kitchen_maid | Thursday, Early Afternoon, Forest of Faraway, Near Amber

Thursday, Early Afternoon, Forest of Faraway, Near Amber

It is one of those beautiful days September bestows when she is in an especially good mood. There is bright sun, and a breeze, and just the barest hint of approaching autumn in the air. The very edges of the trees have begun to flame crimson and russet and gold, but for the most part, things are very very green. In short, it is a perfect day for a picnic.

They had managed to get Peter through the kitchen without too much trouble (although he had gotten a scolding from the second senior cook about being neater with the flour in the future) and Peter Aurelious and the squirrels joined them at the palace gates. And now here they are, in the clearing near edge of the Forest of Faraway, where the Ordinary Princess always comes on her every-second-Thursday-afternoons-off.

She spins all the way around, arms out, smile dazzling, in a sweeping, dizzying, giddy gesture that takes in the trees and the sky and the stream and world in general. "This," she says to Peter, "is home."

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Peter gives her a sidelong glance, then smiles at his apple.

"Rather," he says. "Yes, rather a wonderful day, all things considered."

She gives him an amused grin. "All things considered?" she asks.

"Well," he says, looking over at her, "you, for one thing."

And she had just managed to stop blushing.

"Oh."

Speechless. It's a new thing for her.

Peter looks at her, suddenly solemn.

"Amy, I... I didn't... I mean... oh, damn it."

He runs a hand through his hair.

She's a little startled.

"Peter, what's wrong?"

"I just... I don't know what I'm doing. This isn't fair to you. I really shouldn't-"

He's staring fixedly at the grass.

"I'm sorry."

She gets up, crosses to the other side of the blanket, and sits down next to him. And tries to think of something to say.

She's honestly pretty confused. And words have utterly failed her. So she just covers his hand with hers, and waits.

"I just don't have anything to offer you," he says, turning to her - but she is close, and somehow he finds that he's holding her hand now, and he's leaning toward her again.

She laces her fingers between his, leans just a little bit closer to him.

It should be noted that she is not blushing.

Peter once again closes the gap between them. His lips press against hers a little more firmly this time, but it's only a couple seconds before he pulls back just a few inches.

"Do you want...?"

The Ordinary Princess leans forward and kisses his cheek. "I like you," she says, "quite a bit, even though you're being dreadfully confusing right now."

She squeezes his hand, and then unlaces her fingers from his. "I think we should have lunch."

Because, frankly, she needs to think. And she rather thinks he needs to think, too.

"Lunch," Peter says, blinking dazedly. "Right. Lunch sounds good."

He goes back to the other side of the blanket, a safe distance away.

The Ordinary Princess takes a sandwich, sips her lemonade without making a face, and smiles. Cautiously.

And tries to think of something to say. On any subject expect whatever is going on here. Or the weather.

"You said this place reminded you of home. Is that England or Narnia?"

"Narnia," Peter says, painfully grateful for the change of topic. "It's a good deal like our forests, as well. I almost expect a dryad to peer out from behind that tree."

And he looks a bit confused for a moment, as he looks at a silver birch, but then he's smiling again.

"I met my fairy godmother -- well, one of them -- in here once," she says. "In the pool over there. But no dryads, though you never know."

She's rather grateful to be back to something that resembles a conversation, too.

"No fairy godmothers in Narnia, far as I know," Peter says, still munching on his apple. "So you've got me beat, there."

"I didn't realize there was a competition, my lord," she says, laughing. She's just starting to relax.

"Did the Narnian tendency toward impressive strings of titles for its kind exist in your day? Or just in Caspian's?"

Narnia -- it's a safe topic, more or less.

Peter takes a deep breath.

"Peter the Magnificent, Fenris-Bane, High King over all Kings in Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion. Is that enough titles for you, my lady?"

"Good heavens," she says. "And I thought my being formally announced took forever. How did anyone ever get into a room in your palace?"

"Well, we didn't stand much on formality, in my day. I was Peter most of the time, or at most, Sire - although formal dinners and balls were always a bit tiring."

"Yes," she agrees. "'Tiring' is good word for them. And I was usually just 'Amy,' at least among my family. I think everyone else called me "the Ordinary Princess.' Though, to their credit, not to my face. Usually."

"Did you have any official, lengthy titles, then, that people did call you to your face?"

He raises an eyebrow, suppressing a grin.

"Titles? No. Just 'Princess of Phantasmorania.'"

But it's pretty clear that the distinction "titles" is important.

Peter raises his other eyebrow and gives her a Look.

"I told you all mine."

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