Here is Lucy's chapter at last, and as promised it is a very respectable length! As always it was lovely to receive so many reviews on the last chapter-you guys are absolutely amazing!
Guest: So glad to hear that you enjoyed the last chapter! :-)
NarniaGirl: Very relieved to hear that Peter's character was well done-it gave me no end of trouble to write! Stay tuned to find out what happens to Ed...I think everyone will be very surprised when they find out what's going on...
Guest: Awh! Thanks for the compliment! I am very glad to hear you are enjoying the story :-)
11th. of Greenroof, 1012—Sixthday
Lucy heard the other Narnians long before she saw them—mainly due to the fact that Rhegus was shouting. Years of acquaintance with the Doornish sea captain had given her the rather helpful ability of reading his mood by his accent, and if his current manner of speech was any indication he was somewhere between fury and panic.
"Wha' do ye mean "she's run off"?!" Despite the volume of his voice and the more pronounced than usual accent Lucy rather admired the restraint he showed by not cursing—though she felt both guilty and sorry for Amathia, who she was certain was the current recipient of Rhegus' ire.
She quickened her steps, though it would hardly have been safe to run across strange terrain in the deepening twilight, and followed the sounds of waves and voices—though Rhegus' words were the only ones she could distinguish above the sound of the ocean. Amathia's responses were drowned out completely.
"An' for tha' I thank ye, lady, though I may be more inclined t' trust yer word if my Queen were present, rather than bein' Lion only knows where! 'ow could ye let 'er wander off on 'er own?!"
With a final, exhausted burst of effort Lucy forced her weary and shaking legs to carry her forward, over the last gentle rise until she found herself half tumbling, half sliding down a sandy embankment to land very clumsily on the beach below. A circle of shadowy shapes sprang to their feet—a few to their hooves—as she tumbled into the centre of their council and the tall figure pacing near the water's edge froze suddenly, hands still half raised in his customary habit of causing his hair to enter a state of great disarray.
Rhegus cursed, rather loudly, then, seeming startled by his own outburst hastened forward to pull Lucy to her feet. "Beg pardon, your majesty," he mumbled, his expression appearing abashed even in the dim light. "We though' ye were dead, an' then the Sea Woman told us ye 'ad been found but 'ad gone runnin' off, an' Queen Lucy, I really must protest!"
Lucy ruefully brushed sand from her hair and skirts for the second time that day and felt her face flush with shame. Despite Aslan's words and her certainty that it must have been necessary for her to see what He had shown her, she could not help feeling terrible when faced with the worried, half-frantic expression on her captain's face—and on the faces of the crew and guards who were huddled miserably on the beach. She knew she must have worried them all terribly, though until that moment she had not truly understood how badly.
"We though' ye were dead." Her memory of the last few moments aboard the Splendour Hyaline was still somewhat jumbled, but now that she focused on the recollection she realised how it must have appeared to those who saw her fall. I hit my head and disappeared beneath the water—they can't have seen Amathia save me. Why, it's no wonder they thought I was dead!
"I am sorry, Captain." Rather than meeting his gaze she fixed her eyes on her bare toes and the sand beneath them as she shuffled her feet—feeling more like a wayward child than a queen. Oh, how Susan would have scolded her!
"And I owe you an apology as well, Amathia." She turned rather reluctantly toward the sea and was unsurprised to find the Sea Woman regarding her with a rather betrayed expression. "I should not have wandered off and left you concerned for my safety."
Amathia's dark expression persisted for another moment before her blue tinted face broke into a smile and she swished her tail, showering Lucy, Rhegus, and anyone else unfortunate enough to be standing nearby with a good deal of water. "It is of no matter now, Queen Lucy. Aslan knows I have experience enough dealing with young sea urchins to know you meant no harm."
Lucy giggled, though she was aware that Rhegus was frowning at the presumption of his queen being called a "young sea urchin", and curtsied as gracefully as she was able with the sand shifting beneath her feet. Amathia raised a webbed hand in a gesture of farewell and dipped her head beneath the water—swimming swiftly back towards the open sea.
Rhegus whistled softly between his teeth and scrubbed a hand through his wild hair. "Well then, Queen Lucy, ye look 'alf dead on your feet—if ye don't mind my sayin' so. Perhaps ye'd better get some sleep."
"Captain!" The Faun in charge of Lucy's guards stamped his hooves emphatically, speaking far more sharply than Lucy had thought him capable of. Rhegus turned to glare at him, fists clenched as if he were trying very hard not to lose his temper, and shook his head decisively.
"Not tonight, Merton. 'Er majesty needs rest an' I daresay the rest o' our tempers would benefit from a good bit o' sleep as well." Lucy could not remember Rhegus ever sounding quite so cross, or Merton looking at anyone quite as murderously as he was regarding the captain, but she was exhausted and Rhegus' advice sounded rather splendid. She supposed that being unconscious after falling from a ship and nearly drowning did not really count as sleeping and was all too eager to get some proper sleep.
Merton stamped his hooves again, arms crossed, and eyebrows lowered in a very alarming expression of barely repressed rage, but did not comment further and Rhegus—after exchanging one last glare with the Faun—turned his back on the whole company and strode away further up the beach.
Lucy would have followed him despite her exhaustion if it had been entirely clear from his manner that he wished to be alone. Instead, she contented herself with settling down atop a cloak Merton borrowed from one of the other guards and was asleep nearly as soon as she closed her eyes.
Her dreams were confused—jumbles of brilliant colour, flashes of light that blinded her, and occasional glimpses of faces and buildings she recognised. She saw again the walls of Cair Paravel hung with the black banners of mourning and Susan standing atop one of the parapets, her black gown billowing around her and the indistinct figure of a man standing behind her in the shadows. She was crying—Lucy realised—silently but eloquently, and as Lucy watched the man stepped forward, half into the light, and put a hand on Susan's shoulder.
She saw Peter next, as she had when had Aslan showed her the visions in the pool. He was sitting before an unfamiliar hearth with Brickle at his shoulder and the Centaur healer Menwy kneeling awkwardly next to him to avoid hitting her head on the low ceiling. His head was bowed forward into his hands and his shoulder seemed to be shaking with silent tears, but Lucy could see nothing that should have caused him such distress. The door to the room swung open, admitting a gust of wind and an unexpected torrent of rain, and she could just see—silhouetted against the stormy night beyond—a tall, thin figure stumbling across the threshold.
Next, she saw the sea, a boundless expanse of glimmering azure water stretching out before her—warm and welcoming. She felt the pulse of the waves in her blood, her heart beating in rhythm with the gentle wash of the tide against a sandy shore, and the Sea seemed to breath—as if it were a living thing. It was vast, beautiful, and so gentle that she would gladly have let the water drag her beneath its surface to the warm depths below. It was nothing to fear—it was like a mother calling out to her long-lost child, and every wave was a sigh of longing to be reunited with a long-separated part of itself.
The Sea did speak, she realised as she floated in the warmth it provided, and it spoke to her—whispering of things past and things yet to come, spinning fantastical worlds in the images that flashed behind her eyes, and sharing secrets that were strange and yet somehow familiar.
And she slept, and dreamed, and knew that when she woke the Sea would be silent—its words forgotten until they were needed.
12th. of Greenroof, 1012—Seventhday
Despite her exhaustion of the previous night Lucy found herself waking in the morning silence just before sunrise. She sat up slowly, stretching stiff muscles and brushing the sand from her hair as best she could. If her gown had appeared tattered and her appearance disheveled the day before she was certain her gown was now filthy, and she appeared utterly disgraceful—at least, that was doubtless what Susan would have said. Personally, Lucy cared very little for her appearance and would have been perfectly content to sleep out of doors without access to a hairbrush forever.
Captain Rhegus too was awake, Lucy saw almost immediately once she had rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stood stiffly to walk along the beach. Merton, who seemed to be on watch nodded to her, and made as if to follow, but Lucy shook her head with a smile. It was clear that something had occurred between the Faun and the Sea Captain during the time she had been missing from their company, and she preferred to hear it from Rhegus first. It wasn't that she didn't trust Merton or value his opinion, but Rhegus was her friend and she had known him far longer.
Rhegus was sitting cross legged on the sand about twenty paces further up the beach, just beyond the reach of the tide. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all—which seemed likely—and Lucy was reminded sharply of her vision. He looked nearly as worn and distressed as he had in the vision Aslan had showed her and Lucy found herself frowning despite the beauty of the morning. Whatever Aslan had meant to warn her about was clearly approaching quickly and she still did not know what the danger might be.
Still, she pushed away her uncertainty and smiled, hoping that a bright greeting would cheer him. "Good morning Captain!" For a moment he seemed not to hear her, then he nodded sharply in acknowledgement, but his strained expression did not ease—his eyes remained fixed on the distant, watery horizon.
Oh dear! I do hope it isn't anything too dreadful. She dropped down ungracefully to sit beside him and dug her fingers into the cool sand, absentmindedly searching for shells. "Whatever is the matter Captain?"
He sighed audibly and fumbled in the pockets of his coat for his pipe, long fingers wrapping nervously around the unlit clay bowl. "Queen Lucy, I 'aven't been completely 'onest with ye, and for tha' I cry your pardon." His accent was more pronounced than she had ever heard it, clearly attesting to his agitation, and Lucy frowned—more in sympathy for his distress than in reaction to his words.
He sounded so sad, and sitting beside her with his shoulders slumped and gaze focused on the distance he looked so utterly dejected that it made her want to cry. Regardless of anything he was about to tell her, Rhegus was her friend and Lucy hated seeing anyone, particularly one of her friends, so upset. Whatever it is I will still be his friend, she resolved silently.
"I told ye I left Doorn because o' a girl, an' I swear tha' bit was true, but—" he paused, staring more intently than ever at the watery horizon, and was silent so long that Lucy began to wonder if she should speak and offer what little reassurance she could. She was just opening her mouth to assure him that, regardless of anything he had done in the past they were still friends now, but before she could do so he sighed and went on—though it seemed to be with great effort.
"My father died when I was very young, ten—younger maybe, an' my mother followed 'im a year later. Orphans don't do well on their own in Narrowhaven, an' I would 'ave died if I 'adn't met a pirate captain who decided to take me on as 'is apprentice. Ye 'ave to understand, your majesty, tha' I didn't do anythin' very awful—just a bit o' small thievery, but it was enough for there to be a price on my 'ead. I was with 'em—the pirates tha' is—for nigh on fifteen years, an' I swear to ye tha' I never killed a man who wasn't trying to kill me an' I never stole from anyone who couldn't afford it." He paused again, fumbled in his pocket for tobacco and flint, seemed to remember at the last moment that he was in the presence of a lady and settled for clamping the stem of the unlit pipe between his teeth.
Lucy had yet to hear anything in his tale so terrible that it necessitated keeping it secret for fifteen years, though she supposed Peter and Edmund would have considered having a pirate at the heart of Cair Paravel to be a significant threat. But really, who could truly blame him? It isn't as if he had much choice in becoming a pirate!
"We didn't make port of'en, but when we did I was the one who went ashore. The rest o' the crew were all wanted for worse things than thievery, an' I was the best at stayin' out o' sight. I wasn't looking for trouble, I swear, but a couple o' guards recognised me an' thought they could make a tidy profit if they turned me in. Estelle, that's the girl I told ye about, Queen Lucy, saw me running from them an' said she wanted to help. She showed me where to hide, brought me food, an' even offered to take a message to my captain so they would wait for me until I could get out o' the city withou' being seen. I though' for sure she would turn me in, but she didn't—she didn't even seem to care tha' I was a pirate. She told me she wanted to leave Narrowhaven—" he paused again, and Lucy could have sworn she saw a glimmer of tears on his weathered face before he brushed a hand across his eyes impatiently. "Never mind tha' now," he continued sharply, though she knew his annoyance was directed at himself and not at her.
"Captain, it's alright if you don't want to tell me what happened—I don't need to know." She put a cautious hand on his arm and was somewhat reassured when he turned towards her with a reluctant smile. "Really, Captain, you needn't tell me anything. You're my friend and I trust you with my life—pirate or no."
"I thank ye for tha', Queen Lucy." He shook his head as if to clear it, and Lucy could see the effort it took for him to keep smiling. Perhaps it had always taken this much effort—perhaps he was so often merry because he felt he must be—and she was only now seeing him for who he truly was. Perhaps that thought ought to have frightened her and made her question what other secrets Rhegus might be concealing, but Lucy had always been unusually trusting—though she was not often wrong regarding a person's character.
She had trusted Tumnus from the first moment she saw him in the snowy woods, not because of anything he had done, but because of the look in his eyes. True, he had considered selling her to the Witch but in the end the inherent goodness that had led her to trust him had won out and he had saved her instead.
She had been afraid of Rhegus at first—there had always been a certain wildness in his eyes—but over time she had learned to recognise the strength of his character in spite of that. In all the years she had known him Lucy had never seen him angry without cause, had never witnessed him lose his temper, and on more than one occasion had watched as he risked his life for others without a second thought. No, she determined with utter certainty. Rhegus is someone I can trust, not someone who is keeping dangerous secrets. After all, he was telling her the story of his past without being asked and she suspected that in some way he believed doing so would protect her, though from what she could not begin to guess. But why is he telling me now?
"Queen Lucy?" Lucy blinked, surprised, and realised that she had been silently staring at handful of sand and shells she had gathered up for quite some time. She shook herself, letting the sand run through her fingers—leaving only the shells laying on her filthy palm. I really must stop getting lost in my own thoughts.
Rhegus was regarding her curiously, half smiling, and she saw a glimmer of his customary humour dancing in his eyes. Well, at least my easily distracted nature serves some purpose, she reflected with rueful amusement. Usually her moments of distraction were limited to embroidery or etiquette lessons with Susan (which Lucy always found painfully dull), but clearly that was no longer the case.
"I'm sorry Captain, I was thinking of how I used to be a bit frightened of you." A moment later she clapped a hand over her mouth feeling her face flush. "Oh dear! I didn't mean to say that I had any reason to be!"
The corners of Rhegus' mouth twitched upwards into an amused smile and he chuckled quietly, shaking his head in amused bewilderment. "I can't quite imagine ye bein' afraid o' anything, Queen Lucy, let alone me. Was I so very frightening?"
Lucy considered the question for a moment—even though she knew he was deliberately changing their topic of conversation—and shook her head. "No, I don't believe you were, but Ed—King Edmund—always told me such wild stories of sailors and pirates and you seemed to fit into them very tidily. It helped a good deal when I grew taller," she added with a laugh, remembering how Rhegus had once towered over her—he was still a good deal taller than she was, but it was a less vast difference now.
He frowned slightly, eyebrows furrowing and nearly meeting as he examined his pipe intently. "I did wonder what your brother 'ad been tellin' ye. Ye see, I 'ad been in Cair Paravel no more than two days when King Edmund asked to see me. 'E was a lot shorter then too, but I don't think I've ever been so frighten'd in my life."
"Frightened? Of Edmund?!" Susan—Peter too for that matter—always told her it was terribly bad manners to interrupt someone while they were speaking, but Lucy couldn't help it. The thought of Edmund, her sarcastic, often grumpy and brooding brother frightening anyone—except an enemy soldier or a prisoner on trial—was simply too surprising for her to remain silent.
Rhegus grinned somewhat sheepishly and returned the pipe stem—which had apparently passed his minute inspection—to its customary place between his teeth. "Ye'd be surprised, your majesty, by just how frightening your brother can be to a guilty man. I took one look at 'im an' knew it was no use trying to keep secrets from 'im—the way 'e looked at me made it seem like 'e already knew them all anyway. O' course 'e didn't, but that didn't stop me from telling 'im everything. How I 'ad been a pirate, how I 'ad a price on my 'ead in the Lone Islands and fled to Narnia to start over, an' the whole time 'e just looked at me. 'E was rather shocked I suppose, apparently 'e 'ad only wanted to ask me what I thought about 'is plans for building a navy, but 'e was very interested to 'ear what I 'ad to say about pirates. I think I'm very lucky to 'ave walked out of 'is study a free man."
Lucy stared at him in shock—unsure if she wanted to laugh or shout at her infuriating brother the next time she saw him. His wild stories about pirate and ghostly mist on the high seas made much more sense now—he had obviously been trying to discourage her from sailing, had been tempering her love of the sea with uncertainty until he could be sure that she would be safe with Rhegus.
"He did trust you though, eventually, or you wouldn't have remained a free man." She couldn't quite imagine Edmund as a terrifying figure capable of making others reveal their darkest secrets merely by looking at them, but she was very familiar with his reluctance to trust and the consequences of failing to gain his trust.
Everyone in Narnia—and the surrounding kingdoms too, or that matter, knew that three things were necessary to remain in the Narnian court for any length of time: General Orieus' approval, the High King's tolerance of their presence—however reluctant he might be to tolerate their conversation—and the Just King's trust. If Rhegus had been allowed to remain then Edmund must have decided he was no threat, and more than that was worthy of at least some degree of trust—the fact that Edmund allowed Rhegus to accompany Lucy made the degree of that trust undeniably plain.
Rhegus nodded solemnly as he picked up a seashell that Lucy had recently discarded and twirled it between his scarred fingers. "He does, an' for tha' I will always be grateful. An' 'e kept my secret, for tha' I owe 'im a far greater debt than I can ever repay. Speaking o' my secret," he sighed and tossed the seashell away with a distracted shake of his head. "I know ye don't think I need to tell ye, but I do. Ye see, Queen Lucy, Estelle's father—well, it's rather more complicated than a bit o' harmless courtship. Estelle wanted to leave Narrowhaven, she wanted me to take 'er with me when we sailed again, but o' course I couldn't. The seas are no place for a 'igh born lady—no offense meant to ye, your majesty."
Lucy nodded in acknowledgement, though she personally regarded sailor's superstitions concerning the bad luck brought by having women on board a ship as utter nonsense.
"I couldn't take 'er with me, but I did go back t' see 'er every time we made port. When 'er father found out who 'er young man was 'e followed 'er when she came to meet me. 'E didn't care tha' there nothing improper about our meetings; I was a pirate an' that was all 'e needed to know. I 'ad a price on my 'ead an' 'e would 'ave killed me, so I ran. I sailed with the pirates for a few years more, but I couldn't shake the feeling tha' everything would 'ave been different if I'd been an honest sailor, so when I 'eard Narnia was free an' under human rule again I though' I'd try my 'and at being just tha'. I knew I could never go back, never see Estelle again, but it felt right to try bein' honest, an' ye know the rest, your majesty."
Lucy nodded again, sifting through another handful of sand and collecting the few unbroken shells she found in the pockets of her dress. Rhegus' story made sense, it was certainly a sad one, but she still didn't quite understand why he was telling all of it now. That, together with Merton's open hostility towards him, was enough to make Lucy suspect that there was more he wanted to tell her but did not know how. She waited, using the hem of her skirt to polish away the remaining sand that clung to a few of the shells, and silently trusting that Rhegus would tell her whatever was necessary—when he was ready.
"There are two things more, Queen Lucy, tha' ye should know. Firstly—well, not necessarily by importance—Estelle's father—" he coughed, ran a hand through his hair, and shifted his weight uneasily. "Estelle's father is—tha' is to say, 'e was—a lord in Narrowhaven."
"Is he dead?" Will I never learn not to interrupt?
"No, not as such." He coughed again, obviously unhappy with the information he was about to share, and Lucy couldn't help being terribly curious. She abandoned the shells and propped her chin on one hand, regarding Rhegus with what she was certain was an imploring expression.
"He was a lord, but now—well, there's no easy way for me t' say this, but now 'e's the governor."
"Athelstan?!" And to think I actually felt sorry for him when I read his letter! "Captain, why didn't you tell me you couldn't go to Narrowhaven?"
Rhegus grinned and shook his head, appearing rather embarrassed. "It didn't really matter all tha' much. I planned t' stay on the Hyaline an' avoid confronting 'im. I suppose now it doesn't matter at all anyway—seein' as we 'ave no way o' getting there—which brings me t' the second thing ye need to know. The pirates that took the Hyaline—"
This time when he paused Lucy was certain she knew what he was going to tell her next, but she bit her tongue to keep from interrupting him yet again. Perhaps I am learning at last.
"They were my old shipmates, Queen Lucy, an' they recognised me. Tha's why Merton's so displeased wi' me, an' that's why I 'ad to tell ye now. I wanted ye to 'ear the truth from me—not 'im."
Lucy nodded, considering what she had just heard—there was something, like a tickle at the back of her mind that she couldn't quite place. Rhegus said it didn't matter now that Estelle's father was Governor Athelstan because they had no ship—no way to reach Narrowhaven—but she knew just as certainly that she must reach Narrowhaven. Peter was relying on her, and besides, if she didn't find a way to send word back to Cair Paravel, telling everyone that she was alright, Peter was likely to come storming out after her.
The last thing I need is to prove that I'm completely incapable of managing things on my own. I'm not a child anymore, and if I want to prove that then I need to come up with a better plan than sitting here waiting to be rescued. If only I could somehow use the pirates to my advantage. Edmund would have been able to come up with a plan, of that she was certain, as for Peter—well, she supposed he wouldn't have found himself stranded in the first place, and Susan…Lucy wasn't entirely certain what Susan could have done, but surely it would not have involved remaining on an "uncivilised" island any longer than was absolutely unavoidable.
If only it were anyone else! There's absolutely nothing special about me, nothing I can use—
"I 'ave yet to meet a spirit alive capable of 'ating ye, Queen Lucy," Rhegus had told her aboard the Splendour Hyaline barely three days before. Lucy was still rather skeptical regarding the truth of that statement, but assuming it was true it might provide a very easy way to solve all of her troubles.
"Captain, did you mean what you said—about not having met anyone capable of hating me?" She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment simply repeating the compliment and wished, not for the first time, that her face did not so easily betray her emotions.
Rhegus seemed to consider the question for a moment and then he nodded. "That I did, your majesty. Ye 'ave a way of making people love ye, and those too foolish to love ye are still clever enough not to hate ye."
"And your old shipmates? Are they foolish?"
Rhegus whistled softly between his teeth, his expression hovering somewhere between shock and amusement. "I wouldn' say they're particularly clever, Queen Lucy, but no, not foolish. Ye cannot be considering what I think ye are though. Please, Queen Lucy, it's more than my life's worth t' let ye get mixed up wi' pirates. The 'igh King would 'ave my 'ead on a block."
Lucy nearly laughed at the idea of Peter having anyone executed merely for failing to stop her from doing something that was both dangerous and potentially foolish. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure where the idea that Peter had ever executed anyone came from—exiled and imprisoned yes, but Narnian justice was rarely bloody, a fact that might more accurately be attributed to Edmund than to Peter.
"No, he won't," she assured him firmly, standing and brushing the sand from her skirts. "And if you think I am considering having you help me convince your old shipmates to take us to Doorn, then you are entirely correct. Amathia—that's the Sea Woman who found me—told me that we aren't the first crew they've stranded here, and I highly doubt we will be the last. When they come back do you think you can speak with them?"
Rhegus threw up his hands in a universal signal of surrender, though he was still shaking his head in protest. "I can, they wanted me t' go with them when they left this time, but o' course I wanted nothin' to do with 'em. I can speak t' them, I might even be able t' convince them that I need safe passage t' Doorn, but as for the rest o' the crew—" he shrugged. "Well now, Queen Lucy, I suppose that's up to ye."
Lucy nodded, already grinning at the prospect of being able to tell Peter and Edmund that she had negotiated with pirates. Susan, well, she didn't plan on telling Susan anymore about it than she absolutely had to. If the plan works. But of course it will, she reminded herself firmly. Aslan is on our side.
Okay, I already know there are a billion grammar errors...they will be fixed in less than twenty four hours but i was already behind on posting so I wanted to make sure I got this chapter up today! In the meantime I am terribly sorry for the errors and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter anyway. Leave me a review if you can :-) Reviews definitely inspire me to keep writing and I might even post the next chapter on time!
Cheers,
A
