Once more, a reminder that I am claiming no ownership over The Chronicles of Narnia.
CHAPTER THREE
Marcie was glad to walk. Hector was a perfectly good horse, she was sure, but she worried about crushing his kidneys, and well, she didn't have a saddle. She thought riding would be much more comfortable with one.
She'd managed to slide off unassisted and without any real misfortunes in grace. An accomplishment, no doubt, especially since dismounting had caused her head to start swirling around menacingly. But the motion sickness from earlier had stopped now that she was moving on her own two feet.
Conversation was awkward. King Edmund was polite but not exactly forthcoming and his earlier ease in manner was gone. There had been no more roguish grinning and he only spoke when answering a question, even if his responses extended beyond the cursory.
Marcie hadn't asked very many questions anyway. She was curious about Narnia, but King Edmund, while not forbidding, didn't seem to be feeling particularly expansive.
Marcie didn't find that too suspect, really. The name England had clearly had a powerful impact on the man, so of course he would rather think than talk to a stranger. She'd asked her questions and pretty much just shut up. (Queen Lucy was not his wife, she'd been informed after Sallowpad had flown ahead to speak with her.) She wasn't feeling chatty either, though the reasons were more physiological than mental.
But Marcie was, at heart, a curious person and so questions could be infrequent but would never stop altogether.
"So why are you traveling with so many Beasts?" Marcie asked. (Talking Beasts or Beasts, she'd learned. Not animals. And, no, they did not eat Talking Cows, few though those were. There were apparently plenty of normal cows for that.) She kicked the little puffs off a dandelion with her boot as she moved. The seeds spread out satisfyingly.
The Beasts she spoke of were moving in a rough sort of circle around them and Hector. Marcie thought the cheetahs and Jalur looked a bit bored, but she imagined that Jalur always looked bored.
"You caused a stir," King Edmund replied straightforwardly. "Narnia has been perfectly calm for weeks, and all of a sudden the dryads and the birds are rushing to report that there's a woman in the Owlwood. No one was sure who you were or where you'd come from. You'd just sort of appeared. Narnia has had its trouble with witches in the past, and for all appearances you were here by magic. If you were a threat, we had to be prepared. A single Human woman isn't much trouble, but a witch is something else. We erred on the side of caution."
If you were a threat, we had to be prepared. It would seem that her original impression of getting skewered with a sword and then chewed up by tigers wasn't as far off as she would have liked. That it hadn't happened was somehow not as comforting as it should have been.
Marcie kicked some more dandelions, hoping there was no such thing as Dandelions. She was fairly sure that King Edmund would have mentioned it.
And the for all appearances, you were here by magic. Well, that was just great. Talking Beasts, kingdoms, dryads, and now witches. But she wasn't a witch, so that didn't explain much. She hadn't decided to come here, certainly. So she'd—what? Been brought to Narnia?
"How did I get here, then?" Marcie asked. "I definitely don't have any magic, so I didn't do it."
Apparently she'd jolted him out of some thought again, because he was slow to respond. "I strongly suspect that Aslan has something to do with it."
"And who's that?"
"Aslan?"
"Yes."
"He's a Lion. Or rather, the Lion."
Marcie thought that his reply lacked a bit of meat. "But why would the Lion bring me here? For that matter, how?
"I am not even going to attempt to answer your first question," King Edmund said with a bit of a laugh. "Aslan is very good about not explaining his motives until they're already obvious. As to your second question, it's misleading, perhaps, to think of Him as just the Lion. Aslan created all of Narnia. So he is a Lion, but also very much more than a Talking Beast."
"He created Narnia?" Marcie thought she could see where this was leading.
"Along with the rest of the world."
Oh, yes, this was exactly what she thought it was. "You mean that Aslan is your deity," she said flatly.
"Yes, He is," King Edmund responded impassively.
"But he—I'm sorry, are you saying that he's corporeal?"
She was more than a little disconcerted by King Edmund's long, measured look, but she tried her best not to show it. It wasn't the defensive look of someone about to justify their religious beliefs, or the look of offense assumed when one's religion was called into question. Marcie knew both of those looks very well, but this wasn't either of those, and she didn't quite know what it was. She tried to be fair and acknowledge that her disbelief was likely insulting.
"Yes, He is."
The 'h' in 'He' was again noticeably capitalized but King Edmund's voice was otherwise neutral.
Marcie chewed on this for a while. She wasn't about to say anything else—the last thing she needed was to insult the king of the land she'd been dropped in. But it seemed a bit ridiculous. A Lion god? Moreover, a Lion god with physical form? (Marcie preferred to entertain theories on cracks in space and time, but if King Edmund wanted to call it the work of his Lion god then she wouldn't protest.)
On the other hand, she had gotten to Narnia somehow. She didn't know of any technology from England that could have gotten her here, and—trees talked in Narnia, and so did Beasts, and Greek mythology seemed to be alive and well. Problems with witches had been mentioned like they had happened recently, and King Edmund had spoken about them in a way that made Marcie think that he'd dealt with them personally. Marcie didn't know if 'witch' was meant in the literal, cackle-and-curse sense, or if it was just some misconception of technology as magic that was then labeled 'witch,' but the evidence so far seemed to point to the former. Magic was apparently nothing new here. She wasn't about to go and start worshipping a god, but it might not be unreasonable to entertain the possibility that the rules for Earth were not the same as the rules for Narnia.
This did not mean that wormholes were eliminated from the list of culprits, however.
Marcie didn't ask any more questions. She wondered about the Lion, and whether she might be able to persuade him to put her back, if indeed an oversized housecat had somehow brought her here. She wondered what would happen if she had to stay.
They kept walking for a time, before riding Hector again. And, during this, Marcie thought. It was hard to think clearly. She'd been having this problem ever since waking up, though, and Marcie thought that she was managing well enough. She wasn't dead, seriously injured, or imprisoned, and that should count for something.
But if she had to stay, where would she stay? King Edmund didn't seem the type to just throw her back into the forest where she came from, but she didn't think that she was being taken to Cair Paravel because she needed a place to live, either. Marcie was entirely out of her element. She was used to things like computers and cell phones and cars and a whole lot of other technological things beginning with 'c.' She was useful enough in her world, but it was abundantly clear that Narnia was not on Earth. It seemed she'd just gotten herself planted in the Middle Ages of Europe. She didn't know a damn thing about how to function without running water or refrigerators, or electricity, or grocery stores. She had no role, and the thought that ideas on women's lib were likely as antiquated to her as King Edmund's armor was something that Marcie tried very hard not to consider. Because if women were treated the same as they had been historically—still were, actually, in many parts of the world—Marcie was not only useless but powerless. She didn't even have money or status to protect her. All she could do was hope that the unusualness of sister ruling alongside a brother, simultaneously and apparently equally, was a signal for other oddities in Narnian society.
That aside, she needed to find a way to talk with this Lion.
88
Cair Paravel was smaller than she had expected. And architecturally, it was a bit strange. There was a difference between castles and palaces, she knew, with castles being the fortress and palaces being a less defensible, prettier place where generally a lot of parties were held. Cair Paravel could have passed for either one. Marcie thought that she might be able to deduct a couple of things from this.
Narnia was rich. Not that castles weren't money pits or anything, but palaces were made with extravagance in mind. They weren't a show of strength, but a show of wealth.
Second, Narnia had wars. (And what country didn't have wars? It was practically part of being a country, to have wars.) Of course, it made sense that Cair Paravel should be able to hold off intruders since it was so close to the sea and open to attack that way. Though if the palace/castle was built by the sea that suggested that the countries that could invade by sea wouldn't, that they were friendly. Narnia trusted its neighbors by sea enough to build near it, which was tactically less great, but didn't trust them enough to build a royal home without some fortress-like qualities. Smart. But all of these "duh" sort of points added up to mean that Narnia wasn't alone. She'd guessed just that when King Edmund had been asking where she'd come from, but those places could have been cities, even though that did seem rather unlikely. In any case, other countries existed here, and that was important to know. Marcie wondered if they were just as weirded out by the talking animals as she was.
The size was important, too. Cair Paravel wasn't very big. It was grand enough, but…compact, and maybe carefully so. Just big enough not to look puny and thus make Narnia look poor, but small enough that…what? No, Marcie was stuck here. Maybe Narnia wasn't as rich as she'd first thought? Whatever. Marcie gave up on this train of thought and rubbed at her temples.
She'd never been able to handle wine very well. Beer and hard liquor, those she did fine with, she wasn't a total lightweight, but there was something about wine that invariably got her drunk faster and made her hangover worse and longer. And…well. She'd had a lot. More than what was usually enough to do her in. It followed that she'd have a terrible hangover, but, really. She couldn't ever remember one this bad, and it seemed to be getting worse as time went on, not better. Maybe it was something to do with inter-world travel? Marcie wasn't prepared to swear off wine altogether, but she imagined that it would be a long, long time before she had more than a glass.
Her head felt like it was going to explode.
Marcie was getting less and less impressed with Narnia and all of its stupid, weird little quirks. She'd jumped at seeing a centaur and tried not to stare because the centaur had a bow in its hands and she didn't want to get shot at for gawking like a four year-old, but then she'd hardly even blinked at the satyr—faun, maybe, she couldn't remember if there was a difference—or the dwarf. It was probably shock or something, but she just couldn't bring herself to care. She was ravenous, exhausted, and likely ill-tempered, and trying really hard not to let it show. She needed to make a good impression.
They were nearing the castle/palace/Cair Paravel Actual and almost to the doors when King Edmund spoke to her. "For now, I'll have Ibiza take you to the Palace Physician and have those scratches seen to." Palace! Aha! "Afterwards, you're welcome in the dining hall for a meal. I believe we're arriving at the tail end of luncheon. I doubt your visit with the Physician will take overly long, but you'll be properly fed and watered in any case."
Marcie had jerked out of her stupor as soon as he'd begun to talk. "Thank you very much, King Edmund. I'm sorry for the trouble."
"No trouble, Marcie. I imagine I'll be seeing you soon."
88
Ibiza was a very grumpy Dog. And, she realized, probably not a Basset Hound like she'd guessed earlier. Some kind of scent-sensitive hunter breed, she could tell from the ears, but in the case of animals, Marcie was much better at determining basic biological principles than identifying breeds. She found the strange little tricks of evolution much more interesting than names.
They wove through a few hallways before Ibiza parked himself outside a door. "Give it a knock. I'll wait here until you're done."
Marcie rapped the unscathed knuckles of her left hand against the wooden door, which opened almost instantly. She took an involuntary step back as she realized that the Palace Physician was a Porcupine, something that was ridiculous even by Narnian standards, surely.
"Ah, you must be that girl that popped up in the Owlwood!" it exclaimed. Marcie would hazard a guess at the Physician being male, but didn't dare make any assumptions. It was, after all, a Porcupine.
"Er, yes," she stuttered. "I'm sorry, I was told that you would look at my scratches?"
"Of course, of course, come in and sit," the Physician said, waddling its way back through a room so crowded that Marcie might have expected a picture of it to appear next to the word 'claustrophobia' in the dictionary.
Marcie sat on the indicated stool.
Everything imaginably linked to medicinal study was packed into this room. There were so many books crammed onto the shelves that it was a wonder they didn't fall off from overflow, and there were innumerable herbs hanging, and rows and rows of jars and pots stacked and shoved onto any flat surface available. Marcie thought she spied some models shunted into the corner. There were, too, stray papers and half-melted candles, quills, and the occasional inkpot. A fire was crackling lowly in a hearth, a large, iron kettle hanging over it. It seemed to be the only area that was kept conscientiously tidy, the mound of ashes very small and the stone around it remarkably clean.
The entire space had a sense not of disorder but of carefully labeled piles, each about to topple over onto the next, so precariously were they built.
The Physician approached her. "Roll up your sleeves, if you would."
Marcie obliged, eyeing the Porcupine's spines with unease. Her left arm was clutched in gentle claws, and was drawn nearer the Physician's face for easier viewing. The inspection carried over to her other arm before the Porcupine peered intently and rather unnervingly at the scratches on her cheeks and chin.
"And how did these happen?" it asked, absorbedly examining her hands once more. "A thorn bush, I would presume?"
"Yes. I, um, fell into one," she said lamely, feeling the stupidity of the event all over again.
"And have you any other scratches than the ones I see?" it asked, kindly, perhaps noticing her embarrassment. "I notice that you have some snags in your clothing. Perhaps there are more there?"
"You know, I'm not really sure," said Marcie. "If I do, they haven't been bothering me. Not like the ones on my hands."
"Yes, those are nasty," it said with enthusiasm. "Not crippling, of course, but very inconvenient, very uncomfortable. But if you wouldn't mind letting me have a look at your side—you fell on your right, I think."
"Oh. Right."
There was something distinctly odd about sitting in nothing but a bra and jeans in front of a Porcupine physician, but Marcie smothered her discomfort. It wasn't so much that she was being treated by a Talking Beast that bothered her; a doctor was a doctor no matter their form. Marcie wasn't in the habit of getting embarrassed over body parts in medical context anyway. No, she was more worried that the still-open door would gain passerby that wouldn't share her pragmatism about being half-naked.
She did end up having a couple of minor cuts on her ribcage, which the Physician cleaned, saying that they would heal up nicely without any help. The rest of her cuts were cleaned as well with a liquid that smelled unbelievably foul, and then dabbed with some kind of balmy paste. A gash on her right palm even warranted a bandage.
"I'll make sure that Mrs. Furner knows to get some bandages and paste for you. Change the wrapping on your hand whenever you feel it gets too dirty or whenever it gets wet, but at least daily. Apply the paste each morning and night to your cuts until they've closed up properly. Of course, find me if you have questions or problems."
Marcie examined the glistening back of her hand, where some unserious cuts had been spared the bandage. "What kind of paste is this?"
The Physician seemed delighted by her question, quills set alarmingly aquiver. "Calendula. Nice, bright orange flower, good for cuts, scrapes, and other skin ailments. Tincture, poultice, teas, it's very versatile. I used witch hazel for the disinfectant of course, but the calendula will speed up the healing. Slippery elm would work as well, but that would require a poultice and that's rather messier than would be practical considering the cuts are on your hands and face."
"Elm as in the tree?"
"Yes, from the bark. Good as a tea for gastrointestinal purposes, settling the stomach. Meadowsweet as well, though that's used as more of a daily tonic and nearly impossible to find besides. Not very practical, meadowsweet."
Marcie nodded carefully, in hopes of not agitating her headache—but then she was with the Physician, wasn't she?
"Er, Physician"—she trailed off suggestively, hoping to get a name out of him or her in order to settle the debate on the Porcupine's gender.
The Physician complied beautifully. "Paulus, of course. Terribly sorry not to introduce myself, but I'm not much of one for formalities and tend to forget things like that."
"Well, I can't really say anything about it, can I, since I never introduced myself either. My name's Marcie," she said, feeling very smooth. Male! She might've guessed that from his voice, she supposed, but for all she knew female Porcupines had deep voices. Then Marcie tried, with a jab at humor, "I was wondering if you might possibly have something for a hangover? Not enough for me to get dropped into the Owlwood, apparently, it has to be when I'm still half-drunk."
Physician Paulus chuckled a bit, turning around to shift through jars again. "Yes, Aslan likes His little jokes." Marcie tried not to twitch at the mention of this supposed deity who thought it was funny to transport her between worlds while suffering from a hangover. "So symptoms? Headache, nausea? Any vomiting?"
"No vomiting, thankfully," she replied. "Headache and nausea, but mostly headache."
"Mmm," said the Physician. He moved to the fireplace, swinging out the kettle and measuring what looked like wood chips into it before swinging it back over the fire. He tossed a log from the nearby pile into the hearth. "Willow bark tea should take care of that. I'll just see if Cook can't scrounge up some ginger biscuits in the meantime. Very good for nausea, those." He shuffled around, returning the pot to a shelf, with a seeming lack of care for where exactly it went. Marcie hoped it was just because he knew his stores so well.
"I'm afraid I simply must ask," the Physician said abruptly. "Restraining curiosity has never been a strong suit of mine. What precisely are those lenses on your face?"
Marcie finished tugging her sweater back on, trying not to smear balm everywhere. (The weather may have been too warm for March, but that didn't mean that it was warm enough to go shirtless.)
"My glasses?" Marcie asked. "Do you mean what are they for?"
"Yes, they're absolutely fascinating," he replied, quills once more betraying his excitement. Marcie explained their purpose, setting off another round of shivery quills, but struggled to describe the science behind them. She had a feeling that she would kick herself many more times in the near future for not knowing how basic elements of her lifestyle on Earth functioned. When she returned, she would be doing some research.
"It's something to do with bending light. Rather like a telescope or magnifying glass," said Marcie, hoping that those two devices existed in Narnia and that she wasn't just making useless connections.
Apparently there was some sort of equivalent, because Physician Paulus nodded with a murmur. "Yes, very clever. I'll have to speak with the Dwarfs and see if they can't imitate your lenses. I can think of several Beasts that would find them useful, though of course there is the rather large matter of determining the levels of magnifications and matching them with the visual impairment. You wouldn't happen to know, perhaps, a method for this?"
"No," she said without thinking. Then she corrected herself after a moment, "Actually, I might know a little. The finer details are beyond me, but I have obviously had my vision tested. Some of the basic principles I could probably help with, and I might be able to guess at some of the specifics. It would be a lot of me blundering around, but if you don't mind that, then I'm happy to help."
She was actually beginning to feel some enthusiasm for the topic herself, now. Even strictly as an intellectual pursuit, it was fascinating. Assuming the Dwarfs could put something together, implementing vision screening and monitoring the strengths of lenses…She wouldn't exactly be breaking new ground, but there was something compelling about filling in the blanks for medical procedures that were commonplace There and innovative Here. Furthermore, there was a certain amount of comfort to be gained from the knowledge that it had been done before. Failure was only a matter of lacking cleverness.
"Wonderful," the Physician said, clapping his claws together. "You can come and see me at any time, of course. Not a task that can be solved in one afternoon!"
The discussion veered off into eye charts and how letters might be substituted for something that would suit Beasts that couldn't read, and then determining what was the appropriate baseline for vision in various Beasts. Marcie hadn't considered how difficult it must be to be the Palace Physician and cater to many kinds of physiological differences, some small and some decidedly huge. His knowledge would have to be very extensive, and Marcie found herself respecting the Physician more and more as they talked, especially since the conversation consisted mostly of the Physician theorizing to himself, with Marcie only able to offer sparing pieces of information or concept.
They were momentarily interrupted when Physician Paulus removed her tea from the fire, pouring it into a cup that had seemingly been plucked from nowhere, and then placing it into Marcie's hands. Marcie, fond of unscalded taste buds, took the excuse of waiting for her tea to cool to prod the Physician into continuing their lopsided dialogue.
When her tea was finished—the last few sips of it had been cold—she was shooed out to find herself a meal, but encouraged again to visit.
Marcie paused momentarily when he said that, but responded as positively as she could. She really didn't plan on staying in Narnia any longer than she had to, and had forgotten that entirely when she'd been talking with Physician Paulus. It was almost disturbing how easily she had slipped into a mindset of having an unlimited amount of time to chat about and implement vision screening.
She stepped outside the door and her sense of unbalance turned to guilt.
"I'm so sorry," she exclaimed to Ibiza. "I forgot completely that you were waiting. It was rude of me."
"Yes, it was," Ibiza said shortly. The Hound shook himself from a sitting position. "I'm not your babysitter. And I don't want to hear you apologize. The best apology is moving quickly so we can both get ourselves a meal."
The remainder of Marcie's good mood dissipated entirely as she followed the Hound, who was setting an aggressively paced trot.
"I really am very sorry," she said.
She got a grunt in reply, and spent the rest of the walk feeling wretched about her foul-up, pulling herself out of her self-reprimand (besides it being rude, she couldn't afford to be rude) only when they were outside the open doors of what was apparently the dining hall, or wherever Marcie was supposed to finally eat.
"King Edmund and Queen Lucy are still inside. Goodbye."
Marcie looked after Ibiza, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows high. The Hound didn't so much spare her a backwards glance as he walked away, clearly glad that his duty was satisfied so that he could be free of her. His tone had surprised her in that he had said 'goodbye' instead of 'good riddance.'
She shut her mouth and gathered her questionable composure before entering. The king and queen were sitting opposite one another towards the end of the table, King Edmund still looking a bit travel stained. Jalur was crouched in a nearby corner, tail flicking occasionally, and there was a wolf resting on its haunches comfortably near Queen Lucy. They were talking earnestly, several plates of food still surrounding them but none directly before them, and looked up at her entrance.
Before Marcie could offer some sort of awkward greeting, Queen Lucy spoke.
"Oh, hello, Marcie!" she said, smiling brightly. She was dressed rather plainly for a queen, Marcie thought, in a dress with a minimum of fuss or frills, but she was very pretty and seemed to be genuinely glad to see Marcie. Marcie also took this time to remind herself that she was coated in greasy-looking balm, had undoubtedly more-horrible-than-usual hair, was wearing slightly torn clothing, and probably smelled like she needed a bath. If Queen Lucy did not seem fond of finery it could only work to save Marcie's ego. "Please sit, we saved some food for you. I'm sure you're starving."
Marcie replied with a thankful lack of stuttering or mumbling—she'd done quite enough of it already for one day. Two seats from the queen was an empty plate, surrounded by many other plates containing breads, cold cuts of meat, fruits, and vegetables. There was no possible way that Marcie could eat all of it on her own, though her stomach was encouraging her to try.
"I'm sorry to have kept you if you were waiting," said Marcie before serving herself. "But the Physician is, well, fascinating and we lost track of time. I'm afraid that I already kept Mr. Ibiza waiting on me for longer than he liked."
"I'm sure that no harm was done," said King Edmund, and he didn't look overly concerned. "Ibiza is perhaps our most gifted scent Hound, but he is not known for his easygoing manner and waiting a few minutes more for a meal will not do him any injury. If he was gruff with you, I ask that it not cause you undue worry."
Marcie nodded, feeling a bit better. Her stomach chose this time to remind her of the food spread so enticingly around her. Marcie picked a few things off of each plate, hoping that she was not making some horrible faux pas. She fashioned herself a ham sandwich, very aware of the gentle scrutiny she was under from the monarchs present, and the less gentle watchfulness of Jalur and the Wolf.
"You said that you came from England, Marcie?" Queen Lucy asked. There was a sort of desperate curiosity in her face, and Marcie found herself feeling suddenly very sorry for the queen. King Edmund looked much calmer, but there was an undeniable interest in the way he was watching her. Marcie's sympathies extended. She remembered the surprised way that he had reacted to the mere name of England, and wasn't shocked that this was the first thing they wished to hear about. King Edmund had mentioned something about Spare Oom, which sounded utterly ridiculous, and spoke to just how poorly the king and queen remembered their origins.
There was, too, something chilling about it, which Marcie chose to ignore for the moment. She would be leaving as soon as she could speak with this Aslan, and so paralleling their forgetfulness was not in her future.
"Yes, I did," she said, making sure that she wasn't chewing. "I'm not English, though, I'm American, if the accent didn't give me away."
"Then why were you in England? If I'm not prying," Queen Lucy added hastily.
"I was studying at university," Marcie replied. "My second year. For—for literature."
Marcie put her sandwich down and stared at it for a moment, then tried to cover her discomfort by reaching for the nearby pitcher and filling her glass. It was water, thankfully, and she drank it thirstily. The Physician's tea was beginning to work, but Marcie felt dehydrated and her head did still hurt.
"Paulus did say that you were all right, yes?" said King Edmund abruptly.
Marcie, grateful for the change in topic, replied with more enthusiasm than her health really warranted.
"Yes. None of my scratches are anything major. I'm mostly just hung-over." She granted this last sentence some wry humor.
Queen Lucy gave a sharp burst of laughter. "Oh, no! He didn't!"
Marcie was not feeling very kindly towards the 'he' Queen Lucy obviously meant, but smiled anyway. "He did."
Marcie took up her sandwich again. "I take it that you weren't dumped face-first in the forest, hand still reaching for the wine bottle you've already emptied, then. You probably got something dignified, like a door or window or some such."
She'd meant her comment to be a joke, but could see the frisson of uneasiness that passed between the siblings.
"We got a wardrobe, yes." King Edmund answered her with an obviously calculated effortlessness.
Marcie harrumphed, choosing to ignore her gaffe and continue on. "Naturally! Then how fortunate that I've never been overly concerned with dignity, or I might get offended."
"There are worse places to end up than the Owlwood," Queen Lucy said, apparently electing to assist Marcie in defusing whatever tension was left.
"Oh?"
"Mmm. I think we have a bog lying around here somewhere."
Marcie decided then and there that she liked Queen Lucy very much. The queen's mouth was curled into a comfortable smirk that Marcie couldn't help but mirror.
88
A second sandwich, an apple, and several carrots later, Marcie was finally full. The talk had been pleasantly mindless, mostly Queen Lucy and King Edmund talking about various goings-on at the castle. Palace. Whichever. There was a fair bit of teasing between the two, and Marcie liked the pair of them quite a bit. There wasn't a whole lot of stuffy behavior or overly zealous attention to etiquette—a perk, since Marcie knew she was probably eating like a creature half-starved—and they didn't require much out of her as a conversationalist. And whether it was the food, the hangover, or a side-effect of the tea that Physician Paulus hadn't mentioned, Marcie began to feel distinctly drowsy.
Queen Lucy took notice as Marcie stifled a yawn with little success. "If you'd like to lie down, Marcie, there's a room made up for you," she said kindly.
"No, no, I'm fine," said Marcie. Another yawn marked her as a liar.
"We promise not to be offended if you'd prefer sleep to us," said King Edmund. "We've suffered through our fair share of late nights and accompanying consequences, and that's without having been thrust into a foreign land."
"Yes, and he's positively awful without sleep," said Queen Lucy matter-of-factly. "Grumpy and snappish. Best to just steer clear of him altogether." Her brother looked affronted.
"I am not," he said.
Jalur coughed from his corner, and the Wolf at the Queen's side gave a short puff of air.
King Edmund took them all in, and then addressed Marcie overgenerously, as if to prove that he was not, in fact, a snappish grump. "We've had a room set aside for you. It's in the guest wing, currently, but once we clear out a more permanent room, you'll have that." With a bit more seriousness, he said, "I wouldn't wish some of our visitors' company on you when they come."
Queen Lucy nodded. "They're…well." She looked like she was wanting to say it diplomatically and failing.
"Awful," said King Edmund firmly. "Overbearing tarts with more cleavage that intellect."
"Edmund!" his sister scolded. "They are not tarts! They are noblewomen and—and guests!" (This last seemed a bit half-hearted as she was trying not to smile.)
They engaged in a short staring match, which King Edmund seemed to win as he turned back to Marcie.
"Tarts," he said again.
Queen Lucy gave a snort and then coughed to cover it. Marcie just stared, as she had through the whole conversation, having latched on to an earlier point.
"So, I'm…staying here?" Marcie asked haltingly, feeling much more alert than she had been. Her heart was beating very loudly, she could feel it in her chest.
"Oh, of course!" exclaimed Queen Lucy, looking very surprised. "We're not about to dump you back into the Owlwood and hope you somehow make it back to England!" She laughed, but Marcie thought that this was a bit over-close to a worry that she'd had earlier for her to laugh along with the queen, deeply relieved though she was. "I'm very sure that Aslan brought you here and has some purpose in mind for you. Even were you not our guest, we cannot overlook Aslan's paw in all of this. You're welcome in Cair Paravel for as long as you need. Edmund and I are convinced, and Peter and Susan will feel the same, I'm certain. Aslan has been obvious in you."
King Edmund was nodding as his sister spoke, but Marcie felt another bout of apprehension.
"Peter and Susan?"
"Our siblings," said King Edmund. "Queen Susan is currently in Archenland, but will leave as soon as she is able. King Peter should arrive sometime this evening."
"Though I really would encourage you to have a nap, at least," said the queen. "And if you don't wake for dinner and miss Peter tonight, that's no real loss. It's nothing that can't wait until morning."
Marcie had no desire to meet another monarch, especially not today, and when it sounded like he was coming specifically to meet her. She was fairly certain that she would sleep through the night, and accepted the out offered to her.
"Then I'd appreciate it."
A/N: I apologize profusely for the long wait. Real Life has decided to give me a hard kick in pants and I had a couple of weeks in which nothing got done. I do hope that the length (nearly 6,000 words!) makes up for the delay. And again, you're seeing some characters that have been created by rhtstewart. She's been kind enough to send some readers my way, I believe, but if you haven't already read her fics, I highly encourage you to do so. Please let me know how you liked it-or didn't, as it were :) I deeply appreciate reviews.