Chapter 2: Importance and Uselessness
"...established west of the area to secure our position, led by Under Captain Filon Cobae, where they will remain until further instruction. Under Captain Cobae, we assume your knowledge is sufficient to..."
Lucy's attention swam in and out of focus. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, and once again attempted to wake herself up by waving a feathered fan at her face, creating a pleasant breeze and brief respite from the stuffy heat of the Royal Hall. For such an extravagant name, it was remarkably plain. The walls were painted with dark maroons and navy blues, separated with panels of polished wood. Oil paintings adorned the walls at intervals, and between each, small sconces holding candles and their flickering flames. It was a long, narrow room, completely taken up by a large but undecorated table of sturdy dark wood and the multitude of chairs surrounding it. They were all identical except for the four at each end, which had higher backs and cushions set into the seats. These, of course, were reserved for and currently occupied by the four kings and queens: Edmund and Peter at the end farthest to the door, and Susan and Lucy the end closest.
She could see Edmund across the table, like so many times before, standing with every head turned towards him, speaking so calmly, so confidently, gesturing with his hands to emphasize certain things. Like a chief wolf to the pack. Lucy almost laughed at the irony. She had never heard of a pack ready to tear down their leader and devour him, given half the chance.
They truly would rip him off the throne, she mused with a slight frown. Along with her, Susan and Peter of course. They were like a flock of seagulls all wheeling over a fish near the shore. Conscious of every other bird winging near them, they circle slowly closer to their prey, just waiting for it to stray too close to shore, for a wave to fall back and trap it on the bank, where it will flop and thrash to correct its mistake, already knowing it is doomed to be ripped apart by hundreds of greedy beaks and claws.
Most of them, anyway. The Narnian nobles she trusted completely, but the Calormene schemed behind others' backs as naturally as they drew breath, and even several Archenlander members of the court looked far more fake when bowing and curtsying then was necessary. She would like nothing better then to rid the Imperial Court of those obvious infidels, but it wasn't that simple. Nothing ever was, in this complicated game royalty played.
She noticed Edmund's talk rounding down to a close and popped out of her melancholic reverie. She could always tell when he was finishing; he seemed to lean back near the end, as though slowly backing away and withdrawing from their hawk-eyed stares. "...prepared. Should anyone have questions, opinions or counsel to be made know before the Imperial Court of Narnia, I advise them to speak now, for other chances, upon this matter, will not be given again, unless the Council of Judgement agrees upon such." These were the formal closing words of the gathering, and signalled its official end. Sitters were now permitted to leave if they wished, but no one ever did until the talking had ended. They might miss something important.
Her eyes casually scanned the table, analysing faces, picking out new from old. Dorien Kahrtoll of Archenland, greying red hair slicked back from his face. He was a pleasant man: she spoke to him occasionally in passing. A lady she recognised but could not name with straight, dark hair, deep set eyes and an unattractively scowling mouth, undoubtedly also from Archenland. She ticked the names off on her mind, calculating who was missing, who had been absent last time...
Her eyes fell on a dark-skinned fellow in an overly embroidered black coat with a high neck, and her fingers twitched in recognition and surprise. It was the arrogant man from yesterday, the Calormene gentleman who had seen the four kings and queens discussing the attack. She had not known he was apart of the Imperial Court. It did not matter, then, that he knew of Narnia's troubles. Obviously Peter and Edmund had not found them necessary to hide. Still, there was something about him she did not like at all, and it had nothing to do with the way he looked at her, as though she were beetle inside a book he wanted to snap shut on and crush but didn't want to soil the pages. For a split second, their gazes met, and she could see the contempt and disgust plain on his face.
She swept her long, golden hair, which she had left down today, angrily over her shoulder. He had no right to sneer at her so. He, of a minor House in Calormen, should be bowing to the floor she, the Second Queen of Narnia, walked on. Outrage melted into bewilderment and self-disgust. What, in the name of Aslan, had come over her? Never before had she felt the need to remind herself of her position, or, indeed, really care about her position. She never considered herself as Lucy, Queen of Narnia. It was always simply Lucy of Narnia, in her mind. Why then did this man suddenly make her want to feel higher then she was? She watched him for a long while, but his attention was focussed on the current exchange between Edmund and a Narnian lady, and he did not look her way again. So, she went back to scrutinizing the others, desperately trying to stop her gaze from swinging back to his face.
Lucy caught Peter's eye at the opposite end of the table, a goodly distance. He gave her a quick smile and nodded subtly toward the door. She raised an eyebrow questioningly, and he gave a fraction of a nod while rising from his chair. The four of them, that is to say, the four rulers of Narnia, had developed this way of communicating without words, faint hints of gestures that no one but they would ever recognise or see meaning in. Peter obviously wanted her to go out into the hallway with him, but for what, she had no notion. What could possibly have possessed him to stand out so among all of these members of the Court? The High King Peter and his sister Queen Lucy leaving in the middle of the end discussion period would hardly go unnoticed, and it would cause talk.
She stood and closed the short distance between her and the double doors of heavy wood, watching Peter stroll (he did indeed make it seem as though he were strolling) along the small space between the chairs and the wall from the corner of her eye. He appeared unconcerned and at his ease, not even glancing her way. Yes, this would cause talk. With both of them leaving at the same moment, the nobles would not know what to think. They would cook up the strangest tales so obscure and farfetched even a Naiad would not believe them, and Naiads were known to be quite gullible.
Peter met her outside the door, closing it behind him and giving her a sly grin. Lucy, arms crossed across her chest, gave him her best disapproving look. She glanced down each end of the hallway, eyes running along the somehow soft stone walls draped with tapestries. Because they were in the centre of Cair Paravel, there were no windows to give light, so there was an abundance of Dryad orbs fixed to the wall or hanging from the ceiling, making the wide hallway as bright as daylight. Seeing no one, not even a servant, she spoke.
"Peter, what are you playing at?" said Lucy impatiently, slipping into a less distinguished dialect she only used when she and her brother were alone. "Do you want them to start spreading stories?" There was no need to say who 'they' were. "This had better be important, or I'll gut you like a fish and hang you in the sun to dry."
"Oh, let them spread their stories, Lu," Peter grinned. Yet, however he smiled, she could see the worry in his eyes. "I'm tired of guarding every word I say and thing I do." He took her hands, voice turning grave and smile fading. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. No, don't interrupt," he added when she opened her mouth to tell him there was no need. "I had no right to speak to you so, and I feel awful for saying what I did. You're not a child: I know that. I was just in a rotten mood."
His words caused her to remember the squirrel from yesterday. She had spent a pleasant afternoon with her, considering the circumstances. They had talked of many things in one of Cair Paravel's lower parlours, and had gotten to know eachother fairly well in the expanse of an evening. She was now in the care of one of the servants, the very same who had been charged to find her somewhere to sleep, for, although the palace held many rooms for Talking Beasts, none were fit for squirrels, however big they were.
"I know, Peter," said Lucy softly, giving his hands a squeeze before letting them go, and he nodded solemnly in understanding. He was always such a gentleman. She loved him so. He was so much easier to talk to than Susan or Edmund. Susan was friendly and she and Lucy were both interested in the same things, but she sometimes let being First Queen of Narnia go to her head and allowed herself to be swallowed by the glamour of her position. And Edmund was a nice, and she loved him very much, but he always seemed so distant, and Lucy had trouble opening up to someone who refused to do so in return.
Peter suddenly looked uneasy. If she hadn't known him very well, she would have said he was nervous. "I wanted to tell you something, Lu, before I told anyone else. Edmund doesn't even know, yet." He hesitated, playing with the buttons on his deep green coat. "I'm going to lead the main body of troops to the Glasswater."
Lucy stepped back in surprise, her eyes drawing down sadly. "What? Why...? Why not just send Borland?" Borland was the Commander of the Paw of the Lion, Narnia's military force. "Oh, Peter, you can't! Please don't. You have to stay behind and govern your country. It's your duty as High King."
"No, my duty is to protect my country, Lucy. I'm sorry, but I'm going to war." Seeing his sister repeatedly shake her head, he spread his hands before him questioningly. "What would you have me do? Sit safely in the palace while our nation is slaughtered? What kind of king would I be then, Lu?"
Lucy looked down at the floor, biting her lip lower lip to keep it from curling under into one of her famous pouts. It was a reflection on how young she really was, just barely nineteen. How had she managed to rule Narnia at the age of 7? Well, Peter had done most of the work, being 12, and he'd a lot of help from Aslan. Aslan... He was always there in times of need. Lucy wondered how long Narnia would wait this time for his return. But this was not the time to be thinking about such things. "What about Susan and Edmund?"
"They're staying."
She had a sudden idea, a marvellous and exciting idea. She had not been to war since the minor quarrels with the men of the North and their wolves, and that had been nearly five years ago. It had been far from pleasant, but she had felt a sense of pride while riding with her men, a rush of overwhelming power and excitement. Of course, after the battle was done, she and Susan had wept in eachother's arms over what they had done. But she was older now, and she could handle much easier, she was sure. She drew herself up to her full height (and even then, she did not even reach Peter's shoulder) and glared up at her brother with the fiercest light in her eye that she could manage. "Then I'm coming with you. I'll lead another company."
Peter's face darkened, and before she had finished speaking, she knew it was useless. For all his talk about he, Susan, Edmund and she ruling Narnia together, it was he who always had the final word, and he had as much power over her as he did over everyone else in the realm. Almost as much. Nevertheless, she clenched her jaw and glared even fiercer, intent on fighting 'till the end.
"You are most definitely not coming, young lady," he growled. "I'll have enough things to look after without watching you, too."
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Lucy indignantly. "You're treating me like a porcelain doll, Peter. I'm not nearly so fragile as you-!" She cut off abruptly as the door to the Royal Hall swung open and the members of the Imperial Court filed out, glancing furtively in their direction. What are you talking about, their stares seemed to ask, yet none of them addressed either Peter or Lucy. They chatted idly among themselves, scattering around the hallway in an almost lazy fashion and disappearing around corners.
Lucy turned back to Peter and gave him a tiny curtsy. "Thou wouldst honour me if I am allowed the pleasure of thy conversation on another occasion, King Peter." He inclined his head slightly in response, and so she spotted Susan through the milling mass of people and made her way to her sister's side.
"Sister, thy presence was missed near to the end of the gathering, and the court wondered where thou hadst gone and what couldst be of such importance that thou wouldst allow the final words to escape thy hearing," said Susan when she noticed Lucy beside her. She glanced at her sideways in obvious curiosity. "I myself would delight in knowing what you and our dear brother were talking about at yonder door."
Lucy repeated all the important parts of her discussion with Peter as they began walking along the hallways, and Susan's reaction was much the same. "Could he not send another in his stead?" she said worriedly, wringing her white lace gloved hands. "Surely any one of his captains would take up the sword in his name. Fair little queen, why did you not argue against this decision? I could not withstand the knowledge that our righteous brother's pride has worked strangely upon his judgement that he feels it vital he lead in this counterassault. By the Lion's mane, it is often said that a man's idiocy is determined by the size of his dignity, but it is my belief that King Peter is making illusions of this matter."
"Queen Susan, thy pardon I must ask, for truly did I dispute his judgment, but thou and I know both Peter's determination when fixes an idea in his mind. I fear there is nought to be done but stay in wait at Cair Paravel until his return."
Susan gave a small, saddened sigh and nodded her beautiful head, causing her raven black hair, today in an intricate braid with several strands loose to frame her face, to sway. "Thou art right, Lucy. King Peter is obstinate as a mule. He is used to acquiring what he wants without query, and now his station has gone to his head. It is high time we took counsel from my reflection and spoke to him of this."
Lucy stared. Susan had just described herself quite well, except for the remark about obstinacy: she was fairly agreeable. Peter was indeed stubborn, and Lucy doubted speaking to him about it would really change anything. Undoubtedly he would deny being stubborn to begin with.
The two sisters sat down for their midday meal in a small dining room a little away from the Royal Hall. It was in a small, circular tower overlooking the sea. Tall windows surrounded it on all sides, making it feel so open, they might as well have been outside. A small table stood cluttered with dishes of food. There, over plates of salad and casserole, fowl and beef and venison and mutton, bread and cheese and fish, fruit and pudding and many other things, they talked about this new threat to Narnia, possible preparations for this war and how and when they should announce it publicly.
"Certainly, Archenland and Calormen will know of our troubles soon enough," said Susan when Lucy spoke of their two neighbours. "'Word moves faster then a hummingbird's wings', or so Morlan always says. Aslan's Grace, but I have not seen that bird for a fortnight. I do so worry where his wings have taken him."
Morlan was a Talking Beast, a black, fierce-eyed hawk with a stripe of gold running down his left wing. He was dear friend of Susan's, and when she had been more daring and much less delicate, and had enjoyed hunting, he would scout out the terrain and search for game. He stopped by the palace often, bringing news and gossip from around Narnia and the surrounding lands. Lucy could not understand the friendship: the two were as different as the air and the sea.
"We would benefit from his sharp eyes," agreed Lucy between forkfuls of steamed vegetables wrapped in hot pastry. "These invaders would never suspect a scout of the air." She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, frowning in thought. "Unless they know of Talking Beasts. We should never assume their ignorance exceeds that of our own." They both fell silent, left to ponder over dark thoughts. Lucy picked at her salad, no longer feeling very hungry. Evil strangers. Dark suspicions.
That last echoed in her head, and she suddenly remembered the Calormene with the cold eyes. He wasn't important, now that she knew Peter didn't care if Calormen knew, but... She was suspicious of him. "Susan, didst thou discover the name of the man with the dark eyes? Something has marred my attention and I cannot get it out of my mind that he is somehow a great danger to us."
"Yes, sister," Susan said with a frown of puzzlement. "I overheard someone address him by name. He is Lord Armonde, son of Axartha himself, Grand Vizier and Counsellor to the Tisroc of Calormen."
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. An extravagant title. I no longer think it odd that he carries his nose above the clouds."
Susan snorted with laughter into her plate in a most unladylike fashion, and Lucy began to giggle as well. Soon, both of them were falling over their chairs, laughing until tears ran from their eyes, at the absurdity of it all. It was Edmund who found them this way. The moment he stepped into view from around the doorway, Susan cut off mid-chuckle, but Lucy could not stop herself. And just when she began to calm down, the sight of Edmund staring at the pair of them in such amused perplexity sent her off into gales of renewed laughter.
It was such a relief to laugh, to forget all the problems that came with ruling a kingdom. She had only learned of the massacre at Burlin's Cap yesterday, but it seemed ages since she had had only small, trivial things to bother her mind with. This wonderful and simple joy seemed to restore her resolve. Edmund's expression, his faint, secretive, bemused, and ever so rare smile was such a lovely thing to look upon that she felt ready to face the day.
Clearing her throat softly, the Second Queen of Narnia carefully composed herself once more. She felt her face redden under Edmund's bewildered gaze as she readjusted her hair and straightened her skirts. She forced herself to stand and look him in the eye. His smile may have brightened her day, but it didn't stop her from feeling horribly embarrassed. "King Edmund. What has occasioned this visit?"
"Peter and I have decided to bestow you both full reign of the ball," the big man said. He and I will be busy with preparations for war, and so we would like you to do this without us." His face was so grim one would never have known he had been smiling but a moment ago. He glanced at each of his sisters in turn, trying to read their expressions, and then turned to go.
"Hold, Edmund," said Susan, and he turned around once more to look at her. "Dost our eldest brother truly desire to depart on this... crusade? Pray, tell me how and why such folly and madness has entered his head. Peter has always been a man of deep thoughts and wondrous logic, and I cannot fathom what has caused such an untimely change of character." She was the picture of annoyance and disapproval with arms crossed at her waist, a slippered foot tapping and full lips pursed in displeasure.
Edmund's face flashed with uncertainty for a fraction of a second, and Lucy did not blame him. She would have wagered a lion would pause when Susan was in a mood like this. "Forgive me, sister, but it would not be wise of me to answer this. If thou have need of a response, Peter is in his study."
She turned to Lucy. "Sibling, would it displease you if I depart early from luncheon?" The way it came it, there was no doubt it in her mind that Lucy would say yes. "I wish to speak with our obstinate brother of this... cause." Barely waiting for her sister's nod, the regal queen stalked out of the room on Edmund's heels.
Lucy sat back down in her chair, her meal forgotten. So she and Susan would prepare the feast themselves... Any other time, she would be brimming with excitement, but this year... it was not the same, and she knew it had nothing to do with her growing maturity. A year ago, the ball would have been main point of her life, but now, it was so small and insignificant. People were dying out there, and she could do nothing to stop it. Instead she had to fuss over what colour streamers should be put up, and what food she be served, and what entertainment should be featured at this stupid ball. Anger coursed through her veins, it seared her heart and burned her spirit. In the name of Aslan, she would not wallow in uselessness while everyone else bustled about being helpful! 'And how exactly will you do that?' asked a voice in her head. 'You've been nothing but a figurehead since your crowning. You've never really done anything of use.'
The voice was right, and that only made her angrier.
Author's Note: Sorry for the very slow beginning. I promise things will speed up from here. You might have noticed that I enjoy describing and taking very long to get to the point. I have issues... Please tell me what you think!
"...established west of the area to secure our position, led by Under Captain Filon Cobae, where they will remain until further instruction. Under Captain Cobae, we assume your knowledge is sufficient to..."
Lucy's attention swam in and out of focus. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, and once again attempted to wake herself up by waving a feathered fan at her face, creating a pleasant breeze and brief respite from the stuffy heat of the Royal Hall. For such an extravagant name, it was remarkably plain. The walls were painted with dark maroons and navy blues, separated with panels of polished wood. Oil paintings adorned the walls at intervals, and between each, small sconces holding candles and their flickering flames. It was a long, narrow room, completely taken up by a large but undecorated table of sturdy dark wood and the multitude of chairs surrounding it. They were all identical except for the four at each end, which had higher backs and cushions set into the seats. These, of course, were reserved for and currently occupied by the four kings and queens: Edmund and Peter at the end farthest to the door, and Susan and Lucy the end closest.
She could see Edmund across the table, like so many times before, standing with every head turned towards him, speaking so calmly, so confidently, gesturing with his hands to emphasize certain things. Like a chief wolf to the pack. Lucy almost laughed at the irony. She had never heard of a pack ready to tear down their leader and devour him, given half the chance.
They truly would rip him off the throne, she mused with a slight frown. Along with her, Susan and Peter of course. They were like a flock of seagulls all wheeling over a fish near the shore. Conscious of every other bird winging near them, they circle slowly closer to their prey, just waiting for it to stray too close to shore, for a wave to fall back and trap it on the bank, where it will flop and thrash to correct its mistake, already knowing it is doomed to be ripped apart by hundreds of greedy beaks and claws.
Most of them, anyway. The Narnian nobles she trusted completely, but the Calormene schemed behind others' backs as naturally as they drew breath, and even several Archenlander members of the court looked far more fake when bowing and curtsying then was necessary. She would like nothing better then to rid the Imperial Court of those obvious infidels, but it wasn't that simple. Nothing ever was, in this complicated game royalty played.
She noticed Edmund's talk rounding down to a close and popped out of her melancholic reverie. She could always tell when he was finishing; he seemed to lean back near the end, as though slowly backing away and withdrawing from their hawk-eyed stares. "...prepared. Should anyone have questions, opinions or counsel to be made know before the Imperial Court of Narnia, I advise them to speak now, for other chances, upon this matter, will not be given again, unless the Council of Judgement agrees upon such." These were the formal closing words of the gathering, and signalled its official end. Sitters were now permitted to leave if they wished, but no one ever did until the talking had ended. They might miss something important.
Her eyes casually scanned the table, analysing faces, picking out new from old. Dorien Kahrtoll of Archenland, greying red hair slicked back from his face. He was a pleasant man: she spoke to him occasionally in passing. A lady she recognised but could not name with straight, dark hair, deep set eyes and an unattractively scowling mouth, undoubtedly also from Archenland. She ticked the names off on her mind, calculating who was missing, who had been absent last time...
Her eyes fell on a dark-skinned fellow in an overly embroidered black coat with a high neck, and her fingers twitched in recognition and surprise. It was the arrogant man from yesterday, the Calormene gentleman who had seen the four kings and queens discussing the attack. She had not known he was apart of the Imperial Court. It did not matter, then, that he knew of Narnia's troubles. Obviously Peter and Edmund had not found them necessary to hide. Still, there was something about him she did not like at all, and it had nothing to do with the way he looked at her, as though she were beetle inside a book he wanted to snap shut on and crush but didn't want to soil the pages. For a split second, their gazes met, and she could see the contempt and disgust plain on his face.
She swept her long, golden hair, which she had left down today, angrily over her shoulder. He had no right to sneer at her so. He, of a minor House in Calormen, should be bowing to the floor she, the Second Queen of Narnia, walked on. Outrage melted into bewilderment and self-disgust. What, in the name of Aslan, had come over her? Never before had she felt the need to remind herself of her position, or, indeed, really care about her position. She never considered herself as Lucy, Queen of Narnia. It was always simply Lucy of Narnia, in her mind. Why then did this man suddenly make her want to feel higher then she was? She watched him for a long while, but his attention was focussed on the current exchange between Edmund and a Narnian lady, and he did not look her way again. So, she went back to scrutinizing the others, desperately trying to stop her gaze from swinging back to his face.
Lucy caught Peter's eye at the opposite end of the table, a goodly distance. He gave her a quick smile and nodded subtly toward the door. She raised an eyebrow questioningly, and he gave a fraction of a nod while rising from his chair. The four of them, that is to say, the four rulers of Narnia, had developed this way of communicating without words, faint hints of gestures that no one but they would ever recognise or see meaning in. Peter obviously wanted her to go out into the hallway with him, but for what, she had no notion. What could possibly have possessed him to stand out so among all of these members of the Court? The High King Peter and his sister Queen Lucy leaving in the middle of the end discussion period would hardly go unnoticed, and it would cause talk.
She stood and closed the short distance between her and the double doors of heavy wood, watching Peter stroll (he did indeed make it seem as though he were strolling) along the small space between the chairs and the wall from the corner of her eye. He appeared unconcerned and at his ease, not even glancing her way. Yes, this would cause talk. With both of them leaving at the same moment, the nobles would not know what to think. They would cook up the strangest tales so obscure and farfetched even a Naiad would not believe them, and Naiads were known to be quite gullible.
Peter met her outside the door, closing it behind him and giving her a sly grin. Lucy, arms crossed across her chest, gave him her best disapproving look. She glanced down each end of the hallway, eyes running along the somehow soft stone walls draped with tapestries. Because they were in the centre of Cair Paravel, there were no windows to give light, so there was an abundance of Dryad orbs fixed to the wall or hanging from the ceiling, making the wide hallway as bright as daylight. Seeing no one, not even a servant, she spoke.
"Peter, what are you playing at?" said Lucy impatiently, slipping into a less distinguished dialect she only used when she and her brother were alone. "Do you want them to start spreading stories?" There was no need to say who 'they' were. "This had better be important, or I'll gut you like a fish and hang you in the sun to dry."
"Oh, let them spread their stories, Lu," Peter grinned. Yet, however he smiled, she could see the worry in his eyes. "I'm tired of guarding every word I say and thing I do." He took her hands, voice turning grave and smile fading. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. No, don't interrupt," he added when she opened her mouth to tell him there was no need. "I had no right to speak to you so, and I feel awful for saying what I did. You're not a child: I know that. I was just in a rotten mood."
His words caused her to remember the squirrel from yesterday. She had spent a pleasant afternoon with her, considering the circumstances. They had talked of many things in one of Cair Paravel's lower parlours, and had gotten to know eachother fairly well in the expanse of an evening. She was now in the care of one of the servants, the very same who had been charged to find her somewhere to sleep, for, although the palace held many rooms for Talking Beasts, none were fit for squirrels, however big they were.
"I know, Peter," said Lucy softly, giving his hands a squeeze before letting them go, and he nodded solemnly in understanding. He was always such a gentleman. She loved him so. He was so much easier to talk to than Susan or Edmund. Susan was friendly and she and Lucy were both interested in the same things, but she sometimes let being First Queen of Narnia go to her head and allowed herself to be swallowed by the glamour of her position. And Edmund was a nice, and she loved him very much, but he always seemed so distant, and Lucy had trouble opening up to someone who refused to do so in return.
Peter suddenly looked uneasy. If she hadn't known him very well, she would have said he was nervous. "I wanted to tell you something, Lu, before I told anyone else. Edmund doesn't even know, yet." He hesitated, playing with the buttons on his deep green coat. "I'm going to lead the main body of troops to the Glasswater."
Lucy stepped back in surprise, her eyes drawing down sadly. "What? Why...? Why not just send Borland?" Borland was the Commander of the Paw of the Lion, Narnia's military force. "Oh, Peter, you can't! Please don't. You have to stay behind and govern your country. It's your duty as High King."
"No, my duty is to protect my country, Lucy. I'm sorry, but I'm going to war." Seeing his sister repeatedly shake her head, he spread his hands before him questioningly. "What would you have me do? Sit safely in the palace while our nation is slaughtered? What kind of king would I be then, Lu?"
Lucy looked down at the floor, biting her lip lower lip to keep it from curling under into one of her famous pouts. It was a reflection on how young she really was, just barely nineteen. How had she managed to rule Narnia at the age of 7? Well, Peter had done most of the work, being 12, and he'd a lot of help from Aslan. Aslan... He was always there in times of need. Lucy wondered how long Narnia would wait this time for his return. But this was not the time to be thinking about such things. "What about Susan and Edmund?"
"They're staying."
She had a sudden idea, a marvellous and exciting idea. She had not been to war since the minor quarrels with the men of the North and their wolves, and that had been nearly five years ago. It had been far from pleasant, but she had felt a sense of pride while riding with her men, a rush of overwhelming power and excitement. Of course, after the battle was done, she and Susan had wept in eachother's arms over what they had done. But she was older now, and she could handle much easier, she was sure. She drew herself up to her full height (and even then, she did not even reach Peter's shoulder) and glared up at her brother with the fiercest light in her eye that she could manage. "Then I'm coming with you. I'll lead another company."
Peter's face darkened, and before she had finished speaking, she knew it was useless. For all his talk about he, Susan, Edmund and she ruling Narnia together, it was he who always had the final word, and he had as much power over her as he did over everyone else in the realm. Almost as much. Nevertheless, she clenched her jaw and glared even fiercer, intent on fighting 'till the end.
"You are most definitely not coming, young lady," he growled. "I'll have enough things to look after without watching you, too."
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Lucy indignantly. "You're treating me like a porcelain doll, Peter. I'm not nearly so fragile as you-!" She cut off abruptly as the door to the Royal Hall swung open and the members of the Imperial Court filed out, glancing furtively in their direction. What are you talking about, their stares seemed to ask, yet none of them addressed either Peter or Lucy. They chatted idly among themselves, scattering around the hallway in an almost lazy fashion and disappearing around corners.
Lucy turned back to Peter and gave him a tiny curtsy. "Thou wouldst honour me if I am allowed the pleasure of thy conversation on another occasion, King Peter." He inclined his head slightly in response, and so she spotted Susan through the milling mass of people and made her way to her sister's side.
"Sister, thy presence was missed near to the end of the gathering, and the court wondered where thou hadst gone and what couldst be of such importance that thou wouldst allow the final words to escape thy hearing," said Susan when she noticed Lucy beside her. She glanced at her sideways in obvious curiosity. "I myself would delight in knowing what you and our dear brother were talking about at yonder door."
Lucy repeated all the important parts of her discussion with Peter as they began walking along the hallways, and Susan's reaction was much the same. "Could he not send another in his stead?" she said worriedly, wringing her white lace gloved hands. "Surely any one of his captains would take up the sword in his name. Fair little queen, why did you not argue against this decision? I could not withstand the knowledge that our righteous brother's pride has worked strangely upon his judgement that he feels it vital he lead in this counterassault. By the Lion's mane, it is often said that a man's idiocy is determined by the size of his dignity, but it is my belief that King Peter is making illusions of this matter."
"Queen Susan, thy pardon I must ask, for truly did I dispute his judgment, but thou and I know both Peter's determination when fixes an idea in his mind. I fear there is nought to be done but stay in wait at Cair Paravel until his return."
Susan gave a small, saddened sigh and nodded her beautiful head, causing her raven black hair, today in an intricate braid with several strands loose to frame her face, to sway. "Thou art right, Lucy. King Peter is obstinate as a mule. He is used to acquiring what he wants without query, and now his station has gone to his head. It is high time we took counsel from my reflection and spoke to him of this."
Lucy stared. Susan had just described herself quite well, except for the remark about obstinacy: she was fairly agreeable. Peter was indeed stubborn, and Lucy doubted speaking to him about it would really change anything. Undoubtedly he would deny being stubborn to begin with.
The two sisters sat down for their midday meal in a small dining room a little away from the Royal Hall. It was in a small, circular tower overlooking the sea. Tall windows surrounded it on all sides, making it feel so open, they might as well have been outside. A small table stood cluttered with dishes of food. There, over plates of salad and casserole, fowl and beef and venison and mutton, bread and cheese and fish, fruit and pudding and many other things, they talked about this new threat to Narnia, possible preparations for this war and how and when they should announce it publicly.
"Certainly, Archenland and Calormen will know of our troubles soon enough," said Susan when Lucy spoke of their two neighbours. "'Word moves faster then a hummingbird's wings', or so Morlan always says. Aslan's Grace, but I have not seen that bird for a fortnight. I do so worry where his wings have taken him."
Morlan was a Talking Beast, a black, fierce-eyed hawk with a stripe of gold running down his left wing. He was dear friend of Susan's, and when she had been more daring and much less delicate, and had enjoyed hunting, he would scout out the terrain and search for game. He stopped by the palace often, bringing news and gossip from around Narnia and the surrounding lands. Lucy could not understand the friendship: the two were as different as the air and the sea.
"We would benefit from his sharp eyes," agreed Lucy between forkfuls of steamed vegetables wrapped in hot pastry. "These invaders would never suspect a scout of the air." She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, frowning in thought. "Unless they know of Talking Beasts. We should never assume their ignorance exceeds that of our own." They both fell silent, left to ponder over dark thoughts. Lucy picked at her salad, no longer feeling very hungry. Evil strangers. Dark suspicions.
That last echoed in her head, and she suddenly remembered the Calormene with the cold eyes. He wasn't important, now that she knew Peter didn't care if Calormen knew, but... She was suspicious of him. "Susan, didst thou discover the name of the man with the dark eyes? Something has marred my attention and I cannot get it out of my mind that he is somehow a great danger to us."
"Yes, sister," Susan said with a frown of puzzlement. "I overheard someone address him by name. He is Lord Armonde, son of Axartha himself, Grand Vizier and Counsellor to the Tisroc of Calormen."
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. An extravagant title. I no longer think it odd that he carries his nose above the clouds."
Susan snorted with laughter into her plate in a most unladylike fashion, and Lucy began to giggle as well. Soon, both of them were falling over their chairs, laughing until tears ran from their eyes, at the absurdity of it all. It was Edmund who found them this way. The moment he stepped into view from around the doorway, Susan cut off mid-chuckle, but Lucy could not stop herself. And just when she began to calm down, the sight of Edmund staring at the pair of them in such amused perplexity sent her off into gales of renewed laughter.
It was such a relief to laugh, to forget all the problems that came with ruling a kingdom. She had only learned of the massacre at Burlin's Cap yesterday, but it seemed ages since she had had only small, trivial things to bother her mind with. This wonderful and simple joy seemed to restore her resolve. Edmund's expression, his faint, secretive, bemused, and ever so rare smile was such a lovely thing to look upon that she felt ready to face the day.
Clearing her throat softly, the Second Queen of Narnia carefully composed herself once more. She felt her face redden under Edmund's bewildered gaze as she readjusted her hair and straightened her skirts. She forced herself to stand and look him in the eye. His smile may have brightened her day, but it didn't stop her from feeling horribly embarrassed. "King Edmund. What has occasioned this visit?"
"Peter and I have decided to bestow you both full reign of the ball," the big man said. He and I will be busy with preparations for war, and so we would like you to do this without us." His face was so grim one would never have known he had been smiling but a moment ago. He glanced at each of his sisters in turn, trying to read their expressions, and then turned to go.
"Hold, Edmund," said Susan, and he turned around once more to look at her. "Dost our eldest brother truly desire to depart on this... crusade? Pray, tell me how and why such folly and madness has entered his head. Peter has always been a man of deep thoughts and wondrous logic, and I cannot fathom what has caused such an untimely change of character." She was the picture of annoyance and disapproval with arms crossed at her waist, a slippered foot tapping and full lips pursed in displeasure.
Edmund's face flashed with uncertainty for a fraction of a second, and Lucy did not blame him. She would have wagered a lion would pause when Susan was in a mood like this. "Forgive me, sister, but it would not be wise of me to answer this. If thou have need of a response, Peter is in his study."
She turned to Lucy. "Sibling, would it displease you if I depart early from luncheon?" The way it came it, there was no doubt it in her mind that Lucy would say yes. "I wish to speak with our obstinate brother of this... cause." Barely waiting for her sister's nod, the regal queen stalked out of the room on Edmund's heels.
Lucy sat back down in her chair, her meal forgotten. So she and Susan would prepare the feast themselves... Any other time, she would be brimming with excitement, but this year... it was not the same, and she knew it had nothing to do with her growing maturity. A year ago, the ball would have been main point of her life, but now, it was so small and insignificant. People were dying out there, and she could do nothing to stop it. Instead she had to fuss over what colour streamers should be put up, and what food she be served, and what entertainment should be featured at this stupid ball. Anger coursed through her veins, it seared her heart and burned her spirit. In the name of Aslan, she would not wallow in uselessness while everyone else bustled about being helpful! 'And how exactly will you do that?' asked a voice in her head. 'You've been nothing but a figurehead since your crowning. You've never really done anything of use.'
The voice was right, and that only made her angrier.
Author's Note: Sorry for the very slow beginning. I promise things will speed up from here. You might have noticed that I enjoy describing and taking very long to get to the point. I have issues... Please tell me what you think!