Chapter 5-- The Queen Speaks

A/N: Yes, I know, the chapter's short. But it is, nonetheless, a chapter. Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Reviews make my day. Extra-special thanks to Trebeco for letting me borrow their verse for this chapter; you rock!

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As he stuffed fresh tobacco leaves into his pipe, Professor Kirke glanced obliquely up at the pale boy who perched tensely on the divan on the other side of his study. "Peter Pevensie, all I have to say is, you're quite lucky Mrs. Macready didn't hear you. Perhaps you can enlighten me on how you move about so loudly, and yet seem to awaken nobody."

Staring down at his hands, clasped painfully together on his knees, Peter muttered, "It won't happen again, sir."

"And if it does?" Professor Kirke questioned pointedly. "What shall I think then?"

Peter shrugged and pushed his fingers through his gold-brown hair.

"So, maybe you would endure less discomfort if you just came clean." Professor Kirke leaned back in his desk chair. "What were you doing in the wardrobe?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I--" Peter began.

"Stop," Professor Kirke ordered. "The last time you said that, I quite disproved you, didn't I? Save yourself the embarrassment of being disproved a second time and understand that, if it has something to do with Narnia, my mind is open."

Peter couldn't help smiling. "Would you believe me," he began cautiously, "if I told you that--that I have a daughter in Narnia?"

"Well, of course," Professor Kirke said flatly. "You certainly like to make me sound doubtful, don't you?"

Shutting his burning eyes, Peter continued, "Sir, I had a dream about her. She's looking for me."

"And?" the professor urged.

"I think," Peter whispered, "that her life is in danger. See, there's this lord there, who always threw his weight around. Well, he's controlling my daughter, ordering her around, guilt-tripping her when she doesn't obey him. And," Peter gritted his teeth and swallowed hard, "if something isn't done--he's going to get her killed." He pulled his eyes open and stared at Professor Kirke. "That's why I've got to get back into Narnia. I've got to protect her."

Professor Kirke chewed madly on his pipe, eyes wide. "What's her name?"

"Victoria."

"Fine name; you've good taste," Professor Kirke mumbled distractedly. "How--how does she look?"

"Well...beautiful. She's about Susan's height and weight, last I saw her. She has blonde hair and grey eyes like me, and she has an arched nose and high cheekbones, like Morgana."

"Who?"

"My queen," Peter explained hastily.

"How--it's very odd." Professor Kirke pulled at his beard. "You say you've seen Victoria in dreams?"

"Yes," Peter sighed impatiently.

Professor Kirke's already wide eyes doubled in width. "So...have...I."

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Victoria hadn't seen so many creatures gathered in once place since her coronation. She stared down apprehensively from her porch at the Narnian troops clustered in her courtyard, waiting for her to address them.

"What is wrong, my Queen?" Oreius asked from behind her.

"I don't know what to say to them," Victoria gasped, twisting her father's gold ring in her hand. "There's so many of them...all confused and scared."

"And the right word from you, Your Majesty, might help to relieve that confusion and fright," Oreius pointed out as he raised Narnia's flag into the autumn sky. "Ask Aslan what you should say, and listen."

Victoria stared up at the flag, squinting her eyes against the harsh sunshine. Giving speeches in front of assemblies was never her strong point, since she was terrified of crowds. Yet, she knew Oreius was right: the army depended on her not only to command them, but to keep their fragile hope from breaking down.

Aslan, what can I say?

She sensed the troops' growing impatience at her silence; using her first nervous burst of energy, she drew herself up to full height, looked down at the troops, and sang:

"Close thine eyes, dearest heart. Mount your starry maned mare..."

Immediately, the hum of the troops' hushed voices faded, and they listened.

"And cross yon verdant meadows of peace. Beyond there

"Sleeps the Forest of Dreams, under spells of moonlight.

"May the Lion guard thee, child. Now gallop through night."

As Victoria's stellar voice sang the final words, Cair Paravel was strangely silent. At last, an old Centauress near the porch took up the melody.

"Close thine eyes, dearest heart, and leave this day behind.

"Put away, child, thy toys, and ride onward to find..."

Before long, the entire assembly of Narnian troops was singing the old lullaby.

"The great Forest of Dreams under stars far above.

"May Aslan watch o'er thee and bless thee with love."

The myriad voices of the troops gently finished the song. Victoria finally spoke, in a strong voice incongruent with her normal shyness. "Friends, I cry you all for allowing this calamity to fall upon our land. Be assured that I shall do whatever I can to right my wrongs." She inhaled deeply, glancing at Oreius, and continued. "My plea is that the Great Lion shall use this coming unrest to sharpen your faith like a knife, strengthen your minds and bodies for combat, and overwhelm your spirits with peace." Victoria hardly noticed the tears making damp tracks down her cheeks. "That is all I have to say for now. So now, brothers and sisters, in the name of Aslan...I, Victoria, Queen of Narnia, Lady of Cair Paravel, and Empress of the Lone Islands, declare war against Calormen."

An enormous cheer flared up from the assembly, punctuated by chants of "Long live Victoria the Strong! Long live Victoria the Strong!"

Victoria swallowed hard as she heard herself called "The Strong" for the first time since her coronation. She still didn't believe herself worthy of the title...but now, as the troops shouted, and Oreius gave her another solemn, approving look...she felt a little closer to deserving it.

The only Narnian who did not cheer was an aged Dryad named Anwyn, one of Victoria's ladies-in-waiting. She shook her leafy head sadly, and murmured, so that none could hear her ancient, creaking voice:

'Tis foul deeds, not fair
Thus foist upon the Cair
Young Queen must therefore be ware.
Victoria, Victoria, take care...

Unseen in the shadow of the porch, Lord Arran quietly retreated from the courtyard.

This was exactly what he wanted to happen.