Hello, dear readers! This story has been occupying my thoughts lately, overwhelming my other fanfics in mind traffic (cough, cough, Rowan, Eli, & Freya, cough, cough), so I knew I had to get it out. So, after weeks of writing, then editing, then re-writing, then re-editing, here's the first chapter! Hope you enjoy, but if you don't, tell me how to make it better (I'm already thinking about things I want to change, so no biggie)!
Thanks for all the support you guys give,
Reandrolai ;*)
The river sings this morn, my dear, the river sings this morn; of death and life, of fear and strife, the river sings this morn.
An adolescent girl's light and silky voice sailed through the morning mist as she strode through the forest. She swung the two buckets which she carried in time to the bard's hymn, and she smiled gently as the sun's first rays appeared. She walked beyond the forest to a grassy knoll, where an old well was situated. Already the other girls from the nearby village were there, giggling and gossiping as they drew water. Taking a deep breath, the young lady climbed the hill to meet them. As she approached, the girls stopped their talking and stared at her with haughty eyes. Once she reached the well, they peeled away from it, whispering in each other's ears. Carefully drawing up the water, the girl heard one of the them approach.
"Well, hello, Bard-girl." she said with a sneer. "How are things in the Backwoods?" The girl stood ramrod straight, and slowly turned around to face the speaker. It was a young woman who could have been very beautiful, but her sneer corrupted her features and made her look hideous.
"Good morning, Rachellia," the bard replied in a patient yet angered voice, "and yes, we're all doing just fine. How are you, yourself, and your reflection getting along?"
"Much better, and far more pretty than yours, I would say," Rachiella answered haughtily. Finavere bit her bottom lip, and turning her back, continued to fill up her buckets.
"Oh," she heard another village girl say behind her, "why must we fill our buckets at the same well as does a filthy, ugly backwoods bard wench?" Finavere cringed, and she felt the sting of tears in her eyes.
"I don't know," Rachellia replied, "Maybe she can sniff out the answer with her boulder of a nose!" The other girls laughed, and Finnie began to shake with anger and humiliation.
"Or," Rachiella continued, "listen to this: she could see if her pig of a mother could cook some pig slop for her to use instead!" Ridiculing laughter rang through the hills, and Finavere, reaching her limit, grabbed her buckets and ran off into the forest, sobbing uncontrollably. She ran as fast as she could, as the water in her buckets sloshed to and fro. She ran for more than an hour, until, tired and panting, she sank to sit in front of a favorite green pond of hers, her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked over at her reflection in the pond, and sighed wistfully at her largish nose, bushy eyebrows, and ears that stuck out like a dog's. She was, despite what her mother told her, quite plain, and she shed tears daydreaming about how perfect her life would be had she been born as beautiful as her mother, or at least as beautiful as Rachiella.
Deep in her wishful thinking, she didn't notice a rider furiously galloping straight at her until he was practically on top of her. She looked up just as the horse was about to trample her, and crying out, she dropped her buckets, spooking the poor, frantic horse. The rider tried to ease their mount, but fell off in the process. The horse bolted off, and the rider lay in an unconscious heap on the ground.
Finnie rushed over to the stranger, and saw that it was a rather handsome young man her age. She disregarded that for the time being and examined his face, noticing a jagged and dirty cut along his cheek. She ripped a portion of his cloak and soaked it in what little water was left in her overturned buckets, then began to clean the wound. As she dabbed his cheek, he began to come to, and slowly opened his eyes. Seeing he was in the presence of a lady, he tried to sit up, but a pounding headache persuaded him to quickly lie back down.
"Don't sit up like that," she chided sternly, "here." She put one hand on his shoulder, took his hand with the other, and slowly helped him up.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I did not see you."
"It's quite all right," Finnie replied with a polite tone, "You're not the only one." Realizing how ridiculous that sounded, she quickly changed the subject.
"My name is Finavere. Yours?"
"Oh, yes," he replied, "my name is Edmund." Finavere blinked, examining the young man with a more attentive eye. Despite his young age, he had a noble bearing, a bearing she had been taught to recognize at a young age.
"As in the king of old?" she asked.
"Um, yes," Edmund replied, "I mean, my parents greatly admired him. They wanted their son to be as brave and as intelligent as him."
"Hmm," the girl said, biting her bottom lip. Edmund looked around, realizing that his horse was gone.
"I am sorry about your horse," she said honestly, "if you like, I could sing for its name." Edmund looked at the queer girl in confusion. "Did you say sing to it?" the girl laughed nervously, "Sing to it? Why, why, that's ridiculous. I said I could say its name, meaning- well, meaning- that I could call for it, yes. But anyhow, I must be heading home. However, my family has a horse or two to spare, and plenty more food to be had. If you wish to come for dinner, my parents will not mind."
"Well, yes, um," he stuttered, "I must be on my way, but thank you. If you could point me in the direction of King Firesong's castle, however, I would be much obliged." Finavere looked at the young man quizzically, and once her mouth opened, it took her a while to form her words.
"I-I'm sorry," she said with what almost sounded like a suppressed laugh, "did you say King Firesong's castle?"
"Well," Edmund replied, confused, "yes, of course. Would it inconvenience you to take me to him? If so, I'm sure I can find the way myself."
"Absolutely not!" the girl cried out, "You must be out of your mind to think you could find your way in the forest! These woods are full of danger in these times, and unless you have a detailed map on you, your hair will have whitened by the time you make it out, if you ever do so!" Seeming to regret her outburst, Finavere bit her lower lip again, crossing her arms in thought. She took a deep breath, looking him in the eye.
"Therefore," she said in a calmer voice, "I would be more than happy to take you to him. If you would follow me."
She stood, grabbing her now empty buckets, and Edmund stood as well. She motioned for him to precede her, and the two began to walk silently. Eventually, they came upon an area that ended sharply at a cliff. In short, a dead end. Edmund whirled around to find the young woman pointing a broadsword at his back.
"Who on earth are you," she demanded, with what was meant to be a stern expression, as her green eyes bore relentlessly into his, "and- and why, in the name of Aslan, do you seek an audience with the king of the bards?" Edmund, not answering, drew his own sword, and began to duel her. His blade slammed into hers with surprising force, momentarily knocking her off balance. However, she (with some difficulty) lifted the heavy sword, and began to viciously slash at her opponent with clumsy strikes. Edmund, unfazed, calmly blocked the blows.
"What on earth would young lady such as yourself doing in a scary forest such as this one?" he asked in mock politeness, fending off her heavy offense with ease.
"The only thing that frightens me in this forest is your lack of manners," she retorted through gritted teeth. Her father had taught her how to hold a sword and swipe it downwards, and the instruction ended there. After all, why would a girl like her ever need a blade at her side?
"My lack of manners?" Edmund cried, "Who pulled their sword first, after they said they would take me to a particular person, only to lie?" Edmund could begin to see the fatigue on the maiden's face, and he used this opportunity to press the offense.
Unconsciously, his strikes began to have more flourishes as his confidence, and, as a consequence, his arrogance, began to grow. This was an easy task; He could defeat the young woman in his sleep. No one could defeat King Edmund of Narnia. However, as these thoughts swelled in his mind, he unwittingly let down his defense, and the girl, seizing the opportunity, leaped forth and slit his majestic vest. Edmund cried out, and the young woman gasped in surprise.
"My vest!" he said in surprise, stopping to check the damage. Finavere stopped as well, her face paling.
"Oh dear," she breathed, "did I injure you?"
"Do you have any idea how much this vest is worth?" he continued, ignoring her anxious questions. "This vest was handmade by the master tailors of Cair Paravel during the Golden Age! This embroidery took 2 weeks alone to make, and the blue dye was imported from an island kingdom twenty leagues from the shore, which, I may add, does no longer exist!" In his anger and humiliation, he made a vicious slash at the girl, who barely missed the strike by ducking her head.
"D'you mean to hack my head clean off?" she yelled, dropping her blade in surprise.
"If that's what it takes for you to yield," Edmund replied through gritted teeth, "I just might do so." Now, Edmund did not truly mean to kill her, but he, noticing her timidness, decided it would be better to frighten her out of the duel alltogether, as the girl could barely hold a sword. But Finavere's eyes widened, believing that her very life was in danger. Adrenaline pumped through her body, quickening her movements. She ducked a swing of his blade, it barely missing its "intended" target. However, Edmund moved faster, and had his sword pointed at her quivering chest. "Yield. Please," he added, hoping that would help the situation. The girl opened her mouth, but just as words were about to come out of it, another voice sounded, one that was strange to Edmund, but was hapily familiar to Finavere.
"Finnie! I say, Finnie dear!" the two turned towards the sound of the voice, and a horse suddenly burst through the trees, thundering towards them. Edmund pointed his sword at the new arrival, stumbling a little in surprise. Seated on the horse, a magnificent black stallion, was an imposing figure of a man. His flame-red hair covered his ruddy head and face, his eyes were a piercing green, and his enormous and regal stature grew more intimidating as he dismounted.
"Well, What's all this?" he asked the two in a deep, majestic voice that reminded Edmund of a large drum. Finavere blushed, and bowed her head. "Hello, Father," she said in a quiet voice.
"Oh, come now, Finnie," the big man boomed, "I don't blame you. Halloah, watch it with that sword, boy! You could hurt someone!" he looked to Edmund, and the young man gulped as he quickly sheathed his sword. It seemed as if the girl's father could see into his very soul.
"Um, yes," he replied shakily, "but I did not intend to do so. I have been sent to deliver a message to King Firesong of the bards. This young lady said she would take me to him."
"Well, then," The boisterous man said, " 'twas good of her to draw her sword. The king does not take kindly to strangers. Pray tell me, what was the nature of this audience?"
"Well," Edmund stuttered, "I was tasked to tell no one but the king himself."
"My boy," the man replied ominously, "if you don't tell me, you will never have the opportunity to tell the king. Is that understood?" Edmund took a deep breath, readying his sword.
"I will die before I reveal the king's secret message," he said nobly, taking a fighting stance. The father looked at his daughter, who looked as surprised as he at the youth's loyalty.
"Oh!" Finavere sighed, biting her bottom lip, "you are such a simpleton! Can you not see a king unless he wears a crown?" Edmund stopped, a quizzical look on his face. His eyes then grew wide, and he dropped his sword, kneeling on the ground.
"Your Majesty," he said breathlessly, "and to think, I could have died; keeping the secret from the man it was intended for. My most humble apologies, Your Grace."
"Oh, come now, dear boy," Firesong comforted, "I do not blame you. I hardly look like your average king, but I assure you, I am every inch a ruler as High King Peter of Old. But come, I was out looking for my daughter," and at this he gave a stern glance to Finavere, "who, I might add, should apologize for her insult, and we should get home. You may give me the message there." He leaned in to whisper to the young man.
"At times, my boy, it seems that the trees themselves have ears." Firesong had such a large horse, he was able to add the two children to the stallion's load, and the three tore of into the darkening wilderness.
When the three arrived at Firesong's home, Edmund now understood the queer looks that Finavere gave him upon mentioning her father's "castle," for the king's home was nothing more than a quaint cottage with a thatched roof and walls painted sky blue. As they dismounted, a horde of children burst out of the large wooden door, laughing as they ran to engulf the new arrivals, even Edmund. Cries of "Daddy!" and "Finnie!" could be heard, along with excited questions about their visitor.
"All right, my little rascals," a kind, song-like voice called from inside, "come in for dinner and let your poor father and sister breathe!" The stampede receded as quickly as it came, except for one little girl, who refused to let go of Edmund's leg.
"Oh, Ellie," Finavere said kindly, bending over to gently pry the red-headed toddler off of him, "is that how we treat guests, hm?" Ellie released the young man's leg with a giggle, then ran off to join her siblings.
"She likes you," Finavere teased, making Edmund blush furiously. The three entered the small cottage to find the children seated at a round table, behind hot bowls of aromatic soup. A beautiful and elegant woman working furiously in the kitchen was the only occupant standing (besides themselves), and she quickly rushed over to them.
"Giovan! Finavere!" she cried, pulling the two into a loving embrace. When she released them, however, there was a fire in her blue eyes, and she began to scold them, beginning with Finavere.
"Finavere Lark Firesong, you know better than to dawdle in the forest, why, you could have been killed by a wild beast, or, Aslan forbid, be captured by those filthy Telemarines! And you!" she wheeled around to the red-haired king, "running off without telling your poor wife what you were doing, or where you were going, and just letting her worry her poor nerves into oblivion! Do you have any idea-" and at this moment she finally caught sight of Edmund.
"Oh," she said, her voice softening, "you didn't tell me that we had a visitor!"
"Oh, yes, Rowena," Firesong broke in, "this is a brave young messenger sent from the direction of the Narnian camp. Don't look so startled, young man," he said to Edmund, who's pale complexion had become whiter with surprise, "I have many eyes and ears elsewhere that answer only to me. My boy, this is my darling wife, Rowena Lilly River Firesong, Queen of the Bards." Edmund bowed courteously.
"And what might your name be, dear child?" the queen asked.
"Edmund," he replied.
"After the great king of old, I presume?"
"Yes," he said, "but, to be completely honest, I-" the horde of children suddenly jumped up and rushed down the hall.
"Where are they going?" the young man asked.
"It's getting to be their bedtime," Rowena answered. "Finnie," she said, turning towards her daughter, "would you mind singing to them?" The girl let out a tired sigh.
"Very well," she sighed, folding her arms, "but I must be allowed to play your harp this time, mother." The queen nodded her consent, and Finavere began to stroll down the hall.
"Would it be all right if I listened in?" Edmund suddenly asked. "I am very fond of music."
"I suppose it's all right," Rowena replied, "as long as you're not too loud." Finavere turned around and began to shake her head anxiously.
"Oh, mother," she said emphatically, "no, please, no! Why, he can't listen to me sing!"
"And why not?" Edmund asked with a smirk. "Would my presence break your concentration?"
"Th-that's not it at all," she stuttered, "I just don't like people to hear me sing."
"Finnie," her mother chided, shaking her head, "you are a bard, even the heir of their king! How can you be a model to your people if you never perform in front of others?"
The girl sighed again. "Very well, mother. If you will, sir," she said, gesturing Edmund towards the children's room, and the two left the king and queen in the kitchen.
In the kitchen, the husband and wife tenderly watched the young people slip into the children's room.
"Tell me, Giovan," the queen asked, "do you think it a coincidence that a young man with a noble bearing, who comes to you personally in such upheaving times, bearing a confidential message just happens to be named Edmund?"
"No, the king replied as he tucked a strand of jet black hair behind her ear, "I think not."
BTW, guys, a neat little tidbit, I came up with the Firesong's names using an awesome system I came up with. (Next chapter you'll get to meet the kiddos)
First name: An uncommon or interesting name that sounds medieval
Second name: Something in nature, (ex. oak, ivy, river,)
Third name: Hereditary, something in nature plus "song"
(Optional) fourth name: If you are a married woman, your husband's third name becomes your fourth name. Your third name remains, but "song" is taken away.
For example, Queen Rowena's name before she married was Rowena Lilly Riversong, but her husband's name is Firesong. So, after she married, her name was Rowena Lilly River ( - song) Firesong. Cool, huh?