A/N: Thanks for everyone's lovely comments! I really do apprectiate them! I shall now try to live up to the praise you've given me!
Dislcaimer: I own the line of slaves on the side of the road. Nothing more. C.S. Lewis was brilliant; I am just some poor sod trying to snap up the crumbs that have fallen from his proverbial table. Gilber and Sullivan own the lyrics.
Anya was devastated. She'd searched, she'd traveled, and for what? For nothing, that's what. Her beloved didn't even remember her. But then she remembered the breath of Aslan, and felt a little hope. "Surely he wouldn't have carried me all this way for nothing," thought she to herself, and with that small comfort in mind, she set off towards the nearby town.
No sooner had she passed the gates, than she passed a group of people, all clamped in irons, sitting by the road. All of them were as fair as Anya. "What are you all doing here?" she asked them. "Got caught," said one. "For running away," finished another. "Oh," Anya replied, sympathetically. "What can you tell me about the Tarkheena who rules this place?" "The Queen! The Queen!" the shakled slaves cried in sort of sing-song voices. "She is greedy," the first whispered. "So very, very greedy!" the others whispered in agreement. The second looked about himself before continuing the fable. "She is cruel," he whispered. "So very, very cruel," his comrades agreed in hushed voices. "She has magic," a third whispered, though his comrades whispered "magic" along with him, as though they were in a pantomime.
"What about the young man that is with her?" Anya asked now. "The Ornamen! The Ornamen!" the slaves whispered amongst each other. "The what?" Anya asked. The fourth slave beckoned her closer. "The Queen is greedy for trinkets, gold, and men," he began in an ominous whisper. "She thinks she is awfully clever in callin' 'em Ornamen. She catches 'em, she does, and puts 'em under a spell so they think she's fairest they ever saw with their eyes, and then marries 'em." Anya shivered. "I see," she said, before realizing that her voice was taking on the same whispered, ominous sing-song tone of the slaves. She shook herself. "Thank you, you have been a tremendous help." Anya got up, dusted off her skirts, and began walking towards the castle of Redival. "A help! A help!" the slaves declared with glee. "We's been a help!"
At last, Anya reached the castle gate. It was guarded by two Calormene soldiers. Anya moved to open the gate. "What do you think you're doing, slave?" demanded the soldier on Anya's left. "I'm…not a slave," Anya said indignantly. "Oh, not a slave, is it?" jeered the soldier on Anya's right. "What are you then?" "A…a princess." Anya went horribly red, as the words sounded so feeble coming out of her mouth. "Oh, a princess," laughed the first soldier. "Right. What country do you rule, my lady?" he asked with an exaggerated bow. "Lithosa," Anya replied, feeling even more humiliated. "Well," said the second solider, with a look at his comrade. "You can't get in. We don't let princesses in at this hour. Be off with you!" And he waved his hand, and that, it appeared, was that.
Anya walked a little way away, before she remembered the gifts! Surely it would be alright to use just one. She opened the first box, and pulled out fold after fold of the purest silk. She marched up the gate once more, carrying the precious bundles. "Let me in," she demanded. "I have a gift for the queen." The guards chuckled a little, but they opened the gate, and one escorted her to the throne room.
The throne room was positively the widest, longest room Anya had ever been inside. A bright red carpet ran up the centre, and on either side was a line of slaves. They had to stand there, perfectly still, day by day, for as long as Redival was in the room. Anya saw Redival's eyes spark greed when she saw the endless folds of silk, even though she was at the other end of the room. "What is that you've got there?" the self-proclaimed queen demanded. "Silk, madam," Anya replied timidly, walking briskly down the long line of slaves. "I want it," the queen said greedily. "Give it to me." Anya paused, thoughtfully. "I would if I could, your Majesty," Anya replied, assuming an air of youthful innocence. "But this silk is special silk. It cannot simply be given. It must be exchanged." "What is your price, girl?" Redival asked warily. "A night with Corann," Anya replied, still smiling in such a way that Redival could not suspect her of any secret design. Redival turned to one of her attendants. "Who is Corann?" she hissed at him. "M-m-my lady," he stammered in reply. "That is the name of the b-b-b-barbarian, your new Ornamen." Redival paused in thought for a moment, all the while staring greedily at the enormous pile of silk Anya held in her arms. The wheels in her head began to turn. "Very well then," she cackled. "One night only, mind." Anya nodded. "Oh of course, your Majesty," she said, curtsying.
That night, Anya was shown into the room where her beloved was waiting. But - oh horror! - he wasn't even awake. He was fast asleep. Anya tried as hard as she could to wake him, but all her efforts were in vain; for the evil Redival had slipped a potion into his wine that caused him to fall into a deep sleep. Anya still stayed there all night, singing to the sleeping man.
Sorry her lot who loves too well
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly
Sad are the sighs that own the spell
Uttered by eyes that speak to plainly
Sorry her lot who loves to well
Heavy the sorry that bows the head
When love is alive but hope is dead!
Eventually, the night passed, and Anya left Redival's castle, dejected. The first gift was wasted!