A/N: Eavis, you asked me to write some stories based of different quotes (some of which are from the Princess Bride, some of which I had to look up and which I really can't believe I'm using, but I am). Instead, I threw them all into one. I hope you don't mind the resulting ridiculousity too much. It was an interesting exercise...and one not without a great deal of entertainment on the author's part.

On the interesting qualities of Calormene fashion (may I never have to wear it).

16.

He was struggling to connect a difficult buckle on his armor when the laughter reached his ears. The start it gave him lost the hold he'd managed to find on the slippery leather, so it was with great patience that he gritted his teeth and tried to grip it back again, ignoring the form he knew was lounging in the doorway, smirking at him with those mocking brown eyes. After it had properly collected itself (hunched over, wheezing, in hysterics—all of which Peter ignored), the form spoke.

"I feel it necessary to inform you that I have only been waiting around to make fun of you before Susan can smooth your rumpled feathers by telling you how kingly it looks."

Peter grimaced and continued buckling the breastplate. "That does put a damper on our relationship."

He finished (amazingly—it was such an awkward angle) and stepped back to look in the mirror. And then rather wished he hadn't.

"You look very…fierce."

"I look ridiculous. I look like as Greek as a gladiator," Peter said at last, pushing at the helmet to see if he could get it to settle comfortably on his head. It was too loose, and the nose-guard got in the way of his vision. Yes, he looked ridiculous.

"You know, gladiators were Roman, not Greek."

"Edmund," the High King said through his teeth. He prodded the helmet a little more, then shook his head as his eyes took in the gaudy decorations, the cluttery look of his new finery. "I can't wear this. I'd not last a minute in a battle."

"It's ceremonial, Peter."

"Darn right it's ceremonial. No one in their right mind would fight in this!"

"…right, right. Because you're in your right mind. I keep forgetting." He was snickering again, probably thinking that no one in their right mind would even concede to try on such a silly suit of armor.

"Oh, so funny, Edmund," Peter growled. "So very clever—in a few minutes you'll be crowing. Just wait till Su gets you into one of these costumes."

"Unlike you, I am in my right mind," his brother teased. Then, when Peter whirled and tried to grab him (the armor might at least make a wrestling match more uncomfortable for the younger king), Edmund dodged out the door and shouted, "Oh, yes, come show all the servants how dignified your new armor makes you look."

Of course, Peter wasn't going to follow. He heard Edmund laugh (cruelly) and crow, delightedly, "Oh, the cleverness of me!"

Sometimes he thought he could strangle Edmund. And Susan. But he would let Lucy live. After all, she wasn't the one who had thought it would be fun to let the Calormene prince's personal smiths (who apparently thought him a posh and showy sort of king) design a suit of armor for him to wear…whenever he wasn't in danger of being killed, apparently. They had gone to all the trouble in the world to make it absolutely impractical and likely very expensive (had she even thought to consider how they were going to pay for this? Not out of his treasury—even if it was, as Susan put it, "Essential to keeping our balance in relation to the Calormene Empire).

He muttered, on a whimsy, "Does anyone else want to be king of the world?" and then considered shouting it out the window, and then decided that it wasn't exactly correct to be shout it from the window because technically he was only king of part of the world and he was only one of the kings. But really, it was enough to drive one mad and make one want to take a long holiday off a short plank (because the holiday would be at sea and it would not be a voyage that had any diplomatic purposes but there would probably be sharks in the water).

"Peter?" It was Susan. He turned to look at her, preparing to berate her long and proper and explain the hundred and forty nine reasons he was not going to wear this ridiculous set of armor (no, he was not allowing it the dignity of even being called a suit) when suddenly his scowl turned into a grin. She had an uncomfortable look on her face, and for good reason.

"Peter, don't laugh at me just now, I don't think I could bear it. I know it's their style and awfully flattering, but I don't think I can wear this and keep any shred of dignity with our Narnians. And even if it is to please those ambassadors, shouldn't we please our own people first?"

The High King almost reconsidered his position because clearly she was getting a taste of her own medicine (there really was no accounting for the taste of those southerners…really, he didn't know fruit could be worn like that), but she looked so very uncomfortable and repentant that he grinned and said, "I think it would cause a riot. A feeding frenzy. For the safety of your person, sister, and the dignity of our court, I think it's safe to turn down the ambassador's generous offer of supplying us with traditional Calormene garments for the feast."

"Really?" Susan's eyes were shining. It was an excellent excuse and would not shame them in front of the ambassadors (who thought the Talking Beasts were odd anyway).

"Yes," said Edmund's voice from the hallway. "And Peter's would have us all dead of laughter!"

Peter looked at his queen and said, "Help me off with this armor, won't you, Su? I think Edmund wants to try it on."