Corin

He dreamed that he was on a ship. The prow sliced merrily through the waves, and he could taste the salt of the ocean on his lips as the spray crashed up around him. All of a sudden, he knew where he was—perched on the bowsprit of the Splendour Hyaline, with not a care in the world.

"Whohoo!" he shouted as he looked around him. Then he saw her. Queen Susan was walking along the deck towards him, green dress trailing behind her, her hair undone and flying in the wind. Three others were walking behind her, smiles on their faces. She was calling something, a gentle word of reproach, no doubt.

Corin felt himself laugh, though he heard no sound. He stood up and strode back along the bowspirit, arms extended to balance himself. "Queen Susan," he said as he stood in front of the queen. Then he recognized the other three. "You're back!" he exclaimed as he went to stand in front of Peter, and Edmund, and Lucy. He felt their faces. "You're real." Don't let this be a dream. Then he turned back to Susan. "Mother?" he exclaimed. Susan's face was becoming shorter and wider, and wrinkles were appearing, and her hair was turning grey and fastening itself into a braid. No, no, Corin thought, it can't be. My mother has been gone all these years. Has this magic brought her back too? But then the hair was disappearing, and it was the grave face of his father that stared at him. "Come back!" he cried, though he wasn't sure whether it was for his old or his new mother. Then he turned around again, and it was not the Pevensies who looked at him. It was his father. He looked from eye to eye, seeing the same disapproving look.

"I am ashamed of thee," all four Lunes said slowly. The words seemed to reverberate and vibrate in the wind. "Shame of my house…shame…"

He wanted to run. But then he realized he could not move his feet. He was surrounded by the four Lunes, and they were changing. Flames were creeping up them, flesh and clothing disappearing as they rose, till nothing was left but fire. Then Corin realized that the whole ship was on fire. Not again, not the Splendour Hyaline. The sails were changing color before his eyes, from purple to black rags wreathed in red. He was back in the harbor at Cair Paravel, though on the deck of a burning ship. Then a mast was falling, straight towards him.

He could not move. He braced for the impact, only to realize that he was lying on his back. A crushing weight seemed to be on him. He reached up to try to push away the mast, only to feel metal. He was holding a golden crown. He shook it and shook it, but it kept growing heavier. The crown seemed to be changing, too. Threads of gold seemed to be dripping off of it, though they didn't feel hot.

"Golly, brother! I was just trying to wake you!'

Corin's eyes flickered open. He was gripping his brother's face and hair, thumbs dangerously close to poking out his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Bad dreams." "I could hear you." Cor started to leave, then turned around. "Was it bad?"

"No worse than usual." It was the same dream Corin had dreamed since arriving in Cair Paravel and seeing the fleet burn. He felt sore all over. "Why couldn't you wait to wake me?"

Cor pointed to the clock. "You have audiences in half an hour, remember? I'll be outside to make sure you aren't late."

At least you didn't offer to make sure I dressed properly, Corin thought as he threw some water on his face from the basin and then dressed. How does what I wear matter, anyway?

Cor was waiting in the antechamber when Corin emerged. The older twin was reading a massive tome—Common Laws of the Diverse Parts and Peoples of the United Narnia, the title read. He had been pressuring Corin to study it for some time, but Corin found it all terribly dry and confusing. He could not understand why grand larceny had different thresholds for mice and elephants, or why some birds were bound to laws on trespassing and not others. His brother picked it up and carried it with him, he noted, as they left his chambers and walked downstairs to cross an open courtyard to the throne room. Corin wondered why Cor even bothered reading it. His brother always seemed so sure of himself anyway. As people like to remind me.

The sky was overcast this day, with a late summer storm sweeping down down the coast and driving dark clouds ahead of it. It would reach Cair Paravel soon, Corin reflected glumly, thinking of dark and crowded rooms. The courtyard was nearly empty now. A few petitioners were straggling into the throne room, a groom led a couple horses in from the pastures, and a dryad serving girl beat out carpets on a clothing line. She glanced up as the twins passed, then went back to her beating.

This intrigued Corin. Most of the serving girls would watch him moonily whenever he passed. Not that he minded; it sometimes had certain benefits later. But this one was different. It was almost as if she was challenging him. He also vaguely wondered why he had never noticed servants beating out carpets in the courtyard before.

He decided to walk over. Anything to put off that dreadful audience, he told himself. Cor continued walking, looking disapprovingly over his shoulder. Keep going, brother. Maybe they'll mistake you for me.

"I haven't seen you before," Corin drawled when he reached the girl. "What's your name?"

"Marina," the girl replied. "I only started having to do this today." She continued beating the carpets, as if taking out some anger on the fabric. Marina was about his age, Corin noticed, with a slight figure and long, straight brown hair that was partly covered by her thrown-back wimple. Her sleeves were rolled up, and her pale arms glistened with sweat.

"That doesn't look like fun," he noted.

"I hate this job," Marina muttered as she set down her staff. "I'd much rather be far away, doing something—anything—else."

"Then that makes two of us." He wanted to say more, but the girl went back to beating the carpets. Corin turned and noticed Peridan had just entered the courtyard, walking briskly towards the throne room. "I'll talk to you later," Corin whispered to the girl before running. He would much rather not have to listen to one of Peridan's lectures about a king being punctual. Corin succeeded in beating the lord to the door, though barely. The room collectively turned when he slid in the door.

"Uh, hi," he started to say, but the two trumpeters by the door immediately began to play the royal entrance, and two pages were there to hand him his crown and sceptre. Well, this is it. No more running for a couple hours. He accepted them silently, shrugged at his brother who stood with arms akimbo watching him, and then walked through the parting crowd to stand in front of his throne. "All hail His Majesty, Corin, the First of His Name, King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands and Lord of Cair Paravel, Duke of Lantern Waste and Count of the Western March, Prince of Stormness Head, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion," the herald intoned. Corin wondered if some of the titles could be dropped. It seemed a terrible waste of time, to stand and listen to the whole formula.

He took his seat, with Cor and Peridan standing behind him, and Oreius, Cole, Shar, Dar and Darrin to the sides. His throne had been placed in front of a tapestry hung to conceal the thrones of the Four. The new throne was a gift from Lune; carved wood inlaid with gold, topped by a single carbuncle. The heads of lions had been carved into the front of the armrests, but Archen eagles, the symbol of the royal family of Archenland, topped the back. The coat of arms etched above his head also was a combination, quartering the lion of Narnia with the Archen cross. But most importantly for Corin, it was extremely uncomfortable. The designs etched into the back dug into him whenever he leaned back, and it seemed more comfortable not to use the armrests. Corin wondered absently if Lune had designed it that way.

Thankfully, there was a smaller crowd than normal this day. Most of them only wanted to present their compliments or to ask for moneys. The former he accepted as quickly as possible. The best thing you could do for me is finish, he thought, annoyed at hearing the same praises and felicitation over and over. The latter he directed to Peridan and Darrin, who had taken over as treasurer. He would judge whether the request was worthwhile, and those two would determine the amount to be given and disburse it. They were being very generous, Corin noted. He supposed that with the gold they had brought from Archenland, they could afford it.

One of the last petitioners was an old she-rabbit, hunched over a wooden cane that she clutched with both front paws. "If it please your majesty," she said, in a cracking voice, "My name's Birch, from the South of Narnia, and I need your help."

"What can we do for you…friend rabbit?" He knew he should have said 'fair rabbit," but could not bring himself to call the hunched rabbit fair. He did feel sorry for her, though.

"It's my nuts," the rabbit exclaimed, looking plaintively up at him. "I've been gathering 'em all year, going as far into the damp forests as my old bones will take me and my joints will stand. I've been saving 'em for winter, you see, when I need to be sittin' huddled by a fire. Gathered twenty pounds, I did, and then that scoundrel Winklebrand the fox come along and takes 'em all. Now I've got nothing for the winter, and my old bones won't stand gatherin' good nuts all over again."

"Shouldn't you take this to the local sheriff?" asked Corin.

"I've done that, your majesty. But the sheriff's a fox too, you see, and he and Winklebrand get on as thick as thieves, which is what they be. Takin' from weak ones like me so they don't have to do a lick but gorge 'emselves on my nuts."

Corin felt bile rising inside him. "Cowards," he exclaimed. "They couldn't even take from somebody younger, but only from an old rabbit. Friend rabbit, you must be recompensed for this injustice. Winklebrand shall return your nuts plus their weight again, and the sheriff shall also gather you the original weight of nuts. By order of the king."

"Oh, thank you. Aslan bless your kind, young heart," Birch exclaimed. She bowed as deeply as her cane would allow and then shuffled out the room.

"Well, that's settled easily enough," Corin said out loud. "Can you imagine those villains, taking advantage of a poor little thing like her?"

"It was a just punishment," said Cole. "It was good to show what happens to those who break the law," came from Shar. But the others said nothing, and out of the corner of his eye, Corin noticed Darrin slipping from the room. He shrugged. Only three more petitioners, and then I can go find Marina.

These were quickly taken care of, and the room cleared of all but Corin and the lords. "I'm famished. Let's go get some lunch," Corin said, stretching as soon as the door clanged shut.

Cor and Peridan did not move. "That was ill done, with the rabbit," Cor said.

Here we go again. "What wasn't right about it? Wasn't it a just punishment? Or is there an obscure law in that book of yours dictating what the penalty is?"

Cor shook his head. "You decided without hearing the other side of the story," he said. "You should have called for Winklebrand and the sheriff and heard what they had to say."

Corin was getting frustrated. "You think she would lie? That innocent old rabbit?"

The door flew open. "Innocent? You were right, Peridan," exclaimed Darrin, his face red. "That bi—thing—rabbit hobbled out the gate, and then as soon as she thought she was out of sight she threw away the cane and off she ran, as merry as can be."

"It was all an act to gain sympathy, then," Cor said. "So you had Darrin follow her, Peridan. What made you suspicious?"

"Foxes don't eat nuts," Peridan noted dryly.

Dar and Darrin laughed at this, and even Shar and Cole. Corin could stand it no longer. "Why didn't you say something then? Were you just waiting for me to make a fool of myself?" Is my whole life going to be like this, one humiliation after another?

Peridan shrugged. "We had no chance to do so; you spoke too quickly."

"And you gave a royal order before the court and people," Oreius added, speaking up for the first time. "Afterwards, we could not…and cannot…contradict it."

"We should send a message to this Winklebrand and the sheriff, asking them to explain and, if they're innocent, compensate them for the nuts they must buy or gather," suggested Cor.

And of course it's Cor who has an idea on how to fix this. "Why don't you do the audiences, Cor?" Corin asked. "Or you, Peridan?"

"We are not the king. You are."

Corin felt his hands clenching. He resolved to challenge Peridan to a boxing match sometime. It's so unfair, he thought. Must a king take both all the responsibilities and all the blame? He sighed and walked towards the doors. The guards threw them open for him, and followed by his nobles, he stepped into the misty courtyard.

There was a commotion there, as men dismounted from horses and servants rushed to help them. Some of the returning men were wounded, Corin realized in shock as he saw the blood-soaked cloths hastily tied around limbs and heads and torsos. A large man at their head saw the royal party and walked towards them, his mud and sweat-splattered cloak wrapped tightly around him.

"Lord Tran," Corin called. He missed the man. Cor and Peridan had told him that he had gone to enforce the law, which seemed remarkably boring. But something exciting had happened. "What was it?"

"Treachery," shouted the man. "We'd stopped at a farm, and I rode out with half the men to hunt bandits the farmer said were in the area, while the rest remained to help him build fences. We rode about all day, finding nothing. And when we came back, the farmer was gone, all the Narnian soldiers we left behind were gone, and Sallowpad and all our Archenlanders were lying about, dead or wounded."

"Could the bandits have circled around, attacked, and made off with the Narnians as hostages?" suggested Cor.

"It was no bandits," spat Tran. "We saved some of our wounded. The Narnian troops turned on our Archen men, slaughtered them at dinner. Treachery, vile treachery!" Cole and Shar and dozens of Archenlanders were shouting now, and Narnians shouting back. Corin thought he saw punches flying in one corner.

Corin turned on Oreius. "Your men would do this?"

The centaur had gone as pale as was possible for him. "Such dishonor—not willingly. Are you certain that your men did not attack mine? Were there no Narnians who witnessed the scene?"

"Only those who rode out with me."

Shar and Cole were shouting at Oreius now, and to Corin's surprise, Peridan joined them. "Is this the extent of your honor, Oreius? What is your game?"

"And what does honor mean to you, Peridan?"

Shar drew his sword. "Do you question Archen honor?"

"I question whether you have any."

Shar looked ready to lunge, and everybody around had their hands on their swords. A group of centaurs had massed behind Oreius as well. I cannot let this happen, Corin thought. I can't lose control here as well.

Corin thought of what Lune would say, if he heard that a fight had broken out in Cair Paravel. "Thou cannot not even hold thy own castle in check," he imagined him saying. "Thy own people. They commit treason, and thou cannot stop it."

"Enough!" he cried. "Shar, sheathe your blade. You and Cole and your men will follow me to hunt down those responsible for this atrocity. But Oreius, you and your men will remain here until this is sorted out." I will not have the cowards stabbing us in the back again. It might not be Oreius, but there must be treachery throughout the Narnian army, if most of twenty-five Narnians were capable of such cowardly treason. He longed to find them, and punish them with his own hands.

Cor and Peridan would recommend that he remain in Cair Paravel, he knew; they would say that it was too dangerous, or that a cooler head was needed to command, or that it would be impossible to find the traitors. But war was coming; Corin wanted to finally be able to prove himself worthy to Lune. And he was afraid.

He wasn't afraid of battle. He would welcome it, in fact. But he saw Lune's disapproving face before him, and that hurt more than any sword.

I will not fail you again, Father.


I was planning to do a Mrs. Beaver chapter before this one but it wasn't working out, so tentatively it's the next chapter.

"That's Old Mole, I reckon, still trying to sell his place. He doesn't understand why nobody wants it."