Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia under any circumstances. 'Nuff said.
Author's Note: Chapter Twelve! Rather long chapter. Unlike other fanfic writers who have portrayed the relationship between Miraz and Prunaprismia, I have a different take on their love. Enjoy!
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~Chapter 12: Prunaprismia~
Night fell like a heavy velvet veil over the kingdom, and any activity in the courtyard ceased and the castle became silent, as did the village around it. Only the hounds fighting in the street could be heard echoing off the alleyways. The rainy nights of spring had passed over, but gloom remained, especially upon the Prince's return.
Perhaps there wasn't any activity in the courtyard, but in the stables, a shadow moved past the stalls, each footstep barely making a sound on the straw strewn about on the ground. The sleeping horses did not know of its presence, and nor did the girl huddled up in the corner of the stable, her hands locked around her knees. Her face was hidden in her once-white dress, and her breaths were even and deep in sleep. The ropes around her wrists were still tied tightly, chafing the delicate skin that they were fastened around.
When a hand touched her shoulder, her eyes jerked open and she jumped, backing away further into her little corner. Had her wrists not been tied, she would've grabbed at the hand. She whimpered.
"Shhh…"
A dagger sawed at the gag around her mouth. She felt the cold metal brush briefly past her cheek as it worked on the rough cloth. She took in a deep breath when it fell off of her face.
"What do you want with me?" Her voice was heavily accented, like she was from a distant land, or even, the mountains.
The shadow ignored her question. "The Commander—he captured you?"
"The man with the scowl? Yes."
"From where do you come?"
"The Mountains. The scowling man calls me a barbarian."
The hand on her shoulder slid off and the dagger worked at her wrist ropes. "Don't make too much noise." The whisper rasped. "The stables are never heavily guarded but there's always someone about." The girl watched the dagger go back and forth, slicing each thread of rope until her hands were free. She rubbed her wrists, wincing.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded. "Yes. What are you going to do with me?"
"I'll take you to a companion of mine. You will be safe from the Commander with her, I assure you." A hand hooked under her arm and lifted her to her feet.
"What is your name?"
"Miraz."
"I am Prunaprismia."
The hand led her through the stables and past the sleeping guard outside it with such silence and stealth a cat would envy them. They walked up the stairs to the terrace overlooking the courtyard cautiously, not wanting to draw any attention. Prunaprismia went cautiously, still unsure of the mysterious rescuer and keeping as much distance between them as she could. His grip on her arm was harsh. The torches in the hall wavered as they passed, but even in the light Prunaprismia could not see the features of the man's face, only his dark hood and cloak. They came to an oak door with a large steel knocker. Miraz banged on it and the door opened.
Elizabeth's pale face, wreathed by her red hair, appeared in the doorway. She wore a subtly-colored evening gown and a surprised expression.
"Your Highness." She stated. "What's going on?"
Miraz met her eyes. They glittered in the torchlight. "I need your help. Is Steiphen here?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "No. He is in council with the King. Why?"
Miraz ignored her question, in a rush. "Good." He pulled Prunaprismia forward so Elizabeth could see her. The lady briefly flashed her eyes at the prisoner and then turned her attention back to Miraz. "Do you remember the prisoner Steiphen said was to hang today?"
Elizabeth grimaced. "Why?"
"This is she. Her name is Prunaprismia. She is a barbarian prisoner."
"Since when do you care about barbarians? Only a few days ago were you fighting them."
Miraz looked warily at Prunaprismia, who looked at him fearfully when Elizabeth said this. "I do fight barbarians, but what I do not do is capture them, tie them in sackcloth, starve them, and hang them!"
"What do you want me to do, then?"
Miraz explained in as much haste as he could. "I need you to hide her. She does not deserve to hang."
Disbelief and denial crossed Elizabeth's face, then she said, all too quietly, "Can you come in for a moment, please?" She stepped aside for them to enter.
Once inside Elizabeth took Prunaprismia into a small guest room within the quarters, obviously still confused at Miraz's sudden appearance and his hasty request. Miraz was agitated by her slowness and patience, imagining Steiphen barging in at any second. Elizabeth told the girl to lie down and sleep on a pallet while she and Miraz spoke. Prunaprismia lay down gratefully and fell into a deep sleep.
As soon as the door had closed silently behind her, Elizabeth turned to Miraz, trying to hide her anger by shadowing her eyes with her grimacing brow. "Whatever possessed you to come to me on this matter?" She asked, her voice low with rage.
"I have no other accomplices that can help me. My father certainly can't help me. Nor can my brother. And certainly not Steiphen." Miraz stated, trying to stay calm, though he was more easily angered than Elizabeth.
"Your Highness," Elizabeth still managed to stay polite even in her rage, "Steiphen knows what goes on within this room. He knows what goes on in the castle, what's more. It would be quite impossible to hide someone from him--anywhere."
"Even yourself?"
More confusion crossed Elizabeth's face. "What?" By her tone, Miraz knew that she was feigning her confusion. Even she could not be so eloquent in such circumstances.
"You were feeling faint, if I recall, today when you saw him. Where did you go when you disappeared, hm?" Miraz murmured.
Elizabeth was silenced. It was true. Though she had felt faint, it was only because of the way Steiphen had acted, oblivious that his wife was watching him. How he could beat a squire so unconsciously and mercilessly hang a young, innocent girl was too much for her delicate heart to bear.
"What do you think about him now, after what you've seen?"
"I still love him, nothing will change that." Elizabeth said shakily. "I still believe he is a good man. If he is said to be an enemy to the throne, then I may change my ways. Until then, I am adamant."
"What if I told you he hanged his own men?"
"I did not see it. And you, of all people, will not convince me."
"Really? Can a prince not be trusted by his people?"
"Your people?" Elizabeth laughed a little. "Prince or not, you will never be king."
It was Miraz's turn to be silenced. Elizabeth and her outspoken ways, he growled inwardly. In her eyes, it was true—Miraz was the younger of two princes and would not claim the throne. But in Miraz's eyes, the picture was different—the picture was streaked with blood.
"People die for saying such things." He whispered. "And you will certainly not get away with it. If you cannot hide her, she may as well hang. And because you have said such things to a monarch—she shall hang for you. So you can live the rest of your life in guilt that you have killed another innocent." Miraz didn't think that this might apply to him as well. His brother would soon die for his sake, for his vain ambitions.
Elizabeth's expression changed from piping hot to cool ice. "I may not have to hide her."
"I demand it."
"There is another way."
"Is there?"
"You could...marry her."
What? Marry her—a barbarian? A girl connected by blood to the very vermin he had sworn to kill? Far be it from him to marry an enemy! How could Elizabeth think of something so vile and despicable? Or was it a blatant insult to him? "Out of the question. Completely and utterly out of the question." The prince said firmly.
"Think about it. Dwell upon it." Elizabeth continued. "If you were to marry a barbarian girl and if somehow it became known among their people, will there not be peace if a man and woman of different peoples were bound together in marriage?"
"There is no peace with barbarians!" Miraz snarled in denial.
Elizabeth's mood changed again from smooth to bitter. "Then let the blood run forever. Let there be constant war. Let there be destitution and avarice. Let the Telmarine name be cursed!" Miraz glared at her in stony silence. "If you are so firm and adamant in your will, and if I must hide her, so be it!"
"Good." Miraz stated sharply. He turned and left, slamming the door.
When the rosy patches of dawn appeared on the horizon, Elizabeth was already awake. Her husband was nowhere to be found—he had never even returned from his council the previous night. The angry thoughts of the previous night were still in Elizabeth's head, no matter how hard she tried to knock them out. She was in far too deep. Trying to hide a barbarian prisoner in the very place that the captor lived in. Why did the Prince have to be so thick headed? A marriage would make things far easier.
A knock came at the door.
"Come in." Elizabeth grumbled groggily, slumped in a chair, her hands idly holding a knitting needle and piece of embroidery. The prince entered, ducking in through the doorway. Elizabeth gave him a brief, dismissive glance. She set her embroidery on the table and turned to face him.
"I'd like to see the prisoner, if I may, my lady." Miraz said quietly, looking at her square in the eye. She could see that the anger of last night was still eminent in his glare as well.
"You may." Elizabeth mumbled. She stood and opened the door to the guest chamber. She closed it slightly so Miraz could only hear vague murmurs within. Elizabeth reentered with the prisoner, who met the now dazzled eyes of the prince.
The girl must've been bathed after Miraz had left, for now all of the dirt was gone to reveal a gaunt-cheeked but pretty young face of a girl about seventeen years of age. Her skin was slightly darker than a Telmarine's lily-white complexion, and her hair was darker than any color Miraz had ever seen before. Her large, round eyes—even darker than her hair—were deep and mysterious, like two caverns. She was far from a barbarian. She looked like royalty, in her bearing and her gait.
"How were you captured?" Miraz asked her, a little breathless. "I must know."
"My father," Prunaprismia said, "was killed by you Telmarines. He was hailed as our king. Your so-called good Commander was the one who took the blade to his neck. I became his prisoner, treated like a dumb animal until I came here." She was no storyteller, like a vivid Calormene, but her tale was told fiercely and angrily and with enough passion that it cut a whole in Miraz's heart. Miraz was sure that she would object to marrying him as well.
"And your mother?"
"Mother died birthing my youngest sister."
"You have siblings?"
"Aye. I have four. All of them are dead. How many questions do you intend on asking?"
'Would you marry a Telmarine' may be one, Miraz thought.
"Where is this going, Your Highness?" Elizabeth interrupted.
Miraz ignored her. "Have you had suitors, Prunaprismia?"
"Aye. One I had intentions of marrying, but he is dead now."
Elizabeth cut in again. "Your Highness—?"
"You know very well that you will hang if you are found here, Prunaprismia?"
"I will hang even if I'm not."
"Will you?"
Prunaprismia nodded.
"There is an alternative."
Prunaprismia grimaced, her deep eyes glittering in the morning light that slanted through the windows, as Miraz walked closer, slowly, never parting with her gaze.
"You can marry me."
Elizabeth's eyes widened. She gasped. Maybe he wasn't as hardheaded as she'd thought. But Prunaprismia seemed to detest the Telmarines for killing her father and her suitor. What would she say?
Prunaprismia seemed surprised by the prince's statement as well. Her grimace deepened and her eyes hardened. She bunched a fist at her side. "Have you not listened to what I've been saying? You and your inhumane army have overrun our good nation! Who are the real barbarians?"
"I am of royalty and I demand you to marry me! It will save your life."
"You are not my king. You never will be. Nor will you be my husband!"
Her statement was similar to what Elizabeth had told him the previous night. You will never be king. Their statements only shoved him in deeper to becoming an avid traitor. The thoughts that had devoured him during the campaign only grew larger.
"It will save your life." Miraz repeated.
"My life will be wasted if I spend it here!" The girl protested.
"You think that your life is worthless? Then hang today."
Miraz left.
Elizabeth and Prunaprismia exchanged glances: Elizabeth's was frightened, but the girl's was hard and stony. "I will find a way to hide you." Elizabeth said quietly. "I will."
Prunaprismia gave the lady a small smile of appreciation. "Thank you. But could you not just let me go free?"
Elizabeth's eyes were sympathetic, and so was the hand on Prunaprismia's shoulder. "I dearly wish I could. But if I cannot hide you, you will be forced to marry the prince."
Miraz entered his father's chamber. The sun was trickling up to its morning level, making the sky a pale blue color, shaded with a few clouds here and there. The great shining light hung low though it was almost summer, and it painted the clouds with a rich, velvety red that bathed his father's chamber in bloody light. The king stood in that light talking to Steiphen over his desk. Steiphen was the first to face Miraz. His eyes were colder than ever, rather out of place in the warm morning light.
"Good morning." Miraz murmured.
Steiphen bowed his head. "Your Highness."
"Ah, Miraz!" Caspian looked up from his work. "Why have you come, my son?"
Miraz sighed deeply, trying to get the death of Prunaprismia off his conscience. "If I may, I want to speak with you alone, father." Steiphen's eyes got colder, especially since Miraz stressed the word alone. Caspian looked at the Commander briefly and then nodded.
"Very well. You are dismissed, Sir Steiphen." Caspian said.
"Your Majesty." The Commander bowed his head and left quickly, leaving his thoughts to himself.
There was a brief silence. The sun continued to rise outside the window over the mountains, still capped with snow. Miraz remembered gazing at those mountains every day, wondering if he would meet his demise in them. But they were far away from him now, any dangers within them oblivious of his existence.
"You wanted to say something, Miraz?" Caspian's dry voice brought him back to the King's chamber where he stood.
"Aye." Miraz replied curtly. "You know of Steiphen's prisoner, do you not?"
Caspian began to pace. "Oh, yes. The young barbarian girl. I know of her. May I inquire as to why you ask?"
"I know of her as well. She is due to hang."
"Yes, I know of that as well. Steiphen can do as he likes—I have no need for a barbarian."
Heartless! Did his father not know the meaning of death? Perhaps he had lived such a woolly, uneventful life as king that he had forgotten the feeling of pain. Even as he had seen Glozelle whipped so many years ago he had the look of nonchalance in his calm gray eyes. Such a powerful king—oblivious of the war and bloodshed around him.
"Then I make a plea before you, father—spare her life." Miraz said simply. "Neither you nor Steiphen have any reason to watch an innocent girl hang."
"Is the choice mine," Caspian asked sternly, "or is it Steiphen's, Miraz? After all, he captured her. And he made the decree of her hanging."
"If you allow him to, you show yourself as a careless king!" Miraz hissed, angry that his father would let an innocent fall dead. "You will show the world that you are no powerful ruler, only a common bloodletter. Do you want people to think of you in that way? Living in fear under your very presence? Were I king, I would not allow Steiphen to hang her. What say you?"
"I say she hangs, Miraz! You will not sway my judgment." Caspian said in a dangerously low voice. "She deserves to hang. It will not show that I am a bloodletter, nay—it will show her people that I will hang a barbarian, innocent or otherwise! They are the very people that we Telmarines swore to thwart and be rid of. They are like a pestilence, Miraz—infecting and killing off the world with their existence."
Miraz's eyes were cold. Who was it that he should kill—his father, or his brother? Apparently his brother was like a pestilence as well, infecting his father. He still bore sympathy for his father, though the sympathy thinned after their encounter. But had he sympathy for his brother? No. It was his brother who would infect the kingdom with his rule—as he had done with his father. Who was the pestilence—the barbarians, or Caspian?
TO BE CONTINUED