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narniaexchangeTitle: Passing Seasons
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nasimwrites
Recipient:jn208505
Rating: T
Content/Warnings: Violence, some dark themes.
Summary: “Here was once a land of joy and plenty, once torn apart by the Long Winter and now twice torn apart by those who dare call themselves saviors of Narnia.” Summer brings new challenges for the Pevensies.
Author’s Notes: Thank you, Janet, for being my beta even though it was on short notice!
This story was originally meant to be less than 16 pages in length, but it mutated and grew and is now over 100 pages in length and has nearly 60,000 words… I hope you don’t mind reading a novel-length fic!
Passing Seasons
Chapter 5
The Dancing Lawn seemed to have been transported to the lands before the castle. As she stood in the clearing between the tents, Lucy could almost imagine that the shadows around the edge of the bonfire were trees and not pavilions, and that the distant roar in the darkness was the wind in the tree boughs and not the waves crashing on the shore of Cair Paravel. She took Mr. Tumnus’ hands as she always did, and together they swung to and fro, dancing the wild, strange dance of the trees.
“Why do you dance so often?” she had once asked him, on the first night they had been invited to those secret, untamed feasts of wine and fruit, coated in shadows born of firelight and moonlight.
“Dancing is like telling a story,” he had told her, his mournful, happy eyes staring deep into hers. “It is remembering and forgetting all at once. We Fauns have always danced; we do it to keep track of time, to remember that we are alive.”
“And the dryads?” she had asked. A pair came dancing, now, with leaves in their hair, twirling and laughing, their bare feet somehow seeming a part of the earth itself.
“Who knows why trees seek to dance?” he had said, a wide smile on his lips, and she had laughed and joined hands with those lively, strange girls, and somehow she had understood.
She understood now, too, from the moment she felt the beat of the drums under her feet, and the piping of flutes filled the air around her. She would have forgotten where she was, had she not seen Cadoc standing nearby, a wide smile on his face as he sat with his back to a tree, deep in conversation with Ekhar. A bit farther off, she could hear the low voices of the Tarkaans as they stood and watched. While she twirled to the merry melody, she caught Ishamiel Tarkaan’s gaze. He was sitting near the others of his kin, but he did not speak to them, instead holding a soft wildflower in his hand. He was fingering it gently as his mind seemed to wander, his eyes watching the strange dance that took place before him. They held gazes for a moment, and she smiled as she always did. As she turned back to the sylvan she was dancing with, she thought she saw him smile back.
Later, she sat with Peter on the grass eating fresh fruit with the King of Galma, who for once actually seemed in a rather good mood, despite the fact that he had insisted to have a blanket placed for him to sit, not wishing to sit upon the bare ground, a fact that confused many of the Narnians, particularly the Talking Beasts. Perhaps it had something to do with the wine, but he almost seemed happy as he took a slice of apple, which one of his servants was slicing for him.
“I must say, High King Peter, unconventional as your customs are in Narnia, they do have a way of making a man feel like he is returning to his youth,” he said.
“I am glad you feel it as well, King Reghorius,” said Peter with a courteous smile. “Narnian air itself seems to make one feel alive.”
“I thought it was all madness, what I heard of in Galma,” he said. “And indeed your people sometimes do strike me as rather mad, but it is a craze that one yearns to be a part of, somehow. And your knights are good competition; I don’t believe the Galman Lords have met a match in years! Never in their wildest dreams did they think it would be a centaur,” Reghorius chuckled, taking another mouthful of apple.
“They are very much exciting,” said Peter.
“Aye, even the Calormene Prince is enjoying himself!” Reghorius said, gesticulating towards the opposite end of the clearing. “He dances with dryads himself, it seems.”
His voice seemed to have carried a bit too much, however, and in a minute Prince Jarrash had made his way over to them. “One must try new things when one has the chance, King,” he said with a proud smile. As he moved to sit beside them on a cushion, a slave brought forth a dish of nuts from which he took a handful. “Never did I think to dance with the tree-people, but here I am, and indeed they are quite beautiful in their own way, these savage things.”
“They are,” said Peter. “But I would avoid offending them, Prince Jarrash, or you might find yourself in an unpleasant situation. The tree people are not under my command or that of my siblings; they are their own territory, and I we not intervene when they impart their justice.”
“Oh, we shall take care, High King Peter,” said Reghorius, waving a hand. “Fear not, I remain wary of your land despite its sweet fruit. Dancing trees, Talking Beasts, and murder attempts during meals… it is quite a handful.” His eyes glinted darkly despite his apparent amusement. Peter forced his face to stay the same.
“Well have the poets said ‘Cut down not the trees of others before tasting the fruit from your own orchard’.” Jarrash was pensive as he finished a peach.
Reghorius did not seem to know what to say in reply.
Lucy was silent during this entire exchange. Though she had no problem with making herself heard, she had no particular interest in taking part in their conversation. So she sat patiently beside her brother until she caught sight of a lonely figure standing beside one of the tents. Excusing herself, she rose from her seat and began to walk towards it.
Queen Amisse of Galma stood quietly in the shadows, her golden hair carefully pinned behind her head. She was young; much too young to be Cadoc’s mother, she realized, and there was something distinctly shy and perhaps even sorrowful about her. Two Galman ladies in waiting stood nearby. Lucy took an apple from a nearby basket and joined the other Queen’s side.
“Have you tried the apples yet?” she asked in a friendly tone. “They are quite sweet.”
The Queen looked astonished that she had been addressed. “I… no, I have not, Queen Lucy.”
“Oh, just Lucy. May I call you by your first name?”
“Of course,” said Amisse, surprised.
Lucy handed her the apple. “Do try it,” she said. “I hope you have been enjoying yourself. You seem rather lonely.”
“Oh! Oh not at all,” said the Queen. “I am usually on my own, so I do not feel it much.”
“Well that is terrible,” said Lucy simply. “It must be amended. Come, I shall introduce you to some friends of mine.”
She was, as it turned out, a very intelligent woman. As they joined Mr. Tumnus, Klaia and a few other dryads and Fauns, and later even Cadoc, who apparently had a good friendship with his stepmother, it became clear that she had read many of the same books that they had, and perhaps even a greater variety. She drew leaves and flowers in Mr. Tumnus’ book and the dryads were very much impressed. As they laughed and ate together, it occurred to Lucy, with a mix of surprise and amusement, that perhaps she had a tendency to surround herself with friends older than she was.
“So, High King Peter,” Reghorius began in a more serious tone as Prince Jarrash drew to aside to converse with King Lune. “What do you think of my son?”
Peter was taken aback. “Well,” he began slowly, not quite sure what he was going to say. “I have not had the chance to speak to him for long, but from what I hear from my sisters he is quite a pleasant young man.”
King Reghorius exhaled in a way that almost sounded like a snort. “Pleasant. Yes, that is Cadoc, if nothing else. And do not get me wrong, High King, it is a good trait; the mark of a good man. But not of a King… a King must be valiant warrior, a brilliant strategist, a subtle diplomat.”
“And you fear your son does not manifest these attributes?”
“I have tried for years, nearly his entire life, but Cadoc does not learn. He is clumsy and lacks skill, particularly on the battlefield.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Peter, not knowing what else to say.
“It is not your concern, High King,” said Reghorius, with a small smile that hid a condescending stare. “And do not mistake my words as a search for advice; I would not trouble your very much occupied mind with lesser matters. And of course, I am well aware that family matters are not your area of expertise.”
Peter nearly had to bite his tongue to hold back a scathing reply. Reghorius did not seem to notice. “Nay,” he said. “I say these things, for a sensitive subject stems from it. As you know, Narnia and Galma meet in single melee combat the day after the next.”
“I am aware of that, yes.”
Reghorius lowered his voice. “My son is to be the knight to meet yours on that day. As he is prince, it would be dishonorable for him and for me if he did not participate. Yet with his lack of skill, I know that he will achieve nothing more than two leave my country in poor standing before the others.”
“No one shall think less of a knight who meets his match on the field,” said Peter.
“Perhaps not of a knight, no,” said Reghorius. “But a Prince… surely you understand. If my son loses this fight he shall leave my House in disgrace, and be an embarrassment to our country. I do not wish to leave Galma in ridicule because of a child who is too stubborn to develop the skills.”
“I understand this,” said Peter. “But I am afraid that if he is signed up there is nothing I can do for him. If his name is beside that of a Narnian knight, then it shall remain there.”
“Aye,” said Reghorius. “But you know who the knight is, and you are the High King. A word from you and the match is decided.”
Peter felt his blood run cold. “What are you implying?”
In midst of the cheerful music and the sound of joyful laughter, Reghorius’ voice sounded ominous as he spoke into Peter’s ear. Peter had the sudden urge to push the old man away.
“A mere word on your part to one of your men, and Cadoc shall be spared his disgrace. A loss for Narnia does nothing to her dignity; a loss for Galma could mean her ruin.” He lowered his voice. “You are well aware of the trading arguments between Calormen and my country; I cannot risk showing weakness before a nation that may very well be planning my demise and the invasion of my kingdom.”
“It would go very much against the rules,” Peter said, confused. “The tournament cannot have its games fixed in such a way.”
“You are the High King,” said Reghorius, grabbing hold of the side of a tent nearby and pulling himself to his feet. “I trust you will understand the precariousness of my position.”
He ambled away into the shadows, probably in search of the way back to his tent. Peter remained where he was, stunned into silence. He could not believe that he had just been asked to break his own rules to ensure another country had good standing during a battle. On principle, he would deny them at once, but diplomatically, he knew, there were sacrifices to be made to ensure an alliance with other countries. And yet…
“What is it, brother?”
He looked up and saw Lucy, a garland of wildflowers in her windswept hair, feet bare and her dress still swishing about her feet after all the dancing she had done. Yet her face was full of worry as she kneeled down beside him and spoke in a low voice.
“You look concerned. I saw Reghorius here. What did he want?”
Peter looked into her large, anxious eyes, and shook his head lightly. “Nothing to worry about,” he said. And standing up, he left the clearing.
The next day, it rained. Thankfully, not a terrible storm with thunder and flooding, as Narnia had a tendency to lay the onslaught upon her people with. But it was rain nonetheless, and some of the merriment of the days before was lost during that day, as people ran to and fro to protect their belongings from the rain, and barrels and pails had to be provided to catch water from dripping down into the tents through whatever holes it proved to have. Most of the activities, therefore, were cancelled, except during the small intervals in which the rain stopped. The people of the festival resorted to chess, checkers, and other board games to pass the time, and on its own it was still a rather entertaining day.
Peter, however, felt as if the rain was drowning him. With Susan and Edmund gone, the amount of tasks he had to administer was larger than ever, and he spent most of the day arranging for tents to be fixed and people relocated, ensuring that the food could be suitably transported to all, and above all else, worrying about King Reghorius’ strange request. Perhaps if Susan had been at his side to help him come to some sort of conclusion he would not be suffering so much over his answer; both Edmund and Susan possessed a strange sort of common sense he sometimes felt he lacked.
By the time it was evening, he excused himself from the camp to have supper with Lucy within the walls of Cair Paravel. Since their sister had left, Lucy had to do the trip alone (though followed, of course, by an entourage of guards and a handmaiden or two), and Peter felt bad for his sister. Also, though he would never admit it to himself, Edmund’s absence rather unnerved him at night. And so it was that they shared supper over a small table in their private chambers.
“I’m rather glad it rained,” Lucy said as she stirred her soup. She always enjoyed stirring it and tasting only the top layer which had cooled. “I was concerned all the grass would die if it didn’t; it has been so sunny lately.”
“It probably will nonetheless,” said Peter. “I doubt such a large encampment does the grass any good.”
Lucy gave a small laugh. “True. Well, we shan’t be short of tasks when the festival is over.”
There was suddenly a rap on the door, and a guard entered, followed by an eagle that looked chilled to the bone, its wet feathers drooping miserably. Somehow, however, it had delivered the scroll of parchment in nearly perfect condition. With an elegant bow despite its deplorable condition, the eagle delivered a letter in the name of Queen Susan, and then left the room.
“Oh, they must have arrived already,” said Lucy with realization. “Will you read it out loud, Peter?”
He was unrolling the parchment, his food forgotten on the table. “Yes, of course.”
He was suddenly reminded of supper back in England, with his mother receiving a letter from their father in the war. Peter knew his mother always read the letters before placing them in his hands, but at the table she would always ask him to be the one to read it to the rest of the family. He had always assumed that his mother found the business of reading letters out loud tedious, but it suddenly occurred to him that there may have been different reasons.
Shaking his head slightly, he focused on the letter that was in his hands.
My Brother and Sister:
Our royal brother King Edmund and made a hasty arrival at the Western Fields nigh three hours ago, three hours after midday, after a day and a half of travel. We were beset with a storm upon the way, which we have suspected shall fall upon you sometime soon. We hope all is well in the Festival, and please send our royal regards to their Lordships whose company you keep during these days.
The story the hare Clover relayed to you, my Brother, did not do justice to the state of affairs in the houses at the Western border. Here was once a land of joy and plenty, once torn apart by the Long Winter and now twice torn apart by those who dare call themselves saviors of Narnia. Its damage has been a work of cowards and brutes, with no consideration for the sanctity of life and the moral rules that hold our entire society together. The people of the village of Pebble were unable to hold their attackers at bay and those farmers who live distant from the village much less; their situation is precarious and many are wondering how they are to survive the months to come, for in the case of most, it is their year’s work that was stolen or ruined for them.
Upon our arrival we met with the villagers in the house of a Dwarf family named Morkin. There were few of them; it was said that others feared a violent onslaught on behalf of the enemy as a consequence for cooperation, and others merely feared us, distrusted us. My royal brother Edmund has said often to me that the attitudes in Pebble are a reflection of the overall state of our country; if so, we have yet much work to do. The mere act of gaining the trust and reassuring the villagers that participated in our initial council overtook more than an hour’s time. But after this they were eager to share their stories.
They told us of deep wrongs that have been done to them: crops were torn to pieces, herds were freed and scattered in the night, cellars were pillaged, houses were burnt to the ground. Trees have been uprooted, and many dryads have been on the verge of death because of this. All of these acts of cruelty have been carried out as threats or punishments for not providing the supplies these ‘Knights of Stone’ seem to require, though many of the villagers did not even possess enough supplies to feed their own families. Aiding this village will require much more work than we expected, but the women and young men here display much talent and determination; they are hardworking and shall do anything to secure a future for themselves and for their children. I do not doubt that we shall achieve our goals; but it will take much sacrifice on everybody’s part.
There is one pleasing piece of information, however. The villagers have told us rumors of caves in the mountains, which is where they suspect the enemy is hiding. Our royal brother King Edmund and his group plan to leave for the caves tomorrow morning and investigate. Once they know their location, they shall attempt to meet with the enemy and discern what their true demands are.
More letters shall follow to inform you of our progress. For now, we extend our loving greetings and hope that we meet again soon.
Your good sister,
Susan.
Lucy smiled. “Well, I am glad they arrived safely, despite the rain. That must have been unpleasant. And it is good that they know where these Knights of Stone are.”
“Yes,” said Peter, deep in thought. “But other than that we know next to nothing about them. I hope the villagers are able to give Edmund some idea of what he is up against.”
“Do not worry, Peter,” said Lucy, and she stood up from the table. “Well, it is late and I must go to bed.”
Peter nodded, standing up as well to kiss his younger sister’s cheek. “Good night.”
As he drew away, he felt her fingers around his wrist. She was looking up at him, her eyes searching. “What is it?” she asked. “You have been tense and preoccupied all day, even more than usual.”
“I’m just worried for Su and Ed,” he said, shaking his head. “Good night, Lucy.”
Her fingers loosened and he drew away, grasping his cloak off a nearby chair and preparing to leave through the door. She stood where she was, her eyes still fixed on him.
“Why don’t you trust me, Peter?”
He looked up almost guiltily, startled.
“I do trust you, sister,” he said.
“No, you don’t,” said Lucy bluntly. Though she stood nearly two heads shorter than he did and her face did still look like that of a child, there was something about her that almost made him feel younger than she was.
“I do trust you, Lucy,” he said. “But that does not mean I wish to involve you in problems that you cannot solve.”
Lucy sighed. “Why do you insist on taking problems upon yourself all on your own? I am your sister, and I am also Queen of Narnia. Let me help you.”
“It’s not something that can be solved so easily,” he said.
She reached out and pulled a chair out from the table silently, her gaze almost fierce as she looked into his eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he sighed resignedly and sat down. She sat down once more across from him, their empty plates and goblets between them.
“Reghorius wants his son to win in combat tomorrow,” he said simply. “He knows that if the Prince loses, Galma faces disgrace before the other countries. He has asked me to pull some strings and ensure that his son wins the fight.”
“But that is illegal,” Lucy said. “You cannot order a Narnian knight to lose on purpose.”
“I am well aware of that,” said Peter, a slight scowl on his face. “But we cannot afford enmity between Narnia and Galma, and Reghorius will not take it lightly if I refuse to aid his son.”
“Yet as High King of Narnia, you cannot be guilty of sabotaging a match.”
“I know,” said Peter with frustration. “The thought of doing such a thing disgusts me. But is it truly worth risking enmity between our countries? It is only a match, whilst a blatant disregard for the King’s wishes will be interpreted on his part as a betrayal and a show of arrogance before him.”
“That does not matter,” said Lucy firmly. “As High King of this nation, it is improper and an insult to Narnia herself if you betray your morals so deliberately. We have sworn an oath to rule this country justly, and that oath cannot be held through means of deceit.”
“Then what would you have me do?!” Peter exclaimed with frustration, louder than he would have intended. “We are caught between two dangers to Narnia; which one shall we choose?”
Lucy scowled. “The King of Galma has no right to ask you to do such a thing for him. You are not one who may bend his will to the requests of others. Peter, he is using you. You are worse off doing as he says than you are doing nothing.”
Peter put his face in his hands. “It is just so hopelessly confusing,” he groaned. “I am the High King, and therefore I have the right to do whatever I wish; but as High King I cannot think of doing such a thing, for I live to serve my country. Where does one draw the line? Should my rank be different, then I would have refused at once, but in the state our country is at the moment, with rebels and battles within its own borders, can we risk hostility with Galma? Perhaps a sacrifice is in order to keep our country at peace!”
“We swore an oath to Aslan,” Lucy said, her voice gentle. “An oath to rule and do justice among our people, and protect them from their enemies when enemies arise. One does not meet deceit with more deceit. Should enemies arise, then we shall protect our people as we always have.”
Peter lifted his face from his hands and met her gaze, the frustration slowly leaving his face. “You are right,” he murmured simply.
Lucy smiled slightly, leaning back in her seat. “You do not have to shield me from everything, Peter,” she said softly. “You cannot do this alone.”
He stayed silent as she rose from the table a second time, moving towards the door. “Good night,” she said.
“Lucy?” he called after her when she had nearly disappeared through the doorway. She stopped and turned to look at him. “I’m sorry.”
She gave him another smile and shook her head. “You do not have to apologize.”
He took hold of his cloak once more and set out to return to camp, his mind feeling oddly at peace.
//
The next round of single melee combat was scheduled for after dinner the next day. Peter had not seen Lucy very much all morning, but it did not surprise him; he suspected that she was off with Mr. Tumnus once more, roaming the Festival and making new friends. He wondered at her energy; he was perfectly content sitting and speaking to Lord Peridan while the preparations were made for the start of the match. It also helped appease some of the nerves he could not help feeling when he thought of the King of Galma, whose request he had not followed through with.
“Galen and Frowe do not seem very nervous,” said Peridan, leaning back in his seat.
Peter was busy surveying the gathering crowd. Most of Narnia had come to watch the match, eager to see the Prince of Galma face a Narnian Knight. Galen was well known for his skill with the sword and his long-standing friendship and teamwork with the Talking Horse Frowe. On the gallery opposite from where he sat, Peter could see King Reghorius moving to take his seat, his wife carefully taking her place beside him. It seemed to him that she seemed happier than usual, though there was some hint of worry on her face; perhaps she too was anxious to see Cadoc’s actions on the field. Reghorius had most likely told no one of his request.
As the King took his seat, he gave Peter a small wave. Peter waved back, moving his gaze to the lists that lied between them. He could not help feeling a stirring of foreboding in his heart as he gripped the arm of the chair he sat on. What would he do once Cadoc lost the fight, and rather quickly, judging from the King’s words? Reghorius was not likely to make public show of his feeling of insult, but the hostility would show soon. Things were already complicated enough, what with the murder attempts, without counting the barriers Reghorius might create out of spite, should any new complications arise.
“I have my bets on Galen,” Peridan added, a proud smile on his lips as he saw his cousin speaking in a low voice to Frowe while they prepared outside the lists. “The Prince does not look quite as strong, though things may be different when the fighting begins.”
Prince Cadoc stood on the opposite side, placing his helmet on his head, his clear eyes sweeping the crowd. His gaze lingered for a rather long time on the Narnian gallery, and Peter was seized with worry that he may ask a token of favor from Lucy when the time came. Such a thing would make the situation even worse, once Cadoc lost and it was obvious that Peter had not given Lord Galen orders in favor of Galma.
“Oh, we shall see, Peridan,” said Lucy’s voice from beside Peter. He turned to look as she took her seat, her hands grasping a small arrangement of flowers which she began to tuck into her hair. “Prince Cadoc seems to have trained very long. I trust that this will be quite an interesting match.”
Peter met her gaze as Peridan replied. She stared back with a smile that was much calmer than he felt. A trumpet marked the beginning of the match, and Peter forced himself to watch as the Galman Prince rode into the lines upon a strong black mare, his sword drawn and his shield ready. Galen and Frowe were ready, moving forwards as if they were one body. Peter felt a wave of relief as he realized that neither of the knights would ask for tokens from any of the women.
Galen’s sword struck first, glancing off the Prince’s shield with an audible clang. The crowd gasped and cheered as Galen moved forwards, his sword quickly striking here and there, Cadoc hardly able to do more than protect himself by parrying and shielding himself. He was, however, a good enough rider to move his horse quickly, and so avoided being overtaken by the knight despite the fact that he was outmatched.
Glancing towards the Galman gallery, Peter could see Reghorius’ pained expression mixed with anger and resentment as he watched his son practically being chased by Galen before him.
As he watched Cadoc, whose visor was up, his faced scrunched with concentration and effort, Peter thought he recognized the look in the young Prince’s eyes. It reminded him of Edmund years ago, when he was younger and rebellious, longing for independence and recognition despite his age. He remembered the expression on his brother’s face every time he or his mother told him to do something he didn’t want to do: an expression of pure stubbornness and determination to see it through to the end. It was the same look he saw now in the eyes of the Galman Prince, as he blocked every one of Lord Galen’s attacks, sweat pouring down his face as they fought under the bright summer sun.
And suddenly, Cadoc pushed forwards, unleashing a number of fierce blows upon the knight, who, surprised by the unexpected offence, was forced to retreat slightly under the rain of blows that fell upon him, limited only to parrying and trying to shield himself, though in a much more skillful manner than Cadoc. Though the Prince’s attacks were rather clumsy and not very well carried out, the fierceness of his movements was what gained him an advantage for nearly ten minutes as they fought. The Galman delegation cheered for their Prince as he pressed onwards, Galen and Frowe being forced to move to try and find the time to begin a new attack.
They did, after a time. Cadoc received many blows to his armor and it became obvious he was nastily bruised by them. But despite Galen’s expert swordsmanship, it took nearly an entire fifteen minutes more for the fight to end, Cadoc not managing to block more attacks out of sheer exhaustion. When he climbed off his horse to bow and retreat while Lord Galen and Frowe claimed their victory, it was obvious that he had been beaten so thoroughly it was difficult for him to walk, but the look on his face showed a fierce determination and silent dignity as he left the lists.
Looking up, Peter saw Reghorius’ angry face now directed at him, though he clapped for the Narnian victory as he was politically obligated to. His eyes bored into Peter’s, and Peter looked back at him with no expression on his face. After all, he had never officially agreed to anything. But he could not help feeling cold in his stomach as he thought of the things that might come from his decision.
Suddenly, the cheering died down, and all heads turned towards him. Rather dazed, he was initially alarmed, until he realized that Lucy had stood up and was now standing near the side of the gallery, her hands raised to calm the crowd.
“My friends!” she exclaimed gladly. “I speak on behalf of my royal Brothers and Sister when I say: I wish to applaud Lord Galen for his remarkable prowess during this match. Lord Galen, you have truly brought your country honor and the country of Narnia is proud to count you among those who walk bearing the name of the distinguished Order of the Lion.”
The crowd cheered, and the Narnian flag was waved vigorously from all around them. Lord Galen bowed deeply, his helm now under his arm. Beside him, Frowe had bowed his head as well, his nose nearly touching the ground.
“But I would also like to extend our compliments to the valiant Prince Cadoc of our sister nation of Galma. Though the victory was taken by Narnia, one cannot forget the staunch determination displayed by Prince Cadoc, the likes of which have never been seen before, extending the match nearly twice the length of an ordinary match, therefore demonstrating that indeed the people of Galma are strong and determined in their defenses. It is an honor for Narnia to count Galma among her allies; for, as Prince Cadoc has so well demonstrated, no matter how desperate the situation, she will defend her own.”
The cheers were even louder this time, and nearly the entire audience, Narnian and Galman alike, waved flags and was joyful. The Calormenes clapped as well, and Peter caught a glimpse of Prince Jarrash’s elegant smile as he gave a nod of appreciation to Prince Cadoc. Peter looked at King Reghorius and knew that he had seen the exchange; his anger disappeared, and though he did not look joyful, there was some relief and perhaps even a flicker of pride in his eyes as he watched his son leave the lists.
While the people cheered, Lucy returned to her seat. Peter smiled at her.
Later, as he made his way to the place where the wrestling matches would be held, he caught sight of a group of dwarves moving a wheelbarrow full of crates and furniture from one side of the camp to another. He stared at them, confused.
Beside him, Peridan saw his face and spoke. “There was some flooding last night as a result of the rain, Sire,” he said. “And it presents an inconvenience to the clans of dwarves whose quarters were there.”
“Their tents ought to be moved to new places, then,” said Peter, surprised. “We must assign them new spaces-”
“Oh, it has already been done, Sire.”
Peter stared at him in confusion. Peridan smiled. “Queen Lucy spent the morning arranging their new quarters,” he said. “She has been supervising Aurelius’ work for the past few days.”
“I…” Peter was stunned. “I was not aware of that.”
The dwarves passed them and they continued to walk. “Yes, I spoke to Her Majesty two days ago,” said Peridan. “She said she did not wish to inconvenience you.”
Peter fell silent.
//
Susan awoke and was suddenly overwhelmed with confusion, not recognizing the place she was in. It was almost completely dark all around her, and the only light that penetrated the darkness was the cold blue light of the beginning of the sunrise as it peeked through the folds of the curtains that covered the small windows of the tiny room in the low building she was in.
Memories came rushing back to her, and she immediately remembered the soft but well-worn blankets she lay in, as well as the sturdy log walls around her. She was in the house of the Morkin family, composed by a Dwarf woman and her four young sons. It was not often that one saw dwarven women; from what she had heard they had a tendency to keep to themselves, but Hana Morkin was no ordinary woman.
The night before, after they had shared a very simple supper in the Morkin’s garden along with the others, Edmund and Susan had gone to sit on the low steps of the porch of the small house, illuminated only by the soft golden light of a lantern that hung from the side of the roof. Around them, the small roads were deserted, distant lights glimmering in the trees and in the small houses in the distance. All had gone to their homes now, and those who had come from Cair Paravel had retreated to the Morkin’s stable behind the house, along with the four Morkin brothers.
Susan had sat and listened to the crickets chirp and the soft whispers of the trees moving in the breeze. Edmund had been rubbing his hands together.
“It is colder here than it is at the Cair,” he had said quietly. It felt as if louder words might awaken the night.
“It is because we are closer to the mountains,” Susan had replied softly.
They had sat in silence for a while, their knees and elbows touching as they sat on the narrow porch steps, iron armor against soft cloth clothes. Susan had felt like a child once more, the stir of fear and excitement in her heart as she looked on towards the darkness, reminiscing old tales of monsters and ghosts that she had long ceased to fear, but that still held their place in some distant part of her memories.
“Sometimes I cannot help but think that perhaps this is all a dream,” Edmund had said in a low voice, his gaze on the darkness as well, a small smile on his lips. “And that soon I will awaken and we shall be at home with Mother, arguing and fighting as we used to.”
Susan had laughed softly. “Poor Mother.”
Edmund had laughed as well, shaking his head at the memories of their fierce squabbles over insignificant things.
“Edmund,” Susan had said presently. He had turned his face towards her. “Do you ever miss it?”
“Sometimes,” he had answered after a moment, turning away, his eyes gleaming in the soft lantern light. “But not as much as one would think. Do you?”
“I feel the same,” she had said. “But do you not wonder at it, Edmund? That we feel no remorse for having left behind all we have ever known? That we do not wonder if our mother misses us, that we do not wish we could return?”
“There was nothing for us there, Susan,” Edmund had said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Narnia is our home now, and, as Lucy would say… this is the will of Aslan.”
“We do not know what the will of Aslan is,” she had replied. Her eyes had gone wide and her fingers were clenched around the soft cloth of her dress. Somehow, the night had given her the confidence to speak the fears that had been lurking under the surface of her mind for months. “Are we returning someday? Or is this to be our home forever?”
“Would you rather it weren’t?”
Susan had smiled, almost sadly. “No. I would rather stay here than go to any other world.”
“Then what is the point of wondering? We cannot know. We have duties to perform and friends all around us. What else do you need?”
Suddenly she had realized she had tears in her eyes. “A reason,” she had whispered. “A reason to live, and plan, and grow. How can I be truly satisfied with the world around me if I fear that in the blink of an eye I shall have to return and lose everything I have built here? How can we fight for our people if we have no reason to fight for ourselves?”
He had said nothing, and they had not shared any more words that night. Instead, her younger brother had put his arm around her shoulders and she had placed her head on his, both staring on towards the night, until the moon had fully risen and Edmund had left towards the stable where he would sleep.
In the distance, a rooster crowed, and gradually Susan became aware of rustling noises on the other side of the curtain that separated her small room from the rest of the house. Candles had been lit, and it was not long until she saw Hana Morkin’s short, stout figure come through the curtain, making her way to her bed. Her rough hand reached forwards and gently shook Susan’s arm.
“Queen Susan,” the woman said in a low voice. “It is time to rise. Your brother and his men are bringing out their horses now.”
Partly concealed by the blanket, Susan pretended to wake up, and sat up slowly. Before her, Hana stood with a candle in her hand, a well-worn apron over her skirts, her reddish hair in a messy bun. She would have looked like a human, had it not been for her short height and the distinctly dwarven shape of her face. Her stony brown eyes peered at Susan almost guardedly as the Queen arose, fastening her gown over the shift she slept in.
The people of Pebble had not seen monarchy in their entire lives, and therefore had some trouble when it came to knowing how to address Edmund and Susan properly, and what sorts of things to do and say before them. They were ignorant of court rituals and hierarchy, and therefore often inadvertently treated their superiors as people of their same rank. But Susan did not find this offensive or annoying; in fact, it was somewhat amusing and in a way a good rest from the treatment she was used to receiving in Cair Paravel, which could be tiresome at times.
After she had washed her face and arranged her hair, she followed Hana out of the small room and found herself in the small main room, where some chairs, a table, and a low couch were neatly arranged near a fireplace that was rather large for the room, an equally large cauldron inside it. Shelves of cooking implements and household tools were placed against the wall, and on the opposite side of the room was a small door leading down to what Susan presumed was the cellar, beside another which she knew led to Hana’s room. It was strange to think that the house had once been the home of eight people. But then again, everything seemed rather smaller to her, being much taller than the dwarves; as it was, there were parts of the house where her head nearly scraped the roof.
While Hana seized a tray full of small bows of porridge, which Susan realized was what the cauldron had held, Susan unlatched the front door and opened it wide, following the dwarven woman out into the road.
The village of Pebble had been built almost completely around a crossroads: one road leading back towards Cair Paravel in the East, another leading North towards what had become known as Lantern Waste, another leading South towards mountains, and another leading towards the forest and more mountains beyond in the West, which was where Edmund and his men were going.
The houses were spread out with much space between them, as was customary in Narnian villages; the different styles of living that the diversity of species within the Narnian population had made it necessary for homes to be rather separate: dwarves and moles had different sorts of homes and activities. But the villages were villages nonetheless, and there was a fierce sense of unity and protectiveness for their own.
In front of the Morkin’s house was Clover’s home, a small shack under which, from what Susan had heard, a burrow had been dug. The shack served merely as protection from rain and wind, and protection for the vegetables they acquired during harvest season; unlike most Talking Beasts of their kind, Clover’s family had ensured that they could easily obtain food from their own land, and had an income from selling to other families in the village. Clover had said that in the years before the Long Winter, his family had had the largest and most richly furnished burrow in all Western Narnia. With the White Witch’s reign, their riches had mostly been lost, but they had slowly begun to plant crops once more and had been looking forward to the fruits of their labor.
But at the moment, their field laid torn apart, and their shed only half-stood on the few logs that remained in place. Only a few days before, the Knights of Stone had ransacked their stores and torn out their crops, destroying most of their shack in the process. Susan could see Clover’s mother and many children standing on the side of the road, looking rather meek as they watched Edmund’s people saddle their horses, preparing to leave. There was a certain unease to their stance, and they glanced jerkily towards the far ends of the roads, as if they expected invaders any moment now; Susan could not blame them… after what had happened to the villagers, it was expected. In between the houses where people were visible stood abandoned huts; these had been the homes of those who had abandoned the village in favor of the Knights of Stone.
Edmund greeted Susan as she walked towards him and Borik, who was grumbling as he fastened his pony’s saddle, but stopped to bow deeply towards her as she reached them.
“Breakfast?” she offered, handing a bowl of porridge with a spoon to each.
“Thank you,” said Edmund with a smile, taking the bowl and eating quickly. He looked comfortable in armor, unlike the first days when he had to ride wearing it at the beginning of their reign.
“Do you know the way?” Susan asked.
Edmund looked towards the forest. “Well enough. Two of Hana’s sons have offered to take us near the caves. I will send a message when I can.”
The empty bowls were set aside (the Talking Beasts had found food in the outskirts of the forest on their own) and the horses were mounted. Looking around her, Susan could see many small groups of locals watching them prepare. She could tell that many eyes were set upon Edmund; their gazes were a mix of curiosity and fear… in some cases, perhaps some disdain.
He followed her gaze. “Narnia has not,” he said, repeating his words from the day before, his eyes grave.
She said nothing, and patted his horse as he got into the saddle. As everyone else mounted as well, he looked at her. The look in his eyes made him seem older than he really was, and somehow she felt she was speaking to a part of him that was older than she. “Be brave, Sister,” he said in a low voice, so no one else could hear. “For now, these people are your reason.”
And then he reined his horse, and with a thunder of galloping hooves, they were gone, turning at the crossroads and disappearing in the direction of the forest.
Susan took a deep breath, and then turned to those who had been left behind. Slowly, one by one, they turned their eyes to her.
Nearest to her were those who had come with her from Cair Paravel: two Fauns, three dwarves, two dogs, two moles and one satyr. They were finishing their breakfast, and the two Fauns were carrying the dirty bowls back into Hana’s small house. Near the sides of the road stood Clover’s family, along with Clover himself, who was sitting calmly on a clump of grass, looking considerably better than he had before. The two remaining Morkin brothers, Gimor and Kimor, heavily bearded despite their very young faces, crouched on the porch of their house, their mother standing nearby. Susan thought she saw some eyes peering at her from a nearby tree, and suspected it was the Monkeys, two of whom she had met the night before. They were all staring at her expectantly.
“Very well,” she said, raising her voice so that all might hear. “It is time to begin our work. May all willing to assist move closer?”
She was quickly joined by those who had come with her, having finished their breakfast, Clover and two of his brothers, the three Morkins, and three Monkeys who swiftly dropped from their tree and came near. Two black dwarves also suddenly appeared and joined them, though they looked rather reluctant. Susan heard whispers, and suddenly one of the black dwarves cried out, looking towards a larger house that stood near the Hare family’s.
“Come out o’ yer hole, ye disgraceful thing,” he cried harshly. “Ye don’t get to lurk in the shadows while yer neighbors fix the trouble ye were too cowardly ter face!”
There was a hushed murmur among the locals, and Susan suddenly saw movement from the door, which she had assumed was closed. Slowly, an old Faun stepped out, his face downcast, wearing a woolen vest. He said nothing as he joined the group, but Susan could see people glancing at him now and then with no kindness in his eyes.
She had heard of him. He had elected to give supplies to the Knights of Stone, even when they began threatening neighboring families. He had refused to take part in conversations to call for help, and had not opened the door for the black dwarves when their house had been burnt to the ground by the rebels.
Susan spoke up quickly, fearing that, given too much spare time, a fight might break out. “For those of you whom I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, I am Queen Susan Pevensie, come from Cair Paravel to bring you aid in this time of need. I trust we shall get to know each other very well over the next few days as we repair the damage that was done to you. Please know that I and those who have come with me are here to assist you in anything you may need; we are your friends, and we are here to serve you. We shall do our best and devote all our energy to these tasks, so as to ensure that you never need suffer in this way again. Please know that though only King Edmund and I were able to come, given the responsibilities the Festival demands, both the High King Peter and Queen Lucy send their loving regards, and their well-wishes for your restoration in this time of need.”
There were nods and some words of thanks from the more trusting creatures. Susan smiled.
“Let us begin, then. Last night we decided we would begin with those buildings that have been damaged or torn down.” She looked to Clover. “Those would be…?”
Clover gave a small cough and then spoke rather nervously. “The Morkins’ chicken coop, the Birdel brothers’ home, and my own family home.”
“We shall start at your own home then, Clover,” said Susan, “As I believe it is the easiest to rebuild, given that it has not been burnt.”
And so they began to work, the moles quickly making their way to ensure that the dirt near the burrow was in good state to rebuild the two walls that had been collapsed. In doing so, they discovered that part of the burrow had caved due to the heavy crash of the logs over their home, and together with Clover and his brothers, they managed to rebuild it and even add an extra room. The Fauns and the satyr inspected the wood that was found scattered nearby and took them to the dwarves, who, with help from the Monkeys, who had facility when it came to the roofs, carefully set them in place and began to work on them with their hammers. Meanwhile, the dogs ran further, searching for the pieces of wood that had been lost. They returned explaining that several trees that had been torn along the way were not dryad trees and therefore might be used if new wood was needed.
Susan and Hana helped Clover’s family retrieve empty sacks from the trampled and upturned ground, which had been scattered when the shack was raided. The rebels had been thorough; no food had been left within the sacks, and the shack had been almost completely emptied.
The sun was only beginning to truly warm their skin when they finished the Hares’ shack. They quickly moved on to the Morkins’ chicken coop, which had been partially torn down and burnt, its chickens scattered. Gimor and Kimor had managed to catch them all the night they had escaped from the fire, and had placed them in a makeshift pen near the back of the house for the time being. This time the dwarves went with the dogs to cut slabs of wood both for the chicken coop and the Birdel brothers’ house, and the Monkeys remained to help build it. The Fauns and the satyr helped transport the slabs of wood with wheelbarrows, and Susan and Hana helped with the hammering. Meanwhile, those who were not needed in the task of rebuilding the coop made their way to make plans for the Birdel brother’s house or were gathering straw for the interior of the coop.
Once the coop was ready, Susan, a Faun and a Dwarf had the rather unpleasant task of moving the chickens into their new home, a task both uncomfortable for them and for the chickens. Susan suspected she gained some respect from the locals when they watched her struggle with a rather fierce chicken and ultimately win after what was nearly as exhausting as a full-fledged swordfight.
Sometime after mid-morning, they all went to where the Birdel brothers’ house used to sit. The Birdels were the two fierce black dwarves who quickly set to work with the wood they had helped procure from the fallen trees in the forest. They seemed anxious to prove that, though they had help, they could do most of the work on their own.
Susan stood towards the edge of the land, gazing at the pile of burn wood that had been set to a side in a crumpled heap, along with what she could see were remnants of furniture. She was suddenly overtaken by sorrow for the two dwarves who had nearly lost everything to the fire.
“Shameless outlaws,” she heard a growl from beside her, and turned to see Hana standing beside her, her arms crossed angrily before her. Her expression was dark. “Burning down the only thing those poor boys had left over from their family… and all just because they tried to defend the rest of us.”
Susan shook her head. “It’s terrible.”
“I swear to the Lion if any one of those bastards enters this town again I will hunt him down myself,” Hana said through gritted teeth, not even looking at Susan, who had the distinct impression that the Dwarf woman was speaking more to herself than to her. “I’m not standing still while people threaten my sons; I’ve lost enough to the war and I won’t lose any more.”
“They threatened your sons?” Susan turned to her in astonishment. “You did not mention that in the meeting last night.”
Hana gave a small shrug. “T’weren’t important at the time,” she said. “Why do you think they burnt our shed and scattered the cattle when all they needed was a bit of meat?” She grinded her teeth. “They threatened my boys and tried to make me do things I won’t ever do. I won’t let any creature make me do anything I don’t want to; I’m not letting anyone try to own me. I lost three sons and one husband to the Witch; two to the War and another two to what happened afterwards. They’ve drawn our people out with talk of a better way, and now they have them destroying their own village. If they think I’m ever letting myself lose anything again then they’re wrong. Oh, they’re wrong.”
Susan stared at the woman with newfound respect. The night before it was her sons who had done most of the talking; but it became clear that what they had learned, they had most likely learned from their mother. She fervently hoped Edmund would defeat the rebels quickly. The people of Pebble had suffered enough.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Author:
nasimwritesRecipient:
jn208505Rating: T
Content/Warnings: Violence, some dark themes.
Summary: “Here was once a land of joy and plenty, once torn apart by the Long Winter and now twice torn apart by those who dare call themselves saviors of Narnia.” Summer brings new challenges for the Pevensies.
Author’s Notes: Thank you, Janet, for being my beta even though it was on short notice!
This story was originally meant to be less than 16 pages in length, but it mutated and grew and is now over 100 pages in length and has nearly 60,000 words… I hope you don’t mind reading a novel-length fic!
Chapter 5
The Dancing Lawn seemed to have been transported to the lands before the castle. As she stood in the clearing between the tents, Lucy could almost imagine that the shadows around the edge of the bonfire were trees and not pavilions, and that the distant roar in the darkness was the wind in the tree boughs and not the waves crashing on the shore of Cair Paravel. She took Mr. Tumnus’ hands as she always did, and together they swung to and fro, dancing the wild, strange dance of the trees.
“Why do you dance so often?” she had once asked him, on the first night they had been invited to those secret, untamed feasts of wine and fruit, coated in shadows born of firelight and moonlight.
“Dancing is like telling a story,” he had told her, his mournful, happy eyes staring deep into hers. “It is remembering and forgetting all at once. We Fauns have always danced; we do it to keep track of time, to remember that we are alive.”
“And the dryads?” she had asked. A pair came dancing, now, with leaves in their hair, twirling and laughing, their bare feet somehow seeming a part of the earth itself.
“Who knows why trees seek to dance?” he had said, a wide smile on his lips, and she had laughed and joined hands with those lively, strange girls, and somehow she had understood.
She understood now, too, from the moment she felt the beat of the drums under her feet, and the piping of flutes filled the air around her. She would have forgotten where she was, had she not seen Cadoc standing nearby, a wide smile on his face as he sat with his back to a tree, deep in conversation with Ekhar. A bit farther off, she could hear the low voices of the Tarkaans as they stood and watched. While she twirled to the merry melody, she caught Ishamiel Tarkaan’s gaze. He was sitting near the others of his kin, but he did not speak to them, instead holding a soft wildflower in his hand. He was fingering it gently as his mind seemed to wander, his eyes watching the strange dance that took place before him. They held gazes for a moment, and she smiled as she always did. As she turned back to the sylvan she was dancing with, she thought she saw him smile back.
Later, she sat with Peter on the grass eating fresh fruit with the King of Galma, who for once actually seemed in a rather good mood, despite the fact that he had insisted to have a blanket placed for him to sit, not wishing to sit upon the bare ground, a fact that confused many of the Narnians, particularly the Talking Beasts. Perhaps it had something to do with the wine, but he almost seemed happy as he took a slice of apple, which one of his servants was slicing for him.
“I must say, High King Peter, unconventional as your customs are in Narnia, they do have a way of making a man feel like he is returning to his youth,” he said.
“I am glad you feel it as well, King Reghorius,” said Peter with a courteous smile. “Narnian air itself seems to make one feel alive.”
“I thought it was all madness, what I heard of in Galma,” he said. “And indeed your people sometimes do strike me as rather mad, but it is a craze that one yearns to be a part of, somehow. And your knights are good competition; I don’t believe the Galman Lords have met a match in years! Never in their wildest dreams did they think it would be a centaur,” Reghorius chuckled, taking another mouthful of apple.
“They are very much exciting,” said Peter.
“Aye, even the Calormene Prince is enjoying himself!” Reghorius said, gesticulating towards the opposite end of the clearing. “He dances with dryads himself, it seems.”
His voice seemed to have carried a bit too much, however, and in a minute Prince Jarrash had made his way over to them. “One must try new things when one has the chance, King,” he said with a proud smile. As he moved to sit beside them on a cushion, a slave brought forth a dish of nuts from which he took a handful. “Never did I think to dance with the tree-people, but here I am, and indeed they are quite beautiful in their own way, these savage things.”
“They are,” said Peter. “But I would avoid offending them, Prince Jarrash, or you might find yourself in an unpleasant situation. The tree people are not under my command or that of my siblings; they are their own territory, and I we not intervene when they impart their justice.”
“Oh, we shall take care, High King Peter,” said Reghorius, waving a hand. “Fear not, I remain wary of your land despite its sweet fruit. Dancing trees, Talking Beasts, and murder attempts during meals… it is quite a handful.” His eyes glinted darkly despite his apparent amusement. Peter forced his face to stay the same.
“Well have the poets said ‘Cut down not the trees of others before tasting the fruit from your own orchard’.” Jarrash was pensive as he finished a peach.
Reghorius did not seem to know what to say in reply.
Lucy was silent during this entire exchange. Though she had no problem with making herself heard, she had no particular interest in taking part in their conversation. So she sat patiently beside her brother until she caught sight of a lonely figure standing beside one of the tents. Excusing herself, she rose from her seat and began to walk towards it.
Queen Amisse of Galma stood quietly in the shadows, her golden hair carefully pinned behind her head. She was young; much too young to be Cadoc’s mother, she realized, and there was something distinctly shy and perhaps even sorrowful about her. Two Galman ladies in waiting stood nearby. Lucy took an apple from a nearby basket and joined the other Queen’s side.
“Have you tried the apples yet?” she asked in a friendly tone. “They are quite sweet.”
The Queen looked astonished that she had been addressed. “I… no, I have not, Queen Lucy.”
“Oh, just Lucy. May I call you by your first name?”
“Of course,” said Amisse, surprised.
Lucy handed her the apple. “Do try it,” she said. “I hope you have been enjoying yourself. You seem rather lonely.”
“Oh! Oh not at all,” said the Queen. “I am usually on my own, so I do not feel it much.”
“Well that is terrible,” said Lucy simply. “It must be amended. Come, I shall introduce you to some friends of mine.”
She was, as it turned out, a very intelligent woman. As they joined Mr. Tumnus, Klaia and a few other dryads and Fauns, and later even Cadoc, who apparently had a good friendship with his stepmother, it became clear that she had read many of the same books that they had, and perhaps even a greater variety. She drew leaves and flowers in Mr. Tumnus’ book and the dryads were very much impressed. As they laughed and ate together, it occurred to Lucy, with a mix of surprise and amusement, that perhaps she had a tendency to surround herself with friends older than she was.
“So, High King Peter,” Reghorius began in a more serious tone as Prince Jarrash drew to aside to converse with King Lune. “What do you think of my son?”
Peter was taken aback. “Well,” he began slowly, not quite sure what he was going to say. “I have not had the chance to speak to him for long, but from what I hear from my sisters he is quite a pleasant young man.”
King Reghorius exhaled in a way that almost sounded like a snort. “Pleasant. Yes, that is Cadoc, if nothing else. And do not get me wrong, High King, it is a good trait; the mark of a good man. But not of a King… a King must be valiant warrior, a brilliant strategist, a subtle diplomat.”
“And you fear your son does not manifest these attributes?”
“I have tried for years, nearly his entire life, but Cadoc does not learn. He is clumsy and lacks skill, particularly on the battlefield.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Peter, not knowing what else to say.
“It is not your concern, High King,” said Reghorius, with a small smile that hid a condescending stare. “And do not mistake my words as a search for advice; I would not trouble your very much occupied mind with lesser matters. And of course, I am well aware that family matters are not your area of expertise.”
Peter nearly had to bite his tongue to hold back a scathing reply. Reghorius did not seem to notice. “Nay,” he said. “I say these things, for a sensitive subject stems from it. As you know, Narnia and Galma meet in single melee combat the day after the next.”
“I am aware of that, yes.”
Reghorius lowered his voice. “My son is to be the knight to meet yours on that day. As he is prince, it would be dishonorable for him and for me if he did not participate. Yet with his lack of skill, I know that he will achieve nothing more than two leave my country in poor standing before the others.”
“No one shall think less of a knight who meets his match on the field,” said Peter.
“Perhaps not of a knight, no,” said Reghorius. “But a Prince… surely you understand. If my son loses this fight he shall leave my House in disgrace, and be an embarrassment to our country. I do not wish to leave Galma in ridicule because of a child who is too stubborn to develop the skills.”
“I understand this,” said Peter. “But I am afraid that if he is signed up there is nothing I can do for him. If his name is beside that of a Narnian knight, then it shall remain there.”
“Aye,” said Reghorius. “But you know who the knight is, and you are the High King. A word from you and the match is decided.”
Peter felt his blood run cold. “What are you implying?”
In midst of the cheerful music and the sound of joyful laughter, Reghorius’ voice sounded ominous as he spoke into Peter’s ear. Peter had the sudden urge to push the old man away.
“A mere word on your part to one of your men, and Cadoc shall be spared his disgrace. A loss for Narnia does nothing to her dignity; a loss for Galma could mean her ruin.” He lowered his voice. “You are well aware of the trading arguments between Calormen and my country; I cannot risk showing weakness before a nation that may very well be planning my demise and the invasion of my kingdom.”
“It would go very much against the rules,” Peter said, confused. “The tournament cannot have its games fixed in such a way.”
“You are the High King,” said Reghorius, grabbing hold of the side of a tent nearby and pulling himself to his feet. “I trust you will understand the precariousness of my position.”
He ambled away into the shadows, probably in search of the way back to his tent. Peter remained where he was, stunned into silence. He could not believe that he had just been asked to break his own rules to ensure another country had good standing during a battle. On principle, he would deny them at once, but diplomatically, he knew, there were sacrifices to be made to ensure an alliance with other countries. And yet…
“What is it, brother?”
He looked up and saw Lucy, a garland of wildflowers in her windswept hair, feet bare and her dress still swishing about her feet after all the dancing she had done. Yet her face was full of worry as she kneeled down beside him and spoke in a low voice.
“You look concerned. I saw Reghorius here. What did he want?”
Peter looked into her large, anxious eyes, and shook his head lightly. “Nothing to worry about,” he said. And standing up, he left the clearing.
The next day, it rained. Thankfully, not a terrible storm with thunder and flooding, as Narnia had a tendency to lay the onslaught upon her people with. But it was rain nonetheless, and some of the merriment of the days before was lost during that day, as people ran to and fro to protect their belongings from the rain, and barrels and pails had to be provided to catch water from dripping down into the tents through whatever holes it proved to have. Most of the activities, therefore, were cancelled, except during the small intervals in which the rain stopped. The people of the festival resorted to chess, checkers, and other board games to pass the time, and on its own it was still a rather entertaining day.
Peter, however, felt as if the rain was drowning him. With Susan and Edmund gone, the amount of tasks he had to administer was larger than ever, and he spent most of the day arranging for tents to be fixed and people relocated, ensuring that the food could be suitably transported to all, and above all else, worrying about King Reghorius’ strange request. Perhaps if Susan had been at his side to help him come to some sort of conclusion he would not be suffering so much over his answer; both Edmund and Susan possessed a strange sort of common sense he sometimes felt he lacked.
By the time it was evening, he excused himself from the camp to have supper with Lucy within the walls of Cair Paravel. Since their sister had left, Lucy had to do the trip alone (though followed, of course, by an entourage of guards and a handmaiden or two), and Peter felt bad for his sister. Also, though he would never admit it to himself, Edmund’s absence rather unnerved him at night. And so it was that they shared supper over a small table in their private chambers.
“I’m rather glad it rained,” Lucy said as she stirred her soup. She always enjoyed stirring it and tasting only the top layer which had cooled. “I was concerned all the grass would die if it didn’t; it has been so sunny lately.”
“It probably will nonetheless,” said Peter. “I doubt such a large encampment does the grass any good.”
Lucy gave a small laugh. “True. Well, we shan’t be short of tasks when the festival is over.”
There was suddenly a rap on the door, and a guard entered, followed by an eagle that looked chilled to the bone, its wet feathers drooping miserably. Somehow, however, it had delivered the scroll of parchment in nearly perfect condition. With an elegant bow despite its deplorable condition, the eagle delivered a letter in the name of Queen Susan, and then left the room.
“Oh, they must have arrived already,” said Lucy with realization. “Will you read it out loud, Peter?”
He was unrolling the parchment, his food forgotten on the table. “Yes, of course.”
He was suddenly reminded of supper back in England, with his mother receiving a letter from their father in the war. Peter knew his mother always read the letters before placing them in his hands, but at the table she would always ask him to be the one to read it to the rest of the family. He had always assumed that his mother found the business of reading letters out loud tedious, but it suddenly occurred to him that there may have been different reasons.
Shaking his head slightly, he focused on the letter that was in his hands.
My Brother and Sister:
Our royal brother King Edmund and made a hasty arrival at the Western Fields nigh three hours ago, three hours after midday, after a day and a half of travel. We were beset with a storm upon the way, which we have suspected shall fall upon you sometime soon. We hope all is well in the Festival, and please send our royal regards to their Lordships whose company you keep during these days.
The story the hare Clover relayed to you, my Brother, did not do justice to the state of affairs in the houses at the Western border. Here was once a land of joy and plenty, once torn apart by the Long Winter and now twice torn apart by those who dare call themselves saviors of Narnia. Its damage has been a work of cowards and brutes, with no consideration for the sanctity of life and the moral rules that hold our entire society together. The people of the village of Pebble were unable to hold their attackers at bay and those farmers who live distant from the village much less; their situation is precarious and many are wondering how they are to survive the months to come, for in the case of most, it is their year’s work that was stolen or ruined for them.
Upon our arrival we met with the villagers in the house of a Dwarf family named Morkin. There were few of them; it was said that others feared a violent onslaught on behalf of the enemy as a consequence for cooperation, and others merely feared us, distrusted us. My royal brother Edmund has said often to me that the attitudes in Pebble are a reflection of the overall state of our country; if so, we have yet much work to do. The mere act of gaining the trust and reassuring the villagers that participated in our initial council overtook more than an hour’s time. But after this they were eager to share their stories.
They told us of deep wrongs that have been done to them: crops were torn to pieces, herds were freed and scattered in the night, cellars were pillaged, houses were burnt to the ground. Trees have been uprooted, and many dryads have been on the verge of death because of this. All of these acts of cruelty have been carried out as threats or punishments for not providing the supplies these ‘Knights of Stone’ seem to require, though many of the villagers did not even possess enough supplies to feed their own families. Aiding this village will require much more work than we expected, but the women and young men here display much talent and determination; they are hardworking and shall do anything to secure a future for themselves and for their children. I do not doubt that we shall achieve our goals; but it will take much sacrifice on everybody’s part.
There is one pleasing piece of information, however. The villagers have told us rumors of caves in the mountains, which is where they suspect the enemy is hiding. Our royal brother King Edmund and his group plan to leave for the caves tomorrow morning and investigate. Once they know their location, they shall attempt to meet with the enemy and discern what their true demands are.
More letters shall follow to inform you of our progress. For now, we extend our loving greetings and hope that we meet again soon.
Your good sister,
Susan.
Lucy smiled. “Well, I am glad they arrived safely, despite the rain. That must have been unpleasant. And it is good that they know where these Knights of Stone are.”
“Yes,” said Peter, deep in thought. “But other than that we know next to nothing about them. I hope the villagers are able to give Edmund some idea of what he is up against.”
“Do not worry, Peter,” said Lucy, and she stood up from the table. “Well, it is late and I must go to bed.”
Peter nodded, standing up as well to kiss his younger sister’s cheek. “Good night.”
As he drew away, he felt her fingers around his wrist. She was looking up at him, her eyes searching. “What is it?” she asked. “You have been tense and preoccupied all day, even more than usual.”
“I’m just worried for Su and Ed,” he said, shaking his head. “Good night, Lucy.”
Her fingers loosened and he drew away, grasping his cloak off a nearby chair and preparing to leave through the door. She stood where she was, her eyes still fixed on him.
“Why don’t you trust me, Peter?”
He looked up almost guiltily, startled.
“I do trust you, sister,” he said.
“No, you don’t,” said Lucy bluntly. Though she stood nearly two heads shorter than he did and her face did still look like that of a child, there was something about her that almost made him feel younger than she was.
“I do trust you, Lucy,” he said. “But that does not mean I wish to involve you in problems that you cannot solve.”
Lucy sighed. “Why do you insist on taking problems upon yourself all on your own? I am your sister, and I am also Queen of Narnia. Let me help you.”
“It’s not something that can be solved so easily,” he said.
She reached out and pulled a chair out from the table silently, her gaze almost fierce as she looked into his eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he sighed resignedly and sat down. She sat down once more across from him, their empty plates and goblets between them.
“Reghorius wants his son to win in combat tomorrow,” he said simply. “He knows that if the Prince loses, Galma faces disgrace before the other countries. He has asked me to pull some strings and ensure that his son wins the fight.”
“But that is illegal,” Lucy said. “You cannot order a Narnian knight to lose on purpose.”
“I am well aware of that,” said Peter, a slight scowl on his face. “But we cannot afford enmity between Narnia and Galma, and Reghorius will not take it lightly if I refuse to aid his son.”
“Yet as High King of Narnia, you cannot be guilty of sabotaging a match.”
“I know,” said Peter with frustration. “The thought of doing such a thing disgusts me. But is it truly worth risking enmity between our countries? It is only a match, whilst a blatant disregard for the King’s wishes will be interpreted on his part as a betrayal and a show of arrogance before him.”
“That does not matter,” said Lucy firmly. “As High King of this nation, it is improper and an insult to Narnia herself if you betray your morals so deliberately. We have sworn an oath to rule this country justly, and that oath cannot be held through means of deceit.”
“Then what would you have me do?!” Peter exclaimed with frustration, louder than he would have intended. “We are caught between two dangers to Narnia; which one shall we choose?”
Lucy scowled. “The King of Galma has no right to ask you to do such a thing for him. You are not one who may bend his will to the requests of others. Peter, he is using you. You are worse off doing as he says than you are doing nothing.”
Peter put his face in his hands. “It is just so hopelessly confusing,” he groaned. “I am the High King, and therefore I have the right to do whatever I wish; but as High King I cannot think of doing such a thing, for I live to serve my country. Where does one draw the line? Should my rank be different, then I would have refused at once, but in the state our country is at the moment, with rebels and battles within its own borders, can we risk hostility with Galma? Perhaps a sacrifice is in order to keep our country at peace!”
“We swore an oath to Aslan,” Lucy said, her voice gentle. “An oath to rule and do justice among our people, and protect them from their enemies when enemies arise. One does not meet deceit with more deceit. Should enemies arise, then we shall protect our people as we always have.”
Peter lifted his face from his hands and met her gaze, the frustration slowly leaving his face. “You are right,” he murmured simply.
Lucy smiled slightly, leaning back in her seat. “You do not have to shield me from everything, Peter,” she said softly. “You cannot do this alone.”
He stayed silent as she rose from the table a second time, moving towards the door. “Good night,” she said.
“Lucy?” he called after her when she had nearly disappeared through the doorway. She stopped and turned to look at him. “I’m sorry.”
She gave him another smile and shook her head. “You do not have to apologize.”
He took hold of his cloak once more and set out to return to camp, his mind feeling oddly at peace.
//
The next round of single melee combat was scheduled for after dinner the next day. Peter had not seen Lucy very much all morning, but it did not surprise him; he suspected that she was off with Mr. Tumnus once more, roaming the Festival and making new friends. He wondered at her energy; he was perfectly content sitting and speaking to Lord Peridan while the preparations were made for the start of the match. It also helped appease some of the nerves he could not help feeling when he thought of the King of Galma, whose request he had not followed through with.
“Galen and Frowe do not seem very nervous,” said Peridan, leaning back in his seat.
Peter was busy surveying the gathering crowd. Most of Narnia had come to watch the match, eager to see the Prince of Galma face a Narnian Knight. Galen was well known for his skill with the sword and his long-standing friendship and teamwork with the Talking Horse Frowe. On the gallery opposite from where he sat, Peter could see King Reghorius moving to take his seat, his wife carefully taking her place beside him. It seemed to him that she seemed happier than usual, though there was some hint of worry on her face; perhaps she too was anxious to see Cadoc’s actions on the field. Reghorius had most likely told no one of his request.
As the King took his seat, he gave Peter a small wave. Peter waved back, moving his gaze to the lists that lied between them. He could not help feeling a stirring of foreboding in his heart as he gripped the arm of the chair he sat on. What would he do once Cadoc lost the fight, and rather quickly, judging from the King’s words? Reghorius was not likely to make public show of his feeling of insult, but the hostility would show soon. Things were already complicated enough, what with the murder attempts, without counting the barriers Reghorius might create out of spite, should any new complications arise.
“I have my bets on Galen,” Peridan added, a proud smile on his lips as he saw his cousin speaking in a low voice to Frowe while they prepared outside the lists. “The Prince does not look quite as strong, though things may be different when the fighting begins.”
Prince Cadoc stood on the opposite side, placing his helmet on his head, his clear eyes sweeping the crowd. His gaze lingered for a rather long time on the Narnian gallery, and Peter was seized with worry that he may ask a token of favor from Lucy when the time came. Such a thing would make the situation even worse, once Cadoc lost and it was obvious that Peter had not given Lord Galen orders in favor of Galma.
“Oh, we shall see, Peridan,” said Lucy’s voice from beside Peter. He turned to look as she took her seat, her hands grasping a small arrangement of flowers which she began to tuck into her hair. “Prince Cadoc seems to have trained very long. I trust that this will be quite an interesting match.”
Peter met her gaze as Peridan replied. She stared back with a smile that was much calmer than he felt. A trumpet marked the beginning of the match, and Peter forced himself to watch as the Galman Prince rode into the lines upon a strong black mare, his sword drawn and his shield ready. Galen and Frowe were ready, moving forwards as if they were one body. Peter felt a wave of relief as he realized that neither of the knights would ask for tokens from any of the women.
Galen’s sword struck first, glancing off the Prince’s shield with an audible clang. The crowd gasped and cheered as Galen moved forwards, his sword quickly striking here and there, Cadoc hardly able to do more than protect himself by parrying and shielding himself. He was, however, a good enough rider to move his horse quickly, and so avoided being overtaken by the knight despite the fact that he was outmatched.
Glancing towards the Galman gallery, Peter could see Reghorius’ pained expression mixed with anger and resentment as he watched his son practically being chased by Galen before him.
As he watched Cadoc, whose visor was up, his faced scrunched with concentration and effort, Peter thought he recognized the look in the young Prince’s eyes. It reminded him of Edmund years ago, when he was younger and rebellious, longing for independence and recognition despite his age. He remembered the expression on his brother’s face every time he or his mother told him to do something he didn’t want to do: an expression of pure stubbornness and determination to see it through to the end. It was the same look he saw now in the eyes of the Galman Prince, as he blocked every one of Lord Galen’s attacks, sweat pouring down his face as they fought under the bright summer sun.
And suddenly, Cadoc pushed forwards, unleashing a number of fierce blows upon the knight, who, surprised by the unexpected offence, was forced to retreat slightly under the rain of blows that fell upon him, limited only to parrying and trying to shield himself, though in a much more skillful manner than Cadoc. Though the Prince’s attacks were rather clumsy and not very well carried out, the fierceness of his movements was what gained him an advantage for nearly ten minutes as they fought. The Galman delegation cheered for their Prince as he pressed onwards, Galen and Frowe being forced to move to try and find the time to begin a new attack.
They did, after a time. Cadoc received many blows to his armor and it became obvious he was nastily bruised by them. But despite Galen’s expert swordsmanship, it took nearly an entire fifteen minutes more for the fight to end, Cadoc not managing to block more attacks out of sheer exhaustion. When he climbed off his horse to bow and retreat while Lord Galen and Frowe claimed their victory, it was obvious that he had been beaten so thoroughly it was difficult for him to walk, but the look on his face showed a fierce determination and silent dignity as he left the lists.
Looking up, Peter saw Reghorius’ angry face now directed at him, though he clapped for the Narnian victory as he was politically obligated to. His eyes bored into Peter’s, and Peter looked back at him with no expression on his face. After all, he had never officially agreed to anything. But he could not help feeling cold in his stomach as he thought of the things that might come from his decision.
Suddenly, the cheering died down, and all heads turned towards him. Rather dazed, he was initially alarmed, until he realized that Lucy had stood up and was now standing near the side of the gallery, her hands raised to calm the crowd.
“My friends!” she exclaimed gladly. “I speak on behalf of my royal Brothers and Sister when I say: I wish to applaud Lord Galen for his remarkable prowess during this match. Lord Galen, you have truly brought your country honor and the country of Narnia is proud to count you among those who walk bearing the name of the distinguished Order of the Lion.”
The crowd cheered, and the Narnian flag was waved vigorously from all around them. Lord Galen bowed deeply, his helm now under his arm. Beside him, Frowe had bowed his head as well, his nose nearly touching the ground.
“But I would also like to extend our compliments to the valiant Prince Cadoc of our sister nation of Galma. Though the victory was taken by Narnia, one cannot forget the staunch determination displayed by Prince Cadoc, the likes of which have never been seen before, extending the match nearly twice the length of an ordinary match, therefore demonstrating that indeed the people of Galma are strong and determined in their defenses. It is an honor for Narnia to count Galma among her allies; for, as Prince Cadoc has so well demonstrated, no matter how desperate the situation, she will defend her own.”
The cheers were even louder this time, and nearly the entire audience, Narnian and Galman alike, waved flags and was joyful. The Calormenes clapped as well, and Peter caught a glimpse of Prince Jarrash’s elegant smile as he gave a nod of appreciation to Prince Cadoc. Peter looked at King Reghorius and knew that he had seen the exchange; his anger disappeared, and though he did not look joyful, there was some relief and perhaps even a flicker of pride in his eyes as he watched his son leave the lists.
While the people cheered, Lucy returned to her seat. Peter smiled at her.
Later, as he made his way to the place where the wrestling matches would be held, he caught sight of a group of dwarves moving a wheelbarrow full of crates and furniture from one side of the camp to another. He stared at them, confused.
Beside him, Peridan saw his face and spoke. “There was some flooding last night as a result of the rain, Sire,” he said. “And it presents an inconvenience to the clans of dwarves whose quarters were there.”
“Their tents ought to be moved to new places, then,” said Peter, surprised. “We must assign them new spaces-”
“Oh, it has already been done, Sire.”
Peter stared at him in confusion. Peridan smiled. “Queen Lucy spent the morning arranging their new quarters,” he said. “She has been supervising Aurelius’ work for the past few days.”
“I…” Peter was stunned. “I was not aware of that.”
The dwarves passed them and they continued to walk. “Yes, I spoke to Her Majesty two days ago,” said Peridan. “She said she did not wish to inconvenience you.”
Peter fell silent.
//
Susan awoke and was suddenly overwhelmed with confusion, not recognizing the place she was in. It was almost completely dark all around her, and the only light that penetrated the darkness was the cold blue light of the beginning of the sunrise as it peeked through the folds of the curtains that covered the small windows of the tiny room in the low building she was in.
Memories came rushing back to her, and she immediately remembered the soft but well-worn blankets she lay in, as well as the sturdy log walls around her. She was in the house of the Morkin family, composed by a Dwarf woman and her four young sons. It was not often that one saw dwarven women; from what she had heard they had a tendency to keep to themselves, but Hana Morkin was no ordinary woman.
The night before, after they had shared a very simple supper in the Morkin’s garden along with the others, Edmund and Susan had gone to sit on the low steps of the porch of the small house, illuminated only by the soft golden light of a lantern that hung from the side of the roof. Around them, the small roads were deserted, distant lights glimmering in the trees and in the small houses in the distance. All had gone to their homes now, and those who had come from Cair Paravel had retreated to the Morkin’s stable behind the house, along with the four Morkin brothers.
Susan had sat and listened to the crickets chirp and the soft whispers of the trees moving in the breeze. Edmund had been rubbing his hands together.
“It is colder here than it is at the Cair,” he had said quietly. It felt as if louder words might awaken the night.
“It is because we are closer to the mountains,” Susan had replied softly.
They had sat in silence for a while, their knees and elbows touching as they sat on the narrow porch steps, iron armor against soft cloth clothes. Susan had felt like a child once more, the stir of fear and excitement in her heart as she looked on towards the darkness, reminiscing old tales of monsters and ghosts that she had long ceased to fear, but that still held their place in some distant part of her memories.
“Sometimes I cannot help but think that perhaps this is all a dream,” Edmund had said in a low voice, his gaze on the darkness as well, a small smile on his lips. “And that soon I will awaken and we shall be at home with Mother, arguing and fighting as we used to.”
Susan had laughed softly. “Poor Mother.”
Edmund had laughed as well, shaking his head at the memories of their fierce squabbles over insignificant things.
“Edmund,” Susan had said presently. He had turned his face towards her. “Do you ever miss it?”
“Sometimes,” he had answered after a moment, turning away, his eyes gleaming in the soft lantern light. “But not as much as one would think. Do you?”
“I feel the same,” she had said. “But do you not wonder at it, Edmund? That we feel no remorse for having left behind all we have ever known? That we do not wonder if our mother misses us, that we do not wish we could return?”
“There was nothing for us there, Susan,” Edmund had said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Narnia is our home now, and, as Lucy would say… this is the will of Aslan.”
“We do not know what the will of Aslan is,” she had replied. Her eyes had gone wide and her fingers were clenched around the soft cloth of her dress. Somehow, the night had given her the confidence to speak the fears that had been lurking under the surface of her mind for months. “Are we returning someday? Or is this to be our home forever?”
“Would you rather it weren’t?”
Susan had smiled, almost sadly. “No. I would rather stay here than go to any other world.”
“Then what is the point of wondering? We cannot know. We have duties to perform and friends all around us. What else do you need?”
Suddenly she had realized she had tears in her eyes. “A reason,” she had whispered. “A reason to live, and plan, and grow. How can I be truly satisfied with the world around me if I fear that in the blink of an eye I shall have to return and lose everything I have built here? How can we fight for our people if we have no reason to fight for ourselves?”
He had said nothing, and they had not shared any more words that night. Instead, her younger brother had put his arm around her shoulders and she had placed her head on his, both staring on towards the night, until the moon had fully risen and Edmund had left towards the stable where he would sleep.
In the distance, a rooster crowed, and gradually Susan became aware of rustling noises on the other side of the curtain that separated her small room from the rest of the house. Candles had been lit, and it was not long until she saw Hana Morkin’s short, stout figure come through the curtain, making her way to her bed. Her rough hand reached forwards and gently shook Susan’s arm.
“Queen Susan,” the woman said in a low voice. “It is time to rise. Your brother and his men are bringing out their horses now.”
Partly concealed by the blanket, Susan pretended to wake up, and sat up slowly. Before her, Hana stood with a candle in her hand, a well-worn apron over her skirts, her reddish hair in a messy bun. She would have looked like a human, had it not been for her short height and the distinctly dwarven shape of her face. Her stony brown eyes peered at Susan almost guardedly as the Queen arose, fastening her gown over the shift she slept in.
The people of Pebble had not seen monarchy in their entire lives, and therefore had some trouble when it came to knowing how to address Edmund and Susan properly, and what sorts of things to do and say before them. They were ignorant of court rituals and hierarchy, and therefore often inadvertently treated their superiors as people of their same rank. But Susan did not find this offensive or annoying; in fact, it was somewhat amusing and in a way a good rest from the treatment she was used to receiving in Cair Paravel, which could be tiresome at times.
After she had washed her face and arranged her hair, she followed Hana out of the small room and found herself in the small main room, where some chairs, a table, and a low couch were neatly arranged near a fireplace that was rather large for the room, an equally large cauldron inside it. Shelves of cooking implements and household tools were placed against the wall, and on the opposite side of the room was a small door leading down to what Susan presumed was the cellar, beside another which she knew led to Hana’s room. It was strange to think that the house had once been the home of eight people. But then again, everything seemed rather smaller to her, being much taller than the dwarves; as it was, there were parts of the house where her head nearly scraped the roof.
While Hana seized a tray full of small bows of porridge, which Susan realized was what the cauldron had held, Susan unlatched the front door and opened it wide, following the dwarven woman out into the road.
The village of Pebble had been built almost completely around a crossroads: one road leading back towards Cair Paravel in the East, another leading North towards what had become known as Lantern Waste, another leading South towards mountains, and another leading towards the forest and more mountains beyond in the West, which was where Edmund and his men were going.
The houses were spread out with much space between them, as was customary in Narnian villages; the different styles of living that the diversity of species within the Narnian population had made it necessary for homes to be rather separate: dwarves and moles had different sorts of homes and activities. But the villages were villages nonetheless, and there was a fierce sense of unity and protectiveness for their own.
In front of the Morkin’s house was Clover’s home, a small shack under which, from what Susan had heard, a burrow had been dug. The shack served merely as protection from rain and wind, and protection for the vegetables they acquired during harvest season; unlike most Talking Beasts of their kind, Clover’s family had ensured that they could easily obtain food from their own land, and had an income from selling to other families in the village. Clover had said that in the years before the Long Winter, his family had had the largest and most richly furnished burrow in all Western Narnia. With the White Witch’s reign, their riches had mostly been lost, but they had slowly begun to plant crops once more and had been looking forward to the fruits of their labor.
But at the moment, their field laid torn apart, and their shed only half-stood on the few logs that remained in place. Only a few days before, the Knights of Stone had ransacked their stores and torn out their crops, destroying most of their shack in the process. Susan could see Clover’s mother and many children standing on the side of the road, looking rather meek as they watched Edmund’s people saddle their horses, preparing to leave. There was a certain unease to their stance, and they glanced jerkily towards the far ends of the roads, as if they expected invaders any moment now; Susan could not blame them… after what had happened to the villagers, it was expected. In between the houses where people were visible stood abandoned huts; these had been the homes of those who had abandoned the village in favor of the Knights of Stone.
Edmund greeted Susan as she walked towards him and Borik, who was grumbling as he fastened his pony’s saddle, but stopped to bow deeply towards her as she reached them.
“Breakfast?” she offered, handing a bowl of porridge with a spoon to each.
“Thank you,” said Edmund with a smile, taking the bowl and eating quickly. He looked comfortable in armor, unlike the first days when he had to ride wearing it at the beginning of their reign.
“Do you know the way?” Susan asked.
Edmund looked towards the forest. “Well enough. Two of Hana’s sons have offered to take us near the caves. I will send a message when I can.”
The empty bowls were set aside (the Talking Beasts had found food in the outskirts of the forest on their own) and the horses were mounted. Looking around her, Susan could see many small groups of locals watching them prepare. She could tell that many eyes were set upon Edmund; their gazes were a mix of curiosity and fear… in some cases, perhaps some disdain.
He followed her gaze. “Narnia has not,” he said, repeating his words from the day before, his eyes grave.
She said nothing, and patted his horse as he got into the saddle. As everyone else mounted as well, he looked at her. The look in his eyes made him seem older than he really was, and somehow she felt she was speaking to a part of him that was older than she. “Be brave, Sister,” he said in a low voice, so no one else could hear. “For now, these people are your reason.”
And then he reined his horse, and with a thunder of galloping hooves, they were gone, turning at the crossroads and disappearing in the direction of the forest.
Susan took a deep breath, and then turned to those who had been left behind. Slowly, one by one, they turned their eyes to her.
Nearest to her were those who had come with her from Cair Paravel: two Fauns, three dwarves, two dogs, two moles and one satyr. They were finishing their breakfast, and the two Fauns were carrying the dirty bowls back into Hana’s small house. Near the sides of the road stood Clover’s family, along with Clover himself, who was sitting calmly on a clump of grass, looking considerably better than he had before. The two remaining Morkin brothers, Gimor and Kimor, heavily bearded despite their very young faces, crouched on the porch of their house, their mother standing nearby. Susan thought she saw some eyes peering at her from a nearby tree, and suspected it was the Monkeys, two of whom she had met the night before. They were all staring at her expectantly.
“Very well,” she said, raising her voice so that all might hear. “It is time to begin our work. May all willing to assist move closer?”
She was quickly joined by those who had come with her, having finished their breakfast, Clover and two of his brothers, the three Morkins, and three Monkeys who swiftly dropped from their tree and came near. Two black dwarves also suddenly appeared and joined them, though they looked rather reluctant. Susan heard whispers, and suddenly one of the black dwarves cried out, looking towards a larger house that stood near the Hare family’s.
“Come out o’ yer hole, ye disgraceful thing,” he cried harshly. “Ye don’t get to lurk in the shadows while yer neighbors fix the trouble ye were too cowardly ter face!”
There was a hushed murmur among the locals, and Susan suddenly saw movement from the door, which she had assumed was closed. Slowly, an old Faun stepped out, his face downcast, wearing a woolen vest. He said nothing as he joined the group, but Susan could see people glancing at him now and then with no kindness in his eyes.
She had heard of him. He had elected to give supplies to the Knights of Stone, even when they began threatening neighboring families. He had refused to take part in conversations to call for help, and had not opened the door for the black dwarves when their house had been burnt to the ground by the rebels.
Susan spoke up quickly, fearing that, given too much spare time, a fight might break out. “For those of you whom I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, I am Queen Susan Pevensie, come from Cair Paravel to bring you aid in this time of need. I trust we shall get to know each other very well over the next few days as we repair the damage that was done to you. Please know that I and those who have come with me are here to assist you in anything you may need; we are your friends, and we are here to serve you. We shall do our best and devote all our energy to these tasks, so as to ensure that you never need suffer in this way again. Please know that though only King Edmund and I were able to come, given the responsibilities the Festival demands, both the High King Peter and Queen Lucy send their loving regards, and their well-wishes for your restoration in this time of need.”
There were nods and some words of thanks from the more trusting creatures. Susan smiled.
“Let us begin, then. Last night we decided we would begin with those buildings that have been damaged or torn down.” She looked to Clover. “Those would be…?”
Clover gave a small cough and then spoke rather nervously. “The Morkins’ chicken coop, the Birdel brothers’ home, and my own family home.”
“We shall start at your own home then, Clover,” said Susan, “As I believe it is the easiest to rebuild, given that it has not been burnt.”
And so they began to work, the moles quickly making their way to ensure that the dirt near the burrow was in good state to rebuild the two walls that had been collapsed. In doing so, they discovered that part of the burrow had caved due to the heavy crash of the logs over their home, and together with Clover and his brothers, they managed to rebuild it and even add an extra room. The Fauns and the satyr inspected the wood that was found scattered nearby and took them to the dwarves, who, with help from the Monkeys, who had facility when it came to the roofs, carefully set them in place and began to work on them with their hammers. Meanwhile, the dogs ran further, searching for the pieces of wood that had been lost. They returned explaining that several trees that had been torn along the way were not dryad trees and therefore might be used if new wood was needed.
Susan and Hana helped Clover’s family retrieve empty sacks from the trampled and upturned ground, which had been scattered when the shack was raided. The rebels had been thorough; no food had been left within the sacks, and the shack had been almost completely emptied.
The sun was only beginning to truly warm their skin when they finished the Hares’ shack. They quickly moved on to the Morkins’ chicken coop, which had been partially torn down and burnt, its chickens scattered. Gimor and Kimor had managed to catch them all the night they had escaped from the fire, and had placed them in a makeshift pen near the back of the house for the time being. This time the dwarves went with the dogs to cut slabs of wood both for the chicken coop and the Birdel brothers’ house, and the Monkeys remained to help build it. The Fauns and the satyr helped transport the slabs of wood with wheelbarrows, and Susan and Hana helped with the hammering. Meanwhile, those who were not needed in the task of rebuilding the coop made their way to make plans for the Birdel brother’s house or were gathering straw for the interior of the coop.
Once the coop was ready, Susan, a Faun and a Dwarf had the rather unpleasant task of moving the chickens into their new home, a task both uncomfortable for them and for the chickens. Susan suspected she gained some respect from the locals when they watched her struggle with a rather fierce chicken and ultimately win after what was nearly as exhausting as a full-fledged swordfight.
Sometime after mid-morning, they all went to where the Birdel brothers’ house used to sit. The Birdels were the two fierce black dwarves who quickly set to work with the wood they had helped procure from the fallen trees in the forest. They seemed anxious to prove that, though they had help, they could do most of the work on their own.
Susan stood towards the edge of the land, gazing at the pile of burn wood that had been set to a side in a crumpled heap, along with what she could see were remnants of furniture. She was suddenly overtaken by sorrow for the two dwarves who had nearly lost everything to the fire.
“Shameless outlaws,” she heard a growl from beside her, and turned to see Hana standing beside her, her arms crossed angrily before her. Her expression was dark. “Burning down the only thing those poor boys had left over from their family… and all just because they tried to defend the rest of us.”
Susan shook her head. “It’s terrible.”
“I swear to the Lion if any one of those bastards enters this town again I will hunt him down myself,” Hana said through gritted teeth, not even looking at Susan, who had the distinct impression that the Dwarf woman was speaking more to herself than to her. “I’m not standing still while people threaten my sons; I’ve lost enough to the war and I won’t lose any more.”
“They threatened your sons?” Susan turned to her in astonishment. “You did not mention that in the meeting last night.”
Hana gave a small shrug. “T’weren’t important at the time,” she said. “Why do you think they burnt our shed and scattered the cattle when all they needed was a bit of meat?” She grinded her teeth. “They threatened my boys and tried to make me do things I won’t ever do. I won’t let any creature make me do anything I don’t want to; I’m not letting anyone try to own me. I lost three sons and one husband to the Witch; two to the War and another two to what happened afterwards. They’ve drawn our people out with talk of a better way, and now they have them destroying their own village. If they think I’m ever letting myself lose anything again then they’re wrong. Oh, they’re wrong.”
Susan stared at the woman with newfound respect. The night before it was her sons who had done most of the talking; but it became clear that what they had learned, they had most likely learned from their mother. She fervently hoped Edmund would defeat the rebels quickly. The people of Pebble had suffered enough.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
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