Prompt #4: One of the Friends of Narnia is called mad/insane.

† Crash †

23 July 1015

Heart trembling and pulse beating, the High King lowered his pen to the parchment and danced the quill across the black line, and when the last flourish was drawn and the pen fell into the inkwell, he rose up in triumph and smiled at the crowd of Talking Beasts as the Great Hall burst into a mighty cheer.

As the noise roared and banged in his ears, he turned to his smiling brother and sisters, trading shakes of hands one by one. Grinning like a boy, he turned to the table and lifted the parchment off the table, holdng it in the air for all the Talking Beasts to see, and that made the room erupt in cheers again.

"Here we are," said the High King, his smile tugging on his beard. "Two years of deliberations and debates with the governors of the Talking Beasts, and we have finally put our names on the document. We have negotiated, bargained, conceded, and almost had a falling out. But by the will of the Lion and the glory of his mane, our Thirty-Year Plan to expand the borders of Narnia has been made."

He was cut off by another roar from the crowd. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aslan pushing himself through the crack in the door, and his eyes locked on the Lion's face. Confound it, what's he doing here? said Peter. I'm still in the middle of this speech.

"Our plan," said the High King, trying to lift his smile, "will bring in Talking Beasts from all the corners of the world, scattered about after the First Calormene War and the Everlasting Winter, but we will bring them here in the first five years, and they will call Narnia home once again. In the next five years, we will lead our armies north into the Giant lands, establishing ourselves in every outpost from Ettinsmoor to Bakurad."

Aslan was padding nearer and nearer, and Peter's smile was struggling to stay merry. "In the five years after that," he said in a clipped tone, "we will move west into the Wild Wastelands, and the five years hence, we will push into Archenland and Calormen."

Aslan was still trundling nearer, his face gazing into nowhere.

"Indeed this is an ambitious plan, one that will require sacrifices. We expect resistance from our enemies and complaints from our friends, and few will be willing to cooperate. But Narnia is growing bigger and stronger, and its power and dominion will spread in Aslan's name. We the Kings and Queens of Narnia, and these fine courtiers—"

"Are completely barmy, that's what you are," said Aslan as he strode past them.

All the smiles in the room fell in unison, and the excited murmurs turned into silence as Peter went red in the face. The Lion hadn't turned aside, nor raised his voice, nor broken his stride; he had merely uttered the words, then moved along as if nothing had happened. And he kept slinking on to the end of the hall, padding straight past the thrones, then padded down the back stairwell and disappeared from sight.

"What happened in there was uncalled for," said Peter as he stabbed a finger over his shoulder. "You humiliated me in front of my friends."

"And a thousand of your subjects, on the back of it," said the Lion in a distant tone. He lazed in the lawn with a plate of roast beef between his paws, which seemed to interest him more than the conversation.

"For God's sakes, when will anything I do be good enough for you? You have had an arrow at my back since that incident fifteen years ago. Or did it already slip your mind?"

Aslan gave a whimsical murmur and speared a slice of roast beef with his claw. "I have a vague recollection of an incident involving your brother and some mud…"

Peter rolled his eyes and leaned against a tree, holding his face in his hands as he wagged his head. "Confound it, man. Why do you feel the need to destroy me? I want to do what's best for Narnia, and you shove me into the mud and give me lip in front of my friends."

There was no reply. Aslan was blithely munching away as Peter glared at him.

"For God's sakes, Lion, I am the High King of Narnia. I can't be ridiculed in front of my subjects. Where I come from, there's something called decorum—"

"And in my realm, there's something called obedience," said the Lion. "I forbade you to expand your borders, and you were doing it in my name."

"You forbade me because I wasn't including your name."

"No, Peter, I forbade you because it was wrong." And without warning, he rose up onto all fours and looked the High King in the face, making Peter balk against the tree. "Your plan wasn't just selfish and stupid; it was an act of aggression. I commanded you to defend Narnia, not make her a nation of conquerors. And pushing the borders of Archenland—your friends? Confound it, Peter, what were you thinking?!"

"They don't need that much land, Aslan. We do!"

"In Narnia, there is no such thing as holy colonization or manifest destiny. If the leading lights of your world had obeyed My command, the entire world would have had my best. Instead, your history is full of oppression and suffering, and the leading lights of your world will be leading the nations to misery. If that's the example you want to follow, I will intervene again—and I will do far more than embarrass you."

The Lion didn't pause to let Peter reply. He simply turned away and brought his gaze back to his food. And without waiting for dismissal, Peter turned on his heel and marched off the lawn, muttering a somewhat nasty oath under his breath.