AIN24 is here! And I think I'm going to continue what I did last year, primarily focusing on minor characters, which for these purposes are defined as characters that don't have many fics listed on FF, either because they're rarely chosen or because they aren't on the list at all.
Prompt: A King, Queen, or warrior of Narnia is forced to improvise a weapon.
The tales of Narnia's fairest queen told many things.
How she was born with hair of palest yellow, just the color of bright clouds when the very first hint of sunset begins to touch them. While this was not common, neither was it was unheard of in those lands. What was indeed rare was for a child born so fair to keep that shade to adulthood, and this the queen did.
How she exulted in Narnia's feasts and fêtes, tripping about with lightest steps, skirts swirling around her, the most graceful dancing companion any of Narnia's creatures could ask for. And ask they did, for rare indeed was the time when she declined a request from any of her subjects. From the largest solemn Elephant to the smallest excited Mousling, she would find a way to equally partner them.
How she possessed not only a beautiful face but also the heart to match, so that she was loved by all Narnians, and she made a point to spend time each year journeying all about the country to speak with them. The tales told especially how she was so beloved of the naiads that any time she visited them, they would capture her image on their waters and keep it there in honor for a year and a day.
How this beauty, so wonderful for those she ruled, sometimes led to troubles. For fair and noble as she was, men both Narnian and otherwise sought her hand in marriage. Most took her gentle rejections with good grace, but some did not. And it was one of these, when she was about twenty-four years of age and still only a princess, who took into his head the notion that he might persuade her to reconsider his suit, if only he could remove her to another place where it was just the two of them.
The tales did not tell how it was this captor who first called her Swanwhite.
The strains of an out-of-tune lute wafted through the barred window. Allira sighed.
So far it had been three days. Yarlen treated her impeccably, roomed her sumptuously, fed her heartily, fulfilled every desire with all possible solicitude...only he would not let her leave, unless she agreed to marry him.
To kidnap a princess was of course unconscionable, but she could not bring herself to despise him. He was naive and impulsive and very young, and it was abundantly—even, at the moment, excruciatingly—clear that his actions proceeded from lovesick folly rather than malice. Not once had he threatened her in any way, and she doubted he could ever imagine doing so. Rather, Yarlen had complete, if misplaced, faith that with enough time he could persuade her to let him marry her. Allira was inwardly just as certain that with enough time she could convince him to return her to Cair.
Right now he was attempting to woo her with a song of his own composition. Came the slightly off-key voice from the courtyard below:
"Allira, swan-white, lady fair
the light of sun is in your hair
Pretty as the stars above
Will you not be my ladylove?"
Allira resisted the urge to groan. Instead she called down, "Why swan-white?"
There was a quiet noise that Allira suspected was a muffled squeal of excitement that she had responded to the song, and then the clearing of a throat. "Because, my lady, you more graceful than a swan, and its plumage is only barely whiter than yours."
"My plumage?"
"Hair! Your hair. Shining bright like a field of flax in sunlight, dazzling as the sun on the ocean..."
Since he could not see and misinterpret it, Allira permitted herself an amused smile as he went on declaring praise for her hair. She pulled one of the long, narrow side braids over her shoulder and examined it. It was nice enough hair, she supposed, certainly quite pale and—
Long. Narrow.
Allira stood up and went to the window. "My lord Yarlen," she called with deliberate sweetness, interrupting him, "would you come here? I wish to give you a gift."
The young man stared wide-eyed up at her for a moment. He swallowed hard, and then nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get inside. Allira sat down on the footstool, and waited.
The door was unlocked with the clunk of a bolt being hastily drawn back. Yarlen, panting from the stairs, threw himself inside. He saw Princess Allira sitting there expectantly, and drew precisely the incorrect conclusion she wished him to. Stumbling across the room, he dropped to one knee in front of her.
"My lord," Allira said quietly. She leaned toward him, resting her left wrist on his shoulder as her right hand fiddled with something. "I find myself perhaps slightly more amenable to your proposal." The right hand joined the left one behind his head. "I want to give you this." She leaned closer, so their foreheads were almost touching, and looked straight into his eyes. Yarlen could barely breathe from excitement. Allira turned her head a little to the side, and softly kissed his cheek.
Then with a deft movement, she finished wrapping the braid around his neck and pulled hard on both ends.
It was so entirely different from what Yarlen had expected that he could not even react, only stare at her in utter confusion for several seconds before sprawling unconscious to the floor.
"Poor foolish besotted child," she said with sympathy to his motionless form. "You only want for some wisening up—anything harsher would be cruelty. I'll tell Father to make you a sailor. The responsibility and sea air will do you good, as will the enforced separation from me. Now, where's that horse and carriage..."
(If it wasn't clear enough, Yarlen's like 16-19, and thus prone to making unwise decisions.)
