The Secret Chronicles of Narnia Trilogy: Part II

THE CHANGING OF THE CONSTELLATIONS

by TastyAsItGets

Their sunrise song had long since ended, and the birds had been gone for hours. Yet she still stood there alone on the sloping hill, observing the seas.

She watched with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Her long hair rippled in the salty breeze. She shivered even though the air was warm.

"He will return today, Daughter."

She turned to see her father standing behind her, his long, white beard catching the sun's rays.

"Yes…I also sense his approach..." she said.

Ramandu caught her anxious mood. "Narnia is not the place you knew then, dearest. The wars have ended. You will be safe."

"I know this, and yet I still fear—"

"It is only natural. But think of what your mother sacrificed for you. This is your time to return; it is your birthright. You shall be Queen at King Caspian's side."

Ramandu's eyes were kind. He stroked his daughter's blonde hair lovingly.

She nodded and looked away. Suddenly, her heart clenched: there, on the horizon, was the Dawn Treader.

Her time to return to Narnia had come.

It was a sanctuary: the silence of the trees, the rustling of the nearly-leafless branches, the occasional mute squirrel, and the distant rumble of the sea waves crashing against the cliffs. The Archenlander forests were so different from Narnian ones. So silent. One could imagine that they were the only living person in these woods, for very they were.

Talia usually found solace in the forest. There were no responsibilities, no expectations of her out here. No vacant-eyed mother, no persistent little sister.

In the forest, the twenty-two-year-old could do as she liked, when she liked. Should she have the inclination, she could take out her frustration on the voiceless Archenlander bushes with her sword. She could pick out an acorn on a tree and cleanly flick it off with a well-placed arrow.

She had been wandering restlessly through the familiar terrain when she stopped suddenly, cocking her ear. Someone was coming. Their feet crunched on the fallen leaves. She instantly recognized the uneven footsteps and relaxed. A moment later, a tall man leaning on a cane came into view, his breath visible from the cold.

His appearance was a contradiction of cultures. His face was dark and his white beard pointed, he wore spiked shoes, and a curved scimitar hung at his side—all very good indications that he was Calormene. But he also wore an Archenlander tunic and pants topped with a furry vest. It was a funny sight at the best of times, but Talia was used to it and approached him with her bow at her side.

"You shouldn't be out here, Grandpa," she chastised. "It's much too cold."

Abrastan ignored her comment. "Your mother's looking for you." He had a thick Calormene accent that hadn't abated in the years he'd lived with them in Archenland.

Talia turned away and snapped a twig off a bush to avoid his gaze.

"She's worried, Tal," he said.

"That's a nice change," she said sarcastically. "Sometimes I don't think she knows we exist."

"Not to downplay your usual cheery demeanor, O my granddaughter," Abrastan said with a hint of causticity, "but you seemed especially moody at dinner last night. It didn't happen to escape our attention that it was right after the mail from Anvard arrived."

Talia pulled out an arrow, aimed, and pierced the last remaining leaf on a tree a dozen meters away. She headed in that direction to fetch the arrow that now pinned the orange leaf to the forest floor.

"What did Aravis say, Talia?"

She stopped, slowly pivoted around, and looked him in the eye. "She wants me to go to Anvard for the Winter Festival."

"And this disturbs you because…?" He spread his palms quizzically. "You've simply ignored the poor girl's invitations in the past without pity. What's the difference now?"

Talia swallowed a lump that had built in her throat. "Corin won't be there."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"I suppose, but now I've got no excuse to refuse her!" She turned her back on him and went to get the arrow.

Talia never wanted to step one foot back into Anvard if she could help it—it hurt too much. Anvard was a glaring reminder of the perfect fairytale her life had once been…and how it had all fallen apart.

"You need to go, Tal," Abrastan said as Talia walked back towards him, clutching the arrow. "You'll never move on if you don't. Do you intend to hide out here your whole life? It doesn't matter what anyone says about you or Saedra or your sister in Anvard. Just go, be with your friend. My guess is that she's as lonely as you are."

"Aravis, lonely? Somehow I doubt that, Grandpa."

"Trust me, Tal. Four years of hiding is enough. I think you need to go."

"And I think we should get you inside," she replied. "It's getting dark."

Talia showed her mother the letter that night at dinner. Saedra read the letter silently, holding it up to the candles on the table and sipping her favorite wine as she did so.

When done, she said, "What do you think, Tal?" The grey streaks in her hair caught the candlelight as she reached for the pitcher.

"I'm inclined not to go."

"Well, I think you should. It'd be good for you."

"I agree with your mother," Abrastan added. "You need to get out of here, Talia, and make a life for yourself."

"I have a life!" Talia protested.

Abrastan raised an eyebrow.

"Anvard?" a younger voice interrupted.

Talia looked over at her youngest sister, Edina. The seven-year-old was usually quiet at dinner; she was always on-guard whenever Saedra was around. Her brown eyes were large with curiosity.

"Yes, Ina," Talia smiled. "Anvard."

Edina's freckled face lit up, and she put her little hand on Talia's arm. "Oh, please, can we go, Tal? The servants say such wonderful things about Anvard! I'd love to go just once!"

Talia looked to Saedra. Saedra just shrugged, swallowing another gulp of wine.

"It's up to you, Tal. Take her with you if you like. You know I have no desire to show my face, but you may if you're feeling brave."

Talia hesitated; she feared going back to Anvard, but the hopeful look in Edina's eyes tore at her. The poor girl had never left Harden in her whole life. Maybe a trip further into the mainland would be good for her...as long as Talia could make sure Edina never heard the nasty things said about their family.

"All right, Ina," Talia smiled, patting the girl's dark head. "Let's go to Anvard."

Even though Aravis had hoped that Talia would come to the Winter Festival if the letter mentioned Corin was out of town, she was still surprised to learn Talia and Edina would indeed be coming for Christmas.

Since Talia hadn't left the Province of Harden in ages, Aravis tried to visit Harden at least once a year. But she still felt like she was losing touch with her best friend. At each visit, Aravis was struck with how withdrawn Talia had become. Her once-thriving and happy best friend had sunk into silence and despair. Aravis had once envied Talia's close relationship to her adopted mother Saedra, but now those two were barely on speaking terms.

Aravis could hardly blame any of them, however. Losing Talia's step-father and Saedra's husband High King Peter and the rest of the family seven years ago had been a blow to everyone, and Aravis couldn't imagine the pain Saedra and Talia felt.

Talia had taken it extremely hard at first. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she had been sold into slavery as a child by her biological parents in Calormen, or perhaps because she had been extremely close to her step-father Peter and Aunt Lucy, but she felt personally slighted by the Disappearance. Aravis had tried to be supportive, and had often had to whack Cor over the head if he said something insensitive, but it was really Corin who had helped heal Talia. The normally brash younger twin had behaved amazingly well towards his admirer, cementing his place as her idol.

It's so sad that things have come to this, Aravis thought as she strode through the halls of Anvard, regretting that only the promise that Talia wouldn't see Corin could persuade her to come out of hiding.

Aravis stopped in front of Cor's chambers, hoping he was in there. Usually he could be found in the courtyard or riding around outside, but the weather this day was horrid and she doubted he'd be out in the swirling snow.

She knocked on the door and was pleased to hear a muffled, "Come in." She did so, finding Cor pacing the room with a wrinkle between his light brows.

"What's wrong?" she asked, momentarily forgetting what she'd come for.

He shook his head. "It's nothing. What'd you want?"

Aravis stepped in, shutting the door behind her.

If she were in the room with any other man, shutting the door would be scandalous, but everyone knew that she and Cor were merely friends at best, and more often enemies. She took advantage of this, for she didn't prefer to have their conversation overheard; there were enough rumors about Talia already.

"Tal's coming for the Winter Festival," she said.

Cor's eyebrows shot up in a surprised look. "What? How did this happen?"

She hesitated. "Don't yell at me, Cor, but...I told her that Corin won't be here."

He flopped onto one of his couches as the wrinkle formed again.

"Cor—" she started, hoping to pre-empt a lecture.

"I'm not angry," he sighed, rubbing his face. "I'm frustrated. I don't know what Corin is playing at here, going off all the time and leaving Cristabelle behind. She was just in here, begging me to go out and find him in the snow. The poor woman was in tears!"

"I know. She was in tears last night too. She's been especially emotional lately," Aravis observed.

"Maybe it's because Corin is never around!" he spat.

"Whoa, where did all this anger come from? I didn't know you cared that much about Cristabelle's feelings."

"He's—he's not doing his duty. As a husband he should know that he should be here, with her, and not wandering about boxing anything in sight."

"You just wish you were out there with him," she grinned, swishing her curly black hair in her trademark haughty way.

Corin was given free rein to wander the countryside whilst Cor was given more and more lessons that (supposedly) prepared him for being King. Corin often commented wryly (when he was around, that is) that Lune was acting like he was about to drop dead any second and pass the crown to Cor.

Cor didn't appreciate Aravis' comment and glowered. "Speak for yourself."

Aravis loved it when Cor glared at her like that; it meant she had hit the mark and he couldn't think of a decent reply. She strutted back to the door and said, "I'll leave you to your brooding, your royal Highness. Just be sure to be extra nice to Tal when she gets here. And don't worry…I'll make sure to send Cristabelle to you whenever she needs a sympathetic shoulder to cry on—or someone to cry with!"

With a self-satisfied smile, she swung out of the room, closing the door just in time to hear the thump of a pillow hit the other side.