Heroic Hearts: A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction

Supper with the High King

The royal cabin on the Agincourt was located above the hull, underneath the elevated poop deck. A broad sweep of windows looked out over the bow of the ship, cushioned sills benched against them. I sank down onto it after Sir Gwalter left me with Brisa tagging along by his side. The High King had said that he wished to see me alone.

A small hearth with an ivory mantle was built into the corner and a series of gilt arm chairs centered around it. Beside it were bookshelves with a silver grate curling like ivy leaves to keep the books from toppling out in rough seas. On the far side of the room was a round table made from solid oak, scattered with papers and maps. Murals of star charts decorated the surrounding walls in pale blue and gold. My eyes were drawn upwards and I inhaled sharply.

A lion's head was painted on the ceiling, the curls of it's golden mane fanning out like the sun. Pressing a hand to my heart, I rose to my feet and moved to the center of the room. Peering up into it's ageless gaze, I felt a stirring in my chest. It was the same feeling that I had sensed around the wardrobe when I had first seen it.

The double doors clattered open and I leaped back with a gasp, my trance broken. I knew him immediately from the slave market.

"King Peter."

He didn't dress like any of the kings I had seen in oil paintings. His thick hair was chin length and pinned back behind his head, combed golden over his scalp. The ears stuck out a little in a charming way. Black trousers were tucked carelessly into tall leather boots. A linen shirt, loose enough for comfort in the heat, was covered by a brown jacket that fell past his narrow hips and fitted close to his broad shoulders.

It was his gaze that was jarring. The burning blue looked like it could erupt either in a direct order or a friendly laugh at any moment. At the sight of me, however, he appeared to be at a loss for words. He closed the doors behind him.

"You're Tabitha." Digging into his jacket, he removed my pack of cards from his possession. "I believe these are yours."

I lifted my chin as he drew closer, trying to appear stronger than I felt. "Yes. And I believe you know where they come from."

"I do."

My heart thundered in my chest. He knew the truth. Perhaps intimately. A moment of shocking truth drove through my brain. Susan Isaksen's obituary said that she had siblings. I was beginning to believe that Susan had once ventured into this land through her magical wardrobe. Was this one of her doomed brothers? A flood of questions overwhelmed my aching head.

"Would you like to sit?" He motioned to the chairs by the cold hearth.

I nodded then took the deck of cards from his hand. As I sat with my spine like a ram rod, he poured two cups of red liquid over at the table.

"You might need this." He held out a silver goblet engraved with roses.

He settled into his chair and perched an ankle over his knee, taking a drink as though he needed it as well. I wondered if this conversation would be as difficult for him as it was for me.

"I've been here for ten years," he stated firmly. "I first came to Narnia when I was thirteen years old. I was crowned king that same year, alongside my brother and sisters."

I gaped at him. "Ten years."

"Yes. I was a part of an ancient prophecy to bring down an evil despot known as the White Witch. Not unlike Adolf Hitler. I'm assuming you've heard of him?"

I cut my eyes away to the cold fireplace. "Yes. I have."

"Where are you from?"

"I'm an American."