I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. Just so you know: Tomorrow morning (June 13th) I leave for Japan, where I'll be on exchange until July 8th. I've written a few advance chapters that SubOrbital will post for me about once a week, so updates will be slower than usual, but I thought that would be better than giving you nothing until I get back! Hope you enjoy.
The sun was well past set when at last Lucy returned with Danya to the servants' chambers, her mind stuffed with secrets and plans and adjustments and still so, so much doubt. The two had crossed the castle from top to bottom, front to back and side to side countless times, repeating information, relaying messages between parties. Danya had allies in nearly every establishment, in the stables, in the kitchens, in the armory, in the library, even among the king's own cabinet, though Lucy had stayed behind from that meeting, told it was too dangerous to risk them both coming up.
And so the plan was set. The king had a set schedule the next day, in preparation for his mid-morning wedding. He was to rise with the sun, to meet with his closest advisors over breakfast as he did every morning, to bathe and attend the ritual purification undergone before important ceremonies, to attend the royal tailor's and don his wedding garb, then to process with his cabinet down to the Great Hall, where he would await his bride-to-be. When the wedding guests arrived on the last Wren, they would walk directly to the castle and the ceremony would begin; their arrival marked its start.
But if all went well for Danya and her friends, he would never make the journey from the tailor's to the Great Hall.
Lucy ran the plan over in her head. One of Danya's closest companions – her lover, Lucy actually suspected – worked closely with the royal tailor, as his long-experienced apprentice. While the king was putting on his wedding garb, his guards would be standing outside the door, protecting from an outside attack. Meanwhile, his opponents would be executing one from the inside.
And so Roche, as the tailor's apprentice was called, would the next day eat breakfast with his mentor as usual, and afterwards take the old man out on his customary morning walk. When they passed the stables, however, a diversion would draw them inside, and other friends of the uprising would target the tailor himself, staging an "accident" that would leave him temporarily incapacitated. Thus, Roche would naturally take his place, and have a private room with the king shortly thereafter. At that time – and Lucy wished yet again it didn't have to be this way – he and a few other hidden companions would silently make their attack.
While they dispatched King Valin, Lucy and many others (Danya among them) would storm the dungeons with weapons supplied by an ally in the armory, overcoming the small guard to set free the three kings: Peter, Edmund and Vareth.
"And what after that?" Lucy had asked Danya in a whisper as they passed through one long, stone hallway. As it was a passageway of the servants, none of the cheap magic tricks of the wedding decorations hindered them. "What then?"
"We will restore the elder king to the throne," the maid replied naturally. "King Valin used to rule jointly with King Vareth, but Vareth was always the better leader. His temper was never so quick as his younger brother's. And so naturally, he grew more powerful as his influence was greater, and Valin had to seek other ways of gaining power."
"How did Vareth fall from the throne?" Lucy wanted to know. She noticed that her companion was constantly checking the doorways they passed, making sure no one was listening in on their hushed conversation.
"The rumors about that are numerous," Danya told her. "All the public is meant to think is that Vareth was caught murdering a lieutenant of the Palace Guard. No witnesses came forward. But I have it from one of the king's closest men that though it was Vareth's fist on the sword, it was Valin who forced his hand. Most of the kingdom supposes Vareth to be dead, but the majority of us working here in the palace know differently."
"I saw him," Lucy nodded. "I met him, in the dungeons."
"Did you!" Danya said in surprise.
"So if your plan goes well, you will restore Vareth to the throne? What do you think the rest of the guards will do?"
Danya turned the corner, catching Lucy's arm to lead her in the correct direction. They were nearly back at the servants' quarters by this time, and it was quite late at night. Lucy knew they should sleep. Danya in particular had looked like she was going to collapse in the kitchens even that morning; she was amazed at the maid's strength, to keep so alert for so very long. Pursing her lips in response to Lucy's question, Danya at last shrugged.
"If we are swift enough, they will only know their king is dead and a new one has succeeded him," she said. "If they have a king to serve, they will serve him. They care little about Valin, only about the things he gave them. If Vareth uses the same words, and asks them to take up swords for Caelan, they will do whatever he asks. The highest-ranking commanders might reject his leadership, but with our strength of numbers, they would not be a problem."
"And the people?" Lucy asked. Danya paused with her hand on the door-handle.
"The people will be glad to have their better king back," she said firmly, though still in a whisper. Then she opened the door and brought them both inside. Now, several of the beds were occupied with sleeping maids; a few others still lay empty, and Danya gestured to one of these to indicate Lucy might use it.
The blankets were rough and the bed made of packed straw, but Lucy would not have been able to sleep anyway. Her stomach jolted uncomfortably every time she thought of what was to come. What were Valin's plans for Peter and Edmund, still trapped in the dungeons? What if by the time Danya's plan was carried out, it was too late for them? Susan she knew she could save, but now there loomed greater problems. To get them all safely home, she would have to recover the rings (and hopefully her gifts, along with Peter's and Susan's as well) and gather them all in one place. How was that to happen, when she was supposedly a maid, Susan a foreign queen, Peter a prisoner king, and Edmund merely a soldier under him?
Lucy lay awake for a long, long time, though exactly how long she could not have said. She thought of Susan, probably asleep in that lush expanse of a bed in her prison-palace, wondering if she would really become the bride of a tyrant on the morrow. She thought of Peter and Edmund, alone, cold, injured and hungry in the belly of the castle, awaiting whatever was next for them. Did they know she had escaped? Did they know help was coming? Was help even coming, or would the plans fall through and leave Lucy as hopeless as she'd been mere hours before?
Aslan, see us through, she thought, and closed her eyes. There was no rush of relief, no powerful strength that coursed through her, but Lucy felt her mind quiet a little with the thought, and again comforted herself with the reassurance that Aslan would not have sent them on an impossible pursuit. In the morning, she would wake, and place her trust in these rebellious strangers, who were so different from her and yet who shared the same values – honesty, loyalty, equality. In the morning, if everything went right, she would see her sister rescued from the grip of a dictator. In the morning, she would find out whether their quest would end in victory or in bitter defeat.
