Disclaimer: this story has a life of its own and I know where it's taking me but not how we're getting there. I'm not responsible for any of the mayhem the journey creates (I just wanted a two-chapter story), but I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
A/N: Five votes for Edmund to be in trouble, and two for Peter, so my apologies to my two Peter requests, but Edmund won. It won't be in this chapter, by the way (sorry!), but, well, it's coming. Maybe in a few chapters? Truthfully, I have no idea how soon, as this story keeps surprising me! But I did want to be able to foreshadow, and the poll did allow me to do that. Edmund angst is coming, I promise! It's in the outline as a major plot development.
Beta'd by trustingHim17!
OOOOO
"We're not able to remove our crowns," Susan offered, and Oreius frowned, his great face creasing and fierce as he looked at the Four.
Particularly at Edmund.
Who held up his hands. "Not my doing, Oreius, this isn't a prank," he said quietly, and the Centaur considered, and then nodded.
"As Your Majesty says." He walked forward, hooves clopping against the floor. "If Your Majesty will permit me?" he asked of Lucy, who was closest, with the gentleness she brought out in him. She nodded, and he placed his large, warm hands on the crown. She felt the lightest of tugs—first upward, then forward, then back, each one increasing as the Centaur pulled. The last was strong enough her head went backwards with the crown, and Oreius' quickly ceased, catching her before she could hit the table, forgoing the pressure on her crown. "Those are not coming off."
"None of us remember putting them on, Oreius." Edmund's hand gestured at himself and his siblings. "We woke this morning with them 'most firmly affixed to our heads.'"
Oreius clenched his sword. "Do they hurt?" He waited as the four shook their heads. "Has the metal become heated, or have they changed in any other way?"
"It hurts when I hit my head on things," Lucy put in, and Susan's hand brushed her hair away from her cheek in commiseration.
"They cause no problems other than refusing to be removed," the Gentle Queen informed the general, and Oreius frowned and shook his head.
"This is beyond my knowledge, Your Majesties."
"As the Owls are most certainly awake, we'll start by calling them," Peter's tired voice interjected, and Lucy turned to see him pulling himself upright in his chair. "We'll need their help with the rest anyway. Oreius, why do you believe they wished to attack Cair Paravel?"
Oreius drew himself up to report. "Lord Branther's home is a large, defendable, and wealthy castle right on the coast. The creatures picked up some of the Rabbits they attacked, repeating the words 'Cair Paravel' at them over and over, though only a few understood it. Of those few, only three kept their wits enough to remember it when the Captain asked questions."
"So Cair is likely to come under attack quite soon," Peter concluded grimly.
"And if not Cair, then Narnian places the creatures think are Cair," Edmund agreed.
"Cair Paravel is much easier to defend; should we try to draw the creatures here?" Susan asked after a pause.
"Not till we know we can defend it, Your Majesty. It would not be wise to lose the Narnian symbol of hope, to say nothing of our strongest castle."
"Can we defend it?" Lucy looked from Peter to Edmund to Oreius.
"How do you fight stone?" Edmund asked, his tone as weary as Peter's had been. "And we don't know how many there are."
"Did we do any damage, Oreius?" the older king asked.
"I sheared one stone wing from the back of one of the creatures, and it did not grow back, nor could it fly with only one wing. It required the help of two of its kind to leave the battlefield. We also found a stone finger that had cracked off, and pebbles of stone that resulted from heavy blows."
"Not enough to disable the creatures, then."
"Except the one without the wing, Your Majesty, no. And I took the creature by surprise; I do not know if I could do so again."
"Then we find out what they want." Susan's firm voice stated, and she stood, smoothing her skirts. "I will go send for the Owls. Edmund, Peter, get some rest. It will take the Parliament a bit to get here." Lucy caught the look her brothers sent each other, both agreeing silently arguing with Susan would not be worth the effort. It's not quite the same thing as saying she's right, Lucy thought suddenly. But she is. They're tired.
"Lucy, if you could come help?" Susan called from the hallway, and Lucy hastily stood, following Susan out. She paused beside Oreius, putting her hand on his arm, and he bent far down so she could whisper in his ear.
"Make sure they rest?" she asked of him, and he solemnly nodded. "I'm so glad you're alright, Oreius." She hurried after her sister.
Susan, who was the best out of the Four at anticipating the various Narnian needs, was discussing with a yawning Hedgehog a place where several Owls could perch and a Centaur could stand comfortably.
"The dining hall, I think, Your Majesty. It's got plenty of chairs, and Owls don't mind gripping the backs of them, thank the Lion's mane. And there's plenty of places for Oreius to stand."
"Then please ask any of the servants still awake to open the windows and bring enough candles to make human eyes comfortable, but not to overwhelm the Parliament's.* Thank you, good cousin." The Hedgehog hurried away, and Susan turned. "Lucy, there you are. Would you mind sending the messenger? I do believe some of the Bats will be about in the garden, and I'd like to get to the dining hall."
"And I'll send a messenger to Peter and Edmund once everyone arrives, to tell them where to go?" Lucy offered, and was rewarded with Susan's soft, grateful smile. Taking that as thanks, Lucy turned towards the garden.
She loved the gardens at night. She could hear her siblings reminding her that she loved them at any time of day, and it was true, but a Narnian garden in the starlight was not a thing to be missed. She drew a breath of the cool, fresh air, scented by the sea, and looked up to see the Leopard shining as clearly as a torch. She drew in another breath and headed for the trees.
"Good Bats of Narnia!" she called softly, holding up her arms. Moments later, she heard the rustling of leathery wings, high voices squeaking, and her arms were suddenly clutched in tiny, gentle claws. One landed on each shoulder, and a gentle weight pressed her crown further down.
"Queen Lucy!" "Queen Lucy!" the Bats chorused, talking over one another till the largest extended his wings outwards, and the rest fell silent.
"What do you need of us, Queen Lucy? Our company, or our help?" the high voice asked, the blind eyes turning towards her face as the large ears twitched.
Lucy smiled. She always did, as she marvelled at the way these creatures had been made. "Would you mind sending a messenger to the Parliament of Owls? We have two problems we need their help with."
"Fairfly, away!" the largest Bat commanded, and the Bat who'd landed on her right shoulder took off with a push.
"That is all, and thank you," Lucy said, and the majority of Bats on her arms pushed themselves into the air as well, some brushing her hair with their wings in farewell. The largest stayed a moment longer.
"Is there aught else we may do, our Queen?"
"Keep your ears open for any danger tonight?" Lucy requested
, the earlier conversation coming to mind. The Bat bowed, and Lucy stroked one wing before hoisting it into the air.
She came back inside to find the dining hall lit with candles in corners and a few on the tables, but the atmosphere was peaceful and calm with the gentle lighting. A table with four chairs had been set at one end, with space for Oreius to stand to the side.
As Lucy entered, Susan dragged a chair made for a Mouse to the front row of a collection of chairs in front of the table and paused to study the perches she'd arranged at varying heights. Lucy hurried forward to help.
Finished, Lucy looked around. "Are Peter and Edmund resting?"
As surprising as it sounds, Peter and Edmund were resting. They'd watched their sisters leave the library, and then watched Oreius raise his eyebrow at them.
"We're going, we're going," Petr said hurriedly, standing. He'd recited a bit of a lecture to Oreius when he'd found the Centaur intended to escort the Kings to the library before having his arm seen to, and Peter wasn't in any hurry to have the favor returned.
Oreius bowed. "I know how you have not had occasion to use it before, Your Majesties, as your tutors are stringent about when you should sleep, but the room adjacent is set with several beds; legend tells of former Narnian rulers habitually spending late nights in the library, and their subjects found it easier to help them rest if there was a bed close by."
"Thanks, Oreius." The Kings went out the library door the Centaur held open, and in the next room they found a small place, empty of furniture except for five beds placed around the three walls, away from the door. Beds with soft, white blankets, two fluffy pillows each, and low enough to the ground the kings could fall into them. Peter made sure Edmund made it to one—the one closest on the left—before falling into one himself, kicking off his boots once his face met the pillow. Two thuds told him Edmund had done the same, and it was the last sound Peter heard for quite some time.
"The Owls are here, Peter, please get up." A hand—a tiny hand, Peter realised, shook his shoulder.
"Mumph," Peter grumbled, face still in the pillow.
"I'm sorry," and that was Lucy's voice, Peter realised, sounding apologetic, and he should get up and make her feel better, "I know you're tired, but-"
"I'm up," Peter interrupted her, rolling over. He rubbed his eyes. Lucy's hand left his shoulder and when he opened his eyes he saw her by Edmund, across the room.
"Ed, I'm sorry to wake you, but you have to get up now." She shook his shoulder like she'd shaken Peter's, but Ed was a much sounder sleeper. Peter scowled. If he couldn't sleep, Edmund couldn't either. Kings didn't get the privilege of sleep. He picked up the pillow he'd been enjoying and threw it across the room, whooshing past Lucy and hitting Edmund on the head.
Edmund woke with all his senses alert, rolling off the bed, tripping over his boots, and lurching towards the floor. Lucy caught his arm and steadied him, and Edmund did his best to incinerate Peter with a glare.
"What was that for?"
"Owls are here." Peter reached for his own boots, ignoring the matching glares both his siblings were sending.
"I could have woken him," Lucy pointed out.
"He's more awake this way."
"He is right here, and wide awake, thank you," Edmund grumbled, but he stood, Lucy letting him go, and he bent down to pull on his own boots. Both of them stood, yawning, and Lucy looked from one to the other and laughed.
"You look like the Owls when we wake them during the day." She reached into a pocket (because Narnian clothes are beautiful and sensible, and girls clothes have pockets) and pulled out a comb. "Susan sent this."
Peter ran it through his hair (best as he could around the crown), handed it to Edmund, straightened his clothing, and shook his head several times. Awake, he offered his arm to Lucy, and with Edmund on his other side, walked to the dining hall. They could hear the soft cooing of the Owls the entire length of the hall, a soft clatter that doubled when they opened the wooden door.
Susan sat at the table, composed, but Peter could see the stress in the lines on her forehead under her crown. She rose as they entered, curtseying with a grace worthy of her crown, and Peter bowed, feeling his siblings respond as well. The Owls quieted, and the Four took their places, Oreius standing beside them.
"We come seeking your advice," Peter began. "This day Narnia suffered the attack of large stone creatures, and we ask for your help to find their origins, and their purpose."
The Owls bowed. "What do they look like? Tell us, do!" the largest, whitest Owl asked.
Oreius stepped forward. "Near to a Centaur in height, bellies as round and broad as a Bear's, with wings as broad as a flying Horse's extending past their arms. Their heads are shaped like a Monkey's, but with eyes like a Cat's. They have no color, as they are all made of stone."
The Owls exploded into noise.
"I've heard of them! When I was a chick-"
"They sound like the Telar, they do!"
"Not true! Not true! Tu-whoo! The Telar weren't made of stone!"
"Peace!" Oreius thundered, and the Owls silenced. "You have, or have not, heard of such creatures?"
The large white Owl spoke again. "The Telar had bodies much like what you describe."
"Our far neighbors to the west," a brown Owl interjected.
"But they were not stone, oh no! Long ago they used to visit Narnia, for they loved the fruit we could grow."
"They liked apples best. Tu-whoo!"
"No! My Grandfather said grapes!"
"But they were not stone?" Oreius interrupted, and a chorus of "No!"s answered him.
"They could still be the same. After all, it's not the first time we have heard of creatures turned to stone," Edmund pointed out, his face a bit pale.
The other three glanced at him, Susan putting her hand in his arm.
"Could the White Witch have passed through their land, and done this somehow?" Peter asked the room.
"Her statues never moved, Your Majesty," Oreius objected.
"And it doesn't seem to fit; she liked utterly destroying her enemies, and this seems to leave them a bit of life." Susan shivered at the thought, but said it anyway, and Edmund squeezed the hand on his arm.
"But beings can be turned to stone. And I doubt stone beings want fruit," Peter said. "Does anyone know what they do want?"
The Owls were silent.
"They are searching for Cair Paravel," Oreius reminded them. "But we do not know what they want here. And there is the matter to bring forward, Your Majesty."
As one the Four put up a hand to feel the crowns resting on their heads.
"We woke this morning to find our crowns stuck to our heads," Lucy informed the Owls. "And we can't get them off." She frowned, remembering the bump she'd suffered earlier, and Peter trying to comb his hair.
"Have you heard of such a thing happening before?" Oreius asked.
The Owls had not, saying so in their usual chorus, and a few asking to try to remove the crowns themselves. The Four, resigned to that being the consistent response, allowed it, and four Owls, the four who had been most vocal, flew from their chairs to the backs of the Four's, and gently grasped the top of the crowns in their beaks.
They were not successful, though one managed to tickle Susan's neck with his feathers. Other Owls wished to try it, but the Four drew the line at one attempt, except Lucy, who promised they could try it later.
"We thank you for your help, good cousins, and bid you goodnight," Peter concluded wearily, when it seemed the Owls had no more to offer. With many bows, cooing, and rustling of feathers, the Owls flitted out, Oreius shutting the door behind them.
The Four enjoyed the moment of peace, most leaning forward to rest their heads on their hands.
"Well, we have a name," Edmund said at last. "Telar."
OOOOO
*Apparently owls don't mind bright lights if they're prepared for them. They have three eyelids, and can shield their vision from light if they know it's coming, and have excellent vision in the day too, but flying in from the night into bright light would be painful. If you're curious.
Response to Anonymousme: glad to hear from you! I hope the story doesn't disappoint; I've had a few people comment on its originality, and I'm hoping that stays fresh! I tend to picture the crowns as light and comfortable to wear, metal woven into pretty patterns, but just the metal (unless there's a few jewels), and somewhat like a tiara going all the way around. Tall enough to bump into things, not tall enough to be bothersome in the normal course of life; and not uncomfortable! I'm afraid the review didn't keep the star and period. :( About the swords—there are metal swords where it would be very bad idea to parry, though fencing swords aren't usually one them, but Japanese swords/katanas were so deadly because the metal in them was tempered enough (in the samurai swords) to be strong as well as sharp. They had short knives that were not tempered that way, but considering the skill the Dwarves have with metal, I would assume the Narnian swords were made with the same skill, and therefore would not be prone to breaking. Or ones made by Father Christmas' help. That does entirely change the fighting style, and so perhaps Calormens, with curved scimitars, would not parry, but I'm guessing an assassin who collected swords with collect and use ones with the best metals and forging. I like your ideas for Silent; they echo some of the other input I've received, but I honestly don't know when I'll get around to writing her; I've a one-shot after this that's been haunting me, and this is turning into quite the tale.