Prompt #13: Rumor me the stars
In Narnia, the Stars tell the truth. Roonwit said, "I know by my art that there have not been such disastrous conjunctions of the planets for five hundred years. [...] last night the rumour reached me that Aslan is abroad in Narnia. Sire, do not believe this tale [...] The stars never lie, but Men and Beasts do."
Tell a tale of when the stars and rumors disagreed, and how it was resolved.
Have you heard?
There's a rumor in St. Petersburg.
Have you heard
What they're saying in the streets?*
The Panther stuck her head in the doorway and called into the kitchen: "Please make sure there are extra loaves of bread for the dressing."
One wouldn't think such a simple sentence would cause such a ruckus, but the kitchen was crowded, the spits were turning, the knives chopped vegetables loudly on the wooden boards, the stews splashed against their pots, the logs hissed in the fires, and everywhere Narnians were talking, so no one heard the Panther ver well, and she ducked her head back out before anyone could ask for clarification.
"What did she say?" called the head cook from halfway down the long room, her muscles straining below her rolled-up sleeves as she rolled a barrel farther down.
"She said make sure there are extra loaves for the wedding!" chirped the Owl above the first fireplace, dropping more vegetables into the stew.
"Whose wedding?" "What wedding?"
"One that needs more bread!"
The cook set the barrel down with a sigh of relief. "The High King looked very fond of that Lady Henrietta last night," she observed to the Hedgehog beside her.
"He took her out on the balcony all alone last night," the Snake agreed, poking at the lump of dough with his tail.
"It'd be mighty quick for a marriage," the Dwarf dame observed, before shrugging. "Sons of Adam and High Kings just do things differently," she said in her wisest tone, with a knowing nod. "We'll be having a wedding, then."
"But have you asked a Centaur?" someone joked, and the whole kitchen laughed.
"Good cousin, hast thou seen Queen Susan?"
"No, your Majesty," the Mouseling squeaked.
The High King sighed. "Thanks for thy time. I wished to ask if she has heard aught from Lady Henrietta." The Mouseling's eyes got big. She'd ducked into the kitchen earlier, and heard it buzzing with rumors about the High King's wedding. And now he was looking for his bride! How sweet! She watched him walk down the length of the hall, then scampered over to her best friend, a very jumpy Rabbit.
"The High King is getting married!" she claimed triumphantly. "I'm sure of it. He was asking about Lady Henrietta and Queen Susan and everything."
"A wedding! A wedding!" the Rabbit rejoiced, jumping up and down. "But Momma says not to tell other people things unless I'm sure," he added, suddenly sitting still, his white ears drooping.
"But I just said I was sure!"
"But I'm not sure!"
"Then go ask a Centaur!" the Mouseling said with a flounce of her tail.
A Bat happened to be hanging on the ceiling, waiting for night to fall and the ball welcoming the Telmars to begin, and he happened to overhear the little conversation. He watched as the little Rabbit's ears suddenly perked up and he hopped away. The Bat's own ears twitched.
Now, many assume Rabbits or Birds are Narnia's biggest gossipers, but the wisest will often smile and point to the Bats. The small black creatures have some of the best hearing abilities in Narnia, and often in the summer must wait for hours before the sun goes down. They spend that time listening—and talking.
So it was only minutes before the squeaking Bat caught the attention of others of his kind, and the news—news of the High King's marriage—then spread from the Bats to the maids, from the maids to the soldiers, and from the soldiers to the town.
And sadly for all involved, none of the people the Bats told thought to ask a Centaur.
But one little Rabbit had been told before the Bats, and he did the sensible thing—he went straight to find a Centaur.
Not just any Centaur, though. He went to one of the oldest, one who read the skies nightly, and was teaching the skill of stargazing to his newly born son.
He went to go find Meadowcloud.
"Sir?"
"Here, Meadowcalm,** look above my finger. There, though you cannot see it well, Tarva calmly strides. When the light leaves fully-"
"Sir?"
"-below him will dance the Star of chaos, lower in the sky. And what does that mean, my son?"
"Chaos will rise, but will not triumph. Father?"
"Sir!"
"Yes?"
"I think a Rabbit kit is trying to get your attention."
The grey-haired Centaur turned from the sky to the ground, and seeing the Rabbit, stooped with a kind smile. "I am sorry. The skies hold my eyes and leave nothing for my ears. What can I do for you?"
"My Momma told me not to tell people something unless I know it is true."
Meadowcloud, old and wise, and with a child of his own, held in his smile. "That is good advice."
"And people always say to ask a Centaur if something will happen."
"Something big is usually written in the stars, so that is also wise advice."
"Is the High King getting married?"
Meadowcloud blinked. "I have not heard that he is," he said after a moment.
"But what do the stars say?"
"Would the High King's marriage be written in the stars, Father?"
Meadowcloud glanced up at his son, and then back down the rabbit. "I rather think it would be," he said slowly. "It is not likely to be a small affair, or something without ramifications that would echo in the skies. But I was rather thinking-"
He raised himself from his stoop, eyes going back to the sky. He stared hard at the Star of chaos.
"Father?"
"I think, my son, that I may have an inkling as to why Chaos rose."
The foal's eyes grew wide, as did the Rabbit's. "Why?" they chorused breathlessly.
"Because I do not think the High King is getting married." The two waited. "But I believe there is a rumor that says he is. Come, we must be off. Prophets are truth tellers, my son. And sometimes it is the role of a truth teller to point out a lie."
"There you are, fair Queen."
Queen Susan laid down her quill. "Didst need something, my brother?"
"Thy time and attention. At thy bidding, the night before last I took the Lady Henrietta aside. Dost remember?"
"Yes. I had brought to thine ears the rumors about her father's ill treatment."
"I asked if she sought refuge, or needed such. She giggled, my lady, in a manner as scatter-brained as an addled Hare. Her wrists and arms were clean of bruises, and her temperament happy, if not quite queenly. I think the rumors be false."
The Queen smiled. "'Tis good to hear. But what is this?"
"This" was King Edmund, walking in and eyeing Peter with an unfavorable look. "Truly, brother, I have a point to poke thee with. After all thy lengthy discussions on how our happiness and hearts desires bear on the happiness and heart of Narnia, and how we must come to thee if our heart desires a consort, I had thought thee would return the favor. What is this that reaches my ears? Art thou being wed tonight?"
High King Peter blinked. He opened his mouth, paused, and looked hard at his brother. He took in the twitching mouth, and relaxed, ready to share a joke.
Before he could demand the explanation, however, his page, the Squirrel Patterfeet, came bounding in the room.
"Sir! I just heard the news, sir, as the lookout told the General, and sir, can I be in the wedding? I'll be very still and impressive, sir! Can I hold the rings? I would not lose them. I would hold them very carefully and not smudge them, and I would be in just the right spot when you needed them, and please, sir, can I please be a part of your wedding?"
"My good brother, what is this wedding they speak of?" Queen Susan asked, rising to her feet. Patterfeet bowed to her, but switched his attention right back to the High King as soon as politeness allowed.
"I am not yet sure. Tell me, enlightened ones—particularly thee, my King, as thine amusement is clear—who am I to marry, and who decided such a destiny for me?"
"The Lady Henrietta is to take thy hand in marriage this night, in an abundance of song, joy, and bread."
"Bread?" the Queen asked, her own mouth beginning to lift at the corners.
"Truly, bread, my sister, though I know not why. I would have thought the High King favored the sweets from Galma more than the hearty repast of grains, but as he did not see fit to inform me of his nuptials, I dare not say I know him well."
"Enough! Good brother, how didst thou hear this? Patterfeet, what messenger told the General?"
A light knock on the door interrupted them. A moment later a blushing Lady Henrietta entered, curtsying and rising with a wide, wide smile.
"Oh, King Peter!" she exclaimed, clasping both her hands at her chest. "I had not thought your interest in my anything more than kindness, but my maid informs me that we are to be wed tonight! I do not know Narnian customs, so I had not realised that is what you were asking last night, when you spoke of Narnia as a refugee. Oh, my King! How lovely!"
.
.
You know, there's a Mark Twain short story that builds up to a tremendous climax, and THEN HE WRITES HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO GET THE PROTAGONIST OUT OF THE DIFFICULTY, AND LEAVES THE TALE THERE. I'm a bit tempted to do that myself. To just end it here, because I'm not quite sure where to go from here.
But maybe I should take a stab at it. I've not the skill Mark Twain had that made his works worth reading no matter how infuriating he could be at times.
.
.
Peter closed his eyes in horror. Even Edmund and Susan stopped smiling. A life of dinners and dances and most of all, ruling, with a person unaccustomed to serious thought, was a daunting prospect. Yet refusing, without causing an international scandal, would take careful thought. And who comes telling a joke, and yet prepared to diplomatically tell a lady from another land that she's an airhead who should know better than to think Kings proposed without ever asking for a hand in marriage?
Even the Gentle Queen and Just Judge found their words had deserted them for those first few moments.
In those moments, there sounded another knock on the door.
The three rulers did not feel quite equal to calling in another being, who might bring still more dreadful news than this last, and Lady Henrietta had her hopeful eyes fixed on Peter's magnificent, weary face, so it was Patterfeet who ran along the wall and jumped, landing with soft thump on the door handle and turning it.
In came a Centaur, his son, and a tiny Rabbit hopping very fast to keep up with the Centaur's long strides.
"Your Majesty, I bring grave news," Meadowcloud said gravely.
King Peter firmly kept the whimper in the back of his throat, and did not allow it to leave his mouth. What now?
"There is a rumor going around the castle that your Majesty will be married. Yet such an event is not written in the stars. Your Majesty, I am afraid that your marriage, if planned, is doomed to failure. You must therefore cease all such plans."***
King Edmund was the first to regain his wits—and his words. "Truly, my brother, as much as it pains me to say it, I must agree. Not even a King may go against the stars. I bid thee retract all thoughts and offers of marriage, even to such a lovely lady."
"Sadly, I must agree. Lady Henrietta, it is with sorrow for thine disappointment that I tell thee, I cannot marry thee."
The smile slowly dropped into a frown, and tears filled the empty eyes. "The stars are against it?"
"There, there," Queen Susan said softly, putting an arm around Lady Henrietta's shoulders. "Alas, one cannot contradict the stars and expect to triumph. But thou may still enjoy the warmth and joy of Narnia. Perhaps tea, to help with the shock?"
She led the weeping lady through the door and towards the kitchens.
"Patterfeet, I would ask thee to go and let those in armoury know that there is to be no wedding tonight. Especially the General," Peter finished with a grimace, and Patterfeet, with a sad frown, bowed and scurried away.
The High King sat down, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Perhaps now is the time for us to withdraw," came Meadowcloud's calm tone. He bowed and, taking the Rabbit in one hand and the hand of his son in the other, withdrew.
"I do not think thee has provided me more amusement than on this day. Art well?"
"Still single, thanks be to Aslan." He leaned back against the couch. "And thanks be to the truth-telling stars."
OOOOO
*If you don't know where this is from, I am sorry.
**Yes, I did make a mistake on Meadowcloud's name in the last chapter (I fixed it, though, after two people were kind enough to point it out—seriously, by the way, THANK YOU, I like having those fixed), and I like chances to laugh at myself, so his son is now named Meadowcalm.
***I FOUND A WAY OUT! With a bit of alterations, true, but it works well with the "Go ask a Centaur"! Yay!
