BELLIFORTIS
A Chronicles of Narnia Fanfiction
by hairsprayheart
Chapter One: Old and New
AN: What? Another Narnia fic, when the other ones aren't even close to being finished?
I know. Please forgive my lack of ability to focus. Or update. But the coming of spring break has inspired this, so here it is.
As far as the title goes, it is from a military strategy book by Konrad Keyser in early Germany, which means "strength in battle." (Yes, I am a history geek…) Anyway, on with the story! Hope you enjoy.
Edmund Pevensie had long ago learned that everything had a price. The brief satisfaction that he had once gotten from back-talking to his older brother or bullying his younger sister always resulted in some form of punishment. A stolen biscuit, delicious almost solely in the fact that it had been consumed moments before supper time (as was expressly forbidden) might result in getting no supper at all. These small, petty acts of childish rebellion had seemed worth it at the time, because they had given him the attention he so deeply desired. (After all, who could compete with the charming Peter, the beautiful Susan, or the darling Lucy?) But he found himself, now, growing weary of attention, and even wearier of himself.
More tangible than punishment was the cruel practice of rationing that had been brought on by the war back home. It had been better in Finchley than in some places, and Edmund knew that he should have felt lucky (some families had double or more the four children of his household), but had focused instead on wallowing in self-pity and sulking because his dad had been sent away, and was about to be as well.
Already the time at Professor Kirke's – and the reasons for it – seemed distant. From his seat on his throne – his throne, his throne! – Edmund could watch the progression of the party thrown to celebrate his coronation. His wandering eyes often rested briefly, on a dress, on a candelabra, on a dryad. How much did the dress cost? The candelabra? The life and freedom and safety of the dryad? Of his family? He could see the whole kingdom, but in every dress and candelabra and dryad, all he could really see was Aslan.
If Edmund had been the same Edmund – sibling-bullying, biscuit-stealing Edmund – he might have quite hated the Lion. Knowing that someone was trying to help him when he could not help himself would have greatly irked him; you might even say made him jealous. He did not like being helped, and normally found someone doing so to be putting on airs. He liked feeling strong and independent. But the only place he had managed to get himself was in a very deep, very dark hole, and he could not have climbed out alone. It had taken the prospect of death to rattle him, and then, (quite nearly complete, if not for Lucy's cordial) death to really change him. He was still dying, a little bit, the old Edmund was. But not at the hand of the White Witch – at the hand of Aslan.
The Lion had died in his place. His siblings did not know that he knew that just yet. (What else had they expected Aslan to talk to him about?) Edmund did not like being in debt to anyone, for anything, because it made him feel needy. But King Edmund did not mind so much, because though this was a debt that he actually wanted to repay, he knew that he could not.
While he sat on the throne, before the Lion and the Narnians, he had never felt so unworthy. They called him Just. The only way that title could possibly be appropriate was if it was meant as "only." As in, "Oh, that's just Edmund." He had done nothing to deserve any of this. The rest of them had paid dearly – with their pride, their safety, and their lives – but he was astonishingly insignificant.
His throne was much too large for him, and he felt small and pale in it. He glanced to his siblings. Peter was glowing, Susan radiant, Lucy giddy. He gave a small smile as the Narnians toasted all of their rulers. As he looked to the sea, he allowed the glory of the day to wash over him, taking away his burdens in the tide that sounded so much like a roar.
Peter woke the next morning (or, at least, he thought it was morning; it was really too dark to tell) by being heartily shaken.
"Unh," he groaned, and rolled over in a feeble attempt to escape his attacker.
"Wake up, High King. The celebration is over."
"That's for sure," Peter grumbled, finally sitting up. Oreius, Centaur general, stood over him with an expression that Peter thought, in his sleepy haze, almost resembled a smile.
"Good morning."
Peter glared. "Is it?"
The Centaur grunted. Was that a chuckle?
"Yes, it is morning. As far as whether or not it will be good… That is up to you, your Majesty."
Getting out of bed, Peter asked, "Am I the first awake?"
Seeming to have used up his tiny supply of humor, the Centaur simply inclined his head in answer.
Despite himself, Peter grinned. So he would still have to wake up Edmund. "Good luck."
Even though he had gotten accustomed to early morning rising, training at Aslan's camp, the celebration had lasted late into the night. The newly-crowned royals crashed into their unfamiliar, but exceedingly comfortable, beds without complaint. And without the knowledge that they would be woken before dawn.
For this night only, the two brothers had slept apart – Edmund had turned in earlier; though both were exhausted from the battle, Edmund was younger and needed sleep to recover fully from his near-death. And as the sounds of Oreius waking his brother could be heard, Peter was glad of this (and the bedroom his sisters shared being located far down the hall).
Though he was nearly too tired to do it, Peter decided to dress himself. While valets and courtiers were always eager to help, they deserved their sleep after the previous night. Peter placed his crown atop his head, and began his first full day as Narnia's High King.
"Why are we still training, again?"
Peter did not like sounding like such a baby, but Oreius had been working them hard for two hours, and his muscles already ached. He thought all of the training they had done was sufficient, both to keep himself and his family and his kingdom safe, not to mention build up his muscles. But he had been wrong.
He regretted wasting his breath.
"The battle is over," the Centaur agreed, "but you must remain… sharp."
At this, the general watched in satisfaction as the younger king got the upper hand. Peter was pinned to the ground, with Edmund lying on his chest, and the tip of a short sword pressed his throat. For a moment, the two brothers' eyes searched each other's, the fierce spark that had lit Edmund's eyes fading as he realized who he was fighting.
"Well done, Ed," Peter panted, surprised.
"He's getting better," Oreius allowed. "He does not complain."
Peter sighed – as always, Oreius was right. Edmund had the good grace not to look too triumphant as he backed off. Oreius, as he pulled both of them easily to their feet, added, "Only those who can bear practice can bear war."
"But the White Witch is dead," Edmund stated, his young face grave.
The Centaur paused.
"I fear the battle for Narnia is not over," he confessed. "Her minions still live. Without a leader, they are only simple brutes, and can be overtaken. But many hunger for revenge."
"Never mind. Do let us keep training," Peter said hastily, his hand groping for Rhindon even as he spoke.
"Kings need their strength," Oreius allowed. "Come. Your royal sisters are awake, and ready to break fast with you."
Trudging up the hill to the castle was difficult. More than the weight of armor or Rhindon (both of which he had grown accustomed to), Peter was burdened by his thoughts. If there was still a threat, he must keep training. He had failed to keep his family safe at Beruna, and must not do so again. Throughout the meal, his worries occupied him. He only half-listened to Lucy gushing over the sunrise. When there was a lull in the conversation, he looked up.
"Hmm?"
The others were gazing at him expectantly. Edmund appeared to have been shoveling food down his throat with great zeal, because his cheeks were full and his fork was halfway to his open mouth. Lucy's lips were also parted, as she was in the throes of telling a story, but Susan was only staring at him.
"She asked you a question."
"Sorry, Lu. Go on," Peter apologized.
"Are you hungry? You haven't touched your food."
Realizing that he was, and he hadn't, he shoved his plate towards Edmund anyway.
"I've got some work to do."
"Hold on," Susan insisted, catching his (very sore) arm as he stood to leave. She gave him a reproachful glance when he grimaced, assuming it was at her expense. "You haven't said a word all morning."
She retrieved his plate – leaving Edmund looking slightly disappointed – and sent Ed and Lucy off to the kitchen to fetch more for him.
"Even if you aren't hungry, you will be later. Now, eat."
She watched him as he obliged, though all the while gazing at her balefully.
"How was your training?"
He shrugged, attacking his ham.
"That bad, huh?" She smiled sympathetically.
"Something Oreius said earlier worried me, that's all," he said, as dismissively as possible.
Susan's face fell. "What was it?"
"I don't want to worry you," he replied, taking a bite to save himself from elaborating.
As Lucy and Edmund returned, Susan hissed, "We're not done talking about this."
Peter just shrugged again, and took another bite.
"Find everything you wanted?" Susan asked Edmund brightly, as her younger siblings seated themselves.
"I already know," he replied dully.
Susan frowned at him, then turned to Lucy with a forced smile. "…know how much fun we're going to have today!" she inserted. "Right, boys?"
While the brothers continued to eat, avoiding her glance, Susan stood. "Mr. Tumnus!" she called.
The Faun tottered in as fast as his little legs could carry him. He bowed, and Susan curtsied.
"Mr. Tumnus, Lucy wishes to take a stroll with you," she said, rather tightly, though with a smile. "Now, please."
"It would be my pleasure," came the reply. The urgency was clearly understood. He gave Lucy a small, familiar smile and offered her his arm, which she took gladly. She was too young and honored to be suspicious of her siblings. In passing, Tumnus addressed them. "Your Majesties."
Lucy waved, and they were off. Her siblings could already hear the strains of her chatter as Mr. Tumnus steered her down the hall.
As soon as the pair was out of hearing range, Susan fell upon her remaining siblings.
"Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?"
"It's all right, Su, really," Peter said reassuringly. "Between Oreius, Lucy's cordial, and thousands of soldiers, Narnia is quite well off."
Edmund appeared more afraid of Susan than anything else, and was glad enough to let Peter take control of calming her down. But at this, he spoke: "And Aslan."
Peter smiled widely at his younger brother. "Yes, and Aslan."
He put his hand on Susan's shoulder.
"You don't have to control this, Su," he said softly. "Someone else is."
"I know, I know," Susan snapped, frustrated with her utter powerlessness even as she resigned herself to acceptance of it. She sat back in her chair with a sigh, and added in a small voice, "I wish he was still here."
Peter stood and wrapped his arms around her.
"But he is."
As he left, he paused to kiss his brother's hair (both to Edmund's disgust and delight). Edmund quickly followed him down the hall.
Susan waited until they were gone to get up. She had to speak to Oreius.
Arm-in-arm with Tumnus, Lucy was thoroughly enjoying herself. The wet sand clung between her toes, and the salty breeze filled her lungs and toyed with her hair.
"'Tis a fine day, Queen Lucy," the Faun said conversationally. As he looked down at his companion, his dark eyes twinkled.
"Being with you has made it all the better, dear Mr. Tumnus," Lucy told him smilingly.
As she moved closer to him to bump him playfully, he blushed at the praise.
"Your Majesty is too kind."
"Really," Lucy laughed. "I wouldn't lie to you."
But he had lied to her.
Tumnus halted abruptly, his arm dropping from hers, before Lucy realized her mistake.
"Oh, Mr. Tumnus! I am dreadfully sorry," she gasped, quickly taking his hand. "You know I didn't mean it like that. Oh, please, don't cry!"
The Faun smiled bravely after a choked laugh.
Lucy was surprised at him. She had forgiven him, Aslan had forgiven him, and he had not yet forgiven himself. Why? He hadn't even actually turned her in. And what he had done for Lucy outweighed anything that he had merely considered doing. After all, he was her very best friend.
"Do cheer up. There is so much to be happy about," Lucy half-admonished, looping her arm through his once again to continue their walk. "Silly old Faun."
Tumnus looked at her in mock anger.
"I am not old!" he cried indignantly.
Lucy grinned. "But you are silly."
"Takes one to know one," Tumnus replied cheekily.
"Why, Mr. Tumnus!"
At that, Lucy broke from his grasp and took off running down the beach, hiking up her skirts and shrieking with laughter. Shocked and guilty, Tumnus shook himself and ran after her.
"Your Majesty!" he begged. "Please…"
At his command, Lucy stopped and turned around, fixing him with a steely gaze he recognized even from a distance as a mixture of mirth and defiance. Panting, he caught up.
"You – you," he began breathlessly, "you're quite fast, my Queen."
Lucy looked at him seriously.
"Why do you not just call me Lucy?" she asked.
Caught off guard, Tumnus hesitated. "I suppose because it's disrespectful."
"Oh, pish-posh," Lucy snapped. "I'm still the same girl you met in the forest."
Tumnus gave her a little smile.
"Thank Aslan for that," he said honestly. "…And just as saucy."
"I would much prefer to just be called Lucy. You are my dearest friend," Lucy reminded him, beaming.
"I prefer Lucy, too," the Faun admitted.
"Well, then, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy said, with a wide smile, "would you like to accompany me back home?"
Of course, home meant Cair Paravel. Tumnus smiled to himself and squeezed her hand.
"I would love to… Lucy."
Lucy squeezed back and smiled at him as well.
"I don't suppose this means I can't call you Mister Tumnus."
"Of course you must," Tumnus replied teasingly. "After all, I am so very old."
The youngest queen laughed gaily. "I think you're perfectly wonderful just as you are."
"And you, Queen Lucy Pevensie, are even more wonderful than you know," the Faun responded seriously.
"Get me home before my head swells any more," Lucy demanded, embarrassed.
"Only if you promise to walk with me again tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, and every day, sir," was the happy reply. "And that's a promise."
Susan rapped on the thick oak door firmly. Her lips were set in a thin line in her determination. Even from outside, she could hear the shouts and clanging of metal within the armory, but she would not move from the spot until she was appeased.
"What do yer— Oh, my apologies, your Majesty," a Black Dwarf greeted her, blushing at his rude mistake. "Er, c'mon in."
Susan crossed her arms over her chest, clearly uncomfortable. Not only was she about to go into an area that was meant, almost expressly, for rough - male - soldiers, but she was speaking to a Black Dwarf who bore an unfortunate and frightening resemblance to Ginarrbrik, the Dwarf who had almost murdered Edmund and received an arrow in his own chest instead. "I mean to speak to Oreius," she said simply.
"O'cour— of course," the Dwarf stumbled. "Just a minute, iffen you please."
Susan smiled slightly, appreciative of the Dwarf's efforts to be polite for her (even if he didn't look exactly like the rest of the Narnians, her mother had always told her that you can't judge a book by its cover). When he turned to leave, she took his arm gently.
"Excuse me, but what is your name, good Dwarf?"
"'Tis Albarik, my queen," he replied gruffly, with an awkward bow. "Delighted t' be of service t' you."
"Thank you, Albarik."
"Aye, 'tis nothing." He nodded quickly and turned away, bellowing, "Oreius!"
All noise stopped, and Susan winced.
"What?" The Centaur was clearly not pleased to be interrupted.
"There's someone here t' see ya, sir," she heard Albarik say.
"Who?"
"'Tis the Queen, sir."
She heard hoof beats, and in an instant Oreius stood before her. His broad bay flanks glistened with a sheen of sweat, and she knew he had been hard at work. Her gaze returned to his face quickly and she greeted him.
"Sorry to disturb you, General. I had a feeling I would find you here."
The Centaur nodded for her to continue.
Susan blinked and gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. "Well, I… Oh, it all sounds so silly, now."
"My queen, nothing you desire is, as you say, silly."
"I suppose," Susan replied gratefully. "I was just wondering about something you said to Peter earlier."
Though his face betrayed no emotion, Susan noticed a flicker of darkness cross the general's eyes for an instant.
"Come with me," he said, offering a muscled arm.
Barely hesitating, Susan obeyed, reaching to take his arm and pretending not to notice that he had to stoop as he accompanied her through the armory.
"Acknowledge your queen," he commanded, his quiet voice unnervingly calm.
Every Narnian present dropped to their knees at the sight of her.
"I-I thank you," Susan managed, honored.
After his men rose and returned to work, Oreius brought Susan to the back of the large building, where there was a lone barrel. Susan stared at it curiously before Oreius spoke again.
"The conflict is an old one, my Queen," he murmured, releasing her and prying the lid off of the barrel with ease. "But this is a new Narnia."
Confused by his words, Susan simply nodded, watching as Oreius drew something from the barrel.
"This," he said, with obvious pride, "is a Narnian arrow."
Susan gawked. "That is an arrow?"
"Only the shaft," Oreius corrected. "But with time and work, and some good fletching, it will be fit for a… queen."
"I think I know what you're getting at," Susan mused. "With my siblings, and some practice…" She trailed off, looking up at the Centaur for confirmation.
"Very good, your Majesty," he praised her. "Your wisdom matches your beauty, if I may say so."
Susan flushed. "You may."
Oreius smiled, plucking a small package from a nearby bin and handing it to her.
It was long and thin, a fine grain mahogany case, with a golden plaque inscribed:
May your hand be steady and your aim be true
And Aslan's paw always guiding you.
Eagerly, she opened the box, and found herself gazing at the most wondrous arrow she had ever laid eyes upon.
"It is beautiful," she breathed.
"May you remain deserving of the title that Aslan has bestowed upon you," Oreius said seriously. "But this arrow shall serve you well if you need it."
Susan could only nod dumbly. The arrow was gorgeous, fletched and tipped in gold. She could not imagine using it in battle, or even removing it from its case. She stared at the arrow in awe for another moment before she looked up at Oreius, remembering her manners.
"Thank you," she managed.
"Don't thank me," the Centaur insisted modestly.
"Then who may I thank?" she inquired, surprised.
Oreius nodded towards the short, stout figure bent over the forge.
"'Twas Albarik, your Majesty – one of the finest craftsmen in Narnia."
"I believe it," Susan said softly, looking from the Dwarf to the arrow and then back again. "Perhaps I shall have to thank him another time?"
"You are always welcome here," Oreius told her. "Though it is not exactly fit for a lady such as yourself, your company is greatly pleasing."
Susan blushed and clutched the box to her chest.
"I really must be going. Thank you, General, for everything."
"May Aslan's blessing be upon you," Oreius said, in parting.
"May Aslan's blessing be upon you," Susan repeated, smiling.
Then she hurried away to fetch her bow. She really ought to practice. The arrow looked as though it would sail through the air like a knife. She could already imagine the target as one of those dreadful Boggles.
There was nothing, she thought, like a fresh start.
"I don't know why you gathered us all here, Lu," Edmund was saying, only half-grumbling.
"Look out the window," Lucy encouraged.
The darkening sky was lit with streaks of every color, like burst firecrackers.
"Sunrise, sunset – they look all the same to me," Peter agreed with his brother.
"Shut up and enjoy the moment, both of you," Susan demanded, putting an arm around both of her brothers.
Lucy shot her a grateful smile and sighed happily.
"Do you think it's like this all the time?" Edmund asked quietly.
"I only wish," Peter breathed.
The kings exchanged a glance, then gazed again out of the great window at the sunset.
"This is it," Susan said softly, "the end of our first day as Narnia's kings and queens."
"And the beginning of the night," Lucy whispered.
The four siblings stood for a moment in companionable silence, watching the sun drop into the sea. Peace filled their hearts. As the sun became hidden, so also fell away their fears. The darkened clouds made a mass, and though none of them said anything, the kings and queens found that it looked remarkably like a lion. And they knew that no matter what happened tomorrow, they would still have Aslan. And they would always have each other.
