Elinor waited outside of Cordelia’s room in the morning for her mistress; Moira had already risen and joined Caedmon, Susan, and Peter in the dining hall. Cordelia stepped into the hall only minutes before Drystan, and he was known to sleep late; at home, he frequently assured servants he was up and dressed only to collapse back in bed and miss meetings with his father or friends. A servant of Narnia helped Cordelia dress, and then Elinor “tidied her up,” rearranging her hair a bit and making sure there were no creases in her dress. Elinor was nothing if not meticulous in her care of mistresses.

Cordelia, Elinor, and Drystan stumbled into the dining hall just in time to hear Edmund and Lucy explaining to the Alsatchians “what they did for fun,” in answer to Caedmon’s question. They went riding a lot, and there were good books to read, and the beach. Susan enjoyed crafts, and Lucy spent most of her days speaking with the residents of Cair Paravel. There was chess, or archery, hallways to explore, or gardening. They could go riding anywhere, to Owlwood or the Dancing Lawn or the Stone Table.

“The Stone Table?” Cordelia interrupted. “What is that?”

Lucy’s eyes widened at Cordelia’s ignorance and she gasped, “Why, it’s where the White Witch killed Aslan! But then he came back to life because the ancient magic says someone can’t die if they’re innocent and have sacrificed themselves for someone else.”

“So it’s a . . . it’s a significant place,” Caedmon summarized, only picking at his eggs. They were a bit thicker than he was used to but he was trying not to be picky. But oh how he always had really hated being a visitor.

Susan nodded, “Oh, yes, the most significant place we have, really.”

“I wish we could see it. Is it very far?” Moira pressed.

Peter gave her an apologetic frown, “It’s further than a day trip, I’m afraid. If you wish to go, we can, but we would need to make camp and be gone for several days . . .”

“Oh, I think we’re all a little worn on camping for a while,” Moira nodded.

Cordelia leaned in though and asked High King Peter, “I take it you don’t have rivers connecting everything the way we do in Alsatchia?”

“No,” Peter answered simply. He took a bite of his toast so someone else would be forced to answer if she asked another question.

“Oh,” she frowned, glancing down at the table. It would have been an easy solution. Not giving up, though, she asked, “Well isn’t there any place closer we could go?”

Edmund picked up in his brother’s silence, suggesting, “Well really, we could take the river to where Aslan’s camp was. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“ But Ed, there’s nothing there anymore.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter to us,” Cordelia assured him. “Really, we can look out at a field and you can explain to us what it did look like, and what went on there, and that will be quite enough for me.” She turned to her brothers and sister expectantly. Caedmon didn’t look too excited, and Moira hesitated a bit, but Drystan shrugged, and Elinor and Jasper liked the idea. So after breakfast, they loaded up a couple small boats with lunch and supper, then tucked themselves in and set off up the river: Drystan, Edmund, Moira, Elinor and Cordelia in one boat, Peter, Caedmon, Jasper, Susan, and Lucy in the other.

It was a tight fit, and the rowing was difficult since they were headed up stream, but the water was the clearest of blues and reflected lazy white clouds. A breeze danced among them and left small ripples on the water, and birds sang their songs along the water’s edge. At one point, a family of deer stood frozen, watching with wide eyes as the two boats passed, and at another a bear wading in the water, hunting salmon, rose on his hind legs and waved after them.

Peter looked very serious in his boat, answering Jasper’s questions about the river, and Susan and Lucy were discussing something. Besides, the boats were close but not that close, so Cordelia asked Edmund about the talking animals, and how one could tell the difference.

“Well, the talking animals will speak to you, and the non-talking animals just sort of walk around and grunt . . .” Edmund answered with a straight face.

Cordelia looked at him hard for a moment, then laughed, “Oh, you cheeky monkey! I know that.” However, the joke had amused her so much that she hardly listened to his more serious explanation, something about the animal families at the original gathering when Narnia had first been created being given the power to speak. It was all verbal tradition, he told Moira and Elinor, but they were sure it was true. There had been no written histories until they arrived, really, because oratory had always been good enough for the animals, but Susan had taken it upon herself to get the histories of Narnia written down. He sure didn’t care about the project, though, so if they wished to know more, they should ask her. Moira probably would; Cordelia definitely wouldn’t.

Going up river took the better part of the morning, and by the time they reached the tiny tributary that curved about what had been camp, everyone was hungry and beginning to get a bit cranky. Peter assured everyone getting home would be quicker since they could really just lay back and float, but he still suggested they eat before exploring any.

“What’s there to explore, though?” Susan asked a bit snippily. To their guests, she sighed, “I’m afraid you’re going to be severely disappointed. It’s just a field.” Her annoyance was chalked up to hunger, though, and the group ate their lunch, conversation growing friendlier as their bellies grew fuller.

“So what was this place exactly?” Cordelia asked after lunch had been put away and Peter began leading them further from the river, where the boys had dragged their boats onto the land.

“This is where the camp was when we . . . oh, but you don’t know anything about Aslan and the Battles, do you?” Lucy sighed, realizing there was an awful lot to tell them.

Cordelia and Moira shook their heads, but Caedmon insisted, “No, we know some. Father told us a bit. Aslan your lion . . . well, there was a prophecy, wasn’t there? And Aslan your lion gathered troops so that when you arrived you could wage war on the White Witch?”

“Very good!” Lucy clapped.

“But who exactly is Aslan?” Elinor asked, and it was so rare that she spoke up in the presence of anyone except Cordelia and Moira that everyone felt it imperative she be answered.

Peter himself answered her, explaining, “Well he lives across the sea in the east with the great emperor of all. He sort of watches the goings-on in Narnia and intervenes when he feels the need to and takes care of all of us, his subjects.”

“So he’s like your king,” Cordelia offered.

Peter nodded, “Yes, I suppose he is. He’s the king above even the high king. He’s older than Narnia itself. He can show up anytime and anywhere, you never really know.” It was refreshing that the children of Lir so easily accepted this omnipresent lion; visitors from other kingdoms had been a bit more skeptical. Perhaps it was because Alsatchia served as home to its own collection of sprites, nymphs, and gnomes, which also were considered “unreal creatures” in other kingdoms. It would have been rather hypocritical to insist Aslan couldn’t be real, then launch into tales about impish fairy tricks and grumpy gnomes. Besides, the royals of Narnia seemed so sincere about it that they surely couldn’t be lying.

Jasper began to ask, “Why was it you four—“ when Cordelia suddenly gasped and ordered, “Hush, Jasper. Just look.” Peter had led them up the craggly hills where their tents had been, and from which one could gaze out over the fields and river, their vision stretching for miles on a clear day like this.

“It’s rather frightening, isn’t it?” Moira breathed, her brown eyes trying to take in everything all at once.

“Frightening?” Edmund piped in disbelief, earning a sharp nudge in the ribs.

Caedmon added, “It’s just so much space.”

“Yes. . . I think I should be terrified if I were out here on my own,” Cordelia nodded emphatically.

“It really isn’t scary,” Lucy assured her, though even as she said it, Lucy realized that she too would probably be scared unless Aslan were at her side.

“It’s just they’re used to trees,” Drystan explained, both verbally and physically distancing himself from his siblings. “They’re used to having gentle giants bearing down on them, breathing down their necks—“

Susan laughed, “That sounds much more frightening to me than a field!”

“But tell us about the battle more,” Jasper encouraged. He had quickly gotten used to living without the servant title and didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable making a request of royalty so far above him.

Edmund launched into, “Well, it was Peter’s to lead. Aslan had gathered the troops and brought us all here, and then handed over leadership to Peter.”

“Why didn’t he stay and lead himself?” Moira inquired.

“Remember, he sacrificed himself? He had to go do that-“

“Why?”

“Well . . .” and all of King Lir’s children noticed the shifty eyes of the Narnian royals.

Lucy answered though, “For all of us, really. To buy us time, and because Peter needed to lead the troops into battle if he was going to be the high king, right?”

“Why was it him and not King Edmund, though?” Cordelia asked now, and Peter shifted uncomfortably, feeling by her question as though she had forgotten he was there. “I mean, why was he selected as the ruler, and not King Edmund?”

Edmund paused, then laughed, “I don’t know . . . perhaps you’re right! Perhaps it was supposed to be me, Peter!” He was only joking, and Peter laughed at him and punched at his shoulder.

“Please, Ed. You may be better at archery and chess, but I’m definitely the better leader.”

“Were you before you led the troops then?” Cordelia continued. “I mean . . . would things be different, do you think, if it had been Edmund or even Susan? I daresay you’d be different rulers; you kings are quite different, I think.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t have been me,” Susan laughed. “I have no desire for that, thank you.”

Peter glanced between Edmund and Cordelia, trying to decide if this was a joke or not, and ventured hesitantly, “I think, Princess Cordelia, you are trying to stir up mutiny between my brother and me?”

“Oh, you musn’t mind her,” Moira insisted, rolling her eyes and playfully shoving her sister. “She always questions everything, you see. She can never just take something because someone told her, even if they were there, or because it just is the way it is. She wants to feel out every single detail . . .”

Caedmon nodded regretfully and gave Cordelia an apologetic frown, “It’s true, you know. You really are too suspicious. Too skeptical. Narnia is doing so well that clearly High King Peter was the right one to--”

“Oh, I’m not doubting the High King,” she laughed, giving her siblings and Peter pointed looks as though he had been criticizing her curiosity as well, “I am only wondering why the older siblings always get the glory.”

“Oh, that is hardly the case,” Moira laughed. “I’m afraid your beauty gets much more appraisal than mine.”

“I just mean that if Drystan and I are up for the crown, he will get it because he is older, but I am by far the better ruler.”

“Oh, are you? Is that true?” Drystan teased, stepping closer to illustrate just how much taller he was than his youngest sister.

“Height is nothing, and neither are looks or luck in love,” Cordelia insisted, jabbing her finger into his chest as though she knew these were the arguments he was about to make – and they were. “I’m smarter than you, Drystan.”

He glared down at her, “Perhaps, but you can’t even pick up a sword, so I don’t think you’re going to be much good in battle.”

Caedmon snorted, “She has a point, though, Drys. She’s smart enough; she could win the battle from her throne room . . .”

“Not if . . . she is forced into the fight!” Drystan insisted, scooping Cordelia into his arms and running down the hill with her.

Moira shrieked, “Don’t drop her!” but Jasper, excited by a game, yelled, “We must save her!” He gave Lucy an encouraging look, then took off down the hill. Lucy only hesitated a second before racing after them, and of course Caedmon should go down or Cordelia would tease him mercilessly for not saving her. Lucy stumbled on a rock and Caedmon caught her, which made her laugh, and the two of them picked their way down much more carefully, taking off in a sprint when they had reached flat ground again.

Moira sighed, “It doesn’t matter who’s smarter, they’re all six-year-olds on the inside.”

Susan laughed, “It’s good, though, isn’t it? That they can keep playing like that? Lucy’s always been the happiest of us all and I think it’s because she can still play.”

“Well then I think Drystan and Cordelia will be happy forever,” Moira mused. “Go on, Elinor, if you want. I’m afraid you’ve got a better shot of defeating Drystan than Caedmon does.” Elinor laughed and she was really quiet beautiful when she laughed.

She stumbled on her first step, and Edmund was quickly beside her, offering his arm and encouraging, “Careful, a lot of the rocks are loose . . .” She smiled gratefully, bright red in the face, and let him help her down the hill.

Susan saw Peter staring down at the group and teased, “Are you going to go, too? You probably should, Peter. It looks like they’re losing . . .”

Moira assumed a different reason for his silence, though, and insisted, “Oh, your majesty, you really shouldn’t listen to Cordelia. Really, she means nothing by questioning you. It’s just her way. Father’s been praising you for so long that I think she just wonders if anyone can be as wonderful as he’s made you out to be.”

“Oh, I don’t mind her questioning,” Peter insisted, turning to them with a smile. “She can question all she wants, the truth is that they are losing down there,” he laughed, pointing. “Everyone against Drystan and yet Princes Cordelia is still a prisoner.”

“Oh?” Moira raised her eyebrows. Clearly she had misread him, and instead he was having a good laugh at the children playing. “Well are you going to go change the tides, King Peter?”

“Do you think I should?” Really he had been remembering what it had been like to walk into the camp that first time, and then to have the weight of the war thrust upon his shoulders. Though Princess Cordelia really had no right to question him now, at the time everyone had questioned him except Aslan, probably. He himself had been all too aware of his own inexperience and young age. He had felt like a fish that, in trying to jump from a small pond to the big pond, had instead been caught and dropped into the middle of a war.

It was tempting now to go down and defeat Drystan, perhaps challenge him to a duel. Drystan didn’t have his sword, but Peter and Edmund had theirs. He had no doubt he could beat Drystan, even if the other boy was older; he didn’t seem too experienced or talented, though Peter was judging based on nothing at all. He could show the children of Lir and their friends just how adept he was . . .

Before he had to make up his mind, though, Cordelia had freed herself and was standing on a rock, her hands on Elinor’s shoulders for balance as she watched Edmund try to show Jasper where he had gone wrong in wielding his stick. Lucy was laughing at them and climbed up onto the rock beside Cordelia, only the youngest Narnian royalty was yelling at the boys, correcting them as though she were the expert with the blade. Drystan had pulled an imaginary sword on Caedmon, who used his own imaginary sword to half-heartedly deflect the attacks. Drystan made the sounds of their battle while Caedmon stood in one place, rolling his eyes and apparently easily beating Drystan – the accuracy of this was anyone’s guess. Lucy began cheering Caedmon on, which gave him a bit more energy, but then Edmund and Drystan bumped into each other and began dueling each other instead.

“Silliness,” Susan laughed, beginning to pick her own way down to the flat fields. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, if perhaps Peter wouldn’t be happier if he had played with them. Perhaps next time she would encourage him to go sooner . . . because Lucy was the happiest, but he was certainly the least happy, and even Susan could admit that a little play never hurt anyone, as long as they knew when to be serious again.