Chapter 1: The Beginning of Worries
Soft, silky yellow rose petals tumbled and floated about the bright, light-coloured room full of great, tall glass windows that looked out onto the balcony of peachy-hued marble and stone. Smooth blue carpets and pearl green curtains and pink cushions all looked in harmony around the white beech wood furniture. The gentle breeze that stirred the flowers in their vases and caused petals to be lifted up and drifted about came from the open door that led out onto the balcony, as high as the tall, arched ceiling. Paintings of wonderful creatures hung on the walls: Dwarfs chopping wood, Naiads swimming among the lily pads of a pond, Fauns dancing around a great tree. And on a low table, there was an intricate and very beautiful sculpture of a Satyr holding up a pear.
The furniture was all crafted with great skill, most likely created by Wood gods and goddesses. Many small tables were scattered about, supporting a candle, or a book, or a pot of flowers, or a set of combs and pins bejewelled with emeralds and diamonds. An enormous wardrobe stood in one corner, a bed laid with pale yellow coverlets in another, and a small white tea table with two matching chairs with velvet rose pillows in the centre.
Two very different but very beautiful young ladies sat at this table, all grace and elegance, sipping tiny porcelain cups of tea and nibbling gingerly at rich biscuits. They spoke with a fine tongue and wore elaborate, pale gowns fit for women of highest standing, but they had a look of more then simple dames who spoke only of weddings and the weather, as most noble ladies seemed to. In their eyes shone the light of adventure, for they were quite extraordinary young women, and had had many great adventures.
The first, who sat in the chair nearest the balcony windows, was tall, proud and regal. She had skin coloured to the perfect shade of bronzy beige, raven black hair that tumbled over her shoulders and down the back of the chair in long curly locks, deep, sparkling, almost black eyes and full red lips. She was considered one of the most beautiful women in all the lands, and her name was Susan the Gentle, Queen of Narnia.
The second was much smaller and shorter then the first, and almost equally as beautiful but in different ways. Her skin was pale but had a healthy rosy glow, her eyes were a deep sea blue, and they looked like portholes looking out into the swirling waves of an ocean. Long golden hair was held up with silver pins and combs, twisted, braided and pinned in the Archenland style and curled down to her shoulders. Her lips were quite small in comparison with the other woman's, but they were still quite lovely, as they were always tilted up in a small smile that complimented her face very prettily. Her name was Lucy the Valiant, Queen of Narnia.
One would never have known that these two were sisters, but they were. Great queens who ruled over the fabled land of Narnia, they were sought after by nearly every king and prince who lay eyes on them. Since their ascension to the throne, when they were both little more then children, they had grown into sophisticated, just and head-strong young ladies, and they governed over their land with a care and devotion equal to that of a mother with her child.
"Oh young sister, would it not be simpler to allow our noble allies unto our fair forests, for surely wood is sorely lacking in the sandy wonders of Calormen, and our wondrous fields of cultivable soil possess an abundance of trees for which to construct all that is needed for every land throughout this blessed region," said Queen Susan between small, dainty sips of her warm lemon and pear tea. If a servant were to come into the room, they surely would have thought it ridiculous to speak so formerly with your own blood, but somehow these two made it seem the only way to speak at all.
"Good lady, thou dost possess a heart of gold, to wish for all to partake in the riches of our kingdom. Truly do I say that thou art fairest and most just among all rulers. But I pray thee to consider our honourable friends dwelling deep in the forests of Narnia, and the homes that would ruin should inhabited woodlands be destroyed and taken to far off lands. My heart would weep for their lives, for I could not bear to see their world of delight shattered for naught but firewood and other simple trinkets of such."
"Dear friend, how ignorant of me! Would I have your gentle mind and considerate tongue, I would surely be blessed. Truly should thee be praised for such love and compassion as thou have expressed at this hour for our dear and loyal subjects in these lands, and thou speaketh rightly. Though our great forests are many in number, so do our dear friends, the Naiads, good Gods and Goddesses of the Wood, Fauns, Nymphs, Dwarfs, and all the like, possess them all rightfully as their own soil, for they tend the wondrous woodlands of Narnia with such care that even should a great host of men and beasts come to make use of our good trees, wouldst they not do battle with them and have all their blood be spilt upon the Earth then have these grounds be taken to be beaten down and built upon?" At this, Susan shivered and put a kerchief to her mouth. "In the name of Aslan himself, let it never be so."
Lucy inclined her head once. "Your words are truth, fair sister. Even as we take only small portions of our woods for our own country's use does my mind rest in unease and my heart pound with chagrin. So do I wish lumber were not of importance, to be cut down from the homes of our loyal subjects. Truly, by the Lion's Mane, does rain fall from mine eyes to have knowledge that daily do we break apart our good friends, though our actions are permitted."
Their conversation continued on in such a fashion until the tea and biscuits had long since been finished. It seemed the pair would have gone on all through the day if it hadn't been for a young but heavy-set man, dark of hair and light of skin, who looked remarkably like Susan melded into a much sterner, harder and more masculine shape. He was in fact her younger brother, Lucy's elder, and his name was Edmund the Just, King of Narnia. A royal blue cloak hung about his wide frame, and a sword intricately patterned was buckled to his belt. Unlike most kings in those lands, it was not just for show; Edmund had learned the sword by a great commander, and he knew how to use it.
This young king knocked softly on the door with a large fist, and without waiting, pushed it open. Susan and Lucy turned their heads expectantly towards him. "Elegant sisters," he began, "your presences are requested down in the Great Hall. A Narnian Talking Beast asked an audience of the High King an hour past. Our brother spoketh to him, and appeared wrathful when he sent me to you."
Susan and Lucy stood at once and left the room with Edmund. They both knew that "wrathful" was an overstatement, for the High King Peter, their eldest brother, was always composed and collected.
Lucy looked around as the three strolled along the vast hallways of Cair Paravel. They possessed nothing of the cold, dark hardness of most of the castles and fortresses she'd seen; everything was soft and light. Tapestries hung at intervals along the walls and the stone floors were carpeted with bright colours. There were no ugly torch brackets to be seen: instead, balls of glass that glowed with a warm, yellow light stood on thin golden rods every few feet, gifts from the Dryads. There were many windows as well, all allowing bright sunshine through to cast strange stripes of shadow and light upon the floor.
They reached the corner of the hallway, to where the two walls should have met. Instead, there was a great open space looking out onto a beautiful garden full of birds, flowers, fountains and walkways and barred off only by a waist-high wooden banister. Without pausing, Edmund and Susan turned right and continued on down the hall, but Lucy stayed behind to gaze down at the garden below. The sound of the birds chirping, of the water tinkling, the feel of the warm sunshine and the soft wind...
"Queen Lucy," Edmund said sharply, and she looked up quickly. "Wouldst we have time to linger by the windows, I would have left thee to thy tea and crumpets." He and Susan had both turned around, and though they were not glaring, they looked highly disapproving.
"I beg for thy pardon, good brother. Detection of importance in haste has always been a great virtue in thy mind. Please forgive my impertinence."
"Think no more of it," he said in a softer tone, and turned around briskly to continue down the passage. Though she knew it was unladylike, Lucy picked up her skirts and hurried to catch up to her siblings. Susan sometimes reminded her of their age difference by chiding her about unimportant things, but Edmund seldom used his slight authority over her unless she really deserved it. She peered at the back of her brother's head thoughtfully. What was the message the Talking Beast had told Peter?
As the royal figures made their way through the castle, they passed servants and subjects of the palace, and occasionally a member of the Imperial Court or a representative of a province or another country. Some faces Lucy had never seen before, like that elderly man with an odd droop to the corner of his mouth, as though half of his face wanted to frown but the other half didn't, and that middle-aged woman wearing so many necklaces and bracelets that Lucy was surprised she could walk with such a straight back.
It wasn't uncommon for Cair Paravel to house wealthy men and women from high standing families. They came to the palace in an endless stream to take part in, or at least to observe, an assembly of the Imperial Court, because there was always something being debated in the Royal Hall. At this time of year, there was an unusually large amount of unfamiliar faces. Late spring was a time of great joy in Narnia, for all throughout winter, its life seemed to slow to a standstill. Animals, even Talking Beasts, retreated to their burrows, water beings sunk deep into rivers and lakes until they thawed, and wood beings and spirits returned to their trees to await the departure of the cold and their rebirth through the sprouts of spring. The appearance of the first bud of a tree was a cause for great celebration in the country, and gatherings and parties were organised in every corner of the nation. The two kings and queens were no exception, and every year they held a ball to honour the arrival of the season. Houses from every land flocked to Cair Paravel to attend. After all, the annual spring cotillion of Narnia was like no other.
Lucy always looked forward to these balls. Dressing in a beautiful gown and amazing the guests. Whirling around in a lively dance to the sweet sound of the wooden instruments of the Satyrs. Staying up all night to greet the sunrise. The entire day was like a wonderful dream.
Presently, they arrived in the vast Great Hall. It was colossal. The eyes of a hawk could not detect the intricate patterns sculpted into the dizzyingly high domed ivory ceiling. Enormous windows equally as high looked out onto the paved courtyard in view of the sea, with its hugely thick columns supporting the sheltering roof. The windows showed so much, some forgot they were inside because they were surrounded with trees and flowers.
Lucy had lived too long at Cair Paravel to be amazed by the immenseness of its Great Hall, but she was constantly reminded of it when observing others' reactions at their first sight. It was also rather hard to forget when it took her five minutes to cross the chamber.
At the southern end of the hall, four massive thrones stood on a dais four feet higher then floor level. Exactly the same in shape, size and design except the colour of their cushions, they stood in a row, all facing toward the centre of the room. In order, from left to right, the colour of the soft, satin framed by carved, wooden decoration was green, violet, blue and yellow.
Two servants bowed them through the large double doors, but Edmund and Susan gave them not a glance as they hurried through the opening and across the enormous marble floor directly for the dais. Following in their wake, Lucy could barely make out her brother, the High King Peter, seated on the first throne. When he saw them, Peter stood and glided down the dais' steps towards them. They met halfway, and Lucy studied her eldest brother's face carefully, trying to determine the nature of the message brought to him.
Everyone always said Peter and Lucy could be twins if they weren't five years apart in age because they looked so similar. They had the same golden hair (though his was much shorter), the same bright sea blue eyes, and the same pleasant, cheerful curve to their lips. But right now, Peter did not look happy. His eyebrows were slanted downward in a worried scowl, there were burning flames in his eyes instead of crashing waves, and a tightness around his mouth erased the usual smile it displayed.
Susan touched his arm, looking worried. "Sibling, what is it that causes thee grievance? Would I know, for our fair brother, King Edmund, has spoketh to me of an emissary with ill tidings for thine ears. It troubles my mind to hear such words."
"Battle and death," said Peter, turning to look at her with a face like stone. Every word he drove in with iron nails. "Our lands around the Glasswater are being taken by strange, dark raiders. The messenger here tells of an unspeakable slaughter at Burlin's Cap. Here do we sit in luxury and security as the blood of our people is spilt upon the Earth. I refuse to suffer the massacre of Narnians! By the Lion's Mane and by all of which is without price to me, I will not allow this!" His last sentences came out as a shout, and the repeat of his words echoed back to them from the great marble ceiling high above.
Edmund looked grave, his eyebrows drawing down as he fingered the sword at his hip. Susan gave a faint moan and put a hand to her brow, swaying gracefully. Three servants darted forward, drawing up a chair as though from thin air and seating her down gently. One whipped out a fan and began beating it furiously to give a breeze to the queen's face. She had become increasingly light-headed when it came to thoughts of battle and carnage.
Lucy frowned and bit her lip worriedly. Why did this have to happen so close to the banquet? She gave herself a shake. Had she become as cold and emotionless as a Calormen noblewoman? Her loyal subjects were being butchered down south, and she was upset that it disrupted festivities.
Abruptly, she noticed a small creature by Peter's ankle, peering up at the foursome rather shyly. It was an oversized squirrel, blinking about with enormous, intelligent brown eyes, and nervously wringing its tiny paws. It noticed them staring, and gave a series of increasingly higher pitched squeaks. Finally, it stepped forward and spoke with its impossibly high voice.
"Every word true, your majesties. I seen with my own two eyes! Great big ships came into the harbour, sails all black. They all came runnin', without even checkin' in at the docks. Mardock tried assemblin' us to fight 'em, but they was too quick, and too good with the blade." It started to weep, hiccoughing and sniffling as it spoke. "They cut down everyone, beast or man. We tried to run, but they got us first. They got everyone but me, and maybe a few others. But they took my sisters, and my aunt Mongree." It began to sob, holding its snout in tiny paws and shaking uncontrollably.
Lucy felt incredible compassion for the little creature. She stooped to pick it up, and because it was a Talking Beast, was twice the size as the average squirrel and filled both her palms. It's eyes widened slightly at being picked up, but it did not protest.
"The sun has set on my happiness with thee, oh mournful squirrel," said Lucy, beginning to feel quite teary herself. "The horrors thy must have encountered I can only begin to fathom. And with thy family gone as well..." A tear dropped down onto the little animal's head, and it looked up in wonder as Lucy cried along with it. She held it to her breast, and together they wept.
Lucy had a great love and compassion for nature, and she cared about creatures of the wood, sea, sky, sand and rock almost as if they were her own children. As a result, many in later years questioned Lucy's and Susan's titles, debating over which was the more gentle of the two. For, though Susan was more regal and dignified with her darkly beautiful face and her courtesy and consideration for people, Lucy seemed to have a special affection for Talking Beasts and other Enchanted Ones, as the spirits of wood and water, rock and sand and air were called.
It seemed, however, that Peter was in no mood to waste time crying. "Madam," he fairly snapped, "Kindly reserve your distress for other times. By my counsel should you cease your overreactions and mature sufficiently to abandon your childish grievances." This brought Susan's head up abruptly in shock and merited a disapproving frown from Edmund. Lucy's face reddened as she returned the squirrel to the ground, and her face shifted from outrage to meekness, as though trying to decide on a reaction. Peter gave her no chance as he turned to Edmund. "Brother, this new foe must not be permitted to roam our lands. If ye will have it so, let us proceed to my study, where we shall discuss a course of action against said opponents."
Face grave, Edmund nodded sharply, and the two set out across the hall, disappearing through the main doors. It was only then that Lucy noticed the small crowd of nobles encircling her and Susan that had apparently witnessed the discussion. She studied the surrounding faces apprehensively. A Narnian woman and two men with varying degress of wealth; her eyes slipped over them without notice, as they did over the oversized cat, plainly a Narnian Talking Beast. Five Archenlander men were present, two adorned with expensive jewellery and wearing coats heavily embroidered with gold that could only mark them of noble lineage. The other three wore humbler clothing, plainly of lesser Houses. A Calormene man stood almost out of sight in a dark cloak trimmed with red that swept the floor and with a pretty woman much younger then he on his arm. He met Lucy's gaze levelly, cool and arrogant, bringing up a hand to twist the edge of his thick but well-groomed black moustache. Middle-aged and dark featured, he reeked of haughtiness and pride, with a large jaw and forehead, and beetle black eyes that glittered dangerously.
Had she not been a well brought-up lady, Lucy would have cursed. He was obviously of high standing in Calormen, and could send word to the Tisroc of Narnia's situation. It could be nothing, but as Second Queen of Narnia, she knew that it was very unsafe to assume something just because it was easier to stomach. Although Calormen was the nation's supposed friend, the feeble ties binding it to Narnia were shaky and likely prepared to collapse should an advantage arise for the current ruler of the southern country. If Peter and Edmund were willing to allow the Tisroc to find out, it would be best if his discovery was prompted on their terms, not those of this conceited noble.
"Who is that man?" Lucy almost gave a start when Susan spoke beside her. Almost. "His eyes play shadows over my soul." This was a Narnian expression, meaning that he made her nervous.
Lucy frowned and shook her head, watching as he turned away and left the small circle of upper class men and women. If she asked around, she could perhaps find out about him, but that could draw unwanted attention...
With a sigh, she returned to face her sister, feeling much older then her nineteen years. She could not remember trouble like this in all of her twelve years on the throne. Certainly Narnia had fought battles since then; in a bloodthirsty world such as this, avoiding war was unthinkable. However, always before they had known who they were up against, whether it was Calormen or remnants of the frozen creatures of the White Witch, or whatever other foes to do battle with. These strange dark men Lucy was sure she'd never heard of before: she supposed they were from across the Great Eastern Ocean, come to conquer lands to the west. In any case, she always hated news of bloodshed. It had a way of complicating things.
"You would pardon me if I were to retire to my chambers, dearest Susan?" she asked, and Susan smiled and gave her a sympathetic look along with a nod of assent. They clasped hands briefly, and Lucy departed in the direction her brothers had left, feeling as though it had been a terribly long day. How could it be that, nigh on an hour ago, she had been chatting companionably with her sister in her room, oblivious to the troubles of her country? In her wake, the large squirrel scuttled about at her skirts unnoticed.
Peter rubbed at his temples in the silent darkness of his study. It was fairly small, for he never did care for unnecessary decorations. They cluttered things, and mussed concentration. Aslan only knew how important concentration was for the High King of Narnia. The single large window let in next to no light apart from the faint moonlight, for it was very late in the night. One single Dryad globe stood on the desk, lighting up its covered surface with a pale blue glow. Maps were littered about the room, piled on the floor or on vacant armchairs. A stack of fresh parchment lay in front of the King under the still raised inky pen, poised at the top of the first paper expectantly. He scowled down at it, willing it to write, but his mind could not form the right commands to encourage his hand to move. And so he sat at his desk, waiting for inspiration to begin the letter.
He could not understand the immovability of his quill. Edmund and he had talked for hours about the positioning of troops, the rationing, the war tactics, the possibilities of aid from allies. Commands would be sent out to every captain in Narnia, calling all troops to rendezvous a mile north of Burlin's Cap. Residents of that area were also to head for that location and help the army in any way possible.
He willed the pen to touch the parchment, to begin to write, but it did nothing but sit useless in his hand. Soldiers and other loyal subjects were to await the arrival of the High King Peter. Who better to lead in battle? Peter was not immodest, and he had to admit that, though Edmund was fairly skilled with a blade, he had nothing on himself when it came to war. And Peter had been told many years ago that battles were ugly when women fought, and he agreed whole-heartedly. He would not send his sisters into battle if the opposite would cost him his life.
In the name of Aslan, why would the blasted feather not move? He scraped the quill across the paper so hard it tore through it and the next two under it as well. It dropped from his nerveless hands. These were dark times. He could not remember being this edgy since his first years as High King. What could these dark strangers want in Narnia? Scouts sent out to evaluate the situation were to leave at first light, of course, but the reports would not arrive for another couple of weeks, eleven days if he was lucky. A hundred things could happen in that time.
Closing his eyes, Peter took several deep breaths, attempting to calm his mind and arrange his thoughts properly. It mattered little what the attackers wanted, so long as they were repressed as soon as possible. The scouts would take less then eleven days to reach Peter, because he would be moving in their direction with the majority of the Narnian army at his back.
He gave what seemed like the hundredth sigh that day. The orders would have to wait until tomorrow. He was dead tired, and would not have been able to write a letter at sword point. He stood, stretched, and headed for the door, thinking fond thoughts of his large bed in the centre of Cair Paravel. Halfway to the door, he paused as his eyes rested upon the four portraits hanging on the opposite wall. They had been given as a gift from a famous Centaur painter who made exceptional creations with his watercolours. The first to the left was a mirror image of himself, proud and triumphant in a gleaming suit of armour and standing over a dead enemy at his feet. The Centaur had accentuated his best feature: the broadness of his shoulders and chest. Peter wondered if he had not exaggerated a little: he had not thought himself so large as that. To the right was Susan, strikingly beautiful in a clinging red gown. She sat alone in a long Calormene sofa chair, surrounded by platters of fruit and smiling faintly. Her dark eyes, long flowing black hair, and full red lips were most prominent. Next was Edmund, standing at the Table of Judgement, looking most stern and majestic.
Lastly came Lucy's portrait, at which Peter stood before to examine. She wore a gown of purest white satin and she danced with a fawn. Her head was tilted back slightly in a laugh so real-looking he could almost hear it. He was very sorry for humiliating her so publicly that afternoon, but his temper had been at very short reign. He would speak to her tomorrow.
Though he loved all his siblings dearly, he seemed to have a special bond with his youngest sister. He vaguely recalled getting along best with Susan as children because of their closeness in age, with a span of only two years separating them, but he found that she had changed since then. She was very diplomatic and, oddly enough, had a great understanding of law, but Peter found that she acted rather silly at times, rather too much like an empty-headed wife of a lord only there to look pretty. In truth, she had not yet married (an occasion he hoped was still far off) but he was not so naïve as to think she had not taken several lovers in the course of her twelve-year reign. He knew she was not a child anymore, but he could not keep his jaw from clenching whenever he saw her on the arm of yet another dark, handsome young prince or high seat. And in some cases, they were not so young, maybe even almost old enough to be her father. Peter shook his head. He had no right to question his sister in that area, and it was certainly no business of his whom she decided to take interest in.
Edmund was a friend as well, a wonderful companion who Peter would consider to be the best advisor he'd ever met. He was always courteous and polite, and a brother Peter enjoyed playing a game of chess with over whine any time. He was always a great help when it came to matters of ruling Narnia, and always seemed to know what to do. However, Peter had always thought of Edmund as a fairly quiet and solemn man, reflective and calm. He never got excited, and he never spoke of anything that wasn't absolutely logical and correct. He was distant at the best of times, and though his company was enjoyable, the friendship between he and Peter was quite formal, something that the High King felt was much to awkward at times.
He felt a great deal closer to Lucy then to Susan or Edmund. She was always so cheerful and enthusiastic, so kind and friendly. Peter was sure she could tell exactly what he was thinking just by looking at his face, because he could do the same with her. A smile from her could melt the sun with its warmth, could lighten the entire night sky with its brightness. You could not hold a conversation with her for five minutes without liking her. It was impossible. He rarely saw her worried, and he could tell her anything, because he knew she would always understand.
She was not perfect: that he knew. She often gave up when things were too hard and her memory was far from good. She was very indecisive and changed her mind as quick as blinking. But everyone had their flaws... Goodness, Aslan knew he had as many as the next person, perhaps more. Being a king was no easy task.
He heaved another sigh and left his study, only pausing at the door to lock it shut from the inside. He did not notice the slim shadow of a man crouching out of sight behind a massive plant, peering through its leaves, waiting for the door to close.