Merci beaucoup pour les reviews :)
They made me smile and incentivise me to continue with this story, and I find that now I'm starting to enjoy it again and a lot of a half-baked plot is forming.
Narnia n'est pas mine. C'est le propertie de C. S. Lewis.
(I'm speaking franglaise parce que maintenant je fais mes french homework)
Anyhow – I would like to subtely nod in the direction of a certain Lucie Eldon who may or may not end up being of some importance (depending on how clichéd I'm feeling).
Prince Hartian of Narnia
The rain is fierce on the glass windows. If I wasn't aware that it was only water, I would have expected to cut through and tear the castle apart. I can't honestly say I'd be disappointed if it did just that, preferably sooner rather than later. Perhaps rain that harsh could kill a baby if left out in it.
"You look somewhat pre-occupied, my dear Hartian," I was no one's 'dear Hartian'. The lies of the half-dwarf, my professor, had failed to fool me for years. I had private lessons with Doctor Cornelius alongside my normal schooling with the other children of the Narnian court. The king wished to ensure that my education would be extensive in order for me to, if necessary, rule wisely. Of course, such training would not be needed now.
"I think it rather a shame that my cousin is most often averse to letting me ride in such weather." I reply, shrugging off the subtle invitation from my tutor to discuss deeper my personal thoughts.
"You would forsake your personal safety for the want of a horse ride?" I watched his grey, bushy eyebrows make their way up his forehead.
"For the want of something better to do than this tedious grammar work," I retort – and it is partly the truth.
"Perhaps your feelings would be more amiable towards the prospect of arithmetic," he suggests, jovially. I give him a sardonic glance.
"I would rather spend my time on other pursuits." I reply stiffly. Maybe the rain would tear me apart, should I venture out. No one actually wants me here.
"Nevertheless, my prince, for until you find yourself capable of describing to me the function of subordinating conjunctions I'm afraid you shall find yourself sat in this same class room all day."
"Subordinating conjunctions?" The phrase is, regretfully, unfamiliar, and I wonder if I really have just sat through a lesson on them, or if Doctor Cornelius is teasing me again, as he always does. The subtle, gentle jibes are always there, perhaps to remind me of whose son I really am. To remind me that everything I have could be taken away so easily by the king and no one would really blame him. They would probably wonder what had taken him so long.
Doctor Cornelius, tutor to Prince Hartian
It cannot be easy for him. It wouldn't be easy for anyone to lead a life that currently skips between political decisions that could cost hundreds of lives and school work that, I am ashamed to admit, is probably of little consequence to him. It cannot help that he finds himself pressured from all sides not to be like his father – and doing this probably builds up deep feelings of resentment and that residual hatred will always be with him. I wonder, sometimes, whether those who shun him because of his father are creating the very man they fear.
He ought to spend more time with those his own age. It does not help that he takes many of his lessons privately, so that he may receive a special education should he ever become king. Caspian has had to prepare for all possibilities; it had, at first, seemed highly unlikely that they should have a child at all, let alone a son. But, Aslan willing, miracles can happen. Yet Aslan helps those who help themselves. I decide at that moment that I must speak to Caspian about his cousin. I must take it upon myself to act, for the Lion cannot be expected to solve everything by himself.
King Caspian X, King of Narnia
The respectful knock on my door disturbs me from my thoughts, and I invite them to enter.
"Doctor Cornelius, tutor to the royal court and advisor to the king," announces a page who, is merely doing his job despite how excessively irritating I find it. Perhaps I can find another job for him, where that whiny voice might actually do some good. I shouldn't be so harsh, I think to myself, as my old professor enters.
"Your majesty," The half-dwarf bows low.
"Doctor Cornelius," there is genuine warmth in my voice as I greet the man who saved my life all those years ago.
"I have heard of the events on the Lone Islands..." he began, gravely, "I wondered if there would be anything that I could do?"
"No, doctor, this is not your problem to concern yourself with. I fear that it is very much mine, from the neglect I may have shown the people over the past years."
"Caspian, there is not a creature under your reign that you have ever shown neglect to."
"Hmm," I make an indecisive noise, I believe that Doctor Cornelius puts far too much faith in me than I deserve. I try my best, I am always trying my best, but he paints a picture to me of a Narnia far greater than the one I see with my own eyes. I ought to be grateful.
"I also came to speak of Hartian."
"Hartian?" my cousin's name emerges as a groan, "What of him?"
"He is now fourteen, and ought not be trapped in a classroom."
"What would you suggest then, doctor?"
"I would recommend that he travels Narnia with one of your delegations, dealing with the everyday issues. It will help him. But perhaps it would be better to send him incognito."
"You always have far more wisdom than I shall ever have, Doctor, thank you. Do you believe it would benefit him to be sent on a trip to the Lone Isles? He has travelled there before, as part of our royal progress, many years ago, but I doubt he can remember it." Doctor Cornelius's solution seems perfect. Whilst I know I shouldn't be so doubtful I realise that this will deter him from any ambition to be king. I must protect my Rilian, and Hartian may pose some kind of a threat, however small it may be. He might be feeling resentful.
"I'm sure he will gladly go," Doctor Cornelius replies, and I sense that he is smiling to himself. I know him well enough to realise that this must have been his attention all along, although whether he was powered by honest concerns for Hartian's health or a need to get his gloomy demeanour out of his classroom, I shall never know. I would like to imagine that it is the former. I have never known my old tutor to take action from selfish motives.
Lucie, daughter of Lord Eldon
"What should I do with my life, father?" I ask, "what is there to do, now the witches have been slain and the tyrants overthrown and the giants our friends? For you gave me my name from one of the great Queens of the past, and she had battles to be fought and peace to be made – how am I supposed to live up to this name that I have been given?"
I stare at my father's cloak on its hanger. The owner is not occupying his apparel and I am both relieved and disappointed. I cannot, and have never been able to, talk to my father, which is why his clothes are often the substitute for the conversation I never have with him. Perhaps I would have been able to speak to my mother. Maybe she would have been my guide in the world that was so different from the one my father had painted me. There will always be maybes as far as my mother is concerned.
"Father, why didn't you try harder? Didn't you think of me having to grow on my own? Having to venture the great journey of life without a mother to love me and help me?" I direct a poisonous gaze at the cloak – picturing my father once again. Wishing he knew. Fervently hoping he will never.
I know I am here to do something with my life. I know I must have some greater purpose than to sit around the castle taking lessons. I am fifteen years old. There must be something more.
"Lucie?" It is not my father, for which I am eternally grateful. Aslan only knows what he would think if he caught me in his room staring at his cloak. Perhaps he would send me off to one of the special healing houses far away. Instead, I recognise the speaker as my friend, Amalandia, also one of the court children. She, too, is the daughter of minor lord supportive of Caspians rule.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Why are you doing here, Lucie? You do realise that the Queen is giving birth this very second! We're all waiting in the schoolroom for news and we were missing you!"
"I should hardly think so!" I retort, a little jokingly.
"Indeed we were – especially Lord Drinian's son!" she jibes playfully and I give a small exclamation of indignation.
"You say that only in jest, surely," I reply, "and perhaps you forget a certain fawn..."
"He was a long time ago..." she sighs.
"Near three moons, I should think!" I am indignant, "the... incident with Lord Drinian's son happened half a year back."
"I noticed you dance with Prince Hartian at the ceremony, last week," she comments, slyly, and I shake my head.
"I've hardly spoken to him all my life, Ama," I defend myself, "and I certainly don't feel that way about him,"
"My father probably wouldn't approve of it," she comments, blithely, "I don't think Miraz's son goes down too well with most of the Lords who remember his father. I suppose it's alright though, for those of us who don't. But if my father wouldn't like it I'm sure your father certainly wouldn't."
"Ama, you talk nonsense," I say derisively, "maybe you should actually listen to what I'm saying instead of blurting things out. Sometimes I wonder if even you know what you are saying."
"Perhaps you ought to try meaningless ramblings some time."
"If I'm ever suffering from chronic boredom, I'm sure I shall. But I shan't in front of sane people."
We collapse into fits of giggles but fall silent as we hear footsteps around the corner. We straighten our backs and appear as young ladies of Caspian X's court ought to. It is sheer coincidence that the person to walk past us is Prince Hartian himself. I am stunned by the chance of it, but Amalandia remembers her manners just in time to give him a curtsey, and whilst doing so her elbow happens to come into contact with my ribs. I still haven't worked out how.
By the time he is out of our sight we've lapsed into incurable silent laughter.
"Do you think he heard us?" She gives a not entirely subtle whisper.
"Aslan willing, no," I reply, also with a hushed voice, as though we are conspirators, and, with some degree of difficulty, we walk on.
Prince Hartian of Narnia
I'm not sure why my cousin wishes to speak to me. Often he prefers to avoid me as much as possible. I would have thought that he has enough to deal with at the moment without me. Who am I to pre-empt the thoughts and wishes of the King? Only his cousin. Only the son of a murderer.
Have I mentioned that reviews cause a big wide grin to appear on my beautiful face?
(N.B. Beauty is very much in the eye of the beholder, and since no one knows who I am you'll have to take my word for it :)...)
