A Disrupted Reunion

O0O0O0O

Susan did not stay on the deck until everybody awoke to join her; while some of her pride may have left her, none of her propriety had gone with it. No sooner had the sun made its full appearance above the horizon than did the Queen slip below deck again to return to her cabin, take up the guttering little lamp by the door, and slip inside to see what could be done about dressing herself. By the time her ladies awoke she needed help only in seeing to her hair. The ladies had no difficulty with this, nor in fastening her circlet to the sensible coronet of braids they had fashioned at her instruction. The last pin was just being tucked in place as the cry went up from the deck above their heads.

"Land ho!"

The first member of the Envoy to reach the deck was the youngest. Prince Corin reached the rail even before King Edmund, and scrambled up to perch on it to get a better view. His eyes shone as the Narnian shores drew nearer, the glittering spires of Cair Paravel rising from the wooded peninsula on which she had been built, a pale and shining jewel set in finest Narnian green. Small wonder, then, that all who gathered to measure their approach could not help but feeling a little queer and homesick even as home itself approached.

"I suppose Lucy will be pleased to see us."

Edmund looked down in some surprise, for he had not heard Susan approach to stand at his side. Now he looked at her as she slipped one hand through the crook of his arm, her features as unreadable as she studied the castle.

"Yes," he said, once he had recovered his tongue, "yes, I suppose she will." He rested his hand just briefly on that of his sister. "And . . . how does my elder sister fare this morn?"

Edmund's elder sister had to tip her chin up to look him in the eye, but when she did, he saw that she was smiling.

"I find . . . I am found," she said simply, and it may have seemed a strange thing to say, but Edmund, who had also had occasion to see clouds part and the sun shine on him in such a way that he, too, had felt he was found after an interminable time of being so very, very lost, understood perfectly what she meant. A smile split his face in reply.

"I am mightily glad to hear it," he said, and brother and sister stood together on the deck, their weary Envoy gathered about them, watching with gratitude as home drew ever more nigh.

O0O0O0O

When the Splendour Hyaline put into port, there were none immediately on hand to greet her. So early was it yet that only the fishermen had ventured abroad, and their boats were already bobbing far out beyond the cove that housed the Royal fleet. None of the company minded, though, for when people are tired and sore and more than a little in need of a bath, it's very tricky to welcome the idea of a whole lot of fuss being made. Susan, standing with Edmund and Corin as they waited the lowering of the gangplank, even went so far as to say that she was rather pleased they had returned so unexpectedly.

"I should," she confessed, "like little more than the chance to slip right into my quarters unnoticed, and sleep for a fortnight! For I fear," with a laughing, genial air that invited them to hear the mirth in what she said, "that it shall take me at least that long to recover from our misadventures."

Unfortunately, Susan's wish for a quiet entrance was not to be born out. Even as the King and Queen and Prince Corin descended the gangplank and led the party up the road to the castle, a cry from one of the ship's crew, echoing down to them from the crow's nest of the Splendour Hyaline behind them, stopped them where they stood.

"Goodness," Susan, placing one hand on the little circlet she wore as a matter of form, craned her neck to better see what had occasioned the shout. "Edmund, whatever can he . . . can you make it out?"

Edmund, who had a height advantage on both his sister and their young charge, was doing his best to accomplish just that.

"I believe it's something coming down from the Land Road, though I can't quite make it out . . . a horse, possibly, judging by the speed of it . . . though I see no cloak or colour that suggests a rider."

"A Centaur?" Corin made as if to shin up the nearest tree to hand, but a firm look and light hand from Queen Susan stayed him in his tracks. "Or maybe a Talking Cat?"

"The build is not that of a Centaur, nor is the colour that of a– oho!" Edmund had made it out at last. "Why, 'tis a Stag!"

And so it was. They need not have taken Edmund's word for it, either, though all would have done so without question; the entire party had ample opportunity to see this for themselves as the magnificent animal finally veered off from the main road that connected Cair Paravel and its court to the mainland of Narnia, and began a thunderous approach toward the party that was by then more than halfway up the hill to the Cair.

"Why, surely 'tis Charon," said Drinian. "I heard a complaint from him only last spring that the Great Cats had overstepped themselves in their hunting; 'tis the very image of him, indeed."

"Nay," cried Peridan, whose lands abutted the part of the forest best favoured by the Talking Deer. "I would know that set of antlers anywhere. It's Charon's oldest, Chervy. What ho, Chervy!" as the animal drew to a breathtaking halt before their party, "come to greet your King and Queen, then?"

"Majesties," the beautiful creature panted, and dropped a very shaky bow by bending his off foreleg. "Majesties, your pardon for my haste, but I bring grave news."

"And you shall share it," Susan promised, "but first I must insist you rest yourself. You look quite exhausted, dear Chervy!"

And so he did; the poor Stag was trembling all over, his red tongue hanging out and his ribcage heaving beneath his gleaming coat as he struggled to catch the breath that his flight had stolen from him. At Susan's insistence he was given a moment's leave to recover, and provided with water poured from an uncorked flask into King Edmund's cupped hands. Lapping greedily at the tepid liquid, the Stag seemed to come into better possession of himself and his dignity, and drew back to hold his head erect once more.

"Now, then," Susan said, still smiling, "if you are feeling more yourself, Chervy, we should welcome your news."

Later, of course, she would wish she hadn't put it quite like that, but at the time, she really had no way of knowing any better. All stood still in horror as Chervy related the news he had been given.

"Rabadash of Calormen comes this way. Even now he crosses the desert to the pass at Anvard with his horsemen, ready to battle–"

"Horsemen?" it was Edmund, tone scarcely less sharp than his eyes. "How many are they?"

"They are two hundred strong, Sire," the Stag said, with a slight inclination of his head in the direction of the King. A gasp went up from the Envoy.

"Two hundred . . ." Susan paled, but though Corin was prepared to steady her, she did not sway. Instead she looked back to the Stag, with a sort of pinched, ready look about her. "Whence cometh this intelligence?" she demanded, and Chervy replied readily enough.

"From a little chap we came upon travelling with some woodland creatures. Had rather a look of strain about him, but– hullo, there," he seemed to see Corin for the first time. "Wasn't it you, then?"

And all the company assembled, who had been told on the crossing of Corin's double, realised who the little informant must have been.

"But mercy," Susan said, with a small start, "how can the little fellow have travelled such a distance in so short a time? Not on foot, surely. Not even a grown man could have made such a journey on foot."

"No indeed," Edmund said, and frowned. "I don't suppose there is any danger of his being instrumental in some manner of plot to lead us astray, is there? Abandon the castle to defend Anvard, and leave the Cair for the taking?"

"To come at the Cair from this side, they should have need of galleons," Susan pointed out quite sensibly. "And the port is full now, so they should be forced to moor in the cove and approach in small groups by boats; their numbers should be divided, and they would be easy prey for even a handful of archers. That is not a sound strategy of war, Brother, and well you know it."

Well Edmund did. He nodded to acknowledge the truth in what she said, and turned back to the Stag.

"Our thanks," he said solemnly, "foremost for your fealty, but thanks also for the speed at which you came to deliver this news. I see only too well what it has cost you." For indeed, the Stag did seem yet inclined to breathe rather fast, and to wobble a bit around the knees. "If there is aught at the castle that can afford you some comfort, you must take it with the thanks of your King and your Kingdom."

In reply the Stag bowed quite low, but said that he was quite all right, and wanted only to return to the forest, and see about finding a decent bit of grazing. Edmund smiled and said the Stag could help himself to all the grazing the King's forest could afford him, and the Envoy continued up the hill, a much more sombre party than they had been on arrival in the port.

"I had almost dared hope we were rid of him," Susan reproached herself as they continued their approach to the Cair. Edmund smiled, and shook his head.

"I daresay we were all indulging in such hopes," he reassured her. "I know for a fact that I was."

"So was I," Corin offered, and Susan smiled at them both.

"That means we are of a heart, at least," she observed, "though I fear it does not speak highly of our minds."

And none of them had realised what a grim cloud had stolen over them all until it lifted at that moment, just long enough that they might laugh.

O0O0O0O

When the Envoy reached Cair Paravel at last, they faced some extremely astonished guards. A horrified little Dwarf came rabbiting out from a small door in the wall to receive them all, babble apologies at their state of unpreparedness, and then turn to bawl a fearsome cry at the armed Centaurs and Fauns who lined the outermost walls of the Cair.

"Atten-SHON!" he hollered in a thunderous voice that belied his size, and all the guards at once snapped to even straighter postures than before. "PRE-sent ARMS!"

And all spears were extended at once.

"SA-al-UTE!"

And all spears were raised and a hundred voices thundered once as one in greeting to their King and Queen. Tired, weary and worried though they were, the whole party found it in them to smile at the sight.

"Majesties," the breathless Dwarf approached, then stopped and bowed, then finished approaching, "Majesties, a hundred pardons for this lapse, we had no idea! If we had known you were coming, we–"

"Peace!" Edmund was laughing in spite of himself and all that was looming around them. "Peace, my friend!"

"Yes, Narrik," Susan smiled as well, "don't please trouble yourself about it, or I shall never be easy in my mind at your distress. Our return was quite unplanned, and it is no wonder you should not have expected us."

Narrik did not look convinced by any stretch of the imagination, but at last he was prevailed upon to accept the apologies of his sovereigns and permit them to enter their home, where servants were told to make rooms and baths ready for all the Archenland guests, and to find rooms for the host of new Narnians that Queen Susan had brought back with her (for all the Calormene slaves had, in the end, determined they should accompany their mistress, and were now standing in the courtyard in their light Calormene shifts, looking rather chilly and not a little nervous, yet somehow still expectant of greatness. Susan's company seemed to have that effect on everyone).

"And you, Princeling, must take yourself away to wash," Susan chided Corin, "for you have a strong smell of tar about you, and though I should be loathe to accuse you of disobeying my orders, I greatly fear you may have somehow found a way of getting around them and aiding the ship's joiner in his work."

Corin did not confirm these suspicions, but neither did he deny them, and it must in all fairness be noted that he did not even put up a token protest, but allowed himself to be led away to be scrubbed. This left Susan to face Edmund, and shock him by smiling –really smiling– as she took his hands in hers and spoke.

"Don't look so grim," she pleaded. "Dear Edmund, I know it seems dreadful, and yet . . . I cannot help but feel there is some scheme behind this. Not," quickly, "that of our sometime host, but a greater one. One whose designer," with a quick, light kiss above his beard, "we must trust above all else."

Then she dropped back, and offered him a pretty little apology and begged he would excuse her. "For you see," she twinkled, "I must go seek out my sister, and put her heart to rest. It will, I fear, take some considerable time, for I have not a doubt she will have much gloating to do!"

And Edmund watched her go, too relieved to have her back to bother saying he was certain Lucy, too, would be so grateful at knowing Susan was restored to them that gloating would be the very farthest thing from her mind.

O0O0O0O

Lucy, Susan knew, could be only one place at this time of day. The little Queen who shone like the sun made a habit of rising with it too, and with no siblings to shake awake, she would have gone riding directly before taking her breakfast and retreating to the courtyard at the heart of the castle that she and Susan used as their private sanctuary.

The courtyard was small, and could not have held even a hundred men, but this morning it held the only thing Susan wished to see. There, reclining on a stone bench beneath an apple tree, was her precious sister. Lucy's golden head was bent in close study over a book, and at her feet was a wooden bowl that held three apple cores. The younger Queen was shaded, for the most part, by the tree that towered over her, but for just a moment a passing breeze caught the branches, ruffling and parting them, so that a single beam of light struck the gold of her hair and the silver of her crown, and Susan felt her heart catch; she had so very nearly lost her.

She was not conscious of making any noise, and yet she must have done, for at that moment Lucy lifted her head from her book, and saw her older sister standing there. A look of incredulity flashed across her face and was chased off almost at once by a smile of pure, radiant joy.

"Susan!" she cried, and was off the bench and across the grass in a twinkling, the book flying from her hand to fall, forgotten, to the ground. "Susan, you're home!" And she caught the older Queen in a fierce hug, and twirled her around with a happy, choking sob. "Oh, Susan," this quieter, and somehow slightly anguished, "you are home."

Susan, feeling her throat constrict as Lucy's shoulders heaved, gently put her arms around the younger girl and held her.

"Yes, dear," she said simply, "yes. I am." And they stood together like that for just a moment, with the sun, and other things, warming them both. Then Lucy drew back, and though her eyes were bright they were not exceptionally damp as she smiled at her sister.

"But whyever have you come without sending any word? Had I known you were returning today, I should have tried to arrange something! It would not have been the sort of party you deserve, of course –you know that I can never manage those things nearly as well as you– but I should at least have liked to feast you properly!"

"Don't trouble yourself, Lucy, please," Susan smiled. "Really, the gladdest thing I can think of right now is to simply be here! I am sure Edmund will want to see you as well, of course, but everybody else is getting washed after the journey . . . and I rather think I should, too."

"Yes, yes," Lucy said impatiently, "but you can do that later, can't you? Come," catching Susan's hand, and pulling her toward the bench, "sit with me! Tell me everything that has happened, won't you? I'm simply dying to know– you might have written, at least! Even Peter has written me twice, now, yet from you and Edmund I haven't heard a word! Really, Susan," chidingly, though without rancour, "it was too bad of you!"

Susan, smiling, said she knew it, and promised that if Lucy did not understand her lapse by the end of her narration, then she would do whatever she could to make amends. And, with her wide-eyed audience seated before her, Susan explained all that had transpired since the Northern envoy first set foot in Calormen, leading up to their escape, the journey home and the unexpected news from Chervy the Stag. At the conclusion of the tale, Lucy sank back in shock, her eyes twice as wide as they had been when Susan had first begun.

"Oh, dear," she gasped. "And I had thought him only vain, but . . . why, Susan, he's perfectly evil, isn't he?! He's nearly a kidnapper! And you say he spoke of Edmund in such a way . . . he sounds a murderer, too!"

"I fear those are the least of his faults," Susan said quietly. "He is a most wretched tyrant, Lucy, and I truly fear for the people he will govern when the Tisroc dies. You were quite right in your assessment of him, and if you wish to scold me for not listening, I shall accept it as nothing less than my due."

But Lucy was sterling worth. She placed one little hand over Susan's, and smiled with impish brilliance.

"Of course I shan't scold you! Not unless you keep on looking so glum . . . Susan, darling, we are about to go to battle, and I am not the one to keep a cheery face at a time like this. I have tried so very hard to be like you these past few weeks, and keep solemn and obedient to all those Ministers . . . I have tried not to lose my temper, and I have tried so hard to be gentle, but it is beginning to tell. I believe I have wrinkles!" And Susan had to laugh at this dire claim. "And here you are, and you've had such a time, and yet you still look so calm about it. I am not fit for your place, darling, and I need you very badly to stand in it now. I have wanted so badly to be fierce, and now that you are home, I finally may again!"

"Yet," Susan had to point out, "to have kept your temper so long . . . and oh, Lucy, to not be cross with me, when all along you were right, and I ought never to have gone . . . truly," she caught her sister's hand in her own, "you are the sweetest and gentlest of sisters."

"And truly," Lucy's eyes danced, "you are the fiercest and bravest, if you have stood against such a monster as Rabadash, and still made it home."

"What a mixed-up pair we are!" Susan smiled, and for just one moment it was wonderful, because all was right between them. Then a forced little cough broke through their conversation, and both queens turned to see Prince Corin, well-scrubbed and freshly-clothed, standing in the doorway of the courtyard. Although he was too well-mannered to enter unbidden, he clearly wanted to do so. Lucy, her face alight with a new kind of joy, rose to her feet again and held out her hands with a little laugh.

"So here is our fiercest champion!" she announced, and Corin, his face suddenly writ over with blushes and smiles, came tearing across the courtyard, skidding to a halt just inches away from the younger Queen.

"Hullo, Queen Lucy," he panted, sketched a quick bow under Susan's watchful gaze, and then flew at Lucy, nearly knocking her over. Lucy, laughing, didn't seem to mind.

"You've grown!" she accused, and Corin, dropping back, looked down at himself as if seeking evidence of this change.

"Maybe," he said, and shuffled his feet a bit. "I dunno . . . did Queen Susan tell you?" he wondered. "About Rabadash?"

"She has told me, yes," Lucy said, a slight shadow passing over her sunny face. Then a teasing smile returned, and she said "I wonder that you did not run him through already!"

"I wanted to!" Corin protested, "I did, truly!"

"He did," Susan said, and what it cost her to swallow a smile we will never know, "truly."

"Then I am sorry," Lucy said solemnly, "for doubting you on that point. You will forgive me?"

"Of course," Corin said, wide-eyed and earnest. How, he wondered, could she have thought he would do anything but? Fortunately, the Queens doted on the boy far too much for them to do anything but smile at him as Lucy gravely thanked him for his pardon.

"And will you do me the honour," she added, "of helping with tonight's banquet? For," quickly, cutting off the protest she saw rising to Susan's lips, "if we are to lose half our court to the ravages of the battlefield tomorrow, I would not for the world have them poorly-fed the night before! Besides," and here she turned to extend a hand to her sister as well, "you are all home, and you are all safe. If that is not cause for the grandest of celebrations, then I do not know what is."

And Susan, seeing she would be overruled no matter what protests she might make, very wisely chose not to make any.

O0O0O0O

A.N.: Goodness, even I am surprised to hear from me! Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, I have moved. I've changed houses, cities and even provinces, and here I am, really wishing I weren't. But my sister is happy to have me, so I suppose that's something!

I'm afraid my internet took an unpleasantly long time to be connected, and unpacking took an even longer time, but searching for the writing I did last summer will take longest of all, because it seems to have been completely left behind in storage. My lofty goals of getting everything typed and done in a matter of weeks are dashed, and I am writing from scratch again. I will still try to keep updates as regular as possible, and thank you all so very much for your patience as well as your feedback. It's more of an encouragement than ever, now!

Up next: Councils of War, wherein plans are made by Kings and Queens alike, and Rabadash schemes to steal back what he has lost.