my dear girl, you’re in it!

"Certainly this is our last night on earth."

====

In celebration of Narnia's 73rd Publication Anniversary, here are the the next 3 of my 63 Narnia fan artworks

‘rashness of the king’ listen. if i was there. if i was present for the dryad dying right in the middle of asking for help. if i had seen a raft made of trees from a sacred forest. if i had seen a narnian horse being beaten with a whip.

i would simply have gone apeshit.

so. maybe tirian and jewel were right actually.

@guysofnarnia creation event: favorites - human [non-pevensie] narnian 

↳ Tirian, The Last King of Narnia

─ .*･｡ﾟ ༘✧ King Tirian .*･｡ﾟ ༘✧─

The Rashness of the King by studiodensmor

Artwork found here.

Polly had never imagined mountains so huge. England was an old country; none of its mountains exceeded a thousand meters, and indeed it could be argued that Polly had never seen a true mountain before in her life. There was an incline near her grandmother's house which people called a mountain, but which Polly now understood was little more than a glorified hill. Narnia had mountains.

In the distance, beyond the green hill where Aslan had promised the garden would be, they scraped the sky with rocky, jagged fingers. The mountains were crowned with glaciers, bare of trees, young and tall and uneroded.

"Do you think that our world has mountains so tall?" Polly asked, half to herself. It seemed impossible.

"Everest is nearly nine thousand meters tall," answered Digory absently. Then, a moment later: "the Himalayas are the youngest mountain range in the world. In our world, I mean."

"Oh," breathed Polly. "I say, that peak there must be at least as tall." And indeed, it did appear to be. The peak at which Polly was pointing was so tall that it vanished from sight, even on such a clear day. It seemed to Polly that there could be no taller thing in any world than the mountain before her.

Digory nodded in agreement. "It must be." If for no other reason than that he did not think it possible that newborn mountains which had never known the eroding touch of wind or water could fail to surpass those which had.

*****

When Tirian was a young boy, perhaps eleven or twelve, his father brought him along on a hunting trip in the Western March. It was then that he first beheld the mountains, which seemed to him like bolts of rich, green fabric draped haphazardly over objects on a table.

"Would you like to summit a mountain, my boy?" King Erlian asked his son.

"Oh father, could we?" Tirian exclaimed in response. Then, squinting, "Might we climb the highest one? It doesn't seem so awfully far."

And so it was that king and prince set off into the Western mountains of Narnia. The whole journey amounted to two and a half days. They slept the first night in the Toffee Groves that littered some of the taller foothills, and summited the mountain on the second. This was not, as Tirian had predicted, a terribly difficult endeavor. There were several well-worn trails up the sides of the mountain and, once they had chosen one, it only took perhaps five hour of hiking to reach the summit, with a short break for lunch. Then they began their descent.

"It seems," said Tirian thoughtfully, "that climbing the tallest mountain in Narnia ought to be more difficult. Do you not agree?"

"It does seem so," replied Erlian, "but these mountains are old. They have known many thousands of storms and hard winters, and so they do not present so great a challenge today as they did to the kings of old. I tell you, my boy, that when Peter the High King climbed to the same peak that we reached today, he found that the Witch's curse had not yet left it; it was white with snow."