*squints*

[bedlamsbard]

The story I am writing is not the story I meant to write. I am distracted from the glory of the flowering of Narnia by Peter and Edmund bickering with each other. I mean, amusing as this is

("I only blame you every other time Narnia wakes me up in the middle of the night screaming that you’ve fallen down a well.”

“I have never – oh, that does not count.”

“It was a hole in the ground with water at the bottom, and you were down it. Narnia thought you were dying.”

“It was not a well, I was not dying, Narnia knows when I’m dying, unlike some people here who I won’t name –”

“Oh, I beg to differ, Narnia cannot tell when you’re actually dying and when you’re just being attacked by giant poisonous spiders. I know. She wakes me up for both instances.”)

not really the tone I want for the story. (I put the following exchange up because I'm pretty sure it's getting cut.) Beautiful doomed glory of the Golden Age here, not Peter and Edmund bitching about who's been licking the poison darts. (And whoever gets that fic/fandom reference gets a puppy. Or, you know, fic. I don't think it's that obscure, but what do I know?)

On the other hand, I now know that once, Edmund accidentally got thrown back in time to Narnia during the White Witch's reign, in the depth of the Long Winter. Not a fun trip.

Comments

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

SHE IS NARNIA. SHE KNOWS ALL. Also, we can maybesortakinda blame the Emperor-over-the-Sea, or maybe the Deep Magic?

The thrones were made/grown at the same time as Cair Paravel itself.