Disclaimer:
Don't own squat when it comes to Narnia (ok, except the books
and the merchandise I've purchased). So there.
AN:
I'm baaaack! And with an extrey long chappie, too. Hopefully it
will make up for the wait (thanks for your patience!). Let me know!
X. Measure Every Grief
Lucy fastened her cloak around her shoulders and gave her broad-brimmed hat a firming tug before she opened the cabin door and stepped out onto the deck of the Atropos. She knew Edmund was around somewhere, and she wanted to be with him instead of alone in her quarters, where the temptation to slide further into grief and despair might prove too compelling. At least the brisk sea air was crisp and bracing, and she inhaled deeply, glad to be finally on the move and doing something to find Peter – regardless of whether he was among the quick or the dead.
The three monarchs had discussed things at length after recovering from the initial shock of Stormcloud's news, and they had decided that Edmund should sail north and recover the Indy's survivors, while Susan would handle diplomatic duties at the Cair. Lucy insisted that she go along with her brother. She put it forth that she wanted to be on hand with her cordial in case any of the sailors were terribly wounded or if the High King were to be found, and while that was truth, she mostly wanted to be out and active and away from the castle. She thought if she had to stay there another night and drown in her memories, she would go mad. Susan had given her consent, and so the two youngest sovereigns had set out in Edmund's flagship as soon as they could manage it.
The winds had proven favorable thus far, and the captain of the Atropos, a hearty sailor from Galma who had been in Edmund's service since the beginningof their reign, advised that they should pass the Seven Islands and reach the survivors their second morning out. Lucy looked up into the nearly cloudless blue above, watching the ivory sails billowing with the wind and her brother's green flag with its snarling wolf's head crest snapping and fluttering from the fighting top. She rather enjoyed being at sea and each time thought she didn't sail quite often enough, but now the usual excitement tasted dull and bitter in her mouth.
She sniffed, and suddenly a delighted smile crossed her face. So much for being melodramatic – Edmund would be very insulted indeed if she ever described the aroma of his favorite blend of tobacco as dull and bitter. Though he had become quite the connoisseur of various blends and pipes, he generally smoked mostly when he was deeply troubled or thinking hard. While Susan usually preferred he keep to his study or the outdoors during those occasions, the last several days he'd been going about the Cair in a regular cloud, and she had remained silent.
The youngest queen whirled and ran to the stairs leading up onto the poop deck, and there she saw her brother silhouetted against the clear sky, leaning against the railing, fragrant smoke going up in little wreathing puffs and blowing back over the ship.
"Edmund!" she called, hastening to join him, and the young king turned, taking the long-stemmed pipe from his mouth and giving her a hug.
"Good morning, Lu," he said, his voice a pleasant rumble against her ear. Lucy gave him a quick kiss on the cheek in greeting and then stepped back.
"Good morning," she replied as he placed the bit of the pipe once more between his teeth and propped himself against the polished rail. The shadows had not left his eyes, but for now he had gained mastery over his grief and was functioning at least outwardly as his usual calm and efficient self. He drew on the smoldering tobacco and blew several smoke rings that disintegrated immediately in the sharp wind.
"Sleep well?" he asked laconically.
"Yes, on the whole," Lucy said, neglecting to mention the nightmares that had kept her tossing and turning – terrible dreams of Peter lost, wounded, alone, in great pain, and dying – or the worst and most probable, dead already.
"Me too," Edmund said in a voice that told her he heard exactly what she left unsaid and had shared the experience. Unable to stop herself, the young queen slipped her arm beneath his and pressed herself to his side. He squeezed her shoulder in return, and they remained so for quite some time, looking out over the ship's churning wake.
"Do you think we'll find him, Ed?" she asked finally, and the young king mused for a moment, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
"I don't know, Lu," he replied. "I pray we do. I trust that Aslan will not leave us wondering, regardless."
Just then, a sharp call pierced the air from the sailor stationed in the fighting top, and both monarchs turned sharply, their hearts beating faster with anticipation.
"Men in the water!" the sailor cried, "Just off the port bow!"
The ship began to come alive with activity, and while Edmund went down to the deck, Lucy remained on the poop and stood on tiptoe the better to see over the side. Not far from the Atropos, she could make out the dark shapes of a make-shift raft and ship's boat bobbing in the sea, along with larger bits of wreckage, and she breathed a prayer of thanks that the weather had remained clement. The sailors worked quickly to lower the ship's boat into the water, and Edmund and several others climbed down to it. Glad exclamations from the survivors mingled with the exhortations of the rescuers as they were brought back to the ship.
Lucy checked that her cordial was hanging over her shoulder on its red leather strap and descended the steps to see the first of the Indefatigable's sailors lifted aboard with the sling that had been specially fashioned for this instance. They were extricated from the tough canvas and wrapped immediately in warm blankets, and the young queen went quickly to see if her services were needed. Pale and shivering, the survivors looked up at her with dull eyes, and while some retained the wits to address her respectfully, their manner was entirely broken and defeated.
"It's our fault, your majesty," said one, "It's our shame, and we shall not forget it."
"Nonsense," Lucy replied, accepting a wet cloth from an Atropos sailor and using it to sponge away the salt encrusted on skin and in hair. "Being attacked by pirates is hardly something you could have foreseen or prevented under the circumstances."
"But the High King, your majesty," he said in anguish, and another of the survivors wailed, low and desolate. "The High King is lost…lost… And it was us that let him down…"
Lucy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from possibly saying something she would regret later and went on wringing out the cloth and refreshing it in a bucket of fresh water placed at her elbow. "Hush now," she said, swallowing a hard lump of tears and trying to remind herself that these men had been through a terrible ordeal and were sorrowing as well. "We will grieve if we must, but for now we hold out hope. Aslan may yet restore his highness to us."
Murmurs rose, along with reverent whispers of "Hail Queen Lucy, the Valiant, the Faithful…" Lucy heard this adoration but did not respond, for as she moved among the row of bodies lying there on the deck of the Atropos, a fiery sensation began to burn in her breast. Anger. At the pirates, who did this reprehensible thing to her people, at her brother, for getting himself horribly wounded in the first place, and finally, worst of all, at Aslan himself, for allowing this severe trial. This last resentment frightened her, as she knew the Great Lion did not maliciously send evil things their way, and he did not deserve her ire. Still, though, the feeling remained, and looking over the survivors who had served her brother and nearly died on his account, she felt it grow, cancerous.
Another shout brought the young queen to her senses, and she looked up to see sailors working the sling over to the deck. The body within was limp and unresponsive as they rolled it out, and Lucy made her way to them, sensing that the cordial might be needed in this case.
"This one's bad off," said the sailor who had been assisting her, bending down and patting a blanket around the man's shoulders. "Looks like he's had his eyes gouged out, he does." He shuddered and stood. "Poor chap."
Lucy knelt down and peered at the man's face and her stomach constricted unpleasantly. Although she had seen much worse on the battlefield, he was indeed badly off – ragged strips of what used to be eyelids framed empty sockets, which were engorged with oozing tissue. Exposure to the elements had not done him any good, and livid red lines of blood poisoning streaked his bruised and swollen face, radiating outwards from ruin of his eyes. The pain must have been tremendously immobilizing, and she couldn't help but wonder how the rest of them had kept this one alive.
She reached immediately for her cordial, bringing the strap down off her shoulder and uncorking the bottle in one smooth, swift, practiced motion. The delicious smell of the fireflower juice suddenly pervaded the air, bringing a breath of light and lifting the spirits of those who were near. Lucy inhaled deeply, taking momentary refreshment from the delightful scent, and she leaned forward and carefully dripped a generous bead of the cordial in each eye socket.
The magic worked at once, as it always did, and the signs of infection and the swelling faded slowly away. The sockets remained empty, but the man's breathing evened out and deepened. Lucy sent her attendant sailor off to find a soft cloth to bind over his eyes. As she waited, the young woman looked closer at her patient and saw that she recognized him now that his face had returned somewhat to its regular appearance.
"Tristam!" she breathed, placing a hand on the physician's shoulder. "Oh, Tristam!" The Archenlander stirred beneath her touch, and with a groan, he came around, bringing his hands up feebly to his face.
"No, no," Lucy said, taking them gently, "You mustn't, Tristam."
He went very still at the sound of her voice, and his breath hitched slightly. ""Your majesty," he said quietly, "If I may presume that it is indeed your majesty, the Queen Lucy."
The young woman nodded before she remembered he could not see her. "Yes, I am she."
"I am a physician, your majesty – a fact of which you are quite aware. I will take care, but please allow me." Tristam disengaged his hands from hers and placed his fingers against his skin before moving them little by little upward. He did not actually touch the sunken pits, but merely brushed over the empty spaces. His face worked for a moment, and Lucy felt her ever-present tears begin to overflow and trickle slowly down her cheeks.
"I am so sorry, Tristam," she said, and the thickness in her voice must have alerted him to her sorrow, for he let his hands fall abruptly back to his sides and his lips tightened.
"Your majesty," he said tersely, "Save your pity for someone who deserves it. My abysmal foolishness and conceit have led to this tragedy, and I have only received my just rewards."
"I can hardly believe that," said Lucy, as the sailor returned to her side and held out a swath of black cloth. "I have something to bind your eyes," she told Tristam, "Will you let me help you with it?"
"I am able, your highness." The physician sat up, wavering slightly, and reached out with his right hand. The young queen placed the cloth in his open palm and watched as he placed it across the bridge of his nose and tied the ends at the back of his head. He let his hands fall limply back into his lap and sat hunched forward, bowed.
"I thank you, your grace, for healing me," he said, "I am afraid you will come to regret it."
Lucy took a breath to speak, but Tristam abruptly turned away from her. She felt a spark of irritation at his rudeness, but a hand on her shoulder interrupted her. Edmund stood behind her, his face grave.
"Palomnus has also been rescued," he said, and he jerked his chin at the figure being brought aboard. "He's the last."
With one final look at Tristam, who had withdrawn further, both physically and mentally, Lucy got to her feet and went with her brother to where the faun was just being helped into a blanket. He was absolutely grey with exhaustion and trembled with the effort of holding himself upright, but when he saw his king and queen, he made an attempt at a bow.
"My sovereigns," he said, "You have no idea what a wonderful sight you are to my weary and saddened eyes."
"We are relieved to see you as well, Palomnus," said Edmund, "We are anxious to hear what you would tell us when you feel recovered from your trial."
"Yes, the full details of our most enlightening experience can wait. For the moment, however, it will suffice to say that his majesty the High King may yet be alive." Palomnus punctuated his words with a watery sneeze.
Lucy felt her heart jump wildly in a fit of excitement and hope, but Edmund betrayed nothing of his emotions.
"Indeed?" he asked calmly enough, but his sister heard unmistakable strain undercutting the blandness.
"Verily, your majesty," the faun said, "We hid him as well as we could in one of the Indefatigable's ship's boats, and it was put over the side by those maggots. I saw it drifting away, your highnesses, but I was unable to keep close watch on it, being rather consumed at the time with the small matter of our survival."
The air fairly electrified. Glancing over, the queen saw her brother had gone almost rigid with tension. His brown eyes blazed.
"Then we must act quickly," he said, his words clipped, "Rest now, good Palomnus. Your faithfulness will be rewarded."
He turned on his heel and strode swiftly back along the deck, ignoring the other survivors, and went into his cabin, shutting the door with slightly more force than was necessary. Lucy heaved a short sigh and followed after, feeling bent almost double with the weight of the worry on her shoulders.
She found the king pacing in the small but lavishly appointed cabin, coming up against his bunk and spinning, walking the ten or so paces to the other side of the room and spinning again. He was biting his lip and muttering imprecations, and when Lucy stepped right in front of him, he nearly ran her over.
"Get out of here, Lucy," he growled. "I don't need your help."
"Then what do you need?" she demanded, her hands on her hips and her feet planted. "To go out and wreak havoc? To chop those pirates to bits? To satisfy your blood lust?"
"Yes!" Edmund roared, facing her squarely, his own hands balled into fists. "Lion's mane, sister, they've most likely murdered our brother! The High King of Narnia! And I wasn't there to stop them!"
"You think you could have stopped this? Edmund, you idiot!" the queen yelled back shrilly, "You absolute, blithering, dolt!"
Edmund took a step forward, and the expression on his face was terrible. "Name calling does not become you, Queen Lucy," he said, and now his voice was low, deadly. His sister paled but stood her ground, and they glared at one another, breathing hard.
There came a sudden golden flash, and a delicious smell, wild and joyful and strong, filled the air. The two turned to see Aslan himself, who filled the small cabin and was bathed in radiance like the sun. Light broke scintillating into tiny, brilliant pieces upon his mane and went dancing about the room as small rainbows. Edmund and Lucy immediately sank to their knees and bowed their heads, terribly ashamed to be caught quarrelling so.
"Aslan," Edmund said, looking up into the fathomless, wise eyes of the Lion with the attitude of someone starved for oxygen, although his cheeks were still pink with embarrassment. "I am so very glad to see you again."
Aslan bent his head and touched his rough tongue to the king's forehead. "Peace, Edmund," he said, and while not especially loud, the rich, resonant tones of his voice made Lucy tremble. "All shall be well, but vengeance must be done in my name, not your own. Such desire does not become you."
The young man sighed heavily, and it seemed that the taut anxiety and dangerous darkness he had been carrying around with him drained from his body with the exhale. He slumped forward slightly, dark lashes fluttering closed against his cheeks. "Yes, Aslan," he said quietly. "I know. I'm sorry. I do trust you to take care of us."
The Great Lion looked next to Lucy, who blushed scarlet and turned her head away, the dishonor of both her earlier and present anger rending at her heart. "I'm sorry, Aslan," she said, the tears flowing once more. "I'm sorry. Please…" and she met his calm gaze, her lips quivering. "I was wrong. Forgive me..."
Aslan opened his mouth and simply breathed, and the warm, soothing breath enveloped her. "Child," he said, "Does your station as queen protect you or the ones you love from the storms others suffer?"
"No, Aslan," Lucy whispered.
"Following me does not mean you will be delivered of all grief or heartache, Dear Heart," he said, "But be comforted, for I have passed before you through all things."
"Our brother, sir…" she managed, nearly drowning. "Please…" It felt as though a deep well-spring of agony had opened up inside her, and she could not seem to stop crying.
"Peter is mine." Aslan said with the hint of a growl, "As you are mine. You are always in my care – each one of you." He gently licked her forehead as well, and she felt the overwhelming, paradoxical delight and terror of his presence slowly overpower her distress. "Be at peace."
The young queen wiped her eyes and offered a soggy smile. "Thank you, Aslan," she said, "I'm afraid I've been rather hysterical."
"Please," Edmund asked then, "Is Peter still alive?"
Aslan regarded him for a moment. "Yes," he said finally. Edmund buried his face his hands, and Lucy sensed the tears threatening to fall again. She clamped down ruthlessly and instead allowed her exultation to propel her to her feet. She darted forward and threw her arms as far as they would go around Aslan's neck and buried her face in his mane.
"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," she breathed, and she felt the Great Lion laughing softly.
"You are welcome, Dear Heart," he said, "but you cannot linger. You will not find him in the sea." He paused, and Edmund abruptly shut his mouth before he asked the question. "You must return to Cair Paravel. Susan is waiting for you, and she has what you need to begin your search."
Lucy stepped back and took Edmund's hand. He folded his larger fingers around her slender ones and pressed them tightly.
"Understand, my children," Aslan said gravely, "Although Peter lives, things are far from certain. You must move swiftly, but with care."
The king nodded. "Yes, Aslan," he responded, "We will."
There was approval in the Lion's eyes, and he bowed his great head. "Remember I am with you," he said, and then as suddenly as he had come, he was gone.
