The Naming of Rhindon Wolfsbane, Part Two
At the offhand suggestion of one of my reviewers, let me clarify something for all you lovely people reading this:
It is my interpretation (interpretation is key here) that Aslan gave the weapons we first see in LWW to Father Christmas so that he, in his altruistic gift giving capacity, could give them the Pevensie Children. I don't see Father Christmas as the type of guy who randomly goes about giving out ironmongery of any sort, military or otherwise, so logically, it follows by my reasoning that someone else (Aslan) gave them to him with the instructions to give them to Peter and Co. (Additionally, we could say that since Aslan 'gave' Father Christmas back to Narnia by weakening the White Witch's magic, he also indirectly 'gave' those gifts to the Pevensies.)
In response to another one of my reviewers, Morohtar whom I love and adore so very much because his Narnia fictions are made out of awesome, I don't know when this story takes place. Only that it does.
Anyway. Enjoy.
Dinner after a long day of work is good, but dinner after a battle tastes ten times better than dinner before, mainly because you know you are alive enough to be eating it, and dinner with the promise of a story afterwards is perhaps the best of all. After everyone had eaten and drunk their fill of Narnia's bounty, Caspian once more reminded Peter of his story.
"Was she beautiful, the Lady of the Gilded Horn?" he asked, smiling in that special way that young men have about them when women are involved.
Peter chuckled. "We're not to that part of the story yet, Caspian!"
"Well then, get there!" Caspian urged. "I want to know what she looks like."
When the troll hunting patrol returned home, Peter was sent straight to bed by a concerned Susan while Lucy was left to relate the rest of the story to their less militarily inclined siblings.
"So where is Peter's sword?" Susan asked when Lucy had finished telling how she and one of the centaurs had finished off the troll that had thrown Peter to the rock. Lucy's face fell.
"Oh, that," she said sadly. "It broke, when he was thrown into the rock. I think it was the cold, really, and the troll was so strong…" she trailed off.
"Well, then why didn't he bring it home with him?" Susan asked curiously. Peter had loved Aslan's gift, and why he would leave it behind even if it were broken was a mystery to her.
"Someone else took it first," Lucy said, much to the confusion of her siblings.
"Queen Lucy!" The conversation was interrupted by the hurried arrival of a very concerned looking Tumnus, who by the looks of things had run from the library on the other end of the castle to greet his dear Queen Lucy and see that she was all right. "When I saw what happened to poor King Peter," he began, and then, blushing to the tips of his ears, calmed down considerably when he saw Lucy smiling knowledgeably.
"Thank you for the concern, Tumnus," Lucy said, clasping the tips of his fingers and giving his hand a little shake, their own private joke and sign of affection.
Edmund frowned at having the story interrupted and drew Lucy back into the conversation with a very disapproving sort of grumbling sound. "Now's not the time for games, Lu! What happened to that sword?"
"I'm serious!" Lucy defended. "When we went back for the pieces, they were gone. Orieus said the Lady in the Mountain had taken them."
"The lady in the mountain?" Edmund asked skeptically. Tumnus, however, was enthralled.
"Did you see her? Did she come herself?" he asked, his ears flittering with excitement.
"You mean to tell me that there is a lady in the mountain who goes around stealing swords and such?" Edmund asked, ever the logical one of the four.
"Oh yes, yes indeed, King Edmund. But never stealing; the lady has enough of her own treasures not to have to steal from others. No, she takes what is broken and makes it new again. The older tales say that she is the Sun, and that her palace under the mountain is full of light and laughter. If it is she who has taken the sword," Tumnus said, "You can rest assured that it will be returned to King Peter, King Edmund. Better than before, if I know the tales aright."
Edmund sighed and summoned over a servant, one of the badgers. "Go to the armoury and tell them to find a new sword for King Peter." The badger nodded and went off. "Who knows when this lady will return it? If she ever will at all."
Peter was out and about the next day, practicing with the new blade, but it was certainly not as nice as the lion-pommeled blade that Aslan had given him through Father Christmas. Peter found it heavy and cumbersome, but he had known for a long time that his old sword had at least some magic in it, and this weapon had none at all except the very ordinary smithing kind.
"We waited a fortnight for some sign from the lady," Peter continued, "But none came. Until she sent her daughter."
"The Lady of the Gilded Horn," Caspian supplied; all ears were raptly listening now. Peter nodded.
"We were sitting at supper, and the hall was cold, it being near to wintertime. And then… she came in, and everything was warm again," Peter said happily, staring at the wall and smiling at the memory.
"Well?" Caspian said, literally on the edge of his seat. "Was she beautiful?"
"Of course she was beautiful! Why do you think King Peter's smiling like that?" one of the younger badgers was saying- quite a crowd had come to sit near the fire to listen to the story.
"How beautiful, Peter?" Caspian pressed, waiting for the drop of honey to fall.
Peter sighed. "Have you ever seen a sunrise?" he asked, still gazing at the wall and the tapestry that hung there. "One of those golden, beautiful sunrises out on a very level plain when the sky is clear and the sun crests over the hill so very slowly? She was like that, that sunrise, golden and magnificent. And the more you stared at her, the lovelier she became, because …she was the sunrise."
"Lady Rhiainwyn, the daughter of the Sun," the herald proclaimed from the top of the hall. "Lady of the Gilded Horn, Envoy of the Mountain, Dawn-bringer!"
Everyone in the hall pulled back to let her pass, letting the golden lace of her train float gently along the ground behind her. In her wake she left a shimmer of light, which quickly left the floor after her. On her head was a cornet of flowers, but a closer eye would have seen that they were actually tiny golden stars, twinkling against her golden-red hair. At her hip, slung from a baldric made of crimson cord, a delicate golden horn hung, the same horn that she announced the arrival of her mother the sun with every morning. The High King stood, and his siblings followed suit, ready to receive her, half in awe and half in fear.
"I bring a message from my mother," Rhiainwyn said, her voice musical and soft, like the touch of early light through the crispness of a spring morning. "She has reforged the sword of Peter your King, and begs you come to her house to retrieve it."
"Could you not have brought it here yourself?" Susan asked, immediately feeling stupid for asking such a question.
Rhiainwyn turned to Susan and smiled agelessly, the pitying look of someone who has known the world for many ages and is well acquainted with the confusion of mortal men. "Would that I could, Daughter of Eve, but my mother's magic is a strong thing. Reforging a sword made by Lord Aslan is a dangerous business, and strong magic, deep magic, must go into it, as deep magic went into it before. There is an enchantment upon the blade now, Susan called Gentle, whereby none but the owner may touch it. Peter must retrieve the sword himself, and I am come to bring him thither."
Edmund began to speak, but Peter held out a hand as if to restrain him. "I will go with you, Lady Rhianinwyn."
The dawn smiled, and bowed her head, holding out her hand for him to take as he stepped down from the dais where the High table was placed. She glanced at him, and drew about the both of them the
glittering golden lace that was her cloak. A great warmth enveloped Peter, and he shut his eyes, reveling in the feeling. When he opened them again, he was in a great white hall, with high vaulted ceilings and the music of feasting filling every corner.
At the end of the hall was a great table, filled with every possible food and flagon a mind could dream of, and behind the great spread, a host of lords and ladies who were more beautiful than Peter had thought it was possible for people to be. At the center of the table, in a great chair draped in gold, sat the Lady of the Mountain herself, robed in gold as her daughter was. Peter could not help but stare in rapture, and stepped forward when she beckoned as though she held him on a leash.
The music stopped, and the Lady spoke. "High King Peter, you have come as I bid," she said, her voice just as beautiful as her daughter's.
"Had I a choice, your majesty?" Peter asked, and the Lady laughed, letting the hall ring with the sound.
"There is always a choice, Lord of Cair Paravel. But come, I see that you are hungry. Sit by us, and feast a while in our company," she offered, gesturing to the seat of honor at her right side, vacant and waiting for him.
"I think, my Lady, that I had better to receive your gift and leave," Peter said decorously, and the Lady nodded, understanding.
"The affairs of Narnia are great, I know. At least a cup of wine, then, in friendship and peace. A poor hostess I would be if I did not offer you that." She beckoned forward a servant, who brought to him a golden cup filled with a rich dark red liquid. Peter, not wanting to be discourteous, took it and, after raising it in toast, drank deeply.
A warm softness came over him, as though Rhiainwyn's cloak had covered him again, and suddenly, it was as though he did not want to leave. There was nothing to go home to, a feeling seemed to tell him. No, better to stay here, and be content."
Peter's face fell, and his voice was silent. Caspian and the rest of the crowd listened eagerly for when he might go on, but after a few minutes, it seemed apparent that he would not finish his story.
"Peter?" Caspian finally said.
Peter looked away from the fire he'd been staring into absentmindedly, and shook his head. "No, no more of the story now. It hurts to hear it all again. I'd forgotten…how it ends."
Caspian tried to hide his disappointment, but it was obvious the rest of the listeners were vexed at not being able to hear the end of the story. He retreated back to the feasting tables and sat down heavily, pouring out a cup of the sweet wine and drinking it.
"So Peter did not finish his story?" a voice asked from nearby. Caspian turned to find Doctor Cornelius there, tucking into a rather large slice of cherry pie.
"Doctor Cornelius, you would know the end of the story!" Caspian realized, for his old tutor had been the one to tell him many of the old tales of Narnia before the Telmarines had come, and knew a great many things about a great many wonderous happenings in Narnia's history.
The half-dwarf chuckled and wiped his lips on the edge of his sleeve. "He was telling you of Rhindon?"
Caspian nodded.
"That's a tale few know in full, but I for my part will tell what I know of it. You heard how the sword broke, and how the Mountain Queen took it – yes, she is a queen of the mountain, and not a lady alone – and made it new again. And Peter had just gone with her daughter to reclaim it. Very well, that's where I'll begin. Peter stayed in the hall of the Mountain Queen for forty days and forty nights, eating and feasting and enjoying the company of the Lady of the Gilded Horn…"