Every night before Chuck Norris goes to bed, he checks his closet for Edmund Pevensie.

In which my thesis on food crisis (among other things) almost leaked into my Calormen fic. Okay, so there's this exchange between Edmund and the Calormene grand vizier:

“You were talking about the irrigation infrastructure in the southern reaches,” Edmund reminded him.

“Ah, yes. I fear there will be famine if we are not able to preempt another source of grain.”

“Might I suggest lowering tariffs on crops?”

The conversation went on as such as the two men made their way through the Tisroc’s fertile gardens, politicians politely negotiating the wealth of their nations.

I had to restrain myself from extending their conversation into something like this:
( You made Terebinthia lower tariffs and then you flooded their markets with cheap imports, and look where they are now. )

Edmund Pevensie: ruthless neoliberal.

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