milliways_bar | (no subject)

Amy grins. "It's not the food, really, that's the problem; it's all the things that go with it. Like twelve days of very best dresses with scratchy embroidery and the for best occasions crown, which is all together too heavy and a little bit too tight, too. Although now that I know how much extra work that sort of thing makes for the kitchen maids, I'm not sure I shall ever be able to attend one again without feeling just a little bit guilty."

"And how do you know how much extra work is makes for the kitchen maids?" he asks, curious.

"Because when I ran away from home I got wound up working in the kitchen in the palace in Amber, in Ambergeldar, which is the kingdom on the other side of the Forest of Faraway, as the fourteenth assistant kitchen maid. So I know how much work a ball or a feast makes for the maids in the kitchen, which is rather a lot, really."

". . .That would explain that, yes. Why did you run away from home?"

Amy begins to giggle.

"Because of a dragon."

". . .Of the devouring princesses type, then?"

Determinedly ignoring the giggling.

"Of the laying waste to the countryside type," says Amy, and she's not giggling any more. "My parents were going to hire one, and then lock me in a tower and wait for a prince or some such silly nobleman to rescue me."

She looks at him. "Because you can't rescue the princess and then refuse to marry her. Simply not done. So it's one way to find husbands for not so beautiful princesses."

He frowns. "Well, I suppose I see the logic -- but it's not very good. I don't see why they should think it necessary. And," he adds, "I can certainly see why you would run away."

"It was necessary," she says, "because forty-three suitors had already declined to offer for me, and because there's never been a spinster in the history of Royal House of Phanffaria."

A small smile.

"But it hardly seemed fair, to me or the prince or the countryside or the dragon, really."

He gives her a surprised look.

"I should say so. Forty-three?"

Amy nods. "Forty-three. Or so my royal Mama told me, and believe me, she'd know."

A shrug. "Outside Phantasmorania it was just sort of assumed that I was every bit as lovely as my sisters. The youngest is supposed to be the most beautiful, after all."

That may sound a little familiar. Eustace has been reading fairy tales, right?

"So I think I came as a bit of a shock."

And that is a grin.

Well, grinning. Grinning is good.

"Well, maybe so. But the youngest needn't always be the most beautiful. She can be the cleverst, too."

See? He's putting those fairy tales to good use.

Amy laughs. She's truly not bothered by being the Ordinary one. She's quite glad of it.

"Well, thank you. But, alas, my family had to go and develope a reputation for beautiful princesses, not clever ones."

A pause, and she looks thoughtful.

"I don't think I know of any families with reputations for clever princesses, actually."

He snorts. "I am less and less impressed with royalty."

At which point his brain reminds him that he's talking to royalty, and his cousins are royalty, and one of his best friends.

"I mean, not royalty," he says hastily, "just. . . royalty."

Amy throws back her head and laughs. And when she manages to stop, she gives him a look that is utterly Serene and Royal Highness, but her eyes still dance.

"I am most grieved to learn that you find myself and my royal cousins unimpressive," she says. "Particularly since the least impressive royalty is generally the royalty that is trying hardest to impress."

He sketches a seated bow.

"Do pardon me, your Highness, if I've given offense. I am your servant."

Another laugh. "You do that very well," she says. "And I'll pardon you just about anything if you'll stop calling me 'Your Highness.'"

He laughs. "I've picked up a few things here and there.

"Very well. Your Ordinariness?"

She shakes her head, shoulders shaking in silent laughter, and possibly blushing just the tiniest bit.

"I honestly marvel that no one's ever called me that before," she says. "But I think just 'Amy' would work fine."

"Just Amy, then."

He perks.

"Oh! I don't suppose you have any horribly embarrassing names for Caspian you could share? Seeing as you're his sister, after all."

Amy blinks. "Horribly embarassing names for Caspian?" she asks. "Why do I suddenly suspect there's a story here?"

". . .Well, because turnabout is fair play, and he said you're good at names, too. . ."

Eustace does not want to admit his nickname.

"Did he?"

She tends to call Caspian . . . well, 'Caspian.' And 'dear my lord brother,' but mostly when she's teasing him.

"And what exactly are you turning about?" she asks, and oh but that smile is full of mischief.

A beat, and she adds. "Or I suppose I could ask Caspian . . ."

He sighs.

"Well, when we were on the Dawn Treader, we landed on the Lone Islands and got captured by these slave traders. This was before the whole dragon thing, you understand. And, well, I was rather a prat those days, and. . ."

He pushes a hand into his hair and sighs again. "Sulky, all right?"

Eustace has really bad luck with the whole name thing.

Amy, to her credit, manages to keep an almost straight face.

Key word being "almost."

But at least she doesn't laugh.

"Oh, we'll have to think of something to turn that about," she says. "I'm just not sure what."