A/N: Here's the jump! Finally, two years after the initial posting, I've got the second chapter ready. Hopefully it will live up to all my hopes; diving into a whole story-world like this is really not my forte, and I'm pretty anxious about how it came out. Be warned, this chapter is mostly self-indulgent imagery, since I have wanted to create my own vision of Golden Age Cair for a very long time.


2. The Golden Age

"Therefore does beauty, which, in relation to actions, as we have seen, comes
unsought, and comes because it is unsought, remain for the apprehension and
pursuit of the intellect; and then again, in its turn, of the active power.
"

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Remind me why we must endure this every night, sister?"

He spoke through a smile that was quite forced. Years of diplomacy had rewarded him with the ability to master his facial expressions – a useful skill for any ruler, though his siblings were rarely fooled. He knew she would see that his grin was far from genuine.

At his arm, Lucy gave an amused chuckle. "Edmund!" she reproved, her own smile as natural as a nose on her face. "You know perfectly well. And these festivities are lovely. King Lune is a generous man, and only the more so when he is grateful for his entire country."

"It's not the parties," he replied. "I hold no objection against music or wine." Edmund winked at her, and then adopted a serious expression. "It's these ridiculous presentations. Opening each night thus? It seems rather useless when all present are well informed of our titles."

"Oh, Edmund," she sighed, in the way that only Lucy could. She fussed for a moment with a bunched-up fold in her gown. Without raising her eyes from the blue silk, she said, "You need not fret over the presentations; out here, Sir, you may heave a mighty sigh, but once within you will be given to the pleasure of the evening and forget your disposition."

Edmund frowned, because Lucy was very nearly right in her deduction. "Nonetheless," he said, "they make too much of us. I grow the more weary every night."

She smoothed her skirt over and stepped beside him again, straightening her shoulders. "It is the Archenland tradition, and you know it well. Kindness is never forgot and repaid tenfold over. These nights are all in our honour, and the presentations meant to show it."

Edmund opened his mouth to retort, but she continued, "Though I will admit extravagance in sending an entire court to Cair Paravel," she said, and he was pleased she could at least acknowledge that. After all, Lucy was not given to vainglory; she was quite humble herself, only her heart was too soft to put aside well-meaning praise.

"Merry-making until Peter returns, and a fortnight after? Perhaps a bit much. But it is such fun! Besides, only a fortnight itself remains until everyone comes home." She gave him her most endearing smile, which did little to affect his mood.

"Faugh! Another month of this! Their endless gratitude pains me more than the reason itself. And in the first place – "

"Shh!" said Lucy suddenly. "That's Tumnus now, the lord with the funny lisp always announces him. Are you ready?"

"As I shall ever be."

They turned to faced the curtained entryway, and Lucy threaded her arm through his own. An echoing voice reached them from behind the velvet. "The brave and noble rulers of fair Narnia, that rushed at once to defend their sister Archenland, threatened under siege. Presented: His Majesty King Edmund, and her Majesty Queen Lucy!"

There was a brief round of shouting and whistling before the blare of the trumpets drowned it out. Edmund plastered his smile even more firmly on his face, pushed aside the red curtain, and together they walked out into the dreaded applause and cheering. The Great Hall was simply stuffed with people. Arrayed in a splendid display of colours and fabrics, the entire Archenland court stood in deference to their entrance, clapping like mad. Edmund felt his eyes widen as he looked over the, counting the blurs of bright golds and blues, reds, gay yellows and greens – was it possible that the crowd had grown in number? Of course, he reminded himself, word does travel, and they'd all want to come and pay proper tribute. It doesn't help there hasn't been this kind of celebration since the queen.

Four years ago, King Lune had dismissed the majority of Anvard's courtiers after the death of Queen Ashel. Only the noble lords who were his closest friends had remained. This had made the Archenland court a rather more sombre place than in the past, and consequently sent Corin for an extended stay at the much livelier Cair Paravel when he came of age. The intention was to school the young prince in proper court and diplomatic procedure – though considering the incident in Calormen, Edmund was not quite sure he had set the best example.

But Corin was at home in Anvard now, with his newly restored brother, and all the Archenland gentry sent here in gesture of good cheer. For a court that been defunct for nearly five years, they had reassembled much more quickly than anyone had predicted: Cair Paravel had no more rooms to spare. The latest arrivals were staying in tents set up in the courtyards. All were happy to be reunited once again, not to mention grateful for Narnia's assistance in protecting their land – and they expressed it by responding each night with the same enthusiasm.

Edmund had time to reflect on all this, and still the cheering went on.

His words to Lucy had not been in jest. In truth, the nightly adoration was wearing thin on his patience. Edmund was the least tolerant of the four of them. Extensive praise always sat uncomfortably on his conscience – too much of it, and the old demons of guilt and betrayal flared up again. Though he had worked through those issues years ago, Edmund still made sure to maintain a healthy sense of humility. And quite aside from that, it was simply bothersome. Narnians themselves never seemed to tire of honouring their beloved monarchs. Encouraged by the Archenlanders and with a valid reason for commendation, they continued to cause enough good-hearted commotion to wake the dead.

All the endless applause buzzing around them. . . He let out a groan completely inaudible in the noise, but Lucy must have heard, because she said through her teeth, "Ed. . ."

Walking beside her, he could only register the barest bit of her face in his peripheral sight. However Edmund knew her well enough to guess at the expression hiding behind her golden curls, and his conscience smote him. Lucy was quite right. It was not respectful behaviour, unnoticed or not, and their enthusiasm only displayed the nobility and generosity of the Archenland people. However tiresome and undeserved their gratitude may be, he added to himself. And as a king ought to, he raised his chin and accepted their greeting with a quelling hand.

They reached the dais at last, stepping up to the raised platform with balanced ease. They did not move to take their seats at the High Table; the presentations would finish first, and then the dancing began, and afterwards the hall would be feasted.

The crowd had quieted, turning their attention to the opposite-end curtain from which Susan would emerge. Everyone, especially the young lords, looked excited. Edmund's impatience flared. Ridiculous, he thought. As if they hadn't seen this ten times already!

Susan received the most fuss in all the presentations, because with Peter away North with most of the army, she was eldest and therefore highest-ranking. Not to mention the many admirers with aspirations to court her, or the court ladies to whom Susan was rather a fashion plate.

"And now, the great lady whose renowned beauty brought Calormen to its knees, and in whose honour our two kingdoms fought bravely against siege, presented: Her Majesty Queen Susan!"

Cheers erupted in the Hall, seeming somehow even louder than they had been previously. Susan made her way towards the Table without an escort – something Edmund had insisted on the night of the first celebration. He had felt it quite inappropriate, considering the reason for celebration. He hardly thought any escort (besides himself or Peter) would reflect very well on his sister, as it was one of her suitors who had been responsible for the attack on Archenland to begin with.

Susan came to the dais at last, stepping lightly into her place at Edmund's left. Together, the three of made a deep bow to the guests assembled there. After this traditional acknowledgement had been observed, he called out and addressed the room, "Friends! Another night to revel in good food and company. May we toast, and dance, and feast to the honour of the free North!"

Following this formal welcome, which was a variation of the same address Edmund had delivered for the past fortnight, the orchestra began the music for the opening dance. He held his hand out to Susan. After so many years, it had practically become habit more than established practice.

As Lucy had predicted, Edmund forgot his impatience as soon as they began to move along with the music. Stress and annoyance melted away with the soft fluted notes, chirping chords of the lyres, and slow-beating kettledrums. Edmund counted music among his greatest pleasures. He was not a proficient himself; the trumpet was the only instrument he knew, and he had learned it during a battle campaign. Despite this he maintained an interest in music and performers. Cadons, the straight-backed Rabbit conductor, had been his selection for Official Court Musician.

Susan was a comfortable partner. All four of them were excellent dancers, thanks to several years of parties and festivals, but Susan was by far the best. She was possessed of a natural grace nearly equal to that of a dryad or naiad. Though she might have easily outshone him, she matched his speed and movement evenly, in balanced rhythm. Best of all, there was no need for the simple chatter that usually accompanied dancing with a new acquaintance. Edmund could not help noticing, though, the eyes of the young lords that followed Susan's graceful figure as she spun in his arms. He chided himself, realising what he was doing. It's just all of the Rabadash business getting to me!

He heard the clip-clopping of faun-hooves close behind him; it was time to switch partners. In a whirl of skirts and hair, Edmund was dancing with his younger sister, her face pink with enjoyment.

"Still sour, Brother?"

"No," he replied. "My displeasure rested solely in the role-call."

"Truly?" she asked with a teasing smile. "It seems that you perform merely as your duty requires you."

Offended, he spun her around and dipped her deeply, and said, "It does?"

She laughed. Tumnus and Susan sailed past, and Lucy stuck her tongue out at her friend. A grudging smile was the response, and Edmund asked, "What was that about?"

"Oh, I told him I could get you to dip me and he refused to believe it."

The dance ended; partners bowed to each other and they welcomed others to the floor. Remaining there was part of the responsibility of hosting, and Edmund took a few more turns around the floor as per expectation. He conversed mildly with the partners he had chosen, but dancing did not hold much interest for him tonight. After a fortnight of the same it had become almost a chore. This was one of the many reasons he missed his older brother: Without Peter it was double the paperwork and other expected tasks, including obligational dancing. As soon as there were two kings at Cair Paravel once more, everything would move much more efficiently (two weeks' worth of celebrating, and he had only entertained half of the ladies present).

Eventually he retired to the High Table, taking Susan's seat that he might be beside Lord Peridan. But his friend did not offer good conversation: Peridan had been the one to supervise the construction of additional tents in the courtyard, and was well sated with wine to ease the day's headache. It left Edmund to his own mind while he observed the other dancers remaining on the floor.

Susan was in arms of one of the young lords and Lucy was dancing with the Lord Colin. Looking over at the groups of promising young men, Edmund sighed. Narnia was doing very well for herself, which brought a certain amount of attention to all four of her young unmarried rulers. Both of the girls were of continued interest to suitors, and it meant an unending amount of trouble for himself and Peter, even without considering the latest difficulty with Calormen. Dozens upon dozens of men had come to Cair to treat for their hand since they had each come of age. And though for one reason or another each had been turned away, Edmund knew another diplomatic nightmare could well be in their future.

He watched his sisters choose new companions for the next song. With his older brother absent and the catastrophe that was Rabadash so recent, Edmund was compelled to be even more protective than usual. He was aware of this, so he tried shake the thoughts and let himself have a good time. But his eyes followed Susan and Lucy twirl, spin and leap, and he could not help but think on the subject.

I am not against romantic conquests. But all four of us must be cautious. It is not only ourselves we risk in any venture – it's the whole country.

Sometime later the dancing ended, and Susan and Lucy came to take their seats at the High Table. Edmund claimed his own seat at the centre. When all four of them were together, he was usually placed at Susan's left, with Peter on her other side and Lucy furthest down. As it was only the three of them, Edmund sat with Lucy and Susan on either side. Lucy called for supper to begin.

Servers, heralded by the brass and drums that announced each new course, carried platter after platter of soups, fresh breads, fishes, sides of beef and venison, roasted vegetables and meat pies. Laughter and delighted exclamations echoed through the halls. Wine had been flowing all night, but now came the heartiest and richest red vintages: Narnian wines dark and sweet, Archenland wines sharp and strong, added to the beers, fruit brandies and honey wines already on the tables.

Peter lingered at the forefront of Edmund's thoughts, and he spent most of supper discussing plans for the High King's return. All of them – all of Narnia – were anxiously awaiting this. Susan, who planned most of the celebrations at Cair, including the last fortnight's revels, was arranging a great deal of further extravagance for his welcome. Though he tried, Edmund was mostly unsuccessful at dissuasion.

The night's showcase began once dessert had finished. Each evening, the Hall featured some kind of entertainment; Narnian players, musical troupes, or poetry recitations. Sometimes Edmund missed the lone minstrel that played during ordinary suppers – though it seemed quite long ago that the castle hadn't been hosting guests, either Archenlander or Calormene. Lucy was the one to arrange the performers, so it was always interesting to watch, at the very least.

Tonight there was a group of Dryad dancers. They swept elegantly onto the floor followed by their Faun accompanists, who trooped in bearing hand drums and pipes. The Fauns sat as a cross-legged line with their instruments in their laps; and the Dryads posed their bodies into one mass of curves and arches. There was a beat of silence, in which the room raised their cups of wine in salute, and then the dancing began.

It was well worth watching. They writhed as one, twisting and conforming in angles around each other. Each performer was perfectly co-ordinated, each step seamlessly timed. Their lithe bodies moved in exact synchronisation: bending and leaping over and around each other, flying across the marble, moving faster and farther in each bound. As they leaped, sprigs of moss flew out into the air.

They finished on a beat of ringing silence. The Hall rose to their feet and applauded loudly, toasting their cups in appreciation. Though he was aware of the slight irony, Edmund went enthusiastically along with the others. The Dryads had managed to top the Ostrich crooner from the night before, and he had been very good.

After this, the orchestra began playing again (the musicians had finished their supper and returned to their instruments), usually the slower and softer songs to finish the night with. There were fewer courtiers dancing now; people milled about and mingled, couples wandered out to the balconies to stargaze, and others were still drinking and laughing. Edmund was sitting at one of the smaller tables now, with Lord Darrin, who had fought beside him in the battle at Anvard.

"My lord, if you told me that Archenland was emptied of people, I would not be quick to disbelieve you," said Edmund.

Darrin laughed. "Not all have come, but many. This is hardly a celebration to miss."

That's certainly true, Edmund thought wryly. Though many had departed for the night, the hall was far from empty. He glanced around; Susan was dancing again, Lucy was laughing as she chatted to the Dryad performers, Lord Peridan was having an extravagant conversation with a highly amused Hedgehog. It was the Narnian court at its liveliest. And Edmund was enjoying himself, even if he was loath to admit it aloud.

He looked at Darrin. "But I have wondered why, in his great joy, King Lune would discharge the last of his court and welcome his son without many days' great feasting."

"Ah, your Majesty, Prince Cor is so recently of humble circumstance. I believe King Lune sought to first receive him in smaller comfort. There is, I think, a wisdom to delay the full court and all our carousing."

Edmund quite agreed with this. He liked Cor very much, but the boy was new to his station and not at all at ease with the attention given over him. To Edmund such praise was merely bothersome, as he had known it to be the way of things all his life. It would be much worse for someone who was new to the extravagant lauding that came along with ruling so gracious a people. Cor, who was very modest and unaccustomed to court life, would need a bit of adjusting.

"It will be quite a welcome for Peter," he said, chuckling. "I do not think he expects such company awaiting him."

"Indeed," said Darrin, and then noticed someone over Edmund's shoulder. He rose from his chair. "Your Majesty, are you acquainted with Lady Lily, from our mountain towns?"

Another courtier, another introduction. Edmund stood to face the lady, who had made her curtsey before he had turned around. He studied the brown curls of her bowed head, trying to place them, while Lord Darrin spoke the words of formal introduction. "King Edmund, may I make known to you my dear friend, Lady Lily Parvum. She arrived in Narnia only yesterday."

Edmund rummaged through the catalogue in his mind; if she was from one of the noble Archenland houses, he might already know her, and a stately greeting would not do. This was the problem with being a king; one met so many people that it was very difficult to keep names and faces together.

But then she raised her head, and Edmund realised he would not have forgotten one so fair. He paused in his breath, taken in by the full sight of her.

She was a great beauty, that much was clear from first glance. He noted small details – brown hair, a soft smile, the graceful curve of her neck – only to forget them the instant he looked into her eyes. They were most extraordinary. A perfect blend of hazel, green and brown and gold at the same time. How long was he lost in them? It could have been years that he fell through those eyes: Every thought was gone from him; they were twin magnets drawing him in, closer and closer.

He stared into her eyes and felt as though he had known her all his life. An involuntary smile pulled at his lips, and some warmth in the hazel-green seemed to acknowledge the same feeling.

The irrationality of it astounded him. He did not know this woman; they had been introduced only moments ago. Yet his body resonated with total certainty, She is for me. I will seek no other, for I have found all the love I need.

Words had utterly deserted him. Edmund stood, amazed at this lady, but even more amazed at himself and the reaction she had summoned from him. Still he could not look away from those eyes.

With great effort, he turned from her face and tried to recover himself. Suddenly everything was in motion – Edmund could hear the people and music properly again. He realised the uncomfortable edge to their conversation, for Lady Lily and Lord Darrin were still waiting for him to complete the introduction.

Edmund experienced a moment of frustration. Where had his years of attentive negotiating gone? He had conversed with nobles and diplomats all his life; why should this lady give him pause? There seemed to be no rational answer.

The silence stretched on. Court manners called for him to end the unrest; he knew he must act. In desperation, Edmund reached for a last resort that laid at the back of every party conversation. He bowed and, without a word, offered his hand. She accepted it and Lord Darrin bowed also, leaving to some other entertainment. Edmund exhaled. Half the problem solved, albeit the far simpler one.

He led her to the floor, his mind still stumbling over what had occurred.

What has happened to me? An hour ago I was composed. How can this one lady, alone of the rest, arrest all thought and rob me of my tongue?

They danced, and danced as Edmund had never danced before. There was no faltering or hesitation; none of the reserved stiffness that inhibited new acquaintances. She was as comfortable a partner as Susan. To Edmund this was the most incredible of all. She fitted into his arms as if moulded for their shape, and her figure – but he realised this was exaggeration on his part. He had paid no mind to these things in the past. All the same, he could not stop himself from thinking this way.

They did not speak, which was unusual, but swept silently and effortlessly across the floor. Edmund was grateful that dancing was such an ingrained skill. He navigated through the other partners without quite seeing them, entranced by the strange beauty of her eyes. They held him spellbound until she spun away. . . only to catch her in his arms and be captured over again. All the while questions swirled within his mind, jumbled and unanswered.

When it ended, she dropped his hands and curtseyed again: a parting as the beginning. He did not bow in return, but watched her skirts disappear away – emerald green, he noticed only now. And still the music played and the other couples danced on, but Edmund stood motionless at the floor's centre, wondering what had befallen him.


A/N: Okay, deep breath. I can't believe I finally updated this! Hopefully it wasn't too boring (things tend to pile up when you keep adding over the years). Any feedback would be most appreciated.