Okay, so this is going to be 4 chapters. Possibly 5, but I'm hoping not. I decided that I didn't want to have a single, 7000 word chapter.
Also went back and edited the first chapter a little bit. Nothing too major.
It was late afternoon, the sun high in the sky but dipping noticeably westward, when the lilting notes of pipes being played faintly echoed throughout the castle. The idea of a deep green forest and a feeling of revelry infused all inhabitants, and a few began to unconsciously hum to the catchy tune. The eldest son of Adam, now nearing twenty and five, was not immune and put down the book on Calormen history he'd been reading. He walked to nearest window overlooking the central courtyard and smiled down at what he saw. Two fauns were playing their pipes in a light-hearted duet, while another faun and a young woman circled each other in a playful and lively dance, primal and sensuous. He stood there until the song was over, a smiling lingering on his face, and then made his way down the great stone steps. As he reached the doors, a new song had been started, the strains of the pipe sweet and haunting. He stepped outside and saw the woman swaying gracefully, her golden arms outstretched, face raised to the sky. Her hair shone, sunswept, and it fluttered in the breeze, almost as if it too were dancing in excitement to the song. As if she sensed his presence, she turned and saw him, her lips forming an answering smile to his own. The fauns were so intent upon their playing that they did not see him until she beckoned for him to come join them, and all three bowed as he came near.
"King Peter! It is an honor to have you join us," said the one who he'd seen dancing earlier.
"The honor is mine to listen to such great musicians," the king replied cordially before returning his attention to the woman in front of them. He took her outstretched hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing the smooth skin. "It is also my honor to see such a lovely creature dance."
The lovely creature in question remained silent but smiled softly, her eyes never leaving his, and he kept her hand in his. As the fauns began to play again, this time a lighthearted court tune, he grinned and pulled her into a spin. She laughed, her amber eyes shining and brilliant, and they began to dance together in a way only well accustomed partners can. Their gaze was only broken by the spins, and Peter allowed the music to pull him back into the first time they had danced like this.
It was coronation day, and all of the siblings were a little nervous. As Aslan walked them through the great hall, what seemed like the eyes of all of Narnia were upon them, and Peter tried not to noticeably swallow. The ceremony passed in blur, and he barely remembered receiving his title and golden crown. The crown was not heavy, but it weighed upon him, and once the ceremony itself was over, he slipped out to the balcony as soon as he could get away from all of the people who wanted to talk to him- all of the people he was now responsible for. Breathing in deeply, he leaned on the stone railing and closed his eyes, letting the salty sea air fill his lungs.
"My King?" A voice asked softly, and he stood up and turned around to greet the speaker.
He found he was at a loss for words. Laurel stood just outside the doorway, watching him curiously. His gaze took her in; her rich brown hair had been left down, but was adorned with golden combs carved into fine filigrees of swirls and leaves. She was clothed in a deceptively simple brocade dress, but it was so finely woven in a dark green with golden thread that it appeared to be a part of her. And though she wore no jewels, her dusky golden skin seemed to glow in an ethereal beauty.
He hadn't realized he'd been staring until she ducked her head shyly and soundlessly ran her hands over the fabric of her skirt.
"You look beautiful," Peter said, his voice full of feeling, even if his words were vastly inapt.
Nonetheless, she looked up at him again and smiled warmly.
"I was not sure. I am… unaccustomed to this kind of covering. The tailor said that my leaves were unsuitable for this momentous of an occasion however," and as she spoke, she plucked at her skirt again, lifting it slightly.
Peter felt himself crack into a smile, and then into a grin, and then laughed merrily, his own shyness dissipating.
"They couldn't get you in shoes, I see!"
Startled, she looked down, and then joined him, her laughter ringing like glass bells.
"They tried, but I could not walk easily in them and they hurt my feet. I already can't rejoin my tree while in these coverings."
A flush passed her face as she smiled at him secretly, and then leaned in conspiratorially and whispered so that he had to concentrate to hear.
"I called upon the zephyr-wind to blow those horrible things away. They gave up on shoeing me after that."
Peter laughed again, his heart lifting. He motioned for her to join him by the railing, and she gracefully stepped forward, looking over the ocean. They remained in companionable silence, the surf muting the sounds of celebration inside, until she began to speak in a dreamy tone.
"I have been speaking to Aslan. He says that my kind once roamed freely, as often not in their native form as in. He called me Dryad, and said there were other nymphs that didn't have trees; there are the Nereids in the oceans and Naiads of the rivers as well, although we do not speak the same tongue. I never knew this; the Forest did not speak of it. Being here and seeing it now, the ocean seems so vast- I wonder how my cousins keep from being swept away if they do not have roots?"
Peter listened, and as she spoke, he imagined women shaped like water, blue and green, their hair white like sea foam. He then remembered how Laurel had first appeared, bare to the world, and coughed. Laurel was looking at him curiously, and he wasn't sure what to say. Luck was with him however, for the musicians inside had started playing a happy tune on their instruments, and he saw Laurel incline her head ever so slightly so as to hear it better. Peter stepped back and bowed formally to the nymph, and offered her his arm.
"Shall we dance, my Lady Laurel?"
Her eyes lit up and she smiled, her delight genuine and palpable, and stepped forward to meet him.
"I should like that very much, my King!"
They returned to the great hall, her hand on his arm, and joined the dance; Peter was vaguely aware of the attention they drew, but he was focused completely on his partner. As they danced, one song blurring into many, he felt his spirit lift and then soar. He lost track of time, and did not notice when Aslan left the hall. When it came to say goodnight and farewell, he found himself reluctant to let his partner go, though he could not say exactly why.
He had just bid her a good night, lingering in letting her go, and she bowed her head.
"Goodnight, my King."
He looked at her for a moment until she met his eyes once more and then spoke.
"Peter, please. I'm king to enough people- let me be just Peter with you."
She paused, and then softly replied, "You will always be my king, but I will do as you wish. Goodnight… Peter."
His last thought before drifting to sleep was that his duty of being king no longer seemed to weigh him down, and his dreams were full of dancing flames of gold.
The first several years of his reign were quiet and healing. Narnia had been freed of the White Witch, but scars were still evident across the land and in hearts. Oreius had taken it upon himself to guard and watch Narnia's new kings and queens, and that included a vast education in an array of subjects, from history and geography in the mornings, to field and fighting skills in the afternoons. Each Pevensie had their specialty. Lucy loved music and history, and spent a great deal of time with Mr. Tumnus, pouring over books and scrolls. Edmund was more interested in philosophy and geography than any of them, and often could be heard asking, "but why" to anyone who possibly had an answer. Susan was more interested in art, and soon began to paint and converse with other Narnian artists. Peter spent his time learning about as much as he could, but was drawn to Narnian history and lore. All of the children had practiced and became experts in their arms of choice- Edmund and Peter became the best swordsmen in the land, and Peter also became skilled with lances. Lucy, ever the healer, still practiced with her dagger. And Susan became a master of archery, bested only in competitions by champions of native people. Sometimes, they would leave Cair Paravel for several days and camp, living off the land and learning to navigate by the stars.
Throughout it all, there was Laurel. She joined them for some of the lessons, and helped teach others- she was not so old, but she had the memories and knowledge of the Great Eastern Forest, whose eldest trees had sprung from their seeds at the dawn of Narnia. She never showed much interest in science, but she could listen for hours to philosophy, and could often be found in the background of debates, patiently observing. She had a love for music, though not so much for the theory behind it, and was perplexed by art. Once Susan had asked her why she didn't care for paintings, and Laurel had looked at her, bemused, and replied, "why do you feel the need to capture beauty when there is the world?" Susan had frowned, Lucy had laughed, and Peter had to look down to keep their sister from seeing their smiles. Edmund had seen an opening for discussion, and soon he and Susan were arguing the merits of art, while Laurel watched them silently. It was moments like these when Peter would find himself glancing at her surreptitiously, and soon he learned to recognize her expressions, so similar and yet alien to his own.
His fascination with the nymph had not disappeared, and the pull he felt was stronger than ever. He found himself thinking about her more often than not, and spent as much time as he could in her company, often finding reasons to visit with her. Soon, he found himself forgetting that she was not human despite the obvious differences. For her part, she began to find herself more used to company than not, and began to understand some of the human niceties- although she never did wear shoes.
It was one of these times when she and Peter were resting in a far corner of Cair Paravel in a sheltered and generally unvisited garden, shaded by tall and insentient trees, discussing the beginnings of Narnia and its first rulers, King Frank and Queen Helen, when Peter jumped up excitedly.
"If their descendants went to Archenland, then we should too, and open trading routes! Oreius has already been saying that it's time we did a royal tour across Narnia, and this would the perfect time to regain Archenland as an ally!"
Laurel looked away from him, and Peter stared at her, knowing her well enough to realize she was upset.
"What's wrong, Laurel? I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make you sad."
"I… no, it is I who should be apologetic. I cannot leave these grounds for long, lest the wind scatter my leaves to the edges of Narnia and beyond- I must be able to find my tree or I will perish. I am sorry that I cannot be a better companion to you," Laurel said, her voice full of sorrow.
Peter felt as if he had been pierced to his core. She could not leave, of course. He had forgotten in his excitement, so proud of his idea. Dropping to his knees, he took her hand in his and looked up at her. She met his gaze curiously, her amber meeting his stormy-blue.
"No, Laurel," he said with feeling, "I am sorry, and it is I who should be, never you. I beg your forgiveness. I forget that you must stay here sometimes; sometimes you must feel like a prisoner."
"Peter…" wordlessly, she cupped his cheek with her free hand, and he felt fevered and lightheaded. Her hand was cool and soft, and unconsciously he leaned into her touch. For a heartbeat, it felt as if the world was frozen, the air silent, and not a breath of wind touched the pair. They stared at each other, eyes wide, and it seemed as if a song was yearning to break free in their souls.
"King Peter!" A deep voice broke the spell holding them, as Oreius called in the not-too-far distance. Laurel made a choked sound and stood up fluidly.
"My lord centaur appears to be searching for you, no doubt for something of import. I will leave now, for he said that I should be careful not to distract you from your studies, and I do not wish another lecture from him," she said, the hint of a smile on her lips softening her words; she was in awe of the centaur, if not intimidated, and they had clashed somewhat in the past.
She looked down at Peter, and half-smiled, her tone both playful and sad. "My King, Cair Paravel has never been a prison. And even was it so, it would be the sweetest jail, so long as you were here to share it with."
When Oreius trotted into the glade, he came to a quick halt, taking in the scene before him. His king was on his knees by a stone bench, a gentle wind feathering his hair as a few leaves skittered across the ground. Oreius looked down as one hit his hoof and sighed deeply, recognizing both his king's expression and the species of leaf.
"Ah, my Lord," was all the centaur said, his voice sympathetic and understanding.
The next few weeks, after Peter and Laurel's meeting in the hidden garden, passed in a blur. Oreius had made good on his word that there should be a royal tour, and as such, the castle was bustling with this major endeavor. Eagles and kites were sent as messengers all over Narnia and to Archenland, and there were a great deal of other preparations that had to be fulfilled before the royal retinue left, for the tour was to last close to a year.
Peter found himself too busy to even speak with Laurel, and whenever he tried to find her, she was away. Finally, late one morning, he found himself free and idling, and immediately took off to find the nymph. Susan and Lucy watched him leave, and Susan rolled her eyes. When Lucy looked at her questioningly, the older girl just shook her head. Edmund glanced up and shrugged, before returning to a map he was memorizing.
Peter found her outside, sitting on one of the stone steps facing the sea, her face turned up into the sun. She was wearing a simple silver tunic; she had begun to wear crafted fabric more often, and had a small cache by her tree for her to change into and out of clothes before returning to her roots. He paused for a moment, admiring her sunbathed form, before stepping forward. As if she sensed his presence, she opened her eyes and looked over at him, smiling in silent greeting.
"Come with me," Peter said suddenly, and offered her his hand. Without hesitation, she took it, and he helped her up. They made their way down towards the ocean, pausing only for Peter to take off his shoes. Once they reached where the sand grew wet from the surf, they stopped, still hand in hand. They remained that way, much as they had a few years before at the coronation, gazing out upon the ocean in silent companionship.
The tide was beginning to come in, the edges of waves pulling at their feet with their dying gasp. Peter felt his breeches begin to pull, the water soaking him below his knees. He looked over at Laurel, her dress floating on the water as if it were part of the surf, and felt his heart give completely. She was gazing at him unabashedly, her eyes lingering over every part of him. He felt as he imagined a dying man in a desert would, finding an oasis full of sweet, live-giving water. Without thinking, he pulled her to him, her hair tickling his nose; when they had first met, he had been at an eye with her, but now he was several inches taller. For a moment they stayed like that, king and nymph, with her pressed against his chest, the current rocking them enough that their footing wasn't sure. Peter felt free and wild, and his soul finally sang with a thousand songs as he wove his hand into her hair, soft and tangled from the sea spray, and pulled her head back softly. She gazed at him, her lips parted in surprise, and as a wave hit them, salty water splashing against their form, he dipped his head and kissed her.
It was not a passionate kiss, though he felt it to his core. Nor was it incredibly romantic, although he now understood the sonnets of old. But it was their first kiss, for each other and themselves, and as their lips gently brushed, he felt both young and old, open and captive, and incredibly overcome by the rush of sensations. When they pulled apart, the world seemed wider, the colors brighter, and he decided that she, Laurel, his Dryad, had never been so beautiful.
