I will not speak.
No one can convince me.
No one can frighten me.
No one can coax me.
A vow of silence is all that remains on my tongue.
My throat is drier than dust and cannot be quenched.
There is no laughter in me.
I see the way the courtiers look at me when I am knitting.
Some shiver and seem to be muttering a prayer under their breath;
they must suspect I am something unholy or else have been cursed by some vile being they don't want coming after them next.
I despise them for this.
What right do they have to judge?
They do not know me.
What harm have I ever done to them?
Is the fact that I do not speak or laugh really cause for such deep alarm?
Don't any of these people have real problems to deal with in life?
Maybe they don't, or if they do, they would rather ignore them and focus on me.
The ones who don't hate me, seem to admire me although I do find their never-ending gazes a little unnerving at times.
The castle children come in two kinds: very friendly and very shy.
The shy ones peer at me curiously from behind pillars and I decide I like them because they are quiet-just like me-even if they aren't under a vow of silence.
On the other hand, I enjoy the company of the friendly ones, too because they remind me of little Lucy-so kind, so eager to please, so amazed by anything that can glitter under the sun.
They flock around me to ask what I am 'Sewing'.
Knitting, I think, they mean, "What are you knitting?" Sewing is different.
I notice Caspian watching me while I smile at the children and endure their questions until they grow tired or are distracted by a bright, shiny object and leave me.
I cannot help wondering what he thinks of me.
I think he likes me; he wouldn't waste so much time constantly trying to get me to speak to him if he didn't.
He must not think I am insane or unholy, he wouldn't take someone like that into his home, would he?
What surprises me the most about him, is that I am beginning to realize that maybe he likes me for me and not just because I am Narnian.
That he might just like my company.
What ever it was that appealed to him about me at first, might not necessarily be what he sees in me now.
I've been here in Telmar, in this castle, for over a month.
By now, even though I never say a word, he can tell when I am upset or when I am-or am not-in the mood for joking.
He can tell when I just want someone to sit by me with their mouth shut tight so I don't feel so left out and awkward.
And he does so.
He does like me.
And I think, maybe-just maybe-I like him, too.
It was a warm day and Susan was sitting outside in the courtyard in the cool shadow of one of the low stone, ivy-covered walls that led to one of the gardens. Of course, she was knitting. She was actually feeling quite pleased with herself because at long last, after all her efforts and troubles, all her tears and toil, she had completed a sleeve for one of the shirts.
This would be the largest shirt she would have to make-this one would be for Peter-so she was making it first, both because she wanted the hardest one over with, and because all her life she had been told that crown princes, first borns, had rights. And one of them, she assumed, would be the right to be the first released from enchantments. In a way, she felt a little guilty; part of her wanted to make Ed's shirt first-she felt so sorry for him. He hadn't meant to betray them, it had just sort of happened. But then she though of the fact that Peter and Lucy had been near-saints in all of this and Edmund himself would have wanted her to make their shirts first anyway.
A little ways in the distance, Caspian had been practicing his fencing with the son of a wealthy Telmarine lord who also lived at the castle as a consul-man. Susan didn't care much for watching sword-fights; she never had, actually. Not even when her brothers used to practice did she pay the sport any mind. In all honesty, she had been utterly shocked when Lucy-who had been very, very small at the time-suddenly took a liking to watching Peter and Edmund practice. Sometimes Susan would sit and watch them anyway, but only for Lucy's benefit. As it was, she had no interest in watching Caspian swing his sword around (now, if it had been archery, a sport she had always liked and excelled in, she would have been more much more keen on it) so she kept her head down and carefully worked at her knitting. It was probably a good thing that she didn't find much worth distracting herself from her work for the clews of yarn continued to be tough to manage and she had to put most-sometimes all-of her focus on it.
So hard was she focusing and straining over the sleeve she was struggling to add on to, that she didn't hear the sound of the swords being slid back into their sheaths and practice being over for the day. She didn't notice the mild crunching sound of Caspian's boots striking the stone-paved ground away from the grassy-spots, walking over to where she was sitting.
A slight shadow that was not from the wall-it extended in a taller, slimmer, less block-like sort of fashion-fell over Susan and at last she looked up, managing a friendly smile, as that was all she had left to give these days.
Caspian sighed and sat down beside her with a slight groan; he must have been a little sore from the fencing. "I don't know what I'm going to do."
Susan stopped knitting and glanced over at him, blinking sympathetically. He clearly was not in the best of moods right now and needed someone to listen to him. One good thing about having a friend that didn't speak, he had soon realized, was that they listened very well.
"My uncle is driving me crazy." Caspian grunted; he leaned his head back against the wall and rose his voice in an only slightly-exaggerated imitation of Miraz's. "Caspian, study this. Caspian, go here. Caspian, do that. Caspian, go practice your fencing right now, I don't care if you're tired because I made you attend that stupid five-hour tournament the other day."
Susan nodded; she didn't like his uncle, either. Not only was he a tyrant, always passing unnecessarily harsh laws-that Caspian could do nothing about and so he'd whine to Susan about them later, knowing she wouldn't tell anyone-but he was also unbearably bossy.
"And now, get this," Caspian said, a trace of bitter-laughter in his tone, as he moved his head to look directly at her. "Uncle Miraz is making me attend some long-winded meeting about," He paused for a moment to give a little shudder before going on. "My 'future'."
Maybe the old goat is finally going to retire and let you have your throne, Susan thought-as unlikely as it seemed.
"You know what?" Caspian said, in a sadder voice now. "I don't even think he likes me, not even a little bit. My aunt doesn't seem to, either. Not really."
You don't need their approval, Susan thought-feeling rather cross at Miraz and Prunaprismia for being so hard on him. What wrong had he ever done to deserve such demanding behavior from them?
"And I can't complain because I always have to hear about how he 'brought me up by hand'." Caspian sighed, smiling faintly-very unhappily.
If Susan could have spoken to him, she would have said, "My little sister, Lucy, always used to say that people who say 'brought up by hand' are only looking for an excuse to control a person they haven't got any real right to control." But she couldn't, so she didn't.
"I am so lucky I've got my professor." Caspian said thoughtfully, his smile widened as he gazed into Susan's eyes for a moment. "And of course, I have you, Susan."
She felt herself blush and felt horribly annoyed that, because she couldn't speak, there was no chance of explaining it away. She was blushing, and he certainly knew it. One would have thought being speechless would make it easier to keep your emotions hidden, not harder.
"At least I know you're my on my side."
How do you know that? Susan wondered-raising an eyebrow at him curiously, I've never said a word to you, for all you know, I could be plotting against your throne; I'm not but I could be for all you know about it.
"It's alright that you don't speak." Caspian smiled warmly, seeming to read her mind this time. "I still know you. You're the sweetest, kindest maiden in all of Telmar."
Oh that's just great, Susan thought grumpily, why did you have to say something like that? Now my whole face is surely a frightfully bright scarlet!
"And besides," He said, gently reaching over and patting one of her hands. "I'm not giving up on you, neither is Doctor Cornelius, I'm sure between the two of us, we'll find a way to teach you to speak. Wont that be nice, Susan?"
Thinking about sliding her hand away from his, but not actually doing it, Susan knew how very wrong he was. If she spoke, it wouldn't be 'nice' at all; speaking meant failing. Failing meant everlasting enchantment and her younger brother's death.
"Prince Caspian!" A servant from inside the castle called out a window for him. "Your meeting, your highness!"
"I'll come when I'm good and ready." Caspian grumbled back loudly.
"What was that?" A voice that sounded like Miraz's barked.
Caspian sighed and stood up. "Now I'm good and ready."
Susan sighed, too.
"See you later." He told her, dashing back into the castle before his uncle had a conniption fit.
The meeting was all about the future of Telmar even though Miraz didn't seem in any hurry to actually bother passing the throne to his nephew just yet.
Then why do I have to listen to this? Caspian thought-suddenly having the childish urge to pick up a quill, dip it in ink, and doodle on the back of his hand until the meeting was over.
He snapped back into attention when Prunaprismia, who was also present at the meeting, said something about getting him married off to a Telmarine count's daughter she knew very well.
Caspian was nothing short of appalled. He knew that count's daughter and he couldn't stand her. She was annoying, had dozens of bad habits, and he thought her teeth looked absurdly large and rabbit-like. The thought of being married to such a woman made him want to scream. Yes, beauty wasn't everything, companionship was very important, too, but it wasn't as if the count's ugly daughter had ever had anything interesting to say. In fact, the only time he could remember her saying anything even remotely amusing was when she was complaining about the dinner menu at a banquet once. And even then, he had only thought her idiotic prattle funny because he had been overly tired at the time and was struggling not to fall asleep at the table.
"I wont marry her." Caspian insisted, standing up and looking his aunt and uncle right in the eye, his nose twisting upwards with disgust.
"And why not?" Miraz demanded, angry that his wife's option and hope had been so quickly brushed off by that ungrateful nephew of theirs.
"Well for one thing, she squints and has freckles." Caspian said, only half-joking even if one of the Telmarine lords did have to excuse himself 'to get a drink of water' so he could laugh freely.
"And who, pray tell," Huffed Prunaprismia, scowling at him. "are you going to wed? You are a grown-man now, you must marry someone."
"Someone, yes, but not her." Caspian was quick to counter. Thoughtlessly, he added, "I'd sooner marry Susan of Narnia."
"Well I'm open to any better suggestions." Miraz grumbled, rubbing his forehead, suddenly feeling a bit of a headache coming on.
It was that that moment, looking into the blank, bored, faces of the Telmarine lords and King Miraz and the insulted expression on his aunt's face, that Caspian realized something. Before when he'd had to put up with things like this-almost being forced into marriage with someone he didn't love-he had never had someone else in mind. Only getting himself out relatively unscathed. Now though, it was different. He did love someone, even if he hadn't known it until that exact moment. He, Caspian, prince of Telmar, was in love with his Narnian foundling; the beautiful girl who never spoke. Susan understood him better than anyone ever had, she didn't need to say anything to show that. She was good of heart and thoughtful. Not to mention much, much better-looking than the count's daughter was. He knew now that he wanted more than friendship from his lovely Narnian companion. What he really wanted-truly longed for-was to make her his bride, his wife. That is, if she'd have him.
"I'm open to any better suggestions." Miraz repeated slowly as if his nephew was mentally inferior to himself.
Caspian's smile widened. "I just told you, uncle."
There was a slight murmuring among the lords at this; clearly they were a little confused.
"I'd sooner marry Susan of Narnia."
There was a great fuss about this, of course. What sort of wife would a foreign woman who never spoke make? How did they know they could trust her? Didn't anyone else feel a little uneasy when she looked in their direction? They pleaded with Caspian to reconsider, but he was adamant. If Susan of Narnia would agree to marry him, then she was the only one he would take for a bride.
In another part of the castle, Susan sat alone in one of the little sitting-rooms branching off from her bed chamber. Her knitting was in her lap, though at the moment she wasn't attending to it. She was looking over at the picture on the opposite wall-it was a painting of swan. No doubt, it made her think of her three beloved siblings and wonder how they were getting along without her so that tears sprang up into her eyes.
A few moments later, one of the crueler ladies-in-waiting muttered a Narnian slur as she passed by her, carrying some freshly clean bed-linens.
At this, unable to stand it any longer, Susan thrust her face into her hands and began to weep heavily. She hated Telmar, she hated it! Why did he have to bring her here? This wasn't her place. She belonged back in Narnia with her family; there was nothing for her here.
The sitting room door creaked open and Caspian, unnoticed by Susan who was weeping so hard at this point that she would have been unlikely to hear a parade of elephants storming by, walked in. As soon as he saw her crying so piteously, his heart broke and he rushed over to her.
Kneeling down by her chair, he whispered, "Don't cry, sweet, nothing is so horrible, is it?"
Susan moved one of her fingers slightly so that she could see his face looking up at her. What was he going on about? Her crying? Well, he'd seen her cry before so what was the big deal now?
Feeling rather stupid as her pride rushed back into her, realizing the lovely spectacle she was making of herself, she quickly uncovered her face and placed her hands in her lap near her knitting.
Caspian took one of her hands in his. "Was someone unkind to you, dear?"
Why is he talking like that? Susan nodded and shrugged. Yes, someone had been unkind; no, it wasn't the end of the world, it didn't really matter. She was just very lonely, missing the siblings he didn't even know she had.
"No, I understand, I see that look." Caspian said gently, stroking her hand reassuringly. "But no one has a right to mistreat you, Susan, you're the most wonderful person..." His voice trailed off at this.
Susan blinked twice, her forehead crinkling slightly.
He laughed to himself a little. "I'm really not starting off well, am I?"
Susan might have laughed a little herself if it hadn't been for the vow of silence, but she did manage a warm smile which she was becoming quite well-known for as far as he was concerned.
"Susan, what I'm trying to do is propose." He blurted out finally, knowing if he didn't say it at once, he'd never manage to get the right words out. "Will you marry me?"
For a second, she thought she must have been dreaming but then when she looked down at his facial expression, waiting for an answer, a mix of hopefulness and worry that she might not accept his proposal, she was well-aware that it was real.
The question was, did she love him? She thought of how annoyed she was when he hovered over her and when he had taken her away from that tree back in Narnia-and she didn't feel very fond of him. But then she thought of his over-all well-meaning nature and the times they'd sat together and how intently he'd struggled to teach her to speak-and she felt differently. She knew him; he'd told her of all his hopes and dreams and she'd listened. She cared for him. And now, she knew, glancing down at his hand still gently wrapped around her own, that she did love him after all.
Part of her wanted to wait a while but that wasn't an option. If she shook her head no, he would assume she didn't love him and didn't ever want to marry him-he'd probably then go off and have to marry someone else. There was no way of asking him if he didn't mind waiting a while. Still, she was old enough to be married now, sad though it would be that none of her family would get to see it. If she didn't nod yes, she'd never marry him. She would lose the man she loved.
Slowly, but intensely, she nodded yes.
And just like that, they were engaged to be married.
AN: -Please Review-