I'm on a roll, in part because parts of what I'm posting now were already written. That's the funny thing about writing - you have to post it (or put into a book, in other cases) chronologically, but that's not at all the way it is written, and when you stumble on a block somewhere, you can move further on if there's no block there.

A shorter chapter this time; but there is, hopefully, more going on. There's a weird proportion in there.

Chapter 10

In which our hero gets into a scrap

It was in the second week of August – Grainreap, as many called it in Narnia – and Queen Lucy was very busy in the gardens. She often took Peridan with her, because she was impressed with the young scribe's illustrating skills and there was always something to draw or write down. Methos was not particularly happy about the workload backlash this resulted in elsewhere, but he enjoyed the sessions themselves immensely. Lucy was a very agreeable companion and some of the Narnian herbs were new to him, so he was learning with her.

"This is halefoil. It is useful for stomach aches, especially for unicorns and Deer. And Horses, of course. It is too late to pick it now, though; it is best in spring, before it flowers."

It was a yellow-flowering plant, vaguely similar to St John's wort – hardly the same, though, because if Methos remembered correctly, the latter was an antidepressant rather than a digestive. Halefoil was smaller, too.

"This is greencimbel. It's good for teas for cough, but I don't like it very much – it smells horribly when you brew it, you know," she told him about a tall green plant. "It's one of those medicines that are almost worse than the illness!"

Methos agreed with her that medicine could, sometimes, be quite vile. Not that he would know some of the effects from first-hand experience, but Joe had not been very happy about his treatment, either, even if it had saved his life... And he had had his share of smelly medicines around when he had been doing the doctor's job.

"This one's my favourite. Smell it – it's such a lovely scent."

Methos took a sniff and was overwhelmed by the fresh and sweet, slightly spicy, earthy yet otherworldly scent of the small thyme-like flower. It was a sort of scent that reminded you of all good things you've ever known and made you think that the world was not such a bad place after all.

"So good," Lucy said, smelling it as well. "And a very good herb. Good for colds and sore throat and even for healing wounds; it's so wonderful to have an herb like that, because Peter told me not to use my cordial all the time. – The one I got from Father Christmas, you know."

Methos did not know, but he did not ask – not about that, anyway.

"What is it called? It looks a bit like thyme."

"It is a thyme," Lucy said. "But I think it has different leaves. Wider."

"I cannot remember."

"We could look into a book. There are herbals in the library, but I like the real plants better, so I do not use them much... Oh, and it's called windthyme. Even the name is pretty!"

Methos swallowed a remark about the point of writing it all down if there already were other books available; he understood her need to have it all in one place and in terms she would understand.

She picked up her basket of windthyme, he gathered up all his writing and drawing tools, inks, pencils and papers, and they left the hot, sunny garden and headed through the pleasantly cold and surprisingly dark stony archways and corridors to the library.

The library had quickly become one of Methos' favourite places in the castle, not least of all because it was one of the few places where he truly was in peace and quiet, if only for short periods of time. There were, of course, those evenings spent in discussion with Thunderbolt, which was in theory just two friends sitting (or lying down in Thunderbolt's case) and talking; but Thunderbolt was a ruthless debater, so Methos always had to be on guard, and as much as he enjoyed discussion, he never could be completely himself. In the library, he could, for moments, forget that he was playing an act.

This time, though, he had to keep up the act. Not only was he accompanied by Queen Lucy; when they entered the library, they found Mrs Beaver sitting at one of the tables, with an old book in front of her, very much immersed in whatever it was she was reading. She was turning the pages carefully (for the first time, Methos noticed that she had truly opposable thumbs, unlike beavers in his world) and blinking into the pages from a very short distance (still not very good eyesight, Methos realised).

"Hello, Mrs Beaver!" Lucy sided up to her and greeted her cheerfully.

"Oh!" Mrs Beaver almost jumped up. "Hello, Your Majesty!"

Even after the month and a half, Methos was still amused by the way the Beasts treated Lucy as both a sovereign and a very good friend.

"This is so interesting, I did not notice you coming," Mrs Beaver said, tapping the book. "Can you imagine – it is Queen Helen's cookbook! Thunderbolt found it. Well, it is not really hers, as such – he says it must be a copy. And that's probably the only reason why he even lets me touch it, the way he goes on. But it is no matter to me. There is a recipe for the gooseberry fools you told me about."

"Is there!" Lucy beamed up, and in that instant, herbs were forgotten. "I had those last when I was six or seven."

Which is eternity for a girl of her age.

"And Thunderbolt found this just in time, too," Mrs Beaver continued, her eyes as bright as Lucy's. "There are still gooseberries left, and I can make you some for your birthday."

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Lucy said.

There was another piece of news for Methos.

"When is your birthday, Your Majesty?" he asked, with purposeful emphasis on "your", given the conversation they had had about birthdays earlier.

"On the twelfth of August," she said. "When is – oh, I'm sorry."

"No offence taken," Methos said, suppressing laughter at her innocent mistake.

"Did you never celebrate any birthday?" she asked.

"No," he said. "But I can certainly celebrate yours," he added, because the topic of his birthday still made him feel rather squeamish.

"Just don't feel you have to give me gifts, please," she said. "I will get so many anyway – I have three siblings, you know – and you don't have any, it would be unfair."

There were some links missing in that logic, but he knew what she meant, and was grateful to her.

"Maybe I could -," he offered thoughtfully, "- bind those notes we've made for you? Though I probably do not have enough time for that."

"Oh, do not bother," she said. "Not yet, anyway. There are more notes to be made, you know. Maybe for Christmas."

For that warm, sleepy afternoon, Methos decided to happily forget about any documents of state that might be waiting to be written, and stayed with Queen Lucy and Mrs Beaver in the library, alternating between the cookbook and the herbals. Sometimes, they found parallels between the ingredients in the former and the plants in the latter, which never ceased to amuse Lucy as she tried to imagine how food could be used for healing. Mrs Beaver also happily forgot that she had the whole kitchens to preside over, and sang out a string of delighted exclamations over the recipes in the cookbook, many of which were apparently some lost treasures of old Narnian cuisine.

They did not get to enjoy that blissful abandon for very long, though, because suddenly, Mr Tumnus burst through the doors, and cried out:

"Oh, thank the Lion you are here, Your Majesty! I could not find anyone. The dwarfs are fighting in the courtyard, and no one can stop them, or find out what is going on. And both of them, too!"

"What do you mean, both of them?" Lucy asked, confused.

"The Reds and the Blacks," the faun said, fast and short of breath. "And not even between themselves – I mean, not Reds against Blacks as it sometimes is, you know? Just all of them shouting at one another and scrambling like kittens. Even Smithkin!"

"Oh dear," Mrs Beaver said. "That's serious! What could have gotten into them?"

Lucy trembled a bit, but she said determinedly:

"Let's find out!"

It was very brave of her, Methos thought: she was still just a small child, a little girl that would no doubt stay away from fighting boys in her world.

"Come quick," Mr Tumnus said. "Before someone is seriously hurt. I hope they will listen to their Queen; they just do not even hear anyone."

"You should go with us, too, Peridan," Mrs Beaver turned to Methos. "We will need someone big to – to intervene if anything happens."

Methos nodded. He did not like getting between people arguing and fighting unless absolutely necessary; but given the size and strength of the other three, he was quite certain this was one of those cases.

They rushed through the castle after Tumnus, down to the main courtyard, which was surprisingly empty for an area that was in the heart of the castle. Except for the dozen or so dwarfs squabbling and scraping and shrieking in the centre, and a few small Beasts standing as far away from them as possible in astounded quandary. There were both Black and Red Dwarfs, as Tumnus had said, with – Methos felt his heart stop for just a moment, and then race even faster – Thornbut in the very middle of the scrimmage, lying on the ground under the weight of all the others' fury.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lucy shouted with all the authority of her status, but unfortunately not with accordant strength in her voice. Neither of the dwarfs paid her any attention.

"Stop!" she shouted again, with the same results. The dwarfs kept throwing insults at each other, all at the same time, so it was difficult to make out what either of them was saying. Methos, though, thought he could hear Tazzik shout at Thornbut – who else? – something like "Witchfetcher!"

Methos took several slow breaths to steady himself, and then drew as much air as he could and shouted at the top of his lungs:

"The Queen is speaking!"

His voice broke towards the end under the force of his own outcry, but it did the job. The dwarfs all stopped at once and turned towards them, shocked by the sudden realisation that they were not alone.

Lucy shot him a thankful look and then turned to the dwarfs and said sternly:

"Does it befit free Narnian dwarfs to fight and call one another names like schoolchildren? What has gotten into you?"

The dwarfs all shifted uncomfortably and looked down (except for Thornbut, who slowly rose and dusted himself off uncomfortably, looking down) and neither ventured to explain what was going on. It seemed each of them was waiting for someone else to do the inevitable, or perhaps they all of a sudden stuck together against outside authority, just like the schoolchildren Lucy had likened them to. The Queen stamped her foot impatiently.

"Who started this?" she said, and the whole situation really took on a surreal schoolyard appearance.

"Him!" Tazzik said and pointed at Thornbut.

"You did, you liar!" one of the red dwarfs shouted. "You just always pick on him!"

"I wouldn't if he wasn't such a knucklehead! And you too!" Tazzik shot back.

"Don't start again!" Smithkin snapped at him.

"What, you take their side now?" Tazzik refused to back off. "I heard you supporting my case earlier, you coward!"

"That was different!" Smithkin objected. "Now you're just being irrational!"

Another wall of shouts was raised.

"Stop, stop!" Lucy cried. "Nevermind who started it – what is the matter with you?"

Once more, the dwarfs did not pay attention. Some more blows fell. Thornbut tried to stop Tazzik from hitting Smithkin and, not very surprisingly, became the victim of the black leader's hand himself. For just a moment, Methos glimpsed a look of mindless violence in Tazzik's eyes. He knew that look (he had seen it way too often in his own riding companions, and it had been one of the reasons why he had left them in the end), and he knew it did not bode well for the younger dwarf. He ploughed mercilessly into the riot of small but stone-hard bodies and snatched Tazzik's right arm before he could strike again. Too late did Methos realise that his standing with the Black Dwarf was not much better than Thornbut's: Tazzik did not even look at him and immediately drove his left elbow up into a spot on his body where it hurt very much.

Methos cried out in pain, and then shouted something very, very rude that Queen Lucy really should not have heard.

As luck would have it, right then everyone fell silent – of course –, except for Mrs Beaver, who said very quietly and very distinctly:

"My, that was right on target!"

Some of the small Beasts giggled.

Methos later decided that it was worth it after all – though barely – because then, some of the dwarfs chuckled, too, and much of the tension that had been sparking in the courtyard dissipated, and everyone's attention shifted from whatever it was the dwarfs were fighting about to him.

At that moment, though, he did not feel that way. He rather wished he were not there, not there right in front of Queen Lucy who had seen and heard it all and stared at him with a look where utter indignation fought for dominion with uncontrollable merriment. She did have two older brothers, after all...

No, he really did not want to be there right then. He folded down on the ground and hid his face in the palms of his hands, once more wishing for the earth to open and swallow him up (but not permanently, thank you very much). He felt somebody's hand on his shoulder. He looked up again, straight into Thornbut's face. The dwarf was very undoubtedly smiling, probably fighting laughter; but he said very seriously:

"Thank you."

Methos tried to smile back and failed miserably.

"Well," Lucy said finally. "I think that was enough of that, don't you?"

"Grainreap" is obvious, is it not? It is, again, rather based on the Czech name for August – "srpen", where "srp" is "sickle". The obvious harvest season of August was one of the main reasons why I decided Greenroof would be July...

"Cimbel" is apparently "bait" in Spanish. Do not ask me why the plant is called so. It just sounded good. Halefoil is shamelessly stolen from Tolkien's "kingsfoil". Windthyme… just sounded good.

If I'm to be honest with you – I did enjoy being nasty to Methos. But that's not why…! It just made perfect sense with a dwarf opponent. Ahem.

(The choreography of the thing may be a bit complicated. I'm not sure.)

And you'll have to wait to see what it was all about till the next chapter!