Disclaimer: The idea for this story came from LunaStorm, who has been gracious enough to allow me to continue her story Of Telmarine Descent. I do hope you enjoy this and that it seems a continuation of her story.
I highly recommend that you read LunaStorm's Of Telmarine Descent before reading this. It is an excellent story, and it will make this one make more sense.
"Have you really never wondered, your Majesty, what became of the Telmarines who followed the Kings and Queens of Old through Aslan's Door?"
Then she left, leaving in her wake a stunned Edmund, only coherent enough to gape.
~Of Telmarine Descent by LunaStorm
"So, who is she?" Aidan asked when Edmund, still rather dazed, returned to their table.
A brilliant idea came to Edmund, who grinned mischievously and answered carelessly, "Oh, she came here from another world by stepping through a door in the middle of a clearing filled with talking Animals and mythical creatures."
Aidan's face fell. "So you didn't talk to her. Here you have the perfect opportunity to ask her who she is, and you don't even do that." He sniffed and buried his nose in his book again.
Edmund nodded rather glumly. "You're right. I don't know who she is."
It was to be another week before the two of them found their way to the library again. Aidan glanced around before sitting down. He elbowed Edmund. "There she is—over there."
"I saw," was the dry reply. "You have a remarkable knack for observing the obvious—did you know that?"
Aidan, honestly, could not think of a decent reply to this. If he said yes, he knew that, he was saying that he knew he was remarkably stupid. If he should say no, he didn't know that, he was saying that even he didn't know the depths of his own stupidity. It was times like this that he wondered how he had ever become friends with the intelligent, if sarcastic, Edmund Pevensie.
Said Pevensie was sitting across from his friend, immersed in his own brown study. How was he supposed to talk to her? If she had been a normal English schoolgirl, this would not be so difficult. He could stride over to her and gallantly offer to carry her books, obliterating any initial awkwardness with a fake sort of overdone kingliness.
This girl was not to be treated so cavalierly. She was definitely a Lady, perhaps the daughter of a Lord of Telmar. Surely she had no intention of catching the eye of one of the legendary Narnian kings. Said Narnian legend had, after all, disturbed her entire existence and dumped her unceremoniously into another world with no previous experience in this whatsoever. She had come from a world where catapults were the most advanced form of battle machinery, into a world where the atomic bomb was being developed. And she had managed to come with all her dignity and grace intact.
He would wait, he decided. This was not the time to approach her. She had been here, he judged, for about five years. She could wait for another week.
Lady Alana of Beruna sat back on her heels and watched as King Edmund the Just came in with his courtier, Lord Aidan. They were dressed exactly alike, but they could not have been more different. While His Majesty walked with the easy swing befitting a Narnian King, his courtier walked with a slouch and a swagger.
The two walked over to a table in the corner and sat down. King Edmund sat down as if he was sitting on his throne, but Lord Aidan slouched, sprawling all over his chair.
Perhaps Lord Aidan did not know that he was in the presence of a legend. Perhaps the King had never told him. Alana smiled. It would seem strange that the tall, thin lad had been a king. She herself had never believed in other worlds until she had met the Kings and Queens, so perhaps the people of Spare Oom did not believe in them either.
How should she approach him? She would love to talk to him about the land she loved. The mere thought that she went to school with a King of old made her head spin. He had left Narnia also. He would understand the longing she felt for it. They had a common knowledge which no one else had.
But he was a king, after all—much too busy for her. She would wait—wait to talk to him. Perhaps in a week she would have decided what to say.