A/N: I live! W00t! Thanks for being so patient for this chapter, guys—things didn't calm down around here after the SAT like I thought they would. And, even though I'm now officially on spring break, I still have a ton to do. Things ain't gonna get any better until school's out for summer! :P
Anyway, here's chapter 7—enjoy!
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A hot bath.
Enna hadn't had a real one in months. As it were, it took a good three quarters of an hour soaking in the tub to rid herself of all the plastered-on dirt and general grime she'd earned by trekking nearly fifty leagues in all types of weather—the baths she'd partaken in on the campaign had hardly been sufficient. (Her hair, also encrusted with mud and little bits of gravel, had taken a whole fifteen minutes to detangle.)
But now, she was lounging on a soft davenport by a thick-paned window, gazing out at the rolling Archenlandian hills as her hair, now several inches longer than it had been at Cair Paravel, dried into riotous curls. A maid—a Daughter of Eve, nevertheless!—was crouched nearby, digging through a musty-smelling old cedar chest.
"Your Highness finds my master quite unused to receiving gentlewomen," the maid said in her lilting Archenlandian accent. (Enna found it stronger, yet just as pleasant, as those of the Narnians.) "I am afraid we have no such finery as Your Majesty is accustomed to."
"It is no matter to me at all," Enna replied dryly. "I will be content with a simple frock."
"Nevertheless, Your Majesty, my master has commanded me to find you a suitable robe. You seem to be much taller and long-limbed than my mistress. She is merely sixteen."
"As I said before," Enna began.
"But you appear to be of similar stature to my former mistress, may she rest in peace." So saying, the maid drew out a wad of green and yellow cloth. "If Your Majesty is ready to dress, luncheon is waiting…"
Enna grimaced, but she had a feeling that arguing with Naeomi, her dryad attendant, was quite a safer matter than arguing with this Archenlander. "Aye. Thank you."
The maid merely curtsied and helped Enna with her wrapper. Though she was standing awkwardly in her bare skin, Enna did not feel as cold as she had in Narnia—a benefit of the more southerly location of this country.
Over her head, the maid pulled a soft yellow frock, simple and brushing Enna's ankles (the sleeves were a bit too short), followed by the dark green overdress, a good deal plainer and looser than the Narnian and Galmanian finery Enna was used to. Around Enna's waist the maid cinched a finely tooled leather belt and tucked the green dress securely over it, leaving her feet bare and unstilted by cloth. Enna touched the garments—they smelled musty and were a bit moth-eaten, but they were much more comfortable and unostentatious than Narnian gowns! She could move her legs freely in the dress, without fear of tripping on a hem or dragging some fine fabric through dirt.
"One last thing, Your Majesty," said the maid as Enna moved to put on the castle slippers.
Enna looked up to see the maid holding a gossamer kerchief. "What is that for?"
"Why," said the maid, "it is for Your Majesty's hair, of course."
So much for comfort, Enna thought darkly, letting the maid pin the silly thing to her head. It was a creamy white color, and it trailed down Enna's hair to the middle of her back, the light auburn color of her curls a mere tint beneath it. "Tell me, what is the purpose of this?" she asked the maid, tugging a lock of her hair out from under it.
"It is the vogue," replied the maid.
Enna sighed. "Very well."
The maid curtsied and bowed herself towards the door. "If Your Majesty pleases, my master has had luncheon set out for you and your royal companions."
"Thank you," Enna replied.
The maid nodded and bolted from the room, leaving Enna feeling rather foolish still seated in her chair. How was she to know where, exactly, the maid's master was serving luncheon? Enna had never liked snooping—but there was no other alternative.
She sighed, getting to her feet and leaving the small chamber. The wooden floorboards under her feet, illuminated with sunlight streaming in through the many windows, creaked as she went down the hall, and somewhere, someone was playing gently on a lyre. The music, muffled somewhat by the stone and plaster walls, was light and airy, and very foreign-sounding to Enna's ears. They had lyres in Narnia and Galma, but never before had she heard it played in this manner…
Aramir was leaning against the sill of one window, the panes thrown wide open to let the warm May breeze ruffle his hair. He had, too, been bathed and dressed in the Archenlandian style, but his head was bowed and his sleeve rolled up as he gazed pensively at the puckered white scar marring his forearm. Enna winced—she remembered when he'd gotten that scar at the hand of a Galmanian.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
He looked up, startled. "Begging your pardon—come again?"
"Does your arm hurt?" Enna repeated more clearly.
"No." Aramir dropped the sleeve and straightened. "You look much better now that you're clean, Enna."
She tossed her head defiantly, putting her hands at her hips. "Aye—odd how that works, isn't it? You, my kind sir, look much better now that you're dry."
Clearly entertained by her vexation, Aramir grinned at her. "Are you ready for luncheon, then? King Edmund told me to 'escort Her Majesty to the meal'."
"I have been ready since we left Cair!" Enna responded enthusiastically. "Escort me with all haste!"
"There's no need to tell me twice," Aramir replied dryly. "Come—it has been far too long since we have had a decent meal."
Enna followed willingly. He led her down the winding staircase, his high boots making no noise on the steps, and down into the spacious reception hall that opened into a cozy dining room. Edmund and Lucy and the white-bearded old man were already sitting at a polished table laden with food—it took all of Enna's self-restraint to keep from running to it and burying her face in the first bowl of soup she could reach.
"Ah, the weary travelers," said the old man, standing at their approach. "Please, Your Majesty, be seated."
Enna went to sit at Lucy's right, but the younger girl gave her such a steely look that Enna gave her spot to Aramir (whom Lucy had wanted to sit by in the first place) and walked around the table to sit at Edmund's left. "Thank you, kind sir."
"It is nothing," he replied lightly. "All I ask in return is to humor me with tales of your journeys. But even that can wait—you must be absolutely famished! What bad taste it is of me to keep you from your meal. Please, eat."
"You are very kind to us, Lord Dorovan," said Lucy, neatly sipping a spoonful of stew while Enna and Aramir tried to eat as quickly as possible without seeming rude. "My royal siblings and I look forward to the day that you will return to Cair Paravel."
"Ah, my good king and queens," said Lord Dorovan, his pale eyes twinkling beneath his thick white eyebrows. "Such is the longing throbbing in my own heart! When my daughter is of age, however, I will consider taking up my position in your blessed court once again."
"Your daughter?" said Edmund. "Forgive me, but I was not aware you had one."
"Aye, I do. Her name is Arrania Ileana, and she is the very likeness of my late wife. She is my pride and joy—and soon I must find her a husband." Lord Dorovan folded his wrinkled old hands together in front of him, smiling rather sadly.
"You must bring her to Cair with you!" enthused Lucy. "I daresay if I were her age, I would be delighted to travel with my papa."
"Indeed, Your Majesty, she is your age, or a little younger," said Lord Dorovan. "She is just sixteen summers."
"Then you must bring her along!" Lucy cried. "I desire to meet her!"
Enna chanced a glance at Edmund as she drank from her goblet—he did not look very interested in the conversation.
"I am afraid she is rather ill, Your Highness," Lord Dorovan replied. "The rainy season is just coming upon us, and a serving wench brought her a slight indisposition. She is hardly fit to be out of bed."
"That is a shame," Lucy sighed. "And I doubt we will trespass on your hospitality long enough to see her well."
"Speaking of which," Edmund broke in, seeing Enna at last lay her spoon down. "I believe we promised you tales, Lord Dorovan."
Enna had just begun to feel contently stuffed, and the prospect of storytelling made her cheeks flush happily. "Aye."
Lord Dorovan's eyes twinkled as he settled back into his seat. "Very well, then—how have you come to Archenland, in such a bedraggled and tattered state as you were?"
Edmund cleared his throat, glancing at Enna. "Well, my good sir, it's a very long story, so I shall do my best to tell it succinctly.
"Around the time of the harvest moon, a ship entered our harbor at Cair Paravel. It was a Galmanian merchant ship, lightly armed and bearing 150 souls. It docked at our wharf, and the captain disembarked to Cair Paravel, bearing in captivity a stowaway."
"Ah, aye, sea rats," said Lord Dorovan, nodding solemnly. "What nuisances they are."
Enna flushed and looked away.
"The captain demanded recompense from my royal siblings and I for the distress and supplies the stowaway cost him. However, my royal siblings and I found the captain guiltier than his victim, and cast him from our harbor.
"Several months passed. It was late November when a missive for my brother, the high king, arrived by boat—it was from a Galmanian lord, demanding the return of the stowaway that we had given sanctuary to. My brother sent word to him that the stowaway was no longer in Narnia, though they were, and we thought all was well.
"However, it was in late January when suddenly, without warning, a fleet of Galmanian ships arrived and set fire to our harbors."
"Fire!" exclaimed Lord Dorovan at this point.
"It was terrible," replied Lucy, nodding gravely.
"My brother the high king armed all of Cair Paravel and put out the blaze before it ruined our fleet of docked ships. We were assured parley with the Galmanian aggressors—but upon rising the next morn, found all ships emptied and the Great River breached!"
Lord Dorovan gaped at Edmund.
"Aye. So our troops were mobilized, and we pursued the enemy into Narnia, engaging them on several occasions. However, just north of the Archen Mountains, they escaped our grasp and have fractioned their number—my brother is currently pursuing the fragment that remains in Narnia. The good portion of their strength, though, has streamed over the pass and into Archenland. We are sure they are bent on gaining Archenland as an ally against us."
His knobby fingers tapping on the table, Lord Dorovan stared at four young people in front of him. "And is this true?" he asked.
"By our honor, and by the Great Lion's mane," said Lucy. "It is all true."
"And…that explains how you came to Archenland?"
Edmund glanced at Enna again. "Well, not exactly. About a week or two ago, our camp was attacked by a werewolf, a remnant of the White Witch's army, and was thrown into disarray. We regrouped about an hour after the assault, but Her Majesty Enwynna and Sir Aramir were nowhere to be found. And yet…here they are, with us again."
Enna found all eyes on her. She sighed—they wanted a story, and she had just begun to get sleepy. "Aramir and I came upon each other deep in the woods," she said. "The werewolf chased me there, and we had to take cover in a lofty tree for many hours. Once the danger had passed, we began to walk in the direction we thought we had come—but, as we found out several days later, we were only heading higher into the mountains."
She looked at Aramir for assistance, but he only nodded. "At last, we came to a pass, and after a few hours of walking through it, we came out of the mountains into Archenland."
"That quickly?" Edmund asked.
"It felt quick."
"We were apart for two weeks."
"Well, what were you doing?"
"We were making our way with the rest of the camp through the valley pass! They are here, as well, resting in the stables, all forty of them."
"I was worried sick," Lucy sighed, gazing up at Aramir.
"I cannot say I was not similarly concerned," Edmund said gruffly.
Enna remembered his bone-crushing hug and nodded. "But here we are, together again."
"Aye." Edmund leaned forward. "And, as Lord Dorovan so aptly put it, the rainy season is coming on—that means we must set off again as soon as we may, before the rains make travel impossible. We must make it to Anvard before Galma."
The sweet old man sat blinking confusedly at them all. "I scarcely know what to make of your stories, oh royal ones, but I do understand Archenland—and the rainy season is mere days away. If there are, indeed, such pressing matters as you say, then I advise you, with all earnestness, to leave at once upon the dawn tomorrow. And if your tales about the Galmanians' barbarity are true, then I urge you, for the good of the North, to fly with all haste to Anvard!"
"Then our decision was a good one?" Edmund asked. "To split our rulers for war and for diplomacy?"
"As a statesman, I can assure you it was a happy judgment, indeed," Lord Dorovan said seriously, clasping Edmund's hand. "And I am willing to assist this endeavor as much as I am able to."
Edmund sighed grimly, shaking his dark head. "We might have need of it—more need than we now might expect."
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A/N2: Okay, here are the winners of last chapter's trivia contest!
bookwurm23
elemental13
xforgottenxmemoriesx
Sunflower729
floppyearsthebunny
Congratulations, guys!
The answer was: Lord Dorovan is the father of Arrania, the protagonist of "A Time for Us"!
Speaking of which—yes, I am intertwining these two stories. However, in order to do that, I have had to screw with ATfU's timeline. Arrania is now two, almost three years younger than Edmund, rather than just one. And Lucy is now older than she, not the other way around. So there will be discrepancies in the ages, but that's it. As for which story has the REAL times and dates in it…just go with the timeline you like better. I don't care which one.
Okay, A/N is now long enough! Bye!