I hope everyone is doing well and that *someone* is still reading this after so terribly long a break in writing! (Sorry!) Thank you very much to those who reached out with kind notes and encouragement in PMs or reviews-it truly has helped. Thank you!
I am very much hoping ch 20 won't take too long to assemble, as it's half written already. But this chapter had to do a lot of plot-point-setting for the next stretch of writing ;)

Golden Narnia
Chapter 19: Recovery

"Sire."

Peter's eyes stayed fixed on the paper in front of him.

"My Lord High King," Lady Silene tried again, a little more insistently. The other counselors exchanged patient looks.

"King Peter!" She said, really raising her voice this time.

The voice caused Peter to jump a little, and he turned his head. "I apologize," he said, smiling a little wryly. "I am afraid I am still… distracted."

"My Lord," Silene said. "There is naught urgent to discuss, and we, too, are worried over the Queen Lucy's health this past week. How if we adjourn until either an emergency demands our gathering, or when the queen's health is improved?"

"But—" Peter protested. "We could—"

"My lord," interjected a gray-bearded Centaur, "would it be pleasant to take the opportunity to look further ahead in our plans and contingencies? Certainly. Is it at all crucial to the wellness of Narnia? No. Take the time."

"Not to mention," said another council member, "we will want Her Majesty's input on some things, so it's better all round if thou dost focus on getting her well."

"We love and worry over her, too; especially we who were ourselves so recently touched by the fell illness that now grips her," said Silene. "Know that Narnia rests easy in our hands; go and be with thy sisters and brother."

They all saw relief flow through Peter as he stood. "You all have my sincerest thanks," he said gratefully. "I shall keep you appraised of Her Majesty's condition."

And with that, he left the council chamber, eager to join Edmund and Susan, who were holding vigil by Lucy's side.

Peter had excused them from the meeting, thinking that he'd be able to concentrate better if he knew Su and Ed at least were with Lucy; but he'd found his thoughts straying to her anyway.

For a solid week now, Lucy lay in a deathlike sleep, her breath heavy and labored. The healers had spent a considerable amount of time every day dripping water into her mouth, and broth for sustenance, but it was nowhere near enough nourishment. Her cheeks were beginning to look hollow.

Peter had never known his youngest sister to be so still for so long, and it frightened him. For the dozenth time that day, he sent a prayer toward Aslan, and considered the merits of using the cordial.

But tempting though the idea was, he knew they couldn't—shouldn't—use it. The healers all assured them that others who'd been taken as ill as Lucy had recovered; Lucy just needed time.

Some things even a High King could not hurry.

In Telmar, Gavril grimaced as Avarro came in, fury on his face. Yet again.

"What is it this time?" He asked laconically. "Your lord uncle finally cut off your allowance?"

"What? No, my trip to Narnia's been cancelled."

Gavril frowned. What trip to Narnia? Perhaps he hadn't got his hooks as deeply into Avarro as he thought, if the young idiot hadn't thought to mention it.

For Gavril was determined to wheedle himself an invitation if Avarro ever did return to Narnia.

If he, Gavril, could just get entry into the Court of Cair Paravel, well, surely his services would be put to better use than here.

There was no way the members of Narnia's Court were all such paragons of virtue that Gavril couldn't place some temptation in their way. And Gavril got paid when he fulfilled those temptations; got paid more to keep his mouth shut afterward.

Avarro was still complaining. "And not even an apology! They claim there's illness and it's for my own safety, and on and on. It's all just excuses to keep me away," he spat, and Gavril saw his hands curl into fists.

He wondered if tonight would end in a brawl. It wouldn't be the first time Avarro's temper had spilled over into a physical altercation. The problem was, Avarro was strong and quick enough to usually win the fights he picked.

When he was in one of these moods, the idiot could be positively obnoxious to deal with. Gavril could only hope he would be nearby to watch when Avarro finally bit off more than he could chew.

But for now, a distraction would suffice.

"Oh, to hell with Narnia," he said, waving his hands. "Who wants to travel when it's so hot out, anyway? Let's find something more pleasant to do. I could get the girls…"

"No," Avarro said. "I want to… I want to… I don't know what I want."

Gavril watched Avarro's big hands close into fists again. "You want to vent your spleen," he suggested, and Avarro gave him a mulish look. "I think that can be arranged," he said, turning thoughts over in this head.

He wanted Avarro indebted to him, beholden to him, needy of him. Then when Avarro finally went back to Narnia, wouldn't he be sure to bring his old pal Gavril?

And then wouldn't the fox be among the hens! And the fox would make out well.

But first things first. "Wait here," he said aloud. "Don't get into any fights. I'll be back."

Avarro grunted, but settled into his chair sulkily. "Don't be too long."

Gavril rolled his eyes as he left. "The man acts like he's eight, not eighteen," he muttered to himself. "But at least his money's good." He patted his pocket, full of Avarro's latest allowance, relishing the weight of it.

Well, he'd have to spend a little more tonight. Sometimes you had to put better bait on the hook to reel the fishes in…

"What do you mean, do anything I like?" Avarro said suspiciously.

"This isn't one of my girls. She's gutter trash; three quarters dead from drink. This one, you can do whatever you'd like to do." Gavril said, and watched Avarro turn the idea over. He knew he had him when Avarro's face lit up with a feral intensity.

"Anything? Really anything?"

"Nothing that will get us arrested. Or at least, nothing that can connect you."

"Gavril, you're the best friend a man could have."

"And don't you forget it."

A while later, Gavril heard muffled shouts from behind the closed door, followed by quiet sobs; a couple of sharp sounds of a hand meeting flesh, and the sobs increased—then stopped abruptly, as though the girl were holding her breath.

Gavril didn't particularly care to know just what Avarro was doing in there. But when he emerged some time later, it had certainly put him in a better frame of mind. He looked like a cat who'd just drunk a saucerful of cream.

And, oh, was he happy with his friend Gavril.

Gavril smiled to himself. Come along, little fishy. On the hook.

When Peter poked his head around the infirmary room door, he found the tableau unchanged from when he'd last been here. Susan sat working on some stitchwork, leaning her shoulder against the bedpost; Edmund sat on the other side near the window, reading aloud from one of Lucy's favorite books in the light of the lamp on the table. He needed the lamp; the afternoon outside was dark and cloudy.

"How is she?" he asked.

Susan exclaimed as she drove her needle into her finger. "Peter! What are you doing here?"

"You should still be in the council meeting." Edmund said. "Is aught amiss?"

"Nay. Naught but my inability to focus, with Lucy so ill. The council kindly adjourned early."

"Truly, we are blessed to have kindly and thoughtful advisors," Susan observed.

"We are blessed indeed that Narnia is doing so well, Lucy's health is the largest national 'crisis,' such as it is." Peter returned wryly. "Else I should still be at the council table, illness or no." He walked closer to Lucy. "There's been no change?"

"None I have observed," Susan said. "But I have little knowledge of matters of health."

"Hmm." Peter said absently, leaning over Lucy. He frowned. "Has she been flushed like this long?"

"Flushed? To the contrary, she's been pale." Edmund said, sitting up straighter. "I noted it not a quarter of an hour ago."

"She's very hot, too," Peter said, touching her face. Lucy's skin felt almost brittle under his fingertips.

"I'll get Nurrin," Susan said, standing and moving toward the door.

"Hurry."

The healer arrived quickly, and after looking Lucy over, a grave expression came over her face. "We need to bring this fever down," she said. "But with Queen Lucy unable to drink, it's difficult to get medicines into her." She sighed. "We had this same problem with others whose illness caused them to sleep overlong."

"But they came through it all right," Susan said. "It just took time."

There was a brief pause.

"Queen Lucy's fever does seem rather higher than theirs was," Nurrin admitted. "While she is young and strong, it's still best to bring the fever down as quickly as possible."

"What other things can be done, if your medicines cannot work?" Peter asked. "Surely there must be something."

"If 'twere winter, I'd bring in snow. If it were autumn, I'd take her to a wellspring. But it's still high summer; not even the deepest springs are terribly cool this time of year in this part of Narnia."

"You need cold water? What about the sea?" Edmund asked.

"To get her deep enough to cool her down…" Nurrin considered, and shook her head. "It would be too deep to stand."

"Not if we ask the Merfolk to help," Edmund suggested.

"Do you think they would? They're not always entirely… friendly to us land-dwellers." Susan pointed out.

"I think for Lucy, they might help," Peter said. "It's worth asking, anyway, is it not?"

"It is better to try," Nurrin answered, peeling one of Lucy's eyelids back. "I likest not what I see in thy sister's case."

"Poor Lucy," Susan said. "Let's see what we can do to talk with the Merpeople."

It turned out, what they had to do… was simply ask.

Tawi knew where Lucy most often met the Merpeople: at the edge of a sort of tidal pool created by some craggy rocks, tucked deep under the cliff face that the Cair perched upon.

When Peter stepped into the foaming water's edge, the only motion was that of the ever-surging water.

Feeling a bit foolish, Peter called out, "People of the water, I ask a favor of thee."

Momentarily, a stern-faced Merman surfaced, eyeing him suspiciously. "And what do you do here, High King, Son of Adam, land-dweller? You are an infrequent visitor to this part of the shore. Your habit is to keep to the longer shelf and the beaches, or to set sail; not come here where the waters are still and deep."

"I know it," Peter said. "I come on behalf of one who is not unknown to you, I think; my royal sister Lucy."

"She also has not been here as of late," the Merman said, looking stony. His tail flicked. "We had not thought her fickle."

"And indeed, she is not," Peter replied. "Rather she has not been able to come here. Perhaps you heard of the sickness that has recently come through the land."

"Murmurs," the Merman shrugged. "But we do not pay much heed to matters Above. What of it?"

"In caring for others, my sister fell ill. The healers say she will mend, if we can but bring her fever down. But it is too warm here, up on la–up Above," Peter said. "Can you help her get into cooler water? We are in hopes it will help."

The Merman's stern expression had not changed throughout their discussion, but at this, he looked thoughtful. "Perhaps," he said. "But I will not invite sickness to my lagoon, not even for a friend. How will you solve that, King?"

"I know not, yet, but I will find a way," Peter promised. "Is there water cool enough to help her, do you think?"

"We can bring water up from the depths," the Merman said. "The sun's light never touches it. We can bring it up to the air, to the Above, for Lucy. But you see to it that it does not come back to the ocean before it is cleansed."

"I promise," Peter said, and scrambled off the rocks to go sort out the next steps.

"That is a puzzle," Susan said, when he put the problem to her and Edmund.

"How do we keep water from going right back into the ocean…" Susan mused. "Well, I suppose we just have them put the water into a container. How if we haul one of the big copper washing-tubs down? You could fit five Lucys into one of them. Could we put it among the rocks? Close enough for the Merfolk to wash that colder water into it?"

Peter closed his eyes and brought the image of the lagoon to his mind. "I think there might be a place," he said. "But how to cleanse the water, after?"

"Shouldn't boiling the water do the trick?" Edmund said.

Peter blinked. That seemed a simple solution. "I would suppose that would suffice. What are you thinking?"

"Those coppers are meant for boiling; we only need to build a fire on the beach after we've used it, once we know if this will help Lucy."

"Surely, water that's been boiled and cooled would be clean enough to pour back into the ocean." Susan agreed. "It cleans water of all other sorts of ills, after all."

All of them were cheered by the thought of a way to help Lucy, and they got to work quickly.

Soon enough, they had Lucy in the tub down at the seaside and Nurrin was monitoring how cold the water pouring over her was, courtesy of several Merpeoples' strong tails.

"Too cold, and she'll be shocked, or even harmed. Not cold enough, and all this will be for nothing," she said, keeping her eyes on Lucy.

"I hope this works," Susan said.

"Her color is already coming down; it is a good sign." Nurrin said. "But now we must wait and see."

Lucy burned. Part of her was aware, on some level, that she was ill. But another part of her felt disconnected, and it was hard to understand what was real.

She felt at times like she was floating in a wide expanse. She was bathed in the dawn light at the seaside, and while there, she felt calm and just on the verge of waking.

Or suddenly she'd be walking through groups of Trees and Animals, and she knew, even in her dreaming, Aslan was nearby due to the very quality of the air she breathed.

But at other times, she'd feel sweat pour down her skin. Panic would rise: she was trapped somewhere dark. The ground beneath her feet was like glue, and the air pressed down on her.

Spectres flared in front of her face, and twisted versions of people she knew appeared and disappeared in dizzying array, alternately shouting or whispering awful things.

"Such a useless Queen; a Queen with no duties, no cares; no purpose," jeered a Peter whose face stretched and distorted into a streak.

She flinched, and spun to see the White Witch standing icy still, looming tall, eyes cold and hateful.

Lucy spun in fear away from the Witch, only to see Susan shaking her head. "Such a bothersome, tiresome little girl you are," complained a Susan who towered over her, black hair swallowing her up. "Why don't you just go away?"

Another turn, and Edmund crouched near her feet, face twisted up.

"Mad, mad, mad," the false Edmund chanted at her. "There is no Narnia; this is all a fairy story you've made up."

The Wolf that Peter had killed those years ago flashed his fangs out of the darkness, snarling and snapping at her.

She jumped back, only to have Tumnus trot out of the mist. This was a Tumnus whose red scarf was no longer a scarf, but a gout of blood. He told her, "The Witch won; you failed. We are all dust. Failed!"

"Waste of my time and my energies," an Orieus made of iron told her. "Teaching a weak girl to be a warrior, pah!"

"But I can do it," she tried to say, "you know I can," but found her voice wouldn't work in this place.

The shouts and laughs and abuse those Things had heaped on Aslan as He walked to his death rang from the darkness, adding to the cacophony.

Another figure was suddenly in front of her: Rorin. "Manipulative, sly thing," he said, his usually mellow tones harsh and sneering. "False like all females. I'm best rid of you!"

"No–" She could feel her voice working, but she couldn't hear herself. "I didn't…"

Arms suddenly wrapped around her, pressing her painfully tight–Avarro, by the crooning voice in her ear. "My only true friend, and you abandon me every chance," he accused, and she flinched, fighting free of his sticky grasp.

"It's not true, none of this is real!" She tried to say, but noiselessness still stopped her throat.

The tiny part of her that understood this was all a fever-dream, or a nightmare, clamored to be heard, but her voice was small against the rising din of horrible noises and shouting: bomb explosions in the shelters back in the Other Place—the lonely whistle of wind through shattered walls—Edmund's groan as he lay dying on the fields at Beruna—Rorin's choked farewell—the shrieks and lies of the spectral beings—the Witch's triumphant shout as she raised the Stone Knife—

On and on and on it went, round in circles, mingling together, battering her like a storm.

"Oh Aslan, help me understand what is true," the small part of her begged. "Spare me from this madness. Let me be where things are real. Please?"

The sounds started to soften, as though a blanket had been thrown across them.

The little part of her that knew the things tormenting her weren't real grew stronger. She drew in a clean shallow breath that didn't hurt, and didn't rattle.

"Lucy, we miss you." Edmund's voice was clear but far off.

She took another, deeper breath, smelling a fire nearby.

"I need my sister. Come talk to me," Susan said, sounding nearer.

A third breath was stronger yet, and brought to her sun-dried linens and the scent of flowers.

She felt coolness on her head. "Come now, Lucy. Won't you wake up?"

Peter sounded tired.

He worked so hard. Someone should tell him to rest. She should tell him to rest.

Slowly she blinked her eyes open. "Peter? I'm here," she said, voice rusty.

"Lu! Lu?" Peter leaned over her, his usually neat golden hair in utter disarray.

He looked quite far away; or any rate, he looked blurry. "Peter?"

"Art thou truly awake at last?" She blinked and he slowly came into better focus.

She heard Susan and Edmund gasp.

"I… think so," Lucy said, after a moment, her voice stronger.

She didn't feel like parts of her were floating away anymore. And those awful nightmarish people were all gone, too.

"Ah, Aslan be praised," Peter said, squeezing her hand. "I'll get Nurrin."

He had hardly left when Susan and Edmund were crowding in his place, Susan tenderly stroking Lucy's forehead, eyes welling up.

Edmund took her hand. "Lucy, 'tis wondrous to have you awake," he said. "You have no notion how many people have been anxious for this news."

"Anxious?" She said, puzzled.

"Indeed," Susan said, finding her voice. "The whole Cair has been on tenterhooks this past week, hoping for some word of your improvement."

"A week? I've been sick for a week?"

"You have," Nurrin said, re-entering the room. "A week and more. And I'm well gladdened to see you awake at last, Your Majesty. You gave us all quite a turn."

"A week?"

"Your Majesties, if you will excuse us?" Nurrin asked politely. "I need to examine your sister." She pressed Lucy's shoulder back down. "Yes, a week, and if you don't lie still, it may be another week before I let you up."

Lucy subsided. "It felt like hours." A memory of the terror that had gripped her flickered at her mind, and she shuddered. "Long hours."

"So said the other people who fell ill as you did," Nurrin said calmly. "The memories will fade in time. Now, can you sit up…?"

Nurrin seemed satisfied enough with her recovery, and did not, in fact, confine her to her bed for a week. The healer did confine her to the Cair until she'd put some of the weight she'd lost back on.

Lucy would have fumed over this restriction, but frankly, she hadn't the strength. Even walking around the Cair seemed to take the wind out of her, and she became tired so easily. Mainly, she kept to her rooms and took short walks around the hallways.

She'd love to go outside, but just now, she feared she'd be too winded to get back up the stairs if she did. Her strength would return in time, Nurrin assured her.

Lucy distracted herself with catching up with her mail; volumes had come in while she was ill. Most were notes from friends, or various Narnian communities, or allies, or ambassadors wishing her a swift recovery.

One was from Rorin. It was brief:

To Queen Lucy of Narnia:

Word has reached us even up on the mountain keep of your recent illness. I trust that by the time this letter reaches you, you will have received Aslan's merciful breath of healing. I will be hopeful that this is true.

Please accept my best wishes for your improved health. I am certain that my thoughts are echoed by many who know you across the realms.

Lord Rorin of House Namh, Archenland

That was all; Lucy sighed and put the letter aside. What more was she expecting, really? She realized, with a pang of mild surprise, that she wasn't expecting more. Perhaps she was finally getting over the loss of Rorin's friendship.

Though she'd always regret its loss.

Next was a heavily embossed letter from Archenland. King Lune wrote her to wish her well, of course, and then continued with a lovely chatty letter about the goings-on at his Court. Everything was light and inconsequential, and reading it cheered her immensely. Toward the end, his letter got wistful.

I hope, my dear Queen Lucy, that these lines brighten your convalescence. My own dear Ramilka always enjoyed hearing about the day to day goings-on if she'd had a time of feeling poorly and could not leave her sickbed. But if I can help you with anything in your recovery, please do send word.

You are, of course, welcome to retreat here if your duties in Narnia prove to be too much to balance with your getting well. I should think no one would begrudge you time spent on healing. Aslan, as always, be with you!

Warmly,

King Lune of Archenland

And closed inside of Lune's letter was a paper with a child's scrawl:

Deer Quene Lucy,

Father says you have been sick like Mama was. Ples get better and do not go to Aslan like Mama becos I still want to come visit Narnia and if you go to Aslan you wil not be ther. Ples writ me back to tell me if you are all better. Nurse Cora says I must writ Get Well Son so Get Well Soon.

Prince Corin

Lucy smiled at this and set the letters at the top of her desk; she'd write them back first.

One letter was a bit more bedraggled than the rest. Along the way, it evidently had lost its covering with the sender's name. Curiously, she opened it and found herself tensing up at the first lines.

Queen Lucy,

Here, I'm using the pen you gave me, are you happy to see it? Perhaps this will get you to write me back, instead of writing me off. I know you have many more important friends and so many things to do, but I didn't think you'd ignore someone who is lonely. Especially not someone you say is a friend. Or do I not count as a friend any more?

You could just tell me and be honest about it. Not have Cair Paravel return my letter with a note about being "sick." If you have decided to actually read this letter, write me back.

Avarro

This letter was folded on top of another, rather crumpled one:

Queen Lucy,

Although you are very busy, I need your help. You make so much time to go listen to children spit back what they have learned or hear the squabbles of rodents that you can't possibly solve. Maybe you have time to listen to a problem of a friend.

What can I do with this property Uncle has saddled me with. He says it will be good for my growth, but I don't know anything about running a house or tenant farmers. And it is clear out in the country, not near any places worth visiting, just little villages and hamlets.

I suppose it's close to one of Narnia's hunting forests, so maybe you'd let me do some hunting there, but other than that it's worthless to me. It's not even worth selling as I wouldn't get much out of it, and then I'd have to dispose of the servants there.

What can I do with it? Maybe you can come visit and have a look, since it seems you are never really going to ask me back to Narnia. Even though that is the only place I've ever been happy.

Avarro

Oh, no. Of all people whose letters had been returned while she was ill, of course Avarro's would be one of them. And his letter seemed to honestly ask her advice; no wonder he was feeling hurt and ignored. She felt an awful lump tighten in her stomach; she hated disappointing her friends.

"Lucy, are you all right?" Susan's voice made her jump, and Lucy set the letters down hastily.

"Of course. Just catching up on all the letters that came in while I was ill."

"There is quite a stack," Susan said, eyeing the paper-strewn desk. "Though that one you were reading just now seemed to distress you."

Lucy smiled thinly. "I think I'm just tired. I've got through more than half of the stack."

"I was coming to see if you'd like to come down to the Hall for luncheon? It should be quieter than dinner, and I think the people of the Cair would welcome seeing you. If you are up to it."

"A break to eat sounds lovely," Lucy said, standing. She folded Avarro's letters and pushed them into one of the pigeonholes on her desk; she'd deal with it later. "Do I need to change?"

"Not at all. You look lovely." Susan assured her. "Let's go. They'll be so excited to see you!"

And they were; there was a sort of muted half-rush toward the door when Lucy appeared. Then everyone seemed to realize that if they continued, they'd mob her. So throughout luncheon, just about everyone found an excuse to come past the High Table to greet Lucy (it was just Susan and Lucy there).

Susan kept an eye on her, and chivvied her to eat when she'd stop to talk to someone for too long.

Since she was stopping to talk, Lucy may not be eating as much as Nurrin wanted her to. But the warmth and happiness evident on everyone's face—the connection with everyone—was immensely warming to Lucy.

It went a long way to melting the lingering cold fear from her fever dreams—and a long way to belying the worries Avarro's letters had woken in her.

They were a problem for another day.

As always, thoughts, reviews, comments, are VERY welcome.
I'm considering reviving my tumblr site to crosspost this to, to make it easier to read, since formatting and updates seem to be catawampus on this website now. Thoughts? (this is your reminder that this website has been turning people's Story and Author Alerts off, for whatever reason, so you might want to check your account/alert settings!)