DISCLAIMER: As you might probably already know I am not, nor will I ever be C.S Lewis The thing is that, while I'm absolutely in love with C.S Lewis' Narnian universe, I'm absolutely terrified at the thought of tarnishing the name of one of his beloved characters with unworthy characterizations (hail to redundancy). And so I decided to first venture there with my own. This explores the engagement of a Narnian Princess and a Calormene Tarkaan. "-Do you mean he would make me his wife by force? - exclaimed Susan. -That's my fear, Susan- said Edmund. - Wife: or slave, which is worse." The Horse and His Boy
They bring her before him, adorned in the Calormene fashion. She smells of thick oils and perfumes and her hands flaunt intricate henna designs. The whole of her majestic black hair is hidden beneath a silver zalmai, wrapped so tightly around her head. Pearls and silver dangle from lose threads over her forehead. Her dress is of the same silver, hiding her body well from the prying eye. Her olive eyes shine a thrilling contrast against the kohl that rims them. They are sad.
Rashid smiles and extends his arm to his betrothed. She takes it without question. They walk silently hall after hall. She looks pensive.
-What are your thoughts on your new abode, milady? - He asks her merely because he wants to hear her speak. The green eyes turn to his face. A smile breaks out in her heavenly features.
-Calavar is beautiful, milord. - She replies in her usual soprano. Her smile does not reach her eyes, but he had not expected it to do so.
-I thought you might think so. - He says inconsequentially. He brushes his lips against the back of her hand.
-We shall be married in the spring. - He says as they reach a wide balcony. He snaps his fingers for some wine. A slave immediately brings forth some. She smiles another cold smile unto the rim of her cup.
-Spring won't come until the end of the next month. - She comments as she sips some of the Archenlandish wine.
Rashid empties his own cup before answering.
-But it is a fine time of the year to celebrate a wedding ceremony.
-As you wish milord.
Rashid kisses her burgundy mouth before going back inside.
She arrives at breakfast three weeks later bare headed, with her long ebony hair falling freely down her back in the northern style. His visiting relatives are scandalized. The Tarkheena is something like his second cousin once removed and she is close to forty, her husband is a man of strong constitution, little opinion and much disdain.
Bethsede Tarkheena rearranges her own amethyst zalmai pointedly. Harpha Tarkaan looks at her coldly before pursuing the cold ham in his plate. And Aethelswith, his future bride, curtsies beautifully in the Narnian style before sitting down.
-Good morning, milord, tarkheena. - She says brightly. As she leans toward the fruit plate one of her dark locks brushes past her shoulder in a tantalizing almost mocking manner. Harpha Tarkaan looks at her unimpressedly before excusing himself from the table. Bethsede has every air of a person who is about to scold. She is interrupted by the arrival of a young slave, with a letter for her.
Rashid understands Aethelswith's small rebellion. But he does not condone it. He slaps her firmly once his kinsmen are gone from the room.
She wears a cerulean zalmai a fortnight afterward, as they ride out together in the desolate plains of his province. She has pulled it up to her nose so that only her eyes are visible. He has asked her to do this. He does not like the sight of her alabaster skin marred with dark bruises. But she keeps insisting on disobeying his simplest orders.
She walks around barefooted. She sings downcast tunes when he asks for merry and happy ones when he doesn't want to hear her sing. She lets her hair down when she thinks nobody is looking and she eats more than the ladylike share.
He stops his horse abruptly; she follows his lead with some difficulty. She is not a proficient rider.
-Aethelswith. - He says turning to look at her. Her eyes look back questioningly.-Do you miss your Narnian glades?
-I do milord. - She answers without losing the questioning glare.
-Do you miss your parents? - He asks next. He pulls his horse closer to her. She smells less delightfully than he expected her too. Of horse, sweat and stale perfume.
-I do, Rashid Tarkaan.
-What is it that you miss the most? - He wants to know.
-My naiad friends, sire. - She replies serenely. Rashid cannot help but to laugh. He pulls the zalmai down and stares at the beautiful face.
-Well then, I'll just have to make you forget them, no?
That night, he takes her to his bedroom for the first time.
It is less than a week after that that a strange visitor arrives at the gates of Alendal. Rashid has been walking in the courtyard with his promised wife. A slave interrupts them with the news.
-There is someone here to see the Princess Aethelswith, your lordship. – The slave announces before bowing intricately. Rashid waves his hand in an impatient manner.
-He said his name to be Lord Hadrien, milord.
His companion misses a step and almost falls. Rashid stops her from doing so with an affectionate gaze. When Aethelswith looks up her countenance is deadly white. She pulls up her auburn zalmai and hides her face.
-Do you know this Lord Hadrien, princess? - Rashid asks jovially.
- He is a close friend of Tirian's, my brother. You met him in court, I believe, Rashid Tarkaan. - She answers quietly. Rashid laughs.
-By Tash! You're right. Was he not the adolescent boy that challenged a unicorn to a duel?
-The very same. - Aethelswith answers curtly.
-I had never been more amused in my life! - Rashid remembers genially. – Well then, let us receive this man like good hosts. Alhasmi, this man is a good friend of the princess's. Honor him as such.
The slave departs and Rashid beams at Aethelswith. He is certain this will be just the thing to bring her spirits up. He smiles at her.
The young knight has changed. Rashid sees this as they sit down to their dinner. He is the enthusiastic adolescent that so eagerly took up sword-fighting and the learning of defense strategy no longer.
In his place stands a brooding man with a nascent beard and lifeless eyes. He wears clothing in the Archenlandish style,of elegant design, but torn, matted and dirty
He does not take his eyes off his betrothed wife for the entire duration of the meal. Aethelswith does not meet Hadrien's ardent stare. She looks only at her plate and at Rashid himself. This pleases him. But he does not fool himself.
After the food has been brought away they move to the parlor. The air is much too hot for the time of year; thick and dry.
-Play us something, Aethelswith darling. - Rashid commands, smiling. - Show off your splendid voice for our guest.
She does as she's told. For once. He pays no attention to the words of her song, mesmerized as he always is by her voice.
The guest seems uncomfortable, but he pays no attention to it either. Hadrien does not spend the night in Calavar, he leaves almost as soon as the song has ended.
Their marriage is approaching fast. He knows Aethelswith delights in its organization. Little details such as the style of sherbets to serve and the hemline of her wedding dress always bring small smiles to her otherwise dejected face. She spends her time amongst slaves rather than noble women and he worries for it.
He has reprimanded her about the matter of course. She still wears bulky zalmais and high-necked dresses to hide the large bruise that has formed underneath her jaw. But she won't listen.
She has even gone as far as stopping his foreman from lashing a young girl who'd dropped the dinner plate at Rashid's feet. He worries about her lack of friends. She'd insisted on befriending her handmaid and Rashid had thrown her off the land.
Today he's found her deep in conversation with an old woman in a market. He strikes her right there.
No wife of his will ever be on speaking terms with slaves and peasants.
She looks stunning as she walks down toward him. Her entire family has come down from Cair Paravel for the great occasion. King Erlian is bursting with pride as he walks alongside his youngest daughter. Queen Arminel cries quiet tears of joy into a handkerchief. Prince Tirian alone in the hall has a hard set face.
Aethelswith's dress is woven in the Narnian style; simple and free-flowing. Her hair is hidden underneath a white zalmai with pearls and flowers here and there. She does not look cheerful. She looks terrified.
Rashid smiles a comforting smile as he relieves the King of the duty and takes her arm. He kisses her hand amorously before standing beside her.
They say their promises. They exchange rings. The priest from Tash blesses their union. Their guests cheer as he lovingly embraces his new spouse.
Her smile is as cold as her face. He doesn't care. He kisses her motionless lips repeatedly. She is beautiful and now she's his.
Their wedding night is over and he dozes off in his large canopy bed. Aethelswith sneaks out of it, covering her pale body with an equally pale sheet. Her long hair is disheveled and matted with sweat. Her once ornamentally painted face is now all blotches. Black, burgundy and emerald stains.
She rubs it off serenely with the hem of the sheet. She walks out into the balcony, unto the hot dessert night. The wind blows in her face and she closes her eyes, thankfully.
A single tear leaks out of her eyelids and slides its way down her cheek. She tastes salt water. The rest of the tears never come.
She knows she is nothing but a beautiful songbird. A beautiful songbird once coveted and now owned by a voracious man.
She walks inside and picks up the zalmai that had been so unceremoniously yanked from her head earlier that evening.
She slowly wraps it around her head.
Even if you hated this I would still love to know what you think.
* Zalmai is my "Calormene" word for hijab.