Chapter 2: Susan and Lancelot
The morning had not passed so easily for certain other members of King Peter's court. Already Queen Susan was a bit out of sorts—and not only because her neatly pinned up hair was coming undone and sticking to her sweaty neck, and the dress she'd put on that morning was really more fitting for a winter day than for the early part of summer.
To top things off she was carrying a basket of Peter's dirty laundry. It was not something she would usually be doing—not on a regular day. It was just that half of Peter's attendants were so busy helping him with the morning's paperwork and business and all the different errands and missions he'd set them on that there wasn't anyone to take his laundry—and Susan, the Lady of the Castle and Overseer of All Its Affairs, was not going to let the king's laundry go undone.
The basket, of course, was heaped with garments. Peter had a tendency to shove the basket behind something so that whoever's errand it usually was to take it generally had to begin a hunt that lasted until someone just asked the high king what he'd done with it. And even then, it wasn't a sure thing that the basket would be found.
Susan's own room was never in such a state. Every morning, after she washed her face and hands, she straightened things up. In most castles belonging to a person of her rank, there were servants to do it. As a matter of fact, there were servants in the Cair who would've been glad to do the straightening. Only Susan and the others had decided, in the first year or so of their reign, that unless their other duties became burdensome, they would somehow convince the cooks and servants and chamberlains that it was alright for kings and queens to help with trivial things, sometimes. Not only did it keep them humble and in touch with their subjects (as well as heightening their subjects' respect for their sovereigns rather than the opposite effect), but it was rather nice to forget about ambassadors and fleets and battle maneuvers for an hour while you helped pick apples in the orchard or dry dishes while chatting to the friendly scullion.
That was part of what made Cair Paravel and the monarchs therein unique. It was also why Susan was carrying a basket of laundry when she turned a corner and bowled into a suit of armor.
Actually, it wasn't just a suit of armor, because its hands shot out to grab both her and the basket in time to save her from falling over. Susan, who had let out a little cry of surprise at the collision, suddenly fell silent as she stared into a pair of dark blue eyes, set under a glossy mess of dark brown curls. She was stunned, not because he was the plainest yet most interesting man she'd ever seen, but because she'd never seen him before—a strange knight in her castle, and here she was, the queen, who'd run into him and was even now balancing a basket of laundry on her hip. Susan flushed and straightened herself up, wishing her hair was not in such a state of disrepair.
"I beg your pardon, sir. I was not watching where I was going."
The man, who was staring at her as if he was seeing a ghost, shook himself a little and then swept her a bow.
"Not at all, milady. I am sorry for startling you."
And then he smiled, cautiously, and she didn't think he looked plain anymore. He bowed, again, and said, "Allow me to introduce myself, milady. My name is Lancelot du Lac, a Knight of the Round Table, and a loyal servant to King Arthur of Logres."
Susan felt something twist inside of her, and she stared at the dark haired man more curiously now than she had before. So this was Lancelot—the man who had destroyed Arthur's kingdom by falling in love with Arthur's wife. She looked into his face, wondering if she would see some trace of arrogance or tragedy—something that might hint of what was to come. She saw nothing. He looked very young.
"It is an honor to meet you, Sir Lancelot," she said, smiling and curtseying ever so slightly (because, of course, she was a queen and he was just a knight, but courtesy was courtesy, no matter what one's station). "I am Queen Susan."
She had briefly considered just introducing herself as Susan (because what kind of queen carries laundry?) but it felt like a lie, and Susan was very conscientious about lying. She was relieved, therefore, when Lancelot looked not a bit surprised, but took her hand and bowed over it to kiss it, gently.
"Your majesty." He straightened, and looked at the laundry basket pointedly. "May I be of service to you?"
Susan considered refusing, but it was so courteously asked that she smiled and handed the basket to him gratefully. "You may—thank you, sir. This way." She began to walk down the corridor, and Lancelot followed. He had such long, confident strides. But then the practical part of her began fidgeting and she turned to him with a question.
"How did you come to be in Narnia, Sir Lancelot? Surely Logres is…well, rather far from here."
Lancelot's face was very serious as he nodded and answered, "This is true, your highness. I can only assume it is Merlin's doing."
"Merlin," exclaimed Susan. "Can he do that? I mean, can he truly send people from one world to another?"
The knight shrugged. He was looking straight ahead. "I suppose he can. There are five of us here, and the wizard is one of them. King Edmund," he added, "met us in the courtyard and offered to let us stay once we had explained to him that we were unfamiliar with this land.
Susan asked where the others were, and Lancelot replied that he didn't know—Edmund and Kay and Merlin were going to see someone called Peter, Queen Lucy had taken Gawain to see to the horses, and Dinadin had wandered off muttering something about apple tarts.
"That knight," Lancelot said, grinning, "is either thinking about his stomach or his songs. Strewth, he would make an excellent minstrel—and knows it too. He does not think himself very knightly."
"It is no shame to do things other than what people think you should do, in accordance with your station," the young queen replied coolly. "For instance, some would say that laundry is something to be left to the servants, and that queens should meddle only in the genteel affairs of court."
She sneaked a glance at Lancelot and saw that he looked a little amused. After a moment, he smiled and said, "Some might say that, but if a queen is not willing to do good honest work every now and again, she is truly not worthy of her title."
"Guinevere does laundry?" Queen Susan asked, as she discovered that the dark haired knight had found nothing scandalous or wrong in meeting a queen who was toting a basket of her brother's dirty clothes.
Grinning still, Lancelot nodded. "Whenever she can. And Arthur would stay in the kennels all day if only Merlin would allow it."
There was a moment in which both of them attempted to retain their dignity and noble bearing, but it passed quickly, and several servants looked up from their work with a glimmer of a smile at the sounds of cheerful laughter.
"In fact," said Lancelot, as they rounded a corner, "that was why I stared so rudely when we first met. Even holding a basket and looking flustered from running into a strange knight, you had not the bearing of a servant. Guinevere is like that. Were she dressed in rags and starving in the streets, one could not mistake her for anything but a queen."
Susan smiled, gently, and wondered if Lancelot had yet discovered that he was in love with Arthur's wife. She hoped he wasn't. She hoped he never would.
"Well, Sir Lancelot. If a queen must be wearing a crown to be recognized, I would say that she's not very much of a queen at all."
He agreed, heartily, and there was silence as they walked. Susan thought of a battlefield strewn with fallen knights, and of a woman with short hair and eyes red with weeping, wearing the garment of a nun. She had to speak of it. She must. There was still a chance that it might not come to pass, if only she could warn him, convince him to leave Guinevere alone.
But she couldn't. And so they walked together in silence—the knight who was doomed to a tragedy of his own design, and a queen who pitied him. And for the first time, Susan found that legends are not always what they seem.
To be continued….
