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Golden Narnia 10: Making Arrangements

Once they'd had a chance to catch up and relax a little, Lucy turned to face Susan. "Now, Su, do tell us what to expect for the next while. Is there any way you can think of for us to support King Lune?"

"Well, officially, we are here to pay our respects to poor Ramilka…" Susan began.

"But surely as Archenland's closest allies, we can offer a bit more." Peter said.

Susan's eyes flashed with relief. "Well, yes. I didn't wish to burden thee with tasks immediately, but…"

Edmund leaned forward. "Out with it, Susan. What needs doing?"

Quite a lot, it seemed, with which King Lune's seneschal had obliquely not-quite-asked for Susan's help while Lune was distracted with grief.

For one, there were representatives from all the different powers arriving for the funeral; care would have to be taken to ensure old feuds didn't flare up—or new ones begin. There was also the quick organizing of the military honor guard for the funerary parade. The funeral arrangements themselves needed to be gone over and finalized, and all the various legal matters caused by the death of a Queen regnant really needed a keen eye to organize them for King Lune. He simply wasn't up to the minutiae, having loved his wife very dearly.

"And," Susan added, "wouldst someone could do something with Price Corin so that his royal father can have time to grieve. Besides the initial moment of Ramilka's death, I think Lune has not yet had a moment to breathe, let alone mourn."

"Well, I can certainly see to the funerary parade and brushing up the troops," Peter said.

Edmund volunteered, "Verily am I best suited to sifting through the legal documents. I suppose there's a will for Queen Ramilka's family estates?"

Susan nodded. "Yes, she was very nearly the last of her line—but not quite—which doth make the situation a bit complicated."

"No fear. I shall handle it."

"Thou should handle the funeral itself, Su," Lucy said. "Besides Lune, I think you knew her best. And if he is not in a state to plan it…"

"He is not," Susan confirmed. "Very well. So—"

But Lucy wasn't done yet. "And I shall take on the greeting of all the political factions, and Prince Corin."

The others looked at her in surprise.

"I'm the only Royal whose presence in greeting wouldst not cause some sort of incident," Lucy said. "If you, Peter, or you, Susan, greet the dignitaries, could be read as Narnia is taking over Archenland, since thou art the two eldest. And of course thou'rt High King, Peter. Edmund is known to be a warleader, so he cannot. I'm the youngest, so no one will be expecting anything other than simplicity."

"It shouldn't need anything other than simplicity," Susan assured her.

"I know," Lucy replied. "But I have been running Narnia for almost two months, so if something not-simple is needed, I think I will be well able to manage it. If it's something I can't handle myself, I'll ask for help."

Susan blinked in surprise. "Oh," she said. "Are you really sure?"

"Would I have said so, if it weren't true?" Lucy answered, a little hotly. "I can handle it."

"All right, all right," Peter chuckled. "Peace. But whatever shall you do with Prince Corin?"

Lucy's mouth tightened a little. "I've had some recent experience dealing with stubborn persons. A little boy should pose no real problem."

At her siblings' doubtful looks, her temper flared. She may not be full grown, but she wasn't a child any longer. When would they understand that?

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot. "Honestly. I can handle it."

"No, no, I'm sure you can," Susan assured her, apparently understanding they'd offended Lucy in some way. "It's just that… Prince Corin is such a very active boy, you see."

"I can handle it," Lucy repeated, and stood. "Now am I going to make a start. There's a lot to be done."

She stood and swept out of the room, almost as regally as Susan could.

The other Pevensies exchanged looks. "What was that about?" Susan asked. Her brothers filled her in on the little they knew, and Susan frowned. "Tired? Irritated? Headachy? That doesn't sound like Lucy."

"We know," Peter said, tugging at his short beard distractedly. "But Orieus does not exaggerate things, and he said she was nearly faint just from the headache."

"Mayhap it was only the strain of taking on all our duties," Edmund put in bracingly, though he didn't sound like he fully believed this himself.

Susan smiled, only a little forced. "I'm sure that's it. She's had to grow up a little, that's all."

"Yes, and we are only missing our littlest sister still being little, I'm sure." Peter confirmed.

Though even he didn't sound so certain.

Later, the others had to acknowledge that Lucy did seem to be handling her self-imposed duties well. She'd ingratiated herself with King Lune's seneschal, Lord Nen, immediately, simply by swooping in and sorting through the mountain of condolence letters which the man had been virtually buried under. She was wryly grateful for all the organizational practice she'd been getting over the past months alone in the Cair, as it made the task rather less onerous.

When she next started in on marking up the lists of dignitaries who were due to arrive the next morning, the man's expression indicated that, loyal Archenlander or no, he was Lucy's devoted servant from then on.

By the evening, between them they'd managed to sort out who was staying where for the next few days; the guests were arriving tomorrow. The state funeral itself was on the following day, with the funeral feast in the evening. The day after that, most guests should go back home. When she left him, Lord Nen was fretting over what allowances he should have to make for people who might have to stay longer.

Lucy was grateful the busy day was nearly over, and stifled a sigh as she found her way to the Royal Nursery. She really had to make arrangements with Corin's nurse to have him placed in her own care for the morrow. Hopefully, Prince Corin wouldn't really be as unmanageable as he was rumored to be. He was only just turned five, after all.

She turned the corner to the nursery rooms and heard a crash and what sound like growls. Alarmed, she hurried to the door and pulled it open.

The room was not quite as chaotic as the sounds made it seem like they should be. There was a low chair tipped over in front of a child-sized table; a cup of milk was overturned and still dripping onto the thick carpet, while a dinner plate sat congealing on the table.

A couch in the middle of the room seemed to have been knocked slightly askew, and Lucy could see the nurserymaid from before—Cara?—bending to peer over its back. She looked exhausted, and Lucy wondered how Corin still had so much energy, if he'd been running around all day.

The growling sound was emanating from behind the couch, and Lucy took a few quiet steps through the room to see that Prince Corin was lying face down behind the couch, grizzling into the carpet and pounding his little fists and feet against the soft surface.

Cara jumped a little when Lucy touched her elbow.

"Oh, Your Majesty," she said, and dropped a quick curtsy, "I can't do anything with the little Prince. He refuses to eat his supper, and now he's just wholly in a temper. He won't listen to a thing I say."

"Perhaps a new face might help here," Lucy said, and smiled reassuringly at the woman's worried face. "I doubt he remembers he, he was so little last I saw him. Go on and get your own meal, and take your ease for a while. I'll handle Prince Corin for now."

"Are you sure, ma'am?" the maid asked doubtfully.

"Quite sure," Lucy assured her, though as Corin hadn't showed any sign of stopping his tantrum, this was perhaps an overly optimistic statement.

Nevertheless, Cara allowed herself to be shooed away, reminding Lucy that there was an attendant nearby, and to please ring for her if there was need.

When the door closed behind her, Lucy pursed her lips and turned to survey the room. Prince Corin's feet were still thumping away behind the couch. Well, he'd come to no more harm than anything he'd already done to himself back there.

So Lucy set about mopping up the spilled milk, and straightening the room up a little. She peeked around the couch: it looked like Corin was slowing down a little, but still pounding his fists and kicking his feet.

Perhaps she could use some of the patience she'd learned over the past months and outlast the boy.

At the very least, she'd give Cara a break.

Shrugging, she pulled a story book off of one of the shelves, settled herself onto a plush chair, and began to read. Surely she could outlast a just-turned-five-year-old.

By the fifth page, the thumping behind the couch had nearly stopped, and by page six, she heard the sounds of a child gasping his breath back. By page seven, a very disheveled head peeked around the end of the couch.

She made it to page eight before a petulant little voice said, in accusing tones, "You're not Nurse Cara."

"No," agreed Lucy, without looking up. "I am not." And she kept reading.

She heard the little boy shuffle around a little, apparently disconcerted by her lack of interest in him.

The shuffling came closer, and Lucy peeked through her lashes quickly enough he didn't see her glance.

Corin's face was red and blotchy, and his nose had been running. His hair, which looked like it normally lay in neat little waves, was frayed out in all directions, and his clothing was terribly wrinkled. But he didn't look as though he were about to go off into another fit (though admittedly, Lucy's experience with small boys was rather limited).

After a moment, the shuffling sounds resulted in a warm little body sitting on the carpet in front of her chair.

"Um," came a voice. "Who are you?"

Lucy lifted her head and finally looked directly at him. The boy looked tired, and little wonder. "I am Queen Lucy of Narnia."

"Oh." The boy considered this. His little brow wrinkled. "What are you doing here?"

"Right now, I'm reading a story." Lucy answered evenly. "It's quite a nice one. Would you like to see?"

"No." His lower lip poked out. "Stories are dumb."

"I'm sorry to hear you say that. I happen to think stories are lovely." Lucy went back to her book.

She heard Corin shift his weight from foot to foot for a moment. He walked over to the table, and poked at the cold food, but evidently it was not to his liking, because he returned.

"What's the story about?"

"Would you like to hear it?" She scooted aside in the chair.

He didn't answer, but climbed into the chair next to her.

Lucy turned back to the beginning, and began reading.

The story wasn't anything too special, being about a prince who went on a journey and encountered several funny characters before going home to dinner, so she was able to keep an eye on Corin.

As she read on, he sighed, and relaxed, and slowly, Corin's head drooped lower and lower until he was slouched against her side.

It looked like the little prince had finally exhausted himself.

When she'd read for long enough his breathing changed, she gently closed the book and carefully went to lift the little boy. He was heavier than he looked!

She tucked him into his bed and very gently wiped his teary face, then tiptoed around clearing up the rest of the mess.

After a while, Cara re-entered the room and looked surprised to see Lucy sitting and reading calmly. The nursemaid looked around, and, seeing Corin tucked in, nodded.

"His Highness cried himself out, then?" She asked Lucy softly.

"More or less," Lucy answered. "I supposed he's had a long day."

"Poor little mite. I don't know that it's really set in that his royal mother has died. How can such a little one understand such a thing?"

Lucy shrugged. "I don't know. But tomorrow, I'll try to keep Corin with me, greeting the guests for Queen Ramilka's funeral. Perhaps the novelty of all the different people will distract him from running about."

"Perhaps," Cara said, but she looked doubtful. "So I should have him dressed in good clothes, then?"

"Please," Lucy said. "I'll retrieve him mid-morning."

"As you wish, Your Majesty." Cara paused, and then added in less formal tones, "Thank you for the welcome respite. I love little Prince Corin dearly, but…"

"I can see he can be a very active little boy," Lucy said, smiling a little. "No thanks are necessary."

She went off to her borrowed bed, knowing that the next day would be longer yet.

Midway through the next afternoon, Lucy was cautiously optimistic that she hadn't taken on too many duties. She had impressed upon Prince Corin earlier that he must behave himself if he were to see all those who were arriving, and he'd promised to behave. So far, he had. Lucy had to wonder if he were still tired out from the previous night.

She was seated on a small throne in one of Castle Anvard's audience chambers, and Prince Corin mostly sat in a cushioned chair to her left. Occasionally, someone known to him would arrive and tender their official greetings to Lucy (who thanked them for coming on behalf of King Lune, told them where to find their rooms, etc, etc.), and when these people whom he knew came, he fairly leapt out of his chair to say hello. Some of the other people who arrived—dignitaries and ambassadors, mostly—he stood and made his bow, but hung back with Lucy while she spoke.

Mostly, the day had gone uneventfully, and a short while ago, Susan had come to collect Prince Corin for a snack.

Lucy could tell that the day spent finalizing Queen Ramilka's funeral arrangements were putting a strain on her sister, and she gave Susan a sympathetic look. Susan gave her a small smile in return.

Lucy was chatting idly with the guards in the room (the arrivals had slowed down) when a palace page hurried in and looked around frantically. "Your Majesty!" he said, and hurried across to Lucy. The guards looked concerned.

"Calm down," Lucy said. "Why the hurry?"

"It's the Calormenes."

Lucy and the guards all straightened at that. "What about them?"

"They're on their way here!" the boy yelped. "They were seen in one of the mountain passes."

"What?" Lucy exclaimed. "Aslan preserve us... Well, it may be so that they truly are here to pay their respects. Of your kindness, go and get Lord Nen, so he can prepare apartments for these unexpected guests. From what I understand, they expect much pomp to surround them. And send a note to King Lune."

"Indeed, ma'am," one of the guards confirmed. "I'd suggest as well thou have wine and sweetmeats to offer them when they arrive; the Tarkaan is prideful, and this extends to his ambassadors and messengers."

"A good notion, friend," Lucy said, and rang for more attendants. Then she sent another to find Peter or Susan or Edmund; she had the feeling she would like some backup when dealing with the notoriously proud and prickly Calormenes. The Pevensies had heard a lot about them, but had never actually interacted with any of them.

A bit nervously, she straightened her skirts and touched up her hair. When the attendants arrived with a hastily prepared assortment of wines and tidbits, she was grateful for the distraction of overseeing the display, but too soon she was alone on the dais, guards stiffly at attention, listening to the blat of what she could only assume was the Calmormene herald blowing on some sort of trumpet at the gates.

She wondered who the Tisroc had sent, that such folderol was needed; surely not one of his Viziers? Perhaps a high-ranking Tarkaan, then.

Belatedly, she remembered that the Calormenes were said to generally have a less-than-ideal view on women in positions of power, and felt a moment of real doubt that she should be the one to greet them.

She reminded herself she'd been crowned by Aslan, and straightened proudly. If they had a problem with her being a Queen, they'd have to take it up with Him.

Nevertheless, she hoped that one of her siblings arrived soon.

The herald came in, with so much overweening attitude that she nearly laughed—and then she heard what he was saying, and the desire to smile fell away.

"Announcing His Royal Highness, first son of the Tisroc of the great empire of Calormen, the Crown Prince Rabadash, descended of Tash the inexorable, Tash the inevitable, Tash the mighty, come to visit Archenland in its hour of sorrows."

Oh. Oh. What was the heir to the Calormene throne doing here? Surely he hadn't been great friends with Queen Ramilka.

When the Prince arrived (servants sweeping the ground before him—as though there were a single speck of dust on the floor!) he was about what Lucy had been led to expect. His robes were richly colored (almost garish) and swept the floor; his turban was exquisitely decorated with flamboyantly-dyed feathers; his hands and neck glittered with heavy yellow-gold jewelry.

The thing that surprised her most about him was his age. He seemed much younger that she'd have thought; about Peter's age, she supposed. And his face was handsome enough, with strong features and a hawk-like nose, and intensely dark eyes, rendered more exotic with kohl-powder. She noticed his eyes particularly, as he didn't quite hide the surprised look when she introduced herself.

She greeted him on behalf of King Lune, adding whatever flourishes she could think of, and then added: "But we did not expect you in person, Your Highness. There was no word sent ahead."

"And is Narnia the only land whose royalty may come to offer succor to its neighbors?" Rabadash countered. "Surely, the moment the sad news reached us, was I moved to attend Queen Ramilka's services; and no messenger could have arrived here sooner than I."

Well, Lucy knew that wasn't true; any single messenger would surely have got here sooner than the thirty or so people Rabadash had brought with him, but certainly she couldn't say so.

So she smiled and said, "Certainly, it is right and correct that your heart shouldst have been moved so sympathetically. Now, kindly avail thyself of these refreshments after your journey, while arrangements are made for thy stay."

Fortunately, this seemed to be acceptable, for the Prince nodded as though her response was what he expected.

Well. Maybe he was distraught at Queen Ramilka's passing; she certainly couldn't read his heart.

After a bit, an attendant came to inform them that apartments had been readied for Rabadash and his entourage, and the whole party left, leaving Lucy to slump back into the throne.

"Whew," she said to one of the guardsmen, who looked sympathetic. "Well, that was unexpected."

"You did well, Lucy!" Edmund said, practically in her ear, and she jumped and twisted around to see her brother leaning on the throne's back.

"Ed!" she hissed at him. "How long hast thou been standing there? Why didn't thou offer me help?"

"You had things well in hand," he said, sounding surprised. "I arrived when Prince Rabadash was spinning his tale of woe, but hung back to get the lay of the land. You gave him just the answer he wanted to hear."

"Dost thou think he really is just here to pay his respects?"

Edmund snorted. "Not for a moment. My thought is, the Tisroc would like to hold both sides of the mountain passes on his northern border, and is sniffing around to see whether Anvard is vulnerable just now. And he knows King Lune couldn't refuse entry to his wife's funeral to the Crown Prince."

"He wasn't expecting to see me, that's for certain," Lucy replied.

"Yes, his comment about Narnia not being Archenland's only neighbor hints that he guesses all four of us are here," Edmund agreed. "He is sharp, I'll give him that."

"From what I hear, if you're not sharp in Calormen, you're quickly out of power—or dead," Lucy replied.

"True. Well, we'll just have to keep an eye on him these next couple of days, I suppose," Edmund said. "Anyway, I've come to collect thee for evening meal. The attendants will send to us if other visitors arrive, but it sounds like nearly everyone's here."

"Yes," Lucy agreed, looking over her lists. "There are one or two members of the nobility who ought to arrive today, but they have long journeys."

"Good! Then come away, you've had a long day already."

Dinner was a lovely time, just the four of them. Lucy found it refreshing to mind and body, and left to collect Prince Corin from his own meal, realizing she'd rather left Susan in charge of him for a large portion of the day. She couldn't be unhappy he hadn't been present for the Calormenes' arrogant arrival, though.

When she arrived at the nursery, she found Cara looking a little chagrined. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but that boy was tearing around all through his dinner hour, and now he's gone running off somewhere."

"Hast no idea where he might go?"

"Some days, he runs to the gardens; others, the armory; others, the solarium. But I didn't see which way he ran!"

"No fear," Lucy said. "I'll track him down."

She went down to the gardens and poked around a while, but none of the people strolling the paths had seen the boy. She went by the stables, but they were empty, save for the dumb beasts of the funeral attendees.

She knew quite well that if Corin had gone to the armory or the practice grounds, Peter or Orieus would have found him in a wink, and returned him to his nursery forthwith.

But the solarium… Lucy remembered Queen Ramilka had loved to spend time in its airy, light-filled space, and perhaps her little son had gone there.

When she pushed the door of the room open, the silence lay heavy for a moment, dust motes dancing slowly through the sunbeams.

Softly, Lucy stepped through the room, peeking under worktables and stepping around embroidery screens, until she saw a little shoe poking out from behind a curtain.

She pulled the curtain back to see Prince Corin glaring up at her.

"No! I don't want to." He said, and flew at her, his little fists pummeling her legs.

She knocked his hands aside. "Shame, Prince Corin! Ist any way to treat a lady?"

"I don't care!" he declared, and ran at her again.

This time, she was readier, and when he got close, she caught the little boy in a tight hold that didn't allow him more than kicking his little legs—which he did.

She was grateful for the full skirts she was wearing, which deflected most of his kicks. Nevertheless, he was so energetic he made her step back a few paces, until she was able to sweep him off his feet. They both landed on the floor, and one of the embroidery screens went over with a crash, but Lucy hung on to his wriggling, howling body.

"Don't want to, don't want to," he shouted.

"Corin! Hush," Lucy said, "Hush," and kept her grip on him until he suddenly sighed, and went limp and quiet. "What is it?" she asked gently, stroking his hair. "What is it thou does not wish to do?"

The little boy began to sob. "I don't wanna have a bath. I don't wanna get dressed up. I don't—don't wanna have Ma—Mama's funeral." He gasped out, and burst into tears, burying his face in Lucy's skirts.

She hugged him and made soothing sounds, waiting for him to quieten.

He was still crying when the door opened to reveal a worried-faced Susan and Cara peering in.

"Thou'rt wanted, Lucy, but we heard a crash," Susan said. "Is the little prince all right?"

"Missing his mother," Lucy sighed, knowing Prince Corin wasn't listening at all. "No wonder."

"It's His Highness' bedtime, then," Cara said firmly, and went to pick up Corin. He yowled and gripped Lucy's skirts harder.

Susan and Lucy exchanged glances. "Thou'rt wanted, truly, Lucy," Susan repeated. "The last arrivals have been seen on the road."

Dismayed, Lucy glanced down at the little boy, who had fists of skirt fabric held tight.

"Corin?" she said softly. "Corin, art thou listening?"

"Don't wanna." He sobbed out.

"Corin, I have to go, for just a little bit. But then I'll come back."

"Won't."

"I will, I promise. But in the meantime, can you stay with Susan? She's longing to spend some time with thee."

His teary face emerged. "No, she's not. Cara said she's an important lady and doesn't need to be bothered."

"That was just for today while I was busy, Corin," Susan said, and he gave her a doubtful look. She spread her hands. "See? I'm here to see thee, Corin. I feel sad over your mother, too."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. Oh, come here, Corin," Susan said, and drew him to her shoulder. He flung his arms around her neck and started bawling again. Slowly she stood, rubbing soothing circles on his back, and nodded to Lucy to get going. "We'll be in the nursery," she mouthed.

Lucy nodded her thanks back. When she stood, most of the crinkles in her gown fell straight; well, she'd just have to hope no one noticed the tear-damp patches.

When the last of the arrivals had been duly greeted, she had to sigh a little as she headed back toward the nursery. Though she was bone-tired, she'd promised to return, after all.

But when she peeked in, an under-nurserymaid was sitting by the fire, and Prince Corin was sprawled, exhausted, on his bed. He still wore the day's clothes; only his shoes had been removed, and a blanket thrown over him.

"Queen Susan stayed and stayed until the Prince cried himself to sleep," the maid said. "We couldn't wake him enough to get him changed."

"Morning will be soon enough," Lucy agreed, and went to her own bed. Morning would be soon enough—and the funeral was tomorrow. How she would keep Prince Corin from howling through that, she had little notion.

Hopefully an idea would come to her in the night.

And just what was Rabadash up to, coming here?

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