I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. So don't sue me - I hate Sues. Especially Sues in Narnia fics. Out of my fandom, shoo shoo!
It is difficult to be ungrateful for any sort of shelter when you are in a storm such as the one the Pevensies had been in, but Lucy thought the weather had at least felt more welcoming. The icy stares of the withered people who stood in the hallways as they passed were more chilling than the damp cold of the outdoors. They followed their guide through the stone castle, heading for some unknown destination – their rooms? – and taking stock of their surroundings.
Lucy mostly paid attention to the people, knowing that her brothers would notice the layout of the place and the weaponry the castle folk possessed. There were both men and women looking out at them, but they all bore the same skeletal appearance the first man had. Their sunken eyes followed the siblings eerily. Some of them were so emaciated, they seemed to be nothing more than skin wrapped tightly around bones, and they moved jerkily, as if they had been sitting for quite a long time and had only just risen. Lucy could see no children.
However, the real creepiness of the place had a lot to do with its sounds, actually, or its lack of it. The castle seemed unnaturally quiet. There was only the shuffle of booted feet and the rustle of clothing, with the far-off hints at kitchen work and other chores. The people did not speak to one another. They merely stood in doorways, watching the strange, noisy foreigners pass by in silence, stiff and staring and spooky. Shivering, Lucy let go of her brothers' hands to rub at her arms uncomfortably; as a queen, of course she had endured the staring of her subjects or of foreign dignitaries, but it was not often she was looked at in a way that made her feel so threatened, so violated. It was as if the skeletal people were merely appraising her and her family, trying to determine how much they would be worth at the market.
Trailing behind their strange guide, Lucy, Edmund and Peter were led through a series of winding passageways, up two flights of spiral stairs, and to the end of a very dank corridor. There were two heavy, plain wooden doors set into the wall, looking as though they might grow moss at any moment. The thin man stepped back and eyed them again, claw-like fingers raking across his spiky, stubbly cheeks. He gestured to the doors, but did not speak until suddenly his eyes settled on Lucy's hand. They grew wide with some sort of perverse curiosity, and she immediately drew it back as if the man's gaze had burned it.
"What is that?" he rasped. Lucy looked down and realized with a start that she had not removed her ring. It shone a brilliant green even in the dim torch-bracket light of the hallway. And the man was reaching forward eagerly, chapped lips slightly parted in anticipation, but she had no desire to let him get a hold on it, so she quickly removed it and dropped it into her belt pouch.
"It's nothing," she said quickly. She felt Peter and Edmund relax behind her, though she hadn't felt them tense before. The man's face returned to a mash of shadows and harsh lines, more fierce than before. Without another word, he gestured towards the doors. The Pevensies shared a look, and Lucy managed a tight 'thank you' before the man was limping away, muttering something under his breath as he went.
The rooms were identical, obviously guest chambers. They were very stark. They contained a large bed, a stone fireplace, a wooden table, and one straight-backed chair. Outside, the storm still raged furiously, but only a few drops made it past the stone overhang outside the glassless windows. It was extremely cold. It was also nighttime, and Lucy realized they were expected to sleep; the people of the castle had no doubt thought them weary travelers looking for a place to stay the night, not people who had risen scarcely an hour before.
"Where do we begin?" she asked, seated on the end of the bed. Peter, who was leaning against the wall, shrugged. Edmund's eyes flashed in slight irritation before he answered Lucy's question.
"Now we find out if they've seen Susan," he told her. "Or just anyone new, since obviously she can't have been here all that long."
"But isn't time distorted between worlds?" she said. " Susan could have been here for ages and we'd never know."
"But Aslan said that Susan would still be Susan, and we're assuming that means she'll still be how she was when…" Edmund didn't seem to want to finish what he was saying, as Peter had slumped even further. He shot his brother an exasperated glance.
"I guess," Lucy said reluctantly.
They made their way back out into the castle, unsure of how to return to the place from which they'd come. The air was damp and cold. Meandering through the stone hallways, they encountered no people, but Lucy constantly felt as though she was being watched, and if her brothers' tension was anything to go by, so did they. She didn't think she'd ever seen a less welcoming place. At last, they found what seemed to be a servant girl, her hair lank and grey, her limbs so stick-like that even Lucy could have circled a wrist with her thumb and index finger.
"Excuse me," said Lucy politely. The girl looked up through sunken, dead eyes, but the little queen did not flinch away. "We're looking for our sister. Has a young woman passed through this place?"
The girl turned back to her work, folding a ragged blanket over her arm, and said in a rough, airy voice,
"You must ask the King."
And she extended a long, grotesquely thin arm and pointed down the corridor, to where it met another and more people would occasionally pass. The three Narnians nodded their thanks and found that the reason more people were passing through the area was because it led to what was obviously the throne room. They stepped into it, the largest room they'd encountered so far, and noticed immediately the tall, narrow throne that stood at the head of it – the man sitting in it was conspicuous as well.
If the other people had been skeletal, this man was a skeleton. The hands that protruded from the billowing robes that enveloped him were long-fingered, and Lucy guessed that if she stepped closer than the twenty feet that separated them, she would be able to see every knuckle structure. His face was a repulsive image of protruding cheek and jaw bones, his eyes sunken so deep into his face that they were entirely shadowed. He was bald, but his scalp did not shine; it was mottled with sickly colors that would befit a person of extreme age. A jagged crown of some smooth white substance rested atop his head. It was difficult for her to look at him without wanting to retch.
But he was a king, and kings must be shown respect regardless of their appearances. Lucy began to make a curtsy (difficult in her light armor), but Edmund's hand suddenly gripped her shoulder, preventing her from doing so. She looked up at him in confusion.
"You're a queen," he reminded her. "You assume equal rank and command equal respect."
And because Peter made no move to step forward and introduce them, Edmund did so. Lucy watched him take a few strides towards the foreign king before nodding his head respectfully and dropping his hand away from his sword, a sign that he wanted no conflict.
"Unknown king," he called. The sound echoed in the near-silence. "Who do I have the honor of addressing?"
The man did not seem to move, but Lucy sensed that he was watching them. One of the gaunt guards next to the throne paced forward until he was not more than two yards from Edmund.
"Why do you not bow?" he boomed, his voice harsh and crackling. Edmund did not move from his place just in front of his brother and sister.
"We are kings and queens of a foreign country. No disrespect is meant," he replied evenly. The guard laughed gratingly.
"Kings and Queens?" he said mockingly. "The eldest of you is naught more than an overgrown boy."
Lucy waited for Peter to stiffen, to defend his pride, but he did not move from his place, only looked at the floor with his face in an expression of pained acceptance. In contrast, Edmund's shoulders shot up and his fiery temper sparked yet again. Though Lucy could not see his eyes, she was sure they had lit with anger.
"Do not mock us," he demanded. "We are not here to argue experience. What sort of man are you, to insult my brother so?"
Suddenly the figure on the throne stirred. A creaking, groaning laugh echoed around the area as he lurched to his feet and leered down at him from the dais, his crown glinting in the torchlight.
"Oh, but we are not men," he hissed in a voice that sounded like but half a voice. "No one is a man after he has died."