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Aslan's Daughter: That about sums it up...the plot will eventually become clear :-). Always glad to hear from you!

Guest: Well...This isn't Ed and Peter, but they are up soon! Hope you are still enjoying the story :-).

14th. of Greenroof, 1012—Firstday

Susan stared at the Faun for a long moment as he swayed in front of her, eyes wide with terror, and briefly considered the benefits of launching herself out of the window. Of course, she did no such thing—these were Peter's rooms, not her own and a fall to the paving stones below the window would not prove overall helpful in escaping whatever new crisis loomed, but was very likely to be deadly to her, and perhaps one or more of the Narnians still gathered in the courtyard below.

She took a breath, forced her gaze away from the window and slowly let the breath back out. "Tiberius, please, try to be calm and tell me, if you can, what has happened?"

The Tiberius' chin was trembling, close to tears, and he was alternating between ringing his hands and scrubbing ineffectually at the stain on his tunic. "Oh please, your majesty! Won't you come at once! It's simply dreadful, and she's just lying there! It isn't right! It isn't right!" His voice rose to a wail that Susan was certain would have been heard halfway to Tashbaan and he burst into tears at last.

Taking his arm, she steered him towards a chair as calmly as she could manage and settled the sobbing Faun into it before she allowed herself to feel her own concern and trepidation. Someone had been killed, presumably murdered, that was obvious from Tiberius' distressed announcement. But who?

She doubted Tiberius would be so distraught if it happened to be the Tarkheena Mazareen and stubbornly did not allow herself to feel disappointed about that particular lady's likely survival. That left any number of servants, courtiers, friends, and visitors to Cair Paravel. Half the kingdom is here! It could be anyone!

She hurriedly poured water from a pitcher on Peter's desk into a moderately clean goblet she found tipped on it's side among a jumble of papers she had yet to sort through, and set about trying to convince her distraught companion to drink it without choking and to calm enough to tell her precisely what he meant by murder and where she was supposed to go to face the matter.

Tiberius was still sobbing noisily into her handkerchief when the sound of hooves in the corridor alerted her to the presence of a Centaur. A moment later Orieus stood framed in the doorway, his face set in a very grim expression and an enormous longsword unsheathed in his right hand. The blade, she saw with some relief, did not appear to be bloody.

"General?" she abandoned the still sobbing Tiberius to his grief with a last pat on the shoulder and sympathetic look and crossed the room to Orieus' side. His expression was even more concerning up close and she suppressed a shudder at the mix of fury and grief in the set of his jaw and the white-knuckled grip he kept on the hilt of his sword.

He inclined his head slightly, then frowned past her at the distraught Faun. "He's told you then, Queen Susan?" he asked quietly, sheathing the sword once he seemed to have satisfied himself that she was alone except for Tiberius.

"Tiberius has told me someone's been killed, but not who or how. General, please tell me what has happened." His expression was not remotely reassuring, nor was the look of sorrow he directed at her when it became clear she knew very little of the matter. Susan clenched her fists, feeling her fingernails dig painfully into the skin of her palms, and struggled for composure. No more loss, Aslan, I beg you. No more friends to bury. I cannot bear it! But she knew that she must bear it, no matter how staggering the weight, and closed her eyes briefly, forcing herself to take another deep.

Give me strength, she begged silently. Aslan help me. Susan had always rather envied Lucy her close connection with Aslan, had longed for the same assurance of His presence that her younger sister always seemed to have, but in that moment, she was nearly certain that she felt the warmth of breath against her cheek and the warmth of soft fur pressing against her side.

Stand strong, Eve's Daughter, a voice whispered in her ear, accompanied with a feeling of love and safety. She remembered nights sitting before the fire with her knitting while Lucy played with a litter of kittens on the hearth, Peter and Edmund laughing as they ran across the muddy training field—eager to escape her wrath when a pair of over enthusiastic Dogs had knocked her over and covered her in mud, and the barely remembered feeling of racing across plains, over streams, and through forests on Aslan's back with Lucy so many years before.

Stand strong, Aslan's voice said again, gentle and strong. I am with you.

The voice faded to echoing silence at the end, but the warmth at her side remained and she felt herself stand taller, shoulders squaring and hands unclenching. She blinked and faced Orieus with more assurance than she had believed possible mere seconds before.

"Please, General, I see from your face that the news is dreadful, so it benefits nothing to spare me longer. Tell me what it is, if you please."

Orieus inclined his head again and stepped aside from the door. "It may be better to show you, Queen Susan, if you will permit it."

Susan nodded, feeling her throat constrict again and stepped past him into the dim corridor. The warmth of Aslan's presence stayed with her, an invisible support at her side as she walked, and she leaned into the feeling as she walked, silently preparing herself for whatever had so distressed Tiberius and shaken the inscrutable calm of her General enough that he found words insufficient to convey the situation.

Once they turned down the broader corridor that led towards the library the shadows seemed to gather closer around them and Susan found herself ever more grateful that she was not alone. The torches had burned out, or more likely been extinguished considering that they must have been lit for scarcely more than an hour, and the corridor loomed before her, strange and cavernous in the dim light.

Ahead of them, just in front of the libraries huge, iron-bound doors knelt the figure of a man, kneeling next to a pale shape sprawled on the marble floor. Susan recognised the man almost immediately, both from the set of his shoulders and the pale gleam of his white turban in the gloom. It was Tarkaan Areesh, and for a moment she wanted nothing more than to curse and kick at the nearest wall. If the Tarkaan was present that made the identity of the dead woman nearly certain—regardless of Tiberius' reaction.

And if a Calormene guest has been killed beneath our roof then there may be nothing we can do to prevent war. She drew in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, feeling the unseen warmth at her side press against her, urging her forward. Orieus stood to one side, his expression grave as he inclined his head towards the kneeling man, silently indicating that Susan should approach. It was only then that she noticed Trebonius standing in the shadowed arch of the library door, with Sundance—the badger librarian standing next to him—both Narnians looked grim and Trebonius held his ax in his hands, as if ready to do battle with some unseen attacker.

"Tarkaan Areesh?" Susan stepped forward cautiously, not particularly wanting to intrude on the man's grief, however unpleasant she had found both him and his sister, and then felt her heart seem to miss a beat.

This isn't right. The figure sprawled before the Tarkaan was not wearing the bright, gaudy colours the Tarkheena had mere hours before. This woman was wearing a gown of light green and her straight, pale hair—quite unlike the Tarkheena's dark curls—spread around her like a strange cloak. This isn't right, Susan thought again, feeling somewhat stupid as she stared at the impossible scene before her.

It was Jala, but it couldn't be. She had seen the Dryad only a few minutes ago, surely it had not been that long since she had sent her to find Lord Gale, and for her to be here, lying in the corridor with the Calormene Tarkaan kneeling over her seemed utterly impossible.

Before she had more than a moment to take in the scene before her however, Tarkaan Areesh had lept to his feet—rather to the alarm of Trebonius—and then thrown himself back to the ground at Susan's feet to grasp the hem of her gown in one hand. Orieus stamped his hoof, the sound ringing like a hammer against the stone corridor, and Susan heard the rasp of his sword being loosened in its sheath. Half in a daze she held up her hand to stop him, effectively forestalling any impending violence, and stared down at the man before her.

To all appearances the Tarkaan was utterly distraught. He had thrown himself flat on the floor, forehead pressed to the stone floor, and the only acknowledgement he seemed to make of Susan's presence was the hand that still gripped the hem of her skirt. He might have looked utterly ridiculous, had it not been for the other body lying even stiller not two paces away, and his behaviour was certainly not anything that a Narnian would have considered proper.

But he is not a Narnian, she reminded herself, vaguely recalling Edmund saying something about Calormenes making rather grand shows of grief—or perhaps in this case, remorse. There was only one reason Susan could see for Tarkaan Areesh being found kneeling over the body of a dead Narnian—of a friend, she thought miserably—and it was one, the complications of which, she found rather staggering to contemplate.

She tugged her hem free from the Tarkaan's grasp—which seemed to send him into a paroxysm of weeping—and drew in her breath slowly. Be calm. Don't let him see the anger, the pain, the loss; any of it. Now is not the time. She did her best to ignore the quiet, niggling voice in her mind that seemed to endlessly repeat "When? When is the time Susan? When everyone you care for is dead and buried? Will you then have time for tears?" and settled her face into as mild of an expression as she could muster.

"Tarkaan, what mean you by such a display?" she demanded, hardly recognising the cold, distant voice as her own. "I command you, stand on your feet and address me."

The Tarkaan raised his head marginally and Susan tried to give him an at least marginally reassuring smile. "O most beauteous and gracious Queen, I would beg your leave to remain as I am, for though I am innocent of this poor creature's death the poets have long since said that the vengeance of a monarch must be swift on any suspected of foul deeds." With that he dropped his head back down with an audible thump.

Susan stared at him, fury at him calling her friend a creature warring with a strange feeling of pity that someone who claimed innocence of wrongdoing knew nothing of mercy and did not even dare to stand and offer a defence. Rather to her surprise the pity won, and she turned to Orieus with what she was certain was a rather helpless expression.

"Were there witnesses, General?" she asked, though the grim set of his mouth made the question rather unnecessary.

"There is a witness, Queen Susan. Badger Sundance! Come forward." Orieus stamped one hoof against the stone floor in impatience as the librarian shambled forward, peering over the top of his spectacles with his habitual expression of ill-temper.

Susan suppressed a sigh. Sundance was a trial to deal with at the best of times, and under circumstances where he was certain to know his testimony was tantamount to either a pardon or a death sentence. If only Edmund…she stopped herself before the thought could complete, but the damage was done, and she felt her eyes burn with threatening tears.

Trust me. She could feel the voice to her very bones, strengthening, soothing, and filling her with a sense of peace she had felt only once before when she had seen Aslan standing atop the hill of the stone table, silhouetted in gold where He stood before the rising sun.

"Badger Sundance, of your courtesy?" Susan drew herself up to her full height, shoulders squared, and hands clasped before her, and regarded the Badger before her. He did not appear particularly courteous, nor did he seem very impressed by her regal manner, but she did not need him to be either courteous or impressed—only truthful.

The Badger sidled closer and tilted his pointed muzzle upwards to look at her. "I heard a terrible row," he announced without preamble, and Susan heard Orieus stamp his hoof again, likely in response to the librarian's manner. She held up a hand to him, signaling silence, though she did not look away from Sundance.

He peered up at her, obviously pleased by her attention being focused solely on him, and puffed out his chest. "I heard some foreigner," here he paused with a derisive sniff and glared murderously at the still prone Tarkaan before continuing. "He was cursing something terrible at that Dryad. I never liked her," he sniffed again and turned his squinting gaze towards Jala, where she lay on the marble floor. "Too flighty, all Dryads are like that. No sense of propriety either—too much like humans."

"ENOUGH!" The shout was loud enough that it seemed to shake the stone walls of the corridor. Orieus, it seemed had heard enough. He clattered forward, one hand clenching the hilt of his sword, and his face a perfect mask of fury. "You will show respect, Badger!"

Susan stepped back half a pace, staggered by his rage even though it was not directed at her. She could not remember ever seeing the stern, inscrutable general so obviously enraged, but she had heard Peter and Edmund relate tales of enemies who took one look at the Centaur charging at them and either threw down their weapons or ran in the opposite direction as quickly as they could (apparently it was not often quickly enough to outdistance a galloping Centaur). Seeing him now she could well believe the accounts, which had seemed rather far fetched before.

Sundance, who she had never seen intimidated by anything (despite the fact that he was shorter than almost everyone else in the castle, terribly shortsighted, and not particularly frightening even when considering his ill-temper), cowered away from Orieus and seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible.

"Jala was a loyal subject, trusted friend and servant to Her Majesty, the Queen Susan, who—as you may be aware—is HUMAN. You are no friend of mine, nor of Queen Susan's, nor of anyone else. Loyal you may be, but a grudging and irascible servant you are certainly. Her majesty has asked you a question and you have responded with insolence—which I might have pardoned, had you not also insulted her." He stamped his front hooves, each blow ringing like the hammer fall of fate and Susan saw Sundance cower back even further until he was pressed against the wall of the narrow corridor with the still furious Centaur looming over him.

As tempting as it was to allow the General to continue berating the unfortunate badger Susan was all too aware that it would profit nothing in the end. Sundance might be cowed for minutes, perhaps even hours, but it was completely unlikely that his overall manner would change, or that he would be likely to offer any useful information.

"Peace, Orieus." She knew her voice did not hold the power of command that Peter's did, but Orieus stepped back immediately and inclined his head to her—although his tail was still flicking in irritation and he did not relax his grip on the sword hilt.

"Good cousin," she stepped around the still sniffling, facedown Tarkaan, and dropped to one knee in front of the Badger so that their eyes were level. "I know you to be honourable." I know no such thing. "And it would ill suit any Narnian to wish harm upon a visitor who is here by my leave. If you know anything, either of this man's guilt or innocence I would bid you tell me."

Sundance seemed to consider her for a moment, tilting his head to one side as he regarded her sharply over the top of his spectacles. Then he huffed and shook his head. "I heard the argument, and your loyal friend and servant there cry out, but it could hardly have been that sniveling imbecile who was shouting at her." He pointed his nose at the Tarkaan, lips drawn back in sort of snarl, though the effect was rather spoiled when his spectacles began to slid down his muzzle.

Susan nodded and stood. She had suspected as much. Tarkaan Areesh was bold in private, and when sure of himself, but when confronted he seemed to wilt. Jala would hardly have tolerated being shouted at without some retaliation. "Thank you, Sundance. You may go."

The Badger snorted and shuffled back towards the library doors muttering inaudibly (but not, Susan thought, in a complimentary way). Orieus glared after him, and Susan saw Trebonius' lips pull back in a much more convincing snarl than Sundance had managed as the Badger passed him.

"It was Duke Tirnan," Susan said quietly, tilting her head up to look at Orieus. "He came to see me in Peter's study and left in an ill-temper to return to Telmar. He must have met Jala in the hallway after she took my message to Lord Gale—" her voice broke, the words catching in her throat and threatening to choke her, but Orieus nodded, understanding and sorrow darkening his expression.

"His temper has become well known in his days here. I will send riders after him at once." Susan nodded her thanks, voice still trapped somewhere in her throat, and Orieus put a gentle hand on her shoulder—silently acknowledging and supporting.

She was infinitely grateful that he had expressed neither sentiment aloud—her control was wavering, so close to breaking that she feared at a single word of sympathy she would throw her arms around him and sob. While she was certain that Orieus would not begrudge her such a loss of composure it was hardly a spectacle she want the Tarkaan to witness, even if he was still stubbornly facedown in the middle of the hallway.

With an effort she turned back to him and forced herself to speak. "Tarkaan Obridesh, you are guiltless in the death of the Birch Dryad Jala, and as you are innocent of any crime I did you stand and return to your chambers." She did not pause to see if he would rise before she turned and nearly ran back up the corridor, only stopping long enough to call over her shoulder to Orieus. "Send for the Dryads, if you would, I—they will make the proper preparations."

Then she fled, too close to tears to feel ashamed. It's too much! Lucy, Edmund, Peter, Jala: who else am I to lose? I want to trust, I'm trying, Aslan. I swear I'm trying. She thought she felt the soft brush of fur against her arm as hurried blindly around a corner, but she could not be sure if it was Aslan or if she had just nearly collided with a guard or servant.

She was running now, her thin shoes slipping against the polished stones of the staircase that led to the ramparts. She slipped and fell heavily to her knees, bruising them against the stone and scraping her palms as she tried to catch herself, then she was on her feet and hurrying upwards again, not stopping until she had thrown open the ironbound door and stumbled out into the cool, night air.

It was silent and still, the banners hanging limp with no wind to catch them, and the colours of mourning were mercifully hidden by the darkness. She walked to the edge, wrapping her shawl back around her shoulders and looked out over the low stone battlements. Below there were still Narnians in the courtyard, candles still burned in the hands of a few, but they had fallen silent—their laments sung, and their tears shed.

They don't know. They don't know one of their own is dead—they don't know that a murderer rides through their land—and they cannot begin to guess that their High King may never return. She felt the dampness of a tear on her cheek and brushed it away impatiently, but more were falling now, and it wasn't as if anyone was there to see.

She did not hear him approach, but when his hand dropped lightly onto her shoulder she was not alarmed. There was no danger in his presence when she became aware of it.

"Your grace?" Gale stepped forward to stand beside her, one hand still resting lightly on her shoulder s he offered her a handkerchief with the other. "I'm sorry, I did not think anyone else would be here so late."

Susan wiped her eyes and tried to smile at him, but knew the expression held little sincerity. "I come here to think."

"And to escape?" He wasn't looking at her, his eyes were focused on the distant horizon and perhaps that was what gave Susan the courage to speak.

"Yes, I suppose so. You should know, my lord, if you are to be king, that ruling is not an easy task." She folded the damp handkerchief into an untidy square, then shook it out again, smoothing the wrinkles from the linen before folding it again, more carefully.

He shrugged. "But it is worth it." It was not a question, but Susan nodded.

"I love my people, Lord Gale, I love this country, my family, my friends. Anything would be worth the pain if only they were safe." Be safe, she added silently. Come back to me. Peter. Edmund. Lucy. Oh Lucy, how can I bear this without your joy and light?

"And when they are not safe it pains you." Again, it was not a question, but again she nodded. "I think I understand, in part at least," he continued quietly. "My father, he is not—" he paused, seemed to consider, and shook his head. "He is not a kind man, but I too love my country and my people. I am willing to play the pawn in my father's games of power if it will someday allow me to protect and serve those for whom I care." He turned to look at her then, and there was something steely and almost dangerous in his eyes. "But I am not a pawn, your grace—not my father's, and not yours."

Susan smiled, and handed him back his handkerchief. "I would not have believed you were, my lord."

Gale nodded, the fierce look in his eyes receding as he smiled, a touch sheepishly. "Forgive me, if I have offended you, I did not think ill of you, I only wished to be sure that we understand one another." He dropped his hand from her shoulder and rested his elbows atop the wall, leaning against it as he looked down into the courtyard.

"You will do what you must for those you have sworn your honour to," Susan said quietly, following his gaze. "I can find no offence in that."

He nodded, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, and pushed himself away from the wall to bow slightly. "I will leave you to your thoughts, your grace." He turned to go, and Susan put a had on his arm impulsively, rather shocked by her own presumption.

"My lord?"

He turned back, smiling slightly. "Your grace?"

"Thank you." And to her surprise she meant it. Somehow there was no shame to be felt at him finding her weeping—he had offered neither judgement nor empty reassurances and she was strangely comforted by his steady presence.

He bowed again, the smile widening and a glint of mischief flashing in his eyes. "If you need to borrow a handkerchief, Queen Susan, you need only ask." Then he was gone and the door settled shut behind him, leaving her alone again.

She went back to the edge of the rampart and tilted her head back until she found the bright, steady light of Alambil, high in the heavens. Lady of Peace, watch over my sister, I beg you, and guide the spirit of my friend to Aslan's Country.

She lowered her eyes to where Tarva shone near the horizon and let out a slow, steadying breath. Lord of Justice, guard my brothers in the shadow of Tash, bring them light I beg you.

Aslan, she bowed her head, fixing her gaze on the courtyard of Narnians below. Lend me strength to watch over the land you have given me and to endure if I alone am to remain. Thy will be done, My King.

There's your update! I swear I'm trying to get the next one up sooner, since it is another chapter in the Tashbaan story arc. Thank you everyone for reading! I love reviews, so please leave me one :-).

Cheers,

A