Disclaimer: The usual stuff, you know the drill. As I have nothing, suing me would waste your time more than mine.
A/N: So I hear I'm evil? Heeheehee. See how much your reviews motivate me? Keep it up, and so will I!
Chapter Three
Without You
Only Glenstorm's swift movement kept Susan from falling when all the breath left her body. His arm slipped around her shoulders, his hand gripping her upper arm tightly. "Strength," he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.
She leaned against his side, watching mutely as Caspian assisted his lady in mounting a sedate strawberry roan- the same roan, in fact, that Susan had ridden down from the castle. He swung up onto Destrier, more ungainly than she remembered. Then again, he'd been sailing for a full year, he probably hadn't had any chances to practice his seat. Trumpkin mounted his sturdy pony, shooting Susan a brief, concerned look.
She shook her head, listlessly waving him on. With another quick look, he obeyed, followed by the Telmarine lords. Glenstorm didn't let her go until they were alone in the awning. She swayed slightly, but kept her feet.
"I hadn't even thought about it," she whispered in horror. She laughed weakly, hearing the hysterical edge to her voice and hating it. "All those other things I worried about, all the details I was afraid of, and I never even imagined!"
At her feet, Mog whined miserably, nudging her knee with his nose. Swiftly stretched luxuriously, claws splintering the wooden surface. "I can eat him if you like, cub," the Leopard offered casually. "If you give me a day or two, I can even make it look like an accident."
"Swiftly, it's not that I don't appreciate the thought, but…not really helping!"
"Suit yourself."
"Although I am curious: how do you accidentally eat someone?"
"Carefully."
Susan gave a hiccupping laugh, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from her eyes. "Right," she gasped. Was it possible for your heart to actually, physically break?
"What are you going to do?" asked Mog, sounding young and small.
"Trumpkin asked me to be part of the ceremony," she whispered dully. "I have to get back with the procession."
Glenstorm frowned, folding his arms across his bare chest. "Given the circumstances-"
"I am not running away," Susan snapped, more sharply than she'd intended. She took a deep breath. "I have a part in the ceremony. I have a duty to perform. If I cannot do that, I do not deserve my title."
"And after?"
She shook her head, feeling more lost than she could ever recall. "I don't know," she confessed, fighting not to lose control of her breathing. "I guess I'll figure it out when I get there."
The centaur's face returned to its customary lack of expression as he looked down at her. "Not even the Telmarines would contest that you have a prior claim."
"He chose her." The words were physically painful to utter but they had to be said to make it real.
"He didn't know you were a choice."
"And I'm not. He chose her, they are engaged to be married."
"There are many-"
"And I would hope to high heaven I'm not one of them!" she cried, clutching at the key round her neck. She took a deep breath, then another, trying to make it habit again. "I will return to the castle, I will do my duty in the ceremony, and I will find my way from there. I knew there would be a price."
"Aslan would not-"
"I knew there would be a price," she repeated firmly, her gaze steady despite the glittering sheen. "I'm not going to run from it just because I find I don't like it."
"Then allow me the honor of carrying you back."
She stared up at him, her eyes wide. "That would be demeaning for you, to carry a human like you were a mute horse."
"If I thought it demeaning, I would not have offered. And I have carried you before," he reminded her.
"In the heat of battle, yes, but in a parade?"
"Queen Susan the Gentle." He waited until she looked at him fully before continuing, and she wondered if that was where Peter had acquired the mannerism. "Gentleness requires far more strength than most possess, and right now, yours is being sorely tried. I freely offer mine for you to lean against. Allow me the honor of being there for you."
"I thank you," she managed through her choked throat.
Clasping her hand, he pulled her up easily, giving her a moment to situate herself. She spread her skirts neatly about her legs, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other behind her, against his broad equine back. "Are you ready?"
"Do I have a choice?" She sighed at his silence. "A real choice, Glenstorm. I'm ready."
At the head of the procession, Caspian waved to his jubilant subjects, an easy grin on his face. General Presand held the reins to Lahatiel's mount, as she didn't know what to do with them. The young king turned thoughtfully to his Regent. "You seem awfully quiet, Trumpkin. Is aught amiss?"
"I'm not sure yet," came the mystifying reply.
Caspian listened to the waves of sound from either side of them, noticing something odd. "Why are they cheering behind us?"
"They're excited."
The Telmarine might even have left it at that had he not heard a voice in the crowd quite clearly yell "Queen Susan! Queen Susan!"
The blood drained from Caspian's face as he turned to stare at his uncomfortable Regent. His mouth opened but words failed to come, his hands tightening on the reins. Destrier danced in place as the bit pulled against his mouth, rearing back to try and relieve the pressure. "Destrier, easy, boy. Destrier!"
The stallion neighed stridently and kept prancing, tossing his head frantically. They were dancing in tight circles. Facing the rest of the procession, Destrier reared again, and that was when Caspian saw her. Saw her perfectly lovely and there. Saw her atop Glenstorm's back and there. Saw her there, real and present and there.
He lost his grip on the reins and fell back with a startled cry, clattering painfully onto the cobblestone. He shot to his feet, automatically grabbing for the horse's reins, but he didn't take his eyes off of her.
The procession halted but Glenstorm did not, the others pushing aside to make way for him. Mog and Swiftly prowled at his side, heads low and shoulders hunched as if they were hunting. Half a dozen Mice scampered about them, keeping pace with the larger Animals without an effort. The centaur drew up next to the king and stopped.
Susan essayed a weak smile, half-wishing she were on a horse so she could have an excuse to fidget with something. "Welcome home," she said quietly.
"What are you doing here?"
She glanced away from him, pretending not to hear Swiftly's warning growl. "You might want to consider getting back on your horse. People are starting to wonder if something's wrong."
Properly ashamed of himself, Destrier stood still while Caspian numbly remounted. The stallion whickered and lipped innocently at Susan's skirt.
"Your Majesties, shall we continue?" Trumpkin asked neutrally. But as Glenstorm and Destrier set back into a walk, he dropped a few feet behind them in a none-so-subtle message.
As she had a thousand times before to cover up lesser ills, Susan plastered a huge smile on her face and waved to everyone crushed together on the sides of the road. She'd once ridden a parade with a flaring migraine, so why did this feel infinitely worse? She could almost feel Caspian stewing at her side, but it seemed he, too, had learning something about the public façade. When they reached the courtyard of Cair Paravel and grooms came to take Destrier and the other mounts, Glenstorm simply continued into the castle with Susan still on his back.
"Trumpkin," Caspian gritted out.
The dwarf shook his head. "Not now. You have a throne waiting."
Savagely repressing the need to swear, the king turned to General Presand. "General, would you please act as escort to the Lady Lahatiel during the ceremony?"
"It will be my honor, your Majesty," he said gravely, his black eyes darting between king and Regent.
Caspian nodded sharply and followed Trumpkin into the castle. They stopped just outside the doors to the Great Hall, the dwarf keeping the young man from entering with a good grip on his sleeve. "What is it?"
"I asked her to take part in this ceremony," Trumpkin told him sternly. "So behave."
The doors opened before he retort, or defend himself, so Caspian quickly pulled himself into what he hoped was a regal expression. The highest ranking lords and ladies, foreign dignitaries, and clutches of Narnians lined the huge room, all dressed in their finest. At the far end of the hall, just before the great glass windows, stood the four white marble thrones, just as in the days of old. One dais lower and centered was his father's compass point throne, and it was before this that Susan stood.
It was the same dress, he realized dazedly. Did this mean he was dreaming? Her hands seemed to float easily at her sides but he could see the lines of tension in her arms and shoulders. He walked towards her as if in a trance, dimly aware of Trumpkin behind him.
When he stepped up onto the dais, she said not a word, simply sliding aside with a deep curtsey. Caspian took a deep breath and sat down in his throne for the first time in a year.
It wasn't exactly the homecoming he'd imagined, nor the reunion he'd dreamed of.
--
Ordinarily, there would have been a feast to celebrate the return, but the Steward wisely chose to postpone it a few days. Not only would this give the kitchens more time, it would also give the travelers a chance to rest and recover. When Caspian heard this, he ordered a small dinner in his study for his inner circle, having places added for the two ladies.
He still didn't know why she was here. There had been a million and one things to attend to after the re-investiture, and somehow she'd managed to slip away in the maelstrom. Gritting his teeth, he sent a page to her, requesting her presence in his study. While waiting for her, the others arrived, standing about the room while the meal was set.
Lahatiel, still in her dove grey robes from the island, stood near the window, looking past the city to the ocean. Her white-blonde hair fell in a straight, shining mass nearly to her feet; she had to flick a few locks off her shoulder whenever she shifted her weight. General Presand, Lord Giorgio, and Captain Drinian stood together in a knot near the door, conversing in low tones. Trumpkin, Trufflehunter, and Doctor Cornelius were similarly clumped nearer the desk.
The door opened to frame Susan, calm and composed, with Peepiceek perched on Swiftly's back. Ripeeku, a pure white Mouse, sat atop Mog. If it made an odd picture, no one dared laugh. She inclined her head in response to the men's' bows, her eyes flicking to the window. When the star's daughter returned the look, Susan dipped into a small curtsey, the precise depth for a non-sovereign queen to give to a visiting lady of lesser rank.
Lahatiel simply nodded.
Susan raised her eyebrows at the slight, but considered what Lucy and Edmund had told her. As the daughter of a retired star, sequestered on an island beyond the edge of human contact, the elegant blonde woman probably had no experience with such expectations. Well, she'd learn, she thought with grim humor.
She turned to the badge, slipping into her first real smile of the day. "Trufflehunter," she greeted fondly. "I was sorry not to have seen you when you arrived this afternoon."
The Animal hummed with pleasure, rubbing his cheek against her hand in the curious manner of badgers. "Your Majesty, a very great pleasure to have you back with us."
Caspian pushed back his chair and moved around the desk. "Now that we are all arrived, let us eat."
Lahatiel's cool grey eyes glanced between Caspian and Susan, studying each in turn. Her flawless face revealed nothing of her thoughts, but when she moved, it was not to the table. It was to the door. "I find the travel has quite wearied me," she explained quietly, "and robbed me of my appetite. I will retire." And she left, without asking permission, waiting for acknowledgement, or allowing for escort.
Captain Drinian rolled his eyes, apparently used to her abrupt behavior.
Deciding it best to leave the departure without comment, they all drifted to the table. Susan wasn't sure if the woman was actually that tired or if he simply wanted to avoid what had the potential to be an ugly scene. Either way, she was grateful. Her absence would make it easier for her to do what she needed to do.
"Will you tell us of your voyage, your Majesty?" Trumpkin asked before Caspian could direct a question to Susan.
Giving his Regent a hard look, Caspian nonetheless obliged, applying often to the captain for assistance. Susan listened with the same rapt attention as the others; though she had heard pieces of it from her siblings, this was the bigger story, and from different perspectives.
When the king described leaving Reepicheep and the three children at the End of the World, Peepiceek gave the queen an injured look. "My lady, you said naught of this!"
"It was not my story to tell, Sir Knight," she said gently, "I who had it only secondhand. It is the story of those who sailed with him, and who carry his final messages back with them."
The Mouse was satisfied with that and turned his attention back to the king.
Caspian noted the significance of the exchange but dutifully continued, though he glossed over most of the journey back as uneventful. They all noted that he skipped entirely over their second sojourn at Ramandu's Island; none of them brought it up.
There followed the contemplative silence that arrives with the end of every well told tale, broken only by the scrape and clatter of utensils against plates. Finally, the king looked across at Susan, seated at the opposite end of the table. "I believe it is time for another long story, your Majesty."
"Mine, I fear, is none so long as yours," she said lightly, forcing her tone to stay even. "Lucy and Edmund told us of their journey with you soon after their return. I spoke with Aslan, asking Him to let me come home, and He agreed. Thus, here I am."
Trumpkin swallowed a grape too quickly and spent the next few minutes attempting not to choke on it. He glowered at her when he recovered. She simply arched an eyebrow.
"What her Majesty has not said," announced the professor in his soft, deep voice, "is that her return to Narnia is permanent."
"Permanent?" Caspian echoed, staring down the table at her.
She fought not to blush, occupying herself with folding her napkin in her lap until the impulse passed. "It was the price of returning when I was not expected. Narnia is my home; England is now just a place I used to live."
Trumpkin's glower was growing darker by the second.
"But why?"
"Because this is home," she said simply. "Let me hasten to add that I am not challenging your rule in any way. It has been centuries since my duties here were official; I do not seek to change that."
General Presand cleared his throat, fingers absently wiping crumbs from his moustache. Despite his initial misgivings, he'd learned a deep respect for the ancient queen. "What will you do, my lady?"
She'd been wondering the same thing all afternoon, reaching a decision of sorts only moments before the page had summoned her. She continued fussing with her napkin so she wouldn't have to see their faces. "There used to be a hunting lodge in LanternWaste," she answered. "I'm sure it's in ruins now, but I thought to talk with the dwarves to help me repair it. It is an easy distance should I ever be needed, but removed enough that it should minimize confusion."
Trumpkin shook his head sadly, but did not join the flurry of protests. She was doing what she thought best for her people, not matter the personal pain it engendered; he could not speak against that. Four years ago he might have, but that would have been before he'd seen the two queens ride off into certain death on nothing but faith. That would have been before he'd spent a year as Regent. Now, he could only turn away from the barely concealed sorrow in her eyes.
Susan sat silently through the layered arguments, picking out the individual strands as they repeated themselves. The general didn't want her so far from protection. Lord Giorgio was offering a home in Beruna on behalf of his lady wife, Trufflehunter volunteering to share his den. Doctor Cornelius asked if it was absolutely necessary for her to leave.
Peepiceek stood on the table and drew his sword, the ring of the blade as it left the sheath demanding attention. He twisted it into a sharp salute. "Your Majesty, with your permission? My Mice and I have appointed ourselves as Queen Susan's personal guard. I should like to have that confirmed. Wheresoever she goes, my Mice and I will follow, pledged to her service and protection."
"If-" Caspian swallowed hard and tried again. "If that is your wish, Chief Mouse, then I will release you to it."
"Chief Mouse?" Peepiceek asked, tail and ears drooping with dismay. "Chief Mouse?"
Caspian nodded gravely. "Reepicheep sent back with me his desire that you be confirmed in your position, as he will not be returning from beyond the End of the World."
Ripeeku flipped up onto the table, saluting with a flourish of rapier and tail. "Chief!"
Peepiceek slowly twisted to look up at Susan, who inclined her head briefly. "I know you will continue his tradition of honor, bravery, and skill, just as Reepicheep took up the banner of those before him."
The king watched her with wide eyes, his gaze softening despite his continuing confusion. Who was this creature of dignity and grace? He had only known her in battle and duress, and fallen in love with her on that alone. How much harder- he gave himself a stern mental shake, pulling reluctantly away from the dangerous thoughts.
For the first time that day, Caspian looked directly into the vivid blue eyes that had haunted his dreams for four years. "If it is your wish to leave," he said slowly, forcing the words past the urge to beg her to stay, "we will not try to dissuade you. What we will ask is that you remain here with us until all is in readiness for you at your destination."
The ghost of a smile floated about her lips, and he wished- for neither the first nor last time- that he could more easily decipher her expression. "I thank you." It seemed as though she would say something else, but she turned to Lord Giorgio and inquired after his wife and daughter, who had returned to Beruna.
Caspian blinked rapidly, anger flaring in the pit of his stomach. Did she feel nothing? Had he spent the last four years pining after a dream that no longer existed?
A sharp knock preceded the opening of the door, and a faun's head appeared in the space. "Your Majesty?"
"Yes?"
The creature blushed and shook his head, anxiously shifting from hoof to hoof. "Sorry, your Majesty, the other Majesty. Queen Susan."
"What is it, Caper?" she asked, already rising from her seat.
"Lady Caramiano is asking for you in the infirmary."
A frown flashed across her face and she walked quickly to the door. Hesitating, she glanced back over her shoulder at Caspian. "I'm glad you've come home safe." With that, she closed the door behind her.
Mog whined from under the vacant chair. "She left without us."
"A human birthing room is no place for an Animal, especially not so silly a puppy as you," replied Swiftly cuttingly.
Caspian looked to Trumpkin for an explanation, feeling increasingly over his head. "Why is she being asked for in the infirmary? She is not a healer."
"She has a comforting presence," answered Giorgio, much to the king's surprise. "She assisted my lady all through her labor."
"Then why was she frowning?"
"If Lady Caramiano is in the infirmary, her time has come upon her too early for the babe to survive."
"Oh." Resting his elbows on the table, Caspian buried his head in his hands. "I do not understand this at all."
Trumpkin snorted a humorless laugh. "And you think we can explain it to you?"
--
He was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Weariness settled deep into his bones, eating at his strength until he wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed. A real bed, nearly the first in a year. But every time he so much as sat on the mattress, his thoughts preyed at him until he leapt back to his feet, pacing through his bedchambers.
Swearing savagely under his breath, Caspian yanked on a pair of trousers, fumbling with the buttons. His feet bare and his nightshirt hanging nearly to his knees, the king padded silently past the dozing guard and out into the main palace. His breathing eased with every step he took away from the Royal Wing.
Why was she here? Hadn't he finally accepted that he couldn't have her? He'd put it off, but he's known we would have to marry and produce an heir for the throne, and the longer he put it off, the more nervous his people would become. The star's daughter had seemed the perfect choice, neither Telmarine nor Narnian nor of any other nation, and breathtakingly lovely.
But no more so than…he sighed, shaking his head. Susan was no older than she had been before, and was already more lovely than the usual way. And she would only grow more beautiful. He'd heard stories all his life of the splendor of the Queen of Narnia, but thought them exaggerated like any others; King Edmund, of all people, had assured him they weren't.
Both paragons of beauty, and they couldn't look more different. Lahatiel was all pale elegance, her translucent skin and white-blonde hair gleaming in moonlight like she was a star herself. She was taller even than Caspian and reed slender, her nearly colorless eyes watching everything with cool detachment.
But Susan, with her creamy skin that liked to freckle with sunlight, eyes a truer blue than any sapphire, her dark hair…she was a study of contrasts. He'd thought her hair black when he first met her, or maybe a deep brown, but then he'd seen her in a spill of sun and noticed how the light shone through a core of pure red. He'd been fascinated by her hair. And her freckles.
No, it was no use trying to compare them in appearance. It he was painfully honest with himself, he knew a large part of choosing Lahatiel had been little she resembled Susan in any way. He knew almost nothing about her, ever after their long voyage, and though it pained him to admit it, he preferred it that way. He knew they could live together amiably; he would do his duty and she would do hers, and everything would be fine.
Except Susan was back, never to leave, the love he'd finally convinced himself to stop hoping for. She slept closer to him than his bride-to-be, their doors separated only by a few feet. He didn't know the Queen Susan of Court, but he could still see his Susan in her.
His restless feet brought him into the gardens, then pebbled path digging into the calloused soles. He froze at the low murmur of voices, cursing himself for not having even a dagger with him. Then he recognized them and relaxed. "Trumpkin?" he called softly, rounding the corner. "Glenstorm?"
The two Narnians stopped their conversation to look at him, the dwarf atop a marble bench. Glenstorm spoke first, his voice as deep as the shadows in which they stood. "Is not your Majesty weary?"
"Far beyond," he admitted, sinking down onto the bench. "But sleep eludes me." He shook his hair back from his face. "It has been a long day, are not the two of you tired as well?"
"Rest can wait," the centaur rumbled. "There were more immediate concerns."
"What-" He followed Trumpkin's gaze skyward, almost unsurprised when he recognized Susan's balcony.
She stood against the railing. He couldn't see her closely, but from the repetitive motion of her arm, he suspected she was brushing her hair. After a time, she stopped and leaned forward, her pale face glowing in the moonlight.
"Lady Caramiano?" he asked, tearing his eyes away from the young woman overhead.
"Lost the babe," Trumpkin answered. "Her Majesty stayed with her until she fell asleep."
A sudden howl split the night, mournful and solitary. It hovered expectantly in the air, fading to a distant sorrow.
"That is a good Wolf," Glenstorm noted.
"Why is he howling?"
"Because his friend has no more tears for her own sake."
"I should-"
"You'll do nothing of the sort," Trumpkin disagreed. "She made an impossible choice today, and did no right by herself in it. Allow her the pride and dignity of knowing it's the best thing for everyone else."
"She had no way of knowing how much time had passed."
"You're right."
"Then why did she-"
Trumpkin regarded him solemnly. "Rather than asking us that, your Majesty, perhaps you should ask yourself what made Narnia more home than her family."
"I do not know how to fix this," the young man admitted in a whisper.
"She already did. Functional doesn't mean perfect."
There was a startled yip from the balcony, followed by a low growl and Susan's soft laugh.
Caspian's hand pressed against his chest, feeling his heart beat erratically beneath the palm. He stared up at her through the darkness while she, unaware of his presence, looked out over the ocean in the direction of the Lone Islands and beyond, where he'd made a choice and unknowingly damned them both.