It says this blog thing is for fanfiction. I've never been much of a fanfic writer, but I did have to write this one short story from Narnia as a school project once. So here it is! Let me know what you think. =)
Avenging Thirteen Dryads
In the Golden Age of Narnia, when High King Peter, his brother King Edmund, and his sisters Queen Susan and Queen Lucy were rulers over all the land and all was peaceful and good, there lived a wise old badger, a Talking one, of course. This badger was the most wonderful bard, and, as Queen Lucy thought him very fine company. He often stayed a few days in the autumn with their Majesties at Cair Paravel.
On one such visit they were, the five of them, sitting together in a small room by a fireplace, for the air was chilly that evening. When the Kings and Queens were with well-known friends and there were no feasts, dances, or quests about, there was no trouble about crowns and thrones and things of that sort. Everything was casual.
So on this chilly autumn evening, Queen Lucy was wishing for a good story. King Edmund was always happy to hear tales of the old days of Narnia, and Queen Susan thought the badger’s style of story-telling was darling. So it was up to High King Peter, and, much to the others delight, Peter requested the badger tell a tale of Narnia’s long, glorious history.
The badger curled up his lips, the equivalent of a smile. “Hmm, so ’tis a story ye be wantin’ tonight, is it?”
“Yes please,” replied Queen Susan.
“And do let it be one we haven’t heard before,” Queen Lucy pleaded.
“Alright, alright, don’t get all worked up now. How ‘bout the story of King Valdimir of Narnia, the very twelf King af’er King Frank himself, first of all Narnian Kings?”
“Yes, I believe that will do quite nicely,” said King Peter, and that was that.
“Well, me story takes place close t’ one thousan’ one hundred years af’er King Frank’s reign. In those days, ‘tweren’t much ‘app’nin’ an’ not much t’ talk ‘bout ‘cept fer feasts an’ dances an’ parties. This one time though, some’in’ did ‘app’n, some’in’ t’ be remembered by us bards ‘til the years is uncountable an’ the sun falls t’ the sea…”
~ * ~
King Valdimir stood in the bow of his ship, the Queen of the Sea, gazing westward toward the gleam that her knew was Cair Paravel on the Eastern shore of his great country. Narnia.
Valdimir was a young, just King, returning home from a voyage to visit the Lone Islands, now being three hundred years a part of his lands. Although the King loved the sea, nothing would at the moment suit him better than to be home.
“Sire, are we to lower the sails, so as to reach yon Cair Paravel by light of dawn?” the Queen’s captain waited for a reply.
“Nay, Furanim, it is my desire to reach the castle as soon as possible.”
Furanim nodded his mouse head, his pierced left ear bending lower than the other for the weight of the heavy gold ring that hung from it.
An old badger came into view.
“Tell me, Radra,” said the King, “are there any rhymes I have not heard of the joyous coming of a King back to his hall?”
Radra, for badgers have always been the bards of the Kings, (here the present badger spoke more richly, proud of the fact) replied, “There is one, O King, that I, at least, ’avn’t told ye.”
“How goes it, friend?”
The badger lowered his voice and recited:
“When the King cometh t’ ‘is hall,
The creatures o’ Narnia sing
The furred an’ bare, both large an’ small
‘ell o’ the comin’ o’ the King.
A trum’et blo’s, join’d by the cry o’ the gull
The sounds t’ which all Narnians cling
W’th everythin’ ‘appy an’ nothing’ dull
The voices o’ all o’ the Narnians ‘ake wing.”
King Valdimir turned his face Westward again. “Aye. That about sums it up.”
By dusk they were ready to lay anchor and row to shore. The King bid them do so with all haste, and by the time it was fully dark he was home. The palace guards and servants were more than happy to see him, and he them. There were five dogs, seven eagles, a satyr, three fauns, two mice, a vole, three hoses, and even a unicorn among them.
One of the dogs, by the name of Margrey, was a loyal servant and protector of the king, very glad to see him back indeed, jumping up and putting her paws on his shoulders and licking his face. It was a wonderful night in Narnia for Valdimir. Or so he thought.
“Oh, I thought this was a happy story,” Queen Lucy interrupted when her friend paused for a breath.
“So ‘tis, so ‘tis Milady, but it ‘as a sad bit in it.” He took a breath and continued.
The next morning the King woke to find Margrey yelping at him that he was needed for a matter of great importance. He dressed in woods cloths, thinking that later, after he dealt with whatever nonsense Margrey was pestering him about, he would go riding to the home of Flightfoot the centaur. Though he would not ride a talking horse.
When he reached the throne room he found an eagle waiting for him.
“Sire,” the bird began, “I am Lightwing that eagle, and I have terrible news to tell thee.”
“Go on,” said the King.
“My Lord, it seems that someone is killing the trees.”
“What?” The horror of it had not yet taken it’s affect on Valdimir. When a tree was felled, it’s Dryad, wherever she was, fell over and died, too. This was an awful thing in Narnia.
“The trees, Lord Valdimir,” Lightwing continued. “There are already seven dead.”
“How can this be? Margrey, accompany me, while you, Lightwing, must take me to the place at once!” King Valdimir retrieved his sword quickly from where it lay in his personal armory and buckled the belt about his waist. “I will see the end of this!’
“How horrid!” exclaimed Queen Susan.
“It’s perfectly dreadful!” King Edmund agreed.
“Hush,” said King Peter. “Let the good badger continue.”
King Valdimir, Margrey the dog, Lightwing the eagle, and Radra the badger (who had also accompanied the King, saying, “I’m a story teller, an’ where a King is ‘here’s bound to be stories.”) made their way quickly to the North-Western most bank of the bay Glass Water, where Lightwing said the trouble was. At top speed, with Valdimir riding his grand stallion, Radra clinging behind him, Margrey lolloping behind and Lightwing flying over head, the journey took five hours.
When they reached the place, Margrey was panting and gulping for breath, her pink tongue hanging between her teeth, and Valdimir's stallion was foamy and you could see the whites of his eyes.
“Now to find the doers of this foul deed,” said the King, dismounting and lifting Radra down.
“I believe I hear them over there, sire,” Margrey panted, running to a spot over to the right and running back, tail wagging.
As the King walked that direction, he thought he heard a sound, such as twang-zip…thud. Glancing around, he gasped. Margrey’s tail stilled, and her ears drooped, she ran her tongue down her lip and managed to breath through her nose and crouch down in a mourning position.
Radra lay on a patch of blood-stained earth, a red-feathered arrow protruding from his side. No breath came from his short snout.
Lightwing waited a moment before he dared to speak. “This is indeed an evil day.”
The badger’s voice had grown soft and sad.
“How awful!” was all Queen Lucy could say. The others were silent, and the badger continued.
In anger, the King tore through the woods, seeking any and all who bore red-feathered arrows to fall prey to his sword. When he finally found something that breathed, it was in a clearing.
There was a clearing because thirteen trees had been felled, leaving only the grass and the stumps and the ground littered with dead logs. The King raised his sword to strike the being, but hesitated, realizing that it was a dwarf.
“Close to the old badger were you?” it grinned evilly and Valdimir realized at once that it was a Dark Dwarf, not loyal to him or to Narnia, or even to the Great Lion, to Aslan Himself. So the King hesitated no more, but listened to the whines of Margrey and the calls of encouragement from Lightwing.
King Valdimir attacked. The dwarf produced a dagger in a flash and an instant. Valdimir struck, coming away to parry the dwarf’s attack. Lifting the tip of the dagger out of the way, attempting to throw his enemy off balance, the King swiped downward too quickly to see. By luck, he caught a piece of the dwarf’s leg. Using the moment of distraction in his enemy, he attacked again, and this time his thrust was true. The trouble-making rogue was dead.
There was no change in the weather or the air, but Valdimir suddenly felt that something was amiss. He turned around, and what he saw made him wonder whether to shout with joy or cry out in terror.
Before him was a great Lion, glorious and terrible, treacherous and beautiful. His face was as brilliant as the sun and as unpredictable as the sea.
“You have done well,” said a rich, kind, deep voice that seemed to shake the earth.
“Aslan!” King Valdimir cried, falling down on one knee.
“You have avenged the dryads as well as old Radra, and rid the world of an evil being. Dog!” He called. “Margrey, yes I know your name. You have been loyal to your master and loved him as a King’s subjects should. How would you like to be rewarded?”
“P-please, Aslan, I would just continue to serve my master.”
“So you shall,” the Lion replied. “But take also this,” he blinked and there was a collar of gold set with rubies around Margrey’s neck. “And you, Lightwing, you have been loyal to your country, and to me. Take this,” he blinked again, then said, “When you return home you will find a new and better nest.”
“Thank you, Aslan,” the eagle said, much happier than he let show.
“What of you, Valdimir?”
“Please, Aslan, I just want to return home and have a few days of peace.”
“So you shall, only instead of days, you will have years. Years of joy, happiness, laughter and peace. There will be parties, dancing, and all kinds of merrymaking.
“Please Aslan,” Valdimir began. “Will I ever see you again? Will you return during my lifetime?”
The big Lion shook his mane, eyes twinkling. “I may return during your time, but it will not come into your story. I never tell anyone any story but their own.”
Then Aslan blew. Yes, blew. He blew them all back to Cair Paravel, even Valdimir's horse. So King Valdimir, his eagle warrior Lightwing, and his faithful servant and friend Margrey the dog lived happily ever after.
~ * ~
“An’ that is the end, my friends,” the badger finished.
“What a lovely story,” said Queen Susan.
“I’ve never heard that one before,” approved King Edmund.
“But the poor badger,” said Queen Lucy.
“Aye, a po’r badger ’e was,” replied their bard. “But ’e was a ’appy ’un an’ that’s enough.”
“Emmeth,” called King Peter to their own loyal dog. “I feel I want some apple cider, perhaps the stuff down in the cellar from last October?”
“I’ll get it for you right away, sire,” Emmeth was gone, and they could hear her nails click-clicking down the hall.
A long while later, bellies full of warm apple cider and cinnamon, the eyes of two Lords, two Ladies, and a badger were closed, their heads bowed, and their skin warm. Though outside the wind howled and the leaves rustled in the trees, inside Cair Paravel was cozy and dim, the only light coming from the cackling fire.