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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 6
The foundations for the house were nearly finished by the time it was noon. Susan, along with one Faun, a female Monkey named Willow and Clover’s mother, followed Hana to her home and helped prepare dinner. It was a very simple affair, what with food being scarce for everyone, but everyone had brought something and soon a simple yet savory stew was cooking. While Hana stirred the cauldron inside, Susan and Willow washed the bowls that had been used that morning, while Clover’s mother carefully dried them and set them in a careful pile.
“Ought you to be doing this work, Queen Susan?” Willow asked meekly from where she stood, rubbing soap over the bowls.
Susan laughed. “Why should I not be, Willow?”
The Monkey looked shy, turning her eyes away. “Well… you’re a Queen…”
“That simply means I must work all the harder,” said Susan with a smile.
They piled the bowls and spoons onto a cart along with the heavy cauldron full of food, Hana herself sitting beside it to hold it in place. The cart was pulled along by a donkey, which, apparently, had been the only beast wise enough to remain inside the stables the night the rebels had opened it and scattered the cattle. Willow sat on the donkey and edged it on, her light weight making her nearly go unnoticed by the beast, and Susan guided it carefully by its rope. In this manner, they reached the area where the house was being built, and they shared a joyful, though rather tired meal together.
After half an hour of rest, those working on the house returned to the task at hand, and Susan followed the rest to the land behind the stable of the Morkins. The cows had escaped only a night before and the Morkins had been too busy with the other problems the Knights of Stone had caused to herd their own cattle. The dogs immediately set to work, running in circles to push the cows towards each other as they stood grazing, scattered across the land, between clumps of trees. Susan was somewhat amused as she watched them.
“Did you know that where I come from some dogs gather cattle all the time?”
One of the dogs in question looked rather confused as he cocked his head towards her, breathing quickly after all the running he had done, having brought a pair of cows in safely.
“You mean… like that is their employment, Queen Susan?”
She hesitated, not knowing how to explain ownership to him. She did not wish to offend him by drawing a comparison between a common dog and a Talking Dog, and therefore merely said, “Not exactly… but something of that sort.”
It was after a bit over an hour that most of the cows had been gathered, but Hana pointed out with no little worry that that four of them were missing. And so Susan set off, accompanied by the two dogs and two birds, who happened to live in the trees nearby and were eager to help.
They found one cow ambling through a distant clump of trees, looking rather confused, and they tied her to a tree trunk while they further explored the area, wondering if perhaps there was another there. They did not find any, but the dogs thought they picked up a scent and left at a run towards farther off into a deeper cluster of trees. Susan was only beginning to untie the cow and lead her back to the stable when she heard frantic barking, and the dogs rushed towards her calling out that they had found another one.
The poor cow seemed to have sprained her somehow, and was lying awkwardly on the grass, crying out softly. Susan stroked her head and sent one of the birds to call two of the dwarves for help.
It was a good thing too, because just as the dwarves were debating what the safest way to transport the cow back to the stables so she could be treated was, the dogs picked up another scent.
This time Susan had to force herself not to cry. Two dead cows lay near to each other behind some rocks, parts of their flesh cruelly cut off, and in some cases, some of their legs, their necks extended as if they longed for an escape, their eyes wide and glassy. Blood caked the grass underneath them.
“Savages,” Gimor bit out, tears in his eyes as he surveyed the damage. “Couldn’t even dispose of the bodies properly, could they? They needed meat, and they took it. There’s no respect for the poor beasts.” He leaned down and stroked the one of the cows’ nose, gently. Susan could tell he was trying very hard not to cry. “You poor, poor girl. I’m so sorry.”
They buried them a few yards away, near the trees, once the other two cows had been safely taken to the stable. Susan got painful blisters in her hands while helping dig the graves, but she couldn’t care less. Her tears joined those of the two dwarves as they buried the damaged bodies.
Everyone met at sundown and helped set up a tent for the visitors, since the stable was now full. Susan could not shake the sadness in her heart, despite her best attempts to appear cheerful before those around her. It was the arrival of an eagle that helped calm her, for it bore Peter’s letter in reply to hers.
My Sister:
I address this letter to you only, for I trust that Edmund has already departed earlier this morning. He is in our hearts and in our minds, and we hope for his swift victory in defeating the rebels. We hope also for your success, dear Sister, in assisting the villagers of Pebble; your detailed explanation of what has transpired there has saddened us greatly, but we are confident that with the aid of the Great Lion and your skillful labor all evil shall be eradicated from that place. I fear that there are times when we believe the entirety of our country is reflected in those towns and villages closest to Cair Paravel, and by reducing Narnia to such small a region we omit the sufferings of those farthest from us from our minds. This is, of course, not something born of malicious intent, but a mere act of forgetfulness that we must be aware of so as to not commit the same mistake again. It is a great relief, therefore, to know that we are on some level addressing this problem.
Here in the Festival all goes well. Narnia has been succeeding quite brilliantly in the tournaments, though Calormen is a fierce adversary. But the competitiveness has not overshadowed the alliances between the countries, and though trying moments come and go, overall there is much enjoyment and laughter to be had. Your presence and that of our Brother is sorely missed, but I believe that we might even have gained a higher respect in the eyes of our allies for the swiftness of our actions when our people are in need. Perhaps it is wishful thinking; but our Sister assures me that it is not.
On the topic of our royal Sister, she is doing quite marvelously. I have come to realize that our reign would be impossible without her. In fact, these mere two days without her would have sent the entire Festival into irreparable disarray. She has proven herself outstandingly capable. I am afraid that I may have been wrong on all accounts, and fear that perhaps I have been holding all of us back by attempting to protect you. If this is the case, which I suspect it is so, I must beg your forgiveness and that of our Brother. I trust that in your capable hands, this country shall move forwards to become a land of joy and plenty once more.
Please communicate our most earnest greetings and well-wishes to those who suffer in the West. And on a lighter note, our dear friend King Lune has entreated me to relay to you that he intends to save his last store of Archenland mead until your return, which he hopes is rather soon, for he yearns for its taste, or so he has informed me. We eagerly await your next letter.
Your good brother,
Peter.
She could not help an amused smile at King Lune’s message, or a tender smile at Peter’s admission that perhaps he had been much too overprotective. She fervently hoped he was not worrying himself too much about it, though knowing her brother he most likely was dwelling in self-hatred. She only hoped Lucy would know him well enough to help assuage his worries.
//
The next day began just as early as the first had, and it took much willpower for Susan to get out of bed. But Hana’s insistent words and her knowledge that the entire village was aware of her good will and energy served as motivation, and she was soon out of bed and eating the hasty breakfast porridge that Hana had prepared.
They had intended to begin fixing the crops that had been burnt or torn apart, but word reached them that Old Badger, who lived in a burrow near the stream at about an hour’s distance from Pebble, had been hurt badly when the outlaws had raided his cellar and stolen many of his things. So, leaving behind the Birdel brothers, the Morkin brothers and two of the dwarves who had come with Susan, they set out on the road towards Old Badger’s home. Along with them came Clover, who was now feeling very well, Hana, and Willow and her brother Ash, for they knew the way and were worried about Old Badger.
“He helped our family lots when we were short on food,” Ash had said. “Kept us all alive during the Long Winter, when it was hard to find things to eat and Father had just died. Mother didn’t know what to do, but Old Badger would travel all the distance to bring us supplies.”
Old Badger lived in a large burrow near the outskirts of the forest, more towards the South, so near to a stream that Susan could hear the water moving over the rocks as she stood outside. The burrow was so large that she could crawl into it and sit, which was very convenient, seeing as Old Badger turned out to be badly injured.
They had broken his hind leg and stabbed his paw, and he was lounging on a chair with a makeshift bandage around his paw, gritting his teeth as Willow and Hana nimbly worked on fixing his wounds, Susan handing them bottles of cordials and bandages when necessary, for Hana had had the presence of mind to bring her medicinal supplies along with her. As they worked, some of the others went out hunting for any things that might have been lost in the forest as the thieves escaped, and others inspected the damage that had been done to the badger’s stores. Much had been smashed and broken, and they immediately began to salvage what they could, fixing the shelves and trying to rearrange what few jars, barrels and sacks were left.
Though he was in terrible pain from his wounds, all Old Badger seemed to be worrying about was what had been stolen from him. He constantly spoke between growls of pain as Willow and Hana attempted to set his hind leg back in place.
“They’ve taken all my food, nearly everything,” he kept saying in a whisper, his black eyes glistening in between his old, almost discolored, fur. “I had so much saved. Now what will happen when Winter returns? What shall I eat?”
“Relax, friend,” said Hana, in the kindest voice Susan had heard her use yet. “We shall replenish your cellars with enough food to last you.”
But the badger continued to murmur, shaking his head over and over again. “No, no,” he said. “No... there is not enough food to withstand another Winter…”
Susan wanted to question him in order to understand why he spoke so desperately. But one of the Fauns soon managed to calm him with a drink of some sort, and Old Badger fell into a deep sleep on his little couch. Hana’s face was unfathomable as she gathered her supplies, and Susan felt that it was not a good time to ask questions of that sort. Instead, she kneeled near them and made many questions about the ways they had healed his wounds, and the names of the herbs they had used. Though Lucy had the cordial Father Christmas had given her, they could not rely on the cordial forever, and they had long ago decided that it would not be used unless it were in the most extreme of cases. Lessons in simple healing would prove useful, she was sure.
When it was midday, they left the burrow and went to the stream, where bread and butter was shared as a sort of simple dinner, along with a few apples that had been brought. They had set aside a share for Old Badger, who still slept. As she ate, sitting upon the bright green grass of the bank, Susan dangled her sore feet in the cold stream, the bright sun making the weather quite warm. Some of the Talking Animals stepped into the water themselves, such as the dogs and Ash, who had quickly formed a friendship with them, and the sound of their games nearly echoed all around them.
“What will we do this afternoon?” Willow asked, a bit less shyly than she had done the day before.
“I believe we shall go visit that Dwarf family you spoke of, that has the goat farm,” Susan said. “They seem to need our help, and they are not too far from here.”
“And tomorrow, Queen Susan?”
Susan smiled. “Well, tomorrow I expect we shall tackle the crops. And I shall help Hana with the farm chores she has told me she will need to do tomorrow.”
Hana gave what almost looked like a smile. “Queen Susan, milking a cow?”
Susan laughed. “Do you honestly find it that hard to believe? What I do not know already, I shall learn.”
Willow reached down into the stream and placed her hand in the water, letting it run through her fingers. Her actions reminded Susan very much of Lucy whenever they had encountered a stream of this sort, and she felt a brief stirring in her heart at the thought.
“But Queen Susan,” said Willow in a low voice, which Susan nearly did not hear over the noises of the others playing in the water nearby. “You did not do this sort of work where you come from, did you?”
Susan smiled. “Not quite, no.”
“What was your kingdom like, there?”
And Susan suddenly understood. The Narnians believed that she and her siblings had been Kings and Queens in England, in Earth, just as they were so here. It was all she could do to hold back laughter.
“Oh, Willow,” she said, her smile wide. “I was not a Queen in that country.”
Willow’s eyes widened. Susan could tell that Hana was listening, though the Dwarf woman’s eyes were fixed elsewhere. “You were not? But then… what were you?”
“I was merely a girl. A common schoolgirl, from a common family.”
“And King Peter, King Edmund and Queen Lucy?”
“Common boys and a common girl.”
Willow gasped. It seemed that she had not even imagined that Susan could be anything other than a Queen in her other world. It was actually rather flattering, Susan thought. But she could not help the feeling of dread in her heart that arose whenever she thought of England. She pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the conversation at hand.
“But then you did do these things, Your Majesty,” said someone at Susan’s elbow. She turned her head and found Clover sitting meekly beside her. “If you were… of common blood...”
Susan shook her head. “No, Clover. You see, where I come from, the world is not like it is here. There are large cities, larger than any in Narnia, perhaps even larger than any in Calormen. And the people there make great machines, and they fight many wars. And trade is great and plentiful, when there is peace. But most of us must live in cities, and our cities are made of metal and stone.” She sighed. “It has its beauties, just as any country does… but not all of us can have the experiences to learn these things. Therefore I had never touched a cow before yesterday; much less help build a house. In England, I am but a girl, a child, and I can do very little.”
“So things are very different,” said Clover softly.
“Yes,” she replied. And then she smiled. “But Narnia is teaching me; you are all teaching me.”
She couldn’t help but wonder how much longer she would have to learn before she would have to return and find herself locked up in classrooms once more; a commoner, a schoolgirl, a child.
Later they left the water and made their way back to where Old Badger lived, to say goodbye and promise that they would bring him new supplies. He still looked very much preoccupied, and he exchanged some more anxious words with Hana, but he looked better and healthier than he had when they had first arrived, and it made them all feel some relief.
As they walked on their way back to the road, Susan thought she saw a familiar shape up in a tree. She left the group slightly to look at it more closely. It was a fruit, slightly elongated at the top yet rounded at the bottom.
“It is a pear,” she said with some disbelief. She had not seen pears in Narnia before; but this one looked quite ripe. She picked it.
A Faun named Surbius walked up to her. “Is all well, Your Majesty?”
“Oh, indeed it is,” she replied with a smile. “I have found a pear.”
Surbius looked at her in confusion. She raised the fruit she had in her hand and he frowned slightly, puzzled.
“That is a fruit only birds eat, Your Majesty,” he said. “It is not customary for people.”
“It is not? In my country we call it a pear.”
“A what?” Willow and Ash had joined them, followed by the dogs and the other Fauns.
“A pear,” she said. “Or at least it seems like one.” Carefully wiping it against the sleeve of her dress, she took a bite. It was a bit harder than most pears, but it was sweet nonetheless, and she smiled at the familiar taste that she had not even realized she had missed. “Oh, it definitely is a pear.”
Slowly, the Narnians took other pears from the tree and began to try them, perplexed at first but then truly enjoying the taste. They picked a few more to take to those who had remained in Pebble. It was not until many hours later that it occurred to Susan that she had just been responsible for the discovery of the pear in Narnia.
//
The company was silent as they entered the forest, their faces chilled from the wind hitting their faces as they rode. But they were forced to move slowly through the trees, for the roots and closely entangled branches made it difficult for them to pass swiftly. Ahead of the group went Roc and Noc, the two eldest Morkin brothers, riding ponies that had been left without riders by those who had remained in Pebble with Susan.
Edmund watched the two dwarves carefully as they guided their ponies through the forest. They were discussing something in low, vehement voices, glancing here and there now and then, or pointing at certain trees.
“Think they’ve gone and gotten us lost, Sire?”
He smiled with some amusement. “I have no idea, Borik.” Rising his voice, he addressed the two before him. “Is there a problem?”
The two dwarves started and turned, their brown eyes wide. “N- No, King Edmund,” said the eldest, rather hesitantly. “We were merely discussing…”
Noc seemed to have more courage in him. “Is it truly prudent to meet them face-to-face? They might hear us coming.”
“I did not intend to do so,” said Edmund. “We will stop some distance away and set camp undercover.”
“And if they watch this part of the woods?” beside him, Witrow had his eyes narrowed as he sniffed the ground. “There have been feet here, and recently.”
Edmund straightened up in his horse, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Be prepared,” he said to everyone, his voice only as loud as was absolutely necessary. “Archers, stand ready.”
The archers held their bows at the ready and they advanced in this manner, veering slightly to the left of the direction of the caves. They were only halfway through the forest when Witrow began to growl softly.
“Sire, there has been movement here, and recently,” he said.
Only a second after he had spoken, one of the dwarves was knocked forwards onto his pony’s mane with a sharp clang, as an arrow hit the armor covering his back. He gave a low cry of pain, and then arrows were raining down upon them. Edmund struggled to move his horse and find cover. The arrows seemed to be coming from all sides… could they really have been surrounded without noticing? He cursed himself for not expecting them sooner.
The archers were shooting wildly, and Witrow and a boar charged towards the left side. There was a squeal and a pained cry as they collided with their enemies. Edmund shouted over the din, calling everyone to go left, scattering their enemies as they charged. All around them, arrows made noise as they bounced off armor, and one of the horses screamed as it was grazed, nearly bolting in the wrong direction.
Somehow, they managed to escape the main circle of attackers. Something flew at Edmund suddenly, striking in the direction of his face over and over again. He managed to ward it away with his sword, realizing that it was a raven, but he already had various scratches from its talons on his hands and the side of his face. They were not deep, but they were extremely irritating.
After ten minutes of frenzied escape, Edmund finally called the company to a halt. They seemed to have left their enemies behind them; perhaps they had wounded two or three of them, but no one could recall seeing any dead. On their side, thankfully, the situation was the same. The pony’s wound was not deep, and though one Dwarf had an arrow in his shoulder, he insisted that with proper bandaging he would still be of use, since it was not his sword arm. How much of this was merely the Dwarf’s own pride, Edmund did not know, but at least none had been too severely wounded.
They seemed to have reached a rocky patch in the middle of the forest, which Edmund thought might give them some advantage should they be ambushed once more. They were slightly raised over ground level, and there was space to place provisions and take cover during the night. He sat on a rock, wiping the small drops of blood from the scratches on his face on a rag, while the others set down their supplies, calmed the horses and ponies, and tended to the wounded. Borik, who was his second in command, having been one of the few Black Dwarves who had supported Aslan when He returned and was quite a skillful warrior despite his dislike of riding, joined him presently upon the rock, stroking his beard absentmindedly as he looked up at the trees around them.
“The animals say there’s no scent of anything that Talks having walked by here recently,” he said gruffly.
“Let us hope that means we have some advantage,” said Edmund. He scowled as he put the rag away. “At least we now know at what point the forest is theirs.”
“What next, then, Sire?”
He sighed and stood up, watching as Witrow climbed to the top of the pile of rocks and began to lick the mud off his forepaws. “We must speak to them.”
“Forgive me, Sire, but they do not seem to be in much of a mood for parley.”
Edmund grinned slightly at his remark. “No, they do not. But it must be done. I would much rather achieve some sort of negotiation than start a violent attack on our own fellow Narnians.”
“These are not Narnians,” Borik growled under his breath. “No Narnian makes his fellows suffer the way these have.”
“I agree with you, Borik,” said Edmund grimly. “But as King, I must give them a chance, no matter how unforgiveable their actions have been.”
“When shall we approach them, then?”
“Once we have rested for some hours; it should be time for a meal soon,” he said. “By then their anger will hopefully have been appeased to some level. Perhaps one of the centaurs can go deliver the message and a meeting may be arranged.”
Borik hesitated. “With all due respect, Sire,” he began, and then seemed to stop himself.
“What is it?”
Borik looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps it would be best if I was to go,” he said.
“I cannot put you at that risk, Borik,” said Edmund. “You are too indispensable.”
“Sire, I am the only Black Dwarf of this group,” said Borik, his expression firm. “We know that these Knights of Stone have many Black Dwarves, and given what we have seen, they are dwarves that were known for their affiliation or at least indirect support of the White Witch during the Long Winter. If Your Majesty wishes to send someone who will be able to negotiate with them and set a meeting, it would not be in your best interests to send one from a race that has long opposed the side that these people have been on in the past. Nay, Sire. As a Black Dwarf, I might be able to gain some trust on their part.”
Edmund considered this. It was obvious that the Dwarf was right, but he still felt rather unsure about sending one of his people into a situation that could prove deadly, especially since they knew very little about the rebels.
“Are you absolutely sure you wish to do this?” he asked Borik.
Borik grinned slightly from under his large beard. “Indeed I am, Sire. Perhaps it shall also gain me some honor after the sins my kin have committed in the past.”
Edmund frowned, momentarily confused as to what the Dwarf meant.
“Narnia does not forgive easily, Your Majesty,” said the Dwarf, his eyes dark as he stared off into space. “It will take years for the people to forgive the Black Dwarves for their betrayal, even if it was not all of us who were a part of it.”
“I understand,” said Edmund in a low voice, and meeting Borik’s gaze, he could tell that the Dwarf understood what he meant.
//
The music began with what almost felt like an explosion of sound. Lucy started with surprise where she stood, laughing as she realized what had happened. Beside her, Queen Amisse smiled with amusement.
East of the Festival camp, many tables had been set for everyone. They were not all tables from Cair Paravel; some had been manufactured especially for the event, and others had been brought by the Narnian families themselves so that they could take part of the great party that was to take place that night, midway through the Summer Festival. The tables were laden with food and wine, and the Grey Fauns, along with some dwarves and a group of Calormene musicians and an Archenland piper who had come along as well, were playing a merry tune together, which echoed loud and clear. Lucy was positive that even if she were within the palace itself, she would be able to hear the tune with the same clarity that she would have if she was standing directly in their midst.
A great mass of people had emerged from the tents and were now taking their seats, the monarchs already seated. Lucy and Amisse made their way towards them, knowing that they must be seated soon so they might enjoy supper and the show that was to take place. There was great joy in everyone’s face, in the very way they moved… Lucy could see the Fauns dancing even as they took platters of food to serve at the tables. There was laughter everywhere, melding perfectly with the beautiful music.
As they parted towards their respective tables, Queen Amisse touched Lucy’s elbow lightly, drawing closer to speak in a low voice over the noise of the music and the people.
“I just wanted to say,” she said in Lucy’s ear. “Thank you for what you did for Cadoc the other day.” Her eyes were downcast. “I know what my husband asked of your Royal Brother and I must apologize for him.”
Lucy shook her head gently. “It is quite all right,” she said with a gentle smile. “We understood Galma’s concerns… we were only glad to help.”
“Still, it need not have been your responsibility,” said Amisse gently. “We are most thankful, though my husband will never admit it himself.”
She drew away before Lucy could reply, and left towards her seat beside the King of Galma. Lucy could not help but feel bad for her. She wished it was possible for the Queen of Galma to sit beside her... perhaps it could be arranged later in the night.
The show began, as customary, with ten Fauns dancing their strange, beautiful dance upon the circle of grass between the tables, accompanied by some dryads who were not too shy as to perform so openly before an audience. Lucy could tell that some of the visitors still felt rather oddly about the strange variety of creatures that existed in Narnia, but the merriment and the beauty of what they had seen had nearly made them forget how different it was. The dance was followed by a song, sung by three Talking Nightingales, which was quite melancholy compared to the music that had been played before; but it moved the hearts of many, and many of the audience were moved to tears.
Galma produced their artists afterwards, with poetry and dancing. Lucy wished that the women who were dancing had more opportunity to join them in merriment, but they were servants and were often too occupied in their tasks to socialize. Their dance was lovely, and was followed by the playing of a strange form of Galman harp that the Narnians had never seen, played by an old knight.
Archenland then joined in with great songs sung by skillful bards, some of epic nature, such as the legend of King Olvin and others causing the audience to laugh so hard a few choked on their supper, such as the tale of the Twirling Knight. This was followed by more dancing, and even some juggling on the part of a very skilled Archenlander.
It was the Calormene people, however, that had come fully equipped for a night of entertainment. They had brought along their own musicians, who played the strange mystical music that was traditional within Calormen, and began their act with a display of conjurers, who made magic tricks that awed the crowd.
But it was not, perhaps, the best choice when it came to the audience they were presenting their magic before. These were Narnians who had come to consider magic as directly related to the White Witch, and Lucy could see many retreating or hiding their faces, shaking with fear, as the show unfolded before them. Peter glanced at her and she knew he shared her fervent hope that no Narnians would feel offended by the magic tricks; in Calormen it was a mere art that attracted all sorts of admirers. In Narnia, however, it was a source of fear and hatred.
Despite this, however, the Narnians managed to remain composed, and were soon distracted by the sword-swallowers, who awed the audience of every country with their skill. They juggled fire, as well, and then great acrobats and contortionists danced and moved to the music in ways that none had believed possible. As she sat at the table, barely eating her supper and busying herself with clapping energetically after each number, Lucy realized that the event was very reminiscent of a circus.
The show ended with great applause and much cheering on everyone’s part. The Fauns and dryads then returned, joining in dance and inviting anyone else who was willing to dance as well. Lucy finished her supper as hastily as a Queen could permit herself to do, and then joined the other Fauns in dancing in the firelight.
The seats were soon rearranged, and Lucy’s seat was quickly occupied by Prince Jarrash, whose eyes were nearly dancing as he turned to Peter, a smile on his face.
“Your people are quite astoundingly talented,” said Peter, with true admiration. “I am surprised and in a way rather envious that Calormen has been gifted with talent both in the battlefield and in the arts.”
“You flatter me, High King,” said the Prince, but his smile was proud. “The Narnians are quite remarkable as well. Though the customs are vastly different, the feeling in ones heart when moved by the music is very much the same.”
Peter smiled. He could not help but like the Calormene Prince, and he felt some sadness remembering Dorick’s words about how Jarrash was not likely to survive long enough to become the Tisroc of his Empire.
Jarrash leaned back in the chair. “The years shall make Narnia and irresistibly beautiful realm,” he said pensively. “For if this is how she is when just recovering from a time of much suffering, my breath is taken away at the thought of what she might become.”
Peter smiled. “Those are the hopes of me and my brother and sisters,” he said. “Our people are hardworking and willing; we hope to lead this country to much splendor during our lifetimes.”
Jarrash nodded. “It takes but a man with vision to lead a country to its glory,” he said. “Ardeeb Tisroc was a man of this sort. It is said that the True Empire was born under his hands, for he had much love of the finer arts and sciences. It was in this way that Tashbaan was built, and much of the lands around it. Our splendor we owe to him and those who worked under his reign.”
Peter smiled. “You are a visionary, Jarrash.”
Jarrash laughed softly. “Perhaps, but I believe Ishamiel is more of that sort. I am one who reads history, not one who seeks to interpret it. Ardeeb Tisroc’s achievements are of common knowledge.”
“I am afraid my brother has always had more talent when it comes to learning history than I have,” Peter admitted, taking a sip of wine, a small smile on his lips. “I have learned that his council is often more sensible than mine.” He raised his glass to the Prince. “Let us drink to the friendship between Narnia and Calormen. May it last forever.”
Jarrash acknowledged his words and they drank. As he swallowed the wine, the Prince turned his eyes to the large group of dancers that now nearly completely covered the clearing in between the tables. Peter caught sight of Lucy, dancing happily, her arms locked with those of two other dryads. Though she was the smallest of the group, she seemed to draw ones’ eyes instantly.
The Calormene Prince seemed to notice. “Your Sisters are quite remarkable, High King,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Peter. “I am proud to be of their blood.”
“Calormen would benefit greatly if she had a Queen of such noble presence,” said Jarrash. “Perhaps, after some years have passed and you find it befitting, some sort of arrangement might be made.”
It took Peter a moment to understand what the Prince was proposing, but when he did he felt fiery rage grow in his stomach. It took every ounce of his self control to not reply with anger to the man who sat beside him. Jarrash, however, did not seem to notice, busy in peeling a tangerine he had found among the fruits that had been set in a dish before them.
“I do not believe my sisters are yet of age for such considerations,” Peter said stiffly.
Jarrash smiled as he divided the tangerine in half. “I am quite aware of this, High King,” he said. “For this reason I have merely suggested it. A union of this sort would benefit both our countries greatly.”
Peter could not find the words to express himself. He had not considered the fact that other countries might want his sisters as Queens for themselves. He had, of course, supposed that when the time came his sisters, and he himself most likely, might wish to marry and have their own children, but the political implications of it had not even occurred to him.
“Forgive me, High King Peter, but I must excuse myself,” said Jarrash suddenly, glancing towards the table where most of his people were. “My people require my presence.”
Somehow, he managed to reply, and the Prince left the table. Peter sat still, almost frozen in shock.
“The Prince is right, Your Majesty,” said a voice beside him. He started and turned to see Dorick, sitting quietly beside him. “I am afraid I overheard your conversation… as your royal advisor, I must say that it is an important consideration to keep in mind. We are quite lucky that Calormen is interested.”
Peter’s eyes widened with surprise and rage. “You speak as if we are to sell my sisters to another country in exchange of an alliance!” he hissed.
“That is the way it works, generally, Sire,” said Dorick, rather taken aback by his tone. “Your sisters cannot remain unmarried forever. In a year or two Queen Susan will be eligible for marriage, and soon after Queen Lucy shall follow.”
“What if they do not wish to marry?”
Dorick stared at him with some skepticism, taking a sip of wine before he replied. “They must marry, Sire, and so must you, unless Narnia is to remain heirless. And the Queens’ marriage is an important, nigh unbreakable, alliance with other countries. It is an opportunity that must be taken advantage of.”
“I shall not allow my sisters to be wed merely because it is in the country’s best interests!”
“Forgive me for my words, Sire,” said Dorick rather hesitantly. “But you are High King. It is within your duties to oversee these things, and perhaps to sacrifice such wishes in the name of Narnia.”
//
Peter and Lucy shared tea together in his tent before she had to leave. He hid his worries for the future under a heavy curtain of exhaustion which threatened to make him fall over, but the hot tea burnt his tongue ever so slightly and he could not help but feel the questions rising up in his mind uncontrollably.
“Why has Aslan sent us here, Lucy?”
She looked up, surprised at his sudden profound question. He could see the spark of realization in her eyes when she realized that this was really what had been bothering him all this time; but he had only just realized how to put it in words.
“Because Narnia needed us,” she replied simply.
He set down the teacup on the small table and frowned. “I do not feel ready for the weight of the responsibilities.”
“Maybe that is why He chose us,” said Lucy. “We are not ready, but we will learn.”
“You believe He sent us here to learn?”
She nodded, her expression serious. “I believe we are here to learn and for Narnia to learn from us.”
There was silence for a moment, and they both finished their tea before Peter spoke again.
“What if we fail?”
“We will not.”
Lucy’s words were so simple and full of belief that Peter felt that he believed them also. He wondered at the trust she had; she had always had more faith than the rest of them, and even more so when it came to Aslan, but it never ceased to astonish him. She inspired faith with the mere presence of her own.
They set down the teacups and Lucy grasped her cloak, pulling it over her shoulders.
“Lucy,” he said, as she prepared to leave. “Do you sometimes feel as if you are sacrificing your childhood for a cause meant for people much older than you?”
For a moment he feared that she would think he meant only her and would take it as condescension, but by her expression he quickly realized that she knew what he had meant. A small smile appeared on her lips, but there was more sadness than joy in it, threaded with a strange kind of beauty he could not identify. It was the look that appeared in her eyes every time she spoke of Aslan.
Her words were soft. “I left my childhood behind me the day I stepped through the Wardrobe, Peter.”
She turned and left the tent, the flap closing behind her, the noise of her footsteps fading in the night.
He undressed and turned out all the candles except those by his cot. He could hear the footsteps of the Guards outside his tent. It would be impossible for another attack to happen unnoticed, the way it had before. As he pulled the blankets over himself, he reached sideways to the small dresser and retrieved the two scrolls they had received earlier that day. In the candlelight, he began to read them again.
My Brother:
Forgive me if this letter is painfully short. I am afraid that the intensity of activity here in Pebble has me occupied nearly every moment of the day, and it is difficult to find minutes to spare and send a letter back to you. It is our third day here, and all is going as planned. The construction is nearly finished, the herds have all been gathered and the crops have nearly all been replanted. I must say that I have learned more in these past few days than I have in all my years of school in England (I am glad that that is not an experience I will have to repeat). We replanted the dryad trees and they are now safe and feeling much better; despite everything that has happened to them, the Trees remain our staunch supporters, though these had never set eye on us before today. I am sure that, given the pace we have been working at, we shall soon be finished. I have heard back from Edmund, but he has enclosed a letter for you also, so I shall not waste time relaying his words when you shall have them in your hands shortly.
On the topic of your feelings regarding your Brotherly duties within our Family, please do not allow guilt to overtake you. It has been your capable hands, more than any others’, which have guided us and this country to the place it is now. Your protectiveness has not so much hindered as it has made us feel protected when crisis struck, and neither I nor our Brother and Sister blame you for your attitudes regarding our responsibilities during this time. You shall receive no forgiveness, for no blame is upon your shoulders. As I work in this small village on the other side of the country, having the knowledge that you worry about me constantly is a source of comfort to me; it has been years since I have ever spent my time so truly cut off from the rest of you, and had it not been for your letters and the knowledge of your steady advice I might have been stricken with grief. I do not intend to repeat these words to you, dear Brother, for they would be needlessly dramatic despite the truth they hold, so hold them dearly to your heart, for I do not intend to flatter you in this manner very often.
Relay to our friend King Lune that if he must recur to gambles about time to halt his infatuation with his mead, then he is very much lost to us, and that I pray with all my heart that his twin children do not inherit his love for it, or there shall be no mead left in Archenland for the three of them. It seems to me that my pen has indeed run longer than I thought it would, and I already hear the calls to continue in our efforts once more. Give my love to our Sister; I miss you both dearly.
Your good sister,
Susan.
My brother:
All is transpiring well here within the forest, as we await the time in which the rebels have agreed to meet us. It strikes me that they do not have much experience in this sort of negotiations (though how could they?), given that they have invited us directly to their front door: the clearing before their cave. We fervently hope that this is not a trap, but I do not believe it is very likely, given the nature of these people. Borik has proved very useful to us; having a Black Dwarf negotiate in our name seems to have appeased the rebels somewhat. Two other Black Dwarves met him, along with a panther that Witrow has already marked as his if a battle comes to pass.
Your letter held very little detail about the happenings within the Festival; I know, therefore, that the politics of the affair must be extremely irritating. Have strength, Brother, I shall be back soon.
Your good brother,
Edmund.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
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 6
The foundations for the house were nearly finished by the time it was noon. Susan, along with one Faun, a female Monkey named Willow and Clover’s mother, followed Hana to her home and helped prepare dinner. It was a very simple affair, what with food being scarce for everyone, but everyone had brought something and soon a simple yet savory stew was cooking. While Hana stirred the cauldron inside, Susan and Willow washed the bowls that had been used that morning, while Clover’s mother carefully dried them and set them in a careful pile.
“Ought you to be doing this work, Queen Susan?” Willow asked meekly from where she stood, rubbing soap over the bowls.
Susan laughed. “Why should I not be, Willow?”
The Monkey looked shy, turning her eyes away. “Well… you’re a Queen…”
“That simply means I must work all the harder,” said Susan with a smile.
They piled the bowls and spoons onto a cart along with the heavy cauldron full of food, Hana herself sitting beside it to hold it in place. The cart was pulled along by a donkey, which, apparently, had been the only beast wise enough to remain inside the stables the night the rebels had opened it and scattered the cattle. Willow sat on the donkey and edged it on, her light weight making her nearly go unnoticed by the beast, and Susan guided it carefully by its rope. In this manner, they reached the area where the house was being built, and they shared a joyful, though rather tired meal together.
After half an hour of rest, those working on the house returned to the task at hand, and Susan followed the rest to the land behind the stable of the Morkins. The cows had escaped only a night before and the Morkins had been too busy with the other problems the Knights of Stone had caused to herd their own cattle. The dogs immediately set to work, running in circles to push the cows towards each other as they stood grazing, scattered across the land, between clumps of trees. Susan was somewhat amused as she watched them.
“Did you know that where I come from some dogs gather cattle all the time?”
One of the dogs in question looked rather confused as he cocked his head towards her, breathing quickly after all the running he had done, having brought a pair of cows in safely.
“You mean… like that is their employment, Queen Susan?”
She hesitated, not knowing how to explain ownership to him. She did not wish to offend him by drawing a comparison between a common dog and a Talking Dog, and therefore merely said, “Not exactly… but something of that sort.”
It was after a bit over an hour that most of the cows had been gathered, but Hana pointed out with no little worry that that four of them were missing. And so Susan set off, accompanied by the two dogs and two birds, who happened to live in the trees nearby and were eager to help.
They found one cow ambling through a distant clump of trees, looking rather confused, and they tied her to a tree trunk while they further explored the area, wondering if perhaps there was another there. They did not find any, but the dogs thought they picked up a scent and left at a run towards farther off into a deeper cluster of trees. Susan was only beginning to untie the cow and lead her back to the stable when she heard frantic barking, and the dogs rushed towards her calling out that they had found another one.
The poor cow seemed to have sprained her somehow, and was lying awkwardly on the grass, crying out softly. Susan stroked her head and sent one of the birds to call two of the dwarves for help.
It was a good thing too, because just as the dwarves were debating what the safest way to transport the cow back to the stables so she could be treated was, the dogs picked up another scent.
This time Susan had to force herself not to cry. Two dead cows lay near to each other behind some rocks, parts of their flesh cruelly cut off, and in some cases, some of their legs, their necks extended as if they longed for an escape, their eyes wide and glassy. Blood caked the grass underneath them.
“Savages,” Gimor bit out, tears in his eyes as he surveyed the damage. “Couldn’t even dispose of the bodies properly, could they? They needed meat, and they took it. There’s no respect for the poor beasts.” He leaned down and stroked the one of the cows’ nose, gently. Susan could tell he was trying very hard not to cry. “You poor, poor girl. I’m so sorry.”
They buried them a few yards away, near the trees, once the other two cows had been safely taken to the stable. Susan got painful blisters in her hands while helping dig the graves, but she couldn’t care less. Her tears joined those of the two dwarves as they buried the damaged bodies.
Everyone met at sundown and helped set up a tent for the visitors, since the stable was now full. Susan could not shake the sadness in her heart, despite her best attempts to appear cheerful before those around her. It was the arrival of an eagle that helped calm her, for it bore Peter’s letter in reply to hers.
My Sister:
I address this letter to you only, for I trust that Edmund has already departed earlier this morning. He is in our hearts and in our minds, and we hope for his swift victory in defeating the rebels. We hope also for your success, dear Sister, in assisting the villagers of Pebble; your detailed explanation of what has transpired there has saddened us greatly, but we are confident that with the aid of the Great Lion and your skillful labor all evil shall be eradicated from that place. I fear that there are times when we believe the entirety of our country is reflected in those towns and villages closest to Cair Paravel, and by reducing Narnia to such small a region we omit the sufferings of those farthest from us from our minds. This is, of course, not something born of malicious intent, but a mere act of forgetfulness that we must be aware of so as to not commit the same mistake again. It is a great relief, therefore, to know that we are on some level addressing this problem.
Here in the Festival all goes well. Narnia has been succeeding quite brilliantly in the tournaments, though Calormen is a fierce adversary. But the competitiveness has not overshadowed the alliances between the countries, and though trying moments come and go, overall there is much enjoyment and laughter to be had. Your presence and that of our Brother is sorely missed, but I believe that we might even have gained a higher respect in the eyes of our allies for the swiftness of our actions when our people are in need. Perhaps it is wishful thinking; but our Sister assures me that it is not.
On the topic of our royal Sister, she is doing quite marvelously. I have come to realize that our reign would be impossible without her. In fact, these mere two days without her would have sent the entire Festival into irreparable disarray. She has proven herself outstandingly capable. I am afraid that I may have been wrong on all accounts, and fear that perhaps I have been holding all of us back by attempting to protect you. If this is the case, which I suspect it is so, I must beg your forgiveness and that of our Brother. I trust that in your capable hands, this country shall move forwards to become a land of joy and plenty once more.
Please communicate our most earnest greetings and well-wishes to those who suffer in the West. And on a lighter note, our dear friend King Lune has entreated me to relay to you that he intends to save his last store of Archenland mead until your return, which he hopes is rather soon, for he yearns for its taste, or so he has informed me. We eagerly await your next letter.
Your good brother,
Peter.
She could not help an amused smile at King Lune’s message, or a tender smile at Peter’s admission that perhaps he had been much too overprotective. She fervently hoped he was not worrying himself too much about it, though knowing her brother he most likely was dwelling in self-hatred. She only hoped Lucy would know him well enough to help assuage his worries.
//
The next day began just as early as the first had, and it took much willpower for Susan to get out of bed. But Hana’s insistent words and her knowledge that the entire village was aware of her good will and energy served as motivation, and she was soon out of bed and eating the hasty breakfast porridge that Hana had prepared.
They had intended to begin fixing the crops that had been burnt or torn apart, but word reached them that Old Badger, who lived in a burrow near the stream at about an hour’s distance from Pebble, had been hurt badly when the outlaws had raided his cellar and stolen many of his things. So, leaving behind the Birdel brothers, the Morkin brothers and two of the dwarves who had come with Susan, they set out on the road towards Old Badger’s home. Along with them came Clover, who was now feeling very well, Hana, and Willow and her brother Ash, for they knew the way and were worried about Old Badger.
“He helped our family lots when we were short on food,” Ash had said. “Kept us all alive during the Long Winter, when it was hard to find things to eat and Father had just died. Mother didn’t know what to do, but Old Badger would travel all the distance to bring us supplies.”
Old Badger lived in a large burrow near the outskirts of the forest, more towards the South, so near to a stream that Susan could hear the water moving over the rocks as she stood outside. The burrow was so large that she could crawl into it and sit, which was very convenient, seeing as Old Badger turned out to be badly injured.
They had broken his hind leg and stabbed his paw, and he was lounging on a chair with a makeshift bandage around his paw, gritting his teeth as Willow and Hana nimbly worked on fixing his wounds, Susan handing them bottles of cordials and bandages when necessary, for Hana had had the presence of mind to bring her medicinal supplies along with her. As they worked, some of the others went out hunting for any things that might have been lost in the forest as the thieves escaped, and others inspected the damage that had been done to the badger’s stores. Much had been smashed and broken, and they immediately began to salvage what they could, fixing the shelves and trying to rearrange what few jars, barrels and sacks were left.
Though he was in terrible pain from his wounds, all Old Badger seemed to be worrying about was what had been stolen from him. He constantly spoke between growls of pain as Willow and Hana attempted to set his hind leg back in place.
“They’ve taken all my food, nearly everything,” he kept saying in a whisper, his black eyes glistening in between his old, almost discolored, fur. “I had so much saved. Now what will happen when Winter returns? What shall I eat?”
“Relax, friend,” said Hana, in the kindest voice Susan had heard her use yet. “We shall replenish your cellars with enough food to last you.”
But the badger continued to murmur, shaking his head over and over again. “No, no,” he said. “No... there is not enough food to withstand another Winter…”
Susan wanted to question him in order to understand why he spoke so desperately. But one of the Fauns soon managed to calm him with a drink of some sort, and Old Badger fell into a deep sleep on his little couch. Hana’s face was unfathomable as she gathered her supplies, and Susan felt that it was not a good time to ask questions of that sort. Instead, she kneeled near them and made many questions about the ways they had healed his wounds, and the names of the herbs they had used. Though Lucy had the cordial Father Christmas had given her, they could not rely on the cordial forever, and they had long ago decided that it would not be used unless it were in the most extreme of cases. Lessons in simple healing would prove useful, she was sure.
When it was midday, they left the burrow and went to the stream, where bread and butter was shared as a sort of simple dinner, along with a few apples that had been brought. They had set aside a share for Old Badger, who still slept. As she ate, sitting upon the bright green grass of the bank, Susan dangled her sore feet in the cold stream, the bright sun making the weather quite warm. Some of the Talking Animals stepped into the water themselves, such as the dogs and Ash, who had quickly formed a friendship with them, and the sound of their games nearly echoed all around them.
“What will we do this afternoon?” Willow asked, a bit less shyly than she had done the day before.
“I believe we shall go visit that Dwarf family you spoke of, that has the goat farm,” Susan said. “They seem to need our help, and they are not too far from here.”
“And tomorrow, Queen Susan?”
Susan smiled. “Well, tomorrow I expect we shall tackle the crops. And I shall help Hana with the farm chores she has told me she will need to do tomorrow.”
Hana gave what almost looked like a smile. “Queen Susan, milking a cow?”
Susan laughed. “Do you honestly find it that hard to believe? What I do not know already, I shall learn.”
Willow reached down into the stream and placed her hand in the water, letting it run through her fingers. Her actions reminded Susan very much of Lucy whenever they had encountered a stream of this sort, and she felt a brief stirring in her heart at the thought.
“But Queen Susan,” said Willow in a low voice, which Susan nearly did not hear over the noises of the others playing in the water nearby. “You did not do this sort of work where you come from, did you?”
Susan smiled. “Not quite, no.”
“What was your kingdom like, there?”
And Susan suddenly understood. The Narnians believed that she and her siblings had been Kings and Queens in England, in Earth, just as they were so here. It was all she could do to hold back laughter.
“Oh, Willow,” she said, her smile wide. “I was not a Queen in that country.”
Willow’s eyes widened. Susan could tell that Hana was listening, though the Dwarf woman’s eyes were fixed elsewhere. “You were not? But then… what were you?”
“I was merely a girl. A common schoolgirl, from a common family.”
“And King Peter, King Edmund and Queen Lucy?”
“Common boys and a common girl.”
Willow gasped. It seemed that she had not even imagined that Susan could be anything other than a Queen in her other world. It was actually rather flattering, Susan thought. But she could not help the feeling of dread in her heart that arose whenever she thought of England. She pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the conversation at hand.
“But then you did do these things, Your Majesty,” said someone at Susan’s elbow. She turned her head and found Clover sitting meekly beside her. “If you were… of common blood...”
Susan shook her head. “No, Clover. You see, where I come from, the world is not like it is here. There are large cities, larger than any in Narnia, perhaps even larger than any in Calormen. And the people there make great machines, and they fight many wars. And trade is great and plentiful, when there is peace. But most of us must live in cities, and our cities are made of metal and stone.” She sighed. “It has its beauties, just as any country does… but not all of us can have the experiences to learn these things. Therefore I had never touched a cow before yesterday; much less help build a house. In England, I am but a girl, a child, and I can do very little.”
“So things are very different,” said Clover softly.
“Yes,” she replied. And then she smiled. “But Narnia is teaching me; you are all teaching me.”
She couldn’t help but wonder how much longer she would have to learn before she would have to return and find herself locked up in classrooms once more; a commoner, a schoolgirl, a child.
Later they left the water and made their way back to where Old Badger lived, to say goodbye and promise that they would bring him new supplies. He still looked very much preoccupied, and he exchanged some more anxious words with Hana, but he looked better and healthier than he had when they had first arrived, and it made them all feel some relief.
As they walked on their way back to the road, Susan thought she saw a familiar shape up in a tree. She left the group slightly to look at it more closely. It was a fruit, slightly elongated at the top yet rounded at the bottom.
“It is a pear,” she said with some disbelief. She had not seen pears in Narnia before; but this one looked quite ripe. She picked it.
A Faun named Surbius walked up to her. “Is all well, Your Majesty?”
“Oh, indeed it is,” she replied with a smile. “I have found a pear.”
Surbius looked at her in confusion. She raised the fruit she had in her hand and he frowned slightly, puzzled.
“That is a fruit only birds eat, Your Majesty,” he said. “It is not customary for people.”
“It is not? In my country we call it a pear.”
“A what?” Willow and Ash had joined them, followed by the dogs and the other Fauns.
“A pear,” she said. “Or at least it seems like one.” Carefully wiping it against the sleeve of her dress, she took a bite. It was a bit harder than most pears, but it was sweet nonetheless, and she smiled at the familiar taste that she had not even realized she had missed. “Oh, it definitely is a pear.”
Slowly, the Narnians took other pears from the tree and began to try them, perplexed at first but then truly enjoying the taste. They picked a few more to take to those who had remained in Pebble. It was not until many hours later that it occurred to Susan that she had just been responsible for the discovery of the pear in Narnia.
//
The company was silent as they entered the forest, their faces chilled from the wind hitting their faces as they rode. But they were forced to move slowly through the trees, for the roots and closely entangled branches made it difficult for them to pass swiftly. Ahead of the group went Roc and Noc, the two eldest Morkin brothers, riding ponies that had been left without riders by those who had remained in Pebble with Susan.
Edmund watched the two dwarves carefully as they guided their ponies through the forest. They were discussing something in low, vehement voices, glancing here and there now and then, or pointing at certain trees.
“Think they’ve gone and gotten us lost, Sire?”
He smiled with some amusement. “I have no idea, Borik.” Rising his voice, he addressed the two before him. “Is there a problem?”
The two dwarves started and turned, their brown eyes wide. “N- No, King Edmund,” said the eldest, rather hesitantly. “We were merely discussing…”
Noc seemed to have more courage in him. “Is it truly prudent to meet them face-to-face? They might hear us coming.”
“I did not intend to do so,” said Edmund. “We will stop some distance away and set camp undercover.”
“And if they watch this part of the woods?” beside him, Witrow had his eyes narrowed as he sniffed the ground. “There have been feet here, and recently.”
Edmund straightened up in his horse, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Be prepared,” he said to everyone, his voice only as loud as was absolutely necessary. “Archers, stand ready.”
The archers held their bows at the ready and they advanced in this manner, veering slightly to the left of the direction of the caves. They were only halfway through the forest when Witrow began to growl softly.
“Sire, there has been movement here, and recently,” he said.
Only a second after he had spoken, one of the dwarves was knocked forwards onto his pony’s mane with a sharp clang, as an arrow hit the armor covering his back. He gave a low cry of pain, and then arrows were raining down upon them. Edmund struggled to move his horse and find cover. The arrows seemed to be coming from all sides… could they really have been surrounded without noticing? He cursed himself for not expecting them sooner.
The archers were shooting wildly, and Witrow and a boar charged towards the left side. There was a squeal and a pained cry as they collided with their enemies. Edmund shouted over the din, calling everyone to go left, scattering their enemies as they charged. All around them, arrows made noise as they bounced off armor, and one of the horses screamed as it was grazed, nearly bolting in the wrong direction.
Somehow, they managed to escape the main circle of attackers. Something flew at Edmund suddenly, striking in the direction of his face over and over again. He managed to ward it away with his sword, realizing that it was a raven, but he already had various scratches from its talons on his hands and the side of his face. They were not deep, but they were extremely irritating.
After ten minutes of frenzied escape, Edmund finally called the company to a halt. They seemed to have left their enemies behind them; perhaps they had wounded two or three of them, but no one could recall seeing any dead. On their side, thankfully, the situation was the same. The pony’s wound was not deep, and though one Dwarf had an arrow in his shoulder, he insisted that with proper bandaging he would still be of use, since it was not his sword arm. How much of this was merely the Dwarf’s own pride, Edmund did not know, but at least none had been too severely wounded.
They seemed to have reached a rocky patch in the middle of the forest, which Edmund thought might give them some advantage should they be ambushed once more. They were slightly raised over ground level, and there was space to place provisions and take cover during the night. He sat on a rock, wiping the small drops of blood from the scratches on his face on a rag, while the others set down their supplies, calmed the horses and ponies, and tended to the wounded. Borik, who was his second in command, having been one of the few Black Dwarves who had supported Aslan when He returned and was quite a skillful warrior despite his dislike of riding, joined him presently upon the rock, stroking his beard absentmindedly as he looked up at the trees around them.
“The animals say there’s no scent of anything that Talks having walked by here recently,” he said gruffly.
“Let us hope that means we have some advantage,” said Edmund. He scowled as he put the rag away. “At least we now know at what point the forest is theirs.”
“What next, then, Sire?”
He sighed and stood up, watching as Witrow climbed to the top of the pile of rocks and began to lick the mud off his forepaws. “We must speak to them.”
“Forgive me, Sire, but they do not seem to be in much of a mood for parley.”
Edmund grinned slightly at his remark. “No, they do not. But it must be done. I would much rather achieve some sort of negotiation than start a violent attack on our own fellow Narnians.”
“These are not Narnians,” Borik growled under his breath. “No Narnian makes his fellows suffer the way these have.”
“I agree with you, Borik,” said Edmund grimly. “But as King, I must give them a chance, no matter how unforgiveable their actions have been.”
“When shall we approach them, then?”
“Once we have rested for some hours; it should be time for a meal soon,” he said. “By then their anger will hopefully have been appeased to some level. Perhaps one of the centaurs can go deliver the message and a meeting may be arranged.”
Borik hesitated. “With all due respect, Sire,” he began, and then seemed to stop himself.
“What is it?”
Borik looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps it would be best if I was to go,” he said.
“I cannot put you at that risk, Borik,” said Edmund. “You are too indispensable.”
“Sire, I am the only Black Dwarf of this group,” said Borik, his expression firm. “We know that these Knights of Stone have many Black Dwarves, and given what we have seen, they are dwarves that were known for their affiliation or at least indirect support of the White Witch during the Long Winter. If Your Majesty wishes to send someone who will be able to negotiate with them and set a meeting, it would not be in your best interests to send one from a race that has long opposed the side that these people have been on in the past. Nay, Sire. As a Black Dwarf, I might be able to gain some trust on their part.”
Edmund considered this. It was obvious that the Dwarf was right, but he still felt rather unsure about sending one of his people into a situation that could prove deadly, especially since they knew very little about the rebels.
“Are you absolutely sure you wish to do this?” he asked Borik.
Borik grinned slightly from under his large beard. “Indeed I am, Sire. Perhaps it shall also gain me some honor after the sins my kin have committed in the past.”
Edmund frowned, momentarily confused as to what the Dwarf meant.
“Narnia does not forgive easily, Your Majesty,” said the Dwarf, his eyes dark as he stared off into space. “It will take years for the people to forgive the Black Dwarves for their betrayal, even if it was not all of us who were a part of it.”
“I understand,” said Edmund in a low voice, and meeting Borik’s gaze, he could tell that the Dwarf understood what he meant.
//
The music began with what almost felt like an explosion of sound. Lucy started with surprise where she stood, laughing as she realized what had happened. Beside her, Queen Amisse smiled with amusement.
East of the Festival camp, many tables had been set for everyone. They were not all tables from Cair Paravel; some had been manufactured especially for the event, and others had been brought by the Narnian families themselves so that they could take part of the great party that was to take place that night, midway through the Summer Festival. The tables were laden with food and wine, and the Grey Fauns, along with some dwarves and a group of Calormene musicians and an Archenland piper who had come along as well, were playing a merry tune together, which echoed loud and clear. Lucy was positive that even if she were within the palace itself, she would be able to hear the tune with the same clarity that she would have if she was standing directly in their midst.
A great mass of people had emerged from the tents and were now taking their seats, the monarchs already seated. Lucy and Amisse made their way towards them, knowing that they must be seated soon so they might enjoy supper and the show that was to take place. There was great joy in everyone’s face, in the very way they moved… Lucy could see the Fauns dancing even as they took platters of food to serve at the tables. There was laughter everywhere, melding perfectly with the beautiful music.
As they parted towards their respective tables, Queen Amisse touched Lucy’s elbow lightly, drawing closer to speak in a low voice over the noise of the music and the people.
“I just wanted to say,” she said in Lucy’s ear. “Thank you for what you did for Cadoc the other day.” Her eyes were downcast. “I know what my husband asked of your Royal Brother and I must apologize for him.”
Lucy shook her head gently. “It is quite all right,” she said with a gentle smile. “We understood Galma’s concerns… we were only glad to help.”
“Still, it need not have been your responsibility,” said Amisse gently. “We are most thankful, though my husband will never admit it himself.”
She drew away before Lucy could reply, and left towards her seat beside the King of Galma. Lucy could not help but feel bad for her. She wished it was possible for the Queen of Galma to sit beside her... perhaps it could be arranged later in the night.
The show began, as customary, with ten Fauns dancing their strange, beautiful dance upon the circle of grass between the tables, accompanied by some dryads who were not too shy as to perform so openly before an audience. Lucy could tell that some of the visitors still felt rather oddly about the strange variety of creatures that existed in Narnia, but the merriment and the beauty of what they had seen had nearly made them forget how different it was. The dance was followed by a song, sung by three Talking Nightingales, which was quite melancholy compared to the music that had been played before; but it moved the hearts of many, and many of the audience were moved to tears.
Galma produced their artists afterwards, with poetry and dancing. Lucy wished that the women who were dancing had more opportunity to join them in merriment, but they were servants and were often too occupied in their tasks to socialize. Their dance was lovely, and was followed by the playing of a strange form of Galman harp that the Narnians had never seen, played by an old knight.
Archenland then joined in with great songs sung by skillful bards, some of epic nature, such as the legend of King Olvin and others causing the audience to laugh so hard a few choked on their supper, such as the tale of the Twirling Knight. This was followed by more dancing, and even some juggling on the part of a very skilled Archenlander.
It was the Calormene people, however, that had come fully equipped for a night of entertainment. They had brought along their own musicians, who played the strange mystical music that was traditional within Calormen, and began their act with a display of conjurers, who made magic tricks that awed the crowd.
But it was not, perhaps, the best choice when it came to the audience they were presenting their magic before. These were Narnians who had come to consider magic as directly related to the White Witch, and Lucy could see many retreating or hiding their faces, shaking with fear, as the show unfolded before them. Peter glanced at her and she knew he shared her fervent hope that no Narnians would feel offended by the magic tricks; in Calormen it was a mere art that attracted all sorts of admirers. In Narnia, however, it was a source of fear and hatred.
Despite this, however, the Narnians managed to remain composed, and were soon distracted by the sword-swallowers, who awed the audience of every country with their skill. They juggled fire, as well, and then great acrobats and contortionists danced and moved to the music in ways that none had believed possible. As she sat at the table, barely eating her supper and busying herself with clapping energetically after each number, Lucy realized that the event was very reminiscent of a circus.
The show ended with great applause and much cheering on everyone’s part. The Fauns and dryads then returned, joining in dance and inviting anyone else who was willing to dance as well. Lucy finished her supper as hastily as a Queen could permit herself to do, and then joined the other Fauns in dancing in the firelight.
The seats were soon rearranged, and Lucy’s seat was quickly occupied by Prince Jarrash, whose eyes were nearly dancing as he turned to Peter, a smile on his face.
“Your people are quite astoundingly talented,” said Peter, with true admiration. “I am surprised and in a way rather envious that Calormen has been gifted with talent both in the battlefield and in the arts.”
“You flatter me, High King,” said the Prince, but his smile was proud. “The Narnians are quite remarkable as well. Though the customs are vastly different, the feeling in ones heart when moved by the music is very much the same.”
Peter smiled. He could not help but like the Calormene Prince, and he felt some sadness remembering Dorick’s words about how Jarrash was not likely to survive long enough to become the Tisroc of his Empire.
Jarrash leaned back in the chair. “The years shall make Narnia and irresistibly beautiful realm,” he said pensively. “For if this is how she is when just recovering from a time of much suffering, my breath is taken away at the thought of what she might become.”
Peter smiled. “Those are the hopes of me and my brother and sisters,” he said. “Our people are hardworking and willing; we hope to lead this country to much splendor during our lifetimes.”
Jarrash nodded. “It takes but a man with vision to lead a country to its glory,” he said. “Ardeeb Tisroc was a man of this sort. It is said that the True Empire was born under his hands, for he had much love of the finer arts and sciences. It was in this way that Tashbaan was built, and much of the lands around it. Our splendor we owe to him and those who worked under his reign.”
Peter smiled. “You are a visionary, Jarrash.”
Jarrash laughed softly. “Perhaps, but I believe Ishamiel is more of that sort. I am one who reads history, not one who seeks to interpret it. Ardeeb Tisroc’s achievements are of common knowledge.”
“I am afraid my brother has always had more talent when it comes to learning history than I have,” Peter admitted, taking a sip of wine, a small smile on his lips. “I have learned that his council is often more sensible than mine.” He raised his glass to the Prince. “Let us drink to the friendship between Narnia and Calormen. May it last forever.”
Jarrash acknowledged his words and they drank. As he swallowed the wine, the Prince turned his eyes to the large group of dancers that now nearly completely covered the clearing in between the tables. Peter caught sight of Lucy, dancing happily, her arms locked with those of two other dryads. Though she was the smallest of the group, she seemed to draw ones’ eyes instantly.
The Calormene Prince seemed to notice. “Your Sisters are quite remarkable, High King,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Peter. “I am proud to be of their blood.”
“Calormen would benefit greatly if she had a Queen of such noble presence,” said Jarrash. “Perhaps, after some years have passed and you find it befitting, some sort of arrangement might be made.”
It took Peter a moment to understand what the Prince was proposing, but when he did he felt fiery rage grow in his stomach. It took every ounce of his self control to not reply with anger to the man who sat beside him. Jarrash, however, did not seem to notice, busy in peeling a tangerine he had found among the fruits that had been set in a dish before them.
“I do not believe my sisters are yet of age for such considerations,” Peter said stiffly.
Jarrash smiled as he divided the tangerine in half. “I am quite aware of this, High King,” he said. “For this reason I have merely suggested it. A union of this sort would benefit both our countries greatly.”
Peter could not find the words to express himself. He had not considered the fact that other countries might want his sisters as Queens for themselves. He had, of course, supposed that when the time came his sisters, and he himself most likely, might wish to marry and have their own children, but the political implications of it had not even occurred to him.
“Forgive me, High King Peter, but I must excuse myself,” said Jarrash suddenly, glancing towards the table where most of his people were. “My people require my presence.”
Somehow, he managed to reply, and the Prince left the table. Peter sat still, almost frozen in shock.
“The Prince is right, Your Majesty,” said a voice beside him. He started and turned to see Dorick, sitting quietly beside him. “I am afraid I overheard your conversation… as your royal advisor, I must say that it is an important consideration to keep in mind. We are quite lucky that Calormen is interested.”
Peter’s eyes widened with surprise and rage. “You speak as if we are to sell my sisters to another country in exchange of an alliance!” he hissed.
“That is the way it works, generally, Sire,” said Dorick, rather taken aback by his tone. “Your sisters cannot remain unmarried forever. In a year or two Queen Susan will be eligible for marriage, and soon after Queen Lucy shall follow.”
“What if they do not wish to marry?”
Dorick stared at him with some skepticism, taking a sip of wine before he replied. “They must marry, Sire, and so must you, unless Narnia is to remain heirless. And the Queens’ marriage is an important, nigh unbreakable, alliance with other countries. It is an opportunity that must be taken advantage of.”
“I shall not allow my sisters to be wed merely because it is in the country’s best interests!”
“Forgive me for my words, Sire,” said Dorick rather hesitantly. “But you are High King. It is within your duties to oversee these things, and perhaps to sacrifice such wishes in the name of Narnia.”
//
Peter and Lucy shared tea together in his tent before she had to leave. He hid his worries for the future under a heavy curtain of exhaustion which threatened to make him fall over, but the hot tea burnt his tongue ever so slightly and he could not help but feel the questions rising up in his mind uncontrollably.
“Why has Aslan sent us here, Lucy?”
She looked up, surprised at his sudden profound question. He could see the spark of realization in her eyes when she realized that this was really what had been bothering him all this time; but he had only just realized how to put it in words.
“Because Narnia needed us,” she replied simply.
He set down the teacup on the small table and frowned. “I do not feel ready for the weight of the responsibilities.”
“Maybe that is why He chose us,” said Lucy. “We are not ready, but we will learn.”
“You believe He sent us here to learn?”
She nodded, her expression serious. “I believe we are here to learn and for Narnia to learn from us.”
There was silence for a moment, and they both finished their tea before Peter spoke again.
“What if we fail?”
“We will not.”
Lucy’s words were so simple and full of belief that Peter felt that he believed them also. He wondered at the trust she had; she had always had more faith than the rest of them, and even more so when it came to Aslan, but it never ceased to astonish him. She inspired faith with the mere presence of her own.
They set down the teacups and Lucy grasped her cloak, pulling it over her shoulders.
“Lucy,” he said, as she prepared to leave. “Do you sometimes feel as if you are sacrificing your childhood for a cause meant for people much older than you?”
For a moment he feared that she would think he meant only her and would take it as condescension, but by her expression he quickly realized that she knew what he had meant. A small smile appeared on her lips, but there was more sadness than joy in it, threaded with a strange kind of beauty he could not identify. It was the look that appeared in her eyes every time she spoke of Aslan.
Her words were soft. “I left my childhood behind me the day I stepped through the Wardrobe, Peter.”
She turned and left the tent, the flap closing behind her, the noise of her footsteps fading in the night.
He undressed and turned out all the candles except those by his cot. He could hear the footsteps of the Guards outside his tent. It would be impossible for another attack to happen unnoticed, the way it had before. As he pulled the blankets over himself, he reached sideways to the small dresser and retrieved the two scrolls they had received earlier that day. In the candlelight, he began to read them again.
My Brother:
Forgive me if this letter is painfully short. I am afraid that the intensity of activity here in Pebble has me occupied nearly every moment of the day, and it is difficult to find minutes to spare and send a letter back to you. It is our third day here, and all is going as planned. The construction is nearly finished, the herds have all been gathered and the crops have nearly all been replanted. I must say that I have learned more in these past few days than I have in all my years of school in England (I am glad that that is not an experience I will have to repeat). We replanted the dryad trees and they are now safe and feeling much better; despite everything that has happened to them, the Trees remain our staunch supporters, though these had never set eye on us before today. I am sure that, given the pace we have been working at, we shall soon be finished. I have heard back from Edmund, but he has enclosed a letter for you also, so I shall not waste time relaying his words when you shall have them in your hands shortly.
On the topic of your feelings regarding your Brotherly duties within our Family, please do not allow guilt to overtake you. It has been your capable hands, more than any others’, which have guided us and this country to the place it is now. Your protectiveness has not so much hindered as it has made us feel protected when crisis struck, and neither I nor our Brother and Sister blame you for your attitudes regarding our responsibilities during this time. You shall receive no forgiveness, for no blame is upon your shoulders. As I work in this small village on the other side of the country, having the knowledge that you worry about me constantly is a source of comfort to me; it has been years since I have ever spent my time so truly cut off from the rest of you, and had it not been for your letters and the knowledge of your steady advice I might have been stricken with grief. I do not intend to repeat these words to you, dear Brother, for they would be needlessly dramatic despite the truth they hold, so hold them dearly to your heart, for I do not intend to flatter you in this manner very often.
Relay to our friend King Lune that if he must recur to gambles about time to halt his infatuation with his mead, then he is very much lost to us, and that I pray with all my heart that his twin children do not inherit his love for it, or there shall be no mead left in Archenland for the three of them. It seems to me that my pen has indeed run longer than I thought it would, and I already hear the calls to continue in our efforts once more. Give my love to our Sister; I miss you both dearly.
Your good sister,
Susan.
My brother:
All is transpiring well here within the forest, as we await the time in which the rebels have agreed to meet us. It strikes me that they do not have much experience in this sort of negotiations (though how could they?), given that they have invited us directly to their front door: the clearing before their cave. We fervently hope that this is not a trap, but I do not believe it is very likely, given the nature of these people. Borik has proved very useful to us; having a Black Dwarf negotiate in our name seems to have appeased the rebels somewhat. Two other Black Dwarves met him, along with a panther that Witrow has already marked as his if a battle comes to pass.
Your letter held very little detail about the happenings within the Festival; I know, therefore, that the politics of the affair must be extremely irritating. Have strength, Brother, I shall be back soon.
Your good brother,
Edmund.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 7
Part 8
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