Thank you to: Tenethia South for having given me a reason (in the form of a prompt) to write this sooner and to the attendees of The Lion's Call's writers' group for their helpful feedback.
Disclaimer: I only own Danika, Lucas, and Kinza. And I'd love to have Aravis' dress in my own closet, but alas, I don't. Sad face.
Aravis instinctively flinched.
"Are you still tender, Lady?"
"No. I'm sorry."
A handful of cloth was pressed into her hand. Aravis took it and drew it across and passed it back on the other side. Around and around it went, releasing the pressure on her back, until the last of the material simply fell from her shoulders.
"There, that ought to do it," came Danika's approving voice. "You've healed quite nicely."
"Really?"
"Yes, really." She could feel Danika's fingers lightly brushing against her back, checking, no doubt, for any remaining sore spots or inflammation.
Aravis turned her head some, though certainly not in search of the maid's face. "Does it look…?"
Danika released her light touch. "I won't lie to you, Lady. Seems likely they'll never fade quite away."
She successfully held back a sigh, but she knew her shoulders drooped, even if only by the tiniest bit. So. I must bear these always.
"But," Danika hastened to add, "they will not restrict your range of motion."
She took refuge in the darkness her closed lids offered, but they flew open again when she felt Danika's cool hand, seemingly whiter than ever, on her own dark shoulder. Her gaze followed the maid's arm up till their eyes met. Danika's eyes were steady and seemed to say something, but Aravis couldn't gather a meaning from them. Forever scarred. Irreparably flawed. That was not what she read in the maid's face, but it pounded in her temples all the same.
"Shall I help you dress?"
Together, they explored Aravis' wardrobe, stocked with an array gowns so colourful that Aravis could almost imagine them to be excessive pickings from the castle gardens. In the end, Aravis chose a satin dress of woodland green. Archenlandish fashions were still one of many things she was not yet accustomed to and so she fairly forgot about her wounds until the embroidered bodice was laced and the gossamer bell-sleeves were unfurled.
"Ah, Lady, you look like a princess," Danika said. "The queen's grace, blessed be her rest, would hardly have done better for her daughter if ever she had one."
Aravis turned in front of the mirror, admiring the colour, the airy swish of the skirts, and the intricate simplicity of the embroidery. I could get used to gowns like this, she thought approvingly. She especially liked the wide neckline and its touch of familiarity.
There was a knock at the door. With a nod from Aravis, Danika opened the door to reveal a page only a couple years older than Aravis. He bowed. "His majesty, King Lune, and their highnesses, Prince Cor and Prince Corin, wish to advise the Lady Aravis that breakfast has been moved to the garden terrace."
Aravis dipped into a Calormene curtsey, remembering only the moment afterward that she ought to have given an Archenlandish curtsey instead. "Thank you, Lucas. Please inform his majesty – and their highnesses – that I shall join then shortly."
Lucas bowed again and departed. Danika gestured toward the door. "Shall we go down to the garden, Lady?"
Aravis looked again in the mirror. "I think I can find my way, thank you, Danika."
"Is there… anything I can help you with?" the maid enquired, concern knitting her brow.
Aravis turned to face her again and forced a smile. "No, thank you. I will be ready in just a couple minutes more." Danika curtsied and exited the chamber, closing the door behind her. Aravis stared at the door until she was sure she couldn't hear the maid's footfalls, then turned back to face her reflection. Even she was willing to admit that she looked rather nice – attractive, even – in this particular gown and with her curly hair done up like this. But….
She reached for the laces on the back of her dress and gently pried them loose. She turned her back to the mirror, and reached a hand over her shoulder and brushed against the beginnings of a ridge. Biting her lip, she steeled herself and made herself look at her reflection. She could practically feel her heart sinking.
Who would accept me? What woman would befriend me once she knew of my unseemly markings? What man would want an imperfect bride? What god would favour a disfigured disciple?
She didn't have time to change. I'll just cover up with a shawl…. But she made no move to fetch one. Instead, she ran her fingers over the pale claw marks. Aslan. He had a reason for having wounded her. Really, He could have done more. But I suppose He had a reason for that too. "Scratch for scratch, blood for blood." That's what He'd told her.
Aravis' thoughts turned to Kinza, the slave girl whose unjust punishment was reflected on her own flesh. She thought of home – what once was her home –, of Calormen, of her family and friends – not without some pang of homesickness – and her repulsive betrothed. She remembered her escape with Hwin, their joining Cor and Bree, Tashbaan and all that transpired within its walls, the race to warn King Lune of the coming attack. She smiled over the new life she had in Archenland.
And, of course, Aslan.
She sighed again, not with resignation, but with a peculiar happiness. She laced up her dress again as best as she could and threw open her chamber door. The hallway was awash with the morning's joyous light. Setting her shoulders back and raising her chin as if to dare the sun to match her felicity, Aravis took a deep breath and swept out of her room to join the royal family for breakfast.
Author's Note: This was inspired by "What Scars are For" by Mandisa. I'd include a part of the lyrics here, but really, the whole song is beautiful and more than one part of it inspired me to write this.
PS: I've got a poll on my profile page going right now and I'd love to get some feedback! (The question being: which pair of the Friends of Narnia should I one-shot next?)
Please review!