Winter

"Hermione! Hermione, wake up!" Alambil's voice was close to laughter, and Hermione woke up and rubbed at her eyes with one hand. Neither of them noticed her other hand went instinctively to the wand that wasn't there.

"What time is it?"

"Past three," Alambil said. "Hurry up, get dressed! Put something warm on, we're going outside."

"Outside where?" Hermione demanded, but she got up and found her warmest gown and a fur-trimmed cloak with a hood. "What for?"

"It's the Great Snow Dance," Alambil said impatiently, dancing from one foot to another. "They do it every year here, at the first big snowfall—the dwarfs and fauns and dryads, I mean. The whole court is going, and Queen Susan told me to wake you up especially, because she knew you wouldn't know to come out."

"I didn't realize it was snowing," Hermione said as she pulled on her dress and laced up her boots, and then she hesitated a moment. "I thought Narnia was—I mean—after the hundred years of winter and everything?"

"It's not winter that's a problem," Alambil said after a moment. "I mean, so long as you know spring will come later, and it always does, now."

"Oh," Hermione said as she plaited her hair. "I suppose that makes sense."

"Are you nearly ready?" Alambil asked. "The queen is waiting!"

"Yes, I'm ready," Hermione told her, and grabbed her cloak. They dashed down the stairs, giggling like mad (Alambil's excitement was contagious), and met up with Queen Susan and several of her ladies at one of the side doors.

"Ah, Alambil, you found her," the queen said, smiling at them both. Queen Susan's smile was as beautiful as the rest of her, but it did not put Hermione at ease—she had heard of too many knights coming near to blows over who would carry her favor into battle, or share the next dance with her. "Shall we go?" the queen asked. "The others have gone on ahead already."

"Did we keep you?" Hermione asked. "I'm sorry; you needn't have waited."

Queen Susan smiled. "I thought I might escort thee, as it is thy first snow-dance." She offered her arm, and Hermione took it hesitantly, and thus the small party walked into the night.

The dance took place a half-mile or so from the castle ("It is a bit of a walk," Queen Susan said, "but the night is so lovely," and of course they all agreed with her), and they followed a path that had been plowed by the revelers who had gone on before. The sky was clear, and the stars and huge moon shone brightly above them. Hermione named a few of the constellations as their boots crunched the snow: there was the Ship, and the Leopard, as well as the Lyre and Fledge, which looked almost like a flying horse if you turned your head and squinted. "This happens every year?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, on the first moonlit night when there's snow on the ground," one of the ladies-in-waiting explained. "We've been looking forward to it all year."

In another moment, Hermione heard music—wild, sweet music that floated over the snow like wind. There were several flutes, and something under them that sounded like violins, and then drumming beneath it all. And then they were close enough to see a great bonfire, with people sitting and standing all around it, and Hermione could see the dance itself: a circle of fauns and dryads dancing a dance so complicated it made her dizzy to remember it; around them was a ring of dwarfs throwing packed snowballs in between the dancers, in time with the music. It was an eerie dance, somehow; Hermione felt almost as if it were working some sort of magic on her heart, but a different kind of magic than any they'd ever taught at Hogwarts. She drew her cloak more tightly around her with her free hand, and Queen Susan seemed to notice, because she squeezed Hermione's arm. "It is beautiful, is it not?" she whispered. "The Narnians have been doing it every winter, time out of mind."

"It is beautiful, Your Majesty," Hermione whispered back. If it were Edmund, she realized, she would be hearing all about the possible theories on the origin of the dance—but Susan wasn't interested in that sort of thing. She was the Queen everyone went to when important decisions had to be made—not to decide the just and proper course of action (for that was Edmund's part), nor to proclaim it (for that was the High King's), but to break the news gently to all involved and soothe ruffled feathers, should there be any. And she was terribly practical; Hermione had heard of plenty of thorny diplomatic dilemmas that Queen Susan had coolly decided—for though she did not ride to the wars and hated bloodshed, she was calm enough when the enemy was far away.

Hermione was beginning to think she had sorted Susan wrongly, just as she had mis-sorted Edmund: Susan was clearly a Slytherin, practical and cunning, even if she was gentle about it. But then, Hermione was beginning to think she had sorted them all wrong—for Queen Lucy was called Queen Lucy the Valiant, and the High King was loyal, loyal to Narnia and the Narnians, and to Aslan the great Lion. And there were King Peter's lions, too, of course: surely any king who had a lion on his throne and his shield would be in Hufflepuff House, whose mascot was a lion--or was that Gryffindor? For Hermione was beginning to forget. It had started with the little things—the number of Weasleys, or the names of her grandparents, and she would sit up all night and think, in order to remember them. But now it was the bigger things, the more important things, and it unnerved her. The day she woke up and realized she could no longer remember, for instance, the color of Harry's eyes—it had shaken her to the core.

But she still wasn't sure if they were brown or blue.

"Hermione?" Alambil said, and Hermione looked up, startled out of her reverie. The Queen had moved on, and Alambil was pressing a steaming mug into her hands. "Here, drink this, you look a bit pale."

"Thank you," Hermione said. "The music—it's a bit…not frightening, exactly, but—"

"Unnerving?" Alambil suggested. "I mean, in the literal sense? That it does things to your nerves?"

Hermione had to smile. "Yes," she agreed. "Exactly like that."

They fell silent, then, watching the dancers and the flying snow in the moonlight.

OOOOOOO

Snow had been covering the land for weeks when Alambil came to Hermione's room in tears. "What is it?" Hermione asked immediately, putting an arm around her and guiding her to the bed. "What's wrong?"

It took Alambil a few minutes to recover herself, and Hermione found a handkerchief and handed it to her. Alambil wiped her eyes and sniffed loudly. "I'm being sent away," she said finally.

"Sent away?" Hermione repeated. "What do you mean? Sent away where?"

"Back to Archenland!" Alambil said, and this brought on another wave of crying. "My father," she explained through her tears, "has called me back home, because he wants me to find a husband!"

Hermione rubbed her back sympathetically. "Can you tell him you don't want to go?"

"No!" she wailed. "He didn't want me to come here before, and now I've been here for five years already, and he says I have to go home and how will I bear it?" She collapsed, sobbing, into Hermione's pillows.

"He can't be such a troll," Hermione said practically. "Or if he is, why don't you speak to Queen Susan?"

"We would say ogre," Alambil said with a sniffle, but Hermione's words must have cheered her, because she sat up. "Trolls haven't been seen in thousands and thousands of years. Did you have them where you came from?"

Hermione had to stop and think at that. She was almost sure there had been trolls, in that—that other place, Pigspots or wherever it was, but she couldn't remember. Perhaps it had been an ogre, instead, that Ralph and Henry had rescued her from. "What if you made a compromise with your father?" she suggested. "You could promise to go home for a year or a season, and then if you haven't found someone you could come back." She hesitated a moment. "He wouldn't force you to marry, would he?"

"Of course not!" Alambil cried, shocked. "This isn't Calormen, Hermione. Women aren't forced against their will."

"Right," Hermione said. "Then what have you to worry about? You might meet someone you love, in Archenland; and if you don't, then surely he'll let you come back?"

"But—how can I leave you? And the queen?"

Hermione cast about for something comforting to say. "You'll still be able to visit, surely," she said. "And maybe I can come visit you; and you know Queen Susan will go to Archenland, on visits of state. And if you do meet someone in Archenland, that would be worth a year away from us, don't you think? Falling in love is like magic."

Alambil regarded her curiously. "Have you been in love, then?"

Hermione frowned, taken aback at the question. "I don't think so," she said, for she couldn't remember ever falling in love, back in that other place. "But I know that's how it feels," she added firmly—because she did.

Alambil sniffed again. "I believe you," she said finally. "And I still don't want to go—but I will, anyway. And you will come visit, won't you? In the spring, perhaps?"

"Of course," Hermione said firmly.

Alambil was quiet for a moment. "Hermione?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes?"

"While I'm gone, Queen Susan will need someone else for a lady-in-waiting. She said I ought not to worry about it, that she would manage—but would you take my place? And then when I come back, you could—could step aside and let me back in?" She was biting her lip. "I've spoken to the Queen and she says that would be fine, and you don't have to and I know I have no right to ask, but…"

Hermione surprised herself by nodding. "I wouldn't mind," she said. She liked Queen Susan, who was gracious and gentle and by all accounts kind to her ladies, and she didn't want Alambil, who was her closest friend here, to feel hurt. "I would be honored," she added, because the situation seemed to require it.

Alambil broke into an enormous grin and flung her arms around Hermione. "Oh, thank you, thank you!"

OOOOOOO

Hermione moved quarters the day after Alambil left. The ladies-in-waiting lived in rooms adjoining the Queen's rooms, and she shared with a girl named Helen, a distant cousin of Alambil's. Helen was very quiet and seemed to be carrying on a furtive romance with a river god, so Hermione did not see her very often. Unlike her sister's, Queen Susan's ladies were mostly human, and the few naiads and dryads among them were much less wild than Queen Lucy's, who were known to accompany her on midnight romps and even into battle. Queen Susan seemed to prefer quiet companionship, and often retired to her rooms after a night of feasting and dancing to listen to the quieter, calmer music of a harp. She was wonderful to talk to, affectionate and loving, and beautiful besides; Hermione saw immediately that there were more men after Queen Susan's hand than she had known about as a mere guest, and it was the job of the ladies-in-waiting to preserve the quiet of her rooms, so that the suitors could not bother her there. "Do you think you will marry?" she dared to ask one night, and the Queen merely smiled.

"I suppose one of us must," she said finally. "For we cannot rule indefinitely."

Though the Queen did not mention it, Hermione knew the problem: would a consort come between the four? Would he (or she) be welcomed as a fifth ruler, or would there be a divide? And, if two of them happened to marry and produce children, which would rule after their death? And even if Susan did marry, would she be expected to leave for her husband's country? "Would it be easier for your brothers?" Hermione asked, hardly believing her daring.

"I do not think Edmund is ready for a wife," Queen Susan said lightly, with a laugh, and then she called for an end to the music, saying she was tired and wished to go to bed. Helen went with her, and Hermione was left to walk slowly back to her room, thinking it all over and wondering whom, in the end, Queen Susan would choose.

Other than sitting and talking with the Queen, Hermione's tasks as lady-in-waiting were very slight. Sometimes they might ride with her on a hunt, or sit with her during a tournament; occasionally, the Queen would pick one or two girls to accompany her on a visit to the home of a nearby lord. And every night the Queen shared her bed with one of her ladies; castles were drafty, and queens needed someone there to vouch for their virtue (though who would dare to impugn Queen Susan's virtue, or who would believe it if he did, was unclear to Hermione). This had not surprised her—indeed, aside from muttering a little bit about the misogynistic nature of it (for surely kings were not subject to the same rule), Hermione had not noticed it much, except to note that it was a great honor and to wonder what to do if the Queen turned out to snore.

OOOOOOO

Alambil had been gone a month before Queen Susan smiled at Hermione and said, "Wilt thou join me tonight?"

"Of course," Hermione said, and Queen Susan led her into the great royal bedchamber. She helped the Queen into her nightshift, and Susan allowed Hermione to brush her hair, which was long and dark and fell nearly to her feet.

"Are you happy here?" the Queen asked her, after several moments of silence.

"Yes," Hermione answered immediately. "It is beautiful here, Your Majesty, and you have all been so kind."

"And thou dost not miss—thy old home?"

"No," Hermione told her slowly, honestly. "I don't—remember much of it, you see. And what I do remember, I only remember like you might a dream."

"Ah," said the Queen. "So it is with us. Aslan's doing, no doubt."

"No doubt," Hermione agreed. She still wished to meet this Aslan, to whom even the High King swore fealty. "Do you think you will ever go back there?"

"I should hope not," the Queen said. "I would not want to leave Narnia."

Hermione smiled. "Understandable," she said. What she did not say was, Does it frighten you? For Hermione privately thought the Queen Susan to be the most afraid, of all the monarchs. That was not to say she was a coward, but…Queen Susan did not like the unknown, and she did not like change. Of course she would not want to leave Narnia. Hermione found herself wondering if Queen Susan had wanted to come into Narnia, in the beginning.

The Queen yawned.

"Oh!" Hermione said. "Your Majesty, are you tired?"

"Yes, a bit," Susan said, and Hermione helped her into bed and tucked her in before blowing out the tapers and slipping in next to her. The bed was warm and soft, and the sheets felt like they were made of silk. She sighed in contentment, and Susan whispered, "Art thou comfortable?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Hermione replied. She'd thought the Queen had wanted to sleep, but it seemed instead she wanted to talk.

"What dost thou think of the Calormene prince?"

"I think he's very brave," Hermione answered vaguely.

"That is no answer at all," Susan chided gently. "My royal brother thinks he means to court me. What dost thou think of that?"

The thought that the Queen might have to go far away to the south was not a comforting one. "Isn't Calmash the second son, not the heir-apparent?" Hermione asked. "Maybe you should wait for him to come courting you. And anyway, would Narnia stand for a half-Calormene heir? You said yourself that they have very different traditions, especially when it comes to government."

"Thou speakest the truth," the Queen said, but then she added, "though it may not matter, in the end, what the Narnians wish. We must have a ruler, when the four of us are dead."

"But you are young," Hermione reasoned. "The four of you, I mean. And doesn't King Peter say Aslan will provide?"

"Aye," said the Queen. "But he provided for the White Witch; and he acts in his own time, and not ours."

After a moment, Hermione said quietly, "But every king wants you for a bride. Couldn't you wait to pick one you like?"

"I should like to," Queen Susan said, wistfully, and then suddenly she rolled over and kissed Hermione, very gently, on the mouth. Hermione was too stunned to move for a moment, and then she slowly, tentatively, kissed back.

OOOOOOO

After that, her nights with Queen Susan always began the same way: the gentle, hesitant kisses, and then her hands moving over Hermione's body, and both of them trying to stifle their cries. Queen Susan would whisper, afterward, that it—this—didn't count, not between them, two women. And Hermione believed her, or allowed herself to believe, because the Queen's virtue and worth, on the international marriage-market, must be preserved, and because, deep down, she felt almost as if there was something (someone?) that meant she shouldn't allow the kisses or the touches—which was silly, because she had never been in love, and she had been in Narnia half a year already.

She did wonder, sometimes, if Queen Susan was as forward with the other ladies-in-waiting, if that was why Alambil hadn't wanted to leave. But Hermione knew she could not ask, and no one else volunteered the information. After all, ladies-in-waiting had to be discreet. And she did not mind; Susan was a wonderful lover, gentle and kind and surprisingly skilled, and Hermione was lonely, with Alambil gone and King Edmund off to the Lone Islands on affairs of state. But it was still difficult, not to tell anyone she was having an affair with the Queen, and to know that any moment a foreigner might catch Susan's eye.

Queen Susan was careful, of course, not to show Hermione too much favor, and so they sometimes went days without being alone together. Hermione thought she should care, but in some ways that was easier. And as the days grew longer again and the snow began to melt, she began to spend more time outside—not with the Queen, but walking alone, through the Narnian woods. Sometimes she listened to the merpeople, who tended to surface occasionally to sing madrigals.

"Hermione!" Hermione turned to see Helen dashing towards her, hair flying. "Come quick, there's to be a tournament the next month, and everyone is to have new gowns made, and the Queen wants your assistance with the dressmakers!"

Hermione had to laugh, and she followed Helen back down the path and into the castle, where Queen Susan stood on a stool, surrounded by dressmakers and mirrors and swaths of fabric. "Ah, Hermione!" she exclaimed, when they had entered and curtsied. "Which dost thou think, the blue or the green?"

Hermione considered the colors carefully. Both looked stunning on Susan, who could probably wear tree bark and get away with it. "The green," she said finally. "It suits you better."

Susan laughed, and twirled around in front of the mirror, and the dressmakers switched the blue fabric for green and started arguing about sleeves.

"It won't change anything, this tournament," Susan said later, when they were in bed. "Between thee and me, I mean."

"I know," Hermione said with a smile. "I trust you."

OOOOOOO

A/N: If it belongs to JKR or C. S. Lewis, it's not mine. The title comes from Psalm 84 by way of the Anglican hymn "How Lovely Is Thy Dwelling-Place".

T. M. Hatter and Ill Ame beta'd this for me, for which I am eternally grateful. All mistakes are, of course, my own.

A note on the formal speech—Narnian and Archenlander royalty use an odd combination of British slang and formal speech, so I've had them using thee/thou in formal speech; it seemed like something that King Frank and Queen Helen (and later, the four children) would think of as "high speech". I have not used the royal we much, even though the Pevensies use it sometimes. So if there are mistakes, think of them as the Pevensies', and not mine. :)

This is the second part of four and a halfish--the rest are still in the editing phase. And now I am off to see Prince Caspian (who knows, maybe the movie will inspire me. I adore Caspian). Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated!