2. She recollects

Meanwhile, with apparent ease, Prince Rabadash triumphed over Sir Mardian, piercing his side and tipping him off his horse. Knight after knight he upset, wreaking merciless havoc upon the warriors of the Narnian party, until none were left standing, and all were borne away from the field with minor wounds of some sort. After the clearly reluctant High King declared him the victor of the field that day, Rabadash dismounted, removed his helmet, and kneeled before Susan, in the dirt below her.

His blue-black ringlets were matted and damp with sweat, glistening and curling like ivy against his head, and he breathed as heavily as if he'd just finished running several miles. He swallowed and wiped his brow; then he looked up and threw his arm out in a most dramatic gesture, so that his gem-studded gauntlets glittered as if they had caught fire.

"O peerless queen," he declared. "O pearl of the age, I owe you more than I can ever say! Your beauty, goodness, graciousness and chastity have inspired me, and the favor which you deigned to give your servant has caused me to prevail this day. I lay my victories at your feet, most divine beauty; I pray that you might accept them, for I am naught but dust underneath your feet; I can only place a petition before you, like the lowliest pilgrim or the most beggarly slave, to kiss the hem of thy garment."

His position was all humility, and his words were all courteousness; but there was something in the way his sloe eyes regarded her, that made her feel, strangely, as he were the one standing upon the platform, and she were the one below.

"Your Highness," said Susan, a little breathlessly, "is only too kind to attribute your bravery to me. If your lordship so desires, than you may mount the dais and give your thanks in person." Saying this, she felt a thrill, and heard the stands begin to buzz with wonder at such strange protocol, and to extend a foreigner such a favor. She even heard a little gasp from Lucy, and felt the eyes of her brothers upon her. Well, she didn't care what they thought. She was a queen too, and she would do as she wished!

Rabadash smirked as he quickly climbed up the stairs to where she stood. As he approached her, her throat constricted. Although his build was slim, he was much taller than she was. She heard the faint clink of his mail shirt and the rustle of his samite tunic, and breathed in his scent. Quickly, he yanked off his right gauntlet, leaving a brown and sinewy hand bare, and took the pale hand that she slowly and smilingly extended. As his warm fingers encircled hers, she shivered, and as his head lowered and his mouth pressed into the flesh above her knuckles, she struggled to keep her face still. He kissed her hand with lips that were hot and moist, and he lingered there a moment or two longer than necessary. It was very hard to remember that she stood in the middle of the greatest tourney ever held in Narnia; for a moment she could not help but think that she was all alone in the world with this… very attractive young man.

When he finally looked back up at her, his eyes were very black and large in his face, and he stared at her with such transparent desire she almost felt as if she had been struck. Her cheeks flushed; and a wave of heat overcame her, over a body which- to tell the truth- she had scarcely thought about before now. The lacings on the side of her gown grew suddenly very tight, and she became very conscious how the silk stretched over her breasts and hips.

And it was, then, suddenly she remembered where she had seen one like Rabadash before. It was in that other place, that before-place; in London.

London, she thought to herself in shock- where she had been just plain Susan, Susan Pevensie, and for a brief time she had fancied the dark-skinned son of a Hindu cornershop owner, near their flat in Berkeley Square. She had flirted with him, shyly, when she had gone in to buy ginger beer or sweets or other assorted groceries, and he had always helped her first, even if there were other customers in line. Perhaps he had looked a bit like Rabadash, with his black curly hair and olive complexion, but he had only been sixteen at the most.

Yet she had been twelve years old at the time- with budding breasts, and no monthly flow. A plainly dressed schoolgirl, in a plaid skirt and sensible shoes, in a world of automobiles, and movie magazines, and department stores, and the Underground, and air raid drills….

So, how… How in the name of God did she get here, with a woman's body, but with none of a woman's memories? Rabadash still stood only a few feet from her, still staring at her as if he wanted to push her on the ground and ravish her, and no doubt to a Queen of Narnia this manner of behavior should be considered highly offensive…

I bleed every month, she thought, with increasing hysteria, and I do not remember when I started. How did my breasts get this large? Why have I never dated a boy? Why have I never married? Where am I? Oh God, where is my mother?

Mother, mother! she wanted to scream. Where are you? Where have you gone?

And so overwhelmed- she started gulping for air- and blackness overtook her.

(to be continued...)