The Evidence of Things Not Seen: Chapter 7
A/N: I think I have rewritten this chapter five times. But here you are at last. And it is so nice to be home in Narnia again. The plot bunnies are standing free lemonade for anybody who likes, to celebrate :)
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Once again, there was a crowd that chattered and squealed. Once again, Gwen found herself pushing and squeezing her way through it. But this wasn't a crowd the least bit like the last one, the night Miraz' son had been born. It wasn't even very much like the longer ago crowd when Prince Caspian had been born. Neither of those had been such a mix of people: dwarves and badgers and fauns and centaurs and humans, all happily muddled together. The human contingent, Gwen noted, was predominantly young. Most of the Telmarine youth seemed to have been delighted to find the old Tales about Talking Beasts were, in fact, true. Friendships that would have been unbelievable a year ago flowed past in the crowd: a little, blond haired girl chatting to a motherly Talking Hedgehog; a chain-mailed guard cadet in earnest conversation with a centaur. This was a crowd of Narnians, the terms Old and New rendered meaningless in restoration. Close to that lay the other difference to those chattering crowds of the past.
In no Telmarine gathering had the Name of the Lion nor even His very existence been mentioned. Let alone so frequently and joyfully.
Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight. Just as the old histories said. And they were histories, not stories. They were true. Much more true than the Telmarine histories, especially.
Gwen smiled, and gathered the velvet skirts of her best gown yet a little closer. It was probably already a vain effort to get them through this crowd uncrushed, but she wasn't giving up just yet. As the chief of His Majesty King Caspian the Tenth's ladies-in-waiting, she had a certain duty to be lady-like. Which included reaching her place among the seats reserved for members of the court at his majesty's coronation in a relatively un-dishevelled state.
A long-legged marsh-wiggle and a Bulgy bear moved slowly into Gwen's path. She paused to let them pass. It was not yet a month since she had opened the packet of letters that had not been the dispatches, in Prunaprismia's chamber. Everything had changed so much since then.
Wrong will be right... Yes. But even those true Narnian histories didn't say how very true that saying was. Neither did they say how very much joy there was with it. For there had been joy, surprising joy, from the moment of her walk in the gardens to meet Aslan. The simple joy of following morning's golden and glorious sunrise, to the altogether deeper joy that had lit Queen Lucy's face when Gwen had met her on the way to breakfast.
"You've met Aslan!" Queen Lucy had announced. And before Gwen had managed to find the words to agree, without so much as another word of warning, the youngest of the queens from Narnia's Golden Age had flung her arms around Gwen's waist and given her a massive hug.
She must have said something to King Edmund too, for the Just King had shaken her hand without warning either when they met, later in the morning. "It's not always easy meeting Aslan for the first time."
He had said it with rather boyish awkwardness; but then, Gwen had supposed, while she returned the handshake and curtseyed for good measure as a lady-in-waiting should, it couldn't have been terribly easy meeting people who knew you as a hundreds of years old example of treachery and redemption.
Redemption. Even the word, right here and now in this crowd outside the coronation, made Gwen smile. And why should it not? Was not this crowd of restored, united Narnians under that grace of the Lion too?
To save Edmund … and all Narnia … and me too.
Gwen knew that she had smiled despite herself at King Edmund. A most improper thing for a lady-in-waiting to do – but King Edmund had simply broken into a veritable grin of understanding.
"Will you come to Beruna after all, now?" he'd asked earnestly.
She had said no, again. Not because she was afraid to meet Aslan, this time, but because that one golden, glorious meeting the night before had felt as if it would be quite enough for ever more. Besides which, had Aslan not been, in a way, still there? In the faces of His Kings and Queens? In the brightness the whole day seemed full of? In the everyday duties of the court – perhaps most especially that one? The castle storerooms, which Gwen knew had been running rather low, particularly the last morning when Countess Erimon had scraped together the pot-luck breakfast, had proved surprisingly plenteous for feeding the horde of Old Narnians.
So, she had curtseyed and said "No, Your Majesty. But thank you for asking"; and King Edmund had gone off after the other two Kings to see the kennels; and Gwen, waiting a moment to let them clear, had reviewed her answer with satisfaction. What was there to go to Beruna for?
The question had niggled and echoed at her all the rest of that day. What was there to go to Beruna for? And why had it sounded such a familiar question? Almost as if somebody else had said it, and she was but repeating it?
Only in the evening, crossing the empty Great Hall on her way out to where King Caspian and Their Majesties were eating dinner that evening with the main body of the army camped outside Beaversdam Castle, had the answer come to Gwen. The Countess Erimon! In this very Hall! Had stood at the end of the line of ladies-in-waiting, and asked "What is there to stay in Narnia for?"
Gwen realised she was standing stock-still in the crowd, staring at nothing. The marsh-wiggle and the Bulgy Bear had long since moved. Gwen scooped up her skirts yet again, and pressed forwards.
She had stood stock-still, staring at nothing, in the Great Hall of Beaversdam too. Staring: at nothing; at the empty space in the middle of the Hall; at the face of Countess Erimon as she had asked that question. But-! But-! But-! But there was so much to stay in Narnia for! There was Aslan to stay in Narnia for! Gwen had caught her breath and clasped her hands, because Countess Erimon simply must not, could not leave Narnia, unknowing of what there was to stay for! Then Gwen had unclasped her hands and laughed at herself, because presumably that was how Queen Lucy felt: a joyous, churning desire to dance up to everyone you knew and say 'Have you heard?! Do you know?! Have you met Aslan?!'
And at the thought of Queen Lucy's sparkling blue eyes another memory had come back with a jolt. Another pair of puzzled blue eyes staring up at her. Another queen.
Prunaprismia.
And in the eyes of the Lion, as it were, Gwen had seen that last, angry, petty, spiteful outburst at the Telmarine queen. He hadn't said a word about it, either.
But if wrong was made right where Aslan was...
There had been another very long silence in that silent Great Hall and then Gwen had taken a very deep sigh, and gone to try and find somebody who she should ask for leave to go to Beruna from.
In the end, she had gone as a last minute addition to a group of centaurs and King Edmund, who were taking dispatches from Caspian down to Beruna. It had been a strange sort of journey, for King Edmund had ridden beside her and talked about how Narnia had used to be, until Gwen had felt that she was riding on two roads at once: one the plain, everyday road to humdrum Beruna she had always known; the other through the Golden Age. It was definitely the latter as their horses splashed through the Ford of Beruna, instead of crossing the river by the now vanished Old Bridge of Caspian the Third; and then Gwen had definitely been back in the present day as they had reined up in the gateway and King Edmund had asked politely if she wanted company to wherever she was going.
Where was she going? Gwen had shaken her head quickly at the thought of the Just King being present at what was probably going to be a humiliating apology to Prunaprismia, however the other half of her errand, in trying to persuade Countess Erimon to stay, worked out. Then she had realised that she had no idea where to find them. Perhaps King Edmund had guessed this, for he had turned away to speak to the body of Dwarf guardsmen at the gate, and a moment later a Black Dwarf had come pattering up to Gwen and announced himself as Droggin and "Entirely at your Ladyship's service."
Prunaprismia and ladies-in-waiting had apparently been lodging in the upper rooms of the Town Hall. It was appropriate, Gwen had supposed, for the Queen's rank – but surely they and the infant prince might have been a little more comfortable in a house? Typical – but then Gwen had hastily reminded herself that she was here to apologise, not criticise. And she had crossed the street and addressed the guard at the door:
"May I speak to Her Majesty, please?"
She had turned over a thousand ways to ask that question, all the way through Beruna. Something to say she was a Telmarine who still held Prunaprismia to be Queen – and not betray Narnia or Caspian either. To refer to Prunaprismia as 'Her Majesty' had seemed best and most truthful, in the end, but it hadn't seemed to suit the sullen looking guard.
"The Queen and her attendants are seeing no-one."
"But-" Gwen had blinked at the woodenness of his reply. "But I would like to speak to her, please. And the Countess Erimon."
"The Queen and her attendants are seeing no-one."
"But I am one of her attendants."
"The Queen and her attendants are seeing no-one."
She might as well have been arguing with a tree, as the saying went. But shouldn't, Gwen had realised. All the Trees she had met in these last few days were much more reasonable! She had drawn herself up. One of the advantages of being tall and leggy and bone-y was that you could do that and look most of the Royal guards in the eye. This was one of the regular Royal guards. He should certainly have known her by sight, as she did him.
"I am one of her Majesty's ladies-in-waiting. And the Countess Erimon is my cousin. Will you kindly inform one or other of them I am here?"
He had looked at her, almost through her, as if he'd never seen her before. Gwen was fairly certain he had opened his mouth to parrot that same phrase again, when the door had opened a crack behind him. Lady Berenice's face had peeped out. "Whatever's the problem?"
She had spoken to the guard, but Gwen had stepped forwards quickly. "Berenice!"
Silence.
"I've come to see the Queen. On a private matter. And the Countess Erimon. All of you," Gwen had added as Lady Berenice had continued to stare at the guard, not herself. "May I come in? Please?"
Silence.
"I need to see the Queen," Gwen had repeated, in a slightly steelier tone. In the hierarchies of the Telmarine court, she ranked above Berenice by a year in age and by a generation closer to the crown. "I have come to speak to the Queen."
Berenice's gaze had finally shifted to Gwen. There was not even a flicker of recognition in those stony eyes. "The Queen," she had said, "is seeing no Narnians. Neither are her ladies-in-waiting. It would be unsafe for His Majesty the Prince." And she had stepped back into the house and shut the door.
Gwen was still unsure exactly how she had made her way back to the gates. Droggin had tactfully left her when they'd reached the Town Hall, and the rest of Beruna had turned into an aching haze of the tears ladies-in-waiting do not shed in public. The first clear thing had been King Edmund's face, looking round from his conversation with a centaur in the gateway.
He hadn't asked. He hadn't even looked like he was going to ask and then thought better of it. He had simply gestured to the chair and small keg one of the Dwarves was carrying forwards. "Can you manage with a make-shift mounting block, your Ladyship? We're about ready to go."
Narnians... Gwen had fought back a fresh welling of tears, and reached down from her saddle as King Edmund had came round to hand her the reins after mounting. "Your Majesty-"
There hadn't really been words to say what she meant. How should she have said she was glad she didn't have to ride back to Beaversdam by herself? That she was grateful for his tactful chivalry? That she was sorry her people would say such a thing about the Narnia he belonged to? That Kings and Queens are made by the gift of Aslan and without that are nothing but petty vanity?
"Thank you," she had managed eventually.
It had been an inadequate phrase, but King Edmund had met her gaze and shaken his head. "If-" He had hesitated for a moment, but only to find the right words. "Aslan opens the way as far as He would have us go, you know. Beyond that, it is between His Paws."
He opens the way as far as He would have us go. That was not an old saying of Narnia, as far as Gwen knew. But she rather felt it ought to become one of them. For in these barely two weeks since the war, Aslan had opened so many ways, so many impossible ways, with an ease that matched Gwen's final few paces out of the crowd to the doorway where the eldest of Glenstorm the Centaur's sons and the second of the Bulgy Bears stood on official duty as doorkeepers. No unknowing, stony gazes from them. The centaur bowed graciously, the Bulgy Bear whisked his paws out of his mouth and bowed rather rotundly.
The first Opening, of course, had been the Door Between the Worlds. Gwen had not gone to see it, but she had heard about it in great detail from the chief of the Talking Mice. Once he was quite certain you belonged to Aslan and were not thinking about traps or toasted cheese, Reepicheep was a great conversationalist. In every detail she had heard about the Door, and the places to which it led, and the departure of their Majesties and all the Telmarines.
All the Telmarines. Reepicheep had put it that way, and Gwen had accepted it that way. Those who were gone were of Telmar; those who remained belonged to the Lion and hence Narnia. And if there remained a slight stab of sadness at the thought of Countess Erimon and even the infant Prince who would never know the beauty of Narnia nor its Lion, Gwen carefully countered it each time with the thought that Aslan had sent them to that new land. He had provided that new home – He would in some way be there. Maybe, Countess Erimon and the prince...
She could imagine Countess Erimon being the nurse for the prince. Quite simply because she had been the only one being sensible, and infants need someone sensible to look after them. And there was some hope in that, for Countess Erimon had, after all, raised her three sons to be men of honour and integrity enough to go the block rather than accept the treason of Miraz.
Gwen began to work her way along the rows of benches that had been laid out for the Court to sit on, shuffling to get her skirts along the narrow space. Shuffling – like a tree wading through the earth. And that had been the second, and almost as impossible Way that had opened.
This was not Beaversdam.
This was Cair Paravel.
The old tales had spoken of the Royal Castle of the Golden Age, but not even the Old Narnians seemed to have believed in its continued existence. From the Telmarine point of view, it had been somewhere in the Black Woods, and therefore as untrue as the ghosts.
But just as Cair Paravel had waited in the snow through the years of the White Wiitch, to be Aslan's chosen seat of His Kings and Queens, so Cair Paravel had waited in the woods for Aslan again and another true king of Narnia. And at Aslan's command the Trees which had kept the castle safe had moved back, forming up into a grand avenue that Caspian might be crowned as a king of Narnia should be, in the Throne Room of Cair Paravel.
Gwen glanced about at the tall stone walls, the ivy that had covered them now partly gone and supplemented by gay, silken swags and leafy garlands. It didn't matter that the roof was missing or the main floor of the hall below the dais was still grass. In fact, in the circumstances it seemed much more appropriate for the coronation to be under a bright blue sky on a lawn as smooth and level as the Dancing Lawn of the fauns themselves. Half the members of the court wouldn't have wanted to sit anywhere other than on grass, anyway.
This included the fauns, who had spent yesterday laying careful chalk lines to show where sitting areas were. Gwen had heard Caspian laughingly asking what if he wanted to sit on the grass – but his was the great gold embellished throne of Caspian the Conqueror, with the back panel with the Telmarine arms on replaced by the Lion Rampant of Narnia. It had come in pieces from Beaversdam, along with the benches and tables, for nothing else had survived at Cair Paravel except in the treasure chamber. Only the walls – but what else did they need? One throne for one king for one country – and benches for those who didn't want to sit on the grass.
Gwen would have put herself in the 'doesn't mind either way' group, but Caspian's old Nurse was definitely too old to flop on a lawn. She was already there, in the front row, as Gwen finally took her seat in the row behind. This far forwards seemed rather too important a spot for herself, Gwen felt, when there were all the heroes from Caspian's army to be accommodated. But by the king's especial request, this second row was for the six Telmarines who had stayed to greet him at Beaversdam. One by one, they joined her: the middle-aged guardsman looking still somewhat anxious amid so many Talking Beasts; his younger son and the younger kitchen maid simply beaming with excitement; and his older son and the older kitchen maid, shyly trying to look at each other without anyone, including each other, noticing.
Gwen looked away carefully, catching as she did the eye of the Nurse who was also looking away carefully, to the rapidly filling Hall behind. The fauns were pattering about, guiding people into last available places and out of the central aisle. This Great Hall was bigger than that in the castle at Beaversdam, which was just as well. Given the sheer numbers of Narnians who had turned up, there was a good chance many of them would have to stand outside. The coronation feast had been adjusted and expanded until it was to be held in the orchards.
More, and more, and more. And then there was a sort of lull, and a minute of quiet that wasn't silence, and the first thin pipes of the fauns sounded. The coronation of His Majesty King Caspian the Tenth of Narnia, and yet another saying would once again be true in Narnia:
When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone, sit in Cair Paravel on throne, the evil time will be over and gone.
Only – there was one tiny sadness in that. The evil time – the domination of Telmar – would, today, be finally over and gone. And glad though he would have been to see Caspian on the throne, Rhoop belonged to that Telmarine Narnia, not this restored and reunited land. No-one apart from herself would even remember the banished Telmarine lords any longer, if there was anyone within this crowd who even remembered them yet. Caspian's Nurse, perhaps. But her duties had been so in a different part of the Court and castle, she wasn't going to remember Rhoop and the other boys as people, just long-gone faces at the most. Apart from that-? No-one. Even the middle-aged guardsman had only been transferred to the castle guard out of the regular army after Miraz had seized the throne.
Well! She remembered them. Gwen pushed the sadness aside. She had Aslan now. And a new and restored Narnia. And Caspian – who walked, with Trumpkin on one side of him and Trufflehunter on the other, between the rows of standing Narnians to take his throne and his vows as rightful King of Narnia.
He was so young, and so kingly, and so like his father, and so very much with the grace of Aslan about him… Gwen was glad that she had brought her only second-best handkerchief, because it was larger. And then that she had actually brought two of them, because the first was overwhelmed. And then to see that Caspian's Nurse was also hunting in vain for a dry spot between three handkerchiefs. This really was ridiculous! She had never been such a waterspout before in her life! And there was certainly nothing to cry over!
Beyond her absurd, Clothilde-like veil of tears, Caspian's voice went on: vowing to be good to all Talking Beasts of Narnia; to all men of Narnia; to all Trees and Waters and every other creature of Narnia; and to hold none in unjust favour or contempt.
"...by the Name of the Lion, so help me."
Gwen abandoned being perfectly lady-like and wiped her face with her lace sleeve. She looked up again to find there was silence. Was it finished?
"And I vow," said Caspian steadily, "by the Name of the Lion and the Great Emperor Over the Sea, that once there is peace in our land of Narnia, I will take ship Eastward for a year and a day, to seek there those seven loyal lords of Narnia, the friends of my father, whom Miraz sent to the Eastern End of the world, or seek their fate and avenge them if we may."
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