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Lord Milori was concerned.

   Actually, it was safe to surmise that he was a bit more than just concerned. But he would never openly admit so to anyone but Queen Clarion.

    The Just King, once again, could not sleep under the oppression of his nightmares.

    An encounter, a chance encounter (though Milori never believed in chances or coincidences), had led the fairy Tinkerbell to the Valiant Queen. Word had then come from Tinkerbell to Fairy Mary. This news was hurriedly relayed to the fairy queen; who wasted no time in contacting the lord of winter and giving him the grave news.

    Milori winced in the evening warmth. Summers on the mainland were less bearable than those on his ventures to Narnia. Though, even then, only his loyalty to the Lion drove him those first few evenings to the boy king’s side.

    Eventually though, Milori found himself bearing any weather to make sure that King Edmund could finally rest peacefully again. The winter fairy had felt pity and sorrow at the young king’s state of mind. The child unable to sleep because of nightmares filled with sharp ice, bitter cold, and the cruel voice of a witch. And, over the years, Edmund had further wormed his way into Milori’s heart. And their friendship deepened to the point where Milori was often sought after for advice and wise counsel.

   Milori had come quite often at first. In those early days, he would sometimes spend weeks in Narnia with Edmund every evening. The winter lord had often wondered why Aslan had requested the fairy look after Edmund, when Milori himself would have thought a spring or summer pixie more suited to be of assistance. But as those years passed, Milori thought he began to see something of Aslan’s reasoning. After all, who better to show the joy and wonder of winter than its own caretaker.

   And as the boy grew into his adulthood, the nightmares had lessened, and Edmund had more joyful memories of the cold than not. Milori had rejoiced in the healing. With that age of wisdom and maturity, Milori would visit Edmund for more pleasant meetings than the original intent had been. And not a winter passed that Milori and Edmund did not have some event planned for the rest of the kingdom to enjoy. A celebration of the Just Kings healing.

   Then, quite suddenly, the Just King had vanished; along with his royal brother and sisters.

    The Narnians were not the only persons in mourning. Those who loved them in lands far beyond grieved over the disappearance of such beloved rulers.

    And Milori had silently mourned the loss of the man he had come to view as a friend.

    So, when the shocking news had reached him from Clarion of the appearance of the royal family and where they were, he immediately sought out the tinker from whom the tale had begun.

    “Please Tinkerbell,” he said, urgency creeping into his voice. “You must tell me exactly what Queen Lucy told you.”

    The message had been simple, but rung to the tone of the Valiant queen in such a manner that he could not doubt the authenticity of the message.

My lord Milori,

I beg of thee, as a subject of the lion and a friend of my noble brother, to come swiftly and help him once again. I charge you, as a faithful advisor to the duke of Lantern Waste, to advise him now as you have many times before. My brothers mind, though still sound, refuses him rest as it did when you first knew of his condition. I have asked this good tinker fairy to direct your way. Please, come speedily.

Lucy the Valiant

    Tinkerbell, thankfully, had asked no questions. There was even a part of Milori that sensed Tinkerbell understood his need for urgency. The directions she gave him were clear and concise, and Milori reminded himself to thank her at a later time.

    But, for right here and right now, Milori could think of little else than the young friend he had made in Narnia.

    A sigh of relief escaped him as his snowy owl finally came in sight of the large mansion like house. Milori mentally recalled Tink’s final instructions. He hurriedly glanced across the windows of the mansion, looking for the lit candle in the middle of the second row.

   He had to circle the large house almost twice before seeing the window. He directed his mount to the light, and was relieved to find the window open for him. As the snowy owl landed, Milori saw there, patiently waiting, sat the Valiant Queen.

    The sight of her small frame and childish face sent a ripple of shock throughout his body. The last time he had seen her face, it had aged and matured; gone were the full rounded cheeks and soft fingers.

    Now, he saw Queen Lucy exactly as she had been the first time they had met.

    “Well, not quite exactly,” he admitted to himself. There was an age now in her eyes that he recognized from her older countenance. Though her body was now childlike again, she was still the queen of Narnia he knew and recognized.

   “My lady,” he said solemnly, bowing to her.

    Lucy smiled, albeit sadly, and respectfully bowed her own head to him.

   “I am gladdened to see that Tinkerbell was able to reach you so quickly,” she replied, her voice still sweet and gracious as he knew it.

    “Praise the Lion for your highnesses safety,” Milori stated. “When you did not return from hunting the White Stag, Narnia, Archenland, and the Hollow feared the worst.”

    Lucy nodded, her face solemn and sad.

    “But as you can see,” she began quietly, gesturing to her smaller body, “we are as we once were. We have been returned to the land from whence we came.”

    She became silent after that, a far off look in her eyes. Anxious as he was to go on to Edmund, Milori could not deny that the sight of the young, vibrant young lady that he knew looking sorrowfully into the beyond sent an ache through his soul.

    But she quickly shook herself, and held out a hand to him.

    “I fear your mount would be uncomfortable in this fortress. The walls are not wide enough for his wings to spread,” she explained.

    Milori nodded his understanding, and stepped up to her offered hand. The young queen shuffled her slipper encased feet across a wooden floor into a low lit hall.

    “Peter,” she whispered down toward an open doorway, walking silently across a carpeted floor, “Lord Milori has arrived.

   High King Peter stepped out from the shadows of a dimly room, and Milori’s breath caught in his throat when he caught sight of the golden haired man.

   The lord of Cair Paravel looked worn and weary, the expression wrong on the youthful face. Once again, Milori was reminded that these were not the children he had first met. But kings and queens who had reigned a Golden Age of Narnia. The pang he had felt earlier on seeing Lucy expanded fourfold at the sight of her elder brother.

    “High King,” Milori stated, bowing at the knee.

    Like Queen Lucy, Peter respectfully inclined his head to the fairy lord.

    “It is good to see you Milori,” Peter said. The weariness Milori saw in Peter’s eyes was echoed in his voice. “And I thank you for making the journey from the Hollow. I cannot overemphasize my gratitude.”

    “I am pleased to be of service sire,” Milori responded. “Had I known, I would have been here sooner.”

    A smile, a true and genuine smile, lit up the Magnificent King’s face.

    “Of that, I have no doubt. It is good to know we still have such loyal friends,” Peter replied. “But I will tarry you no longer here. If you will come with me, I will take you to Edmund.”

    Milori transferred himself from one royal hand to another, and the High King turned into the room.

    And there was Edmund. The Just King, his king, his friend.

    The boy sat slumped in a chair, his eyes glazed over and darkened with weary circles. A fine sheen of sweat lay across his brow. Milori’s gaze darkened at the sight. There was much work to be done.

    “Ed,” said King Peter, his gentle voice barely brushing a whisper. “There is someone here to see you.”

    King Edmund turned to his brother, and the young eyes were suddenly fixed on Milori.

    The boy’s eyes lit up, and he gave a cry of joy.

    “Milori!”

    As Milori silently thanked the Great Lion for entrusting Edmund into his care, he decided that the joy that leapt into his own heart at the cry of his dear friend was worth the heat of a thousand summer nights.