This is marmota-b's Secret Santa gift this year. It might not be quite what you wanted, Marmota, but I really hope you like it anyway:)
And if you ever decide to read this as is, Wilf-sempai, thanks for beta-ing!
Hardly anyone knew what to do with themselves that winter in the first year of the Golden Age. In fact, the younger creatures of Narnia fell into a panic, fearing the return of the White Witch. However, as the days grew colder and the ground began to freeze, the Narnians – young and old – began to recover from their fear and learned to enjoy the winter once more.
That left the question of Christmas.
All of Narnia knew of Christmas and Father Christmas, but no one quite remembered how to celebrate it. So it fell to the Pevensies to plan the first Christmas celebration in a hundred years.
Now, I could tell you of the stress they had from planning such a large and momentous event, or of the party itself, but the real interest lies on the Christmas morning after the festivities.
It had always been planned, though unspoken between the four monarchs, to carry on as they always had on Christmas Day. The castle staff, however, were left unintentionally uninformed. Imagine their surprise when the kings and queens of Narnia raced into the throne room and sat themselves on the marble floor by the tree that was decorated with tinsel, candles, colored glass ornaments, and wrapped chocolate candies (of which there were very little left).
In the shadow of the enormous evergreen, it was more obvious than ever how young the Pevensies were. Unlike their bright, royal dress, they wore simple clothes of neutral colors. More than once, a servant passed by them and did a double take, mistaking them for commoners.
To tell the truth, the Sons of Adam debated getting dressed at all in favor of coming down in their pajamas, but decided they didn't want the rest of the castle folk to die of shock.
Susan immediately set to sorting the presents by person. "Let's see…this one goes to Peter. It's from Father Christmas." The gifts from Father Christmas were easiest to identify as they were all wrapped in shiny red paper with golden colored bows and silver tags.
"Thank you, Su."
"This one to Mr. Tumnus. Put it over there, by your pile, won't you, Lucy?"
"Okay!" The youngest of the four beamed as the faun lowered himself to the floor next to her. She handed the box wrapped in purple paper to him. "This one's from me."
This continued for a while until the large pile of presents had been properly divided into smaller groups. Each and every person in Cair Paravel had their own.
During this division, as their tradition dictated, the four children didn't even reach to open a present. Instead, they waited patiently for the sorting to be done. The moment the sorting finished, they descended onto their piles like vultures on a battlefield, calling out "thank you!" to the people who had given them each gift.
Though most of the gifts were small – such as paintings, books, and journals – they felt the same thrill of joy that they would have if the gifts had like the larger. Another thing to note was that Edmund received a sword from Father Christmas as he hadn't been with the other children during the Great Thaw.
In the middle of the unwrapping, it was Lucy who called to the dumbstruck servants, "Aren't you going to join us?"
This brought the other three to attention. With a childish energy the Narnians had seldom seen on their regal monarchs, the four immediately got up and guided each servant to their pile. Even the cooks, who had been unaware of the festivities outside the kitchen, were called out and given their gifts.
The added people multiplied the already existing excitement, and soon everyone was eagerly tearing paper. The Talking Beasts had to be a bit more creative than the humanoid Narnians. The birds had the hardest time, for, if nothing else, the other Beasts could use their paws and teeth. The avians had to use their talons and beaks, which was very similar to trying to grab a piece of paper with your lips.
Occasionally the discarded wrappings got too close to the fireplace and caught on fire. They were quickly put out and forgotten, but left the smell of smoke in the room. No one really minded. In fact, most quite enjoyed the more rustic atmosphere it gave the room. It made the castle, which no one was quite used to yet, less intimidating.
Finally, after all the gifts had been unwrapped and the paper gathered into a mountainous pile, the people of Cair Paravel settled down comfortably on the floor.
"What now, your highnesses?" asked Mr. Tumnus. His eyes still seemed to twinkle from the earlier festivity.
"Now," Peter began, a grin wide on his face, "it's time for our age old Pevensie tradition. Lucy, if you will."
The Valiant nodded eagerly. "We pick a person to make up a story and give them things to include."
"For example," Susan continued, "I choose Peter, and it must include a…" she looked around the room. "A tree, an ore of some kind, and a phoenix."
Immediately, the Magnificent launched into a grand tale of a heroic phoenix that set off on a quest to find a mystical diamond located under an ancient blue oak.
It was not a good story, but the exoticness of the game and the sheer absurdity of the tale enraptured the castle. The game continued as such for a great while, long after breakfast and dinner. In fact, they were so entertained by their little game that they played it throughout their meals – the cooks having brought food to them.
Many of the stories were like High King Peter's: that is, short, absurd, irrelevant, and highly entertaining. However, two of them were of such importance to the storytellers that I cannot bring myself to skip over them.
The first was spun by a little Robin. He was a nervous thing by the name of Swiftlay that visibly quaked before he had even been called to play. The presence of the four kings and queens, all a great deal larger than himself, intimidated him. Once he had been called to play, his feathers fluffed out like one's hair would stand on end. He was to include a battle, a song, and himself.
The prompt seemed near impossible, and the Robin was beside himself in fear, never mind that the previous stories told had set expectations low.
"O-once upon a time," he began so quietly that the crowd of Narnians fell silent and strained to hear him. However, the silence made him nervous, so as the room got quieter, so did Swiftlay's voice.
"Excuse me, Mr. Robin," Lucy interrupted when the Robin's voice had diminished to almost nothing, "but can you please speak up? I can't quite hear your lovely story."
The Robin cooed nervously. "Yes, Queen Lucy."
"Thank you…"
"Swiftlay, your majesty."
"Swiftlay then." That Valiant beamed.
So he began again.
The story went like this: Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms that were locked in a fierce war. For years they fought for control over the land's music. As absurd as it may sound to us, it was paramount to the rulers of each kingdom, for whoever controlled the music, controlled the people's hearts and minds.
The opposing armies were equal in power, determination, and manpower, so the war fell into a standstill, lasting a good five years before there was any sign of change. The change was not a good one.
Slowly, the battles deteriorated from organized, frontal attacks to a total war. Villages were ransacked and burned to the ground in an attempt to starve the enemy out. Innocents were killed in the midst of the fighting. Fathers turned against sons and brothers turned against brothers.
Some even forgot which side they were fighting for, and began to kill anyone in sight. Soon every person in the land were fighting, both to win the war and to simply survive. Everyone, even small children, took up arms and fought for their respective cause.
Everyone, except for a little Robin by the name of Swiftlay. His parents had each been from a differing kingdom, and had been killed when the war broke out. Unable and unwilling to choose a side, Swiftlay flew from one kingdom to another, trying to convince the people to end the war.
His efforts were in vain, and both sides turned against him. Often while he attempted to reach the people with his message, mobs would gather and attack him. During one such attack, one of his wings was wounded beyond repair and he lost the ability to fly.
A young boy by the name of Ion took pity on him. Taking in the small bird, he not only dressed Swiftlay's wounds, but also listened to the Robin's beliefs. By some miracle, Ion was won over. The boy decided at that moment to help Swiftlay's cause by carrying the bird to each town in the land, making up for the Robin's handicapped wing.
The two travelled for some time in this manner and, though they could not convince many people to stop fighting, the Robin had more hope with Ion by his side. Through their shared travels, they became close comrades and partners in their cause.
Their journey came to an end when, in midst a riot in the town they were in, a stray arrow took the life of the boy.
As his young friend fell to the ground, lifeless, Swiftlay did the only thing he could think of. He sang.
The song, unnoticed at first, soon garnered the attention of the warring people around him. One by one, they stopped to listen as the little bird sang, until the only sound was the Robin's song. Once Swiftlay's song had ended, he hopped onto Ion's chest and settled down to rest. The little bird never moved again.
For two more years, the war raged on, but a separate faction began to rise. Calling themselves Ciriya, the group campaigned simply for the fighting to end. They were the reason the war ended as peacefully as it did.
Their crest was in the shape of a Robin.
As the real Swiftlay told his tale, his confidence grew, and he spoke clearly and steadily. Though his storytelling was mediocre, the little Robin found that he no longer cared and simply told it the best he could.
"What was the song he sang?" Susan asked after the story was done.
"A traditional Robin funeral song." To his surprise, Swiftlay found himself saying, "I could sing it for you, if you'd like."
The Narnians around him nodded eagerly. There was, after all, nothing better than a good song.
So the little bird sang. The melody was slow and mournful, but not dully so. Though short, it was filled with emotion, starting soft, building to a strong forte, then fading in a manner similar to a long, reverent "amen".
It caused more than a few shiny eyes.
"Well," Peter finally said, breaking the silence that had settled over the room, "if the other Robins sing half as well as you do, we shall have to hire them as a choir. You, Mr. Swiftlay, included."
The little bird cooed nervously. "All Robins sing, your Majesty."
"Perhaps you will gather some of your fellows and bring them here," Mr. Tumnus suggested. "Then we might have a choir as King Peter has said."
"Y-yes, your majesties!" Swiftlay squeaked. "I shall start tomorrow." He almost fainted from his nerves.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Swiftlay!" Lucy exclaimed. "It will be so wonderful to have music like yours fill Cair Paravel!"
The little bird was congratulated for having inspired the idea throughout the night. In fact, the Robin choir became renown throughout Narnia and Archenland for their singing, and to be accepted into it was considered one of the highest honors. It was not limited to Robins, but only the best songbirds were allowed to join as other Creatures' voices would upset the musical balance. The last thing you should know about them is that they performed every Christmas at Cair Paravel.
Now let us move onto our other storyteller and his tale.
Throughout the entire course of the game, Edmund had remained silent, save for laughing along with the others when a story was particularly funny. Only when the sun was nearly set, and someone asked, "Who hasn't gone yet?" did anyone notice he hadn't participated at all.
Susan, who had kept a list of who had gone, checked and called, "Edmund hasn't."
The crowd of Narnians immediately turned to the Just.
"I don't want to go." Edmund angled himself so he'd be looking toward the kitchen. "It's time to eat supper, isn't it?"
"Oh, please, Edmund?" Lucy begged. "You always told the best stories back home!"
The younger king of Narnia shook his head. "That was a long time ago, Lu. I'm out of practice."
"You can still try!" The golden-haired girl stuck out her lip. "Please? If you do, you won't have to get me anything for my birthday or Christmas ever again!"
The younger Narnians – the sons and daughters of the castle's servants – gasped in shock.
"I'd never have to buy a present for you ever again?" the Just asked thoughtfully, a grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.
"That's pretty serious, Lucy," Peter teased.
"I know, Peter," she retorted indignantly. "I'm not stupid."
"Of course not," Susan assured.
Edmund couldn't help but laugh at the situation before him. "All right, Lucy. I'll try to tell a story, and it'll be free. You won't have to give up receiving presents from me."
The youngest Pevensie squealed in delight. "Oh, thank you, Edmund!"
"You went last, your majesty," Mr. Tumnus reminded with a smile. "It's your turn to give a prompt."
The Valiant's brow furrowed in thought. After a few moments she brightened and said, "Include a faun, the outdoors, and clouds."
"There once were four children named Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy," the Duke of Lantern Waste began immediately, "and by chance, they became kings and queens over a mystical land called Narnia. It was during the eighth year of their reign that Edmund and Lucy found themselves running the castle by themselves while Peter and Susan went to Calormene to take care of…" Ed wrinkled his nose, searching for the words. "To take care of…dignitary things.
"The first few days were chaotic, as the castle adjusted from four monarchs to two. But they soon settled into a routine that made up for the absent older siblings. There must have been a slow day for paperwork, because Edmund and Lucy soon found themselves laying on the grass in a garden to watch the clouds."
"Which of the gardens, sire?" a mole, who was one of the gardeners, inquired.
"The –"
"It's obviously the Rose Garden," another mole interrupted.
"No, you dolt. The thorns would make the ground horrible to lay on." A young faun gardener rolled her eyes. "It was obviously the Stone Garden."
"It's inside! How could they watch the clouds from an inside garden? Besides, King Edmund has to include the outdoors."
Soon all the gardeners joined the argument, their rivalries getting the better of them.
"They were in the South Garden."
"That one only contains shrubbery. You are the only one who likes it there. It was the Northern Garden."
"You nymphs and your trees! The sky's not visible there either!"
"M-Maybe it was the vegetable garden?"
"Lion's Mane! Who would want to watch the clouds in a vegetable garden?"
A loud whistle rang throughout the room. The gardeners fell silent and everyone turned back to look at the Just King.
"For the record," Edmund said dryly, "it was the Butterfly Garden – the one with the wildflowers." He added in his head, 'And no gardeners with strange rivalries.' After making sure another argument wouldn't start, he continued. "So they found themselves watching the clouds in the Butterfly Garden.
"'That one looks like a faun,' said Edmund. Lucy stifled a giggle. 'What?' he asked. 'Doesn't it look like Mr. Tumnus?'
"'If Mr. Tumnus's head was massive and his body was tiny!' She laughed, unable to contain it any longer. Her giggles began to die down and the two fell into a comfortable silence."
"Why didn't I get to go to Calormene instead of Susan?" the real Lucy asked suddenly. "She hates fighting and tournaments!"
Without missing a beat, the Just said, "Edmund glanced at his younger sister. 'You wouldn't like it there. They prefer pompous nobles who quote boring poetry and speak really flowery. Not that Peter and Susan are like that,' he added hastily. 'They can just fake it better.'
"'…So it's not because I'm a naïve little girl who has the manners of a pig?' Lucy muttered.
"The boy – er, man frowned and sat up to look at her. 'Where on earth would you get an idea like that?'
"'That's what some of the ladies in court have been saying when they think I'm not around.'
"There was a pause. 'I want names,' he said darkly, starting to rise. 'Tell me exactly who was stupid enough to insult my little sister like that.'
"'It's fine. You don't have to do anything. It's probably true, anyway,' Lucy added under her breath.
"'No, it's not fine! Not when these people are making you question your self-worth like this!'"
"What are you going to do, Edmund?" The Valiant asked, totally absorbed in the story. "Are you going to use your kingly power and put those ladies in their place? Teach them not to insult the queens?"
"Say that again, Lu, but more tired and sarcastic." The storyteller waited as she complied, and then continued on. "'No, I'm going to use my brotherly power to put those ladies in their place and teach them not to insult my family, even if you don't give me their names.' He settled back down on the ground. 'But let's make one thing clear: you're not some naïve little girl. You're a fifteen-year old Queen of Narnia who is as wise as an owl, but as lighthearted as a sparrow. Don't forget that.'
"For a long time Lucy said nothing. Finally, she muttered, 'You sound like Peter.'
"'Please,' Edmund snorted, 'I do not sound as pompous as him.'
"'I'm telling him you said that!' Lucy yelled gleefully, jumping up and running towards the Cair.
"'L-Lucy!' Edmund ran after her, unintentionally starting an impromptu game of tag that involved the entire castle.
"Many other things happened during the week Peter and Susan were gone from Cair Paravel, but the moments like this were the ones Edmund and Lucy would remember years later. Not because they did anything noble or interesting, but because in those moments they were no longer monarchs who happened to be siblings, they were siblings who happened to be monarchs." Edmund grimaced. "Sorry, that wasn't my best work. I'm out of practice."
The Valiant hugged her brother tightly. "I loved it, Edmund! I want it to really happen!" She paused. "Well, maybe without the mean court ladies, but the game of tag sounds fun."
With the final tale told, the crowd of Narnians got up and dispersed. The cooks and a few volunteers left to prepare supper. Others compared gifts and discussed the stories told throughout the day. The maids took to cleaning up the wrapping paper on the floor.
As for the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve, they took their gifts to their rooms.
"It was great to hear Edmund tell a story again." Peter said to Susan as they walked up the staircase. Their rooms lay in a different part of the Cair than the younger childrens'.
"Yes, it was," the Gentle agreed. "Why did he ever stop? He was quite good at it before, and loved it a lot."
The Magnificent shrugged. "I'd imagine it was because of the boys at school. I doubt they would have appreciated his skill very much from what I know."
"This was good for him then," Susan mused. "Perhaps he had wanted to begin again, but was afraid to try. At any rate, everyone seemed to love his story, so he shouldn't have to worry about feeling unaccepted for his talents."
"Yes, you're right."
And that was the end of any further discussion on the matter.
It should be know that Edmund continued to weave tales throughout the Golden Age and beyond, and the game they had played became a tradition at Cair Paravel, even as the Kings and Queens' memories of our world faded. The Pevensies continued the tradition once their reign ended and they were sent back through the Wardrobe, including their family and the rest of what would become known as the Seven Friends of Narnia.
And after all but Susan had gone to Aslan's country, and the Gentle Queen married and had children of her own, the tradition continued in her family.
Perhaps it was even continued in Aslan's Country with the Great Lion Himself.
Kind of experimented with the format for this...Any suggestions to improve said format is greatly appreciated.
In case you wanted to know...
Swiftlay's name: Robin's are known to be agile, or swift. They also sing, which is where the lay part comes in; a lay is a rhythmic series of musical tones arranged to give a pleasing effect, affording to Dictionary . com
Ciriya: according to Google translate, it's the pronunciation of चिड़िया , which means bird in Hindi.
Swiftlay's song: Okay, I kind of ripped off a song from a high school marching show that was about D-Day. Well, not exactly ripped off, per say, but it definitely was what I was thinking of.