I started this chapter a very long time ago, and it's been languishing in my brain for ages. I didn't quite know how to end it. To begin with, I meant it to be a oneshot, but then I started developing a few ideas for a longer work. The ending feels a little rushed to me, and usually I'd work a little harder, but as this has been waiting so long to get done, I decided to forget perfectionism and just go with it. Hopefully the quality will start to come back when/if I ever get chapter two done! Obviously, it goes without saying, these characters do not belong to me (except the odd OC!)
Queen Susan lay stiffly on the couch, her hands neatly folded in her lap. It was the middle of the day, and it felt strange to be so idle, but with the sun at her height in the sky, there was seemingly little else for her to do but sit and perspire gently. There was nobody about, and there were no books to be had here in the women's quarters of the great palace. Susan knew where there were books – when she and her brother had been given the grand tour of the Tisroc's home by Prince Rabadash himself, they had visited a simply enormous library with row upon row of richly bound texts. Edmund had eyed the room greedily and complimented their host on his father's vast collection. Rabadash, in his turn, had inclined his head graciously and spread his arms wide, inviting the Narnian King to wander the library at whim and borrow whatever he liked – but there had been no mention of Susan, and when she had hinted to her chief Calormene attendant that she might like to visit the library to help while away another long, hot afternoon, the woman had looked so scandalised, and her chins had wobbled so ferociously, that Susan had all but given the idea up there and then. Apparently, Calormene women, unlike their Narnian counterparts, were not given to read or study; libraries here were only for men.
It was hard to know what to do with oneself. Every shade in the room had been pulled across to keep the worst of the heat out, so the light was too poor to sew, and anyway, it seemed that noblewomen here left needlework of all kinds to servants and slaves to do. She could, she knew, call for musicians or dancers or tumblers to entertain her, but she would have found nothing amusing about asking people to dance or perform gymnastics in this terrible heat, and Susan could not really say that she enjoyed the local music much – the tunes, such as they were, seemed to meander aimlessly over the scale, and the instruments were strange, their sounds mournful, and liable to make one feel like crying, except that, as King Edmund said: "Nobody here can spare the water."
Edmund's own compositions were much more pleasing to Susan's ear, but even if he were likely to accede to her wish to sing with him (which he was not, unless he had imbibed at least half a bottle of wine at a sitting) she did not know where he was, just now. She suspected he was somewhere else in the palace where women were not allowed to go. Against her better judgment, she wondered whether her brother did not rather like the arrangement, that he could come to her, but she could not seek him out. Susan sighed. Her friends, the Lords Peridan and Darnan, had taken Prince Corin out on a jaunt earlier that morning, and had not yet returned; she wished heartily that she had gone with them. She had given her own maid, Meriam, the afternoon off; the young woman had seemed similarly cowed by the oppressive stillness, and though she had said she wouldn't leave her Mistress, Susan had felt that it was no use both of them being so cooped up all the time, not when one of them was free to go. Besides, it wasn't every day the Narnians made a state visit, and she wanted Meriam to enjoy herself and see a little of Tashbaan. But for herself, there was no respite. There were some entertainments planned for everyone later on in the afternoon, but for now, it seemed Susan was apparently expected to sleep, or lounge, until the day grew cooler.
For a young woman, full of energy and used to activity, this was a strange torment indeed. It was true that the heat did tend to make one drowsy. It was also true that in Narnia, Susan often wished she had more time to rest and think, and be idle, for back at home it seemed there was always something to do. But, perversely, now it appeared that there was no other choice for her, her arms and legs were twitching with life, despite the oppressive heat. Her sister Lucy, back at home, would tell of days where she would awake at six, or earlier still, and something in the fresh Narnian air would call to her so winningly that before she knew it she was up and outside, revelling in it.
"Oh Susan!" she would cry: "I don't know how you can lie in. I simply must get up and do something, or I shall go quite mad!"
At this, it was usual for Susan to groan and laugh, and pull the covers back over her head – she was one to appreciate peace and quiet, on the rare occasions she could get it – but now, after so many days of enforced rest, she understood. Her sister's famed urge to move seized had hold of her limbs. Sitting up a little, and swung her legs over the side of the couch, thinking to go and take some air on the balcony; no sooner had she done so than the imposing female attendant cleared her throat and widened her eyes so alarmingly that Susan lay back immediately. She sighed and dropped her eyes, chastened. She must remember that she was not at home now. She was a guest in a foreign land, and as such, she must abide by Calormene rules. If custom said she was to sit and stare into the middle distance, then that was apparently what she must do.
To pass the long, hot minutes a little faster, Susan looked about her. A solemn young boy, dressed in little more than a loin-cloth, was fanning her idly with a palm leaf, but there was no relief to be had for either of them. Each swish of the fan succeeded only to move the hot air from one place to another, and even if the motion had succeeded in cooling her cheeks, it would surely not have been enough to quench the burning guilt which sprang up in her heart for allowing herself to be attended to by such a pitiful slave. If she was uncomfortable, then he was surely more so. Every day she had watched him as he stood and fanned for hours on end with no respite. The boy's loincloth was of silk and his turban likewise, with a great jewel in the centre of it; his dark skin was glossed with sweet scented oil, but this only served to highlight the frailty of his body. Every rib stood out glistening, and his legs were lean to the point of emaciation. Every so often, his dark lashed eyes would stray hungrily to the bowl of sticky Calormene sweets at Susan's elbow, and he would fret his dry lips against one another, finally allowing himself to wet them with his tongue. Several times, Susan had tried to catch the little boy's eye so she could smile at him, and hold out the bowl for him to help himself, but every time he had caught her looking at him, his grave little face would snap closed again and he would fan with increased vigour, pulling his eyes to the floor.
For almost a week now Susan had watched him and the ache in her chest increased with every day. A few times, she had opened her mouth to speak to him, but always before something had stopped her, most often the presence of Prince Rabadash. Today however, the sad little sight of him became impossible to bear. The day was so very hot, the hottest of all so far, and the poor thing was swaying on his feet, seemingly dazed with exhaustion. After watching him for a long moment, him fanning lethargically and stubbornly ignoring her gentle gaze, she reached out and touched his arm with the very tips of her fingers. As soon as she had done so, Susan could have kicked herself, for at her touch the child jumped and fell on his face before her; his whole body quivering with fright. He cowered, as if expecting a blow to come, and whimpered:
"Forgive me, Your Majesty... I will be better! I will be better!"
Susan gasped and sat up. At the same time, the matronly attendant left her place in the cooling shadows and came forward, her eyes flashing with annoyance. She bowed briefly to Susan, before reaching out a chubby, sharp-nailed hand for the quailing little boy, saying:
"A thousand apologies, my Queen. I will see that he is dealt with harshly for disturbing your rest."
Immediately, Susan put out a hand, her eyes fixed on the trembling scrap on the floor:
"That is quite unnecessary, the child has done nothing wrong... I didn't mean to... I don't know what's wrong with him."
The woman sucked her teeth impatiently.
"There is nothing wrong with him, I assure you, my Queen. Nor is there anything right with him. He is of weak Northern stock. They never last long. If he cannot be of use any longer I shall take him away and bring you another fan."
The attendant's great shadow fell across him, and the little boy began to weep bitterly and shake so violently that Susan rather sickly fancied she could hear his feeble bones rattling together. As the woman bore down and snatched up the child, a thin stream of urine trickled down his leg and onto the floor; the attendant clucked in disgust and reared back a hand to slap him, but Susan was on her feet in an instant. She grabbed hold of the woman's fleshy wrist, and held fast.
"Leave be this minute! How dare you? Can't you see he's terrified? For shame!"
The woman stared back with bovine obstinance.
"Forgive me, but with respect, Majesty, he has no business being terrified or anything else. Emotions are not for the likes of him. If he has outlived his usefulness then he has outstayed his welcome. The Tisroc (may he live forever) has no place in his household for an idle slave."
Equally stubborn, Susan knelt at the child's feet, prising the thick brown fingers off of his little yellow arm and pushed the woman back.
"He is a child. Simply because the Tisroc does not want him that is not to say that he is unwanted by everybody. I want him, and I would be much obliged to you if you would go and fetch a cool glass of sherbet and something for him to eat. And something fresh for him to wear."
For a moment, the woman stood undecided, her black brows knitted.
"Now, please," Susan bared her teeth in a coolly polite smile. Knowing that this direct order was enough, and sensing the servant's huffy departure, she turned her head and her thoughts from the fat attendant.
Ducking her head to look into the child's black eyes, she stroked his dusty hair, careless of the little puddle at his feet. Tears streamed down his thin, oily cheeks and he shook like a whipped dog, his eyes scrunched shut. Susan took out her handkerchief and blotted his face kindly, then dried the inside of his legs. The little puddle was already beginning to steam in the heat.
"There. That's better, isn't it?"
He made no answer, and kept his wild, wide eyes fixed on the floor. Tilting her head, Susan made another essay:
"It's alright. I promise you're quite safe. Don't be afraid."
These words were apparently useless, for the child was quite stupified with fright. He could not move. Susan had to lift him bodily from the floor to shift him, and as she did so, she was disturbed by the lightness of him. Sitting on the sofa again, she drew him into her lap. It was so very hot that he was almost dry already, not that it would have really mattered, for her dress was already soiled with dust and sweat. Susan reeled at the very idea of letting a child his age work so hard, for surely he could not be more than five years old, judging by his size. A child of five should laugh and revel in caresses, she thought sadly, yet here was this little one sat solemn and stiff on her knee, his bony shoulders hunched, as if he had never been touched kindly before. He would not meet her eyes.
After a few minutes, the attendant came back into the room and banged down a tray of sweetmeats on the low table, surely the cheapest to be found in the Tisroc's palace kitchens, before retreating back to her shady corner to sulk in silence. With shameful but satisfying malice, Susan looked up and regarded her coolly before saying politely:
"And I asked for something for my new friend to wear, if you please. Something to keep the sun off."
The fat woman bristled visibly, but dared make no protest, at least until she was out of the room, whereupon she released an angry stream of unintelligible orders to the lower-ranking servants outside. Susan could not suppress a smile.
Holding the child carefully on her lap, the young Queen leaned forwards and lifted the goblet of sherbet off the tray, holding it to the boy's lips. This, at last, provoked a response, for he raised his large, liquid eyes to hers, and looked at her with equal parts longing and deep mistrust. With a stab of sadness, Susan nodded encouragingly and pressed the edge of the goblet to his dry lips and tilted it just enough so that the fragrant liquid touched them; tempted, he opened his mouth and let a little of the sherbet in, then a little more. Finally, he raised both his skinny hands to the goblet, clutching at it and taking the drink down in great, greedy gulps. His narrow throat worked furiously, and he drank so much, so fast, that a little of the sherbet dribbled down the side of his face. Susan looked a little regretfully at her soiled handkerchief on the floor, before wiping the child's face delicately with the edge of her sleeve. Finally, he drew his head back, gasping, and looked up at her in wondrous disbelief. The goblet was empty.
Smiling, Susan prised the cup from his grasp, for he did not seem to want to let go of it, and set it back on the tray, lifting instead the plate of almond cakes and pastries and strange, open-faced sandwiches. These she proffered before the child, and stroked his back, nodding at him with raised brow. After a momentary hesitation, he dove forwards and took two great morsels of food in his little hands, stuffing them into his mouth. He ate and ate, and did not stop, and within very little time the plate was almost empty. All the while, Susan watched him, stroking his hair and smiling, quite as if her pleasure exceeded his own.
When the attendant came back with a plain but perfectly serviceable white robe, the Queen spent a pleasurable few minutes redressing the child to her own satisfaction. He did not say a single word, but as he looked down at himself and smoothed his dusty hands over his new garments, he broke into a smile of pure amazement.
Such was Susan's joy, she barely noticed all the commotion, the wail of trumpets and the clash of cymbals, until the double doors flew open and Prince Rabadash entered the room. The Prince was beaming, a great, satisfied smile, which faltered a little as he took in the sight of Queen Susan with the newly dressed but still rather dusty little slave boy, breathlessly gulping food once more from his perch on her lap. His thin lip curled for just a second, but then the Prince recovered himself, and made a low bow, smiling his feline smile, and kissing her proffered hand. As he did so, he made sure to keep himself well away from the sticky young boy.
"What is this, o my Queen? Are you playing at charity, or are you perhaps in practice for the day when our son descends from the fragrant gardens of heaven? For if you are, I am sure we can find you a less squalid mannequin upon which to rehearse the motherly arts."
Susan smiled a little awkwardly – without Edmund or Peridan at her side, she was often left rather bemused by the Prince's beautiful speeches, but she could tell from his demeanour and expression that he was not entirely charmed by the child, who for his part had stiffened in terror as the Prince had entered the room. She held the little boy a little tighter to her, and opened her mouth dumbly, fumbling for what to say. She was just about to attempt a reply, when a clear voice cut through her half-shaped words.
"O my brother, do not tease her so! For surely you jest... You would not be so cruel as to force your fortunate wife to play nursemaid! For were not even you and I, best beloved children of our father, the Tisroc (may he live forever), raised by aiyas and nurses?"
Blinking, Susan looked up to realise for the first time that her suitor was not alone. He was accompanied by a tall, graceful woman, so alike to him in bearing and feature that she could be none other than a close relative, and apparently a sister by her own admission. Glancing at Susan with a brief incline of the head, the woman laughed again and touched her brother's arm, continuing:
"No woman of noble birth need bother herself with children except to bear them to the cradle."
At this, Rabadash laughed indulgently.
"Quite right, o my sister. Quite right. Of course, you are far better acquainted with the subject than I."
Turning his attention to Susan, and wrinkling his aquiline nose imperceptibly in the direction of the boy, the Prince continued:
"Forgive me, o my Queen... Allow me to present to you my royal sister, the Princess Maisah."
Susan heaved the little boy up and rose to her feet, smiling shyly. As she did so, a shower of little crumbs from the child's meal fell from her silk skirts and onto the floor, and her cheeks flushed hotly. Princess Maisah suppressed a little smile, which was not entirely kind to be sure, but she bowed cordially enough, and stepped forward to stand at Rabadash's elbow.
"I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, o my Queen. I hope that in time, we shall come to be fast friends as well as sisters through your Highness' marriage to my royal brother."
Setting the little boy down (who had now apparently lost all his fear of her and was clutching at her hand and skirts with sticky, rough little fingers), Susan bowed as gracefully as she could and smiled her warmest smile at the Princess, offering:
"That is my hope, also, your Highness. For as we say in Narnia, no-one is so rich as to be able to refuse a new friend."
This earned her a cool smile and an incline of the head from Princess Maisah, but she said no more. After a moment of awkward silence, Prince Rabadash cleared his throat; his voice was, if not quite warm, at least tepid:
"My Royal Sister has been married four summers already and is mother to three royal children."
Susan's eyes widened in surprise at this new information – for all her hauteur, the Princess could surely not be much older than Queen Lucy, who, at seventeen years old, Susan still regarded as a child. King Peter, her brother, had only just begun to seriously entertain suits of marriage for herself; Lucy was still forbidden to think of such things. But if Prince Rabadash had ever experienced this kind of brotherly discomfiture at the marriage of his sister, he showed no sign of it now. He spoke with an absent wave of his fine-fingered hand, as if his little nieces and nephews were more myth than reality:
"I thought therefore, my love that you might benefit from spending some time with my sister this afternoon. She will have much to teach you of our ways here in Calormen. Of this, I am certain."
Shaking off her surprise, Susan smiled, and took a breath, replying cordially:
"Yes. Indeed, I should like that very much. And you, my Prince? Are you not to spend the afternoon with us?"
Prince Rabadash's face became a mask of sorrow:
"Alas, no. An hour in your company would be to me as a fall of raindrops upon a parched desert plain, but regretfully I am to be denied such refreshment. I have just had word that your Royal Brother has finished his morning correspondence, and he and I must now attend to affairs of our two great brother nations, in counsel with my great father (May he live forever). But we shall dine together this evening, yes?"
Keeping a hold of the little boy, she held out her hand to the Prince, acceding:
"I should be delighted, Your Highness."
This was all a pretty farce, for the two had dined together, sometimes with the whole company, sometimes alone, every single night of the Narnians' stay, but despite the certainty of her response, Prince Rabadash had the grace to look honoured and pleased. Immediately, he smiled, and bowed deeply, pressing his lips to her skin. A deep shiver slid up her arm, as he said:
"Know that every hour between this moment and the time we meet again will be a torment to me, my Queen."
Though she was quite sure he was exaggerating, something in this pretty little speech and in Rabadash's doleful expression touched Susan's heart, and as she watched the Prince withdraw, she felt a pang of genuine regret at his departure. The fluid voice of the Calormene princess broke through Susan's thoughts before they had a chance to really form.
"I thought we would take a walk in the gardens, if it so please your Majesty."
Susan looked up in surprise, saying unguardedly:
"Oh, yes! I've been longing to go out all morning, but I thought it wasn't allowed..."
Princess Maisah nodded and gave the slightest suggestion of a smile.
"Indeed. A woman should not walk alone. It is neither safe, nor seemly. But we will take a guard, of course."
The Narnian Queen nodded, flushing a little and feeling as if she had suggested something immodest. She examined the other girl from under her lashes, her cheeks rather pink. Despite her height, Princess Maisah's face was smooth and round and bright, like a girl's, but her voice and bearing were that of a much older, more sophisticated woman. Whereas Queen Lucy at the same age still retained the guileless gaiety of a child, her Calormene counterpart had the confident air of a woman in her middle years, and Susan was struck once more by the sudden remembrance that this slip of a girl was the mother of three children. This staggering realisation was accompanied by a feeling of sheer awkwardness, for under the cool gaze of this young princess, Queen Susan felt like a gawky schoolgirl.
"Well," she faltered, "I would certainly love to take a breath of air. I have heard so much about the beauty of your gardens, here in Calormen."
The Princess bared her teeth: "Indeed. I am sure you will not be disappointed by my great father's array of blooms (May He live forever). They say the palace gardens of Tashbaan are quite the equal, if not greater than the legendary Valley of a Thousand Perfumes."
Susan searched her mind, trying to remember the details of her long-ago lessons with the Calormene ambassador, before Prince Rabadash had even come to Narnia.
"The Valley of a Thousand Perfumes... that's in Jezreel, isn't it?"
"Mezreel," Princess Maisah corrected. Her dark brows contracted rather fiercely and for a moment she looked as much like her brother as Queen Lucy was said to look like the High King when she was particularly angry. Susan flushed at her mistake and to her surprise the little boy gave her hand a weak, almost companionable squeeze. She looked down at his great, brown eyes, and then up at the Princess, who was now smiling as if nothing had been said amiss.
"Come, your Majesty. Let us depart, else we shall miss the flowers at their finest; for once the sun begins to fade in the sky their scent fades with it, and my noble brother Rabadash has given strict instruction that you should see every wonder our great palace has to offer."
Susan smiled gratefully: "Yes, indeed. Let us go."
Now the Princess' gaze slid distastefully down to the little boy holding onto Susan's hand.
"Slaves are not allowed in the gardens. I shall send for the attendant to take him away."
Susan's brow tensed a little, and she looked down at the little boy, into his tiny, trusting face. He clung to her hand and her skirts, half hidden in them. She didn't know what else she could have expected from the palace rules of the Calormenes, but she knew she certainly could not abandon her little friend to the attendant and an unknown fate. She thought for a moment, frowning rather guilty at the idea that crossed her mind. But, she decided finally, there didn't seem to be any other way; not without offending her hosts.
"I was told this little one was no longer required by the Tisroc. I wonder... my good friend Lord Peridan is looking for a small boy for his household, to train as an apprentice to his stables."
Maisah cocked her regal head, arching a brow in question. Susan cleared her throat, saying awkwardly:
"I should like to make him a present of this little one. If your venerable father has no further use for him, perhaps I could...?"
The princess' eyes sharpened with understanding, and Susan flushed:
"How... how much would it cost to pay for his freedom?"
Princess Maisah smiled; her smile was ursine like her brother's, her teeth white and even. She flicked her eyes briefly down at the child, her beautiful nose wrinkling just a little, then looked back up at Susan with a gracious wave of her hand, as if it were nothing at all. Her voice, like Rabadash's, was sweet and smooth as Narnian honey:
"Consider it a token of our affection."
Susan would have protested: under any other circumstance, unless it was an official gift from a foreign nation, it would have only been polite to refuse a valuable present at least once or twice; to fluster and insist she couldn't possibly take it. But in this case, she had to check a sigh of relief. Narnian law expressly forbade the sale and purchase of people and Talking Beasts. The idea of buying a person, even when she knew she was really buying his safety and freedom, pricked her conscience terribly. But here was fortune indeed. Reflecting rather wryly that evidently the child was worth less than nothing to the Princess and her family, she smiled a grateful smile. Now he was hers, and he would be safe. She had no intention of setting the little boy to work, in stables or anywhere else, but for now, her ruse would hold. She sent the trembling child to Lord Peridan's rooms, care of one of the friendlier looking Calormene servant girls, asking her kindly to find Peridan's manservant Orin and explain that the child was to be well looked after. He did not want to leave her side, and cried and struggled as he was taken away, but Susan kissed her hand to him, and promised him, in broken Calormene dialect, that she would see him again very soon and not to be scared.
As the Princess led her outside, Susan almost forgot to exclaim over the beautiful blooms and perfumes. She was thinking of the little boy and his dark eyes, and what she would name him.
Hopefully you enjoyed that! If you like it, please do let me know, as comments very much help me to produce, and I'd really like to be able to keep going – this is not emotional blackmail, people... I just have ADD and find it hard to stick to projects! Similarly, if you have any criticisms, feel free to spill the beans – I'm a big girl, I can take it x