The company was silent as they entered the forest, their faces chilled from the wind hitting their faces as they rode. But they were forced to move slowly through the trees, for the roots and closely entangled branches made it difficult for them to pass swiftly. Ahead of the group went Roc and Noc, the two eldest Morkin brothers, riding ponies that had been left without riders by those who had remained in Pebble with Susan.
Edmund watched the two dwarves carefully as they guided their ponies through the forest. They were discussing something in low, vehement voices, glancing here and there now and then, or pointing at certain trees.
"Think they've gone and gotten us lost, Sire?"
He smiled with some amusement. "I have no idea, Borik." Rising his voice, he addressed the two before him. "Is there a problem?"
The two dwarves started and turned, their brown eyes wide. "N- No, King Edmund," said the eldest, rather hesitantly. "We were merely discussing…"
Noc seemed to have more courage in him. "Is it truly prudent to meet them face-to-face? They might hear us coming."
"I did not intend to do so," said Edmund. "We will stop some distance away and set camp undercover."
"And if they watch this part of the woods?" beside him, Witrow had his eyes narrowed as he sniffed the ground. "There have been feet here, and recently."
Edmund straightened up in his horse, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Be prepared," he said to everyone, his voice only as loud as was absolutely necessary. "Archers, stand ready."
The archers held their bows at the ready and they advanced in this manner, veering slightly to the left of the direction of the caves. They were only halfway through the forest when Witrow began to growl softly.
"Sire, there has been movement here, and recently," he said.
Only a second after he had spoken, one of the dwarves was knocked forwards onto his pony's mane with a sharp clang, as an arrow hit the armor covering his back. He gave a low cry of pain, and then arrows were raining down upon them. Edmund struggled to move his horse and find cover. The arrows seemed to be coming from all sides… could they really have been surrounded without noticing? He cursed himself for not expecting them sooner.
The archers were shooting wildly, and Witrow and a boar charged towards the left side. There was a squeal and a pained cry as they collided with their enemies. Edmund shouted over the din, calling everyone to go left, scattering their enemies as they charged. All around them, arrows made noise as they bounced off armor, and one of the horses screamed as it was grazed, nearly bolting in the wrong direction.
Somehow, they managed to escape the main circle of attackers. Something flew at Edmund suddenly, striking in the direction of his face over and over again. He managed to ward it away with his sword, realizing that it was a raven, but he already had various scratches from its talons on his hands and the side of his face. They were not deep, but they were extremely irritating.
After ten minutes of frenzied escape, Edmund finally called the company to a halt. They seemed to have left their enemies behind them; perhaps they had wounded two or three of them, but no one could recall seeing any dead. On their side, thankfully, the situation was the same. The pony's wound was not deep, and though one Dwarf had an arrow in his shoulder, he insisted that with proper bandaging he would still be of use, since it was not his sword arm. How much of this was merely the Dwarf's own pride, Edmund did not know, but at least none had been too severely wounded.
They seemed to have reached a rocky patch in the middle of the forest, which Edmund thought might give them some advantage should they be ambushed once more. They were slightly raised over ground level, and there was space to place provisions and take cover during the night. He sat on a rock, wiping the small drops of blood from the scratches on his face on a rag, while the others set down their supplies, calmed the horses and ponies, and tended to the wounded. Borik, who was his second in command, having been one of the few Black Dwarves who had supported Aslan when He returned and was quite a skillful warrior despite his dislike of riding, joined him presently upon the rock, stroking his beard absentmindedly as he looked up at the trees around them.
"The animals say there's no scent of anything that Talks having walked by here recently," he said gruffly.
"Let us hope that means we have some advantage," said Edmund. He scowled as he put the rag away. "At least we now know at what point the forest is theirs."
"What next, then, Sire?"
He sighed and stood up, watching as Witrow climbed to the top of the pile of rocks and began to lick the mud off his forepaws. "We must speak to them."
"Forgive me, Sire, but they do not seem to be in much of a mood for parley."
Edmund grinned slightly at his remark. "No, they do not. But it must be done. I would much rather achieve some sort of negotiation than start a violent attack on our own fellow Narnians."
"These are not Narnians," Borik growled under his breath. "No Narnian makes his fellows suffer the way these have."
"I agree with you, Borik," said Edmund grimly. "But as King, I must give them a chance, no matter how unforgiveable their actions have been."
"When shall we approach them, then?"
"Once we have rested for some hours; it should be time for a meal soon," he said. "By then their anger will hopefully have been appeased to some level. Perhaps one of the centaurs can go deliver the message and a meeting may be arranged."
Borik hesitated. "With all due respect, Sire," he began, and then seemed to stop himself.
"What is it?"
Borik looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps it would be best if I was to go," he said.
"I cannot put you at that risk, Borik," said Edmund. "You are too indispensable."
"Sire, I am the only Black Dwarf of this group," said Borik, his expression firm. "We know that these Knights of Stone have many Black Dwarves, and given what we have seen, they are dwarves that were known for their affiliation or at least indirect support of the White Witch during the Long Winter. If Your Majesty wishes to send someone who will be able to negotiate with them and set a meeting, it would not be in your best interests to send one from a race that has long opposed the side that these people have been on in the past. Nay, Sire. As a Black Dwarf, I might be able to gain some trust on their part."
Edmund considered this. It was obvious that the Dwarf was right, but he still felt rather unsure about sending one of his people into a situation that could prove deadly, especially since they knew very little about the rebels.
"Are you absolutely sure you wish to do this?" he asked Borik.
Borik grinned slightly from under his large beard. "Indeed I am, Sire. Perhaps it shall also gain me some honor after the sins my kin have committed in the past."
Edmund frowned, momentarily confused as to what the Dwarf meant.
"Narnia does not forgive easily, Your Majesty," said the Dwarf, his eyes dark as he stared off into space. "It will take years for the people to forgive the Black Dwarves for their betrayal, even if it was not all of us who were a part of it."
"I understand," said Edmund in a low voice, and meeting Borik's gaze, he could tell that the Dwarf understood what he meant.
...
The music began with what almost felt like an explosion of sound. Lucy started with surprise where she stood, laughing as she realized what had happened. Beside her, Queen Amisse smiled with amusement.
East of the Festival camp, many tables had been set for everyone. They were not all tables from Cair Paravel; some had been manufactured especially for the event, and others had been brought by the Narnian families themselves so that they could take part of the great party that was to take place that night, midway through the Summer Festival. The tables were laden with food and wine, and the Grey Fauns, along with some dwarves and a group of Calormene musicians and an Archenland piper who had come along as well, were playing a merry tune together, which echoed loud and clear. Lucy was positive that even if she were within the palace itself, she would be able to hear the tune with the same clarity that she would have if she was standing directly in their midst.
A great mass of people had emerged from the tents and were now taking their seats, the monarchs already seated. Lucy and Amisse made their way towards them, knowing that they must be seated soon so they might enjoy supper and the show that was to take place. There was great joy in everyone's face, in the very way they moved… Lucy could see the Fauns dancing even as they took platters of food to serve at the tables. There was laughter everywhere, melding perfectly with the beautiful music.
As they parted towards their respective tables, Queen Amisse touched Lucy's elbow lightly, drawing closer to speak in a low voice over the noise of the music and the people.
"I just wanted to say," she said in Lucy's ear. "Thank you for what you did for Cadoc the other day." Her eyes were downcast. "I know what my husband asked of your Royal Brother and I must apologize for him."
Lucy shook her head gently. "It is quite all right," she said with a gentle smile. "We understood Galma's concerns… we were only glad to help."
"Still, it need not have been your responsibility," said Amisse gently. "We are most thankful, though my husband will never admit it himself."
She drew away before Lucy could reply, and left towards her seat beside the King of Galma. Lucy could not help but feel bad for her. She wished it was possible for the Queen of Galma to sit beside her... perhaps it could be arranged later in the night.
The show began, as customary, with ten Fauns dancing their strange, beautiful dance upon the circle of grass between the tables, accompanied by some dryads who were not too shy as to perform so openly before an audience. Lucy could tell that some of the visitors still felt rather oddly about the strange variety of creatures that existed in Narnia, but the merriment and the beauty of what they had seen had nearly made them forget how different it was. The dance was followed by a song, sung by three Talking Nightingales, which was quite melancholy compared to the music that had been played before; but it moved the hearts of many, and many of the audience were moved to tears.
Galma produced their artists afterwards, with poetry and dancing. Lucy wished that the women who were dancing had more opportunity to join them in merriment, but they were servants and were often too occupied in their tasks to socialize. Their dance was lovely, and was followed by the playing of a strange form of Galman harp that the Narnians had never seen, played by an old knight.
Archenland then joined in with great songs sung by skillful bards, some of epic nature, such as the legend of King Olvin and others causing the audience to laugh so hard a few choked on their supper, such as the tale of the Twirling Knight. This was followed by more dancing, and even some juggling on the part of a very skilled Archenlander.
It was the Calormene people, however, that had come fully equipped for a night of entertainment. They had brought along their own musicians, who played the strange mystical music that was traditional within Calormen, and began their act with a display of conjurers, who made magic tricks that awed the crowd.
But it was not, perhaps, the best choice when it came to the audience they were presenting their magic before. These were Narnians who had come to consider magic as directly related to the White Witch, and Lucy could see many retreating or hiding their faces, shaking with fear, as the show unfolded before them. Peter glanced at her and she knew he shared her fervent hope that no Narnians would feel offended by the magic tricks; in Calormen it was a mere art that attracted all sorts of admirers. In Narnia, however, it was a source of fear and hatred.
Despite this, however, the Narnians managed to remain composed, and were soon distracted by the sword-swallowers, who awed the audience of every country with their skill. They juggled fire, as well, and then great acrobats and contortionists danced and moved to the music in ways that none had believed possible. As she sat at the table, barely eating her supper and busying herself with clapping energetically after each number, Lucy realized that the event was very reminiscent of a circus.
The show ended with great applause and much cheering on everyone's part. The Fauns and dryads then returned, joining in dance and inviting anyone else who was willing to dance as well. Lucy finished her supper as hastily as a Queen could permit herself to do, and then joined the other Fauns in dancing in the firelight.
The seats were soon rearranged, and Lucy's seat was quickly occupied by Prince Jarrash, whose eyes were nearly dancing as he turned to Peter, a smile on his face.
"Your people are quite astoundingly talented," said Peter, with true admiration. "I am surprised and in a way rather envious that Calormen has been gifted with talent both in the battlefield and in the arts."
"You flatter me, High King," said the Prince, but his smile was proud. "The Narnians are quite remarkable as well. Though the customs are vastly different, the feeling in ones heart when moved by the music is very much the same."
Peter smiled. He could not help but like the Calormene Prince, and he felt some sadness remembering Dorick's words about how Jarrash was not likely to survive long enough to become the Tisroc of his Empire.
Jarrash leaned back in the chair. "The years shall make Narnia and irresistibly beautiful realm," he said pensively. "For if this is how she is when just recovering from a time of much suffering, my breath is taken away at the thought of what she might become."
Peter smiled. "Those are the hopes of me and my brother and sisters," he said. "Our people are hardworking and willing; we hope to lead this country to much splendor during our lifetimes."
Jarrash nodded. "It takes but a man with vision to lead a country to its glory," he said. "Ardeeb Tisroc was a man of this sort. It is said that the True Empire was born under his hands, for he had much love of the finer arts and sciences. It was in this way that Tashbaan was built, and much of the lands around it. Our splendor we owe to him and those who worked under his reign."
Peter smiled. "You are a visionary, Jarrash."
Jarrash laughed softly. "Perhaps, but I believe Ishamiel is more of that sort. I am one who reads history, not one who seeks to interpret it. Ardeeb Tisroc's achievements are of common knowledge."
"I am afraid my brother has always had more talent when it comes to learning history than I have," Peter admitted, taking a sip of wine, a small smile on his lips. "I have learned that his council is often more sensible than mine." He raised his glass to the Prince. "Let us drink to the friendship between Narnia and Calormen. May it last forever."
Jarrash acknowledged his words and they drank. As he swallowed the wine, the Prince turned his eyes to the large group of dancers that now nearly completely covered the clearing in between the tables. Peter caught sight of Lucy, dancing happily, her arms locked with those of two other dryads. Though she was the smallest of the group, she seemed to draw ones' eyes instantly.
The Calormene Prince seemed to notice. "Your Sisters are quite remarkable, High King," he said.
"Thank you," said Peter. "I am proud to be of their blood."
"Calormen would benefit greatly if she had a Queen of such noble presence," said Jarrash. "Perhaps, after some years have passed and you find it befitting, some sort of arrangement might be made."
It took Peter a moment to understand what the Prince was proposing, but when he did he felt fiery rage grow in his stomach. It took every ounce of his self control to not reply with anger to the man who sat beside him. Jarrash, however, did not seem to notice, busy in peeling a tangerine he had found among the fruits that had been set in a dish before them.
"I do not believe my sisters are yet of age for such considerations," Peter said stiffly.
Jarrash smiled as he divided the tangerine in half. "I am quite aware of this, High King," he said. "For this reason I have merely suggested it. A union of this sort would benefit both our countries greatly."
Peter could not find the words to express himself. He had not considered the fact that other countries might want his sisters as Queens for themselves. He had, of course, supposed that when the time came his sisters, and he himself most likely, might wish to marry and have their own children, but the political implications of it had not even occurred to him.
"Forgive me, High King Peter, but I must excuse myself," said Jarrash suddenly, glancing towards the table where most of his people were. "My people require my presence."
Somehow, he managed to reply, and the Prince left the table. Peter sat still, almost frozen in shock.
"The Prince is right, Your Majesty," said a voice beside him. He started and turned to see Dorick, sitting quietly beside him. "I am afraid I overheard your conversation… as your royal advisor, I must say that it is an important consideration to keep in mind. We are quite lucky that Calormen is interested."
Peter's eyes widened with surprise and rage. "You speak as if we are to sell my sisters to another country in exchange of an alliance!" he hissed.
"That is the way it works, generally, Sire," said Dorick, rather taken aback by his tone. "Your sisters cannot remain unmarried forever. In a year or two Queen Susan will be eligible for marriage, and soon after Queen Lucy shall follow."
"What if they do not wish to marry?"
Dorick stared at him with some skepticism, taking a sip of wine before he replied. "They must marry, Sire, and so must you, unless Narnia is to remain heirless. And the Queens' marriage is an important, nigh unbreakable, alliance with other countries. It is an opportunity that must be taken advantage of."
"I shall not allow my sisters to be wed merely because it is in the country's best interests!"
"Forgive me for my words, Sire," said Dorick rather hesitantly. "But you are High King. It is within your duties to oversee these things, and perhaps to sacrifice such wishes in the name of Narnia."
...
Peter and Lucy shared tea together in his tent before she had to leave. He hid his worries for the future under a heavy curtain of exhaustion which threatened to make him fall over, but the hot tea burnt his tongue ever so slightly and he could not help but feel the questions rising up in his mind uncontrollably.
"Why has Aslan sent us here, Lucy?"
She looked up, surprised at his sudden profound question. He could see the spark of realization in her eyes when she realized that this was really what had been bothering him all this time; but he had only just realized how to put it in words.
"Because Narnia needed us," she replied simply.
He set down the teacup on the small table and frowned. "I do not feel ready for the weight of the responsibilities."
"Maybe that is why He chose us," said Lucy. "We are not ready, but we will learn."
"You believe He sent us here to learn?"
She nodded, her expression serious. "I believe we are here to learn and for Narnia to learn from us."
There was silence for a moment, and they both finished their tea before Peter spoke again.
"What if we fail?"
"We will not."
Lucy's words were so simple and full of belief that Peter felt that he believed them also. He wondered at the trust she had; she had always had more faith than the rest of them, and even more so when it came to Aslan, but it never ceased to astonish him. She inspired faith with the mere presence of her own.
They set down the teacups and Lucy grasped her cloak, pulling it over her shoulders.
"Lucy," he said, as she prepared to leave. "Do you sometimes feel as if you are sacrificing your childhood for a cause meant for people much older than you?"
For a moment he feared that she would think he meant only her and would take it as condescension, but by her expression he quickly realized that she knew what he had meant. A small smile appeared on her lips, but there was more sadness than joy in it, threaded with a strange kind of beauty he could not identify. It was the look that appeared in her eyes every time she spoke of Aslan.
Her words were soft. "I left my childhood behind me the day I stepped through the Wardrobe, Peter."
She turned and left the tent, the flap closing behind her, the noise of her footsteps fading in the night.
He undressed and turned out all the candles except those by his cot. He could hear the footsteps of the Guards outside his tent. It would be impossible for another attack to happen unnoticed, the way it had before. As he pulled the blankets over himself, he reached sideways to the small dresser and retrieved the two scrolls they had received earlier that day. In the candlelight, he began to read them again.
My Brother:
Forgive me if this letter is painfully short. I am afraid that the intensity of activity here in Pebble has me occupied nearly every moment of the day, and it is difficult to find minutes to spare and send a letter back to you. It is our third day here, and all is going as planned. The construction is nearly finished, the herds have all been gathered and the crops have nearly all been replanted. I must say that I have learned more in these past few days than I have in all my years of school in England (I am glad that that is not an experience I will have to repeat). We replanted the dryad trees and they are now safe and feeling much better; despite everything that has happened to them, the Trees remain our staunch supporters, though these had never set eye on us before today. I am sure that, given the pace we have been working at, we shall soon be finished. I have heard back from Edmund, but he has enclosed a letter for you also, so I shall not waste time relaying his words when you shall have them in your hands shortly.
On the topic of your feelings regarding your Brotherly duties within our Family, please do not allow guilt to overtake you. It has been your capable hands, more than any others', which have guided us and this country to the place it is now. Your protectiveness has not so much hindered as it has made us feel protected when crisis struck, and neither I nor our Brother and Sister blame you for your attitudes regarding our responsibilities during this time. You shall receive no forgiveness, for no blame is upon your shoulders. As I work in this small village on the other side of the country, having the knowledge that you worry about me constantly is a source of comfort to me; it has been years since I have ever spent my time so truly cut off from the rest of you, and had it not been for your letters and the knowledge of your steady advice I might have been stricken with grief. I do not intend to repeat these words to you, dear Brother, for they would be needlessly dramatic despite the truth they hold, so hold them dearly to your heart, for I do not intend to flatter you in this manner very often.
Relay to our friend King Lune that if he must recur to gambles about time to halt his infatuation with his mead, then he is very much lost to us, and that I pray with all my heart that his twin children do not inherit his love for it, or there shall be no mead left in Archenland for the three of them. It seems to me that my pen has indeed run longer than I thought it would, and I already hear the calls to continue in our efforts once more. Give my love to our Sister; I miss you both dearly.
Your good sister,
Susan.
My brother:
All is transpiring well here within the forest, as we await the time in which the rebels have agreed to meet us. It strikes me that they do not have much experience in this sort of negotiations (though how could they?), given that they have invited us directly to their front door: the clearing before their cave. We fervently hope that this is not a trap, but I do not believe it is very likely, given the nature of these people. Borik has proved very useful to us; having a Black Dwarf negotiate in our name seems to have appeased the rebels somewhat. Two other Black Dwarves met him, along with a panther that Witrow has already marked as his if a battle comes to pass.
Your letter held very little detail about the happenings within the Festival; I know, therefore, that the politics of the affair must be extremely irritating. Have strength, Brother, I shall be back soon.
Your good brother,
Edmund.
...
From where she sat near one of the small windows of Hana's house, Susan could see the Hare family, Ash and two Fauns working on what was left of the Hares' crops. More than half of their vegetables had been torn out of the ground, disregarding how ripe they were, and the most of the ripe ones had been stolen. The remaining vegetables had been carefully replanted, and new ones were now being planted in an attempt to replenish their stocks on some level. The rest of the group had gone to do the same work beside the construction of the Birdel house and another farm on the outskirts of the village.
Only Susan, Hana, Willow and Clover's mother remained, working very hard on the long task of pickling and drying the vegetables and fruit that they had not been able to replant. All the farms of the area had sent what had been unintentionally harvested to the house. They had set out most of the rye and wheat to dry upon the roof of the house, where they hoped it would remain untouched. Some fruits that Susan did not recognize were also there.
Inside the house, a large pot held cucumbers, onions, asparagus, carrots and some other vegetables boiling in salt brine. Old Badger had sent them what remained of his many glass jars, which was quite a large number, which Willow was busy washing with hot water. Hana was placing the vegetables in salt brine within the already washed jars. The room was hot from the bright fire and Susan felt that she was sweating as she stirred the large pot before returning to the smaller jars, where she poured honey that the squirrels from nearby had procured and stored fruit inside them. "Sweet preserves," Willow had said gleefully as she wiped a drop of honey from the side of one of the jars and licked it off her finger. "This shall be quite delicious."
"Do you think it will be enough, Hana?" Clover's mother said worriedly. "It is a lot of food, but what if it doesn't last?"
"It shall be a winter of simple meals," said Hana grimly as she struggled to close a jar. "If it is a natural winter, that is. If it is not… well, then, food won't make much of a difference."
Her words had an ominous tone, and Susan saw the others shrink back into their task, looking almost fearful. It was time to understand exactly what this was all about.
"What do you mean, not a natural winter?"
Willow and the Hare glanced at her and then looked away, the same look in their eyes. Hana did not look up, continuing to fill a new jar with cucumbers and onions. There was silence for a moment, and then the Dwarf woman began to speak.
"You don't know what the Long Winter was like, Queen Susan," she said in her low, almost guttural voice. "Blizzards every other day, and a cold that crushed the bones and stabbed at the stomach like a knife. There is little more terrible for simple people like us Narnians than a Winter that lasts forever, but the White Witch found ways to make it all the worse.
"We was hunted for sport, in those days," the Hare said in little over a whisper.
Hana nodded, her lips set in a grim line. "But the worst of all, they tried to take our beliefs. And they almost did it, too. Word went about saying that Aslan had abandoned us, that there was no salvation for Narnia. And then there were more whispers, whispers that maybe Aslan didn't even exist…
"I was lucky. My father was one of the few who remembered Narnia as she was, before the Witch took over. He told us stories of Spring and Aslan, and the Prophecy, and made sure we would always know the truth." She set down the jar on the table with a loud noise. "They killed him for it.
"T'was many families, 'specially the Black Dwarf clans, that lost hope and joined the enemy. Soon after went lots of the satyrs and even some of the Fauns. Folks just gave up. I expect they can't be blamed for caving; one never knows how strong one is until one is tested. And Narnia's faith was tested… oh, it was tested thoroughly. People stopped believing, and made themselves forget. They said it made them safer, but it really just made them weaker. Until they began shunning those of us who did believe. My husband was one of the few that fought to keep the memory of the Lion alive. Until this day I don't know if it was the Witch herself or if it was turned Narnians who did the job."
She looked up at Susan, her eyes like deep wells of darkness. "I'm sorry, Queen Susan, but after everything I've lived I can't bring myself to think that the winter has gone forever. I can't bring myself to believe that four Kings and Queens can save Narnia. I know the efforts you have put into this and I am thankful, as are all here, I am sure… but you can't redeem Narnia. We have been through too much and we have sinned too much." Hana shook her head. "Aslan tested Narnia, and Narnia failed. I won't be surprised if the Winter returns. We brought it upon ourselves."
Susan stared at her in concern, the jars of fruit and honey on the table before her, forgotten. She met Willow's wide, frightened eyes, and then turned back to Hana.
"We will not permit Narnia to fall into any other hands again, Hana," she said calmly but firmly. "That is exactly why we are here now, to help you in your time of need. You need not live through such horrible times again."
Hana looked at her with something similar to pity. "But Queen Susan… these are times of peace. Neither you nor your siblings know the pain of living through times like those. Small battles are nothing compared to the horror of war, the oppression of losing, the fear that comes with not knowing if you will live through the day, the knowledge that you are not safe within the very walls of your own home-"
"Actually, I do know," Susan interrupted, in a quiet voice. She met Hana's eyes. "The country from where I come was at war when I came to Narnia. We were forced to leave our homes because they were attacking our cities, and they feared that it would all be destroyed. My father went to fight…" she hesitated for a moment, forcing the emotion to leave her voice. "And as far as we know, he has not returned yet. We do know the fear, the pain, the oppression. We come from different worlds, but our sorrows have been the same."
Silence had fallen within the small main room of the Morkins' house. Susan sat on the stool but somehow felt both taller and smaller all at once. Hana's expression had changed; perhaps she had seen the tears that had threatened to make their way out of Susan's eyes. Susan had already been old enough to understand everything the war implied, back in England. She knew she and Peter had suffered the most, being the two out of the four that fully understood that their father was most likely not to return.
She held back a shiver as she realized that she had not missed her father ever since she had reached Narnia.
"But you understand, then, perhaps," said Hana, almost softly. "Why it is so hard for so many of us to simply accept this time meant for prosperity… there is very little enjoyment when one dreads that one might be forced to return to that life at any moment."
"I understand," said Susan, and she could hear her own voice saying almost the same thing to Edmund in the front porch, only a few nights ago.
...
My dear sister:
It is almost dull, being in the Festival without your presence! We all miss you dearly. I wish you could have been here to watch the feast that took place the other night; I danced so much I feared my feet would crumble beneath me! But what you are doing in the West sounds equally exciting… it must be thrilling to visit so many new places, build things and herd cows! You know I have always been eager to do such things; if only we had had a chance to do it in England! Perhaps there is hope yet… a lifetime in Narnia gives space to many new experiences.
Speaking of the feast has brought an idea to mind. In your letter, you spoke of how the villagers are gathering provisions and dividing them in equal rations for each family. Have you considered the possibility of a celebration once all the work is done? It might help increase the morale of the villagers after everything they have been through, and truly heighten the feeling of triumph that comes with a work well finished. If you do decide to carry out this idea, I expect you to tell its story in full detail once you return!
Our Brother is doing well; or at least as well as he ever does. He worries himself over the both of you, and with political and administrative concerns, it only heightens this anxiety. But it seems to me that he has been feeling better lately. As always, I do my best to assist him in anything he might need. But you know him… his concerns often cause him more anxiety than they do to most people.
Do let me know if you are partial to my idea! Send my loving regards to all those around you. I wish I could meet Willow and Ash; they seem to possess quite entertaining characters. And Hana sounds quite sweet and inspiring.
Your loving Sister,
Lucy.
Susan folded the letter after the fourth time reading it. She had read the second paragraph out loud to the others shortly after they had finished moving in the Birdel brothers' new furniture into their new house. It was a smaller home than they had had originally, but it was sturdy and would last. Beside it, new seeds had been planted, which would hopefully be harvested during Autumn, ensuring some more sustenance for them.
There had been a round of applause and much hand shaking, and the dwarves thanked all those who had helped them with gruff, rather uncomfortable expressions. It was obvious that they were moved, though not sure how to express their emotions, not used to being surrounded by such a large group of people. But the group had understood, and there was much joy after Susan's reading of the letter. Though there were still some more matters to attend to within Pebble, the worst of the work was over, and they all agreed with Lucy's words: there was much cause for celebration.
Firstly, though, Susan was approached by two of the dwarves that had come with her from Cair Paravel.
"Your Majesty," they said in low voices, looking rather concerned. "There is still an issue that must be addressed."
"What issue are you referring to?" Susan asked, lowering her voice.
"There is still much wood left over from the trees that fell. And the dogs say that there are even more trees that they found fallen over in the forest."
"And you have an idea of what we might do with it?"
The dwarves looked grim. One of them spoke, his voice grave. "Queen Susan, as efficient as King Edmund may be in defeating the rebels, Pebble is not yet truly safe from danger. Their proximity to the Western Mountains gives much space for sinister attacks."
"It is well known that all the evils that befell Narnia came from the West," added the other Dwarf solemnly.
"Perhaps the wood could be used to raise a barrier; some sort of fence would do. It may not prove as actual protection before an attack, but it will show that the village is protected and perhaps be a source of confidence for the villagers."
"That sounds reasonable," said Susan. "If there is enough wood and nails to carry it out, then I do not see why not."
The dwarves bowed and thanked her.
"This village, however, requires some organization so that it may protect itself. Its proximity to the border does leave it quite exposed," she murmured as they left.
The villagers and the visitors from Cair Paravel met the following day at sundown in the grassy land beside the newly constructed house. The barriers had been erected; they were fences that stood little over Susan's waist, but they served their purpose, surrounding the village and blocking the Western side of the crossroads, a locked gate the only way of entry, which would be controlled by the people of Pebble. As the sun set behind the mountains, they arranged chairs and tables on the grass, decorating the trees nearby with strings of flowers. Old Badger, with some help from the villagers, the squirrels nearby and even the dryads of the forest had come to visit and enjoy the celebration as well. Every family had brought a small meal to share with everyone from the food they had in their stores: Hana had produced some lovely pastries, the Monkeys had brought piles of wild fruit they had found, the Hares brought a simple salad, the Squirrels had brought nuts, Old Badger had brought one of his last bottles of wine, and the Birdel brothers had managed to bake delicious bread. It would make a simple meal, but the joy and sacrifice behind it made it the most delectable feast any of them had ever had.
As they were all seated, and Gimor produced a fiddle, beginning a merry tune, birds and other creatures who lived nearby and had assisted in one way or other during the reconstruction of the village joined them as well, all bringing their own gifts. Suddenly, the Faun who lived beside the Hare family's home appeared, bearing two of the six large jars of pickled vegetables and one of the three jars of sweet preserves that had been provided to him as part of the ration he had been given, as a thanks for the work he had done for the village. All eyes turned to him as he moved towards the table and set down the large jars.
"I should be giving them all back," he said quietly. "For I know I do not deserve the generosity you have given me. Work done out of guilt should not be rewarded."
There was silence on the table, and even Gimor stopped fiddling. Then the eldest of the Birdel brothers stood up and pulled another chair to the table, making space for the Faun to sit. And after a few minutes of silence, the music began once more and food was passed around. The monkeys and the dryads made garlands of flowers and danced together along with any that would follow, and merry old songs were sung by the villagers. Then stories were told, but only joyful stories, for the happiness in Pebble did not make space for sad memories. Susan told the tale of how she and her siblings had entered Narnia for the first time, and when she was done they all drank to the end of the Winter. Even Hana seemed to smile sincerely as she passed slices of bread to all.
Susan felt herself smiling and found herself unable to stop. She leaned back in her seat and looked up at the moon as it shone brightly in the sky.