Chapter 4: Narnia and the North

The next two weeks seemed to fly by as Cor, Corin, and Aravis prepared to leave for Narnia, and eventually to Tashban. Cor seemed busy with matters of state, and spent a lot of time in his father's chambers, pouring over books, maps, and ledgers. His father seemed to think it wise to give him instruction, hinting that he might not live to see his sons return from Calormen.

Aravis sensed Cor's reluctance to believe his father was dying, and she knew that he kept his mouth still about it only out of deep respect for him. The tension by the morning it was time to ride for Narnia was very thick between father and son. If it had not been for the raucous laughter of Corin as he bade the court farewell, Aravis might have screamed just to break the otherwise sharp silence.

The party left Anvard on a sunny morning, in a caravan line of wagons and carriages, though Cor, Corin, and Aravis preferred to ride ahead of their baggage. Aravis had not spoken to Cor much since the night they traveled home from the Southern March, and she was shy even about looking at him.

He'd not made an effort to speak to her, either, she noticed. It was almost as if they'd silently agreed not to mention their ride home on his horse, though she burned with the memory of it. It had been perfectly normal and chivalrous of him to help her as he had… but Aravis knew that, had Corin done the same thing, it wouldn't have affected her so. She knew closeness to Cor that he would not speak of, and she could not stop thinking of. She knew the warmth he could give, and his strength, and his scent… and Aravis was not irrevocably heading down into a chasm of despair because of his apparent avoidance of her. She did not know how long she could keep it up, this being ignored. Well, not totally ignored. Whenever he happened to see her, he was very polite—almost severely polite to her—a cold kind of politeness that held none of the warmth of which she knew he was capable. This was worse, almost, than being ignored absolutely.

Corin had done his best to lighten the situation, for though he did not know the reason for Aravis' hurt, he sensed that she was not herself. "How is the ankle?" asked Corin, riding beside her.

"Better, thank you," said Aravis. "It really doesn't hurt anymore."

"It was the most splendid shade of violet, though," said the prince with a wide grin. "I've had black eyes that were not that brilliant in color."

"I'd wager some of those black eyes were deserved, though," said Aravis.

Corin laughed. "That sounds like something Cor would say," he said. "You spend far too much time with him, my lady."

Aravis looked toward Cor, who rode in front of the procession. He was sitting tall, his head forward, and looking very grave. "Not anymore," she said softly, almost to herself.

"Yes," said Corin. "He is more serious now. These last few weeks have been hard for him. Imagine all the things Father's been preparing him for."

"He does not feel ready to be king," said Aravis. "That, and he will miss Lune when he dies. As will we all."

"Yes," said Corin. "And Cor feels miserably about it—more than any of us, he sees the task before him, and it grieves him greatly."

"But… he'll make such a marvelous king," said Aravis, and realizing she'd spoken these words aloud; she looked down, her cheeks warm.

Cor did not mention her blush, thankfully, but he agreed with her. "He's the only one who doesn't think so," said Corin. "He's so serious these days. I suppose I miss the old Cor."

"As do I," said Aravis. She did not add that this new, serious man before them was equally intriguing, but somehow, she thought him best when he was a mixture of the two… as he'd been at the Southern March… Yes, barefoot and joyful, yet full of serious wonder: that was the Cor she loved best.

She felt shocked, even as her mind provided the word love. She'd tried to ignore it… to push it away. But somehow, this moment, she wanted to acknowledge it to the world—shout to anyone who'd listen how deeply in love with Cor she was.

"You look flushed," said Cor, who was now riding toward her. She realized he must have doubled-back to check on the caravan, and she felt embarrassed by his words. She smiled at him—she couldn't help it, for the concerned look on his face, those bright eyes and fair curls… they were more than she could stand.

"Oh… I'm fine," she said. "I'm just… enjoying the day. I say, what about a gallop, Cor? Like old times…"

Cor smiled at her, but said, "I really ought to remain with the caravan. Feel free to ride with Prince Corin, if you like. Please do not go alone." He nodded to her—curtly, she thought—and spurred his horse past her to the end of the caravan.

"A ray of sunshine, Cor is," said Corin. "How about that gallop, then?"

Aravis nodded and smiled wide, and then the two of them raced ahead of the court, down the forest path, northward, to Narnia.

OoOoOoOoO

Sunset in Narnia was something fine to see. To the West, of course, were hills and valleys, and beyond them large mountains. The gold of the sun set their black silhouettes on fire, then reached out to the sky with a pale blue, deepening to indigo, and eventually to a dark gray over the ocean, where storm clouds gathered, about to pour spring rains on the world. The last of that fine day could be seen as Aravis and Corin raced out from the woods and onto the hilly downs, covered in soft heather. Aravis remembered the ride north when she was escaping Calormen with Cor, then known to her as Shasta, and some delicious northern smell would catch them, and Bree—Shasta's horse—would shout, "Narnia and the North!" and they would gallop with deepest joy. She looked to her right, at Corin—at once wilder and more joyful than his elder twin, and for a moment, he reminded her of Shasta—Cor—in the days when he seemed careless and free. Would he be like that again? Not that she preferred Corin to Cor… but the contrast at least now was staggering.

Cair Paravel rose before them, a beacon in the evening setting of the sun, it's golden, sand-stone walls and great towers, and stained glass windows shone jewel-like to the north and west, built half-way into the cliffs at the sea. Aravis breathed in deeply the salt air, still galloping even as she wound up the road which encircled the castle, climbing up the steep cliffs on the rear, more hilly side, and into the bailey. It was not completely unlike climbing to the Tisroc's Palace, but instead of going through the busy, smelly streets of Tashban, it was the birches and beeches, and green woody smell that Narnia alone had.

Though she loved Anvard, and called it home, it seemed the more north and east she went, the closer to her true home she became. Over the sea, she knew; lay Aslan's Country—where she longed to go some day when she died… a place where all her present anxieties would leave her.

Aravis smiled brightly as the bright, smiling face of her friend, Queen Lucy greeted her from the steps of the Castle. Her royal brothers, King Peter and King Edmund, and her sister, Queen Susan remained still, and solemnly happy at the gate, but Lucy drew up her skirts and ran across the flagged pavement to Aravis, where she dismounted, and embraced her with a squeal of delight. "You've come!" shouted Lucy in none of the dignity that her siblings displayed. It was something that Aravis loved about her. Though older that Aravis by a full year, Queen Lucy somehow managed to retain a child-like joy that Aravis had never beheld in any person she'd ever known. She was as likely to hug you as to race you or fight you, for the Queen Lucy was all passion and excitement… and being near her dear friend, Aravis "caught the bug" as they say.

"Indeed!" said Aravis, hugging Lucy and kissing both her cheeks. "And you—you look well!"

"Oh, I'm a complete mess, actually," said Lucy with happy laughter, tucking her fly-away hair behind her protuberant ears and wiping her face. "I've been visiting with cook, you know, and I do love to help with baking."

"Indeed," said the voice of a tall, deep-chested man behind Lucy. "There is no need to have a cook with Lucy's wild experimenting in the kitchen lately." He stepped closer, took Aravis' hand, and kissed it. "My lady, you are welcome," said King Peter, for so he was—his eyes serious and his beard full, and his smile merry.

"My Lord," said Aravis, and she curtsied.

"Well met," said King Edmund, a little behind his brother the High King. "You look well, my Lady." He too kissed her hand. Edmund was just as tall as his brother, but leaner and he had no beard. His eyes were all solemnity, but there was a quiet merriment about him that rather reminded Aravis of Cor.

Then, the Queen Susan stepped up, and she (as always) was a vision of beauty and grace, though at times, Aravis found it rather haughty. "Welcome, Lady Aravis," said Susan, and she lightly kissed Aravis' cheeks. "But where is the rest of Anvard's Court?"

"Just coming now," said Aravis, and glancing behind her she caught site of Prince Corin riding into the bailey.

He dismounted and jogged up to Aravis, saying, "I'm nearly blown, my lady—you ride to fast. Did not my brother ask you to remain with me as your escort?"

"I'm sorry, Prince Corin," said Aravis. "I could not help myself—I'm in Narnia now… nothing could have harmed me."

"Indeed, Lady," said King Peter. "We would not hear of it. But how now, Corin—art thou taller than last we met?"

"It has been long, your highness," said Corin, who clasped King Peter's arm in brotherhood, then patted Edmund on the shoulder. "And you, Sire," he said. "Are well-met also!" Corin turned to Queen Susan and bowed low. "My Lady," he said. "You are a vision. Would that I were a mere half-score older…"

Susan smiled, but Aravis could tell she was not amused by Corin's flattery. She suffered to let him kiss her hand, and then asked, "But where is your royal brother, Prince Cor?"

"He'll be around," said Aravis. "He's remained with the caravan." She looked toward the gate. "Ah! There he is."

Far down the hill and across the green turf, Cor rode in front of the caravan. Wagons filled with supplies and horses came after him, onto the moor, approaching at a steady pace. "He is far off," said Queen Lucy. "I suppose you couldn't wait to get here. I am glad!"

"I couldn't," said Aravis, and she wiped her brow with her sleeve.

"We do our guests a wrong by not offering them refreshment," said Queen Susan. "Perhaps, Sister, you might escort my lady Aravis to her chamber?"

"Gladly," said Lucy happily, and linked her arm with Aravis'. "Come, we're to have a feast tonight."

"Oh, but my clothing—it's on one of the wagons…"

"No matter," said Lucy. "We can give you something of Susan's to wear, right Su?" Without waiting for an answer, she ushered her friend up stone steps and into the castle. "I'd let you wear one of my dresses, but you're ever so much taller than I am, and almost as slender as a wood nymph! I say, Aravis! This will be fun!"

Aravis allowed herself to be spoiled by Lucy—she took a bath, and tried on any number of dresses before Lucy decided she must be dressed in a sapphire blue which would look perfect with Aravis' olive skin and dark, almond eyes. It was quite different from when she'd stayed with Lazarleen Tarkheena in Tashban, for Lucy spoke of things that were of interest to them both, and she was quite excited to have Aravis there, whereas Lazarleen would prattle on about herself, and drive Aravis quite out of her mind.

"Shame you can't accompany us to Tashban," said Aravis. "Cor doesn't much want to go either…"

"You'll only be there a few weeks," said Lucy—then you can stay with me as long as you like!"

Presently, Lucy left for her own chamber where she would dress for the feast, and Aravis took the chance to lie on her bed and look out the large window, which faced eastward. She could hardly believe Lucy had convinced her to wear this dress—she'd never worn anything like it in her life. She knew it became her well—not just from the long mirror which hung in her chamber, but from the appreciative look on Lucy's face. Aravis couldn't help but wonder if Cor would notice how different she looked in it.