I'm not dismally late in updating! WHOOHOO! Anyway, have a Susan chapter :-)
Aslan's Daughter: Peridan really isn't a reliable narrator, but as to how often Ed has forgotten things...not very often, but it usually isn't good when he does. And yes, there is canon :-) Anyhow, I finally updated in a reasonable amount of time! Thank you for your review; I am so glad that you are still invested in this story :-)
14th. of Greenroof, 1012—Firstday
Susan stared at the stack of papers on the desk before her, feeling that she would have liked nothing better than to throw the whole mess into the fire. She was in Peter's study, sitting behind his desk, and it was his correspondence that was currently causing her so much distress. He seemed to have done nothing to answer any of the letters since news had come about Edmund and Lucy—not that she could particularly blame him—but now that he too had ridden out that morning Susan found that the thankless task of sorting through the stacks of parchment fell to her.
Most of the papers required nothing more complicated than a royal signature—receipts acknowledging that shipments of foreign goods had been received, dispatches on troop movements from the Northern border, and requests by builders, miners, and smiths for additional funds were all easily dealt with, though Susan was rather alarmed by a few of the military dispatches concerning lost skirmishes with the Ettins. Other documents, official letters, proposed decrees, and diplomatic reports that should have been directed to Edmund, rather than Peter, proved infinitely more troublesome. The decrees were well within her authority, and capabilities, to reject or approve, but the official letters (mostly nobles offering their daughters' hands in marriage), and the diplomatic reports she had absolutely no idea how to respond to and was slowly organising them into a separate pile.
It was slow, monotonous work and was quickly giving Susan a headache, but she found it immensely useful in keeping her mind off more troubling matters. Peter had ridden out before dawn, and she had watched him go from her balcony but had not been able to summon the self-control required to see him off—she had known she would not be able to keep from crying if she had allowed herself to say goodbye.
She knew what he had told her might very well be true, Lucy might be alive, he might be able to save Edmund from whatever trouble he had gotten himself into this time, but it was better to proceed as if it were not true—as if Peter had ridden out seeking revenge, which, Susan suspected pessimistically, was likely to be all that was left for him in Tashbaan. It was better to bury herself in mindless tasks and do her best to ignore the desperate battle between grief and hope that raged within her.
By late afternoon the pile of correspondence she could not answer was nearly level with the top of her head where she sat behind the desk and Susan frowned at it. Jala, who was standing next to her, shifting through the next stack of letters sighed and regarded the mess with a vaguely superior air which was likely directed at Peter's ineptitude at keeping up with his correspondence. Jala was a trusted and very helpful servant but Susan suspected she had little patience with Peter after the numerous times she had been required to intervene on his behalf during feasts.
The Dryad was just handing Susan another shipping report to sign when the door burst open and Tarkaan Areesh's sister stormed into the room, pursued by a flustered looking Dwarf. Fury was plain in every delicate line of the Tarkheena's face as she flounced over to the nearest chair and sank into it with a rustle of brightly coloured silk. Her gown, which was reasonably opaque at least, was constructed of brilliant and hideously clashing colors, deep purple and flaming orange, accented with filmy overlays of chartreuse, and Susan found herself staring at the girl with mild confusion. The Tarkheena resembled nothing so much as a rather hideously coloured and utterly furious parrot.
Jala's delicate eyebrows seemed in danger of disappearing into her pale hair and Susan motioned for her to leave before she could comment on the utter impropriety of the Tarkheena's arrival. The Dwarf guard hovered in the doorway for a moment, frowning darkly, until Susan waved him away as well and rose to close the door after him. She took a moment to compose her face into a pleasant expression of interest before turning back to her unexpected guest.
"Tarkheena Mazareen?" Susan hadn't precisely meant it to be a question, but the Tarkheena had never spoken to her before—had not spoken to anyone other than Peter and his guards as far as Susan knew—and Susan was still not entirely certain of her name.
The Tarkheena huffed contemptuously but did not correct her, which she took as confirmation that she had at least gotten the girl's name right. Instead of responding politely, the Tarkheena crossed her arms furiously over her chest and glared up at Susan. "I have been most grievously offended!" Mazareen announced in a shrill voice, her chin trembling as if she was about to cry—though there was no hint of tears in her voice.
Susan raised her eyebrows in what she hoped passed for surprised outrage on the Tarkheena's behalf. "I am greatly distressed to hear such a thing Tarkheena." Truly, she added silently, though the distress was not on the Tarkheena's account. With an effort she restrained herself from going back to the desk and the correspondence—whatever the Tarkheena had to say it was likely of little importance and the stack of papers was still rather daunting. "Who has offered you offence?" she asked instead, stifling a sigh.
My family gone, all of Narnia in danger, and yet here I am, listening to the doubtless petty complaints a vain fool. It was enough to make her want to sob in frustration.
"Your royal brother!" The Tarkheena snapped, her tone implying that Susan was being rather dense. Perched primly on the edge of her chair, speaking in her shrill, plaintive voice, Susan was once more struck by her resemblance to a parrot. "He has gone," Mazareen continued, voice quavering in anger, or perhaps a counterfeit display of grief over his departure. "And without a word to me!"
Susan struggled to keep her expression neutral and wasn't sure she was doing a very good job of it. "I wasn't aware my brother owed you a word in regards to his plans," she replied evenly, though she wanted nothing more than to shake the ridiculous girl.
Mazareen huffed again, tossing her glossy black curls disdainfully. "Does not a Narnian knight owe his betrothed some explanation? I do not know how things are done here in Narnia, but in Calormen women are shown proper respect."
Susan blinked, staring at the Tarkheena in silence for a long moment, too stunned by her claim to formulate a sufficient response at first. At last she cleared her throat and tried to make sense of the ridiculous statement. "Betrothed? I have heard nothing of this." Likely because it is blatantly false. Does she have no respect? If Lucy and Edmund were dead, as the Tarkheena must believe them to be, how could she find it conscionable to make such a claim on their grieving elder brother?
The Tarkheena gave her a very haughty look. "And why should you have heard of it? You are not the keeper of your brother. When I am his queen you shall not even have a throne."
Susan felt her eyebrows rise further at that pronouncement, but before she could formulate a suitable response—one that could only be perceived as polite but would still leave no doubt in the Tarkheena's mind that Narnian politics did not function in that manner—the door flew open again and this time it was Tarkaan Areesh who burst in, disheveled and panting as if he had just run up the stairs from the courtyard. Jala trailed after him, her mouth set in a hard, disapproving line.
"My lord, you must not—" Jala began, but the Tarkaan was already across the room and had grasped his sister firmly by the arm.
"Mazareen! You have the sense of a moon mad ostrich! Cease your prattling immediately before you cause grave offence to our most gracious host."
Moon mad ostrich? Susan had not been aware of the existence of such an insult and she felt the corners of her mouth twitch as she tried to repress a laugh.
A moment later the Tarkaan turned to her, still clutching his sister by the arm and half dragging the furious Tarkheena from her chair. He was much less composed than she was accustomed to seeing him and displayed none of the arrogance he had the night he had climbed through her window. In fact, he looked rather desperate and utterly humiliated.
"Your majesty, my lady, a thousand apologies for the deeply regrettable actions of my sister." His face flushed, and Susan wondered if he was remembering his own deeply regrettable actions. Perhaps believing that would be giving him more credit than he deserves, she reflected, still feeling a twinge of annoyance at the memory herself.
"She is often unwell and confused," he continued, dragging her the rest of the way from the chair and pulling her roughly to her feet. Mazareen glared at him, face red with fury as she twisted in his grip.
"I am not unwell! Let me go you brute! The curse of Tash be upon you!" Mazareen nearly broke free from his grip as she kicked him sharply in the shin, but Areesh clung to her arm with more tenacity than Susan would previously have credited him with, although his expression did become rather more pained.
"Silence!" The Tarkaan commanded, though his voice sounded almost beseeching. "Sister, be silent before you disgrace yourself further." He backed towards the door, bowing rather clumsily as he half dragged his sister from the room.
As the door swung closed behind them Susan breathed out a sigh and she sank back into the chair behind the desk. Jala stared after the pair, her face contorted into an almost comical expression of disgust. "Are you well, Queen Susan?" she asked as Susan let her head drop forward against the desk.
Susan, torn between crying in frustration at the entire situation—the ridiculous behaviour of the Calormenes, the absence of her siblings, and the still crushing weight of grief that dragged at her—and laughing at the absurdity of the confrontation could only nod silently.
Jala put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't despair, Queen Susan, I dare say those two won't linger now."
Susan managed a choked laugh at that and nodded again, lifting her head from the desk and squaring her shoulders, the momentary lapse in control passing quickly enough. "Quite right. Hand me that p—"
She was interrupted by a furious knock on the door and was certain her expression must have been one of complete fury for a moment. "Come in," she called, once she had composed her expression again. Am I to have the entire castle through here? And this isn't even my study!
Duke Tirnan strode into the room, polished boots clicking against the stone floor and expression utterly disdainful as he surveyed the disordered room, Susan's ink smeared and untidy appearance, and Jala's disapproving expression. He was dressed for riding, though the lack of mud on his boots and cloak clearly showed that he had yet to leave the castle, and his hand rested (rather concerningly given his fits of temper) on the hilt of his sword.
"I have come to tell you that I no longer wish to marry you," he announced bluntly, and Susan felt an overwhelming sense of relief sweep over her at his words. "Narnia is far too weak a country to be allied with my own people and your charms," he paused, lips twisting onto a sneer, "Your charms are hardly equal to convincing me that there is anything to be gained from such a match."
With that, he turned on his heel and clicked back out of the room. The door slamming the door shut behind him with a very final sounding crash. To Susan's surprise Jala began laughing, very quietly but with such genuine amusement that a few birch leaves began swirling in the air around her and for a moment she seemed much more treelike as the amusement overcame the concentration it required for her to appear nearly human. Susan allowed herself a small smile as well and drew in a very deep breath of relief. It was almost too good to be believed—two of her suitors withdrawing their courtship in the course of a single afternoon, although Areesh had yet to formally announce his intent to leave.
At least there will be no further necessity for the servants to deal with Duke Tirnan's explosive and brutish temper. And now that only leaves Gale. It was just as well, it had been Gale she was planning to speak to in any case.
Susan glanced quickly at the window, seeing by the shadows in the courtyard that it was nearly evening, and stood with a sigh—it was high time that she had the much-dreaded conversation with the young Galman. She looked down at the wrinkled fabric of her gown and the ink stains on her hands rather critically, then shook her head in annoyance. It would be utterly unnecessary to try to improve her appearance before speaking with him—it wasn't as if he wanted to marry her anyway, and a new gown would hardly change that.
"Jala, find Lord Gale for me, would you?"
Jala gave her a rather pained look. "Are you sure, your majesty?" She flushed slightly, obviously uncomfortable questioning Susan's resolve, but hurried on, speaking quickly. "I do not mean to cause any offence, my queen, but are you quite sure you want to speak to him now?"
Susan sighed and crossed to the window, leaning her elbows against the sill and looking out. The courtyard was crowded with grieving Narnians and she tried not to remember other times when it had been equally crowded. Those had been happier occasions for the most part, the yearly celebration of the victory at Beruna, the Christmas feasts to which all of Narnia had been invited, and the numerous occasions when the courtyard had been filled with returning soldiers and her brothers had leapt from their horses, battered and covered in mud, to embrace her.
Her cheeks were damp, and she brushed the tears away impatiently with the back of her hand. "Quite sure," she said firmly, not turning from the window. "Bring him here if you would be so kind."
Jala offered no further protest, and a moment later Susan heard the click of the door falling shut behind her. She dropped back into the chair and stared at the papers, her vision blurring out of focus. Be strong, she told herself silently, wiping away the latest mist of tears with her handkerchief. For Narnia.
Peter had told her that she must care for herself as well, but Peter did not know what it was to be a woman, trying to lead a country on her own. It had been difficult enough for Susan when her brothers, and even Lucy, had ridden away to war and she had no doubt that it would be far worse now. If Peter did not find Edmund, alive and well, Susan doubted he would survive it, even if Lucy did return to them, and that would leave her as the head of the country indefinitely. Duke Tirnan's words had only served to reinforce her doubts about whether neighbouring countries would respect Narnia under such circumstances, and she no longer had any illusions about their current treaties being honoured. She needed allies desperately if they were to stay free from foreign rule.
It could be worse, she told herself firmly, straightening the stacks of paper and fidgeting with the quill lying on the desk. It could be a great deal worse. But that did not make what she must do very much easier.
The shadows lengthened as she sat there, waiting and trying not to think and the room was nearly dark when she stood and lit the lamp on the mantle and the candle near the desk. She crossed back to the window and looked back at the courtyard to find that there were candles glowing brightly there as well, held in the upraised hands of the gathered Narnians gathered.
The room was terribly silent, and she could hear the faint sounds of singing rising from the assembly. Almost unwillingly she pushed the window open and listened, caught, in spite of her own grief, by the beauty of the music.
The voices of Dryads rose, high and sweet, above the deep bass of the Dwarves and the clear tenors and baritones of Fauns and Satyrs. Someone was playing a harp and a moment later the sound of reed pipes joined the chorus, strangely haunting in the absence of their usual joyful tone.
To the sea she went, so fair and bright,
And he to a land of endless night,
Neither to return again.
Light the pyre,
Salute the ones who came before,
And pray we meet again on some distant shore.
She was listening so intently, held rapt by every note, that she didn't hear the door open and found herself badly startled when someone spoke, very close to her ear. "The Ballad of Tarva and Alambil?"
It was Gale, standing beside her as he too looked down at the chorus below. Susan nodded, pulling the window shut and turning away from it determinedly. Now is not the time to listen to music. The song had struck her particularly tonight as she realised that this time the words were not meant as a tribute to long dead heroes of legend, but as a lament for her own lost siblings. The thought made her throat constrict painfully.
"Do you know the story?" she asked quickly, trying to regain her wavering composure as she motioned for Gale to sit.
He looked around quickly, then dropped into the armchair by the cold fireplace and Susan was struck by the memory of Edmund sitting there with Lucy perched on the arm of his chair, laughing as she watched Peter try to make the shadow animals on the wall. She blinked and shook her head. Don't think about it.
"Not the story, but I know the song. A bard sang it at the last tournament in Galma," he added with a smile. "Your brother the High King was there and seemed transfixed by the rendition."
Susan nodded, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I suppose he would have been. King Edmund does not—did not—sing often."
He stared at her, obviously startled. "King Edmund? Surely you don't mean—but he didn't say anything about who he was, and neither did the High King! My father sent him to eat in the kitchens!"
Susan managed a smile at that, she imagined Edmund had been perfectly content to eat in the kitchens, and had most likely had half the household fussing over him and offering him extra food before the night was out.
"I wish I could have met him properly," Gale remarked quietly, staring into the unlit ashes of the hearth. "From what I have heard of him he was a truly great king."
"Yes, he—" Susan nearly choked on the lump in her throat and then shook her head. Don't think about it.
The Galman nodded, seeming to understand. "They are singing it for him and Queen Lucy, aren't they?" he asked quietly a moment later, still staring into the hearth. "I don't remember the whole story, but—" he broke off and looked up sharply. "Forgive me, your grace, I've upset you."
Susan shook her head down and hastily thrust her handkerchief back into the pocket of her gown. "No, it's alright, and you are quite correct. The story is a sad one, and a fitting tribute—they left Narnia to seek out and destroy evil and lost their lives in that pursuit." This was not how she had planned for the conversation to progress, but it was strangely comforting to sit with him in the dimly lit room and to speak more freely than she had in days. That at least is something to be valued.
"Tarva and Alambil were twins, brother and sister, and descendants of Frank, the first king of Narnia," she continued, finding her composure again in the familiar words of the story. "They were not directly in line for the throne and so ventured beyond Narnia's borders in search of distant lands and adventure. Tarva, the lord of Justice, found his way to a dark land of sorcery and terror to overthrow a tyrant. Alambil, the lady of Peace, embarked on a voyage far to the North, guided by dreams of a people who desperately needed her aid."
"Both succeeded in their tasks, but neither ever returned to Narnia and legend tells of how Tarva at last came face to face with his enemy in a cavern beneath the Earth. He struck down the tyrant, The Lord of Death, and the land was freed, but not before his enemy had mortally wounded him. Alambil journeyed farther into the frozen North than any other Narnian in the known histories and found seas of ice and lands frozen in a terrible and eternal winter. There she found a kingdom whose people were enslaved to a Selkie King and swore an oath that she would free them. She tricked the King into taking human form, stole the seal pelt that gave him his power and his ability to shapeshift, and turned him over to the people he had wronged that they might seek justice." She paused, feeling the dampness of tears on her cheeks again as she recalled the next part of the story.
"I remember the end of the song," Gale told her, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alambil felt her brother's pain as the fatal blow fell and set sail for the sorcerer's dark land, desperate to reach him. They died side by side in the caverns, Tarva from his wounds and Alambil because of the bond they shared—that neither could live without the other."
Susan nodded, not trusting herself to speak, but Gale it seemed had not finished speaking. He was smiling, a little sadly, as he finished the tale, seeming to understand that she needed to hear the ending, even if she already knew it better than he did. "Aslan saw what they had done, how they had given their lives without question, and he placed them in the heavens as a reward for their courage and faith. Perhaps he will do the same for those you have lost."
The words were kind, and Susan knew he meant well by them, so she forced a smile as she braced herself to speak of what she had originally intended to discuss with him. Courage and faith. It seemed so easy for the heroes of old stories, less so for her when she found herself faced with a daunting task.
"May I speak plainly with you, my lord?"
"Of course, your grace." He ran a hand through his sun streaked fair hair and lapsed back into silence, not meeting her eyes. She wondered if he knew what she was going to ask.
"You told me that your father wishes you to marry me." There was no use skirting around the issue any longer—better to say what must be said quickly, before her resolve wavered again. "Are you especially opposed to the idea?"
He stared at her, obviously he had not guessed what she had wished to speak with him about, and shook his head slowly—more in astonishment than in anything else she suspected. "I-I don't want to marry anyone!" He seemed to have spoken more emphatically than intended and his face flushed. "I-that is, it's nothing against you, your grace, but I always thought—" he stopped, frowning down at his clasped hands and Susan nodded.
He thought to marry for love. She had hoped never to have to marry at all, since marrying for love would likely never be an option for her. She had known for years that if she married it would be to form an alliance, and until that alliance was needed it was better to remain unattached. She liked Gale well enough, he was kind, well-mannered, and had been honest when many others would have lied to better their chances, but she knew she didn't love him—he was simply the most bearable of three impossibly daunting choices.
"We both have a duty to our countries," she said quietly, hating herself for what she was about to do. "Your father wants you to make an advantageous match—he wants you to be the next Galman king—and I need alliances backed by something stronger than easily broken treaties. A marriage between us makes both of those things possible."
He stared thoughtfully down at his interlaced fingers and Susan watched him, trying to gauge his reaction—not sure what response she hoped for more. For herself, and for him, she wanted him to say no, to walk away and free them both, but for Narnia—for Narnia she knew she must convince him to agree.
"That is a lot to gamble on an uncertain succession," he said after a long moment and looked up at last. "The current king has not yet declared me his heir and may never do so—it is merely my father's wish, not a guarantee."
Here it is, the leap that I cannot take back. "If you will agree to marry me then, whether you are named as the heir to the throne or not, Narnia will back your claim. I am prepared to swear it, in writing if necessary." If Peter did come back he would be furious, she knew he might never forgive her, but now was not the time to think of that—it was the time to plan, to form alliances, and to ensure the survival of Narnia above all else.
Gale stared at her, his face a perfect portrait of shock, and she waited. Tarva and Alambil, Lucy and Edmund—they had all faced death and not wavered, surely she could face this with the same dignity.
At last the Galman nodded slowly, his expression of shock fading into a more impassive look. He had his duty too, and Susan knew that if anyone could understand the necessity that drove her it would be him. He stood and took her hand, bowing slightly to kiss it. "They call you The Gentle," he said quietly, regarding her intently. "But I think any who oppose you will find that they have greatly underestimated you, your grace. I will accept your offer, but on one condition."
"Which is?" Susan asked sharply. She had not planned for there to be other conditions. Surely the throne of Galma is enough for him.
Gale smiled slightly, and his eyes were kind. "If your brother the High King returns from wherever it is he has ridden off to, and remains here to rule, you will consider yourself under no obligation—either to marry me to aid me in claiming the throne of Galma."
Susan stared at him in shock. It was more than she could have hoped for and she was so grateful that she could have wept. Instead she nodded silently, too overcome by relief to speak, and Gale seemed to understand. He smiled, bowed to her one last time, and slipped out of the room, pulling the door softly closed behind him.
At another time, under different circumstance, I might have grown to love him, she realised with a hint of regret. Before she could entirely make sense of that revelation however, the door flew open again and Tiberius burst into the room. His face was ashen and there was a streak of something dark across one side of his light coloured tunic.
"Murder!" he gasped, swaying slightly on his hooves, eyes wild with terror. "Queen Susan, please, you must come! He's killed her!"
Any theories about who has killed someone and who is dead? I'm sure someone has the right idea...
Leave me a review, I do so love to hear what everyone thinks :-)
Cheers,
A
