Nota Bene: I am not sure how long the Golden Age lasted, but I would hazard a guess that it was more than twenty years long at least, or it hardily qualifies as an "age".

Instinct

"What each man is in Your eyes, thus he is, and no more."
- Francis of Assisi

Edmund, Knight and King of Narnia had seldom been in worse straits. Alone, separated from his escort by half an army and two thirds of Tashbaan, barefoot, bleeding and starved he looked nothing like the handsome young king that landed in Calormen but a scant week earlier.

Tashbaan had been fully as beautiful and dangerous as he had remembered from that ill-fated visit two long years ago. Much had happened in the intervening time, the old Tisroc was dead (so much for living forever) and Rabadash, his own worst enemy now reigned.

Rabadash had a long memory and cunning and cruelty to match it.

Edmund was one of that rare variety, both a good king and a good man and it was seldom that he found it in his heart to despise another, be he king or peasant for had not the King over all Kings seen fit to forgive even a traitor? But the Calormen prince stirred both anger and disgust in his heart, he had played with Susan, threatened her honor and caused the deaths of both Narnians and Archenlanders. Deaths that were entirely due to his uncurbed pride and anger...

Edmund had found it in his heart to forgive him and Aslan had offered him mercy, but there were times when he wished he had just separated the treacherous donkey's head from his body when he had a chance, mercy be hanged.

Times like the present when he found himself, limping, flogged and alone thanks to his dear old friend, Rabadash Tisroc (heavens forbid he lived forever.)

He paused before he could take further satisfaction from mentally beheading the Tisroc (did he really believe he would live forever), he was last with a right to question Aslan's mercy, if He chose to do so than He was surely right and Edmund would abide by whatever his King commanded.

He had wandered during his lengthy introspection and now he looked about warily. Tashbaan was built on an oppressive hierarchy of the rich over the poor both figuratively and quite literally. He was now standing, weaponless and wounded among the poor, the poorest of the poor of Calormen. Bright, deadly, beautiful and barbaric Calormen, age-old enemy and rival of Narnia.

Edmund wondered whether Rabadash had planned this out completely or simply watched smiling as Edmund stumbled through his hoops and tricks, enjoying the extra excitement of an unplanned interlude for his guest.

There were people standing about now, silent, voiceless shadows watching this newcomer. They made no move, lifted no hand against him, yet. Edmund could nearly feel their festering anger as it washed over him, nearly touch the waves of hatred that radiated from every cobble and secret alley until he felt faint from the intensity of it.

Slowly he walked on wondering when the end of the maze would be in sight. He had escaped the little whitewashed cell where Rabadash had kept him. If he could but make it to the grand palace where he should have been laughing at some dull Calormen proverb or sipping some exotic ice…

Shouts rang out in the heavy air and he stumbled on more swiftly. They were boys, children ranging from nine to twelve. Wild shouts rent the air as they swung their dry sticks in the mock battle that boys of their age fancied. Had Peter and he truly fought wars at that age? They seemed so little, frail, underfed, under clothed.

His heart ached fiercely as he contemplated their plight, no matter that they were not his people, not Narnians, all men were Aslan's and he was Aslan's servant…

One of the boys was down.

The others leapt forward their sticks falling with fearful abandon on the child. Before he even realized what he was doing Edmund was down on hands and knees, batting away the sticks with bleeding hands as he tried to check the boy for serious injuries.

The game stopped, the children watched astonished as the ragged youth knelt on the ground anxiously feeling for broken bones. He was tall, but under the dirt his hair was fair and golden and his skin pale.

"Barbarian!"

"Narnian!"

"Northerner!"

He ignored the harsh cries and continued his examination. The boy was not much hurt and he began to wonder if any had ever been meant. It was too late to regret his intervention though so he stood as gracefully as possible and looked the tallest boy in the eye.

I suppose this could be considered a sequel to Not For All the Jewels in Tashbaan, but it can stand alone. And before anyone asks "Why in the Dancing Lawn did he go BACK to Calormen after the last disaster?" please wait for the next chapter...

Shire Rose