Chapter 13: The Letter

When Susan and Lucy finally stepped back into the Cair, they met a smiling Edmund. "Welcome home. How was your trip? How is King Lune?"

"The trip was uneventful, of course," Susan said. "And dear Lune is doing about as well as can be expected. It shall be a long time before his loss abates, though."

"Prince Corin is a good reminder that there is still a future and a life to live, however," Lucy offered. "He can be quite sweet when he wishes to be."

"Sweet?" Edmund snorted. "That young rapscallion must save all his sweetness for thou ladies, then. I cannot think the number of times we caught him scrapping with one or another of the boys."

"He shall grow out of it in time," Susan assured him.

"I hope so. His father will have a hard time of it, raising his son on his own, anyway," Edmund said.

Lucy glanced around as they made their way toward the royal suites. "Where's Peter?"

Edmund's mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. "Oh, the High King is in a meeting. Hast a lot, these days."

"Pity," Lucy said drolly. "I was going to ask if the preparations for winter were proceeding apace or if they were behind time due to any… mishap?"

Edmund's laughter rang off the high ceiling. "So you've already had that tale carried to thy ears, have you? I'm just happy he decided to do his rooms first. It let me learn from his mistake!" His sisters laughed. "You needn't worry about your rooms," he assured them. "Alyssa oversaw their turning-out herself."

"I had no doubts," Susan said warmly. "Thank you both for handling all the tasks while we were gone."

"Nothing you have not done for Pete and I when we're away," Edmund answered. "But speaking of, Su, I had a few questions for you… Lu, would you be so kind as to arrange a private dinner in Peter's rooms?"

"Of course I can," Lucy answered, "I'll just drop these things in my room first. An hour all right?"

"Plenty."

Edmund gazed after her retreating form for a moment, and when she was out of earshot, turned to Susan. "Su, did you do anything for Lucy's birthday last week?"

"Lucy's bir–oh!" Susan's expression fell into deep dismay, and she gasped. "Oh, Edmund, in all the tumult and confusion with Ramilka, it entirely passed out of my mind!"

"It slipped ours, also," Edmund admitted, shamefaced, "until it would have been far too late to send a message."

"And she didn't hint anything to me," Susan said sadly. "She must have felt terrible. I feel terrible."

"Well, yes. Peter and I feel the same, so we're changing the plans for my birthday fete in two days' time to include Lucy's birthday: a surprise. What say you?"

"That's brilliant," Susan said. "And she certainly won't expect it."

"Not at all," Edmund said. "You think she won't be hurt thinking we forgot a couple of days more?"

"I wouldn't mention the fete at all, if possible," Susan said. "Lest we rub salt in the wounds. But Lucy is an agreeable person, and is happy to be pleased. So yes: I think this plan of yours will work. Now, what needs doing until then…?"

The siblings conferred and planned and worked right up until dinnertime. Then they schooled their faces into bland composure, collected Peter, and retrieved Lucy for a cozy family dinner.

After dinner, Lucy returned to her room, faintly grateful for the quiet and solitude after weeks of running about in Anvard, with every moment filled with people and tasks and duties and mourning.

She knew her regular day-to-day duties would fill her time soon enough, but for now, to have just a couple of hours with nothing to fill them, seemed a blessing.

Glancing around her spotless room, she smiled at the idea of Peter's room all splotched with sifty, drippy, floaty soot. And for the mistake to have happened to the oh-so-proper Peter!

He'd refused to talk about it at dinner, which only made Lucy and Susan more determined to get the full tale out of him.

A glance into her wardrobe showed that someone had gone into the storage closets and begun switching out her summer- and autumn-weight gowns for the heavier woolens and velvets demanded by winter's chill. Their bright colors cheered her, and she was grateful the task had been done on her behalf.

Well, time to get properly cleaned up after the day's travel. She went into her bathing-room where a hot bath had been drawn up for her, and luxuriated in the feeling of being clean. It was especially pleasant after a day spent in the saddle.

After bathing she wrapped herself in a robe and settled herself in front of the little table that held her brushes and combs and things, intending to brush any tangles out of her hair. As she picked up her day's clothes to put them in the laundry bin, she went through the pockets out of habit.

The crinkle of paper in one made her pause.

Oh. She'd forgotten. And he'd been so strange when he gave it to her, too. Had it only been this morning?

She pulled out the letter from Lord Rorin, a bit crumpled after being jammed in a dress pocket all day.

She smoothed it out and looked at it: The outside inscription to her looked hastily written, as though he wished to be finished with the missive, but when she unfolded the paper, his lettering was careful.

Castle Anvard

Most Gracious Queen Lucy,

Thou has truly been a good and a true friend to me and to Archenland these past months, and I fear you shall think I repay your friendship ill with this letter. But I hope in time, you may understand and forgive me. As you know'st, I fled loss in my childhood by going to my relations; I fled sadness in Anvard by flying to Narnia; and now I flee your reproach by leaving for Stormness forthwith.

Lucy frowned. "My reproach?"

Your martial work with your brothers has no doubt led you to question why I could not train for knighthood at Cair Paravel, and in some fashion earn my spurs there. I must in honesty tell you, 'tis because you shall ever be in the Cair, and because we are known to be friends, that I must quit her happy grounds and return to Archenland forthwith. I have no intention of any lengthy return to Narnia.

Never think it is anything thee hast done that causes this change; thy goodness is irrefutable. It is whatever honor I possess that leads me to make this decision for both our sakes.

What decision?

Queen Lucy, you are good and loving and kind, and my feelings for you have grown from admiration to friendship. I see your bright eyes looking at me, and I know you may believe stronger connections are meant to be forged between we two in the future.

But this is a dark trap I dare not fall into, nor even allow the seeming of it to occur. In these past weeks, I have heard more than one Archenlander highborn person speculate on what the future may hold for the both of us, so I am not the only one who sees your looks, however innocently given. I think you are unaware of them, and do not fault you for them.

I beg you, take delight in my absence.

Queen Lucy, though your powers and responsibilities are many, and though your mind and heart are stout, still you are but fourteen years of age, while I have just passed my eighteenth natal day. It has caused me to reflect that any connection beyond a simple friendship is a disastrous idea–and that presently, even our friendship may yet cause gossip and evil to fall on you. My honor demands I amend this.

My age, and thine, make simple friendship fraught enough, and then to add thy high rank with my low into the mix: I believe staying close would spell disaster for us both.And while I trust us both to behave as we ought, and to do no evil thing, I have seen how the serpent of rumor and gossip may still spread poison nevertheless.

I do not wish that for you.

And so I must take my leave of thee. Your kind nature will allow you to celebrate on my behalf, that my wished-for mentor has at last allowed me entry into service in his household. His keep is remote and does not allow for travelling to and fro; a boon to me. I beg thou shalt forgive my cowardice in writing you this letter instead of speaking to thee directly. I do not believe I have the stomach at present to see the pain I shall cause you by these words.

I hope in time you may forgive me, and that one day, years hence, we may return to simple and good, honest friendship, free of any taint of suspicion or evil. I shall give Lord Nen this letter to slip to you, as I intend to leave Anvard before dawn on the morrow.

Be well and walk always in Aslan's light!

Lord Rorin of Archenland

Lucy let the letter fall to the tabletop. Several tears followed it. She knew Rorin had been drawing away recently, but she'd thought it was all because of his new place with his new mentor. She'd thought he'd wanted to ease the pain of parting… not hasten it.

She had no idea this was going on in his head.

And clearly he'd been planning to slip away and never have to face her. Her lips twisted. Unexpected cowardice, that.

As she skimmed the letter again, doubts crept in. Had she somehow been indiscreet or inappropriate with him?

How, she couldn't fathom, since a real romance with him hadn't more than crossed her mind as a passing what-if sort of fantasy; if she'd been openly mooning over him, she certainly wasn't aware of it.

Was it the weapons-work? She could see how that, with its close quarters and sweat, could be misconstrued by nasty-minded persons, she supposed. But they never worked without Orieus present, and she was dead certain he'd have sent Rorin flying heels over head at the least hint of improper behavior.

Anyway–she glanced at the letter to check–he said it was gossip in Archenland that had him concerned.

Well, she knew to her bones she had never been sitting sighing over poetry, like Susan. Even if she'd been inclined to do so, when did she have time? She hadn't.

And surely Susan would have told her if she'd done something to cause gossip?

But… Doubt again. What if Susan simply hadn't heard? That was how gossip worked sometimes, wasn't it?

Maybe.

Lucy had thought they were friends who could be honest with one another… but not if he could hide these thoughts and feelings from her!

She felt another headache creeping up, and she wasn't sure if it was anger at his for-your-own-good attitude, or sadness at losing a friend, or tiredness from the day, or a mix of all three.

Angrily, she shoved the letter into the desk drawer, dashed the tears from her eyes, and left the room, heading for bed.

Perhaps a night of sleep would help resolve her confusion. She hoped so. What else could she do?

When she woke, her headache was better, but her mood hadn't improved much. When she entered the practice yard (resisting the urge to stomp), Orieus turned from watching Peter and Edmund spar, and gave her a faintly surprised look.

"Welcome home, my Queen. I did not think to see you this morn."

"I am woefully out of shape," she admitted. "I tried, but it wasn't easy to keep up with training in Archenland."

"I would imagine not. King Edmund, your guard is dropping!" He glanced around, and his brow creased slightly. "Did Lord Rorin not return from Archenland yet?"

Lucy caught her breath a moment. She'd known someone would ask about Rorin eventually, but she hadn't expected it to be first thing.

She cleared the slight catch from her throat. "He tells me he has found a new knight to be esquired to; in fact, he left Anvard at the same time Susan and I did. It is in a very remote location, evidently."

"Pity," Orieus remarked, not seeming to notice her discomposure. "He was a willing student. That trait should help him in his future endeavors. He'll be missed," he said. "Well, then. Start stretching, and you and I will work together this morn; we shall see how much you need to do to get back into proper form."

Lucy quickly found her troubles falling away as she fell into the rhythms of breath and body working in exercise. Her heart surged blood to her limbs, her breath pushed energy to her body, and she felt her mood lift: at least she was in some kind of control of herself here.

She hadn't lost too much of her conditioning, fortunately, and found herself getting winded only a little earlier than expected.

Orieus himself seemed pleased enough with her work, but set her to carrying bricks around again.

"You've lost some of your resistance to downstrokes with a blade," he pointed out, when Lucy's attempt at deflecting a blow failed and his practice blade thumped her in the collarbone. "Since your stature is still small, upward-facing deflections will be a large part of your self-defense regimen." He considered her a moment. "But I think in a week or so, we shall start your training with mounted combat, as well as continuing your work with hand-to-hand fighting."

"Really?" Lucy was surprised. She hadn't thought to learn mounted combat at all, really, besides the basics. "Why?"

Orieus' brow darkened momentarily. "While you were gone away to Anvard, I met with my cousin, who is a noted reader of the stars. She advised me that while the songs of the stars are generally favorable, they whispered of unseen dangers. Particularly to Narnia's Queens."

At her expression, he shook his head. "I know no more, Queen, only that none of the dangers are imminent. Which means," he said, handing her a brick, "there is time to avoid them, and time to prepare for those that will come in any case. Three laps, don't drop the brick."

Sighing, Lucy hefted the block over her head, and started a jog around the yard. Back home, and back to work… she only hoped the work helped her forget this unexpected heartache.

The physical work–and, later, her duties–did indeed help, she found. A few days later, Lucy was happily surprised at being included in Edmund's birthday celebrations, and the genuine and warm well-wishes she received went a long way to restoring her normal cheer.

She had a kind and loving family, and many friends: was she to let one person's words ruin all of that for her?

Mr Tumnus pulled her into a dance, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, she felt her spirits genuinely lift.

"Ah, Queen Lucy, what a welcome sight," Tumnus said. "It has been some time since I have seen a real smile on your face."

"Has it?" Lucy blinked in surprise. "I didn't mean to cause anyone distress."

"No, no," Tumnus chided her. "Never apologize for honest feelings, your Majesty. But I am glad that some of your troubles, at least, seem to have fallen away for present."

This brought another smile to her face. "I was thinking that despite what I think my troubles or vexations might be, really I am one of the most fortunate people in the world."

"It is well deserved fortune, Queen Lucy," Tumnus returned gallantly, and then the music swept up and spun everyone into the dance again.

Later, alone again in her room, Lucy hung up the gown she'd worn and went to brush out her hair and wash up, thinking over her conversation.

So what if she was a little lonely, with Rorin gone away? She still had her brothers and sister, and plenty of friends besides, Mr Tumnus not least amongst those. General Orieus nearly always had a moment to spare for her, and there were nearly always new people coming around.

Far nicer to think over the many friends she had, than fret over the one friend she had to be distant from.

Lucy found this a much nicer thought to sleep on than the previous night, anyway.

Far away in Telmar, Avarro slouched into another low dark tavern, restless and bored–as usual these days, since he'd returned to Telmar. The bartender pocketed his coin and pushed a full glass at him.

Damn that King Peter!

Avarro resisted the urge to slam the glass down. The peasantry did get so very angry if you broke things.

If that damned Peter hadn't engineered Avarro's ouster from Narnia, he would at least have musicians to listen to every evening–the Narnians liked their music. And it was difficult to do better than meals from a royal kitchen every day.

His uncle, who was frequently away at the Telmarine Court, had no house musician. And his current cook was indifferent at best. At least if he supped at a tavern, Avarro could usually play at dicing. His uncle seemed to tacitly agree this was a reasonable enough way for Avarro to spend his time; in any case, Avarro had found his allowance increased, and the insistence he attend to his lessons was only mentioned occasionally now.

Another coin; another drink.

Avarro couldn't fathom why Lucy hadn't charmed her brother into allowing him to return. He knew she'd returned from Anvard by now. (And just how long had she spent there, running someone else's kingdom for him? While Avarro didn't begrudge the man his sadness, Avarro had heard the wife had been sick for years. How shocking could her death really have been?)

If Avarro was in Narnia still, he'd tell Lucy that she was clearly taking on too much work, again.

And for no reason! Her brothers and sisters were back!

If he were there, he'd rescue her from her duties. He'd talk her into a picnic or a horseback ride. She needed him, and she just didn't see it yet.

Well, let her be back in Narnia without her Avarro there to make her take a break now and again for something besides duty. She'd write him soon, begging him to return, he was sure of it.

He finished his second drink and slid another coin across the shining bar. A tankard of ale appeared, and he drained half of it in short order.

"Girl troubles, lad?" A man sitting next to him asked.

"How'd you know?"

"A young man like you doesn't come in alone and drink like that unless he has woman trouble, or money trouble. And you've got money," the man nodded at Avarro's purse hanging off his belt. "Name's Gavirn. You?"

"Avarro."

The man didn't seem to notice his curt tone. "What's your story?"

Why was this man talking to him? He couldn't bring Lucy here, so what was he after? Avarro kept drinking.

"You look bored… and frustrated," Gavirn said oh-so-casually. "Might be, I can help you with that."

"The bored, or the frustrated part?"

"Both. If you're as ready with the money as you seem."

Ah, the man was after money, of course.

"Depends on what I'll get for my money."

"Why don't you come with me and see?"

Avarro snorted. "And let you lead me down an alleyway to meet with a friend, who would be so kind as to relieve me of my purse's weight? No, thank you."

"Now, do I look like someone who bashes people over the head to make his way in the world?" Gavril said, in mocking dismay. "I'm a man who can make things happen. For the right price. I make my living off repeat customers, you might say. I can't afford to leave people lying about."

Avarro turned his head and really looked at him. Gavril looked to be about fifteen years older than he; nicely dressed, with soft hands and a soft body that upheld his story about not being some sort of bandit. Jewelry glinted at the man's ears and hands, and the coat slung across his chair was of exceptionally good quality. This all spoke of a steady, respectable income.

Avarro felt interest stir for the first time since he'd arrived back in Telmar.

Well, even if this did turn out to be some sort of scheme, he could always run–he knew no one could run like he did. Better still, there were no silly notions of 'honor' or 'reputation' to uphold here.

"You make things happen, you say?" he asked, and stood up. "All right. Make things happen for me."

Gavril's smile was metallic as he swung his coat around his shoulders. "You won't regret it, Avarro, my boy. Come with me."

As they stepped into the damp night, Avarro felt his blood rising. For the first time since last seeing Lucy, he felt like he was living again. This may be just what he needed!

Hours later, Avarro stumbled back into his room, where Sandon had sat up waiting his arrival. The servant, of course, made no comment aloud, but privately thought his master would do better to remember the more moderate, kinder self he'd started to become back in Narnia.
Sandon missed having days off. As he heard Avarro retch into a basin, he winced. He also missed the moderation with which the Narnians treated potential vices: it was rare, there, for anyone to overindulge to the point of being sick. It did happen, but certainly not with any regularity.

Avarro was mumbling something to himself as he fumbled with his shirt lacings. Supressing an eyeroll, Sandon schooled his face into blankness, pressed Avarro to sit on his bed, and patiently started picking apart the knotted strings.

"Finally found l—like minded people," Avarro slurred. "Not a bunch of prudes. On'y took weeks'f bein' here t' find 'em. Only thing missing is her."

By this time, Sandon knew well who she was, and he was glad Queen Lucy was far away from Avarro.

For one thing, he stank, and Sandon couldn't imagine where he'd gotten to that evening.

Probably he didn't want to know.

As Avarro lurched over, eyes closed, still mumbling to himself, Sandon risked shaking his head to himself slightly. Indeed, he was glad Queen Lucy was far, far distant now.

As always, comments are appreciated! Let me know what you think.