Susan stared in complete horror at the beautiful scenery. Even the butterflies gave her chills. Even so, there was something vaguely familiar about this place, something she couldn't quite put her finger on…
But the man was talking again. She tuned in to what he was saying.
"Are you alright, My Lady? You have turned pale," he said concernedly. "And you appear to have torn your dress."
Susan looked down. Her skirt was in one piece. She looked up at him quizzically. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, your… ankles are showing," he said, turning a little pink.
Susan glanced quellingly down at his own knees, which were showing between the kilt-like thing he was wearing and his medieval-looking boots.
"Look who's talking."
He blinked at her, entirely confused. He was rather good-looking, apart from his sense of fashion, with light brown hair that fell in his olive eyes and skin darkened a bit by the sun. But behind that handsome face, he obviously had no idea what she was talking about. Susan decided this was getting her nowhere. "Where are we?" she asked him, slowly and clearly.
He seemed relieved to hear her ask something he could answer. "In the ruins of Cair Andrel," he responded promptly.
"Cair Andrel?" she asked blankly. "I've never heard of it."
"Truly? Your tutors perhaps have not included it in your history lessons. The younger son of the second king of Narnia established it—"
Susan interrupted him. "Narnia?!"
"Yes…?" The young man was beginning to look very curious indeed. But Susan wasn't looking at him. Her head was spinning. Narnia? Oh, surely not. Narnia had been a game! It certainly wasn't real. She could almost believe this was a prank; maybe her siblings were playing a prank on her because she was so adamant about not believing in Narnia anymore! But really, she couldn't imagine any of her siblings, or even her (once) horrid cousin Eustace being this cruel, and anyway, how would they do it? It was too elaborate; too real. But there was no such thing as Narnia! She had told herself that for years, and she still insisted on believing it. Maybe she was dreaming?... No, she wasn't dreaming, and she knew it. Nor was she dead. She felt more alive, really, than she had in quite a long time. All this thinking was making her head hurt, and she rubbed it where she had smacked into the door.
"Are you unwell?" The young man had stepped a little closer, a look of concern on his face. "You seem disoriented…"
"Yes, I'm unwell," Susan said, latching on to the excuse he had given her. "I hit my head."
"Ah. Well, I will escort you back to your party; they must be missing you. From which direction did you come?"
I don't know; I was traveling perpendicular to reality, Susan thought, a bit amused. "I—I don't know," she stammered, exaggerating her confusion. She squinted a bit in the sunlight, just for effect.
"You should not be in the sun," the young man said decisively, and offered her his arm. "I will take you to Cair Paravel; it is not far."
The name meant nothing to Susan, but she put her hand lightly on his arm (her other hand clutched in a death-grip around the jar of peaches as if it were her last link to reality) and walked with him.
"Pardon me, milady, but I have not introduced myself!" He turned a beaming smile on her. "My name is Prince Belarion."
That was the solution. He was mad. A madman who thought he was a prince and wandered around in ruins dressed in funny clothes. She must humor him.
"Pleased to meet you, Your Highness," Susan said, putting on her best manners. "My name is Susan."
"From where do you hail, Lady Susan?"
"I'm… not from around here," she hedged.
"Archenland, perhaps? Or near the Great Waterfall?"
"Near Archenland," Susan fibbed cautiously.
"Ah."
They walked in silence for some time, under the cool shade of the forest and to a dirt road, and Susan took the time to think. She was intensely grateful that he hadn't grilled her on her place of origin, since she was pretty sure that all the acting in the world wouldn't help her fib her way through a geography she wasn't familiar with. Did she know anything about the landscape of Narnia? She racked her brains…
There is no Narnia, she told herself sternly. It was a game. You made it up.
Oh, answered another part of her, are you sure? This can't be a game; it's just a bit too real. She was almost ready to give in to that voice. And then, she realized something that made her smile with relief.
This can't be Narnia, she said with assurance. Because he doesn't know my name. If Narnia were somehow, inexplicably real, then I was a queen there. And this Prince Belarion obviously knows his history. He should have recognized my name. Susan isn't at all a name like Belarion; it's not Narnian. He didn't recognize my name, so I wasn't queen here, so this is not Narnia! She resisted the urge to add, Ha!, because talking to oneself in one's head is perfectly acceptable, but laughing triumphantly at proving yourself wrong is just a little strange. Even for a girl who was walking with a (thankfully benign) madman who thought he was a prince. The Cair Paravel that he was taking her to was probably some funny little cottage in the woods, and she would come up with an excuse and get away, and find her way back to the ruins and—somehow—get back into the cellar.
They were rounding a corner in the road, and the forest seemed to be ending. Soon they would be out in the open. She must remember to stifle her laughter when she saw the "Prince's" hut…
She never had to stifle her laughter. She had to stifle a gasp. As they rounded the corner and came out from the trees, she saw in the distance a castle, a palace, right on the edge of the sea, with the sun glinting off its high windows and gay scarlet banners snapping in the breeze.
Belarion stopped and gestured to it. "Cair Paravel, my Lady," he said.
Calmly, rationally, Susan turned to face him. "I apologize," she said politely. "I thought you were mad." She made herself smile graciously at his astonished expression. Then she passed out.
000
Susan came to slowly. She was in a soft bed with cool sheets. Somewhere nearby a window was open, and a breeze blew over her with the wonderful tang of the sea in it. Susan kept her eyes closed. She knew what she would see when she opened them—her room in her friend's house in Brighton. Oh, but the air smelled better than ever Brighton's did! And the bed was softer too. And come to think of it, she was not wearing her nightgown…
Susan opened her eyes and got a bit of a shock. This was not her friend's house in Brighton. She was in an elegant bedchamber with gaily-coloured tapestries on the walls and a beautiful rug on the floor. The sheets on the bed were silk.
Susan sat up abruptly, then had to shut her eyes against a wave of dizziness. When she opened them again, someone had hurried over to her. She squinted up at the newcomer.
"Gently, Lady Susan!" the young woman admonished. She was several years older than Susan herself, with bright golden hair that reminded Susan of her little sister Lucy, only that it wasn't curly, but ran smooth as glass down her back and cascaded over her shoulders. She was quite beautiful, with great eyes of blue—blue as sapphires. Something in her face reminded Susan of Prince Belarion—not in her coloration, but in the shape of her features.
"Here." She pushed a glass of water into Susan's hand. "You should be feeling more the thing presently."
As Susan sipped the water, she noticed her jar of peaches, standing incongruously on the nightstand. She almost choked.
"Where am I?" she managed.
"In Cair Paravel," her hostess said calmly. "On the eastern shore of Narnia. My brother carried you here when you swooned."
"Your brother?"
"Prince Belarion. I am Queen Silvana."
Susan automatically bowed her head. "Your Majesty," she said deferentially. Then her brow furrowed. Why had she done that? She felt a sudden desire to be connected with her old self, so she reached over and grabbed the jar of peaches, hugging them to her.
Queen Silvana looked slightly bemused, but did not comment. After a pause, she said, "Maybe the sea air will clear your head," and walked over to a large wardrobe in the corner. From this she produced a gown of the palest spring green and a pair of matching slippers.
"Oh!" Susan said, her troubles forgotten. "How lovely!"
The Queen smiled. "You may have it, as your own clothes seem to have been… torn, somehow."
"Thank you very much, Your Majesty," Susan said, getting out of bed and making a curtsey. The Queen handed her the dress, and Susan tried to undo the buttons.
"You'll, um, need to put down the peaches first, my dear," Silvana said with a small smile.
AN: I do love that jar of peaches. It's becoming its own character, isn't it?
Unfortunately, I don't think that was quite as well-written as the last chapter. I'm sort of making this up as I go along. Coming up with a plot before I write it doesn't seem to work, so maybe this will? Hey, it worked for Tolkein! :)
Poison blossom: I don't care if your review was "helpful" or not; I still enjoyed receiving it!
HottStuffMely: I'm glad you like it! Edmund was always my favorite character, but the more I concentrate on Susan, the more fascinating she becomes. I'm looking forward to exploring her character.
Fledge: I always pictured Susan as a blonde, too. Maybe because she was played by a blonde in the old movies. (I can't wait until the new one comes out next Christmas!!!!) Actually, I hadn't thought about the fact that Aslan said she couldn't come back… Good point. Uh-oh… lol I'll come up with something! Thank you for mentioning it! (This is what I get for not beta-ing…)
LaydieLenne: Unfortunately, I tend to write short chapters. I don't know why. People are always complaining about it in my Little Princess fic. Thanks!
Ice73: Well, there is one trick in the plot I'm going to pull in at one point that should make you dislike her intensely… Hee hee! —rubs hands together wickedly— Hey, do you have any extra hot chocolate? :)
Please review! Maybe ice73 will share her hot chocolate with you, too!
