply called the Queen to come see the glittery rocks I had gathered.”
“They are pretty, Chrys,” she said. “Where did you find it?”
“There's piles of it by the stream,” he said, mollified. “Want me to show you?”
“I know the place,” said Peridan. “We're going that way anyhow.”
“Why do you call it mountain gold?” she asked as he led her away from the Dragon.
“I imagine when the Telmarines came here from, well from wherever they came from, they thought it was gold. It looks real enough if you haven't anything to put next to it. They must've tried to trade it and had rather a shock.”
She smiled. “I suppose my brother and I shall negotiate a treaty tomorrow with Chief Belisan.”
He bent down and picked up something from the stones of the river. “See?” It was one of the sparkling rocks, as large as a hummingbird's egg. “What sort of treaty?”
“Trade and export, likely, now that we have peace. We've few cows in Narnia. Perhaps we shall buy some from you, even trade horses for them and improve your stock.”
“Might be good. What else?”
“Well . . . Felimathian wool is the best, but your leather seems very fine, and I should like to have more of those turquoise stones. 'Twould be simply stunning in Susan's hair.”
“Queen Susan is your sister?”
“Yes.”
“What is she like?”
“Quite beautiful, really, with terribly long black hair and dozens of suitors. King Aran of Terebinthia is courting her presently. What is your brother like?”
He picked up another piece of mountain gold and gave it to her. “Casp? He likes cattle and farming. I'd rather go hunting in the mountains, but I'm the elder, so what's left of the fields and cows is supposed to be mine. But come on, there's a big rock on the other side of the brook where we can watch the sun set. Won't you tell me more about knights?”
The rock was pleasantly warm from the sun, and as they sat on it she told him about how Aslan knighted Peter, and about the jousting. “All the knights carry handkerchiefs or tokens from their ladies when they fight. They believe it aids them to be braver and more courtly and honorable.”
“Does anyone carry your handkerchief?”
She laughed. His tanned, freckled face looked oddly familiar, as if she had once known a person very like him. “Usually Peter carries Susan's token and Edmund carries mine, but before the Midsummer joust King Edmund said he would not be fighting, and then Susan gave hers to King Aran of Terebinthia. When I discovered that, I ran to Peter and begged him to take mine. The knight is supposed to ask the lady, but I feared Lord Shar would request mine, and then I should feel as if I had to grant it.”
“Lord Shar?”
“He's an Archen lord who thinks me terribly beautiful, and whenever he's in Narnia he tries to speak with me, and says he thinks me fairer than my sister. 'Tis amusing on the whole, yet I do not think I should like to give him my handkerchief.”
“I'd like to be a knight.”
“If you came and trained at Cair Paravel, then perhaps my brother would dub you a knight.”
He jumped up and stood before her. “By the gods my people worship, I would like to do that. Would you allow it?”
Just out of reach behind him, a prairie dog popped out of its hole and stood, listening for her answer.
“I see no reason against it. Yet you should ask the blessing of you mother and your chief.” She pondered it a moment. “The young men of Telmar yearn for adventure, do they not? Is that why they hunt in the Western March? Perhaps . . . my brother will invite them to Narnia, that they may see more of the world and be trained in knighthood. Think you the plan is good?”
XXIV.
Narnia
The King was dining privately that eve, with only his chief councilor and the two Queens. Althea reached the chamber, was announced, and went in. The foreign queen was the first person she saw-very tall and very pale, her lips very red and her hair very black. The second was the King, already drunk.
“Ah!” he cried as Althea was seated. “My Queen hath deigned to grace us with her face-no longer young, perhaps, but still, as she herself hath told me, a 'very Narnian Queen.' ” He laughed. “And our most distinguished guest-Queen Jadis, from the Lands of the North!”
The two Queens nodded stiffly to each other, and smoothly the pale one said, “Your Narnian forefathers were enemies of my land, but 'tis not a day for war. I have come to your fair land with pleasanter aims: that peaceful relations might be established between our countries.”
At that moment, (I believe) Queen Althea knew, for Nightshadow smelled the sudden fear run over her.
But just then the King noticed the Panther and said, “What, a wild beast here to sup? This may not be. Let the Queen's great kitten be sent away. If she wisheth to while away the hours in taming him, I care not, but let him not join us at table.”
So Nightshadow was turned out of the room, and though he tried to listen at the door, the guards forced him away, and he returned to the Queen's apartments, where all was quiet. Sootquill stood guard, Mrs. Twinkletacks sat by Frank's bed, mending a tear in his breeches, Clearscry's head was under her wing, and Quicktrack snoozed by the fire. Nightshadow paced. It was two or three hours before the Queen returned, staggering a little though not drunk on wine. “He sayeth . . . as beautiful as Swanwhite,” she said. “Aslan save Narnia.” And without even removing her crown, she lay down on her bed and closed her eyes.
It was several minutes before Nightshadow realized he could no longer hear her heartbeat.
He pawed at her arm and licked her face, but she did not move-and “If I die,” she had said more than once, “do not pause to grieve me until my son is safe.” So Nightshadow woke the others. “Oh my!” said Mrs. Twinkletacks, and began to dress Frank for the snow, hushing him so he would not cry out; Sootquill flew through the window to see how the moonlight lay in the garden; but Quicktrack the Hound sat up on his haunches and slowly licked his nose. “The Queen dead? Then we must get ourselves away from here. Two days ago I destroyed the last of the silver apples. Milophylax will soon return to finish off this last Human stronghold, and Narnia will belong wholly to the Beasts, her free and rightful citizens.”
And he loped off down the corridors. At last the Panther and the Eagle recovered their wits enough to rush after him. Turning several times, they rounded a corner and stopped, for there he was, detained by the small, determined figure of Khesa, who demanded,
“But where is Queen Althea?”
“I told you, I don't know. Listen, girl, run along to your dam. The Animals are kidnapping the prince and I must alert someone.”
He pushed past. The little girl watched him for a moment, then ran off the other way. Nightshadow followed her, between the tapestries and the walls. Clearscry kept after Quicktrack, who soon located some guards and barked, “The Queen's beasts are kidnapping the Prince!”
One of the soldiers yawned and said, “Aw, it's just another of those talking critters,” but another sat up. “And whose head will roll if the King's heir is kidnapped?” So they got up and followed the traitorous Dog.
Meanwhile, though, Khesa had run to her mother. “O-my-mother-and-o-the-delight-of-my-eyes, Quicktrack the Hound hath said unto your daughter that the Queen is away and her courtiers, the Talking Beasts which she keepeth, are stealing Prince Frank away in the dead of night. O my mother, may it please you to go and stop them.”
“Nay, o my daughter and o the thorn in my side,” said her mother. “For am I not also mother to the King's children? and was not my son born first? If the barbarian prince is stolen by wild beasts, shall not thy father the King make thy brother his heir?”
The King's mistress hurried by another way, and met the guards as they came to the Queen's chambers. “Guards!” she called. “ 'Tis a false alarm. Pay no attention to the words of the creature, but begone from these corridors, for our beloved Prince sleeps safe in his bed.” And because she was the King's favorite lady, they listened to her.
In this strange way, Aslan watched over the Prince. Mrs. Twinkletacks bundled him safely-if sleepily-out into the garden and down the Mole's tunnel, lowering the cover behind them; then it was under the castle wall and away east and south until they came to the warm, cozy, lamplit sett of the Badgers. All the Badgers were awake (because Badgers, of course, sleep during the day) and they were warmly welcomed. Clearscry the Eagle, Sootquill the Owl, and Nightshadow the Panther arrived not long after, and they continued to guard the Prince for the next two years.
XXV.
Telmar
The air in the valley of Telmar cooled swiftly once the sun set behind the mountains, and Peridan and Lucy hurried to get back before dark. The next morning, Peter felt a good deal better, and Lady Gree pronounced his marrow properly thinned. After breakfast, a boy arrived from Kahuna Lodge, inviting King Peter and Queen Lucy to come and negotiate a treaty.
They sat on straight-backed chairs at a table pulled up to Chief Belisan's great throne and discussed terms. It took most of the day, but at last they hammered out an agreement in which Narnia got cows and leather and turquoise, Telmar got horses and silk and steel; Telmarine youths could come to Narnia to be trained as knights, and if they brought a cow and a calf with them, they would be provided with a mount. To seal the bargain, High King Peter of Narnia presented the chief with a Dwarf-wrought sword and a bolt of Dryad silk, and Chief Belisan, King of the Mountains gave them three cows, two with calves and one that would freshen in the fall.
As for Peridan, (Belisan said) take him and good riddance. When Lucy told Peter of the plan, he got that look on his face that meant he had an idea, but he merely said that it was a good plan. Lady Gree beamed when Peridan asked her blessing and if she wanted to come, too.
“Aye, son. Go to Narnia and learn who this Aslan is. I am too old to travel across the mountains and learn new people, but you are no older than was Glen your great-great-grandfather when he came to Telmar.” She glanced at Lucy. “Marry a good woman, and bring your children back to visit.”
“Aye, mother. I'll do my best.”
The next morning they rose before the sun touched the tips of the western mountains and loaded Chrysophylax with the sack of buckwheat, the loaves of bread and the skins of milk Gree had given them. The Winged Horses pawed the ground, eager to be off, and Loneruff let off a long, joyful howl that woke any remaining sleepers in town. Peter announced that he would do the chivalrous thing-let Lucy ride on Chrys while he walked with the cows and Wolves-and Lucy suppressed a smile.
Then Lady Gree embraced them all in turn, and Lucy really was sorry to leave, even if Chief Belisan was a rude old man. Lady Gree was tiny, but she was comforting to hug, and Lucy thought she smelled like a mother. “Come back any time,” she whispered. “I'll be saving milk for that dragon of yours, and we'll talk story again.”
“I will,” Lucy whispered back. And she would, she knew.
The cows with their calves didn't want to move through the mountains at more than glacial speed, but Narnia was calling and Peridan had a sharp stick with which to poke them along. They made reasonable time, and got home on the fifth day. King Aran had gone home, but Susan threw a great feast anyway, and there was storytelling and dancing and singing and laughter late into the night.
“Lucy,” said Susan quietly when the dinner was over and Peter was calling for a tale.
“Yes?”
“I expect I shan't be marrying King Aran after all.”
“Oh.” Lucy didn't know whether to say, That's wonderful! or I'm sorry. “What about . . . you know?” Timeseer had said a great deal on the Necessity of Heirs to the Kingdom in his last letter.
Susan smiled her secretive smile. “Peter thinks he has a plan for that.”
Peridan rose. “My liege, I know a tale. Shall any listen?”
“What tale have you?” said Peter.
“A tale of adventure and strange lands, a sequel to the tale of King Frank the Lost.”
“We listen. Tell us your tale.”
“Peter?” Lucy heard Susan whisper.
“Yes?” he whispered back.
“Don't you think he looks rather a lot like-”
“I am Peridan,” he said, raising and deepening his voice so it would carry through the Great Hall. “Peridanian Gree, Gria Arla, Arlia Olvin, Olvinian Glen, Glenian Drake.”
“Shh,” whispered Peter. “He's starting. Of course he does.”
XXVI.
England
The first year of King George VI
“And then what happened, Grandma Susie?” cried Lucy.
Grandma Susie handed a now-untangled square of knitting back to Susan. “Well, we asked everyone in town. Each person had his own opinion about what we should do, but even Mrs. Finch didn't know anything about little Frank.”
“Did you ask the police?” said Edmund, looking up from the toy soldiers he was commanding.
“Yes, we did, and we placed advertisements in several papers, but they went unanswered.”
“So you kept him!” said Lucy, who could listen to Grandma Susie tell stories all day.
“Well, at last we decided that the good Lord had sent him to us. We wanted a son, and Frank wanted a home. I've always wondered what happened to his family. We decided to do the thing properly, and christened him in the church as Frank Colin Pevensie, with my schoolfriend Mabel Ketterly and her husband for his godparents, and he called us Mother and Father.”
“What did did Mrs. Finch say?” asked Peter.
“Oh, she said that nothing good would come of it. He certainly was a queer boy, and it took him awhile to stop talking about that lion, but he has grown into a fine young man-generous, courageous, fair, and he's always been gentle with animals. He married a good girl, and they aren't doing too poorly with you young ones. All in all, I don't think I could wish for a finer son than little lost Frank.”
XXVII.
Narnia
The first year of High King Peter
“What happened in those two years?” asked Peter when Timeseer fell silent.
“Many things,” said the Centaur, staring into the dying coals of the fire. “Many terrible things. The Northern Queen remained all winter at Ravenswood, and though she went back to the north for the hottest month of summer, she returned when the leaves began to change, bringing with her more of the bird-women and wolf-men, as well as horrible creatures never before seen in Narnia. The Freed Narnians ran wild again that summer. Almost all the remaining Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve left Narnia, some for the Islands, some for Archenland. In the autumn, King Drake married Queen Jadis.”
Edmund had been poking the fire again; he looked up sharply and his knuckles turned white on his stick.
“Yes,” said Timeseer. “He must have realized some inkling of who she was and tried to fight back. Perhaps he contacted the King of Archenland and asked for help, but already his new wife had grasped far too much power. Shortly after the New Year she took him down to the Stone Table and killed him there.”
No one said anything.
“That winter was the bitterest ever, and Milophylax the Dragon flew over the mountains to Archenland, where he was killed by the King of Archenland and his knights.”
“Was that when the Winter began?” said Susan.
“No. Though late, spring came. By that time and without Milophylax to rouse them, most of the Freed Narnians had decided that Drake was the one against whom they had really been revolting, but now he was dead. They called Jadis a second Swanwhite-Snow-white, some said, and truly, her beauty had not the warmth of the legendary Queen but the chill pallor of snow-and they heralded her rule as the beginning of a new peace.
“But as long as the Prince, now Narnia's true king, was still hidden within her borders, the witch's powers could not take full control. This she soon realized, and systematically hunted down his guardians-those secretly calling him King Frank the Seventh. Nightshadow and Sootquill she captured and killed on the Stone Table, but the boy himself was kept well hidden.
“Then, one terrible day, not long after a joyless Christmas-the first Christmas in Narnian history for which Father Christmas had not come-she and her wolves found them. They tore the entire sett apart, turning whomever she saw to stone. Every tunnel was followed, every corner searched. Clearscry and Mrs. Twinkletacks, who were there that day with our young King-then just three years old-were turned to stone with all the Badgers. Perriwig the Dwarf, who went often from his mine-shafts to the sett, was not there, and for all we know escaped. Young King Frank was never found.”
“Where was he?” said Lucy.
“I do not know. Mrs. Twinkletacks was teaching him to hold up three fingers for his age when she heard the wolves growling and snapping overhead. She looked up, and then a warm breeze blew through the place where they were sitting, though it was winter and underground, and it carried the scent of springtime and sunshine.”
“Aslan?” said Lucy.
Timeseer nodded. “She looked to see whence the breeze came, and when she looked back, Frank was gone. Then the witch and her wolves were upon her.”
He stopped speaking and gazed again into the coals.
“What happened next, sir?” asked Peter at last.
“The witch, furious, turned a lot of other Narnians to stone, including the Centaur prophet. And so the Long Winter began. That is my tale.”
He bowed and drained the last of his wine. The tale had put all into a solemn mood, and though they clapped and thanked him, they sat in silence for a long time.
At last Lucy, her chin in her hand, spoke. “I wonder what happened to King Frank the Lost. I wish he had grown up here and killed the Witch.”
“We do not know what would have happened if young Frank stayed in Narnia, Aslan always keeps his promises,” said Timeseer quietly, “and I believe he kept his word to Queen Althea.”
“But how?” This from Susan.
The Centaur smiled a rare smile. “You have filled the four thrones of Cair Paravel, those of Shale and Birk, Wren and Silva; you have brought the death of the witch and the end of the winter; and you have restored Narnia. Where Aslan took the boy-king I do not know, but it was I, the Centaur Prophet, who blessed the twin princes, and it is I who say this:
“You, High King Peter, are blond as so many good Narnian Kings of old. Like King Frank the First, you lead your people in peace and in war, and are generous with all you have. Queen Susan, you are the true successor to Swanwhite-as the witch, with her frozen beauty, never was-for you have the warmth and love that made Swanwhite's reign such a bright time of peace. Already your people love you, and I have seen that you love your family and your people with the gentle tenderness of a mother.
“You, King Edmund-as Clearscry the Eagle remarked on the morning after the Battle of Beruna Ford-you have the walnut-brown hair and freckles of young King Frank; and Aslan has given you the wisdom to give his people fair and impartial justice. And last, our golden-haired Queen Lucy. Young though you may be, you are courageous and valiant . . . and already you look a great deal like your grandmother.”
Part 1
Part 2
Original prompt we sent you:
What I want: I love new places (countries or settlements never mentioned in the books) and lesser-known mythological creatures. It's always fun to see an outsider's view of the Pevensies (or any of the Friends of Narnia, for that matter). In that frame of mind, I also love the slow gathering of clues by the children's parents that leads to the eventual realization that there's more to those kids than meets the eye. I do prefer action to introspection.
I have a sweet spot for AUs - dark, technologically advanced, gender-swapped, what-ifs... I'd list specific ideas, except I'd probably never stop.
Other than that, I'll leave this pretty open in terms of characters and time periods and the like. Go crazy - I'll love it.