Hi everyone. 2022 has been a super rough year. Started with a s*icide, then a really awful medical diagnosis in the family, some unexpected last minute cross country trips, and I've attended a dozen funerals so far this year. All of which to say, the year has been full of disruptions and I've been pretty consistently burnt out, so writing has been put on the back burner.

That being said, the last couple months I've been trying to get back into properly writing again, and I'm hoping for a more productive 2023.

So here is chapter 18. I appreciate your taking time to read, and let me know what you think!

NOTE: For some misguided reason, ff dot net has decided to AUTO DISABLE email alerts for EVERYTHING for EVERYONE. You need to go into your ff dot net Account Settings, and toggle Email Alerts ON. But wait it gets worse: It will AUTO DISABLE itself again every 90 days. So every month and a half, you'll need to go in and turn Email Alerts ON again to get Inbox notifs, Story or Author notifs, etc. Sigh.

Golden Narnia

Chapter 18: Doldrums

The next while wasn't a great improvement for Lucy.

Rorin responded to Lucy's letter… eventually. It was rather distressingly short.

To Her Majesty Queen Lucy of Narnia:

I thank thee for thy kind inquiries after my studies and my well-being. Sir Marcus is stern but fair, and he is teaching me much about the role of one who aspires to knighthood. In consequence, I have overfull days at present, much concerned with training and learning, and little time for pastimes such as reading or writing. Because of this I cannot answer your inquiries about books you have had the good fortune to read recently.

As to whether I have yet made a return to the Court at Archenland: No, I remain on the mountain, as travel off of it is particularly inconvenient and so must wait both good weather and urgent need.

I pray that thou dost continue ever in good health and in Aslan's keeping.

—Lord Rorin of Archenland

So stiff and uninformative. Not at all like the Rorin she'd known, but certainly like the Rorin who'd fled Anvard's Court so suddenly.

Surely he didn't think there could possibly still be any hint of… of scandal associated with their having a simple friendship?

Lucy had tried to discuss it with Susan, but her sister hadn't been particularly helpful.

"Rorin has been away for nearly a year," she pointed out. "Mayhap he truly has no news beyond his day to day life and his training; what can you possibly expect?"

"I know not," Lucy said. "But his letter lacks the friendliness and cheer I remember."

"Give him some time," Susan advised. "It may be that he merely has no energy for lengthy letters, but dislikes leaving yours unanswered. Allow him to be the one to send the next."

"You mean, leave his letter unanswered? That seems rude." Lucy said.

"Merely give him time to have something to write about," Susan waved off her concern. "It may be he never even notices you never answered his, when next he writes."

"I shall consider your advice," Lucy said, and left her sister, not much comforted.

Weeks later, Avarro finally wrote her back. Lucy caught herself making a face when she read it.

He complained of boredom in Telmar, and hinted that he should be permitted to come visit, but Lucy couldn't sort out a good time to invite him.

Peter and Ed were gone again, fighting off some new Giants who'd decided to test the northern border (none of the Giant families seemed to learn from one another's mistakes), and it was unlikely they'd be back too soon.

"What's put that expression on your face?" asked Susan, who was sitting across the room working on some needlepoint.

"'Tis my friend Avarro. He'd like to come visit—and I really should reciprocate, since he had me to his home—but the timing is difficult."

"The timing is impossible!" Susan exclaimed. "Certainly, you cannot have him to visit while our brothers are away, and I beg you not to invite him while the Calormenes are here."

They were due for an official visit soon, and Susan had been most anxious over it.

"Of course I—"

Susan wasn't listening. "I know you lik'st Avarro, but, Lucy, I must be honest: His uncertain temper and his tendency to go into sulks are hardly—"
Lucy tried to break in again. "I wouldn't risk ruining—"

"—and the Vizier is so particular, you know—"

Lucy interrupted, feeling a little nettled now. "Susan, I said I would not invite him. I know you wish for the visit from the Calormene contingent to be a favorable one." Did Susan think Lucy was stupid?

Susan caught her irritation. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I know you understand the importance of doing everything right, but…"

She twisted a handkerchief between her hands. "It's just that… Rabadash is so… so..." A soft expression crossed her face, and she trailed off. "I don't want to have anything unexpected happen while they are visiting," she said.

Lucy crossed the room and put her arm around her anxious sister. "I know you don't. And we'll be sure to arrange everything as well as we can to avoid any problems."

"Bless you!" Susan hugged her back. "Now, I know the boys are hoping to wrap up with those awful Giants soon, and ought to be back well before the Calormenes arrive. What's next in the calendar? Is there time to arrange for Avarro to visit before?"

"Harvest soon, most likely," Lucy said. "Depending on the weather. And I much doubt if Avarro would be interested in helping during those long days."

"He is… not an industrious sort," Susan agreed tactfully.

"And that shall take us up to birthdays and Court celebrations—thine and Edmund's."

"True. So I'm puzzling over the kindest way to tell Avarro that the earliest he might be able to visit is a full season hence."

Susan blinked at how hesitant Lucy seemed. "Why should this news need to be delivered kindly? 'Tis merely a circumstance of schedule."

"Avarro can be a little impatient." Lucy admitted. "'Tis easier to soften an answer when it is one he does not like to hear."

"He is, perhaps, an overly sensitive soul," Susan remarked. "Still, perhaps he shall understand if you explain the fullness of thy calendar."

"I can hope," Lucy replied, and returned to her writing desk.

Sandon was tidying up after Avarro, and ducked at the crash. He thought it'd been Avarro flinging something again, but this time it was the sound of the young man slamming his fist down on his desk.

"—!" The young man dropped a truly abhorrent term, one which Sandon thought quite inappropriate to apply to Queen Lucy, for it was her letter Avarro had clutched in his fist, a spiteful expression on his face.

"It's always excuses with her!" Avarro snarled, apparently forgetting Sandon was in the room. "Why does she have to wait to invite me until her brothers are back? It's not like I'd spend time with them anyway," he snorted. "Stuck up, better-than-you prigs they are. Doesn't she want to see me? And after she ignored me—humiliated me!—at my party, too."

Sandon dropped his eyes to the ground, not wishing to betray his thoughts with any change of expression. Surely, few people would want to spend time with him when he acts like this. He wondered if it was perhaps time to mention something to Lord Joncas again about Avarro's behavior…

"Unkind, stuck up, selfish wench." Avarro muttered, apparently to himself. "Excuse after excuse. If she were here, I'd…" He ripped the letter in two. "Ugh! I could just…" His nostrils flared and his fists tightened.

Avarro turned and noticed Sandon. "Go have a horse readied," he snarled, "I'm going to town."

Sandon gratefully took the excuse to leave the room. He was not surprised at the order. Lately, any time Avarro encountered a check in his day, he quickly turned to visiting his friends in town and washing his cares away under copious amounts of drink. (Sandon suspected copious amounts of other things, too.)

When Sandon appeared at the stable door, the hand on duty inside gave him a sardonic look.

"Let me guess," he drawled. "That grown brat up in the big house wants to go pout in town?"

Sandon confirmed this with an eye roll and a nod.

The stableman went and brought one of the horses in, gave it a quick brushing down, and started tacking it up. "I swear, if any o' my littles acted half so high and mighty as that Avarro does, they'd get such a hiding they'd not be sitting for a month. And not act as such again."

"Perhaps," Sandon said daringly, "today will be the day he mouths off to the wrong fellow in town."

"We can only hope–" the stableman started, then closed his face into a blank expression as one of Blanchston Manor's doors slammed open.

Avarro stomped across the yard (really there was no other word for it) and impatiently snatched the reins out of the man's hand, causing the horse to throw up its head.

"Have a care with milord Joncas' horseflesh," the stableman said, a little sharply.

Avarro sneered at the rebuke, but gentled his movements as he swung himself into the saddle.

As he disappeared down the lane, the stableman said thoughtfully, "Or perhaps this'll be the day the horse throws him into the ravine. That road's tricky, betimes."

Sandon knew better than to reply to that in any way, and went back inside, thinking how very good it was that Queen Lucy was far, far away from Avarro right now.

Avarro didn't bother looking for Gavril when he entered the inn; he knew well where Gavril's girls could be found this time of day. And if he couldn't have Lucy, he'd settle for one of them.

At least for now.

One of them should be able to settle the roaring anger in his head. Or at least provide a distraction. He had found that indulging himself with one of them seemed to make everything quiet in his head, for a while anyway. It would have to do.

Tansy jumped, frightened, when he came in, attracting his attention to her from among the women sitting in the main room. Quickly he strode over to where she was and dragged her up out of her chair.

She looked a little frightened. He was being more forceful than usual. Avarro found that he liked that look on her face.

Tansy gasped a little in pain as he wordlessly jerked her arm in the direction of the rooms, and he liked that even more.

"What can I do for you, milord? You're here early," she quavered, and her voice was thin with stress.

"You know what you can do for me," was his answer, and shoved her through a doorway. "You do it so well, after all, sweet Tansy."

"Yes, milord," was the meek reply.

Agreement! Yes.

That's what he wanted to hear from her. Not all this blather about schedules and meetings and responsibilities. Damn Lucy, anyway. Damn her. Avarro felt anger wash over him anew.

Tansy backed away a step at the look on his face. This only fueled his temper. He shoved her roughly back on the bed, and wasted little time loosening his clothing.

Tansy stayed very still.

As he pressed himself down, he closed his eyes, waiting for his mind to whirl away.

It would have to do for now.

But only for now.

Lucy didn't get a reply from Rorin or from Avarro, but her summer was busy enough she hardly noticed.

She found that having things to do helped her general feelings of dissatisfaction immensely.

So Lucy resumed her habit of popping in at the kitchens to help every now and again. She took care to drop by and visit the older townsfolk, as well as some of Narnia's wildling subjects. She also resumed helping and learning from the healers in the infirmary.

Lucy was quite sure by now that she didn't want to learn to become a cook or a baker. Nor did she want to become a healer herself, but she did take some modest pride in the skills she was acquiring.

Peter and Ed's campaign against the Giants was finally accomplished after weeks away, and they sent word that they would be finally be making their return at the height of summer.

But when they re-entered the Cair, it was in a less than triumphant mode: Ed had been hurt.

Nothing overtly dire, no; certainly, he refused the use of the Cordial when that idea was put forward. But he'd been clipped by one of the massive Giant's clubs all down his right side, and for at least a full day had found it incredibly painful to do much.

Lucy had hastened to the infirmary when the news came.

Peter's face had been drawn with worry over Edmund, which raised Lucy's concern for both of her brothers. Susan had looked so green at the news, Lucy told her to focus on helping Peter. Their eldest brother needed care too, and Susan was better suited to soothe him whilst Lucy was helping tend to Ed.

Lucy arrived just as they were easing off the tunic Edmund wore, and she saw the livid bruise that covered him from armpit to hip and half his ribcage.

Lucy hissed. "By the Lion, Ed. Are your ribs broken?"

"By the Lion's grace, they are not," Edmund replied shortly. "But gosh! Do I wish I'd leapt back a moment sooner."

The healer looking over him, whose name was Nurrin, tutted. "King Edmund, let me see if your limbs are restricted. Does this hurt at all?" She extended his arm and slowly rotated the shoulder.

Edmund was silent, but Lucy was watching him.

"Ed, you need to say when it hurts," she interjected, when she saw his eyes flinch. "She can't sort out how to heal you if you don't tell her."

The healer glanced from her to him, and slowly moved the arm again.

"Yes," Edmund said, chagrined. "When the arm is out—ow—yes, there. It feels all right, otherwise."

"Hmm. All right. Now your leg and hip."

This seemed to be all right, fortunately, but Lucy worried over the unfocused nature of her brother's eyes.

Nurrin had Lucy help Edmund to sit up. "Nay, King Edmund, accept the help. I don't want you using the muscles of your back for a few days. They've been sore treated."

"You're telling me," Edmund said, but allowed Lucy to help him move.

Nurrin looked even more concerned when she had Edmund turn and tilt his head.

Lucy noticed her expression, and felt her own anxiety sharpen. Nurrin wasn't prone to dramatics.

"Sire, did thou strike your head also?"

"No, but I fell hard when this happened."

"Thy helm stayed on?"

"Yes, and truly, I am grateful for it. Why do you ask?"

"You are not feeling pain, which is good, but your neck isn't bending and moving as far as it ought." She frowned. "I'll be keeping an eye on it. But for now," the healer continued, "I'm confining you to your bed for a week and you are to be flat on your back for the first three days, except when eating or taking care of the necessary."

"A week?" Edmund yelped.

"Sire, you must. Your life could be in question."

Lucy drew in a startled breath at the healer's assertion.

"Oh, all you healers are—" Edmund started dismissively, but Lucy cut him off.

"I'll make sure he follows your instructions," Lucy said, earning her an outraged look from Edmund.

But Lucy ignored him. With as often she came down here to help and to learn, she knew that neck and back injuries were nothing to treat lightly.

"I'll just go arrange a litter to take you to your rooms, Ed," she said brightly, ignoring his protest.

"I can walk!"

"Not lying flat, you can't."

"Lucy, don't be rid–" he started to say

"Is your hearing affected? Did you not just hear me say flat on your back for three days, sire?" The healer interjected sternly. "If I need to dose you to be sure you remain down, I shall."

Ed's mouth firmed up in annoyance but seeing the stubborn looks on Lucy and Nurrin's faces he subsided, allowing himself to be lifted over to the litter.

But when he had been brought to his room and comfortably situated, he started complaining again. "Lucy, this is absolutely ridiculous."

"Most certainly it is not," his sister replied, pressing him back down when he tried to sit upright.

"I finished fighting a battle after I got hit. I was on my feet for hours. And now I'm going to die if I walk about my own room?" he asked sarcastically.

"Exactly," she said, ignoring his sarcasm.

"What?" he asked, realizing she was perfectly serious. "Oh, Lu, you've spent too much time down in healers' hall. Do not let the healers bully thee into being so overcautious. I'll be fine."

"Certainly thou shalt indeed be. If you do as the healer says."

"You cannot truly expect me to lie abed for three days. 'Tis much fuss for naught but a bruise."

"Ed, the healer is not being overcautious," Lucy said earnestly. "While you were up and about, thy blood was still running and hot. But I've seen it happen where, once one stops moving, perhaps has a rest, and the blood cools… well, betimes the blood seems to thicken, and if a person doesn't rest, that thickened blood causes problems. Limbs may stop working right, or the breath."

"Bruises? You think I should lie here like a mere infant for days over some bruises?"

"I've also seen it happen where even a glancing blow to the head seems all right in the moment, and days later a person gets hit with an apoplexy," Lucy replied sharply. "Assuming he doesn't die outright of it, a man might spend years relearning how to talk and walk. Sometimes it makes his heart stop beating." She said starkly. "So lie down, Edmund. I've no wish to spend years spoon feeding you."

Edmund finally noticed her pinched expression. "Thou'rt truly concerned."

"Yes."

"All right, all right," he said. "I'll behave. But thou cannot truly expect me to lie here and do nothing for days."

"Truly, there's not a lot one can do…"

"If you will insist I stay here, you can entertain me," he said. "We can talk," he suggested, casting about for a topic. "Have you heard from your friend Lord Rorin recently?"

Even from his low angle, he saw the troubled expression on her face. "Have you… not heard from Rorin?" he hazarded.

Lucy seemed uncharacteristically uncertain. "I did hear from him, a couple of months ago. He hadn't much to say; merely that he was busy and continued to study and learn, and that he hadn't had much time to write."

When she didn't continue, Edmund frowned. "And that's all? You two used to speak for hours."

"I know." Lucy said. Then, in a rush, "I don't think he wishes to be acquainted with me any more, Ed."

"What? Why do you think that?"

"Shush, lie down." Lucy frowned at him.

"All right, look: I am flat. Now, what makest thou think anyone would not wish to be known by you? Let alone Rorin, who seemed so steadfast a friend."

"He says less and less in each letter," Lucy said. "And they are more and more formal."

"Mm." Edmund mused on this. "Well, it may be he is cautious of seeming overfamiliar in his letters, should they be read by others. One may ofttimes speak more casually than one writes."

"But who would be reading his letters to me?"

"Come now, you're not so naiive. You know there are always those looking for leverage against those in power. Intercepting and reading letters to a Queen of Narnia would be an easy way to gain privy information."

Lucy remembered Rorin's assertion that there had been rumors about them in Archenland. "Ah. I hadn't thought of that," she admitted.

"Or could be his master is using his letter writing to train him in the courtly graces." Edmund continued. "Certainly Rorin wouldn't want to put anything too personal in anything he knew would be read and picked over by his master."

"That makes sense," Lucy said, sounding more cheerful.

"Good," Edmund said, glad to see her mood lift. "Now, of your kindness, tell me what has been going on here while Peter and I were away."

"You're not too tired?"

"It'll distract me from my side." He admitted, "It does rather hurt."

"Well. Let me think. Oh! Miss Erma finally ran out of some of her most ridiculous dresses, so she decided to get new ones made. Wait till you see what colors she went with."

"You mean, wait til Peter sees."

"He won't be able to keep from seeing!"

"Oh?"

"Yellow and orange, with purple stripes. None of the colors go with one another."

Edmund grimaced. "Verily, I wonder if something is wrong with the woman's eyes. And what did our dear sister Susan have to say?"

"Well…"

Over the next several days Edmund's siblings visited him, in a group at meal times, and singly as their schedules allowed.

On the first day he was permitted to sit up in a chair, Edmund was grateful that Peter was there to help.

"It's not that I don't appreciate the girls," he said, when his brother had carefully lowered him into his desk chair. "It's just that they fret and worry so."

"From what Lucy says, worry is not entirely misplaced," Peter said, frowning a little. "There, can you reach all you need?"

"I can; now perhaps I can be useful," Ed said. "Lying on one's back is no fun."

"No," Peter agreed. "I am happy, brother, that your healing is going as expected."

"As am I. Speaking of being useful…"

"Yes?"

"Lucy. We've got to do something good for her," Ed urged. "Have you spoken to her recently?"

"Not in depth," Peter frowned. "She has been busying herself with the healers of late. You were not the only one to return injured, as you know, and she's been keen to help where she can. Why do you ask?"

"She is—" Edmund shook his head. "I have had much time to think, these past days, and Lucy worries me."

Peter's gaze sharpened. "Worries you how?"

"She is—she's… I know not the words to use. Her friends are all gone away. We, her family, art often busy, and Lucy is…"

Peter sighed. "Well do I know; she's often left at odd ends. But we cannot write her story for her. I have racked my brains to come up with things that are not mere trifles, that have purpose and meaning. When I do, she smiles and works at any task with a will, but…"

"Her smile isn't as bright." Edmund said. "So thou dost see it as well?"

"Of course I do," Peter snorted. "Am I blind? But what more can we do? She tried visiting one friend, and came back disappointed. The other…"

"…is not speaking to her, evidently." Edmund said, a little sourly. "I did think better of Lord Rorin."

Peter frowned at this, but only commented, "Ah. I thought better of him, as well. I confess, brother, I am at my wits' end when it comes to our youngest sister.

"She happily steps in to our duties when we are away, but certainly that's not constant. She goes and amuses herself, visits with friends, and so forth. But amusements do not, on their own, satisfy."

"I know." Edmund's mouth twisted a little, as he gestured at the work papers in front of him. "These past days forced to lie in idleness gave me a newer appreciation for Lucy's situation. And her patience."

Peter sighed again. "'Tis Aslan's time, and not ours; we must bide, I think."

"But," Edmund said firmly, "be open to all possibilities for Lucy."

"As ever."

Lucy was, indeed, deliberately keeping herself busy. She'd taken Susan's advice and was waiting for Rorin to have any news to send her, rather than sending him more missives. His lack of letters merely meant there was no news to share, she told herself.

Mr. Tumnus had her to tea, which was as lovely as ever. She made time to wander the local wooded areas and check in on their Talking Animal neighbors before the busy-ness of the harvest season.

She and Susan spent some time together planning out entertainments and meals for the next visit from the Calormenes.

They—the Calormenes, that is—were being quite circumspect as to whether Prince Rabadash would be among their number. So Lucy and Susan were forming two sets of plans: one for if Rabadash was not present, and a more extravagant one if he were.

Orieus sat in on some of these meetings, and when he was not available, Tawi did. The Panther often had interesting insights to offer on matters of personal security, and suggested several clever ways to help keep the Cair and the Pevensies secure during the visit.

Lucy reflected that things would be far easier if the Calormenes were simply straightforward with them, as one would expect a visitor to be. What harm could it cause to confirm exactly who would be among the party?

But then, the Calormenes did seem to take a great deal of delight in their mysteriousness. They certainly put work into maintaining that reputation.

"Lucy, thou art woolgathering," Susan admonished her.

Lucy looked up. "I apologize. What didst thou say?"

"I was asking thee if 'twould be too much trouble for the kitchens to do so very many meat courses."

"When?"

"Here, between the fourth evening's feast and the fifth morning's breakfast."

"Possibly," Lucy said, "but let me see." Susan slid over her paper. Lucy considered it. "Well, surely the left-over roasts from the second course could be remade into chopped pies the next day? That would need much less work, and save on food besides."

"Dost thou not think the Calormenes would notice?"

With how particular they seem to be? Yes, Lucy thought, but didn't voice the thought. "Perhaps not, if we included flavors from their cuisine in the pies?"

Susan considered. "That could, indeed, work. Their spices do tend to be, er, strong."

"They do. If you do marry Rabadash… how shall you handle that part of daily life?" Lucy asked curiously. She wondered if Susan, who favored plainer fare in general, had thought about this.

"Oh, surely it cannot be that everything they eat is so perfumed and spiced," Susan chided. "The things we have tasted must be specialties; they are sending them to sovereigns, after all."

Lucy tilted her head thoughtfully. "But everyone who has been to Tashbaan comments on the richness and variety of their dishes. Quails' tongues simmered in saffron, and perfumed and sugared cream dishes, and curried fruits, and so on."

"True," Susan agreed. "But here we are, planning dishes far more extravagant than usual to appease our visitors. Wouldn't visitors to the Tisroc's Court have the same experience?"

"That does make sense." Lucy acknowledged.

"And in any case," Susan said, coloring prettily, "I am certain that Prince Rabadash's wife would be able to ask the cooks to make dishes as she likes them to taste."

Susan must see a very different side to the Calormenes, Lucy thought, again keeping her thought to herself, only saying, "Hopefully this is so. But back to our visitors…"

Their preparations and planning bore fruit: By the time the Calormenes arrived, Cair Paravel was ready to receive her visitors in style.

But to Susan's dismay, Prince Rabadash was not among their number.

She, of course, as the consummate hostess, showed no outward sign to the Calormenes, and ensured to her utmost that they enjoyed their visit. At night, she wept and told Lucy of her fears that Rabadash had decided he wasn't interested after all.

"Sister dear, don't be silly," Lucy told her. "Would his father the Tisroc really let so many of his Viziers and Tarkaans come to a place so far and strange from Tashbaan, if Rabadash had declared himself uninterested?"

"No, but that's worse," Susan wailed. "What if his father has decided he doesn't want Rabadash to pursue me?"

Lucy, to her shame, found it a little hard to be overly sympathetic.

What did Susan know about being unwanted? "You are the most beautiful woman in the world," she reminded her. "You are well considered a—a prize, a paragon of women."

And you, Lucy, are not, a little voice inside her said.

She tamped it back.

"Do you not think that Rabadash is, perhaps…" she cast about for a reason a man supposedly deeply in love should stay away from the object of his affections. "…Perhaps seeking to cement his favor in his father's eyes with attentiveness? For while the Calormenes do always say they wish for the Tisroc to live for ever, I very much doubt if everyone sincerely believes that to be true."

At that thought, Susan calmed a bit. "The Calormene court is very fractious," she said. "And often has Rabadash complained about his father's threatening to withhold his royal favor in preference for one of Rabadash's younger brothers." She hugged Lucy. "Well do your points make sense, Lucy. Thank you for thy counsel."

"You are welcome," Lucy smiled, glad to have helped soothe her sister.

But the smile fell away on the way back to her own rooms. There were times when it was very difficult to be a good sister to Queen Susan of Narnia. Having to reassure her sister that she was, indeed, the pinnacle of loveliness was most certainly among those times.

Especially when Lucy returned to her own rooms and stared in the mirror to look at her own childishly soft face, and short stature, and adolescent body, with a painful spot coming in on her chin and…

She blinked back a few frustrated tears. Susan kept assuring her that she was just "a late bloomer," and she'd surely hit a growth phase soon. Lucy found that hard to credit at the moment; she'd be sixteen soon, but still looked much younger.

Would things ever improve?

Well. She blew out her candle before she could start crying. Staring at herself wouldn't make her grow any faster. May as well get some sleep. Tomorrow was another day.

The Calormenes came, and enjoyed their stay, and departed, but left behind an unpleasant surprise: illness.

A few days after they left, several children in the Cair came down with what at first seemed like a cold. Their parents developed fevers—and then, like fire to tinder, the illness worsened and swept through the Court. People and Talking Animals would seem perfectly well in the morning, and be abed by noon.

The nightly Court dinners were suspended (and who would want to get dressed and be sociable when your body ached, and you might slide off your chair or fall into deathlike sleep any moment?).

Just as well the visit was over, as dozens and dozens of workers in the Cair dropped with illness.

All four Pevensies pitched in with a will to help where they could. Royalty or not, they had to; the number of healthy people available to help those taken ill dwindled by the day. Those who were ill were either feverish and fretful for weeks, or slept like the dead for days.

Edmund and Peter helped draw up bucketful after bucketful of water. They chopped what seemed like a forest's worth of trees to keep fires going, as warmth helped with deeply painful joints and labored breathing.

Edmund, still on the mend from his recent injury, nearly did himself a mischief with overwork. Peter had to order him to rest from the heaviest labor, and instead go help feed those too weakened to even do that much for themselves.

Susan and Lucy were busy helping brew gallons of teas and tisanes, and helping with the heavy work of laundering the mountains of bedding and handkerchiefs being generated by those who were ill.

Lucy was pulled to the infirmary to help grind up herbs and minerals into fine powders, then help mix them under the gimlet eye of Nurrin, who divided the mixture into carefully measured packets to provide ease and comfort to the stricken who remained awake.

Susan and Edmund took these packets around to the apartments of those who were ill, and checked in on those who weren't, hoping to provide reassurance that all was well in hand.

None of them were permitted to help in the wards of those who'd fallen into a deep and unrelenting slumber; the healers assured the Four that there was plenty else to be done, and only a few people were needed to look after those stricken with sleep.

Fortunately, after some tense weeks, the illness seemed finally to burn itself out. Two elderly folks, one infant child, a Hedgehog, and a Mole had all, sadly, succumbed to the worst form of the sudden illness, but everyone else finally seemed to start to return to health.

The first day the healers pronounced most people on the mend, Peter had his sisters and brother come to eat in his apartments. "It's been a long time since we could simply spend time together," he pointed out. "And I don't want to burden the kitchen staff with any formal meals just yet."

The others had agreed happily, though Lucy could have wished he'd waited another day or so. She found herself tired after weeks of work and strain.

Ah, well; the others were as tired as she was, surely. And she particularly wanted to see Peter.

Peter had, over the course of the past few weeks, picked up a slight but persistent cough. Just yesterday, the healers had decided his short beard might be at fault for his inability to shake off the illness. They'd shaved it entirely off, and Lucy had to laugh at his pale chin when she saw her brother.

"You may laugh," he told her. "But why did they have to shave me clean?"

"They've seen that beards can harbor illness," she explained, not entirely sympathetically. "I'm sure they just didn't want thee getting sicker."

"Hrmph." He peered at himself in a mirror on the wall.

Lucy winced slightly as she took her seat; she was sore from being on her feet for so many days. "Or could be that the pretty blonde healer thinks you look handsomer without a beard," Lucy added teasingly, causing her brother to grimace.

"Thank you for that thought, sister dear. I have enough women throwing themselves in my path without any of them 'improving' my appearance."

"Which women are throwing themselves at thee now?" Susan asked breezily, entering. "That Erma hasn't started up to her old tricks again, surely?"

"Not since you gave her that last set-down over her new wardrobe," Peter replied. "Whatever you said to her, 'twas effective."

Edmund entered. "How nice to see your chin, Peter, instead of that untidy thicket of hair you were calling a beard." He ducked the cushion his brother lobbed at him. "Susan, tell Peter he oughtn't throw things."

"Settle down, children," Susan mock chided, taking her seat with a sigh. "It's so good to finally sit down and know one doesn't have to leap up again, isn't it?"

They all agreed, and spoke a while on how they'd each got through the past few weeks.

"Happy I am that General Orieus suspended arms practice," Peter admitted. "Though I think I got just as much a workout with all the chopping wood and hauling water."

"Brother, I am sorry for being unable to help more—" Edmund started apologetically, but Peter waved him off.

"Do not apologize for healing. You took a tremendous blow not so many weeks ago. These things take time to heal fully. Right, Lucy?"

"What? Oh, yes." Lucy said, sounding like she hadn't been listening. "Months, even, betimes."

Peter frowned at her. "Art not thou feeling well? Thou'rt unusually quiet."

"Of course I'm all right," Lucy said. "I am merely wearied by the past several weeks, I am sure."

"You are quite pale," Susan said, looking more closely at her.

"Worry not," Lucy assured her. "I'll feel better after a night's rest."

"Well, we'll have a quiet dinner, and then early to bed. It shall be good for all of us," Peter declared.

Lucy sat up a bit straighter and took care to be a bit more animated during dinner. She was merely overtired, and her family didn't need the extra worry.

The dinner was enjoyable; Lucy appreciated the opportunity to spend time with her siblings.

A mention was made of the funerals for those who'd been taken by the illness, and thanks was given to Aslan that the outbreak hadn't been worse.

Peter suggested idly that perhaps the Calormenes had deliberately brought the illness with them. Susan looked stormy at the suggestion, but Edmund swiftly answered before she could speak.

"That can't be so, Peter. If 'twere a strategic move, surely the harbor would be filled with Calormene ships this moment. Besides, I have it on good authority that Tashbaan is fighting the same sickness."

"Oh, don't let's talk about politics," Susan cut in. "There are more pleasant things in the offing. Lucy, do please remember that tomorrow we shall need to finalize the plans for a certain sixteenth birthday celebration next week." Her voice was sing-songy, and she smiled.

It was on the tip of Lucy's tongue to ask if they couldn't skip it. "Oh, I'd forgot," she said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Her voice came out rather weak and lackluster, though. "Thank you for the reminder. Though I think our plans need to be simplified, because of…" she waved her hand. "Well, everything."

Susan's smile dimmed slightly. "I suppose thou'rt right. We shall talk on the morrow."

The remainder of their discussions stayed light as the siblings enjoyed the time of peace and quiet.

But true to Peter's word, the dinner was not overlong. Soon, the siblings parted to seek their own rooms. Peter caught Lucy back.

"You're sure you are all—" he began, but went off into another coughing fit.

"I'm well enough, but thou surely aren't, yet," she said, shoving him toward his bedroom. "Go rest, and I shall do the same. All will be right in time."

"Rest well," he said. "I shall take thy goodly advice, provided you do the same."

"Why, certainly, O High King," Lucy said impishly, and pecked his cheek. "Feel better." Her pertness made Peter smile, and he turned to get ready for bed. Lucy left.

As she traversed the corridors, Lucy considered that she had not lied… Well, not intentionally. But now that she was up and moving, she wasn't so certain she'd been correct saying she was merely tired.

It seemed her joints felt creakier than they should, and certainly her lungs shouldn't feel pain. It wasn't like she was sprinting anyplace.

She had a sinking feeling she was going to get firsthand knowledge of this swiftly-burning illness, and that the Cair wasn't quite finished with it yet.

Bed was the best place for her, then.

If only the corridor wasn't slowly rotating in front of her eyes.

Oh, this was not good.

Suddenly it seemed it must be a mile to her own room, not just up and around the corner. Lucy was starting to feel distinctly shaky. She wondered, if she called out for help, whether anyone would even hear her.

Was she closer to Peter's rooms than her own? She couldn't tell.

Lucy made it two more steps down the hallway before her knees gave out on her. She tried to stop from falling by leaning on a small table.

She utterly failed to catch herself. Instead, she pulled the table over as her balance gave way entirely, causing it to hit the floor with a crash. She followed right after, falling hard and driving the air from her lungs as she hit.

Vaguely she considered that at least the noise would draw attention. She wouldn't be lying here all night.

Sure enough, a moment after the crash, she heard the pad of familiar paws in the corridor. "Tawi, help," she wheezed out, knowing the Panther's sharp hearing would pick up her weakened voice.

"Queen Lucy?" She heard the rumble of the big Cat's surprised voice; felt the floor tremble as she rounded the corner, saw her, and sped over to where Lucy lay. "Your Majesty!"

"Tawi," she said muzzily, the Panther's face spinning in her sight, "I'm not…" she had to pause for breath. "Not well."

"I can see that. Can you walk if I help you up?"

"I… do not believe so." She admitted.

The Panther seized her collar in her strong jaws and hauled Lucy over onto her side, which helped with her breathing. "Then I shall go get help, my lady," the Panther rasped. "Stay calm, my queen."

Lucy nodded faintly. "Not hurt. Think it's… what's been going around," she said. "Be sure to tell…"

"I'll tell them," Tawi promised, and sped off.

Well, Lucy thought, I suppose I won't have to plan my birthday celebration tomorrow…

Things faded out for a while. Then, dimly, she noticed some things.

Tawi's voice again, this time sounding far away. The rasp of a Large Cat's tongue on her cheek. The sensation of movement, of falling, heaviness in her chest.

She felt a sway, the sense of flying, light and noise for what seemed a long while. Then darkness, coolness on her head, and finally, sleep.

Several days later, Peter and Edmund watched as Susan finished penning a letter and sealed it. "Well, that's best done quickly," Edmund said. "I'll be sure it gets to Blanchston Manor, and to Avarro, forthwith."

"Thou'rt not unhappy, I know, that Avarro cannot possibly come visit now," Susan said dryly.

"Well, no; 'tis true I have never cared overmuch for him," Edmund admitted. "Except for Lucy's sake, of course."

"We are all more tolerant of her friends'… peculiarities." Susan agreed, then twisted to look at Peter anxiously. "Oh, Peter, do you think she'll really be all right?"

"Of a certainty," Peter said, just a little too emphatically. "Wouldn't the Healers tell us, if 'twere truly dire? The head healer, Nurrin, even chased General Orieus out of the sickroom, saying his hovering was not doing Lucy any good."

"But when I checked in this morning, they said she hadn't yet woken," Susan said. "They only let me glance in."

"I, too, looked in. Nurrin told me it is a good sleep," Edmund said soothingly. "Lu's breathing is improving, and the fever seems to be lessening at last. We must needs have patience, and have faith that she will be well in time."

"But—"

"Remember, dear sister, many of those afflicted in the weeks past also fell into a deep sleep before they began their path to wellness again," Peter reminded her.

"True. I am trying not to be a distraction to the healers. But I confess, I feel like I am abandoning Lucy by not sitting by her. And on her birthday, too."

Peter pulled a face. "I know. Poor Lu! Last year, Queen Ramilka's funeral. This year, illness." He shook his head. "I know when all is said and done, 'tis but one day of a year, but…"

"We shall make it up to her once she's well," Susan said firmly. "Whenever that is."

Edmund moved over and kissed the top of her lowered head. "I have faith that day will be soon, dear sister." He plucked the letter off of the desktop. "I'll get a courier out with this, lest Lucy's friend Avarro show up all unexpected."

"She told me he'd been agitating for a visit, but surely that's the last thing she needs," Susan agreed. "Avarro is not… not a restful person, I think." She said. "Though Lucy does like him."

"Lucy likes everyone," Peter said. "And they, her. Which is why we are not the only ones fretting over her health. But our sister will be well again soon enough. Courage!"

Susan offered a smile. "I'll try. Thank thee both."

"Thank thee for thy writing," Edmund returned, waving the letter. "Hast a knack for breaking difficult news gently, which skill I do not have, especially given in a letter. I'll go, but…" he paused at the door, to turn back. "She will be well, Su."

Susan gave him a halfhearted smile as he left.

As he headed down the corridor, Edmund reminded himself that his words were true.

Lucy would be better, eventually.

But when he'd looked in that morning, he'd noticed how stern Nurrin's face had been when looking over his sister.

Surely, some of that concern was due to the fact of it being one of the Four who was ill. But Edmund had got to know Nurrin better over the course of recovering from his injuries during that last campaign. The sternness on her face while she'd been looking over Lucy had matched the sternness when Nurrin had been insisting Edmund stay absolutely prone for several days running.

Which made Edmund think that—while he did believe, he must believe—that Lucy would eventually recover… Edmund was very much afraid that the worst was not yet through for Lucy.

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