Chapter 1: Lucy and Gawain

In the summer, the Narnian wind caresses, rather than blows, and everything smells of peaches and honeysuckle.

Lucy leaned against the slender birch tree and sighed a long, contented sigh. Her hair hung, as usual, in a long, tangled mess down her back and across her shoulders. She liked it down, where the wind could twist it round her neck and gust it back from her face. She'd twisted flowers in it today, with Edmund's help—little blue and white star-things that didn't smell much, but reminded her of her crown (except alive and oh-so-sweet looking). The only trouble was that when it was down, her hair tended to catch in the bark of the tree she was leaning against, so that when the day drew to an end, and she was trying to comb the tangles out with the help of her motherly servants, there were little leaves and pieces of bark stuck in the silvery-blond locks.

Giggling mischievously at the image that gave her, Lucy shifted her weight away from the tree and stretched, glancing over at Edmund as she did. Her brother was lying on the grass a few feet away, snoring quietly. Her eyes sparkled as she eyed the little star-flowers she'd twisted into his hair as he slept, and wondered if he would notice at once upon awakening, or if it would take a good deal of strange looks once they got back to the castle before he suspected something.

And then, suddenly, her mood shifted from wickedly pleased and contented to dangerously alert. The two horses, tied to the tree, snorted; their ears twitched forward. Lucy sat bolt upright and listened as the sound of hoof-beats floated across the meadow to where she sat. From the forest about three hundred yards before her, where the hill on which she was sitting atop evened out to make a small valley, five horses appeared.

The queen leapt to her feet, straining her eyes as she sought to recognize the riders and found, to her bewilderment, that she did not. Which, in itself, was odd. She knew all the Narnian nobles (or most of them), and no one ever ventured directly south of the Cair anyway, which was why she and Edmund liked so well to come here. The men on the horses (at least, they all looked like men) were all wearing armor—no, wait. Only three wore armor (a ridiculous way to travel, as it was not only hot, but also reflected for miles, thus giving away your position). Of the other two, one appeared to be wearing a darkish cloak, and the second a gay suit of green and yellow. The former had a long white beard. The latter was riding (she could hardly believe it) crosslegged on his horse, and was playing an instrument and singing.

As they came out of the break in the trees, one of the men in armor (she decided they were likely knights) pointed in the direction of Cair Paravel and said something to the others. They didn't appear to have seen Lucy and Edmund, so she moved as slowly as she could to awaken Edmund. This took a little work, for although she wanted to wake him quietly, waking him at all was not easily accomplished. She finally decided to put a hand over his mouth and punch him in the arm as hard as she could with the other (after trying unsuccessfully to awaken him more gently).

He started awake and jerked away from her, grabbing at her hand frantically, but when she hissed at him to be quiet and he saw that it was her, Edmund relaxed. Then he pushed her hand away.

"What's going on?"

"Strangers," Lucy whispered. "I've never seen them before, but I think they're knights. And one of them's got a gorgeous horse."

Edmund sat up very slowly. Lucy followed his gaze and was relieved to see that the knights still hadn't noticed them. Yet at the same time she was worried, because they were headed toward the Cair.

"What should we do?" she asked.

Her brother's dark eyes were running through the possibilities under his furrowed brow, and at last he sighed.

"I fear I could never fight five, if they mean us harm. And although we've been gentle with our horses this day, we should be hard pressed to outrun them." He paused. "It's odd—why do we not know them? Peter and I have met with every lord and knight from the Lone Islands to the Western Wood."

The knights disappeared into the woods. Lucy stood up and marched over to the horse.

"Let's follow them. Even if they do mean harm (which I don't think they do because they just look friendly), five knights won't get past our defenses."

Edmund nodded and helped her into the saddle. "Back home then. And let's hope they aren't just scouts for a larger army."

"Scouts with a minstrel?" his sister snorted, easing her horse into a trot and adding, over her shoulder, "the sun is getting to you, Ed!"

They reached the edge of the woods in time to see the five knights crossing through the gates and into the castle. After exchanging a look, the two young sovereigns urged their horses into what ended up as a madcap race through the field overlooking the Cair. Seagulls took wing, crying out in surprise as the horses thundered past.

Edmund and Lucy only slowed when they reached the gates themselves. The guards, of course, knew them at once and let them pass. Lucy craned her neck, looking and looking for the five strangers as she swung down from her gelding…and heard deep voices from behind her.

"…were riding down the coastland and found ourselves in unfamiliar woods—which wasn't queer for me, living backwards and everything so that I hardly recognize my own bedchamber. But, by Kraken, tis a funny thing—I was quite certain there were no castles for miles around!"

"No castles," scoffed another voice. "Are you calling this an enchantment, then? A thing of the imagination, or of a sorceress' whim? Looks real enough to me."

"If they have dinner, then we'll know it's real," said a third voice wryly. "I've never heard of enchanted food that didn't taste enchanted."

Heart thumping, Lucy whirled around and saw the five strangers, chatting to each other and a few of the Narnian guards (Fauns, Centaurs, Badgers) who were looking quite out of sorts as to what to do. Three of the men had dismounted, but two were still in the saddle. One of the men with armor, the one standing near the fine, huge black horse she'd seen earlier, caught Lucy's eye at once. Well, really the horse did, but the man was no less impressive—tall and broad-shouldered, but with flaming red hair and pale green eyes that looked slightly amused.

Especially as they flickered over her (she blushed as she realized she'd been staring). But Lucy, of all of her siblings, was not one to be aghast at meeting a stranger's gaze. She measured him curiously, taking in the neat but obviously well used armor, the hand that seemed well accustomed to sitting on the hilt of the sword at his hip. The tawny beard that swallowed up his cheerful face.

"Hullo," she said after a minute. "And welcome to Cair Paravel."

All five of the men turned to look at her (possibly because all the guards had turned and were sort of standing at attention—although she'd told them again and again that she didn't like to have a courtyard full of statues), and she smiled at them genially. The red-haired man was the first to recover, for he bowed, courteously, and returned her smile.

"Thank you, milady. As you might guess, we are strangers to this place—can you tell us whither we have ventured, and which is the way back to Camelot?"

"Camelot!" Edmund was next to her now, gripping her elbow and staring at the knights curiously. "You've ventured far out of your way, I fear. I am Edmund, a King of this land which is called Narnia, and this is my sister, Queen Lucy." He hesitated. "By Camelot, you would be speaking of King Arthur's Court, I presume?"

Another of the knights in armor (this one with graying dark brown hair and a stern face) jerked a nod and said, "Unless there's another Camelot somewhere we haven't heard of."

To the Narnians' surprise, the old man with the long white beard who was wearing the robe leaned over and whacked the dark-haired man on the head with his staff.

"Manners, Kay," he snapped, sounding so like the young queen's grammar tutor that she nearly burst out laughing, and ended up coughing into her hand not very discreetly. The knight rubbed his head and looked annoyed, but did not apologize for his comment.

"Good sirs, Camelot is of another world than this," Edmund was saying. "I know not how you came to be here, but I would be honored to offer you lodging until you are well prepared to take your leave of us. Might I have to honor of knowing your names?"

"Of course," said the red-haired man gravely. "And I beg pardon for not introducing myself and these, my companions, earlier. I am Sir Gawain of Orkney. These, my fellow knights, are Sirs Kay" (this gesturing to the dark haired man), "Lancelot" (the knight who was still wearing his helm, and had not yet spoken), "and Dinadin." (a fair-haired man, slight of build, who Lucy recognized as the one who'd been singing). "And this—"

"I am Merlin," said the man with the long white beard, coolly. "And, young Edmund, I've heard of you. Yes, and your brother and sisters too (I live backwards, you know). In fact, I have some things I should like very much to discuss with High King Peter. If he's to be a proper king—well. He's got a lot to learn, yet, despite the fact that he's been king a few years running."

"Of course," said Edmund, trying and failing to hide his astonishment. "I'm sure my brother would be honored to meet with you. Just now, however, the High King is in the midst of planning for a campaign against the Giants of the North, and I'm not sure—"

He might as well have said nothing for all that Merlin listened. The old man handed his horse's reins to a flabbergasted centaur and turned and began striding toward the Great Hall. Lucy snickered as she watched Edmund follow him helplessly, and Sir Kay, with a sigh, dismounted and went after both of them. Then Lucy looked at the remaining knights and smiled at them again.

"Feel free to stable your horses yourselves, or I can take them for you. I'll have someone come see you to a chamber, if you'd like to rest, or you can go past the kitchen, that way, and try to beg something from Cook—she usually will trade an apple tart for a good story, and I've sure you've got plenty of those."

Sirs Dinadin and Lancelot now dismounted, the former grinning at the mention of an apple tart, and the latter looking faintly disconcerted, for he'd taken off his helm, now, and Lucy could see fully his face. She didn't know much about King Arthur (after all, she'd been eight when they'd first arrived in Narnia, and her memory of her own world and grown dimmer in the eight years she'd been a queen), but she remembered something about Lancelot and someone else's wife. She wondered why the girl had fallen for him, for although he was very handsome in some ways, you could tell by looking at his face that he'd never known what it was like to seek something worth having.

These two knights led their horses away, but Sir Gawain stayed for a moment and watched her. She saw something in his eyes that made her feel, instinctively, that he was a kindred spirit (how Lucy loved kindred spirits!), and so she smiled again at him and said, "Shall I walk with you to the stables, sir?"

He bowed gallantly, and she walked with him. After a few strides, she found her eyes straying again to his beautiful horse. Its black mane and tail fairly shone in the morning's light, and its eyes gleamed at her wickedly, almost as if it was a talking horse. Sir Gawain followed her gaze, but did not speak until she said, "Your horse is lovely. He's very strong, isn't he?"

"Biggest of his kind," said the knight proudly. "An Aughisky—a water horse. His name is Guingalet."

"Guingalet," said Lucy, stopping abruptly and fondling the horse's mane while surreptitiously slipping a lump of sugar under his nose (she always carried lumps of sugar—for who knew when one might come in handy?). "What a lovely name."

Sir Gawain looked rather startled for a minute, and tugged on his horse's rein for fear of something it might do, but Guingalet looked quite pleased to munch the sugar, even though he did eye Lucy with something other than the friendliness she was used to seeing in the eyes of the intelligent Narnian horses.

"May I help rub him down?" Lucy asked, once they'd reached the stables and found a suitable stall for the Aughisky.

Sir Gawain looked uncertain. "He bites, milady. He lets no one near him but me, except for a few cases."

Lucy looked slightly incredulous at this, but, respecting the knight's experience and still watching that mischievous look in the horse's eyes, decided not to try her luck. She stood on the other side of the stall door while the knight tended his horse.

"I can't remember," she said at last, biting on a piece of straw and staring at his red hair intently. When he paused and looked up, she continued. "Are you the one who fought the Green Knight? Or was that some other knight with a name beginning with "G"?"

With a grin, Sir Gawain nodded. "Nay, lass—twas me. That's how I got my title of 'The Maiden's Knight'."

"Because you took the woman's scarf—not because all the girls fall in love with you?" Lucy asked, to clarify. The knight nodded, but with amusement in his eyes.

"Aye. Though I've had one or two who liked me well enough."

"Is that why you grew a beard?" the young queen asked. She liked amusing people as much as she liked being amused, and she knew, somehow, that this red-haired knight was one who would be amused rather than insulted by bluntness.

Likely he thinks of me as a fresh young thing, she thought, rolling her eyes internally. But I don't care. I like him.

"What, lass?" Sir Gawain asked in mock surprise. "You aren't one to find beards attractive in a man?"

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "Susan won't let Peter or Edmund grow theirs out. She thinks it looks unkempt and ungainly, and entirely unheroic. But perhaps," she amended, thoughtfully, "the style is different in Camelot."

"Perhaps," Gawain replied with a laugh.

He finished rubbing down Guingalet, but when he came out of the stall, Lucy walked over to a bale of hay and sat down, patting the hay next to her.

"I know I'm probably not like the queen in Camelot—whatever her name is, Arthur's wife—but I'm the youngest and everyone puts up with me. Please tell me if I'm being forward—I don't mean to, but it's so much nicer to be familiar with interesting people, Sir Gawain."

"Please," said the knight, "You needn't add my title, if you mean to be familiar. Strewth, you remind me of a cousin of mine!"

"Does she look like me?" Lucy asked. "Is she a princess?"

"She is a princess, of sorts," Gawain said, but taking in the tangled fair hair, the pink cheeks, and the slightly worn burgundy dress and thinking of a red-headed girl with pale skin and spotless gowns (when she was wearing gowns, anyway) added, "but she doesn't look quite like you."

"What's the queen of Camelot like?" Lucy asked. "And what's her name? I can't remember."

"Arthur's wife—my aunt, if you will—is called Guinevere. She is tall, with long hair that she often keeps up and out of the way, and if she wears something, all the ladies of the court will be wearing the same style for weeks on end afterward. She is very pretty. The king loves her more than anything else."

And yet there was a hint of sadness in Gawain's voice. Lucy caught it and put two and two together.

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "She's the one Lancelot liked, isn't she? I never liked that part of the story. It's so sad—because Arthur loved them both, but they betrayed him."

Something fleeting, like anger, flashed across Gawain's face, and Lucy remembered belatedly that he had red hair and was therefore liable to have a temper.

"As far as I know, Lancelot has not yet crossed the line of impropriety," the red-haired knight said fiercely. "But if he does, it will break the king's heart."

"Poor Arthur," Lucy said with a sigh. "If he's anything like Peter, then I know he must be a good king, but without three others like us to help him, he'll go mad within a year."

Sir Gawain gave her a very strange look, so she elaborated. "You see, that's why Aslan made all four of us kings and queens—only one of us wouldn't be able to share the burden, and with two, there's room for betrayal. Three means two might conspire against another, but with four, you're safe, because four is even and it covers all the points of a compass so no one gets more than their fair share. Do you see?"

Gawain was smiling, but he nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, milady, I do. And I'm beginning to see why the Rebellion of the Five Kings didn't work out."

Lucy nodded wisely. "Right. Five kings. You can't split things five ways—not unless you give someone the capital, but that means they're better than everyone else. And anyway, you've got five men trying to figure things out (and not paying any attention to their wives, like as not), things'll probably come out wrong. No, four is fair and even (and Susan and me balance out Peter and Edmund alright). If one of us four were to die or something, the kingdom would collapse. At least, I think it would. Maybe not. Have you got any brothers or sisters?"

Gawain nodded. "Four. You'd like Gaheris and maybe Gareth, but Agravaine and Mordred are…"

"Black sheep?" Lucy suggested tactfully (because Lucy could suggest something that sounded extremely insulting with the utmost tact—it was one of her gifts). Sir Gawain nodded, and she drew her knees up to her chest with a sigh. "I think every family's got one of those—yes, even mine," she added, when the knight gave her an incredulous look. "It was Edmund, a long while back. But it was sort of our fault, because we weren't kind enough to him and he was upset about Father going off to war. But it was his fault too, because he didn't have to…to make things worse. There was a Witch, you see," she said at last, for Lucy was one accustomed to forgiving and forgetting, and she would rather not spread out the black details of the betrayal for just anyone (even a kindred spirit) to see.

"We've got enchantresses of our own back home," Sir Gawain said, seeing that it was a rather delicate subject and so shifting things over toward a new direction. "In fact, my own mother has caused a good deal of trouble."

"That's awful," Lucy told him. "She isn't Morgan Le Fay, is she?"

"No," said Gawain. "Morgan's my aunt. My mother, Queen Morgause, is her sister, and Arthur's their half-brother. That's why he's my uncle, even though we're of the same age."

There was a moment's silence as Lucy processed this. She'd never been so good with genealogies and histories ("It's worse than the War of the Roses!" she would later exclaim, ruefully). After a moment, though, she looked at the knight again and said, "Do you like having four brothers?"

The knight grinned and leaned back against the hay. "Oh, it's not all fun and games, lass, as I'm sure you know, but so long as we're not at each other's throats, we get along. Gaheris is the peacemaker, you see, and Gareth. I've got an awful temper, being of the hot Orkney blood, and so does my brother Agravaine. He tried to kill me once."

Lucy gave him a horrified look. "How awful. How could he do something like that?"

Gawain shrugged, his jade green eyes looking a little melancholy now. "I'm not sure. It's probably something to do with Mother—her being an enchantress and all—and Agravaine and Mordred tend to stick together, and Mordred is bad all the way through. Vaine is just so…so cross and intemperate. He tries and tries to bait me, because he knows I'll fight him when my temper's up."

After thinking about this for a moment, Lucy asked, "Edmund was like that too, a little, because Father was gone—but at least we had our mother. Was your father at home, when your brother was like that?"

The knight looked down grimly and shook his head. "My father was King Lot—one of the Five Kings who rebelled against Arthur. He was always away, fighting in the wars."

Lucy sat up straight as if she'd discovered something brilliant.

"Well, there you have it!" she cried. "He was like Edmund. But I think," she added, slightly scolding him, "that it's a bit of your fault too. You're the eldest—you oughtn't let your temper get the better of you. Peter says that if he'd talked to Edmund more and showed him how much he loved him—despite the trouble between them after Father left—things might've ended up differently.

Gawain nodded at this with a pondering, faraway look, but then grinned at Queen Lucy in the end and stood from the straw.

"You are wise for your years, your highness. And I'd almost gone and forgotten you were a queen!"

Lucy snorted, brushing some hay out of her hair (where it had nested next to the pieces of bark and flowers), and replied, with a smile, "All the better. Conversations with queens are likely to be duller than Susan's dagger—she never sharpens it, you know, because she hates to think she might have to use it."

They left the stables, and it seemed to all who watched them pass that they had known each other always.


To be continued…