Moonlight
Chapter Three
Peter and Edmund reached the eastern balcony just as the sun began its final climb toward noon. As the kings descended the last flight of steps, and turned left into the short gallery that led to the balcony itself, they found themselves squinting slightly, as their eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine. The gallery and balcony sat about halfway down the cliffs that Cair Paravel sat upon, carved directly into the cream-coloured stone. Vines and flowers wound around narrow columns and wide archways, and framed a clear view of the beach below, and the vast ocean beyond, which glittered in the midday sun with countless, diamond-like points. A gentle breeze ran through the gallery, easing away the collected heat of the morning, and making the vines sway gently.
As the brothers walked toward the balcony at the gallery's end, they were met by a sound that instantly made the boys smile. High, clear laughter, immediately recognizable as Lucy's, mingled with faint gull song and the soft sounds of the ocean below them, drifted toward them. The girls were home at last, and without thinking about it, Peter and Edmund quickened their pace slightly, eager to see their sisters. Two dozen yards away, on the balcony itself, a gaggle of dryads, divine waters, fauns and Animals were milling about, alternately arranging a table with what looked like a light lunch, or happily greeting their queens. As the boys drew closer, they caught occasional glimpses of Susan and Lucy, but failed at first to catch their eyes.
The balcony was half covered, the ceiling of the corridor extending out and over its width, while the arches and balustrade fell away to the kings' right, framing a delicately mosaicked floor that stretched toward the sea, until it was just over twice as deep as the gallery was wide. More vines and clinging ivy hung tenaciously from the cliff above them, forming a curtain of sorts that Lucy had always enjoyed watching on days like this, the faint perfume of the small flowers above them filling the air. The boys stood on the threshold for a few moments, watching as their sisters greeted their friends and subjects, before Peter coughed politely, announcing their presence. Lucy looked up first.
"Peter!" With an excited cry, the youngest Pevensie ran forwards, throwing herself bodily into Peter's waiting arms. With no discernible effort, he picked her up and twirled her around once, grinning all the while, before lowering her to the floor gently.
"Hullo, Lu," he greeted her in turn, before planting a small kiss amongst her auburn tresses, then pulling her into a warm hug.
Looking up, he greeted Susan in turn, as she leaned over their younger sister and gave him a kiss on the cheek, her left hand coming to rest on his shoulder for a moment. He could see the obvious question in her eyes; Susan wanted to know how his campaign in the north had gone, wanted to know how he had fared facing the giants, but didn't want to break the happy mood by asking. Peter gave her a smile that at once told her that he was fine, and that they would talk in a while. She smiled again, understanding, before turning to Edmund, who stood a couple of feet away, watching the scene with a quiet smile on his lips.
"Edmund," she whispered softly in greeting, before embracing him warmly, resting her chin briefly on his shoulder.
"Hello, Susan," he replied, equally quietly, as they both stepped back a little. His smile deepening, Edmund tilted his head in their siblings' direction, before adding, "It looks like she missed him." Susan looked at Lucy and Peter, who were still animatedly catching up with one another, then smiled back at her younger brother.
"We all did," Susan said, while her gaze wandered over Edmund's face. Edmund noticed her slightly concerned expression, but made no comment, content to simply let his sister exorcise her motherly instincts in her own way. Apparently happy that Edmund at least looked like had had enough sleep while she was away, and that he hadn't starved himself, Susan smiled once more, before reaching up and brushing a stray lock of his hair away from his brow. "You need a haircut," she said simply, her expression belying her mildly disapproving tone.
"Yes, Mum," Ed replied with a smirk, while turning slightly and opening his arms, wrapping them around Lucy as she approached, and holding her tight for a moment. "Hello, Lu. How was your visit with Mr. Tumnus?" he asked.
"Oh, it was lovely!" Lucy enthused, as the family made their way to the back of the balcony, and the table of refreshments that waited there. Susan, it transpired, had sent word to the kitchens via one of the scouts with their small retinue, and had arranged for tea, dainty sandwiches of assorted fillings, and a selection of scones, jams and preserves. As the Pevensies each started to help themselves to some of the food, Lucy continued to fill the boys in on their trip.
"...and we went swimming with the Naiads in the river just down the valley from Beaversdam. Oh, that reminds me, the Beavers invited us up for dinner on the second night; Mrs. Beaver's cooking hasn't improved very much, bless her, but she does try! And Mr. Beaver sends his regards to you both, of course."
Edmund wondered at that moment just how much nudging from Mrs. Beaver had prompted his inclusion in the regards-sending; the younger king had never exactly seen eye to eye with Mr. Beaver, as it were, and he doubted they would ever be friends, though they were civil enough to one another, for the most part. Peter chose that moment to ask Lucy a question, and Edmund used the brief change in the conversation's flow to help himself to another scone, topped generously with blackberry jam and a little clotted cream.
Midday slowly blended into early afternoon, the shadow from the overhang slowly inching its way toward the sea, but the four young monarchs showed no signs of leaving their chosen location. The whole while, the balcony rang with happy voices and laughter, mixed with occasional, more serious moments, as the conversation ebbed and flowed around Peter's recounting of his campaign in the North. The laughter returned as Edmund told the girls about his ousting Rashmeed from the Cair, accompanied by a brief footnote (and a passable impression of the Calormene, Edmund later admitted) from Peter's own meeting with the man.
Susan's response to the news that Rashmeed still had not left Narnia was one of mild dismay; she had tutted a little at her brothers' strong responses to the man, but upon hearing of his persistence, she admitted that she was rather glad that she hadn't been around for the Tarkaan to 'woo', if such a word truly existed in far Calormen. Susan mentioned this as the siblings finally began their ascent to the rest of their home, and they all agreed that it was, indeed, very fortunate that Lucy had invited her away when she had. This, in turn, raised a half-serious cough from Edmund, followed by a very-nearly serious question.
"Yes, about that," he began, half-raising an eyebrow at his little sister. "Peter and I were wondering, Lucy... would you mind telling us just how you managed to time that so well?"
O o O o O
Darius Horne was not a man who was easily worried, much less frightened. He had captained his ship, the Barghest, for almost thirty years; many in his home town had joked that he was as much a part of the ageing merchantman as the figurehead, or even the deck. In that time he had survived storms, maelstroms, pirate raids, and even one attack from a kraken (or so the owner of the Boar's Head still told), with the same air of gruff, seemingly endless stoicism that he presented to every event in his life. On more than one occasion, when the Sorceress-Queen of Narnia had demanded tithe from the Lone Islands, he had gone, sailed to that land of ice and dark magicks and fell beasts, with little word on the matter. If he had ever known fear in his life, he had never once shown it, or admitted to it; through it all, he simply stood at the helm, flint-grey eyes watching the world evenly from beneath craggy, weather-worn brows.
The man currently standing at the bow of Horne's ship gave him pause, for the first time in living memory. To the outside world, the change in the captain's demeanour was too small to notice. It was nothing more than a subtle shift in his stance, a slight tightening of his grip on the helm; the signs were there, though, for anyone who knew where to look. Horne caught himself eyeing the man warily, and tore his gaze away from the intruder, cursing inwardly at his suddenly nervous disposition. He just hoped that no-one had noticed; a reputation, after all, took a lifetime to build, and mere moments to tear down, and he would not lose his reputation because of some lord from Galmia.
The crew had, in fact, noticed the change in their captain, though to a man they respected him far too much to ever mention the fact. A feeling of unease had followed the lord and his retinue on board, and had spread like a fine mist throughout the crew, starting not long after the ship had left the small port of Stormhaven. The crew had little to do with their passengers, for the most part, but those who did spoke in hushed tones that this man, this Galmian lord, was somehow... unsettling. There was something about his bearing, his cold gaze, that left a man wishing to be elsewhere. He was polite enough, well-spoken as was befitting a man of his status, but even so, there was something not quite right about him. The lord's retinue, two sallow faced men, and a young boy of no more than thirteen summers, bore much of the same bearing, albeit quieter still than their master. When the crew started to notice that their captain was as put out by their guests as they were, the feeling of wrongness they all felt only intensified.
The Barghest's journey, at least, was nearing its end, and soon the unwelcome guests would be on their way. For Captain Horne and his crew, the time couldn't pass soon enough. They were approaching Kellsalter, the new Narnian port, and would be docked in less than half an hour; signals had been run from ship to shore and back, identifying the Barghest, her cargo and passengers, and the port master had signalled their permission to enter dock. The mainsails had already been furled and stowed, and the crew were bustling to and fro, preparing for the last approach to the harbour's main pier by oar. After that, Horne mused, Lord Fenrir was entirely someone else's problem...
O o O o O
An hour later, the Barghest was securely moored, and the business of unloading her cargo had begun in earnest. A group of fauns and Animals had met the vessel and her crew on the pier, and were now aiding the Galmians to unload crates of dried fruit, an assortment of cured hams and salted flanks of pork, wheels of smoked cheese, a few barrels of spring wine, and a number of other sundries. In turn, a pile of crates were waiting to be loaded onto the vessel in trade. The air was full of sharp sounds and loud, but indistinct voices, mingled with the shrill cries of passing merfolk and the cawing of gulls, both Talking and not.
Lord Alaric Fenrir stood a fair distance away from the ship, well out of the way of the sailors and dockhands, watching the proceedings with vague disinterest. He was glad to be free of the confines of the ship. After just a day on board, the general smell of the thing and its crew had begun to make him nauseous; quite how he had managed the entire journey without comment (or worse) was beyond him. By comparison, the cool, salt-edged breeze blowing in from the sea and across the cove was positively refreshing. It teased at the edges of his long, black travelling cloak, and pulled playfully at the carefully braided length of his grey hair, leaving him feeling somehow cleansed.
After a few moments more, Alaric turned slowly, taking in Kellsalter in its entirety. Beyond the sea-green flanks of the Barghest, which he noted with some distaste were peeling in places, he could make out the sea wall that surrounded the harbour. Turning further, in toward land, Alaric could make out a network of wooden buildings lining most of the shore. Many were small huts and workshops, but at their centre stood a cluster of four larger buildings. Two, at least, were probably storehouses, while the other two each had one of their sides open to the sea, and a set of runners each leading down into the water, betraying their use as dry docks. Lord Fenrir couldn't make out much from where he stood, but it appeared that at least one of the latter was housing the framework of a vessel, which looked as though it would be at least as large as the one he had just left.
A loud crash and a string of startled cries dragged the lord out of his sightseeing reverie, and he spun back toward the Barghest. At the foot of the wide boarding ramp, one of his horses, Tempest, had just kicked over part of a pile of crates. The jet-black charger was living up to his name, stamping hard and whinnying furiously, and desperately trying to bite or kick the small human who was, in turn, trying desperately to restrain the animal. Marcus and Arran, his two menservants, were escorting the group's other horse, a snow white mare named Gwynt, and the last of Lord Fenrir's trunks down the ramp, respectively, and were acting too slowly to be of any real help. With long, seemingly unhurried strides, Alaric moved forward to take charge of the situation.
Shoving the boy roughly out of his way, Fenrir grabbed the horse's reigns with a quick motion, his hand snatching out almost too fast to follow. The high-strung animal looked as though he was about to rear up once more, but before it could, Fenrir brought its head around with a sharp tug, and stared it straight in the eye. A long, tense moment passed between man and beast, before the animal finally calmed, lowering its head slightly, submitting to the unflinching gaze of his master. The lord's stance relaxed slightly, and he loosened his grip, though he didn't let go entirely. He held onto the bridle with his left hand, whilst slowly running his right up and over Tempest's muzzle, a faint smile ghosting over his features as he did so. That smile disappeared a moment later, as Lord Fenrir turned to face the boy.
"You little fool," he hissed, slapping the youth hard with the back of his left hand, and knocking him to the ground. "If I can't trust you with something as simple as this, Lucian, how can you be trusted with anything else? Now, get up!" The boy stared up at Fenrir with wide, dark eyes, traces of tears threatening to form at their corners. His gaze was at first shocked, then defiant for a brief moment, but at a twitch of the lord's hand he bowed his head.
"Yes, sir," he replied, barely above a whisper, before standing and moving to take the reigns once more. Tempest looked as though he was going to start acting up once more, but at a quelling glance from his master he instead whinnied quietly, before falling into step as Lucian led him away, toward a small wagon that the group had requisitioned for their belongings. Fenrir watched them go, stepping aside as Marcus and Arran followed Lucian and the charger.
Had anyone been paying attention to the man at that moment, they may have seen the dark, brooding expression that briefly crossed his face, and lingered in his eyes. It was only there for an instant, and was gone the next, buried once more beneath the stoic mask he habitually wore. He took a deep breath, blue-grey eyes closed to the world, as though calming himself. Opening his eyes once more, Lord Fenrir followed his subordinates off of the pier, and into Narnia.
O o O o O
Evening was beginning to draw in, the sun setting over the hills and forests of Narnia in a sweeping display of orange and crimson. Faint notes of evening birdsong hung in the still air; the only other sounds were those of soft, rhythmic hoof-beats and turning wheels, as the party of four made their way to Cair Paravel. The castle walls were starting to loom large against the sky ahead of them, hundreds of crystal windows glowing in the waning light. Lord Fenrir watched them with something approaching interest, as though searching for signs of life. They would be there soon, probably no more than half an hour more on the road.
A low sigh caught his attention, and he reluctantly turned to face its source. Lucian was sitting next to him on the front of the wagon, the tow-headed boy's frame slumped forward slightly. Another soft sigh, which had started to sound more like a snore, escaped him, and Fenrir realised that the boy was falling asleep. Releasing a sigh of his own, he woke Lucian with a nudge to the ribs. The effect was immediate, and the youth sat up straighter, before offering Lord Fenrir a sheepish expression and a quiet apology. The lord nodded in acceptance, turning his gaze back to the road. He seemed to think for a few moments, before looking back at Lucian once more.
"I apologise for losing my temper," he said, his tone quiet and conversational, if not quite gentle. "The journey has been hard, but still... There is much at stake here, Lucian." Silence fell once more, making the sounds of the horses, the carriage, of the two servants leading them, sound all the more pronounced. Through it all, Fenrir regarded the boy closely, awaiting some answer. When none came, he spoke once more.
"I need your mind focussed," he said, his voice lowering another octave. "Are you with me on this, Lucian?" The boy looked up then, and Fenrir searched his dark eyes, looking for any hint of hesitancy. If there was any there when Lucian finally answered, the boy hid it well.
"I am with you... Father..."
Author's Notes: Not the longest chapter, this, nor the most exciting, and to all those who have been waiting so patiently for a new addition to this story, I apologise for those facts. But, here it is, nonetheless. I also apologise for the length of time it has taken me to update... let's just say that there has been a lot going on, and leave it there.
What I will say is a big thank you, once more, for reading. Hopefully, the next chapter will be faster in coming. All reviews and comments are welcome!