GLIMPSES OF THE GOLDEN AGE

Part Four

Lady Alambiel and I got together to do another Golden Age Random Word Challenge. This is what I came up with. Check out hers, too!

CUDDLY

"It's not a very kingly thing to be called," Peter said, making sure he and Linnet were quite alone as they sat in the garden.

"I wouldn't say it about the High King."

"Good."

"But I would say it about Peter Pevensie."

She giggled, and Peter turned red. "Just don't let Edmund hear you."

"Never."

OOOOO

"From my study," Edmund observed as he and Peter walked to the training yard, "if the window's open, you can hear everything anyone says down in the garden."

Peter froze.

Edmund grinned. "It's true," he said, "High King Peter the Cuddly."

Then he ran.

DARE

"Oooh," Lucy breathed. "You wouldn't dare."

Susan turned in front of her mirror, admiring herself from all sides. "Why not? It's lovely."

"Su! It's got no back and practically no front."

Susan rolled her eyes. "Don't exaggerate. The back goes almost halfway up. And the front is perfectly . . . respectable."

"But what would Mum say?"

Susan tugged her neckline up just a little more. "Mum's not here."

"But Peter is."

"What I choose to wear is none of Peter's business."

Lucy lifted one eyebrow. "What about that nasty old Tarkaan who's been leering at you?"

Susan decided to wear something else.

ORDINARY

Edmund rose when the sun gilded a landscape so lushly green it seemed painted from a storybook. A Centaur spent the morning teaching him how to ride a Unicorn and best a Giant with only a quarterstaff. Then a Swan, a Stag and a pair of Turtledoves served him breakfast in a palace garden. Afterward, Talking Beasts and magical Creatures came to his court for justice and aid. Then he and his brother and sisters swam with the Mermaids until the sun sank into the sea and the stars began to dance silver in the sky.

Just another ordinary day.

FRAGILE

"No," Peter said. "Those are the Naiads. The Dryads are the ones in the forest."

"Oh." Lucy's forehead wrinkled. "I can't remember which one is which."

"There's been a lot to learn in the past few weeks," Peter soothed.

"I don't want to say something wrong and make everybody mad at everybody else, like when Edmund called that Black Dwarf one of the Red Dwarfs' names."

Peter chuckled.

"So how do you remember?" Lucy pressed.

"Easy. The Naiads are the water ones, because the Dryads are dry. Remember that, and you'll do fine."

Lucy giggled. The fragile peace would hold.

DRAWER

He was the High King. All Narnia was at his disposal. Every room in Cair Paravel was his to command. His own quarters were filled with chests and wardrobes and richly carved cabinets of all kinds. Even within those, there were cubbyholes and compartments and drawer after drawer. Inside some of those drawers were hidden drawers known only to the Kings and Queens and their most trusted counselors. And there was one, concealed in the decorative panel on one side of his desk, known only to Peter himself.

He would keep the ring there until he was ready to propose.

MITTEN

"At last!"

Susan turned from the frosted window and hurried down the winding stairs. As she reached the bottom, Peter trudged inside, white with snow, lips and bare fingers blue.

She swiftly untied his ice-stiffened cloak and tugged him over to the hearth. "Why in the world would you go out wearing just one mitten?"

"I d-didn't."

He held his numb fingers up to the dancing flames and then reached into his shirt and pulled out the second of the mittens she had knitted for him. Curled up inside was a sleeping baby Squirrel.

"His mother said he was lost."

QUILL

"Mmmmmmmmmine!" the Goat bleated.

The Mule would not budge. "Hee aawght to know better. It's mine."

The Snapping Turtle said nothing, but kept his jaws clenched around the petition stating his claim on the much-disputed grassland. Edmund had tried to reason with all of them, tried to get them to compromise, but it was no use.

"Since none of you can agree . . . " He nodded towards the little Lamb who had kept silent and asked nothing. "Malcom's father last held true title to it, so I am giving it to him."

With a stroke of his quill pen, it was done.

LATE

The skittish horse faltered, rolling with him down the rock-strewn hill and then bolting, leaving Peter on foot and with a rather disagreeable attitude. That attitude got increasingly more disagreeable as Peter managed to fall into a stream, bang his head on a low-hanging branch, and sprain his wrist trying to free his boot heel from some half-buried tree roots.
When he stumbled out of the forest, in sight of Cair Paravel at last, Edmund was there in the clearing with the runaway horse and what looked like a search party.
He eyed Peter with a half-disgusted smirk. "You're late."

TAME

"What did He mean?" Susan asked as she and Peter huddled together in the tent. "How can we be Queens? How can you be High King?"

Peter glanced at Lucy, asleep with her head in Susan's lap. She was no more than a baby yet. He and Susan were still children themselves. And Edmund– How could a traitor be King?

"How do we know He even knows what He's doing?"Susan whispered fiercely as she clutched his hand.

"We have to trust Him, no matter what." Peter managed a thin smile. "He's not a tame Lion, but He is good."

WOEBEGONE

"But Peter needs me!" Edmund whined.

Oreius only looked down at him, dark face impassive. In the year since the Battle of Beruna, whining hadn't made the slightest impression on the Centaur. That didn't keep Edmund from trying.

"I'm supposed to be his shield," Edmund insisted.

"You are supposed to be resting and mending, My King. If you want to go with your brother to battle ever again, you had best listen to the healers."

Edmund gave him the most woebegone look he could manage, and the Centaur's expression softened.

"Do not trouble yourself, little colt. I will bring him home."