Chapter 3: Unknown Anxiety
The wood panelled door opened a tiny crack and a big, blue-green eye peered into the largest, most richly furnished bedroom in Cair Paravel. It was an enormous chamber in which everything seemed to be a bronzy red, with only small yellow, green and blue patterns laced in with the different shades of scarlet. The lower level of the quarters was a small library of sorts, with a large fireplace framed with tall bookshelves cluttered with volumes and novels. A massive burgundy armchair stood in front of the fire, and beside it an oil lamp to give light. Scattered here and there along the walls were stands displaying pottery or glass, porcelain or stone figurines.
Two steps up led to sleeping area with a bed, a night table and a wardrobe, all in shades of red. Three windows looked out onto the grassy palace grounds, and, further on, the beginning of one of the many forests of Narnia. Thick carpets hid the stone floors, and paintings and tapestries hung on the wall, as well as a long, slender sword with an elaborate golden handle and curved blade, both polished until they gleamed.
Peter lay sprawled on his bed in a white silk shirt, staring up at the red, yellow and blue patterned canopy. The curtains were pulled back so that Lucy could see him quite clearly. As quietly as a mouse, in case he was sleeping, she crept into the room, and closed the door softly behind her. Peter, who had very good hearing, lifted his head from the bed to see who it was, and once he caught sight of her, dropped it back down.
"That's it?" asked Lucy, walking to the foot of the two steps. "All I get is a glance? You're not even going to tell me how lovely I look in my gown?" She twirled around for emphasis when her brother looked up again to study her more thoroughly. "I won't bore you with all that rot about where and how I got it, but you should at least humour me with a few kind words."
"Absolutely stunning," he declared aloud, and Lucy blushed with pleasure. She had never thought of herself as stunning. It was Susan who was always described as radiant, elegant, beautiful. Stunning. Their age gap of three years was always just enough to reduce Lucy's appearance to simple girlish prettiness while Susan glided about, basking in her mature beauty. However, the younger woman refused to admit she was jealous, even to herself.
She fingered the tiny white snowbud on a silver chain around her neck, and the slim bracelet of interlocked white and silver lilies with golden stems hanging loosely around her wrist brushed against the wide, low neckline thickly embroidered with lace that ran to her shoulders. A soft, thin material that Lucy could not identify made the whole of her pale yellow dress, aside from the decorating lace. The sleeves ran to just past her elbows, and were frayed to add affect. The breast and waist fit very snugly with layers of the soft fabric, and the V shaped embroidery around the hips complimented her shape quite well. From there brimmed her slightly ruffled skirts slashed with green that brushed the carpeted floors, made to puff out by the many petticoats underneath.
"You think so?" Lucy asked nervously as she fussed with her hair, all twined together in a complicated but fashionable knot at the back of her head that had taken her lady-in-waiting nearly an hour to do. "I told Linna it was too much – she picked out the dress, you see – and I was sure my hair needn't be quite so fancy, and Susan told me – indirectly, of course – that I should watch that my bosom doesn't fall out, although her gown is much more revealing – I think, in any ca-" she cut off abruptly when she noticed Peter, sitting up in his bed, chuckling at her and shaking his head. "What on earth is so funny?"
"You," he said, still laughing. "That was the most horrible stream of babbling I've ever heard come out of your mouth. I'd expect Susan to get the jitters and spout nonsense, but not you. You nearly always have a clear head. I can't think of what would make you so nervous – we've had plenty of spring balls before this one." Recognition suddenly dawned on his face, and his tone grew mildly amused. "... unless you've met someone? A dashing young prince? A brave soldier? A Calormene fisherman, perhaps?"
Lucy clubbed him lightly over the head with an exasperated groan. Calormene fishermen were easily the most poorly paid people in all the lands. "Don't talk such nonsense, Peter. Of course I haven't 'met' anyone. I just want everything about this ball to go well. Including my wardrobe. Susan and I did plan it ourselves."
Peter rose from his bed and touched her arm comfortingly. "Everything will turn out splendidly, then. Now, run along and bicker with Susan. I need to get ready." He turned his back on her and missed the glare she directed at him. She and Susan did not bicker. They discussed, they debated, but they did not bicker. The fact that they surely would bicker if Susan ever got off her high horse was beside the point. Lucy very nearly ground her teeth. The way that woman made an insult seem like a casual remark was infuriating. The two had been quite unpleasant towards eachother these past three days. Why wouldn't they be, with Peter and Edmund closeted away planning and making arrangements for this counterattack. The sisters had spent long hours together, deciding on this and that, ringed with servants and friends for the preparation of the ball. Every time they disagreed on something, their irritation and intolerance grew stronger and stronger, until it seemed that sparks would fly from their eyes. A hint that the other's hair was mussed, an innocent remark that someone was looking very tired today, and the rest of the afternoon was spent glaring and muttering.
"Not with you leaving tomorrow, it won't be. Why can't you just stay? War is dangerous. You could get hurt. You could get killed." Her voice shook at that last. The very thought of Peter gone forever was like having ten thousand knives plunged into her heart.
He turned to face her again, his grave face etched with sadness. "I'm sorry, Lu. I really am. But you know why I need to go, and nothing will change my mind. I promise I'll come home." He wrapped his arms around in her in a tight hug, but she shoved him away roughly.
"You're a good liar, but you're not that good," she said, knowing a pout was coming on and not really caring. "You can't be sure you'll come home. I'm not some half-wit simpleton you can give a candy and a pat on the head to make everything better." He was a good liar, but he seldom lied unless he thought it was necessary. He really was quite sure of himself.
He smirked and nudged her playfully. "I know you're not." He turned serious again, looking down at her with eyes full of concern. Goodness, it was he going to war! "Why don't we just go to this ball and have a wonderful time? I'll be back before you know it, Lucy. You'll see. It's not as if I've never been to war before." He suddenly frowned in thought, thumbing at his chin. "Aslan's mane, I'm right! You and Susan make a scene every time I leave! Haven't you learned your lesson by now?"
Lucy pursed her lips ruefully. That was true. She and Susan hated it when their brothers left to do battle. Every time either one of them strapped on a sword, Susan and Lucy would argue until their throats went dry. It never worked, though. But to both of them, hours of coaxing Peter and Edmund to stay safe in Cair Paravel was a better alternative then to wait in worry and anxiety while they were out putting their lives at risk. Even if the coaxing may not, and probably would not work.
"Very well then, brother," said Lucy snootily. "Mountains can be shifted more easily then kings, or so my dear friend Mr. Tumnus states. I shall depart and leave thee with thou vestments. Take care with the clasps of thy coat, for surely stubborn children refuse to accept help from more capable beings."
Peter made a bow with an exaggerated flourish of his hand as he rose. "Expertly done, oh my sister. Only the most skilled prig could ever make such discourteous advice sound so grand."
It took every ounce of control Lucy had to keep from laughing. She inclined her head ever so slightly, keeping her nose in the air in perfect imitation of a Calormene's cold arrogance, and glided down the steps and out of the room. Only when the door was closed did she collapse against the wall in a fit of giggles. Passing servants or passing kings could stare for all they were worth, because this was the first time she had laughed in days.
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The beautiful but eerie sounds of Satyr voices mixed in with their sweet wooden instrument tunes and the loud murmur of many voices seemed so overpowering that Peter thought he might have heard it over at Burlin's cap, where he and his legion would be leaving for at first light tomorrow. Not the best way to spend a night before an early start to war, he knew, with the drinking, heavy food and the late hour he would get to bed. But he wouldn't have skipped this for the world. Not because it was a chance to catch up with old friends and make new ones. Not because of the beautiful music and the delightful dancing. Not because of the mouth-watering food lay out on tables everywhere you looked. Not even because of all the women that caught his eye in their elaborate gowns and their pearled and jewelled hair.
He caught sight of Lucy in the crowd, twirling about in the arms of her dearest friend, Mr. Tumnus the Faun. A little way away, Susan was conversing with a Calormene noble of high standing, judging by his fine black satin coat trimmed in gold. She looked especially beautiful tonight, with her hair gleaming in ringlets from the light of the thousands of candles in the chandeliers in the air or on the table or walls, and wearing a flattering silver silk gown. He almost laughed. Lucy had been right: Susan was definitely showing more cleavage then she. The Calormene seemed not to be opposed to her display at all. Peter could barely stop himself from gritting his teeth. Susan was a grown woman, now. It was passed the time he had been able to tell her what to do. It was none of his business if she did not mind men goggling at her breasts. It was not his place even to mention she might want to cover up. As her sister, it was Lucy's job, though he doubted she would pay the girl much heed. They'd been perfectly beastly to eachother for the last few days.
No, he would not have missed this for the world. If he had, his sisters would have tied him to a sinking ship. "It will be the loveliest way to see you off," they'd said, and they hadn't needed to wrestle him into it. He enjoyed such affairs. Even with having to put up with certain lords and ladies and their fake smiles and fawning compliments. "Your coat is of beautiful tailoring, my Lord," or "His Majesty is a powerful and noble ruler, for certainty, King Peter." It was difficult not to grimace at their simpering.
Round and merry Lord Aberon from Archenland joined Peter on the dais. With his jolly smile, twinkling brown eyes and swiftly greying brown hair, he looked for all the world like Father Christmas. He was an old acquaintance of the royal family of Narnia, and Peter was very fond of the man.
"King Peter of Narnia," he exclaimed in his deep, warming voice. "Blind my eyes, for with thy handsome face, I should be married and quite a good deal happier then thou looketh at this hour." He chuckled and reached up to put an arm around the youth's shoulders. Peter just loved his companionable manner and the way he didn't seem to care that the entire court and likely every nobleperson in the three lands was watching.
Peter grinned down at the balding fellow. "For shame, Aberon, chiding a friend over his unengagement to pursue the female race." He did not want to bore the man over talk about his worries of the war, and of his beloved Narnia. "Women are a costly matter, my Lord. They confuse the mind and muddle concentration. A king cannot spare such things."
"Well said, Peter," said Aberon, taking a goblet of wine from a tray proffered from a bowing servant and murmuring thanks. "You seem knowledgeable in these dangerous waters, indeed more so then I was in my youth." He smiled mischievously, and if possible, the twinkle in his eye brightened even more.
"Thou speaketh of a lover, my lord?" asked Peter curiously, masking his surprise. He did not believe many women could fall in love with such a large character, however kind, and it was difficult imagining Aberon any thinner then he was. Peter had always assumed he'd been fat when coming out of the womb.
The rotund lord chuckled richly and took a long swig from his wine. "It is a tale for another time, I think, my good king. Young love... But hear, it minds me of my nephew. It seems the lad has had an eye on thy lovely young sister for a time, and he hopes to seek her favour."
Aberon looked up at him expectantly and Peter stared back warily, seeing him in an entirely new light. It was apparent that the elderly man had planned this beforehand, and set it up from the start, leading Peter into a subject he knew was delicate as casually as possible. He was slyer then he appeared. Much slyer.
The young king shifted his gaze over to the woman in question. She was still talking to the Calormene gentleman. Perhaps Aberon's nephew was too late? "Well, now, Susan does enjoy men's company," he said as absently as he could manage, "and her age is even a bit past time for her to be wedded and settled down." Had he imagined hearing Aberon's ears prick up hopefully? The man was fool, Peter thought bitterly. Did he not think that Susan had had countless suitors before? Did he honestly believe his nephew stood a chance against so many other possibilities, especially if he was as large as his uncle? Suddenly, the wealthy lord's smile turned into a sneer, and the cheerful sparkle in his eyes was a glint of hunger and greed. Peter tried to get a hold on his anger, but failed horribly. If there was one fault he knew he had for certain, it was jealousy over his sisters. He knew he had no right to keep them, but even at only a mention of Susan or Lucy getting married made rage and suspicion flare up in him like a furnace.
"Queen Susan, good king? Pray, forgive me, for I spoke of Lucy the Valiant, your Highness."
His anger crumbled under surprise, and indeed, embarrassment. Who was the fool now? He wanted to laugh. He knew that Lucy was pretty, and even sometimes beautiful; in a childish way, he had to admit. Men did eye her sideways, though not nearly so much as they did Susan. The girls' gap of three years in age seemed much larger when they were seen together. Then again, maybe he wasn't such a fool. He had reason to believe Aberon's nephew was after Susan. After all, she'd been courted many times more then Lucy, for which Peter was glad, however grudgingly he admitted to himself. All four kings and queens of Narnia knew that he and Lucy had something special. Even as children (and Peter remembered next to nothing of his childhood) and even with their five years' difference in age, they had always acted differently with eachother then with Edmund and Susan. That didn't mean they fought less. In some ways, they fought more, but however serious, they always made up again. They shared something special. That was all there was to it. And he wanted to keep her, and that unbreakable friendship as long as he could.
This all flashed through his mind in a fraction of a second, and Peter, caught by surprise, tried to gather his thoughts together. "Well, I... I'm afraid, she's not mine to give... If... It's her decision, I suppose. I wouldn't want to interfere. It's her choice entirely." Only when he was finished did he realise that he'd dropped his courteous manner of speaking. Quite unusual.
Whatever Aberon had expected, he seemed satisfied, and pleased. "That is well, my Lord. Thy obvious affection and respect for Queen Lucy is most touching. And now, I shall leave thee to the many who undoubtedly desire the pleasure of thy company, High King." He paused in mid-bow looking up at Peter almost hesitantly. "If I may be so bold, King Peter, I simply would like to mention in passing that Queen Susan's companion for the evening is most unusual, under circumstances between Calormen and Narnia." The elderly gentleman's expectancy was so undisguised a blind half-wit would have seen it. Peter could almost smell his eagerness to see the reaction his words triggered.
"Susan has always been a lady of quick pardon and a kind heart, my friend," he said after a reflection he hid by taking a lengthy drink from his goblet. "No amount of insignificant grudges and petty disputes could harden her gentle, forgiving mind." He turned away from Aberon to study the Great Hall below, a display that said very clearly he no longer wished to speak to this particular courtier. Obediently, the Archenlander gave another bow and backed away.
Sighing, Peter took another swig of his wine. He never liked resolving to that sort of dismissal, but it was sometimes necessary when dealing with over-proud highborn. He had never counted Aberon as being among them, but times were changing, and the noble's head was now certainly swelled after being given permission, in a manner of speaking, to pair his nephew with a queen of Narnia.
He did not know what "circumstances between Calormen and Narnia" Aberon had been referring to, but displaying ignorance to peerage was dangerous. As a king, Peter was required to always speak truth-one of the vows he had made upon being crowned High King-and in this case, he had not uttered a single falsehood. It was Aberon's own fault for seeing a meaning in his words that was not there. But of course, he had meant for the meaning to be seen.
His eyes swept the hall once more, pausing at Susan, who was still with that Calormene, now on the floor reserved for dancers with her arms around her dark companion. If she had taken another lover, Edmund would have a fit. He was very prudish at times, and disapproved very strongly of Susan taking in so many men. Peter wasn't very far behind his younger brother, when it came to that. A lady needed at least a bit of shame, after all, and Susan seemed to have none at all. Why, just yesterday, Lucy had stormed into Peter's apartments all in a huff.
"That woman is the worst sort of minx," she had raged, pacing back and forth between the gilded red armchairs. "Flirting with a servant, honestly! No restraint! Don't know what the boy must have thought, being talked to that way by the Second Queen of Narnia!"
He had laughed then, but he was beginning to think that speaking to Susan about her behaviour might not be as bad a notion as he'd thought. Lucy was right, after all. What sort of reputation would she earn herself by batting her eyelashes at men left, right and centre like some tavern maid with her skirts cut short? He shook his head and downed the rest of the whine, wondering whether leaving the ball early was worth being skinned by his sisters.
A middle-aged woman with dark eyes and curly black hair appeared in front of him, curtsying gracefully and smiling with all of her pearly white teeth. He bowed back with equal formality, suppressing a groan, and struck up a polite conversation, all the while thinking fond thoughts of his velvet comforter and thick feather pillows.
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Seabirds winged about under a deep, dark blue sky, hued a pale yellow over the treetops to the west, where the sun was all but disappeared. The stars were hidden behind big rain clouds, scattered in bunches overhead and seemingly moving at a snail's pace with the wind. Strong gusts whipped about Lucy's fair hair, which had somehow come undone during her promenade from Cair Paravel along the rocks to the sea. She looked out over the water, her face calm but tinged with sadness.
She could not explain it, this strange foreboding that had come upon her but a few minutes ago. She'd been wheeling about with Mr. Tumnus, glad and careless, and had suddenly had a terrible bubble of dread well up in the pit of her stomach. Excusing the Faun, she'd slipped through the multitude of couples out onto the paving stones of the sheltered courtyard with its fountains of stone and marble dolphins and merpeople and former kings and queens of legend. But even there it was crowded, and, longing with all her heart to be alone, she'd practically run between the massive pillars and tottered over the great stones to a small, sandy alcove on the shore, carved out by thousands of years worth of sea spray.
Lucy sat on a small ledge indented into one of the surrounding rocks, kicking up the pale sand with her bare feet: her slippers she had abandoned by the water. Years before, this would have been filled with her "treasures," sea shells, coloured stones or pretty feathers she had picked up during her roamings along the rocky shore. Back then, she had done little decision-making and much more learning about how to make decisions by specially selected tutors. She had had very few hours to herself, but nearly all of those were spent at sea, with friends and siblings or without, frolicking around in the waves in an old blouse and skirt. She almost laughed at the thought of doing that now, and even considered hiking up her skirts and dashing off into the water. Her hands twitched toward the waist of her gown, but she knew it wouldn't do to have a grown queen jumping about on the rocks, so she forced her hands together and placed them on her lap.
She was worried about Peter, that she knew, but this apprehension was not about him. It was about something else... something she could not quite make out, like trying to see through a sheet of mist. She'd read in a book once about a man who had visions and premonitions about events that would come to pass in the near future, but she'd been sure it was idiocy. Only a fool would believe in such nonsense. It had probably just been her nerves playing tricks on her.
"Speaking to the Wind Gods, my Lady?"
Lucy stood and whirled around to where the voice had spoken. On the rocks above her head stood a slender young man, almost slim enough to be called skinny, and of middling height, with brown hair that fell to his eyes and curled around his ears. She thought he was fairly good-looking, but Susan had once told her that she had strange taste in men, so Lucy decided most women would think him plain. He wore a long, dark grey coat nearly to his knees and finely tailored breeches of the same colour.
"I beg your pardon?" she blurted out, completely forgetting curtsies and formalities. The boy – well, he was probably about Peter's age, so he was not really a boy anymore – grinned at her in a way nobody should to a woman of her standing and stepped casually from the edge of the rocks, which were half again as high as Lucy, dropping to the ground beside her. Even though he was only averagely tall, the young queen barely came up to his chin, and had to look up to see into his eyes. Very nice, light brown eyes.
"The Wind Gods, Queen Lucy," said he with another grin that did not match his respectful tone. "You were humming, and you were looking out to sea on a windy night. It's an old sailor's myth.
'Any beast or man with threat
Look out 'ore the vast and wet
And sing thy song to Gods of Wind
To break the spells of Dreadful Sinned'."
Lucy felt a slow smile creep across her face as he recited the rhyme in a low murmur. He spoke to her as though she were the only one worth talking to, and the sound of his voice was so inviting, rather like Peter's, that it made her forget entirely that she'd wanted to be alone mere seconds ago. "Dreadful Sinned. Is that a sort of demon?" she asked.
"You might say that. He's the Spirit of Fire banished to the cursed lands beyond the ocean, so the tale goes. The "spells of Dreadful Sinned" are what common folk would call ill fortune." The way he spoke the words made it sound like he was one of the common folk himself, and he was so casual and easy that Lucy began to think he really was. Not that that really mattered, anyway.
"History?" she said, peering up questioningly.
"Legend," he corrected. He went to go lean against the opposite stony wall and crossed his arms over his narrow chest in a pose reeking of nonchalance. Any other time, Lucy would have been offended, but she barely noticed now. It was rare that she met anyone at parties or cotillions that did not bore her, and this young man was certainly not boring. She suddenly had a million questions to ask him that popped into her head
"Have you been at sea often, since you seem to be so educated in matters of beyond the waters?" She sat back down on her ledge and crossed her legs. It would not do to appear too interested, after all. She still had no idea who this young lord was, or indeed, if he was a lord at all.
"Not enough times to boast about, I'm afraid," he said, and Lucy gave a small chuckle. "I do enjoy the occasional voyage, but our coffers are all but emptied at this time of year, and a crew is not paid for in sea shells. And my father, Lord Normad, does-" he paused when Lucy gave a start at the mention of his father. "You know his name?"
He was Lord Normad's son!? She could not have made the connection had the two been standing beside eachother! Not only did they look nothing like the other, but Normad of Archenland was a pompous, self-absorbed man who smiled less often then a one-winged goose with no legs. He was perhaps the coldest, most discourteous member of the Court from Narnia's neighbouring country. His son may not be the best example of politeness, but at least his tone held proper respect, and he certainly smiled often enough.
"Well, of course you do," Normad's son continued with a sigh. "He's in the Imperial Court, after all. The most infamous member in Narnia, unless I'm mistaken." Lucy tried to appear as though she didn't know what he meant, but her attempts failed when the boy glanced back at her and laughed at her expression. He had a friendly sort of laugh, the sort that made you want to join in, and she did just that, if her giggles sounded a touch rueful. But then their laughter died into an uncomfortable silence, and the boy's gaze fixed to the rapidly darkening evening sky.
Lucy's thoughts drifted about in her mind, endlessly reviewing her worries like she had been doing for the past few days. Worries about Peter, about Narnia. She sighed up at the tiny sliver of the moon, ignoring the locks of golden hair that tumbled over her face in the breeze. "I would dearly love the help of the Wind Gods now," she murmured. Hearing nothing but silence from Normad's son, she let her gaze fall to his face, and when their eyes met, he smiled, his soft brown eyes shining with a strange trust, as though she had just confessed all her deepest secrets. Silently, Lucy wondered whether she had.
A gust of cold night wind topped the rise of the stone alcove, and flung her hair and gown every which way. Its chill embrace reminded her of how much skin she was exposing. Shivering, she stood and slid her feet back into her snug white slippers. "I believe I should return to the ball now. Won't you join me?" That last popped out before it had time to register into her head, but she had no intention of taking it back.
The young man stepped away from the boulder he'd been leaning against and gave a bow low enough to rival a servant's. "It would be my honour to escort the fair Queen Lucy back to the festivities, for I am but a humble subject and she a beautiful flower of spring and sunshine." He thrust his arm out with gusto for her to take puffed his chest out like a robin. Lucy laughed aloud as she obligingly linked her arm around his and the pair made their way along the shore toward Cair Paravel, their chatter and laughter mingling with the sounds of the ocean's waves against the rocks.
"You dare mock the Queen of Narnia, sir? I'm insulted. Though your choice of words was lovely. Are you a poet?"
"Certainly, oh unblemished white rose of summer, oh flawless beauty from the gates of Paradise. Your radiance and pulchritude are a blessing for the weak and sorrowful, the fairest, most charming maiden of the Four Lands."
"But you have no shame at all!"
"Not an ounce, good Queen."
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Afterwords:
Well, I do believe that that this last bit about Lucy was incredibly rushed, but I don't have the energy nor the patience to redo it. Please tell me what you think and help me out with both my style and my story! And thanks so much to the people who have reviewed my previous chapters. It means a lot to me.