Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia, Archenland, or any recognizable characters. Nough said.
Hooves pounded the muddy ground in quick succession, hurrying the rider to his destination. Faster, faster. The news the rider carried was such that could not be delayed. He had sworn to his liege upon bended knee that this message would arrive with all due diligence. Not even the deluge of rain which followed the young man to the southern borders of Archenland would deter him.
Finally, after so many hours of exhausting riding, the great castle which the boy had sought came into view. The messenger gave a sigh of relief and accomplishment, his task now closer to an end than he thought it could be. It took only the smallest space of time for the horse's hooves to clatter upon the lowered drawbridge and bring the rider to the doors of the great hall. Without second thought, he hurled himself off his horse, his legs wobbling a moment at the sudden change. Although every muscle in his body ached, the messenger tore into the hall, calling out inquiries to the location of Her Grace.
The lady herself was seated upon a dais under a magnificently embroidered cloth of what could only be called spun clouds, so white it ached, even in the shadowy and smoky room that surrounded it. Even used to the castle at Anvard, the boy could not help but stare at the hanging and then at the woman sitting under it.
The woman spoke quietly to a man who knelt at her feet, and did not even spare a glance up at the intrusion. "State your business, boy, before you are shown out," she called across the room, her voice surprisingly strong for a woman. There was a certain note of impatience in her voice and with a gulp, the boy straightened his blue and white livery as best he could and drew the message from the pouch he wore around his neck.
"His Highness, King Lune of Archenland and the Winding Arrow River, is grieved to inform the Duchess of Glasswater of the death of his beloved queen, Her Highness the Queen of Archenland…" the boy began, coming to an abrupt halt when the Duchess waved her hand impatiently.
"What is your name, boy?" she asked, standing and letting her eyes meet the messenger's for the first time. Her eyes seemed to draw him in, making him eager to answer her.
"Janik, my lady," the boy said, bowing awkwardly.
The Duchess surveyed Janik for a moment before she took two steps down the dais to stand in front of him, appraising him with a critical eye. "Your message comes from no less than the King, I presume?" she said. Rather than the expected sadness, her voice was filled with what Janik could only call amusement.
The messenger boy nodded, hoping this was the answer she looked for. Instinctively he took a step back from the powerful woman before him, furrowing his brow slightly at how familiar she appeared. Although she had not been seen at court in years, this woman looked eerily similar to someone that Janik had known in his twelve summers.
With a tight lipped smile, the Duchess turned on her heel. Shining blonde swirled about her shoulders, giving her a certain sort of eccentric look, as she stepped up upon the dais and retook her seat. In the blink of an eye, she had thrown her lovely head back and broke into laughter.
Janik took another step back, eyeing the door with longing. Nobody had told him he would be visiting the home of a madwoman. Why, the keeper of the pages had given Janik a great honor to travel so far to take such an important message to the Duchess. While he didn't know what made the Duchess so very special, he was beginning to wonder at where the honor of interacting with this lady could be.
When at last her laughter had melted into an amused smirk, Janik dared to relay his second part of the message. "Shall you join the country in mourning, Your Grace?" he asked timidly.
"Mourning? On this, my crowning moment? Why should I do anything but celebrate my triumph?" snapped the Duchess. "You may tell the King I am too embroiled in protecting his southern borders to drop everything and scurry to Anvard. My many petitioners may not be ignored," she added, waving a hand to the empty hall.
Even though he could see through her transparent lie, Janik had not the stomach to refute the lady's words, and with a bow he walked away as quickly as his feet could take him. Suddenly, neither his sore back, empty stomach, nor his aching posterior could make him stop his return to the horse.
As he left, the echoes of the Duchess' laugh rang throughout the tall stone walls of the room. "At last, sister, I am victorious."