A/N: Of course I don't own Narnia, and the first line of the story is of course the beginning of The Horse and His Boy.
In case you were wondering, the description of the gardens and fountains in the Alcazar in Seville, Spain. I was there this summer and it is absolutely amazing. I thought it might be what the Lone Islands were like, but rooty-boots, who I was with, said no, she imagined it was more like Calormen (the Alcazar being a Moorish palace), and that inspired this story. The scene playing with the fountain was also taken from my experiences there.
I should also mention, this story is pretty much wholly in canon, perhaps moreso than some of my other stories. Hope you enjoy!
This is another part of the story of an adventure that happened in Narnia and Calormen and the lands between, in the Golden Age when Peter was High King in Narnia and his brother and his two sisters were King and Queens under him. The Narnians were making a great visit of state to Calormen to see if their Queen Susan would accept Prince Rabadash's proposal of marriage. The High King was in the north, fighting the giants, and so he sent his brother King Edmund to escort the Queen to Calormen.
Of course a King and Queen can never make a great visit of state alone, and so a delegation of Narnian nobles came with them. Among them was Tumnus, who was a very famous faun and very dear friend of the Kings and Queens, Prince Corin, the crown Prince of Archenland and especial friend of Queen Susan, and Lord Peridan, a young lord whose lands lay just to the southwest of the castle Cair Paravel. Lord Peridan was noted as a very great horseman and an artist, but when King Edmund had asked him to come along, he said nothing about either of these. Instead, the King had observed "You're quite clever—after all you've almost beaten me at chess once or twice—and we shall need our wits about us on this trip."
At the moment, however, Peridan felt as though his wits were being a bit dulled by boredom. Though much was going on—at this very moment King Edmund was meeting with Prince Rabadash, the Calormenes didn't seem to know what to do with him. He was not a servant, the Narnian delegation had made that clear when they arrived. Clearly he was in a strange, elevated position that the Calormenes didn't understand. Was he a vizier? He was high ranking enough. But he didn't seem to defer to the King or Queen. Rather they asked him his opinion, and, shockingly, he had even disagreed with his King. After seeing their surprise in this, Peridan took care that they should never see him and Edmund share a joke. Clearly the Calormenes couldn't understand what it meant for a King to have a friend.
The morning coolness was quickly giving way to the day's heat. Peridan came to understand Calormen's weather patterns quickly enough: he would wake on what promised to be a fine summer day, enjoy half a delicious morning, and then by eleven o'clock the sun would burn off all the coolness and it would become unbearable hot for the rest of the day, not cooling off properly until after midnight, when everything stopped radiating the absorbed heat of the merciless sun.
Peridan could remember heat like this from his childhood in the Lone Islands, summer days that never seemed to end. It had been an idyllic sort of heat then, and he would race down to the beach to swim in the aqua clear water all day. When Aunt called for him in the evening he always regretted going home. As he dragged himself away from the sparkle of adventure, he would surreptitiously suck on the wet ends of his hair (Peridan always wore his hair longer, even as a boy). The briny taste kept him on the beach for a bit longer.
In his stroll through the palace gardens, Peridan started eyeing the fountains ruefully. There were no such pleasures in the Calormene summer. The pleasure garden he was walking in was full of tinkling fountains feeding one into the other along mosaic-lined drains, but not one of them was for swimming or even drinking. He ached for a swim, but the river was forbidden—too dirty, not for lords, he had been told. He could take advantage of the steam baths; they were very refreshing, but with the sun burning on his neck, the idea of exposing himself to steam did not hold very much appeal.
He sat on a bench in the shade, which was not really very cool. This was not for lack of engineering. The bench was positioned in such a way as to catch every breeze that blew, and the lushest, leafiest of orange trees had been planted next to it. The bench itself was a cool, porous stone, covered again with the same intricate mosaic tiles as the fountains. The materials had been chosen carefully so that even the corner of the bench that had been in the sunlight all morning was only warm to the touch.
Peridan ran his hand over the tiles, reflecting. There was something to truly admire in the design, built for function and mathematically precise in carrying out that function. Yet it was more than just functional—in Calormen, all that was practical was made beautiful, ornately so. Narnians left things in their natural state as much as possible, the aesthetic highlighting the simplicity of natural beauty. When Peridan painted, he used the same philosophy. Nevertheless, he had to admire the artisanship. Probably one trained for years just to be a tile maker. That dream achieved, he most likely worked on these fantastical tiles all day. Peridan painted and sketched and dabbled in sculpture. A particularly fine vase he saw in the Tisroc's palace the other day inspired him to see if he could afford a kiln when he returned. He could not imagine confining himself to one task all day, every day.
The imagined tile maker came back into his mind, and Peridan imagined him as an artist alive with inspiration as a child and youth, fingers crackling to paint. But then as an adult who had painted tiles, repeating design after intricate design with so little variation, there was no more inspiration, only the feeble warmth of having accomplished something beautiful.
That was the problem with Calormen, wasn't it? They didn't leave people alone to create beauty or appreciate it; they wrung inspiration and admiration out of people. The same was true of the leaders: the Tisroc had an excess of sons to prove his manhood, an excess of jewels on his person to prove his wealth and greatness. People had to pay lip service to him wherever he went. By contrast, the High King dressed simply. He never demanded respect, but he had it wherever he went.
Likewise, Prince Rabadash was forever boasting and showing off, forcing the Narnians, who were diplomatic and polite, to pay him half-hearted compliments. King Edmund was quiet about his prowess in many fields. His skill in the tiltyard and on the battlefield and in the board room had always impressed Peridan, but the King never demanded laurels.
Peridan sighed. What was Queen Susan thinking? How could she envision herself as princess of this country? She was the least ostentatious person he knew, blushing furiously when anyone called her beautiful, deflecting compliments to her siblings. If someone mentioned her considerable skill with a bow, she would answer "Oh, but you should see Peter with a sword. That is a skill to behold."
Calormen was a harsh place, Peridan decided as he sat in the blistering heat. The heat was fierce, the people fiercer. This was no place for the Gentle Queen of Narnia. Here she would be the jewel Prince Rabadash assured her that she was; a polished possession, brought out at her owner's whim and shut away for safekeeping when he finished with her. Rabadash played the game well, of course, assuring that he would treasure her as her brothers treasured her, that she would be beloved of the Calormene people, but Peridan knew lip service when he heard it. Presumably that was one of the reasons King Edmund chose him to come along. He knew the Calormenes were not going to upend their ancient customs for the Barbarian Queen; rather, they would teach her to be 'civilized.' She would be no more than a ghost to the Calormene people, veiled in silk. No more would she ride out on her horse, bestowing blessings and kindness on her people. No more would she enter a ballroom beaming on her brother the High King's arm. And regularly—for more than part of the year if Rabadash exercised his will—on of the four thrones at Cair Paravel would be empty.
And the Queen who belonged in it? She would be nothing more than a vessel for the Prince's seed. Even when she bore him a child, Peridan saw how royal children were kept, shut up with amahs away from their mothers. And Susan loved children so dearly…
No, he decided shaking his head mournfully, it was a poor match. Narnia and Queen Susan had nothing to gain. He resolved to do something, but what? He had Edmund's ear, but did that count for much when the High King had ordered her Majesty be free to make her own choice? If he spoke to Susan, someone might claim he only spoke from jealousy. It was an easy claim to make; half the eligible men in Narnia were dismayed Susan was considering Rabadash's suit.
But did he have to say something? Did not Susan refuse a walk in the gardens with Prince Rabadash last night, claiming she was tired and preferred to retire? A woman in the throes of a passionate affair does not refuse time with her beloved. Neither does she gravitate toward her brother and not her suitor. Was Susan playing diplomatic games of her own? Perhaps Peridan did not need to worry about dispensing words of caution. He had to wonder, though—how would Rabadash take a refusal?
As he roused himself from these simultaneously hopeful and dreadful thoughts, Peridan realized the shade had shifted, and he was now baking in the midday sun. The fountain in front of him trickled alluringly, the water splashing deliciously in the stone basin. Peridan worked his throat. He was drenched in sweat and parched with thirst. No one was about. Surely he could risk dunking his head and having a drink. It would be so refreshing…
Peridan got up and approached the fountain, still stealing looks around him. When he was quite sure he was alone, he stepped close and ducked his head under the spray.
He only meant to splash himself, but the cool water was so wonderful he couldn't make himself stop. It tinkled onto his sweltering scalp, trickled down the nape of his neck and in a cool little rivulet down his spin. Peridan opened his mouth and drank of the water. Even though he knew that inside a frozen sherbert was at his command, this water was so crisp and delicious he couldn't resist.
"I'm pretty sure the Tisroc demands you put all the water back and pay the price for defiling his art," a voice behind Peridan said.
Peridan whirled around, spraying droplets of water. His heart did not slow down when he saw that it was only King Edmund.
"Your Majesty!" he gasped in reproof.
The King appeared unaffected by Peridan's surprise. He walked around the fountain and Peridan, rubbing his chin slowly. "Yes, I expect these are the sacred waters of Tash, harnessed for the glory of the Tisroc." He stopped and met Peridan's eyes, his own sparkling with humor. "You'll probably have to spend a day in the stocks."
Peridan affected a sigh. "Can your Majesty do nothing to commute the sentence of your loyal servant?"
King Edmund pretended to consider this. "I'll argue for half a day then. But no less. You, my good lord, must learn how to show respect."
He snorted, breaking the game. Edmund grinned with his triumph. They often played this game of king and courtier, discussing minor breeches of propriety and pronouncing outrageous punishments with mock sobriety. The first to laugh lost, and Peridan lost more often than he liked. Edmund was just so good at keeping a straight face while saying the most preposterous things.
Peridan twisted his mouth. There was something about the King's insouciant grin that dared Peridan to splash him. He couldn't resist the impulse. He put his thumb over the spigot of water and directed it straight into King Edmund's face.
The King yelped and ran to push Peridan away from the fountain. They wrestled and splashed each other for a minute, frolicking like the boys that they still were. The world looked at the monarchs of Narnia as adults, but the truth was of the four, only the High King had passed the age of twenty.
Finally King Edmund tugged his tunic straight and smoothed back his sodden, tousled hair. "You know I really did come to seek out your opinion on affairs of state," he said, rolling his eyes. Peridan paused in wringing out his clothes to look at him, raising his brows ever so slightly. "Oh?"
At once the playfulness evaporated through silent understanding. The two young men sat together on the bench, looking much graver and more adult.
King Edmund looked around. "Are we alone?"
"We must be, or someone would surely have come by now, after all the noise we made," Peridan observed.
"True," Edmund agreed, but his voice was much quieter as a precaution. He was silent for a moment, then he turned to Peridan and asked, still in that quiet voice, "Tell me honestly, my good lord, what you think of this match my sister proposes to make." He smiled a bit, using the formal language with irony as he always did, but Peridan saw the worry in his eyes.
"Why? Did something happen in your meeting with Rabadash?"
Edmund twisted his mouth, wagging an index finger. "I asked you first. King's prerogative." Again, Peridan noted that his mirth was only affected.
Peridan sighed, turning back to the fountain. His thoughts from earlier replayed in his head. Dare he voice them? But King Edmund had asked for honesty, and the rule in the Narnian court was that when the kings and queens asked for honesty, the person should dispense with manners and speak his mind. Remembering this, Peridan drew a breath and said "I think it would be a poor choice. What do we stand to gain? What does her Majesty stand to gain?" Peridan shook his head. "I don't think he will be good to her."
"More than that," Edmund frowned, "I think he could be…dangerous."
Peridan's eyebrows shot up.
"He is unhappy, shall we say with Susan's stalling. When I tried to suggest this morning that his suit might be going cold, he got very angry. Even a poor diplomat would have read his veiled threats. He would have her stay whether she wills or no."
Peridan had suspicions of danger, but never did he dream of what King Edmund was implying. He licked his lips and whispered. "Then in Aslan's name, we must leave at once."
"That may prove more difficult than we think," Edmund said grimly.
Peridan never got the opportunity to ask the King to clarify, for at that moment Queen Susan rushed up to them, her skirts bunched in her hands. Everything about her face and her movements spoke urgency, such that both men jumped to their feet.
"Thank goodness, Edmund—Peridan," she said breathlessly. "Corin's with you, isn't he?"
Edmund and Peridan looked at each other, shaking their heads in bemusement. "No, Su," he answered gently. "I've not seen him all morning."
"Oh! Then he is gone!" Susan cried, going very pale. She looked as though she might faint, and before they questioned her further they ushered her to sit on the bench.
After she recovered she explained how she had wanted to ask Corin to go for a ride but couldn't find him, that no one at all had seen him and he was nowhere in the Narnian lodgings, and every nook and cranny and hide hole had been scouted out. "I prayed he was with either of you," she finished, her eyes wide. "But he's not and oh! What shall we do? Where can he be?" She wrung her hands.
"Courage, Su," Edmund said as Peridan rubbed her shoulder, watching her with concern. "We'll find him."
"But he's out in Tashbaan, all on his own." Now she sniffed, close to tears at the thought of the child alone in the labyrinthine city. "What if he can't find his way back? What if he's scared?"
Edmund couldn't restrain a snort, inappropriate as it was. "Corin, scared? Not possible."
I'm sure wherever he is, he's fine," Peridan enjoined. "And we'll find him."
Edmund gave him a grateful nod. "We'll set off right away."
Susan gave another sniff, wiping her cheeks with the crook of her finger to compose herself. She smoothed her skirts and announced, "I'll come."
"No, no." Edmund shook his head. "The Calormenes wouldn't approve of you going out without a litter, and that would only slow us down." Susan gave him a look which plainly said she didn't care what the Calormenes though, so the King hastily tacked on an addendum. "Besides, we need somebody here in case he finds his own way back."
The Queen agreed to this somewhat reluctantly, and they saw her inside, entrusting her to the care of her lady's maid Meriam. As they discussed the disappearance with the others, they realized that the Prince could have been gone since last night. Once they were outside, Edmund and Peridan exchanged looks.
"Gone?" Peridan murmured with wide eyes.
"This is just like him. The fool! He's more trouble than he's worth," the King growled.
"Which is quite a lot, considering he is the sole heir to the Archen throne," Peridan quipped feebly.
Edmund pushed his hand through his hair. "Let's go. We have to find him."
"Wait," Peridan said, tugging on his sleeve. "Let us go out as if it is no more than a pleasure stroll."
"Yes—good," Edmund agreed, sounding distracted. "We don't want the Calormenes to know we have any cause for alarm. At this point I wouldn't put it past them to blackmail us if they got their hands on Corin, force us to trade Susan for him. And you know what Susan would do…"
"Besides," Peridan interrupted this train of thought as he shuddered. "We'll have to take the crier with us, and that will help the prince find us if indeed he is lost."
A look of relief crossed the King's face, and he clapped his friend on the shoulder. "It seems we cannot head for Narnia as soon as we'd like. There's something we must take care of first."
Peridan gave him a grim smile, and together they set off to gather the company and seek out the Prince.