Chapter 1
A/N: Should anybody ask: Of course this pairing is an open rebellion against the new Caspian pairings! Canon for me! ;) However, I am painfully aware that since she received little to no characterization in the books, I am in danger of turning Ramandu's daughter into a dreaded Mary-Sue. If she begins to look Sue-ish to you...then STOP ME. I mean it.
EDIT: 4 July, 2008: After hating myself for naming Ramandu's daughter as I did, I have changed her name. She has traded names with her lady-in-waiting. Henceforth, Ramandu's daughter is Mithriel, and her lady-in-waiting is Leila. I'm wincing as I type; I hope this doesn't cause confusion.
Day 1 – Cair Paravel
Narnian year 2313
Mithriel sat in front of the vanity in her apartments and tried to smile at her reflection as her lady-in-waiting affixed a net of tiny gems into her glossy blond hair. It was not quite as elegant as the silver circlet she had worn while she still lived with her father, but somehow that was all right. This hairnet was fashionable, and Mithriel liked the idea blending in and looking a bit less...otherworldly. Though nothing could be done about her eyes – they were as violet as ever. Maybe the Calormenes would never get close enough to notice.
"Leila," she asked her lady-in-waiting, "have you seen the Calormene Tarkheena yet?"
Leila, a slim, blonde girl twenty, shook her head and pulled the last pin out of her mouth. "Not yet, milady. I've heard my friends gossiping about her, though." Her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. "She's rumoured to have eleven husbands besides Marushak Tarkaan."
Mithriel smirked as she reached up to assist Leila with her hair. "Poor woman, how does she manage? One husband's full title is hard enough to remember."
Leila laughed and secured the last pin in Mithriel's hair. "All done, milady."
"Thank you." Mithriel stood up and surveyed herself critically in the mirror. She wore a light summer gown of red velvet with green and gold trim. Her face looked, to her, a little too pale and thin. "Do I look so bad?" she asked.
Leila smiled at her. "You look like the jewel of Narnia, milady, as I have said many times." She pulled a fold of Mithriel's skirt away where it had stuck to the chair. "Pray, don't be nervous."
Mithriel forced herself to laugh as she placed the Crown of Susan on her head. "I, nervous? In front of all those silly preening Tarkheenas? I would sooner be seasick."
"Good luck, milady," Leila said, fastening a navy blue cloak around Mithriel's shoulders.
"Thank you, but I imagine the King will have more need of it than I will." Mithriel smiled. "From what I've heard about Marushak Tarkaan, it must be quite an ordeal to speak with him."
She and Leila departed for the Hall of the Four Thrones.
OoOoOoOoOoO
Since this was the first time Mithriel had ever seen Calormenes, she was caught quite off her guard – and she had only just entered the Hall. She had somehow expected them to be stuffy, pale, and wrapped in thick layers of wool clothing, like the visitors from the Seven Isles last year. These people, who lined the entire the colonnade of the Hall, were quite different.
The most different of all was the infamous Avekash, wife of the newly elected ambassador to Narnia, Marushak Tarkaan – she of the eleven extra husbands and several other scandals. Avekash's coppery skin and long black hair glistened with some kind of heavily scented oil, jewels were affixed to her face of all places, and her gown, which was made of white silk and tulle, left her shoulders and arms completely bare. Mithriel didn't know whether to be shocked or interested, and she did not relish the thought of her impending interview with Avekash.
"Are you nervous?" a deep voice whispered behind her ear.
Mithriel turned and smiled up at Caspian.
"I confess I am," she said, knowing she did not need to put on a show of bravado when speaking with him. "Those Calormene women are all so – well, they certainly are not ugly." She took a careful look at her husband; he wore dark blue robes and the ancestral crown of Narnia over his wavy gold hair. "And neither are you." She smiled.
"Thank you," he said. "You look splendid."
Mithriel's smile relaxed as she noticed his colour. "Now that I – you look rather pale – "
Caspian hesitated. "I was a little ill this morning."
Mithriel glared at him; they'd discussed several times that she did not want him in public when he was sick.
"Only a little," he said, noticing her severe look.
The herald at the Four Thrones cried out, "His Majesty, Caspian the Tenth, son of Caspian the Ninth, King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel..."
Leaving a quick kiss on Mithriel's forehead, Caspian ducked through a line of Narnian courtiers and Talking Beasts and walked toward the front of the hall. Mithriel followed her husband as quickly as she could without running, while the herald announced, "Her Royal Highness, Mithriel, Queen of Narnia."
Mithriel and Caspian reached the Four Thrones, where the Calormen envoy, in one harmonious voice, hailed them: "Illustrious Lord and Lady of the Far North, live forever."
Strange. Very strange.
As Caspian officially welcomed the Calormen envoy and recited the itinerary for the next two weeks, Mithriel stood next to him, smiling brightly and admiring the general splendor of the Hall. It had been decorated for the summer, with garlands of wildflowers and the braziers burning cedarwood.
Mithriel noticed that around Avekash stood ten or eleven men of varying age and appearance, who looked humbly at the polished marble floor as Caspian spoke. She couldn't help but smirk; these must be the eleven husbands of legend. Now she pitied them, rather than their mistress, for she looked as formidable as a tiger, and they as shy as pigeons. Even the great and powerful Marushak Tarkaan seemed to be under his wife's domination.
"In three days We shall escort you, Marushak Tarkaan, to Glasswater," Caspian was saying, "where We will give you a tour of the newly finished Calormene Embassy. I hope that it will be to your liking."
"The very idea of a Calormene Embassy in the fair nation of Narnia, my lord," Marushak Tarkaan intoned, "is to my liking. We thank you for your kindness to Calormen."
"May you live forever," the assembly echoed.
Mithriel glanced at Caspian – she wasn't sure that the idea was to his liking. Two years ago, when the Tisroc had asked permission to build an embassy in Narnia, Caspian had almost refused outright. His eventual consent was a last-ditch effort at preserving peace between the nations.
Mithriel wasn't sure that she liked the idea either. Even though she was a newcomer to the Western Lands, she knew there was a reason for the long-standing tension between Narnia and Calormen.
Marushak was still speaking? Mithriel couldn't help but laugh to herself when she realized that the Tarkaan was still droning out Calormene pleasantries, and it appeared that not a single Narnian was paying heed. Now she knew why speaking with him was an ordeal – because he was so utterly boring. What had ever possessed Avekash to marry him?
Caspian finished his address to the Calormene envoy, and he and Mithriel were given another "may-you-live-forever." (Mithriel had to bite back the temptation to respond with, "I certainly hope I do not.") As the Calormenes started talking amongst themselves and to Narnian courtiers, Caspian turned to Mithriel and said, "That was easier than I anticipated."
"Perhaps, but let's not become too relaxed, for now you must speak with Marushak yourself."
He winced. "Of course – but remember, you must speak with Avekash."
Why did he sound so short of breath?
"Are you sure that you're quite well?"
"I'm sure."
Mithriel followed Caspian to where the Tarkaan and his wife were standing. He was swaying very slightly as he walked.
When she was within sight of the infamous Tarkheena, Mithriel dropped into a curtsy. "Avekash, it is an honour to have you here at Cair Paravel." She hoped Avekash would not comment on her eyes.
"I am all enchantment, O magnaminous Lady," Avekash replied. Her languid voice, dripping from her like oil, sounded anything but enchanted.
"And how do you like your apartments?"
Avekash sniffed delicately. "Well, my Lady, they will never be my chambers in the great Palace of the Tisroc (may he live forever) but they are quite...charming, I suppose. I always have fancied Northern architecture. However, I do require clean curtains in my bedchamber."
Mithriel glared at Avekash for a moment before saying, "Then you must inform the housekeeper. She will see to it." She was disliking this lady more and more by the second.
"I thank you, gracious Lady." Avekash toyed with a gold bangle on her wrist and cast a lazy glance at her (primary) husband, who was still speaking with Caspian. "I am sorry that my children could not travel here. I have five children, healthy and lovely, who would have immensely enjoyed this trip. My lady, how many children have you and King Caspian?"
Mithriel was first taken aback by the abruptness of the question, and then angry at Avekash for asking. "We have none yet, Tarkheena." She hoped desperately that this turn in the conversation would be dropped.
Avekash raised a fine black eyebrow. "None? No children at all? That's very strange. Why not?"
Mithriel refused to reply any further. How dare Avekash ask such a question? As it flooded back into her – the bitterness and shame that had first swept down on her when she was told that she might be barren – Mithriel had to fully bite her lips and summon all her self-control to keep from lashing out inappropriately at Avekash. She managed to keep her voice calm and change the topic. "I trust that you look forward to seeing the Calormene Embassy, Tarkheena."
Avekash raised her other eyebrow, and her face took on a mild threatening look. "Queen Mithriel, I believe that in this matter I must be honest with you, even if I cause you grief. Do not the poets say, Honesty among friends is as valuable as rubies set in gold?"
Before Mithriel could think of a suitable answer, Marushak's voice came loud and alarmed. "My lord, are you – Your Majesty!"
Mithriel whipped away from Avekash in time to see her husband sink to the floor.
She dropped to her knees next to him. "Caspian!"
He had passed out. What in Aslan's name would have caused him, of all people, to pass out? Mithriel slapped his cheeks and shouted at him, but to no avail.
Narnians and Calormenes alike were milling about, suffocating the area and setting up quite a row. Mithriel wished they would go away, but she couldn't think of a polite way to tell them to do so.
As it was, she didn't have to, for Caspian's old friend, Dr. Cornelius, came elbowing through the crowd, shouting, "Make way, make way! Aslan's mane, will you not let the King breathe? Stand aside, all of you!" As if by magic, the people drew back.
Dr. Cornelius was followed closely by Lord Trumpkin and Leila. One glance at his former student and Dr. Cornelius gasped. "Queen Mithriel," he began, staring at Caspian's right arm.
Mithriel followed his gaze – and clapped a hand to her mouth.
Blood soaked Caspian's arm several centimeters above his wrist, blackening his shirtsleeve and staining the marble floor red.
"Wounded!" Trumpkin screamed at the assembly, pointing an accusatory finger in the air. "Who has dared to attack the King in his own home?"
"No, wait," Dr. Cornelius shouted over the outraged red dwarf and the horrified cries of the assembly. He quickly and carefully pushed Caspian's sleeve up.
Mithriel gasped again when she saw the unmistakable pattern of the wound.
"That's an animal bite."
Trumpkin promptly bellowed, "All Beasts must remain in the Hall for questioning! Everyone else, get out! All of you!"
Mithriel glanced up as the humans began to file out of the Hall. She caught a glimpse of Avekash, who looked both aloof and politely concerned as she sailed out of the room on Marushak's arm.
Dr. Cornelius interrupted Trumpkin again. "There is no need to detain the Beasts. I know who bit him. Friends," he shouted to the Beasts, "you are dismissed."
The Hall became even less crowded as every Talking Beast departed.
"Well, carrots and cantrips, who was it, then?" Trumpkin glared at a Polar Bear who happened to be passing by. "Was it you?"
The Polar Bear ambled away without a word.
"It was him," Trumpkin muttered.
Just then, Caspian seemed to awaken. He moved his hand toward his head. "What in Aslan's name...?"
"Can you hear me, Caspian?" Dr. Cornelius said.
"Yes, of course." Caspian slowly opened his eyes, and looked back and forth between the ceiling, Mithriel, and Dr. Cornelius. "Mithriel, did I – "
Mithriel held Caspian's hand. "You passed out."
After a few minutes, Dr. Cornelius and Mithriel helped Caspian to stand up. "We sent the assembly out," Mithriel said. "I'll tell them that you are indisposed for the rest of the day."
Caspian finally noticed his wounded arm. His brown eyes widened, but his voice was very calm. "Oh. What happened?"
"We're taking you to your apartments now, Your Majesty," Dr. Cornelius said, steering Mithriel and Caspian in that direction out of the Hall of the Four Thrones. Trumpkin and Leila followed.
When they reached the royal apartment, Mithriel had Caspian lie down in the bedroom and commanded his attendants to watch him closely.
From a rushed interview, Mithriel only found out that Caspian had no idea what had bitten him, when, or why. Mithriel eventually went into the reception room, where she found Dr. Cornelius pacing around the writing desk, briskly enough to wear a trench in the floor.
"Doctor, what has – "
Immediately Dr. Cornelius faced her and said, "It has been ten years, to the very day, since Caspian was bitten by a Werewolf at Aslan's How."
Mithriel stepped back, suddenly feeling herself tremble. "A Werewolf?"
"And a Werewolf rarely bites," Dr. Cornelius said, "without cursing his victim. I hoped this day would never come."
"He's cursed? Cursed how?" Mithriel almost shouted. "What can we do?"
Leila, who was sitting on the other side of the room, stood up with a startled gasp. "The Werewolf's curse? Doesn't that mean that the King will – "
Dr. Cornelius glared at her, seemingly disgusted. "Caspian is not going to turn into a Werewolf. That's a naïve Telmarine myth. Nobody has ever been bitten by a Werewolf and subsequently become one."
When he looked at Mithriel again, he was so solemn that she felt truly frightened.
"However, everyone who has been bitten by a Werewolf has...has died five or ten years later."
OoOoOoOoOoO
A/N: Sorry if it was boring. If you review, please don't do so to tell me that Caspian's hair is brown. According to C.S. Lewis, Caspian's hair is golden (see VDT). I know Ben Barnes' hair is brown because I sit around daydreaming about the never-arriving day that I get to touch it. :) Okay, seriously – I can't believe the rate I'm writing at. My sister is getting married this weekend, and I think I need an outlet for the stress. Maybe it would also help if I stopped drinking so much coffee. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.
MC