Aftermath of Voyage of the Dawn Treader and The Silver Chair, or How Eustace Kept Being UnDragoned.
Just some more Eustace writing. This *might* be the last story in this between-the-books run, unless there's something anyone particularly wants to see? Let me know in a review or PM. : ) Golden Age story is in process. There will probably be several multi-chapter stories, but if anyone wants to see a particular one-shot, lmk in review too : )
"Edmund, Lucy! They're here!" Eustace's voice held a mixture of excitement and bittersweetness as he called to his cousins. He was excited to see their happiness at seeing their family again, but it would be hard to let them go, now. "Edmund?"
When he didn't receive an answer, he hurried up the stairs to Lucy's room, where he'd last seen them. "Didn't you hear me? Do you need help with your—oh."
Lucy was sitting on her bed, staring forlornly at the painting on the wall, tears trickling down her cheeks. Edmund sat beside her, his arm around her shoulders.
Eustace wasn't sure what to say, exactly, but newly awakened instincts, which had been honed the past several weeks since they'd returned from Narnia, prompted him to go sit on Lucy's other side.
"It wasn't so bad these past weeks," Lucy sniffed. "I could wake up and look at the Dawn Treader, and when I went to sleep I could fall asleep looking at her, and think of C-Caspian and Drinian and… and Reep—oh!" A new flow of tears interrupted her.
Clumsily Eustace fished out a handkerchief and handed it to her, which she applied to her face.
"But now I have to leave even the painting behind…" She gestured helplessly. "It hurts all over again."
"Buck up, Lu." Edmund said bracingly. "I know how you feel, but you can't let it overwhelm you."
"I didn't realize it was," she said miserably.
"Come now, cousin," Eustace said. "You can't go to pieces on me. What kind of example are you setting for me? What'd Reep tell me you were called in the stories—Valiant? Anyway you don't want your Mother to see you were crying, do you?"
Lucy took in a deeper breath and gathered herself. "No," she said, and wiped her cheeks, standing and resolutely turning her face from the painting. "No, you're quite right. Thank you, Eustace." She bent to pick up her bag, but Eustace beat her to it.
"No, I'll carry it down for you."
She smiled at him, and he felt a thrill, knowing he'd Done Something Right again.
If he was still keeping track, he'd have given himself a mark for that. He feared he'd be in need of the reminders. What would happen to him when his Pevensie cousins went away? Would he backslide? Would he become that little toadying fool again? And what about when he went back to Experiment House—would the new Eustace survive?
His only hope was that Alberta—Mother—had already complained about how terribly common he had become, and it wasn't too long before he'd realized that anything his mother thought 'raised' him above the common man, really only served to isolate Eustace. And those things that she criticized as being low-class and archaic were those kind and thoughtful and noble ideals he'd learned and grown to treasure in Narnia.
But he was afraid, deeply afraid, that the Scrubbs' modern house would wear away at the shaky foundation of decency he was struggling to build all alone.
They reached the ground floor, and before they opened the door to greet the elder Pevensies, Eustace reached to seize his cousins' hands.
Lucy beat him to it, in that way she had of sensing what others wished. "Oh, Eustace, do write us frequently, and let us know how you're getting on," she said earnestly.
A smile spread across Eustace's face. "That's just what I was going to ask if I could do!"
"That offer goes for me, too. You'll get less trouble at school if you're writing a boy cousin than if you're writing a girl cousin," Edmund pointed out. "And… if you should get back..."
"I'll write straightaway," Eustace promised, realizing that Edmund, too, was feeling the departure keenly.
A smile similarly graced Edmund's face, and Eustace got that thrill of happiness again. He'd made someone else happy, just by making a promise he'd want to do anyway! And making them happy made him happy. It was one of the bewildering and wonderful things he'd come to notice (for, though he was rather a far more decent human being than he had been, Eustace was still an analyzer of things, through and through. He just put those talents to better use now).
They opened the door and trooped through to the driveway, where Alberta and Harold stood guarding the stoop against the interloping Pevensies. Eustace couldn't decide whose face was more hilarious when he politely greeted the people getting out of the car with "Uncle Joseph and Aunt Margaret! I hope you had a wonderful trip. I'm sorry Cousin Susan didn't come with you—oh, Cousin Peter!" he interrupted himself, as the older boy, with a wondering look, climbed out of the car.
Peter was tall and golden haired, and starting to fill out into his man's body, with a broader chest and more muscles than Eustace remembered him having. At the sight of him, Eustace was keenly recalled to a book he'd seen in Lord Bern's house, with illustrations and tales of the Four Kings and Queens of Narnia who had been her salvation in her darkest hour. Now, he hadn't been in any frame of mind to truly appreciate those stories then, dismissing them as faradiddle and balderdash, but now he thought to himself how remarkably accurate the artist had got Peter, despite there being—what?—a thousand year difference in time?
He barely checked the impulse to bow, in fact, understanding to his bones that this young man was the High King of Narnia, no matter what realm he dwelt in. He also understood now a lot of the things he'd dismissed as Peter posturing or putting on a show were just… Peter, and he wagered that if he wanted to stop having such an effect on the people around him, Peter probably had to put in a conscious effort.
Much surprised, a bemused Peter held his hand out to Eustace, who wrung it gratefully, stepping close enough that he could say, quietly, "Please accept my apologies for being such a beast these years… High King."
Peter frowned at him for a second, and then his blue eyes flashed to Edmund and Lucy, who gave him studied looks in response as they greeted their parents, who were distracted in thanking the Scrubbs. Whatever he saw in their faces reassured him, for he grasped Eustace's hand back and said solemnly, "You are welcome to our number, we friends of Narnia."
"Can—can I write you too?" Eustace all but begged, and Peter really smiled.
"Certainly, Cousin. There may be issues you feel you can't really bother your father about, but I will be overjoyed to help you where I may," he said a little formally, and added, "sometimes it's nice to have an older boy to talk things over with." He spoke even more softly, sounding a little wistful as he asked, "So, you've met Him?"
"Yes. Yes. He saved me, and I hardly realized I needed saving," Eustace admitted, and reddened.
"He saved all of us, no matter how noble you think we may be," Peter said seriously. "There was one time in the old days when he most properly clouted me over the head for being stupid, and well I deserved it. I'll write you about it, sometime."
"I'd like to hear anything about those days," Eustace said, checking over his shoulder that both sets of parents were still occupied and not witnessing this strange sounding conversation. "They sound so wonderful."
"There were many wonderful days," Peter said. "They didn't call it the Golden Age for nothing. But at times our peace was hard-pressed, and hard-won, and there were times of sorrow and loss, never doubt it. But those times of sorrow and loss, were, I think, the catalyst for a lot of growth, too. So remember that Aslan never allows something to be totally bad, though you might have to search for the good somewhat."
"But that's—well, there," Eustace said. "What about here?"
A brilliant smile appeared. "He is here, too," Peter confided. "That's another thing you have to search for. But I will say you absolutely never know where you're going to find Him. I have found him in the most unexpected places."
"That's wonderful."
"It is."
There was a little pause. Then Eustace asked, "Erm. Is Susan sick, or something?"
Peter's face darkened. "It seems Susan has got, well, rather a little silly during her time in America. She has, thank God, left the really stupid behavior behind that got her sent there in the first place, but she's replaced it with some very shallow silly ideas. I suppose on the whole silliness is preferable to stupidity that puts others at risk—" he shot a glance at Lucy that Edmund couldn't interpret. "However, I'd rather see her using her brains more than she seems to be at present. But," he sighed. "I am only her brother, and Mother and Father seem to think this is some sort of phase, so I can only wait it out. But—ah! It looks like the parents are wrapping up. Here, help me put these bags in the boot. And do write me, and I will write you, too. I'm sure your perspective of Narnia will be most illuminating."
Eustace had to stifle a laugh at his aunt's and uncle's rather shocked looks when he and Eustace and Lucy embraced fondly and waved each other good-bye. He chose to ignore the gimlet stare his mother treated him to as the Pevensies' car moved away, and instead trotted back to his room to reset the few things that had been displaced during Edmund's stay.
And then he found it: a letter, from both Edmund and Lucy, full of encouragement and cheer and kindness, and a wish that he continue in his path now he was "un-dragoned," and most of all, their love as his cousins. He straightaway placed it in the pile of books that were to accompany him back to Experiment House in a week, and went down to scrub and peel potatoes for dinner, his heart far lighter than he would have imagined it could have been, the day the Pevensies left him on his own.
When he got back to school he discovered some interesting facts. First, some of the older, bigger boys and girls, to whom he'd sucked up all last year, were not so old or big as he remembered. Certainly Cousin Peter could handle them easily, and he rather thought that in many ways, even Cousin Lucy was older than most of them. Certainly, she was wiser.
These realizations helped him unthinkingly resist their pressure, and he stood up for some smaller kids who'd really be hurt if They got after them.
He also realized, soon after this, that some of Them were exactly as old and big as he remembered, and he bore bruises for many days following his rescue of the younger kids. But he was able to bear them with a sort of pride, knowing one kid would be able to treasure the memory of his pet rabbit without Their interference, or that Spivvens wouldn't end up with a broken back if Eustace had anything to say about it.
He took to taking runs around the property, to build up his stamina, and when he could he would look through his textbooks and find illustrations on exercises to build up his arms and legs, and he would do these when he thought he wouldn't get caught. Gradually, his arms and legs began to look less weedy, and a tiny bit more like the illustrations in the books.
But what helped him the most were the letters from the Pevensies, full of anecdotes and cheer and encouraging thoughts.
And then right at the end of the second week of term, he and Pole got swept away on their grand adventure, traveling across Narnia and into the Wilds of the North and rescuing Prince Rillian. Then they were sent back with Caspian at their side to beat some sense into Them at Experiment House. For a week or two, everything was topsy-turvy as the Head shrieked about Lions and Lunatics and what all, and there were investigations and interviews and questionnaires and things. And most of Them (the worst ones anyway) were expelled. Eustace found he didn't much care where they went. Eustace and Pole became rather good friends, and they both wrote to the Pevensies of their adventures and asked their advice on being more Narnian in England, and the rest of the term went by quite speedily. Pole asked if Eustace could come and stay with her over the Christmas break, and her somewhat surprised parents said yes.
The Poles, it seemed, were quite unlike the Scrubbs. They'd enrolled Jill in Experiment House on the understanding that it was a different sort of school, the sort of school that brought out just the best in its students, and wishing the best start for their daughter, they got Jill a place there. Jill, of course, never told them what things were really like, so when all the news had broken about the Headmistress going mad, and some of the abuses older students would dole out to younger, and all the rest, they had been very alarmed, and were looking for another school for Jill.
The Jill asked them if her friend Eustace Scrubb couldn't come for part of the Christmas hols, and he'd really appreciate it, and it would be all she wanted for Christmas that year, really.
Well, given a request like that, the Poles had shelved, momentarily, their plans of moving Jill, and had agreed she might have her school-friend over.
When he arrived at the Poles' Eustace had, on Lucy's advice, saved up and gone out and got a small box of chocolates to give to Jill's mother, which charmed her instantly. Blushing, Eustace stammered, "Oh, ma'am, I just took Cousin Lucy's advice," and then blushed harder when she kissed him. He didn't get kissed much by mothers, not even his own.
"You dear boy," Mrs. Pole gushed. "You thought of asking, and that's far more than I'd have expected, given what we've heard recently about Experiment House."
"Well, things are better now," Eustace said. "Ever since we—er—"
"Ever since we saw the Headmistress go bonkers," Jill said, with a warning glance.
Later, when they were alone, she hissed at him, "You almost told, are you mad?"
He blushed yet again. "Alb—Mother mostly doesn't pay attention to what I say," he protested. "And I stopped myself!"
"Barely," Jill said, but she looked sympathetic.
Later she looked more sympathetic when Eustace laid his largest problem out for her.
"I want to give my Pevensie cousins something for Christmas, but—well—I've never given anyone a Christmas present before," he said. "How do I know what to get?"
"Well, I'd say anything that would be a happy reminder of Narnia." Jill said. "I know I'd love to know more about its history and all. I still can't believe your cousins were the rulers! I'd like to meet them, someday."
"You will," Eustace promised. His face lit up. "And I just thought of the perfect Christmas gift for everyone!"
A couple of weeks later, Joseph was surprised to find a large, flat package on the doorstep. "I wasn't expecting anything, were you?" He asked a curious Margaret, who shook her head.
They examined the wrapping more closely and could hardly believe their eyes: the package was addressed to "My Pevensie Cousins," and was signed, simply, "from Eustace."
They set it near the Christmas tree to wait until Christmas Day. Wihen time came to unwrap it, Lucy and Edmund, with an excited gleam in their eyes, attacked the plain paper package.
"Oh, he did! He did!" Lucy exclaimed.
"That Eustace has turned out all right," Edmund said.
Peter agreed, "He certainly has," and glanced at Susan, who looked at the painting of the Dawn Treader and turned her head away, her throat taut with tension. Peter affectionately placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. Her only response was a slight movement of her hand to touch the back of his, but that was all.
Peter sighed and moved toward Lucy and Edmund to share in their excitement over the painting. Susan could sulk if she wanted to; he would enjoy Christmas.
Across town, Jill Pole frowned over the bulky, bendy package that had appeared on her doorstep the previous afternoon. It was marked with a bold "Do Not Open Until Christmas Day" and smaller lettering indicated it was from "your friend, Eustace," but she couldn't imagine what it could be.
She carefully peeled the paper back. A plain notebook sat in her hands, and she puzzled over Eustace's difficult handwriting for a while until she realized what it was: a book full of Narnian stories.
Later that day, as she sat, engrossed in the book, she discovered it wasn't just Eustace—he'd got his cousins to write accounts of Narnian history for her, too. She began to feel as though she'd met Eustace's cousins as she delved through Peter's bold scrawl, Edmund's spiky, precise script, or Lucy's flowing open handwriting.
She loved them all already, and knew they all, with Eustace, would remain the best of friends.
Eustace got up on Christmas morning to rather a bleaker scene: no scene at all. There was no crackling fire, no Christmas tree, no carolers. No ornaments or manger scene or candles, and it was unlikely they'd have anything like a festive dinner. It was Brussels sprouts night.
So his surprise when the doorbell rang around noon was great, and it only intensified when he went out to the stoop to find a couple of packages, and letters, waiting for him, Special Delivery.
He smuggled the lot up to his room before Alberta or Harold even knew anything had been delivered. The first package was from the Pevensie parents, a new notebook for him to write in, with a kind note of thanks for being such a good friend to Lucy and Edmund over the hols. The second was from Peter, Edmund, and Lucy, and it contained a list of all the good things they knew he'd done or changed about himself in the past six months, and a letter from all of them telling him how much he was loved and appreciated by them. The last was from Jill, and it had a clumsily-made Christmas card, and a note expressing how happy she was they'd enjoyed such adventures together, and lastly, pressed in the card, a leaf and a feather that shone with such rarity they could only have come from Aslan's country. "They were caught in that outfit I used for that fancy-dress party," she wrote. "I couldn't bear using them as props but thought it might encourage you. So you get to keep them for now."
All in all, Eustace thought, this might just be the merriest Christmas I've ever had. And he went to sleep that night, well satisfied with all the world.
As always, let me know what you think, good or bad. Constructive criticism helps as much as praise!
