In the Lion's Paws
Susan stared about her.
It was all so different. So ridiculously different. Almost uncertainly, she walked further into the chamber, looking about as though seeing it for the first time.
It didn't make any sense at all. She had already slept there for a week. But now … it seemed almost fearfully real to her.
With a shaking hand, she reached out to touch the fine damask of her bed hangings. The material was a deep, rich purple, interwoven with an intricate pattern of gold and white thread. She had never seen finer work. It was incredibly detailed, a work of art in itself – and yet, it was only a simple bed hanging.
Susan held the fabric in her hand, marveling at the softness as she stroked the fine weave of the cloth. But, in her mind's eye, she saw a small, faded quilt. It was worn to an almost velvety softness in places from years of handling and washing, making the blanket threadbare in areas, the once bright colour now pale and dim.
With nearly a yearning, she stroked the hanging, as though trying to find some familiarity in the texture of the cloth. It was an odd sensation, but the more she looked, the less she found that was recognisable … and it scared her.
It scared her far more than she wanted to admit, even to herself.
Suddenly afraid, she turned away from the bed in a feeble attempt to banish these thoughts from her mind. But the hanging didn't change. The room remained the same – luxurious and beautiful, but in an entirely alien way.
Susan shook her head slowly, trying to organise her confused thoughts. She settled herself in a low chair, determined to order her feelings and make sense of the turmoil of emotion that was filling her mind. It was completely ridiculous, why was she so upset by a mere bed hanging? Firm in her resolution, Susan turned to stare at her bed, to convince herself that it held no importance to her, that she had been overreacting.
But after gazing so single-mindedly at the hanging, Susan found her eyes wandering about the room. For what felt like the first time, she took in the beauty of the tapestries that adorned the stone walls. She followed the elaborate carving of vines from the base of one of her bedposts, watching it steadily climb the wood before blooming over the head board; a masterful piece of workmanship. With a tentative hand, she traced the stone flowers that wound around the fireplace, each petal, each leaf, carved to a beauty and detail that took her breath away. It was work unlike any that she had seen, and yet … it was a chamber fit for a queen.
With difficulty, she managed to swallow the lump that had been steadily rising in her throat.
Fit for a queen…
A queen?
Susan raised a trembling hand to touch the delicate golden circlet where it sat on its bed of velvet. The metal was cold, hard and very real. Carefully, she lowered the diadem and, mesmerised, she stared at her crown.
It was such a lovely thing – small golden flowers and leaves were intricately woven together, a single ruby nestling between the petals of each delicate blossom. It was utterly beautiful … and it terrified her.
With difficulty, Susan replaced the tiara, struggling to control the shaking of her hand as she did so. Once it was safe, she turned towards the door and ran.
Unable to think, she clattered down the corridor and sprinted up the spiral staircase at the end. She took the stairs two at a time, heedless of where she placed her feet in her haste to reach the next floor. At the landing, she pushed the door open with such violence that it slammed loudly against the wall. Susan cringed as the crash echoed through the shadowy corridor. A draft swept through the open doorway, making the torches dance. Immediately, a door opened to her left, revealing the startled face of her brother.
Peter stared at his sister in amazement. She was standing, panting heavily, her eyes wild and her face incredibly pale.
"Susan? What is it?" he asked, moving towards her. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Come in and sit by the fire, get warm."
Stunned, Susan allowed herself to be steered into the spacious opulence of Peter's chamber. Like her own, it was grand and beautiful. But the fire was cheerful and bright and seemed strangely less intimidating to her, especially when Peter wrapped a blanket about her shoulders and pushed her gently into a chair. He took the seat opposite, staring at her anxiously.
Susan beheld him in the light of the fire for a moment and took courage from its flickering brightness. In the dancing light, he seemed young to her. The messy blond hair and simple shirt reminded her comfortingly of the playmate of their childhood. He had been so poised, so regal of late that she had almost found herself fearing that her brother was lost to her forever.
He observed her with raised eyebrows, his blue eyes anxious.
With an effort, she struggled to regain her composure.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly when she did not speak.
Susan shook her head.
"I am sorry," she eventually said. "I was just so … afraid …"
Peter stared at her.
"Afraid … of what, of whom Susan?" His gaze darkened. "Has someone threatened you?"
"No, no-one has been anything but civil and courteous to me," she quickly stated, feeling herself flush. "I am struggling to find the words …" She paused, turning to stare into the fire for a time.
Peter waited patiently, watching her expression carefully.
When she turned, her eyes were calmer.
"Peter, have you found yourself thinking of home at all in the last week?"
Her brother was motionless. He held her gaze, but his eyes seemed slightly unfocussed as he pondered her question. Though when he spoke his voice was clear and seemed calm.
He nodded.
"Yes. I've thought of Mum quite a lot, wondering what she will think when she doesn't receive our next letter."
Susan nodded. She could feel tears coming to her eyes at the thought of their mother, waiting to hear from them, to receive the letters that would never arrive.
Peter moved to put an arm around her, squashing himself next to her on the chair.
"She'll be alright, Su," he said, gently squeezing her shoulder. "She knows that we're safe …"
"But what will she think, Peter? What will Mum do when she hears that we've vanished?"
Peter hugged her closer.
"We've been brought here for a reason, Su. Aslan has told us this."
Susan nodded. She knew this, she understood it. But tears still stung her eyes. Slowly, she looked up to find Peter watching her.
His eyes were very gentle.
"Susan, honestly, what brought this on? I thought you understood that we have a role of play here."
Again, she found herself nodding.
"I know Peter. I did, I do understand and I trust Aslan – but I just saw my bed hangings."
Peter blinked. Of all the responses he had been expecting, this was certainly not one.
"Pardon me?"
Susan almost felt like laughing at his expression.
"The bed hangings," she repeated. "I was looking at them and I remembered my old quilt from home. Everything about this place just seems so … strange at times Peter, so different to what we've known. I suppose it frightened me. I don't feel ready for this, for any of it."
Now it was Peter's turn to nod. He didn't speak at first; he merely stared into the fire as Susan had done. He pondered her words for an endless moment before turning to her with a smile.
"I don't think we'll ever be utterly ready for this Su."
She stared at him. "What?"
Peter's smile widened to a grin.
"I told Aslan exactly the same thing, and he told be that it was for that reason that he knew we were. We cannot change what we were born to do."
Susan almost scoffed.
"Peter, since when were we born to rule a country of talking beasts and fauns?"
Peter smiled.
"Point taken. But nonetheless, we are here, and it has long been prophesied in Narnia. I don't understand the future, but I know that we came to save Narnia from the witch – and we did." He chuckled then. "If you had told me four months ago that I was going to lead an army and win in hand-to-hand combat with a wolf, I would have laughed in your face. But think of it Susan – I killed Maugrim. We have been crowned. All that Aslan promised has come to pass. How can it just be chance?"
Susan bit her lip. She hated to admit it, but Peter was making a great deal of sense to her. With a heavy sigh, she leant her head against his shoulder.
"I'm still not sure about something," she muttered.
Peter glanced at her.
"What?"
"How I'm going to prove to you that you are not the only one who can train in defense of Narnia."
Peter laughed.
"Oreius is an excellent tutor of sword play."
Susan considered this option.
"I think I'd prefer archery. Remember how Grandfather said I had a natural talent for it before the war?"
Peter smirked.
"I thought you were supposed to be the gentle one, I didn't know that included a competitive streak."
For the first time that night, Susan smiled.
"It has many layers of meaning."
Laughing openly, Peter reached over to muss her hair, receiving a shove in return that sent him on to the floor.
The sight of his confusion was too much for Susan. Unable to help herself, she dissolved into laughter, giggling all the more at his expression of wounded pride.
"Last time I try to comfort you," he muttered as brushed himself down.
As her laughter gentled to a smile, Susan walked over to hug her brother and buried her face in his shoulder.
"Thanks Pete," she whispered softly. "I do believe and trust in Aslan, I just … miss her…"
Peter returned the hug, gently holding his sister.
"I know," he murmured, "but she's in Aslan's paws Su, just like you and I."
Susan smiled gently. Peter was right of course. Mum was safe, and although they might not know what would happen in the future, at least they knew that they could trust in Aslan.
0 0 0
I was re-watching the coronation scene in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe a few months ago and I found myself fascinated by the poise and beauty of the Pevensies of this scene. It got me wondering about how they might have felt when the glamour and excitement of the coronation was over and they began to properly rule. In the film, Helen Pevensie tells Peter to look after the others, but Susan also considers going back – it made me wonder about the emotions she might have gone through when considering the prospect of actually being a queen – and this is what I came up with!
Feedback is much appreciated as I would love to explore more about the Pevensies' relationships and those of other characters in the chronicles. What are people's thoughts? Constructive criticism is always gratefully appreciated!
Many thanks for reading and a HUGE shout out to my beta Tasty who is just the queen of grammar!
*Breeze*