Briar Castle

Spare Oom

4999

The next year passed much to quickly for Lucy's liking and she found herself increasingly upset as the months passed by with the speed of a jackal. Her birthday had came and went in the cold, wintery month of December and she was now another year older, but perhaps not another year wiser.

Lucy had hoped to spend as much time with her sister as possible until her upcoming nuptials, but that proved to be nigh on impossible. When Susan was not in lessons, she was with their mother, being taught in the ways of a life at court, as a future queen. She had had her portrait painted, dressed in the style of the Narnian court, which Lucy thought made her look silly with those towering braids and rouge on her cheeks.

Lucy never got the chance to play with her sister anymore, a fact that depressed her greatly. She missed running through the forest, hot on her sister's heels. She missed sneaking into the kitchen at night and stealing some bread and cheese for a midnight picnic on the grounds, but most of all, she just missed her sister. Her comforting presence by her side as Lucy raged about needlepoint lessons and the like. So now, Lucy spent most of her time with her governess, sitting in her own lessons, absolutely bored. She was not a very good student; she'd rather be distracting her governess with all the ploys she could use.

One day, in early February, as the days passed by all the more quickly but at the same time, all the more slowly, she was increasingly agitated by her lessons and wanted something to distract herself. She looked out the window of her bedchambers as her governess read to her from a large tome detailing the history of the world and watched as the sun peeked out behind the clouds that had brought snow intermittently for the past few months. Lucy had always enjoyed the snow. Years past, she and a few of her friends who were the children of servants in the castle would gang up on her Susan, hurtling snowballs until she herself scooped up some snow and fought back; she was always outnumbered, but Lucy remembered the way her flushed cheeks stretched into a happy smile, even as she was covered with the icy white fluff.

Lucy watched as the snow began to slightly melt and was suddenly overwhelmed with great trepidation at the upcoming spring, for she knew what it brought. She was brought out of her reverie as she watched the drops of snow drip down the branches of the apple tree outside her window by her governess, snapping the large tome shut.

"Little lady," her voice was full of reprimand. "Have you been paying any attention?"

Lucy looked at her sheepishly from underneath her long lashes, batting her big, blue eyes. "Forgive me, governess," she said. "I got distracted by the snow melting and was imagining myself playing in it one last time before it's gone another year."

"You played in the snow just yesterday," her governess said, but Lucy could see that she saw the sadness in her eyes and she sighed. "But," she continued. "I suppose we could venture out, for just a little while."

Lucy's saddened eyes must have brightened just a little, for her governess smiled and set down the tome on the plush red cushion on the bench they sat on inside the window. Lucy nearly ran for her wardrobe, where her handmaidens came and dressed her in her winter furs. She and her governess hastened outside and Lucy ran with delight in the melting snow, making poorly put together snowballs and lobbing them at unexpected passers by. She was having so much fun that she had nearly forgotten her woes-until-her eyes happened to look up at the castle and she spied her sister, watching Lucy from their mother's solar. She smiled a bit at Lucy, waving, and all of Lucy's troubles came crashing down upon her again.

Lucy's heart filled with dread as she thought that just in two and half months time, her sister would be taking her leave of Pevensie castle, and of Lucy, to embark on her future as queen of Narnia. Lucy was bereft to let her go, having spent many a night crying herself to sleep. Who was to protect her from mother once Susan was gone? Who was Lucy going to tell all of her secrets and who wasn't going to laugh at Lucy's games? What was Lucy going to do?

Lucy gave a halfhearted wave in return and turned to her governess, who was shaking melted snow from her pearled hairnet. "I wish to go back inside now," Lucy said, wiping the snow off her ermine gloves.

Countess Polliana looked up, surprised. "Already? But you have just begun to have your fun, Lady Lucinda."

"I am tired," Lucy lied, "and wish to go lay down."

Countess Polliana looked at Lucy but acquiesced, leading her back inside, tracking the melted snow on the floors until she was back in her rooms and in a tub full of warm water. Lucy sank deep beneath the water and wished that all of her cares would wash away with the cold and snow.

The time had finally run out and Lucy's sister was to depart, as was Lucy's nerves, although she was sure Susan's were even worse. They were in the middle of the heat of May and her sister was to depart early in the morning of the 18th, leaving Lucy only one more night to see her for perhaps the last time.

After Lucy was dressed in her thin nightgown for the night and all the candles but one blown out, she waited about an hour before taking her candle and sneaking out of her rooms. She crept through the castle until she reached Susan's door. She had once resided next to Lucy but in the past year, their mother had moved her closer to her so that she could have late night visits about her upcoming nuptials. Lucy was afraid that her mother would be in there that night, schooling her sister one last time and that Lucy would be sent away and scolded, but Lucy's fears were unfounded, for it was only her sister who in there, having opened the door at their secret knock. Susan sat by the windowsill, gazing out at the lush acres of their home for the last time. She saw the ruinous servant's quarters, the richness of the rose garden, the pigs, goats, and horses that slept in their pens. She could see the moon itself, shining a pure light over all these things, all the things that she had known all her life and all the things she'd have to leave behind.

"What are you doing?" Lucy asked after Susan bid her to come in.

Susan did not pull her gaze away from the window and beyond. "I'm saying goodbye."

Lucy felt tears well up in her eyes as she came to sit beside her sister, setting her candle down on the floor. The low flame cast a flickering light upon their faces, making them seem almost inhuman, but Lucy wasn't afraid. "I wish you didn't have to," she told her sister.

"Nor I," said Susan. "But I must, for the-"

"For the good of the family," Lucy interrupted, rolling her eyes childishly. She was sick of that credo.

Susan finally looked at her and smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. "One day," she said, "you will understand."

"I don't want to," Lucy grumbled, ever the petulant child. Her sister just smiled and looked away. For awhile they just sat there in silence, watching over the quiet grounds of the castle and contemplating their fates that seemed destined to separate from each other. Finally, Lucy spoke again. "May I sleep in your bed tonight, Susan?" Lucy did not care that she seemed like a frightened child; she wanted to be with her sister one last time, before both of their worlds changed.

Susan looked at her, really looked at her, and smiled her first genuine smile in what seemed like a lifetime. "Of course, Lu," she said. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Lucy smiled wide, and nearly catapulted onto the featherbed, slightly bouncing under her weight. Susan laughed lightly and joined her, blowing out the remaining candles and wrapping Lucy up inside her arms.

Lucy felt safe there.

The next morning came and Lucy ignored the stern looks she got from the handmaidens as she was shooed from her sister's room so she could be changed into her gown and so could Lucy. They were to have a big ceremony, a marriage by proxy for Susan, followed by feast to rival those in Narnia and then, at dusk, she would depart in large berline for Cair Paravel, leaving Lucy behind-mayhaps forever.

My handmaidens dressed Lucy for the exciting day as they called it in a gown of pink silk and golden accoutrements and her growing brown hair was braided away from her face with little golden clasps. She slipped into her little golden slippers and then was led away to the spinning room, where she was to spin upon a spinning wheel until it was time for the marriage by proxy at midday.

Lucy hated to spin at the spinning wheel; she was no good at it. And the ladies around her were not much good company. Her mother had invited all the lords and ladies from various powerful houses of Spare Oom to share in her daughter's revels-and her accomplishment. Lucy could hear the snivelling ladies and their daughters-some ugly, some pretty though not as beautiful as Susan-as they weaved and spun. The envy in their voices was about an inch thick; the only thing assuaging them was the fact that Duchess Helena's younger daughter was a fool's cause.

"I wonder what kind of man the Duchess will convince to marry that sorry girl."

"I hear she's as wild as the animals in the forests, often spoiling her dresses and knotting up her spindle-look, there she does it now!"

Lucy cursed as the yarn in her spindle began to knot up again and the ladies surrounding her gave her indignant looks at her choice of language. "Where, pray tell, does a young lady such as herself learn such foul language?" asked one of the older ladies; a snooty old hag in Lucy's opinion.

"From the stable boys," Lucy said and then she stood up and ran out of the spinning room before anyone could catch her. She ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, far away from those jealous ladies and their scathing words. If this is what it means to be a lady, then I don't want it Lucy thought to herself. She didn't know where her feet were carrying her, but she soon found herself outside her sister's bedchamber door, which was slightly open. Hearing voices inside, Lucy peeped through the small opening.

There, standing before a large looking glass in a magnificent gown of the most pearlescent white, inlaid with pearls, was her sister. Behind her was their mother and she was speaking to her.

"-se to be afraid. This is your life from today, daughter. Embrace it."

"I will do what needs to be done for the good of the family, Mother, but that is not why I'm afraid. What is to become of Lucy once I am gone?"

Their mother's face grew grim. "She will continue in her studies," she said. "And by the grace of all that is holy she will learn, in time, what it means to be a lady, even if I have to beat the wildness out of her myself."

Despite their mother's words, Susan laughed. "I doubt very much that that will stop her. You cannot beat something out of someone that they are born with, Mother. Lucy will always be wild."

"But she cannot be!" Their mother suddenly raged and Lucy almost jumped back from the door in fear.

"Mother?" Susan asked cautiously, turning away from the looking glass. "Mother, what is it you haven't told me?"

Their mother fiddled with the locket around her neck, opening and closing it, as if the image of their father would give her the strength to find her next words. "When I made the deal with King James XXII of Narnia, you weren't the only daughter I was marrying off."

It felt as though ice cold water was poured down Lucy's back. She could barely make out her mother's next words, as if someone had plugged her ears full of cotton. "When Lucy comes of age, she is to marry as well-to prince Edmund." Lucy did not hear what she said next or what her sister said in response, for she was gone again.

She was running far, far away.