So, it's been a while...but I'm still here and looking at this when I can. Thank you all for your support and for the reviews! I read them gratefully!
For now, here's the next chapter.
Chapter 22: Scribe
The quills were sharpened. The ink and the parchment prepared. The fanfare was played and the court convened for judgment.
Once a year the four monarchs of Narnia had made it tradition to hold open court in honor of Aslan. There they would hear the complaints of as many as could be fit into the great hall.
Porfirio's sacred duty was to record the day's occurrences in massive tomes, each word carefully spelled out in his measured handwriting. In smooth, firm strokes he dated the top of the page and waited for the first group of subjects to approach with their arguments.
With great pomp and circumstance, the individuals involved in the first case moved down the aisle of the court. Porfirio's pen moved not an inch until the fox instigating the case began to speak.
It was a long winded speech, filled with flowery words and vainglorious flattering about the graciousness of the monarchs, telling how blessed he felt to be presenting his matter before their wise minds. The monarchs, King Edmund in particular, were having none of it.
In the midst of the fox's oration, Porifirio's mind began to stray and he observed the many faces filling the hall, his quill moving long ago without the aid of his eyes to watch the ink curl and swoop across the page.
The crowd shifted painfully, each face showing no discomfort but the shuffling of steps and muffled coughs showing otherwise. And the hours crawled past.
As he later reflected, the morning went relatively well, all things considered, but as the day drew on the afternoon heat slunk in through closed doors. Though the windows had all been thrown open and shaved ice was served at the noon meal, the warmth was beginning to temper good moods and wilt patience.
King Edmund and High King Peter had been most affected. They had entered the day with little enthusiasm, frowning as they settled into their thrones. If Porfirio had learned anything of his sovereigns it was not that they were reluctant to hear their people's pleas, on the contrary, they were merely lamenting the long hours spent seated on hard marble.
A velvet cushion had been provided for each but it offered little comfort after the first hours passed. Oak tables had also been placed in front of the thrones to ensure that if a new ordinance was to be signed the monarchs would have the proper means to do so.
While the intention was to provide comfort, both efforts limited movement to very little, effectually trapping the Kings and Queens in their seats. This, as Porfirio reflected, was perhaps counter-intuitive with this particular pair of Kings.
By two hours past the noon meal, such impediments meant very little to a pair of very bored, very cross Kings. Of course, the subjects saw nothing other than their gracious monarchs, benevolently passing decision after decision. Porfirio knew better.
Trouble was brewing in two sets of eyes. One crystalline blue and the other inky brown.
He supposed even Kings and Queens must have their days, though perhaps today was not among the more convenient of days for such an attitude to emerge.
The first visible sign of conflict was a slight wrinkle of King Edmund's brow. High King Peter's foot surreptitiously slid back towards his chair and Porfirio raised an eyebrow. Ah, toe-smashing had begun anew.
The two had recently made it a sort of competition. The first to show pain lost the competition and therefore had to explain to some poor subject or delegate why the sovereigns were fidgeting like a pair of quarreling firefish. The winner had the pleasure of watching the spectacle.
Porfirio did have to admit that King Edmund had the upper hand overall as he had always excelled at matters of court whereas the High King, begging pardon, floundered to find the correct words on occasion, preferring the weapons training grounds and the wide, grassy fields to navigating the elaborate court orations.
However, today it seemed the High King was putting up an extraordinary fight. He'd already crushed King Edmund's toe a total of four times and was inching towards a fifth, all the while acting as a wise and caring monarch to the noble pleading his case before them.
King Edmund had retaliated only twice, his position more visible to the noble and hence vulnerable to a greater chance of discovery.
If Porfirio read the signs correctly, the wrinkle of King Edmund's temple and the slight tensing of his shoulders showed a growing bout of unusually heated annoyance. This would certainly be an interesting day…
Porfirio blew out a breath slowly and centered on the words he was inscribing. A noble griffin spoke now, the rasp of his voice high and strained, complaining about the crowding in the cliffs by the sea.
Griffins were known to be incredibly territorial and such an invasion of their space by a flock of pigeons was considered highly insulting. The pigeons complained that they were merely trying to find a home and surely the griffins could spare the meager space they required.
Queen Lucy inquired if the pigeons couldn't move to another more comfortable set of cliffs. Surely the briny air buffeting the stone was hard on their tender bodies.
The griffins crowed and the pigeons huffed. King Edmund shifted and King Peter winced.
Next in the queue was a pair of nightingales requesting permission to marry. The Queen Susan granted the requested blessing with a gentle bow of her head. Her eyebrow quirked and she darted her brothers a subtle look as they kept their silence.
Queen Lucy didn't seem to notice and chatted away brightly with the pair, concealing the battle betwixt the Kings a little longer.
The nightingales swept away, chirping excitedly, and up stepped a cheetah, her fur deeply ruffled and nose set high in the air. Her tone was rather pleasant as voices go but she appeared to be quite upset about an "offense against her family name".
Porfirio had wondered attracted such long-winded speakers to such events but he supposed that this was his curse. The participants did have an entire year to prepare their orations to plead their case. He set aside his dry inkwell and reached for another.
And the most incredible thing happened.
A loud bang echoed through the chamber, voices stilling as it reverberated through the pillars.
High King Peter cleared his throat and King Edmund straightened the blank page before him, both faces were perfectly composed. Queen Susan and Queen Lucy looked more akin to horrified. Their hands were thrown out like the table beneath their fingers had shifted…
Porfirio felt his jaw slipping open. Surely, one of the Kings would claim defeat. Surely, there would be an explanation…but none was forthcoming. So, the cheetah shook out her shoulders and continued, moving back several sentences in her speech, no doubt to ensure that the monarchs had heard her.
And Porfirio copied it down again, finding himself wishing that this day would reach its conclusion.
The cheetah made it several more sentences and was taking a breath to continue when the table shook again. This time an inkwell was knocked several inches across the table's surface.
The room went quiet.
King Edmund's eyebrows rose and he turned to the High King, "Brother, did you hear something? And I could've sworn the furniture moved."
"I don't what you mean, Ed. Didn't hear a thing…you did?"
"Oh, I don't want to be bother. I just thought you might have something to share, that's all."
"Couldn't know what you mean. Unless…you have a thought?"
King Edmund wrung out a dry laugh and shook his head. "No more than you, brother mine."
"If you're…quite through?" Queen Susan's cheeks were pink and her eyes flashed in the waning afternoon sunlight.
The High King's hand came down on King Edmund's shoulder, knuckles blanching, and he grinned cheerfully at his sister. "Just checking in with our dear Ed."
"Such consideration." King Edmund's hand shot up to his brother's shoulder, knuckles turning equally as white.
A tense moment passed as everyone seemed at a loss for words, trying to make out what exactly was happening. Queen Lucy was the one to shatter the silence. "What is going on with you two anyway?"
"Lucy…" The admonishment was low but still audible.
The hands shot back down to their rightful owners and both Kings shrugged.
"Oh, please," Queen Susan's skirts rustled loudly as she stood, the force of it nearly knocking her crown askew. "I think that will be all. However, since we have not fulfilled our duties for this year's commitment, any cases that were unable to be seen today will be attended to on the morrow. Thank you and good evening."
And she swept from the room.
Mutters of disappointment and confusion were whispered around the room and a brave few followed the Queen out of the room. The rest turned in shock towards the remaining monarchs.
Porfirio had seen many expressions on the Kings' faces through his time as their scribe. Nothing could appropriately describe what he saw now. Both brothers looked as though they'd been set in ice water, eyes wide and jaws slack.
The Queen Lucy watched them a moment, let out a little laugh, and then skipped after her sister.
Porfirio couldn't help but think that, in this particular round, Queen Susan was soundly the victor.