8. Serene intermission

"Call me crazy," Lucy began and her siblings all turned to look at her, "but I've been thinking."

"Fine," Edmund said. "You're crazy."

"Wait for it, silly," the young brunette rolled her eyes and threw a handful of leaves in the general direction of her brother. The leaves flew only halfway through the air before it fell short atop the pale wall upon which the queen currently sat.

It was their second day at Cair Paravel, and thus far the new impressions had been plentiful. Caspian had begun to rebuild the castle atop of the old ruins and though most of it was completed and looked just as the Golden Age, there were still some work to be done. On top of this, the king had built a city on the grounds around the castle that was growing more and more each day as new citizens arrived or merchants came to trade their goods.

Though must was similar to the Pevensies, it was thus also completely new. There were new scents and spices on the air, while the heathers sweetly bloomed just like they had over a thousand years earlier. The union of old and new Narnia was the perfect blend for the Telmarine king.

Now the four siblings had wandered to a small garden, surrounded by low, stone walls like a square courtyard. Within the garden was a small, white stone walk between ornate benches and blooming bushes of bright and vibrant colors much as they had never seen before. Caspian had come to call it the Pevensie Garden, in their honor, and the siblings had thus far found it to be their place of solitude when they needed time from all the questions directed at them.

At the center of the serene garden stood a young tree which still had many years to grow to its full size and potential. Since it was nearing fall in Narnia the tree blossomed with pale, pink flowers with such a sweet fragrance that filled the air without being overly sweet. Seated beneath this tree, upon one of the benches was Susan beside Peter, while their younger siblings reclined against one of the lower walls close by.

Lucy gazed over at Edmund and noted exactly how relaxed he seemed as he stood leaned against a pillar beside her. He was dressed in a dark blue shirt with wide sleeves and tight brown pants with long black boots that reached his knees, an outfit reminiscent of his favorite one back in the day. The young queen herself wore a dark orange dress with golden intricate details around the neckline and sleeve openings. She would have preferred to keep the pants borrowed from Caspian; wearing dresses had never been Lucy's favorite part about Narnia.

A lilac, simple underdress vas visible in the wide sleeves below a more intricately detailed, darker colored dress that Susan wore. As Lucy's eyes traveled to her sister she couldn't help but think the young woman was very beautiful under the sun's rays. There was a pang of jealousy in the younger one's heart. Lucy knew she was the plain one, she had always known. It was a petty emotion, she knew, but one she couldn't quite shake. Especially not since her sister grew more and more beautiful by the years, while her sister did not. She'd never share her secret, however, that was one thing for certain.

The eldest brother wore a pale green shirt with tighter sleeves than Edmund's and a jerkin in the same color on top. He wore dark pants and in his wide belt hung the royal sword that had been a gift from Father Christmas so many years ago.

Peter plucked a flower from one of the low branches above his head and twirled it between his fingers as he turned to his youngest sibling. "Well? Will we hear this crazy thought or not?"

"Right," Lucy dangled her feet over the edge of the wall and then stretched her toes out to touch the earth below in the shrubbery. "Well, it's about our return to Narnia. I have a theory. I think Aslan sent us back to stay here. For good, I mean."

"We've never been allowed to stay forever," Susan spoke in a reprimanding voice and her siblings noted how her shoulders stiffened almost without a trace. "Our home is England, where we've always been returned sooner rather than later."

"But what if this time we're not?" the young girl stubbornly pushed on. "What if Aslan… changed his mind about not letting you and Peter return, because he realized it was your faith to be here also? And now, we'll stay... Think about it, I see no reason why we returned otherwise. I mean, there hasn't been a thousand years of winter or a prince in need of our assistance during the short three years since we were here."

"I don't think so," the elder girl said as she eyed her sister in disbelief.

"She does have a point though," Peter spoke and looked down at the flower between his fingers. "I don't know if you're right, Lucy, but I agree. It's weird not knowing why we're here. It wasn't long since we were here last. Caspian's rebuilt the glory of Narnia. I don't see a reason for our return. Especially not you and I, Susan."

"So you think we were sent here to enjoy the peace?" Edmund joined the conversation with a perplexed look on his good-looking face. "You are both crazy then. That's never how it works, and you know it. There might not be any danger right now, but remember the Mist that almost kidnapped you, Lu? I'm sure there's an adventure waiting just around the corner for us, another battle to fight. There always is in Narnia."

"This is our second return, Edmund," his younger sibling scoffed and didn't seem to like being brought back to reality. One of her hands tugged at the bandage around her small hand as she muttered, "it's not like there's a visible pattern to it."

"I agree with Edmund," the eldest girl sighed. "I think perhaps we were sent here for a final installment, something important enough for Aslan to overlook his last words to me and Peter. It will be over soon-"

The eldest Pevensie covered his sister's hand with his own large one to stop her. "Let's not worry about that part. Let's just… enjoy this serenity that we've been given here for a moment." He held out the pink flower for her and after a second, Susan took the peace offering into her hands and accepted the end of the conversation.

"Has anyone seen Caspian, by the way? Didn't he say he wished to join us for lunch?" Edmund asked and strained his neck to look down the pathway to see if the king was approaching or not.

"He's meeting with his private council," Peter explained. "He'll be here soon enough."

"I heard he and Lord Greagoir aren't seeing eye to eye about that little promise of our friend," the dark-haired boy said amused. "The Lord seemed quite irritated that Caspian wasn't as devoted to the task as he had expected."

"No wonder!" Lucy breathed and a small frown touched her brow. "I wouldn't either if I was forced to marry!"

"Especially not when there are more pressing matters to solve first," the eldest nodded in agreement.

"Either way…" Susan began and slowly plucked one petal from the small flower in her hand. As she continued onto the other petals, she continued, "... we should be there for him in this. He could need a hand in some of these royal matters. It is a heavy burden to carry alone. Perhaps a wife is what he needs."

"Oh!" Lucy suddenly breathed as her eyes wandered to the distance. "Here comes the king in question!"

As Caspian X entered the garden through one of the archways beside the two younger siblings it was with a warm smile to all of them upon his tanned, striking face. As soon as he was in their presence it seemed most of his worries melted away and for a fleeting moment he could leave his duties behind.

"How was your council meeting?" the dark-haired boy asked from the Telmarine's left hand side.

"Well enough, thank you," the taller, elder man replied with a mock grimace. "Without much prosperous outcome, I'm afraid. I came up with an excuse to leave early to retrieve this."

The king stepped forward to the bench and held out his hands; Susan hadn't even noticed he'd carried something in them. She had been too preoccupied with the flower which now only had one petal left to pluck. She raised her eyes from the petal to the handsome man and for a second allowed herself to just look at him. Under the sun's rays his hair had a warm color that matched his vibrant eyes. Dressed in a green shirt, bolder in color than Peter's, with wide sleeves according to the highest fashion, he stood dashing and beautiful before her. Her eyes then wandered to the objects he was presenting to her and her face lit up. He had brought her bow and quiver. The Pevensie girl was reminded of when he had attempted to return her horn during her last return and smiled tenderly at him before accepting her weapons.

"I figured you ought to have these instead of the ones borrowed to you," Caspian explained as he took a step away.

"As long as we're on the subject, you should have this back," Peter said then and rose from the bench. He released the sword from his belt and held the weapon out for his friend, who stopped before him. "I gave this to you last time; it belongs in the hands of the current ruler of Narnia."

"But…" the Telmarine man hesitated as he glanced between Susan and Peter with uncertainty written across his face. "It is yours, I cannot carry it. It was given to you."

"And I've given the sword to you," the Pevensie man pointed out with a confident grin as he once more thrust the sword to his friend. There was no doubt in Peter's mind where the sword truly belonged now. "I gave it to you last time when you'd rightfully earned it. Technically, that makes it yours now. I admit, I'm no Father Christmas, but the giving is still passable."

"If you are certain then…" Caspian said and his thick accent quivered with reluctance as he took the sword from the High king.

"It's been in your capable hands for three years now, friend," the Pevensie man assured and patted the other king on the shoulder. "Hopefully it will help you rule Narnia for many more years to come."


"This is an outrage!" Goraidh barked and slammed his fists onto the wooden table and watched it quiver beneath his touch. The blow was so powerful it knocked his copper cup and it disappeared with a clang under the table as if to flee from the man's rage. As soon as the sound died out, silence once more reigned in the grand, dark hall, as if in anticipation of a great, big storm.

Candles aplenty lit up the walls in between the grand windows that were covered by long, linen curtains that fluttered in the warm breeze from outside. Though the sun was high this day that was not something experienced inside the chamber due to this cover. Lord Goraidh rather preferred it this way; sunlight belonged outside in the open anyway.

Lord Goraidh, one of two figures present in the vast, elaborate hall, was a man past his forties with hair as dark as night and eyes the same color. He had long lived a life at the top, but not without its' trials and errors. It was through these that he had learned to be a hard, tough man, and with the years his temper had turned a fiery red, making him much disliked by many servants. The man was well aware of this fact, but he had never truly cared about their affection for him. He had always been of the firm conviction that respect was best kept through spreading fear, and control could always be obtained easier through fierceness.

As it was, these characteristics was in sum what had brought the man here today. His determination, toughness and want for power had shaped him as leader, a part he now wished to expand. The news he had just obtained, however, seemed to put an end to his planned conquest. Thus, his fiery temper had, too, stepped into the game and it was with a murky glare he beheld the second man in the chamber.

"You promised me this would run smoothly," he growled at his company who sat on the other end of the long table while calmly sipping a chalice of wine. It was as if Goraidh's fury had no affect on the man, which only added fuel to the fire as far as the lord's wrath was concerned. The low sun which shone through the curtains reached far enough to still illuminate the seated man and cast a long shadow across the stone floor beside him.

"Who says it isn't?" came the short reply from the man.

The dark lord stopped fuming for a second and leaned heavily against the table top, the wood creaked a little under his angry weight. Goraidh silently inspected the man; he knew this foreigner was a powerful sorcerer. Goraidh was wise enough to know better than to test this man. The sorcerer wore thin, dark clothes beneath a regal, floating cloak with hard set shoulders. The cloak seemed to float around the chair leg's as if made of liquid or mist and barely even touched the ground below. The man also carried the stupidest scepter the lord had ever laid his eyes on, with a porcelain ball at the tip.

All in all, Goraidh found the man's looks foolish. Still, great men with power, the lord was aware, could have a tendency to dress otherwise to lure their enemy. Goraidh himself, for example, wore a loose, white shirt that sat somewhat askew after his tantrum and his boots remained untied. This was all to trick the enemy into thinking he was unprepared when in truth he was anything but.

"What are you insinuating, Sorcerer?" the lord question as he ran a hand across his short, thick beard.

"We still need the knife to collect the others' blood, do we not?" the Sorcerer asked. Goraidh nodded in a mute reply. "They are safe in Cair Paravel for the moment, a place we won't be able to enter by brute force at this moment in time. Instead, I suggest you leave it up to me to lure them out of their safe haven."

The lord squinted in suspicion as he stretched tall and glared in confusion across the room. "What do you have in mind?"

"I have a few cards up my sleeves," the other man spoke evasively as he once more took a swig from his wine. "I have a couple of plans so leave this to my care. Give me no more than a week and then we shall be ready to proceed with the next step. An attack from two fronts will be better than from one."

"What do you have in mind?" Goraidh repeated himself sternly. He had always hated having to repeat himself and he never allowed such ignorance among his subjects without proper punishment.

"As I said; we lure them out of Cair Paravel…" The Sorcerer smirked and a shadow seemed to flicker across his strong features.

"How?"

"By controlling their minds. Should they prove to be as weak as expected I might even need less than a week before they crumble."

"Will you speak plainly for once?" the lord growled and clenched the backrest of his seat to control himself. Though he wanted nothing more than to wring the man's neck, he knew it was in his best interest to keep the magician alive. "I do not follow your course of action. If you wish my assistance you must be clear on this subject."

"When I need your help, I will be," the Sorcerer pointed out in a low voice. Goraidh knew his company, too, was losing his patience and pondered for a second if it was not wise to step back.

"I need something here," the lord semi-pleaded at length. "I will not fulfill my end of our deal if you don't give me information. I must at the very least have an idea of what your plan is. I am a man who hates to be left grasping in the dark, just as you surely are."

The Sorcerer put his narrow fingertips together in a contemplative motion and sat like that for several long seconds that seemed to stretch towards longer minutes. The lord wondered if his threat to abandon their deal had been had been what brought upon this dismay. At length, the Sorcerer rose from his seat as the cloak gracefully floated around his tall form. "Very well, I shall show you the first part to my plan."

Without further ado, he raised his short scepter and Goraidh heard him mutter something in a foreign tongue as the orb atop of the stick glowed an intense pearly, pale shade. He hissed something into the orb and it suddenly seized to shine as the entire room descended into darkness.

Suddenly the strained stillness was interrupted by a strange cackling sort of sound and Goraidh placed a watchful hand upon the handle of his sword that hung on his wide belt. Out of the shadows of the long hall behind the Sorcerer, stepped three beautiful women Goraidh was certain had not been there before. They wore slim, huntress attires and their piercing red eyes were both hauntingly beautiful and terrifyingly repulsive all at the once. The dusky lord took a step back as the maidens stepped towards him with a strange purposefulness.

"Stop," the one lone word of the Sorcerer stopped the vicious ladies and they turned their mad eyes to behold him instead. Their posture seemed more relaxed now, as if they awaited a command instead of being prepared to strike. "Lord Goraidh, these are the Erinyes."

"E-erinyes?" the man questioned as he collected his thoughts. "Who are they? I've never heard of them."

The tallest of the three women, with a bushy head of brown hair and a band of serpents around her head, interrupted the conversation. Her voice was sharp but slithering, as she spoke, "Master, who are we to afflict?"

"Find Peter Pevensie," the Sorcerer commanded in a calm voice. "Do your duty and drive him out of his fortress. Make sure his siblings follow, take them under your control, too, if you can."

The three women gracefully bowed their heads and then backed into the shadows from whence they'd came. Goraidh saw them disappear into nothingness until only he and his guest were left. The lord released his grip on the handle slowly and released a calming breath as he felt the tension subside in the afternoon.

"Who were they?" he asked and pointed in the direction the strange creatures had just disappeared. "And what can three women do?"

"I assure you, my lord," the Sorcerer's voice was amused as his gaze met the other's, "if those creatures performed their tricks on you, you would have taken your own life before sunset."


To be continued.