An annoying jab in the arm roused Lucy from the first dreamless sleep she had had in months. It ceased for a moment and the young queen allowed herself to sink further into the darkness of sleep. And then the jab in her arm was back, pausing for a moment and then resuming with a single crisp poke. After a few moments, Lucy found she could not ignore the persistent poking for another moment and snapped her dark eyes open.
"Your Highness." A tern by the name of Clyde greeted her with a tilt of his beaked head. Beside the Young queen, Susan shifted her weight and attempted to brush sand from her hair. The moon had climbed a fair amount since they had accidentally fallen asleep and as sleep's daze began to wane, Lucy realized that the annoying poking was that of the bird trying to rouse the two queens.
"By the Lion!" Susan yawned as she attempted to stretch. "How long were we asleep here, Clyde?"
"I know not, my Queen." Replied the water fowl, "But your royal brother, the most noble High King, sent me here to rouse you before the tide advances more."
"Thank you most kindly Clyde." Susan told him genuinely as if to politely dismiss him and then cast a look at her sister before saying irritably, "Lu, get off my legs!"
"Your royal brother, the most noble High King, bade me to escort my gracious queens to the castle." Clyde told them as the girls stood up. Clyde was a noble bird but being the body guard of choice when the monarchs were on the shore, Clyde was a bird of structure. He was a stiff little thing and took his orders exclusively from Peter. If the three younger Pevensies made any type of movement near the shore, Clyde observed it. His ability to be everywhere was as vexing as was his long windedness but his presence was welcome.
The three made their way back to Cair Paravel in the moonlight. While Clyde flew literally overhead, Susan put her arm around her little sister's shoulders in a silent way of encouragement and the single act lifted the Valiant up. With the burden of the horrific dream lessened by another person sharing the load, Lucy felt almost at ease. Placing her head on Susan's shoulder, she began to whistle a Narnian folk song.
"My Lady!" Clyde scolded from above without warning. A slight trace of fear and urgency was hinted in his voice. "Cease from that with all haste, please!" It was unusual for any Narnian but the close circle that nurtured and taught the four siblings the ropes to take a scolding tone at any of the four. Lucy gave Clyde a quizzical look, unsure what her transgression was. At length Clyde elaborated, "We Narnians were taught to not whistle past sunset."
"Why ever not?" Susan wondered with a small giggle, amazed that she had not heard of the tradition for five years in the country. Surely Mrs. Beaver or Mr. Tumnus, who often spoke of Narnian traditions to the four, would have mentioned it to them.
When Clyde spoke, it was hesitantly and the sisters felt that he was not telling them the entire truth. "It has long been said that a spirit known solely as Madame Lihi would travel through out Narnia in the dead of night, searching for young Narnians to devour. Ever since I was in the nest, my Mam would warn me to never whistle or sing after sunset for Madame Lihi would be lured by the whistling and take me away. Nobody has been taken since before the Long Winter, but mothers still teach their chicks to never whistle or sing at night. " The tern explained and landed on an archway that led into a garden and ultimately the castle. "I leave you here, my Ladies." Clyde continued, "I trust that you will have a pleasant tomorrow, your Graces."
Susan thanked Clyde for escorting them back and then turned her attention to her sister. "Come on, you." She said fondly as Lucy stifled a yawn. She gently tapped her sister on the head with the palm of her hand before she began leading Lucy through the archway. "Let's see if we could get you to your chambers before you fall asleep on the stairwell, huh?"
Several minutes later, Susan quietly walked down the corridor from Lucy's bedchambers to her own. Her sister had been grateful for being able to confide in her and already was getting back to her cheery self. Unfortunately the whole ordeal had led Susan to ponder what had caused such night terrors. She longed to confide, herself, in one of her brothers but Lucy had sworn Susan to secrecy on the matter.
Her thoughts swarmed as she slid into her large state bed. Susan had always been a practical thinker and was worried that her sister would take the dream literally. She recalled reading a book a long time ago stating that dreams were simply an abstract manifestation of one's thoughts. Whether or not she believed the book was another story. "On the other hand," Susan told the ceiling in a rational tone, "If Lucy's dreams are abstract then that means that she has no cause to fear them coming to pass. An unseen force could possibly symbolize the trauma of becoming an adult." She paused and sighed in frustration. The book she had gleaned this information from was read and unfortunately lost years ago. And although she knew that clinging to that idea would certainly put both her and Lucy at ease, it just seemed silly to write such a horrible dream off as merely abstract and Susan told her confidant, the ceiling, so. "But what happens if I down play it and the dream ends up being a prophetic vision?" she paused and let her raised arms flop on her silk sheets before continuing, "Then I'd might as well have pulled the sword myself. Oh! This is absolutely ridiculous!" Susan flopped her head on her pillow for emphasis of her point. She couldn't just lie there and not act, even if the notion of the dream being abstract was silly.
Susan sighed and laid in silence while wracking her brain to think of any written proof that would help her decode the dream. Certainly Narnia did not have any texts on dream interpretation. It was an impasse, one that she could not figure out when her mind and body demanded that she sleep. The Gentle heaved a sigh and resolved to figure a way to decode the dream with out breaking her vow of secrecy to her sister. Once she had already settled in the covers a little thought hit her. Angrily, she kicked off the covers and reached for her shawl. "It won't work." The queen told the ceiling, referring to the prospect of sleep. With a sigh, Susan hastily lit a candle before walking noiselessly past her guards at her door. They nodded in greeting but did not say a word. She knew it was impossible to shake them, the faun and the cougar would follow her where ever she went in the castle. Besides, it wasn't as if what she was going to do was frowned upon. A little research never hurt anyone and she was certain she saw something on Calmoren dream interpretation in the royal library.
The text was not easy to find in the vast shelves of the royal library where she had made a point to collect texts from all for corners of the map. At length Susan settled in an arm chair and propped the book on her legs to see the print better in the dim light. It was a tedious text, placing "falling" dreams before dreams of "apple picking" and of course it had to be written in the longwinded style the desert dwellers made annoyingly famous.
Susan could not discern when the neat printed words shifted together, forming a long blurry word. Nor was she certain when her royal head drooped low and sleep overtook her. It was concrete, however what time it was when she felt the poke of her elder brother on her head; it was before sunrise. Giving an annoyed sound, Susan shifted her weight in the chair. "What?" She mumbled, her accent growing a bit cockney-ed from sleep and annoyance.
"Do plan to make falling asleep in various places a habit? Or should I tell Mrs. Beaver to hold up making the mattress for the battlements?" Peter asked her easily. The slight hint of annoyance in his voice caused her to open her eyes and gaze dazedly at her brother.
"Well, if my sleeping pattern vexes you…" She shot back realizing that her point was lost after the second syllable of 'sleeping'.
Peter frowned and snatched the text from Susan's lap before she could think of reacting. He silently read the hidden meaning of a dream consisting of phonetically correct mops and the High King cocked and eyebrow. "Having dreams about being an effective public speaker, are we?" he asked as his eyes grazed the page of the Calmoren book. Peter paused and gave her a pointed look from over the book, causing Susan to squirm under his gaze. It was a look that Mum had employed in days past and one that the High King had mastered. "Su," He began out of nowhere, "there's nothing you're not telling me, is there?"
"What could I possibly hide from you with the legions of spies like Clyde you got around Narnia?"
"You know what ails Lucy." He told her simply. It was a simple accusation but Peter's tone sounded hurt. The four generally shared every aspect of their lives and up until then they shared an open relationship. The fact that Lucy had confided in Susan rather than all of them bothered the High King.
His sister gave a short laugh and looked into her lap. Had she not promised Lucy she would not tell of the grizzly dream, she still would have told a falsehood. It was better for Peter and Edmund not to worry about a vision. Especially one concerning Peter's demise. "It's nothing. It's just a female thing, tis all." She lied, letting the blood rush to her cheeks at the suggestion of the female anatomy.
The High King looked slightly taken aback at the confession and decided that it was best that he and Edmund were not involved in this matter. A brief moment of silence fell between the two before Peter stood up and offered his sister a hand. "Well, I suppose we should go down to breakfast. Mr. Tumnus and Mr. Beaver no doubt had spread the word of a second castle to every soul in the Cair. Last I heard Waylon had the cartographers scattering about to find proper maps of Narnia of all uses."
"Twill be an eventful breakfast, then." Susan replied as she stood up, grateful that the grisly dream that depicted Peter's death was still a secret.
Toast and pomegranate jam was the most delicious four words in the English language to Edmund. With the fruit not being native to Narnia, the idea of pomegranate put into preserves was a rare one. But nonetheless, King Edmund adored it.
He sat at his high seat in the great hall, listening to Waylon, a man who was brilliant at public relations both in Narnia and abroad, prattle off the advantages of placing the new castle within the North Eastern reaches of the kingdom. Edmund unobtrusively observed the various creatures around the long breakfast table, taking note that Waylon's wife, Dores seemed to be most uncomfortable sitting in the straight backed chairs at the last stretch of her pregnancy and how Betsy Peahen's four chicks displayed the traits that their mother, grandmother and aunts were renowned for. He noticed how Rumblebuffin the giant (who was forced to squat a little in order to fit into the Great Hall shifted his weight as inconspicuously as he could from one knee to the other. It was obvious that the giant's knees gave him much grief.
As Lucy protested the notion of building a brand new structure when so many lovely abandoned keeps dotted the country side, Edmund felt the undeniable presence of Oreius from behind. The aging centaur did not have to utter a single word; Edmund knew that his mentor's presence demanded the young king to pay attention. When a question was tossed his way, Edmund hastily shoved the toast with jam into his mouth to cover the fact that he really was oblivious to the conversation at hand. Mumbling his agreement to what ever it was he swallowed the toasted bread hard, taking full notice that Susan seemed more intent on something in her lap than casting a scolding look at him.
The centaur did not move from his vigilant position behind Edmund's chair and the fifteen year old king found himself tuning in at the end of the discussion.
"It is decided then." Peter summed up wearily, "We'll schedule a ride for the Marshlands later this week and with luck we'll find an old keep to spruce up." He reached for his goblet of cider, indicating that the conference was over. With in moments the hall was emptied, leaving the four and their bodyguards standing watch at a respectable distance.
"Next time you decide to bond with your breakfast, Ed, make sure you can come up with a better cover." Susan told him scoldingly as she broke a piece of crust to dip in her soft cooked egg. It was meant to reprimand Edmund's lack of attention span but her long night had taken out all of the bite from the remark. Lucy giggled into her goblet of milk, her eyes dancing mischievously.
"At least my toast is more interesting than your lap, dear sister." Edmund retorted tartly. Susan had no call to scold him when she was doing the same as he during the boring meeting.
Peter opened his mouth to speak but the cry of one of their secretary bird heralds drowned any comment from the High King out. "Vitus, son of Duke Leroy of Muil of the Seven Isles has returned from the Lantern Wastes."
"Send him in, Louis." Peter told the herald, casting a sly look to his siblings from over his goblet.
Originally from the Seven Isles, Vitus had been living in the vicinity of Cair Paravel as a living political treaty from his homeland. His arrival three years ago confused the four monarchs. It wasn't very common in Spare Oom to exchange what Mr. Tumnus called 'political prisoners'. It was all in hopes, Mr. Tumnus explained, that with one of their own in a foreign court it would symbolize that the country sending the youth would not attack while one of their own was on foreign soil. And in return, the host country would treat the foreigner as one of their own. Indeed, most 'political prisoners' were taken in by the royal family and in most cases they married into the royalty. This was not the current case for Vitus however, he had earned the position as the best mate of the High King and was likely to stay so.
"Hey stranger." Lucy called as the grand door opened to reveal a lanky form standing in the threshold. She was had always been friendly to the youth from the Seven Isles, as was her nature. However the lad always had a tendency to treat her like a small child. Even though her brothers and sister did so at times, they eventually acknowledged her wisdom more often than not, a feat that Vitus had yet to achieve. Nevertheless, he was Peter's best mate and told amazing stories. And for that he was more than tolerable in her book.
"My lords, my ladies," Vitus greeted as he depleted the distance between the long table and himself in large strides. He was a fair looking lad with temperamental dirty blonde hair that was getting darker from the Narnian climate and sharp hazel eyes. He had an air of confidence about him mixed into the feeling that he was observing every aspect of his surroundings no matter his position or level of awareness. Indeed he was what his people called a griot; one who was an authority on history and tradition. Griots would perform, Vitus had told them once, in the streets and took several days to run through the country's history as if it were nothing but a song. "I have returned to the Cair unharmed." Vitus announced before flopping down in a vacant chair on Peter's left side.
"Praise the Lion." Susan stated haughtily as she used her spoon to fish out some of the egg white. "Was it last time you went with the Elderly Gentleman on a hunting expedition when you accidentally shot yourself?" Susan found the young political prisoner far less tolerable than her sister did. When the court was not watching and the four had a chance to act their age, it was always Vitus who accompanied Peter in bothering her. Her brother was in essence one of her closest friends in her life but Vitus' presence brought out the cheeky bugger in Peter. She found her greatest weapon against the lad was with edged words which he in turn would match back.
"Thought I was a prize, I did." Vitus replied sarcastically as he popped a grape in his mouth.
"The Elderly Gentleman was about to mount you on one of the great hall's walls, he was." The High King added with a genuine smile and an up to no good look in his gray eyes.
"Did you come back with something for your efforts?" Lucy wondered politely as she reached for the pomegranate jam in which Edmund was loath to give up.
Edmund listened less than intently to Vitus as he launched on a fabricated tale of how he and the Elderly Gentleman snagged a large white stag that granted them a wish. Unfortunately, the fortune that they had wished for was foolishly squandered away in a random Calmoren port and their only choice to make the fare home was to dress in women's clothing.
Truth be told Edmund was rather neutral when it came to Vitus but found his stories a little boring especially first thing in the morning. At length Mr. Tumnus entered the room and announced that it was time for the Kings to review the new recruits for the army and so reluctantly, the two parted, leaving their sisters and the lad from the Seven Isles in a contented silence.
At length Lucy sighed and requested a fact based story from Vitus. With a smile Vitus leaned forward in his seat as if attempting to get on eyelevel and asked in an easy voice, "And what would you like to hear about, my Lady?" He put an emphasis on the word 'lady' as if it was a way to make Lucy feel like a 'grown up'. Of course he had always adopted that tone with her and even though she resented it, Lucy was used to it by then.
"Tell us anything you desire." Susan told him, matching his belittling tone. She knew how his inability to see Lucy as anything but a child bothered her sister.
"Did I tell you about Frank II's first wife?" Vitus wondered of the Queens. Lucy shook her head to say 'no' nonverbally and Susan gave Vitus a look suggesting he had grown another head.
"You mistake yourself, Vitus." She told him with her brow furrowed, "King Frank II had only one wife, a nymph, Queen Amaranta and there was certainly nothing to tell of her besides her compassion and generosity."
"And that does not make up a good story." Lucy added with a giggle. "I think you're loosing your touch, Vitus."
The Seven Islander took a sip from a copper goblet before answering, "For your information, your Highness, it is a tale that has not been recorded as extensively as other Narnian history. I am a griot after all."
"Scandal, most foul." Lucy told Susan seriously with the grin sisters generally shared. "Do tell us."
"Well," Vitus began, reciting the tale, a word for word copy of the text, from memory as if it were but a song, "With in the twentieth year of King Frank's reign he and his gracious wife Helen were faced with a dilemma most distressing. For the two had ruled Narnia for many years and along with raising up the country, they had also raised a brood of noble princes and princesses.
Now the matter that pressed the Noble king and Radiant queen was that as they were getting older in years, it had come time for their eldest and heir to the throne, Frank II, to take a wife. Much thought was given on this issue for there were not many daughters of Eve in the country at the time. Not wanting to have their lineage die out, Frank II set his eyes on a young woman from the deserts of Calmoren.
It was said that she was a beauty most fair with skin the color of caramel and hair deeper than the midnight sky. With in her first meeting with Prince Frank, the lad was taken and resolved to make her his queen. And in the spring of the twenty-first year of King Frank's reign, Prince Frank took the desert woman as his wife.
The marriage was a passionate one; however, it was not a happy one. For the woman that Prince Frank had wed was a vicious and bloodthirsty woman who took delight in inflicting suffering of others. It was said that she had such a foul disposition that she rarely kept a lady's maid longer than a year. Be that as it may, Prince Frank would hear no ill against his wife.
It did not take very long for Queen Helen to grow fearful and suspicious of her new daughter and vowed to find a visible fault that her son-whom she was certain was bewitched-would see.
One night, Gracious Queen Helen strolled the great halls of Cair Paravel when atop of the North East tower, she heard a whimper echo against the stone. Curiosity took over her and Queen Helen ascended the tower stairs. Once she reached the top of the tower, the Gracious queen let a bloodcurdling scream out from her throat. For bent over a rickety table, Queen Helen saw her daughter-in-law performing unspeakable torture on one of her more previous maids; a faun by the name of Wioleta. Queen Helen noticed the bodies of the desert woman's maids were strewn around the tower, horribly distorted they had been tossed aside like forgotten rag dolls. Some had mercifully passed on but others were not so lucky. It was said that even the hardened warriors' stomachs clenched with bile when they later went up to observe the grizzly scene.
Needless to say, Frank II's wife was exiled to the swamps in the North East, vowing to exact her vengeance on her former husband. However time heals almost all wounds and at length Frank II became King Frank II taking a nymph, Amaranta as his queen. Happy was his reign and marriage. The horror and monstrosities of his first wife faded with the snows and in time, Amaranta gave birth to her first born child.
It was as if then a spark was lit as the slighted and exiled former Lady of Cair Paravel began to seek her vengeance. Like lambs taken by the wolf, the Calmoren born woman stalked Narnia's young ones at night, drawn by their childhood song on the wind. Even an investigation by King Frank II's royal police did not stop the disappearances. It soon became apparent that the newborn prince was in danger most severe and Frank II spent no expense to keep his son's safety.
One moonless night, the exiled lady returned on the darkest and coldest breeze to the castle she had once tortured so many souls in to claim her prize. But King Frank II was prepared for her and she was detained before she even got to the babe's crib. Her execution was swiftly arranged and in her last words she cursed the whole of Narnia, vowing to come back until she took the life of one of Helen's blood, sparing no young soul whose path she crossed in the process. And so it is said that her spirit still glides on the breezes of Narnia at night and resides in her grown over hall by day. Her hall was said to have had the small bodies of all the missing young, tortured and disfigured in much the same way as the maids in the tower were found.
Now hear this thee young ones, dare not make song after the set of the sun. For the Madame hears all that the moon sees."
As Vitus ended his tale, he sat back, visibly proud of his work and sat in silence in order to allow his tale to sink in. Indeed, both queens looked pale and stricken, the words of the tern spoke the night before, mingling with Vitus's tale. At length Lucy, who had always been bolder than her sister leaned forward and spoke up.
"Vitus…the name of-of the Lady from the de-de-desert, do the texts speak her name?" Lucy wondered, her words almost refusing to take form.
Vitus leaned back, not taken the sisters' reactions seriously, thinking that the scary and disturbing story effected them more than he anticipated. He replied so lightly, as was his fashion. At first glance, it would have seemed that he was speaking of something almost trivial if not for Lucy's widening eyes and Susan's complexion becoming void of all healthy glow. " While her actual name has alluded historians," Vitus began, "The recorded Narnian folk tales refer to her as Madame Lihi."
A/N: Oh goodness. This chapter wins the 'most work put into it' award. I did extensive research on everything in here before I committed anything to the typed word. To tell the truth, I think there is a wee bit of ooc and not enough dialogue from Edmund. But the story makes up for it in my mind. It is a rare thing for the author to get chills but it happens. (shudders) creepy but I love Halloween. I think I might continue this past Halloween so hooray. Thanks to Elecktrum for everything and thank you to everyone who read and put this fic on favorites and subscriptions. Please review and have pleasant dreams.