Well, now, take down your fishin' pole and

meet me at The Fishin' Hole,

We may not get a bite all day,

but don't you rush away.

What a great place to rest your bones and

mighty fine for skippin' stones,

You'll feel fresh as a lemonade,

a-settin' in the shade.

~ Fishing Hole from the Andy Griffith show


The Fish


Fish: Any of numerous cold-blooded aquatic vertebrates of the superclass Pisces, characteristically having fins, gills, and a streamlined body.


The tweezers were shaking in Edmund's hand as the loop of thread slipped free for the third time. The thread was short and Edmund's temper was shorter as he jerked it onto the floor and sat staring at it menacingly.

"Be that way," he muttered, trying to rub some of the fish glue off his fingers, then turning to look back at his ship model where it sat in the sunlight on his little work bench. He had been trying to fasten the ratlines, each bit of thread tied with a tiny clove hitch, but his fingers had been large and fumbling. The ship had come very close to being broken on the floor.

Thoughtfully, Edmund poked at the ratlines; stretching them so they hung naturally…it didn't look so bad…

"Good morning brother!" a voice boomed from the door. Shocked, Edmund jumped, stumbling to his feet, his chair toppling.

"Peter!" Edmund cried, clutching the corner of the table, "Why do you always do that!"

"You know I live to get a rise out of you," Peter stooped under the low door frame and came into the room to stare at the ship model where it was illuminated in the window light. Gently, he reached out to touch the bow rails where they curved to the figurehead. "It's a masterpiece."

"Is it time for council yet?" Edmund asked, peeling glue off his fingers.

A sizzling made Peter dash across the room to lift the lid on a little burbling pot of glue that was hanging by an S hook over the fire in the grate; an overpowering stench of fish filled the air and Peter choked.

"You and your hobbies," Peter muttered dropping the lid and putting an arm around Edmund's neck to drag him out into the fresh air. Edmund's workshop was in a little stone building with a dirt floor back to back with the stables. Edmund found himself blinking in the sunlight, watching while one of the palace horses received his yearly bath.

"Is it time for council yet?" Edmund asked again.

"More or less," Peter said, "Don't you wish we didn't have to go?"

"Don't I?" Edmund asked. "We don't really have to be there. Peridan could preside just as well as we could."

"So he could," Peter said, "You're not suggesting that we jump ship, are you, baby brother?"

"No," Edmund said, "not exactly."

The sound of screeching toenails made them both look around as a pair of talking hounds hurtled around the corner of the stables, tails jerking for balance and tongues flipping in the wind. One of them tried to stop, did a flip against a flower pot and ended with face in a puddle of water. The other kept on, howling past the groom who held the horse and under the steed himself. First water, then this was too much for the horse. With a terrified whinny, the horse reared, breaking loose of his holder and crow-hopping around the stable yard. Peter and Edmund dove.

"Oops!" the first hound said, dragging himself out of the puddle. The other one made a marvelous attempt to make it look like it was the groom who had gone flying under the horse. He slunk away, tail between his legs.

Peter lunged and caught the horse's trailing lead rope. Speaking gently, he rubbed the horse's ears, calming him. The horse turned a white rimmed eye on him and snorted. Peter laughed.

"Sorry about that, your majesty," the groom said, taking the horse back.

"Not a problem." Peter said, slapping the horse's gleaming flank as it passed him. He turned back to Edmund with a grin, "I love dogs; sometimes I wish I was one."

"You wish you were a dog?" Edmund asked incredulously, "they smell bad, they drool, they're always wanting to eat something and even the talking ones don't make much sense."

"Well, you can be a cat then," Peter said, laughing.

"I do not wish I was a cat," Edmund said.

"What do you wish for?" Peter asked, growing serious.

"I wish for some excitement," Edmund said, "Life has gotten too dull around here."

"Councils are dull," Peter stated.

"Quite true," Edmund said.

"Signing bills into law is dull," Peter added.

"Absolutely."

"Hearing the complaints of baron what's-his-face is dull," Peter was getting into his element.

"Here here," Edmund said.

Peter thumped Edmund in the chest, "Let's go fishing!" he yelled over his shoulder, then raced across the stable yard. For half a moment of stunned silence he ran alone, then Edmund was hard on his heels.

"The council will be mad," Edmund pointed out.

"Who cares?"

"The bills will have to be signed some other time."

"Let them!"

"Baron what's-his-face will really be complaining."

"So he will!"

"Where are we going fishing?"

"I know a grand place," Peter said, slinging Edmund's saddle down from a rack and tossing it to him, "A braw little tarn not far from here."

~o*o~

The sun was high and the world was beautiful when Peter spurred his horse through the gates of Cair Paravel, Edmund beside him. The ocean seemed as blue as the sky and a merchant vessel swooped, tacking, her sails like bird's wings and white clouds. Down the slope to the little town of Paravel, they could hear the chanting of the river otters as they hove down a vessel for barnacle scraping.

Peter's horse, Ambyr, leapt forward, his white mane streaming in the wind. Umbra was Edmund's horse, a blue roan the color of charcoal. Their hooves beat a steady rhythm on the road as Peter and Edmund guided them, skillfully weaving through the traffic that was going to Cair Paravel.

"So where exactly are we going?" Edmund called as Umbra flew over the hedge on the side of the road and struck out across the valley below the castle on a little used footpath.

"It's not much further!" Peter called, urging his horse still faster.

Edmund half grinned and let his hand fall caressingly on his horse's powerful neck, his voice rising and falling with Umbra's flying gait. A black tipped ear pricked towards him and Umbra drew level with Ambyr. Peter glanced over at him, but there was no hope, Umbra was the faster horse and Edmund the lighter rider. A moment later, he was leading.

"Not fair!" Peter called.

"I like not fair terms and a villain's mind." Edmund said, grinning.

"Don't spout Shakespeare at me!" Peter laughed and leaning low over his horse's neck, he summoned a last burst of speed from somewhere and surged ahead.

Climbing another hill, they slowed again, transitioning down to a trot. Peter tipped his hat to a man who was walking the path, his pack over his shoulder.

"Watch out for bandits!" the peddler called good naturedly.

Ambyr slid to a halt and Peter looked around, "What's that about bandits?"

"Bandits held up a friend of mine three days ago along here," the peddler said. "But I see you are armed, you should come to no harm."

"Thank you, sir, for your warning," Edmund said.

"We'll keep our eyes peeled," Peter added. "Aslan's blessings!"

"And you too!" the peddler called after them as they turned their horses and continued on their way.

"So where is this fishing hole?" Edmund asked.

"Oh, it's along here somewhere," Peter said standing up in his stirrups, "I don't think it moved since last week."

Edmund reached out and pulled Peter's hat over his nose, then urged Umbra ahead. He could hear the sound of rushing water and as Umbra leapt over tree roots in the trail, he saw glittering spray leaping into the air. A moment later, he pulled up his horse next to a wide pool of water, naturally dammed on one side and surging with white water on the other as a waterfall cascaded down a cliff of smooth rock.

"Trout in this hole," Peter said, swinging off his horse and rummaging for the pieces of his fishing pole in his saddlebag.

"Looks like a good place for a swim," Edmund said, fitting bamboo sections together.

"Shall I throw you in?" Peter asked, grinning.

Edmund ignored him. If he said 'no' Peter would push him in and if he said 'yes' Peter would push him in. There was no winning with Peter.

"Have an earthworm?" Peter asked handing him one and a moment later, they were sitting on the bank, their feet dangling in the water, fishing lines trailing.

Edmund measured himself next to Peter. He was sixteen now and long, though not as long as Peter. He always lost wrestling matches.

Peter saw what he was doing and grinned.

"You're getting bigger, baby brother," Peter said, ruffling Edmund's hair. Edmund made a grab for his hand, but Peter snatched it away. The next moment – they never decided whose fault it was – someone's foot slipped and they both went tumbling over the bank into the fishing hole with a tremendous splash. Arms and legs went everywhere and Peter shouted something before he went under.

"What was that?" Edmund asked when Peter came up again.

"My hat," Peter took a deep breath and dove. A moment later he was up again with a sorry looking hat dripping from his hand. "The feather's gone." He said sadly.

"Let's find it," Edmund said, "it will be all right once it dries."

Edmund dove, pulling to the bottom. The water was remarkably clear, lit like liquid light. Tiny fish darted away from him, bright flashes of color against the dancing pebbles on the bottom. A blotch of red caught his eye and he turned to see the feather, wafting airily and looking strangely beautiful amid the green, frilly water weeds. He reached out to grab it, but jerked back when the weeds parted and a great golden fish leapt at him, a look of contempt on its face.

Edmund burst to the surface, choking.

"Get it?" Peter asked.

"Pete, can a fish show contempt?" Edmund blurted.

"Um…" Peter said.

Then the water leapt and the fish Edmund had seen flew into the air, twisting among golden drops of light and water, to splash again into the pool. Peter stared after it.

"I'd swear it winked at me," Peter gaped.

Edmund pulled himself up the bank out of the water and Peter followed, looking over his shoulder. The water was surging again and a moment later, the fish rose half out of the water and slapped the surface with a frilly fin. Its scales glittered like plate gold and its eyes had a strangely intelligent expression.

It stared at them and they stared back.

"Some fishing you're doing," the fish said at last, rather airily. "Didn't your father ever teach you not to jump into the pool before going fishing?"

"I think he said something of that nature before," Peter said, half smiling.

"I was not aware that fish talked," Edmund said.

"You can add something new to your list of thing you are aware of," the fish said, "Now, let's get to the point."

"You going to chew us out for jumping into your pool?" Peter asked.

"It isn't my habit to admonish royalty," the fish said, "but it is my habit, rather my obligation, to grant wishes and I'm going to grant you each a wish."

"A wish?" Edmund said.

"You are kings that rule a country and I am a fish that grants wishes. That's what I do," the fish frowned, "there's one drawback, though, they expire at midnight."

They stared at the fish blankly.

"So what's it going to be?" the fish asked, slightly annoyed. "What are your wishes?"

"Um," Peter shook himself, "I can't think of anything."

Edmund glanced at him, then back at the fish, "Same here. What sorts of things do you normally grant?"

The fish rolled its eyes, "I've never met anyone who couldn't think of a wish…" It scratched its head thoughtfully, "I've never met royalty before either, maybe that explains it. Oh come now, there must be something you want!"

Peter shrugged, "can't think of anything."

The fish stared at him for a moment, then shrugged himself, "right then, I'll give you the wishes you already made."

With that, and a saucy quirk of his tail, the fish was gone, leaving only the sunlight to dance off the ripples where he had been.

"What did we wish for?" Edmund asked, then turned to look at Peter and broke off, mouth hanging open. "Peter?"

Because Peter wasn't there anymore.


A/N: This may well prove to be one of the strangest stories you have ever read...except Narnia Recycled... It took two nights to complete, one to think it up and one to write it down. Please review and enjoy!

~Rose and Psyche