[A] Alone

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[Character of the Month]

Character of the Month
Prince Caspian

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Played by Cara

"Cara has managed to...create a character that is both mythical and life-like. Impulsive, moody, and yet kind and good-hearted, Caspian is just beginning to show the makings of a true leader."
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[Trumpkin]

As he lay, bound and humiliated, on the rough wooden floor of the boat, Trumpkin was struck by how foolish he had been.  He thought back on the events that had led him to this point - being captured by Telmarines, namely.  How he despised the Telmarines.  He wasn't even quite sure what was happening, other than he'd been traded for some kid with a horn.  This wouldn't have been a big deal, if it hadn't been Queen Susan's horn.  And he still wasn't positive that this was a big deal - he had never really taken to all of those myths about Aslan and the kings and queens of old.  They were long gone, and obviously weren't going to help him.  He had to rely on himself and his friends now.

Unfortunately, he had not been able to do either of these things recently.  His friends had easily enough let him go into the hands of the soldiers as they busied themselves with the care of the kid.  And, to his shame, he had hardly even put up a fight himself.  Yes, of course, he had thrashed a little bit in the sack he'd been thrown into (oh, the embarrassment!), but that was about it.  He'd managed to throw in a sarcastic remark back at the castle - it was an instinct for him, really - but that had only earned him more pain.  It wasn't as if it really mattered anymore, anyways, he supposed.  He was going to die, with nothing to show for himself or his pitiful life except for that maybe that kid was going to be something, someday.  If only he could stick around and find out.

At those dreaded words, "This is far enough", Trumpkin mustered up his sourest glare and directed it at the man who was about to be his murderer.  He sucked in one deep breath - surely it would be his last - and resigned himself to his fate.  He didn't have the hope left in him to pray to Aslan for rescue.  If it hadn't been proven yet, no one was going to save Narnia, and no one was going to save him.

((Hope that was an all right intro.  Have at it!))

[Lucy Pevensie]

It was a beautiful morning, but Lucy was a bit tired. After exploring all parts of the castle until it was too dark to make out anything without the use of Edmund’s porch, she and her siblings had settled down to sleep.  The only bed around was the hard ground, and so of course, they woke up early without having gotten a satisfying night’s sleep. Lucy was also hungry. She loved apples, but they were not very filling – or satisfying for that matter – if one had eaten them for two meals in a row. When one also took into consideration the fact that lunch had consisted of only half a sandwich each, the rumbling in Lucy’s stomach was quite understandable.
 
But at least it was a beautiful morning. The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the sea in dancing sparkles of light.  The weather was cool, but not cold, and the air was crisp and clean.  On a day like this, Lucy could almost forget the past year of fear and anxiety and unhappiness.  She could even almost forget her current weariness and hunger. Almost, but not quite.

After breakfast, the four children had made their way to the beach, knowing that they had to get off this island somehow.  It was grand rediscovering Cair Paravel, but they needed to find somewhere inhabited, where they could get beds and warm meals. Now, they stood side-by-side in a line, staring at the sea, with the same question running through all of their minds: how could they get to the opposite shore? They had no boat, and no supplies to make a raft.  Swimming wasn’t an option, either. Lucy couldn’t swim anymore, though she had been able to do so when she was a queen.  Edmund couldn’t either, and even Susan, who was the strongest swimmer of the four, was hesitant to venture into the water when there might be currents.  The other shore, while clearly visible, now seemed almost as far away as Finchley.
 
Then suddenly, Lucy’s shrill voice broke the silence that had descended between the siblings: “Look!” She pointed towards a boat that was drifting towards them.  Inside the boat she could make out two men in armor – likely soldiers of some sort, though she did not recognize their colors – grabbing onto a bound dwarf. The poor red dwarf looked absolutely miserable. When Lucy heard the soldiers speak of drowning their captive, she understood why. 

“We need to help him!” The former queen’s hands, working on a long-forgotten protective instinct, fumbled behind her for the bow and quiver that had so often adorned her back during her rule.  They came up short. Susan’s bow had been in the treasure chamber that they’d rediscovered last night, but Lucy’s had been nowhere to be found. She had her dagger, but that would do her no good at this distance. Helpless, she turned to her older siblings, her brow wrinkled in her anxiety. “Someone do something!”

((Finally a reply, but poor Trumpkin is still stranded! We need Susan and her bow!))

[Edmund Pevensie]

Apples. Apples for dinner. Apples for breakfast. Who's idea had it been to plant a whole courtyard of apple trees anyway? Granted, the courtyard hadn't been that full of apple trees when they left, but still. Edmund decided that if they ever got home or off this island, he wasn't going to eat another apple. Ever. For the rest of his life. Who knew two meals of apples and the thought that they might be all you ever eat for the rest of your life could cause such a dislike for fruit? And then there was sleeping. On the cold, hard ground. His torch had prodded him all night, but he didn't want to get too far from him for fear of losing it. It was brand new. He rather liked it. He didn't want to lose it.

On the walk down to the beach, Ed kept rolling his shoulders, trying to loosen his sore muscles, but it didn't seem to help at all. Neither did standing on the beach and realizing, once again, that even at the narrowest point between the island and the mainland, they couldn't get across. He felt marooned. He hadn't been looking forward to going back to school and he had wanted to return to Narnia... But school seemed like a better alternative to spending his time stuck on an island, even if he had used to live here. The fallen castle didn't much look like it had been home anymore.

Lucy's sudden cry made him jump, pulling him from his aimless thoughts. His gaze followed the direction she pointed until he, too, saw the boat. A little light of hope lit in him. They were to be saved! Someone had sent for them! It last only a mere split second until he realized who was in the little boat and what they were doing. What did those soldiers think they were doing?

"Hey!" he shouted at them in an attempt to distract them from their task as he headed down the beach towards them. They were too far out in the water for him to really do much. Like Lucy, he turned to his other siblings, particularly Susan, she being the only one with a weapon capable of long distance attacking. He didn't look for long, preferring to keep an eye on the soldiers and the Dwarf, even though he knew he couldn't go after him if they threw him in.

[Trumpkin]

Trumpkin heard the sound of voices, and though the sound was rather foreign to him, it was welcome.  The Telmarines had hardly spoken at all the whole journey, and this had been somewhat comforting to Trumpkin, since it wasn’t as if he could talk back.  But he would have very much liked to.  And while the possibility that these voices belonged to rescuers was a very slim possibility indeed, it was a better chance than he’d had yet.  He felt himself being lifted and he began to struggle with all of his being, supposing it was better to take his chances and risk the water than it was to be engaged when it came to blows.  He could hold his breath, but he couldn’t very well fight back should an arrow come his way.

He could hardly move at all, bound the way he was, nor could he cry out with the ties over his mouth as well.  The only thing he could do to attract attention to himself was to struggle as hard as he could, which he did.  If these people were not here to rescue him – which, by his cries, he could only guess that they were – then at least he would die trying, and since he was probably going to die one way or another, he might as well risk it.  He hardly knew what he was doing, and he was just going off of instinct now, wriggling in an undignified manner.  Manners didn’t really matter much now, though, nor had he ever employed them once throughout his life, so he wouldn’t know them if he needed them. 

From the words of the distant voices, which he couldn’t really hear, he could only make out that they intended to help him.  It’d be nice if they’d hurry it up, he thought irritably, thinking that all of their heroics would be rather useless in another moment or two.

((ooc: Sorry it’s so short, not much I can do without Su, but I needed to post for the activity check )

[Peter Pevensie]

Peter and his siblings had been wandering and exploring for what felt like ages, and to tell the truth, he was tired.  The prospect of swimming across a channel, especially when Lucy could hardly swim and he would have to help her, was a daunting prospect when one was not only tired but also underfed and considerably dejected upon learning one's old home was in ruins.  Aside from that, things were going along just splendidly.  Peter was glad to be back in Narnia - even if he was hungry, exhausted, and wary of swimming.  They were stuck here on in the peninsula, debating about how to best cross it, when suddenly the sound of voices drew their attention to two men in a boat.  A boat.  Peter would have been relieved if his attention was not otherwise engaged, focused on a little man struggling between the two apparent captors.  All of his exhaustion was suddenly lifted from him with a surge of adrenaline; he hardly had time to think as he began shrugging out of his weapons, and he was already running when he heard the telling whoosh of an arrow soaring past his head.

Susan.  Good old Su had the sense to use her weapons properly.  Peter could not say the same for himself, for whatever reason.  He didn't know why but he had not even thought of using Rhindon.  Was he simply out of practice after living away from Narnia for a year?  He couldn't say.  All he knew was that, instinctively, he had gone to rescue the poor captive instead of thinking to dispatch its captors.  Thankfully, Susan had done that, or at least, she had scared them off.  Whether it had been by her cry of "Drop him!", which Peter had heard only faintly as he charged down the beach, or more likely by a persuasive arrow, she had done it.  Peter watched in what felt like slow-motion as the Dwarf (for a Dwarf he was: a Red one) was, indeed, dropped.  Every stride he took seemed to take a second too long as he watched the Dwarf sink into the water.  It was odd, but it seemed like as he was falling, the Dwarf hadn't closed his eyes in anticipation of slapping the water, or death; rather, the creature didn't even look frightened, but stared at him with narrowed eyes.  Almost as if he were glaring.  How peculiar!

After what seemed like an eternity, Peter launched himself into the water, plunging into the depths of the surging river and swimming as hard as he could downward after the fallen Dwarf.  When they were nearing the rocky bottom, Peter managed to get a hold of him.  Oof.  He was rather heavier than he had expected, even underwater.  Maybe it was the beard.  Touching the bottom, he pushed off against it and surged upwards with all of his might.  Finally, his head broke the surface and he dragged the Dwarf onto the beach.  Satisfied, he stood back and simply breathed for a moment.  The Dwarf coughed violently and Peter watched in fascination as he recovered.  Who was this creature, who had held him, and why?  For a moment, his gaze shot back to the river, where he hoped Edmund had brought the boat about so they might have use of it later.  But for now he focused again on the Dwarf, who looked surprisingly angry for someone whose life had just been saved by complete strangers.

[ooc: hope that's okay - there's no dialogue but Trumpkin will give some]

[Edmund Pevensie]

The arrow hit it's mark and even though he knew his sister wouldn't miss, he couldn't help but think, Nice shot, Su! Of course, she was the best archer any of them would probably ever know. Peter had already passed him by, diving into the water. 'Drop him' was probably not the best thing to call out. The other man had abandoned the little boat. Edmund may not have been a strong enough swimmer to make it across to the mainland, battling the currents, but he was more than qualified to catch their ticket off the island before if floated away from what he could get to.

Peter finally came out of the water when Ed was waist deep in it, soaked through his clothes as he grabbed hold of the boat and pulled it towards the beach. He dragged it onto the warm sand with a lot of effort so the water wouldn't take it back out before they could tie it off somewhere and then allowed himself to sit and catch his breath. Peter was doing the same, he saw, the the dwarf, who looked a little worse for wear. He waved for Lucy to come over and cut his bonds. Her dagger was better suited to such a task than their swords. Reaching over, he pulled the gag from his mouth. "You're going to be alright," he said reassuringly, though the question of why he was brought out here to be drowned remained. Who would want to drown a dwarf? And who were the men in the boat?

[Trumpkin]

Even though Trumpkin wasn’t about to give up, there was only so much he could do when he was tied up so tightly he could hardly move.  He had shut his eyes tightly against the water as he crashed beneath its surface, but he realized the futility of doing anything to protect himself soon enough.  He had never seen the water before, at least, he had not seen what was beneath it, so he let his eyes drift open again to take in the scenery.  The Telmarines may have released him, but he was hardly free.  No – he was all but in the hands of death, now, and he might as well have been.  But then he opened his eyes when he felt the water move more around him than just the normal rapids did, and he knew the reason when a pair of strong hands grabbed him.  For an instant, he struggled and thrashed, thinking that the Telmarines had come back for him.  But when he looked into the eyes of his captor, and saw that they were blue, and saw that his hair was blonde, he was thoroughly confused.  What Telmarine was so fair?

He didn’t have much time to question it, or at least, not the strength, because almost as soon as he had been grabbed, he was wrenched back upwards.  Unfortunately, though the initial movement was fast, it seemed to take an infinite time to get up to the surface.  Trumpkin believed he had never been so close to dying, and didn’t believe he ever would be again, if he happened to survive this. What a shame it would be to survive all of this, and for no purpose.  How would he ever know if Caspian’s plan of saving the Narnians would work?  How would he know that the horn had worked?   It wasn’t like he would be going to Aslan’s country to watch it all happen from above, or whatever nonsense it was that the likes of Trufflehunter and his friends spewed constantly.  Then, with much more speed than he was reaching the surface of the water, the idea came to him.  It was improbable, perhaps impossible.  But what if… what if this person was one of the kings of old?  All right, no, it was probably just the lack of oxygen getting to him.  This certainly wasn’t any angel picking him up to take him up to Aslan’s country, because that was even less possible.

So, it turned out that he was to survive, after all.  He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to be glad about that.  All he knew was that he was alive – whatever that meant.  For the moment, it meant a whole lot of pain, as he struggled just to breathe.  His eyes moved rapidly to take in his surroundings, which were changing with alarming speed as he was lifted out of the water by strong arms and dragged further upshore.  Then, there was a face above him, one that was darker and more like a Telmarine’s, even if the face was young and pale.  Trumpkin glared into the eyes seethingly.  He was going to be all right, was he?  Well, that depended entirely on this lot, whoever they were.  As soon as the gag was removed from his mouth, he unleashed his fury on them, which, characteristically, came in the form of words. “Drop him?” he choked out, enraged. “That’s the best you could come up with? Drop him?!”

[Lucy Pevensie]

At Edmund’s gesture, Lucy snapped into action, pulling out her dagger and cutting the dwarf’s bonds.  It was nice to be useful, even if it had less to do with her skills and more with the tools she carried.  Now, everyone had done their part, with Susan shooting at the soldiers, Peter pulling the dwarf to shore, Edmund grabbing the boat, and her own cutting of the dwarf’s bonds.  It’d been awhile since all four of them had worked together like that.  Lucy didn’t realize how much she’d missed that until now, when they were all in Narnia once again, acting like a team rather than snapping at one another as they’d lately been doing all too often back in England.

The dwarf, however, seemed a bit grumpy at the means of his rescue, sputtering out a repetition of Susan's words.  Susan, in her turn, appeared to grow rather offended at his reaction, and remarked sarcastically: “Why, you’re very welcome.” 

Privately, Lucy agreed with Susan.  “Drop him” may not have been the best choice of words, but at least they’d rescued the dwarf.  On the other hand, Lucy wasn’t the one who’d been dropped, bound, into the water, after being held captive by a couple of soldiers.  So perhaps the dwarf did have a good reason for not being in the best of moods.

“Who are you, and why were they going to kill you?”  Lucy asked, curiously, changing the subject before the dwarf could make a retort back at Su.  She hoped he could also tell them more about what had happened in Narnia since their last visit, but first things first.  He could tell his story, and then they could tell theirs. Wouldn’t he be amazed to find out who they were!  It would be like King Arthur returning to Britain once again.  And then once everyone knew about everyone else, then, she could ask him all of her questions about Narnia.  After all, she knew where she was, and that it had been many years in Narnia since they’d gone away, but that was it.   

((Sorry for the crappy post, and that it's been so long since I posted in this thread!))

[Edmund Pevensie]

Ed's brows drew together, one slightly arched as he glanced from the dwarf to each of his siblings and back again. Truth be told, he was trying not to grin. The fellow was a little amusing, but he knew enough not to hurt his pride by making jest of the situation. It really wasn't a funny sort, but still. Drop him really wasn't the best thing to holler. "Well, it could have been worse," Ed said, not being able to help himself at making a joke. "She could have said 'throw him this way.' At least Pete saved you before you drowned." There was a bright side to every story.

Pushing damp hair from his face, he sat back as all eyes slowly trained on the dwarf to hear his answer to Lucy's question- the only part of the conversation relevant to the situation. And Susan was supposed to be the logical one.

((Sorry, bad post...))

[Trumpkin]

Trumpkin appreciated the directness of the girl’s question. “I’m a criminal, I am,” he answered casually, cheerfully enough to reassure her that he was indeed not a criminal.  However, they were not familiar enough with his sarcasm to be reassured of this.  Let them think he was dangerous.  He gave a shrug to loosen up his shoulders, which had been tightly bound by the rope. “And they… They are Telmarines,” he spat, the contempt in his voice brought on by both hatred of the Telmarines and an inability to understand her ignorance.  He looked at the girl curiously – this was something she should have known. “Where’ve you been the last thousand years?”

He looked between the members of the sad little bunch with suspicion. “You’re not ghosts, are you?” he inquired.  He took a moment to check himself, then looked back up with narrowed eyes. “Have I died after all?”  At the words of the darker-haired boy, Trumpkin frowned.  Pete?  What kind of a name was that?  Certainly not a Telmarine one.  And thank… thank someone (not Aslan… he didn’t believe in Aslan after all) for that.  He’d had quite enough of Telmarines.  But if these people weren’t Telmarines, then what – and who – were they? “All right, all right.  I’ve told you who I am.  And I suppose I’m obliged to at least say that, since I expect you have saved my life, whatever that’s worth.  But now I’d like to know who you are.  ...If you’re not ghosts.”

[Peter Pevensie]

Peter stared at the dwarf in shock and anger by turns.  Ungrateful little beast!  You would think that when one’s life had been saved, one might be more grateful towards one’s savior!  However, despite his angry thoughts, the normally impulsive Peter at least had the good sense to hold his tongue.  At least for a moment, anyway.  He would have liked to say “They could have just killed you”, and at this point, he was wondering why they had not (and thinking perhaps that they should have) – whoever they were. 

But in order to find that out, he expected they would have to keep the creature alive.  Of course, should he prove unwilling to share his information with them, well…  Rhindon would do a fair job of getting said information out of the Dwarf, even if it were not to be employed for its true purpose.  “Yes, who are you?  And who were they?  Why were they going to drown you?” he asked, to supplement Lucy’s question.  In case the Dwarf decided not to take Lucy seriously, Rhindon was sure to inspire an answer from him. 

The answer which they were given was not a very satisfactory one.  He had no idea who the Telmarines were, or why they had been trying to kill the Dwarf.  Whether he was or wasn’t a criminal didn’t matter much to Peter, if he didn’t know the actual crime.  But now he looked at the Dwarf, surprised at the strange question.  Now he was being asked of his own identity.  Well, that was easy enough to answer. “Ghosts?” he repeated. “No, we’re not ghosts.  I am High King Peter, the Magnificent.”  He felt his chest puff up with pride.  Surely the Dwarf would know who that was… right?  …even if Peter didn’t know who the Telmarines were.  Narnia was certainly stranger than he remembered.

[Lucy Pevensie]

Lucy looked rather doubtfully at the dwarf.  Was he a criminal?  She hoped he was joking, though either way she wasn’t upset that they’d saved his life. Well, no matter. He didn’t seem like he was going to hurt them. However, the little man’s next answer was less revealing. It looked like they all had a lot of catching up to do! 

“That’s a long story,” Lucy said, in response to his question. “But who are the Telmarines?” And had it really been a thousand years since they were last here? That was a long time! Maybe no one remembers us, she thought worriedly.  It was bad enough that all those they once knew in Narnia were probably gone by now.

When the dwarf asked who they were and Peter answered, Lucy rolled her eyes.  She thought Pete would leave off his pride now that they were back here. Susan apparently felt the same way, for she remarked dryly, “You could have left off that last bit.”

While Lucy agreed with the sentiment, she thought she better speak up, to keep Pete and Su from going at it…again.  They’d worked together earlier, but who knew how long that would last?  “Anyway,” the girl broke in.  “I’m Queen Lucy. And that’s Queen Susan and King Edmund,” she added, pointing at her siblings in turn. But then her brow crinkled: “Or at least, we were kings and queens here, once upon a time. I suppose there’s a different king now?” Were you still a king or queen if someone else had taken your place? Lucy didn’t remember enough of her history lessons to tell for sure…not to mention that theirs was a rather unusual situation.

[Edmund Pevensie]

While Lucy asked who the Telmarines were, all Edmund could do was frown and ask, "Telmarines? Here in Narnia?" It simply wasn't done. The Telmarines lived on... Well, Telmar. They had never challenged Narnia before. They would have never had the resources, tactical advantage, or the courage, and Ed new strategy very well. But then, perhaps with the thousand plus year absence of kings and queens, they'd plucked up the nerve. Judging from how old the ruins of their castle was, it had been quite a while ago. This couldn't be the Narnia they'd known and loved, but no other explanation was forthcoming. A feeling almost like guilt pulled at him as if it were his and his siblings fault for this downfall and overthrow. He swallowed thickly and hoped that the dwarf would give some sort of comforting news to sooth his nerves.

Pete puffed up his chest and introduced himself as the magnificent. This time, Ed could help himself. His eyes rolled. It seemed royalty was quickly going to his brother's head as he forgot exactly how old he was now and how much time had passed. He didn't exactly know how much authority former kings and queens held. With any luck, Aslan would bound down the sandy beach and give them all the answers they needed. "I think we can promise we're not ghosts. But what exactly is it that you've been charged with? And who sentenced you?" He wasn't the Just for anything. He could tell by the light manner the dwarf spoke of his 'criminal' record that he was more than likely wrongly accused. Or if not, then perhaps he just didn't care or his transgressions were not as severe as his punishment would lead them to believe.

He had to feel bad for the chap- they were sort of bombarding him with questions, but what could they help it? The four were completely in the dark and this dwarf was there one flicker of candlelight. It was realizing their rudeness that he thought to ask, "Have you a name?" They couldn't very well keep calling him 'dwarf.'

[Trumpkin]

Trumpkin arched a bushy eyebrow at the girl. “Who are the Telmarines?” he repeated, somewhat mockingly. “That is a long story.  I suppose you really have been gone awhile.”  Oh, what tribulations he had been through.  First a kidnapping and a near-death, now this.  It might have been more merciful to have drowned.  He rolled his eyes when one question was followed shortly by another.  At least one of them seemed to know who the Telmarines were – miracles of miracles. “Beards and bedsteads,” he muttered to himself. “If I can own anything in this place, I suspect my name is it.  I am Trumpkin, and you lot…”  He had thought to come up with some snarky remark, but his words sputtered and died on his lips when the tall golden-haired boy, puffed up with pride, announced his name.  He couldn’t believe it.  If they really were the kings and queens of old who Caspian had called with his magic horn, then Trumpkin would be astounded.  It surely was an amazing lie.

“Oh, no,” he murmured, looking them over with a slack mouth. “You?  You’re it?  You’re the kings and queens of old?”  There was no denying it, now.  They had all rattled off their names and titles.  It seemed practically impossible that someone could come up with such a scheme and get four children to all be in on it. “Look, it’s all very well and good that you’ve shown up – if it’s really you – but first, I’d like a bite to eat, before I tell you all that’s been happening.  And I’d like a bit of proof that you are who you say you are.”  He eyed the foursome suspiciously for a moment. “As you may have guessed from that little mishap there on the river, it’s rather hard for me to trust anyone – let alone someone I meet out in these parts.”  He wouldn’t be answering any more questions until he got some answers of his own.  Were these children – these mere children! – really who they said they were?  Was it really possible?  Had Caspian’s horn worked?  Were they all saved?  Or was this another one of the Telmarines’ cruel schemes?  Why, he didn’t even know who Narnia’s current king was.  That remained to be seen.

He was beginning to wonder how he might escape with his life from four children (true, they were only children, but they did carry weapons) when one of those weapons he had just been admiring was pressed into his hands. “What’s this for?” he demanded, of the tall one, who had called himself Peter (to his sisters’ annoyance), after a rather heavy sword had been handed over.  He heaved it up in his hands, which took a very great effort to do. “Am I expected to fight you, or something?”  He squinted, frowning. “You don’t want to be doing that, boy.”

[Peter Pevensie]

His brow furrowing in puzzlement, Peter looked between the members of the little party which had gathered.  Telmarines?  Here in Narnia?  The words which Edmund had spoken rang out just as sharply and angrily in his head.  What were they doing here?  What did they want?  But his questions were stalled once more by the Dwarf, who seemed to think that getting in sarcastic answers was more important than serious ones.  Peter could barely keep from rolling his eyes in annoyance at the little fellow.  It was a good thing he had experience with Dwarfs in the craftsmanship of weapons, else he might have risked thinking them cute little creatures.  Hardly.  They were not things to underestimated.  He knew what it was like, to be underestimated.  And he hated it.  It was a dangerous thing for someone to do him, and just as dangerous for him to do to someone else – someone he didn’t know. “Who’s the king now?” he demanded, just after Lucy had – but again he was met with no answer.  He frowned.  Then he had an idea.  So, the Dwarf wanted to know who they were, did he?  He wanted proof?  Well, they would give it to him, all right.

With Rhindon given over to the Dwarf, and his brother having drawn his own sword, “proof” was about to be given.  Peter smiled at his brother knowingly – a secretive smile, a smile that spoke volumes, the smile that passes between brothers, between best friends bonded by fifteen years of celebrations and tribulations, love and war, and everything in between.  He nodded once and then looked at the Dwarf, saying with a rather cryptic smirk which he was sure would annoy the Dwarf to no end: “Not me.  Him.”  He thrust his chin at Edmund, who stood before the Dwarf readied with a sword.  It was, to be honest, a rather comical sight – the thin, dark-haired boy, and the scruffy, stout Dwarf with a broadsword, neither of whom looked very prepared to be great warriors, save for the sour and intimidating scowl on the Dwarf’s face. Trumpkin, Peter reminded himself. His name is Trumpkin.  It was rather hard to humanize him, however – not because he was a Dwarf, but because he was so angry and so unfamiliar.  He supposed though, that they were going to be getting to know him better soon.  If neither of them killed each other, anyway – but he wasn’t worried.  He watched the scene before him play out with an amused expression on his face.

[Lucy Pevensie]

After seeing the reactions of her brothers' and the dwarf, Lucy remembered the Telmarines. She'd never been great at geography, but you couldn't be queen for fifteen years -- at least, not a useful one -- without knowing which other countries were near you. But a year away had been enough for her to forget the sparsely populated country to the west of Calormen, especially since Telmar had mostly kept to itself during her rule.  She didn't know nearly as much about warfare and strategy as her brothers -- though she had participated in a number of battles herself -- but she could still hardly imagine little Telmar taking over Narnia. Calormen, certainly, but not Telmar.

Her musings were interrupted, however, as the dwarf who called himself Trumpkin named them the "kings and queens of old" with no little incredulity. The turn of phrase was odd to Lucy, especially since she still had trouble thinking of her time in Narnia as being anything more than a year ago, but it did fit.  She was glad to be remembered and recognized at last, but was not so happy at his reaction to the revelation. He didn't believe them completely, and he obviously didn't think they were anything other than children.  Lucy disliked being treated as a child (she was 10 after all!), and hated when others didn't believe her. So while she pulled out an apple (all the food they had) from her pocket and handed it to the dwarf after he said he wanted food, she did so with a bit of a scowl. "Now tell us what's been happening," she commanded, even before he could take his first bite. She was growing more and more curious -- and worried -- about the events that had transpired since their absence.

However, it seemed Lucy would have to wait even longer for the answers to her questions, for Peter had some plan up his sleeve. The girl watched in puzzlement as Rhindon was handed to the dwarf, but then with a smile as she saw the look that passed between her brothers. Lucy had an admiring little sister's complete faith in Edmund's ability to beat Trumpkin in a fencing match, even though Ed must be out of practice.  And when Ed won, hopefully the dwarf would believe that the Pevensies were capable of doing whatever it was that Narnia needed them to do.

[Edmund Pevensie]

Trumpkin it was then- a name befitting a Red Dwarf. It was nice to see that some things hadn't changed. However, he was sure it was the Black Dwarfs who were usually the moody ones. This fellow seemed to do nothing but find something to gripe about and it was starting, ever so slowly, to get on Ed's nerves. He also didn't seem very impressed that they were -how had he put it? The kings and queens of old? Was that how they were referred to now? He had to remind himself that time flowed differently in Narnia than in their own world. A year away was much longer than any of them could anticipate here.

Ed gave his brother a look, grinning as he put his own sword in Trumpkin's hand and he drew his own. It was nothing special, nothing compared to Rhindon, but it was still of excellent craftsmanship. It was his own fault, he remembered, missing out on that first Christmas because of his selfish whims. He'd learned a lesson in the hardest way.

Holding the sword at the ready, he respectfully waited for the Dwarf to make the first move and tried, desperately, not to let his amusement creep entirely into his features. He didn't doubt that his opponent had skill, but Edmund had fifteen years of battle under his scrawny belt. One year away wouldn't find him too rusty for the task at hand. A block, a twist, and a clever flick of the wrist- even one small move unknown to his opponent was enough to throw him off.

[Trumpkin]

Trumpkin looked incredulously at the proferred sword before taking it, looking more than a little wary.  He was unnerved by the glance that passed between the two boys, and couldn't help but wonder what it meant.  What exactly would they have him do?  He had asked why he should trust them, and this certainly wasn't helping matters.  He wasn't exactly afraid of the boy - well, not that he would let on, anyway - but he didn't think it was a fair fight.  Of course he didn't want to hurt him.  ...but Trumpkin had sustained some disadvantages.  His height, for one thing.  And the fact that he wasn't exactly used to fighting with this sort of weapon.  He was a decent archer.  But this... even if he was truly comfortable with a sword, as he was only moderately so, this was a much larger one than he was accustomed to.

Still, the boy was just a boy, much younger and less experienced than the Dwarf... Unless he really was a king of old, in which case he was one of the most experienced fighters Narnia had ever seen, though looking much younger than he should have.  Trumpkin supposed that was the point.  He only hoped he could stay alive long enough to find out.  A truly great warrior wouldn't think him worth killing, according to a sense of honor and all that, but Trumpkin didn't find that exactly comforting, since he didn't believe that this boy could possibly be the great warrior he said he was.  Well, he supposed he was going to have to find out eventually.  He lunged forward, rather awkwardly with the large sword.  But his opponent was light on his feet.  With a grunt, Trumpkin swung again, clumsily.  Once again, to no avail.  But he continued - at this point it was knock or be knocked out.

((ooc: wasn't sure if I was supposed to post here or not, with all the moving going on.  Ed can be up next if it's okay with you, Misha))