Here's another chapter! Thanks to everyone who has continued to read this, and those who've reviewed, and those who've sent an encouraging note :) it has been very much appreciated. Alas, the last several months have also been ... hectic (boredom is wildly underrated).
BUT! I'm getting back on the writing horse. Fortunately, I've got like 10,000 words written that go after this chapter—in fact, a lot of chapter 21 is complete already. (woo!) UNfortunately, I have not written the X-thousand words that get me to the start of those 10,000 words (yet).

Golden Narnia

by Alara

Chapter 20: Growing

After getting well enough to be up and about, Lucy knew what her first obligation was. She had to go down to the lagoon under the Cair to thank the Merfolk for their assistance. Over the years, she'd found them to be a bit, well, prickly whenever dealing with "the Above," and not thanking them promptly was sure to cause offense. Fortunately, the years had also taught her a few tricks when dealing with the Merfolk.

Before heading down, she'd pinned one of her crowns to her hair. Peter certainly noticed this as she passed him in the corridor. "And where art thou off to, looking so queenly?" he teased. It was good to see Lucy up and about again.

"This queen is going to personally thank the Merfolk for their help," Lucy answered. "Nurrin finally told me 'tis the trick that turned things to help me get well."

"Of course, I have thanked them—" Peter started.

"I'm sure you have. But truly, I need to thank them myself."

"Art thou up to it? Thou were in thy sickbed a bare two weeks gone." She was still a bit pale, and much thinner than she had been.

"Truly I do think I am. But well or no, I should do it anyway." Lucy replied thoughtfully. "You may come with me, if shouldst like to do," she added.

"I will." Peter said. It was always curious to watch Lucy interact with their non-human subjects.

But Lucy did not lead them to the doorways that led down to the sea-level. Instead, she detoured through the kitchens.

"Ma'am, here is the basket you asked for," a Squirrel said, seeing her enter. "I lined it with good linen, as requested."

"Thank you! It looks perfect." Lucy said, and the Squirrel scrubbed her face in her paws in pleased embarrassment. "Now, to find the right things…" Lucy murmured, scanning the pantry shelves.

She selected some whole and preserved fruits, as might be expected for any gift basket, but Peter was surprised to see what most of the rest was filled with. "Bread?" he asked.

"And cakes, and sweets," Lucy confirmed. "The Merfolk hardly ever get these—at least, not before they've fallen into the ocean. Goods like these are something of a rarity Below."

Bemused, Peter pulled the fairly weighty basket from Lucy's hands and hung it over his elbow. "Thou surely knows better than I," he said, and dodged Lucy's attempt to grab the basket back. "Nay, allow me to help in this small way. 'Tis my own way to show my deep appreciation for their assistance in thy healing."

Lucy subsided, letting Peter carry the basket. In truth, she was soon glad he'd taken that burden. By the time they'd wended their way down to the lagoon's edge, she found herself a bit winded.

When she'd caught her breath, she stepped up to the stones at the water's edge and peered across its surface. It was a cloudy day, and cool. No Merfolk were up at the surface right now.

Sighing slightly—she'd hoped it wouldn't require this—she knelt at the water's edge.

She heard Peter exclaim slightly as she leaned forward, and turned to smile at him. "Fear not, brother. I'm only letting them know we are here. I shan't fall in."

She then pressed her face into the water, and sang the little melody they'd taught her. The Mermaid who'd revealed it to her had told her it was the equivalent of knocking on a door—someone might be home, but they might not; or they may not choose to answer.

Well, she'd called. That was all she could do for the moment. Carefully she stood up, pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe her face, and straightened her crown. She also noticed that despite her care, the hem of her dress had got in the salt water. She'd just have to hope it didn't stain.

A few moments went by. "So, what now?" Peter asked.

Lucy shrugged a little, pulling the edges of her cloak closer. "We wait a while. Sometimes they are too far away to hear a call."

But it wasn't too long before the water rippled, and the same Merman who had spoken with Peter emerged.

He looked as stern as ever until he saw Lucy. Then his expression brightened. "Greetings, and well met," he said. "Glad I am to see that our efforts were to the good, Queen Lucy. Last I saw, you were as pale as a beached fish. And as lively." He looked at her a moment. "Now, you merely look like a half-stunned fish."

Lucy laughed at that. "I know it, Fingull. But when I heard you put yourself to no little work on my behalf, and some risk besides, I had to come down and tender my sincere thanks." Lucy said. "And I've brought your pod some treats, as well."

"Ah?" His expression brightened even more.

Lucy waved Peter forward, who offered the basket.

"Oh, Queen Lucy, we'll have to come Above to enjoy this." Fingull said, smiling widely. "Let me call the others."

There was a quick flash of his tail as he dove beneath the surface. A moment later, the lagoon erupted with movement as a dozen or more Merfolk came up.

The basket was handed over, and passed around. "Bread!" was exclaimed more than once, in tones similar to that of a child spying a cake.

"Oh, pears—I've not had a fresh pear in—"

"Cherries! Preserved cherries! Thank you for remembering, Queen Lucy!" That Mermaid called across the water.

"The rolls are fresh, try one—if they were baked before yesterday I'm a turtle."

"Ooh, this sweet has walnuts. Somehow they're so nice in a sweet."

Lucy called across the suddenly busy lagoon. "I merely wished to thank you all, sincerely, for all you did to aid the healers and my royal siblings in caring so well for me while I was ill." Several tails flipped in response. "While I dearly hope such aid is never again needed, I am grateful for your efforts on my behalf."

The Merman swallowed his bread. "We do our best to help our friends." He said simply. "I am glad you are well again."

And… well, that seemed to be that. Lucy waved, and left them to their treat. It was clear they'd be savoring the baked goods for some time.

While they were walking back, Peter glanced at Lucy, and was heartened at how lively her face was. While this errand had obviously tired her physically, it had helped her spirits immensely. It made him smile.

It was now a month and a half after Lucy's sixteenth birthday, and several weeks since she'd started to recover from her illness.

She'd been working diligently at regaining her strength, slowly taking up more exercise under Orieus' watchful eye.

Lucy had finally stopped sleeping so dreadfully long every day, and her appetite had come back. She was finally starting to feel more like herself again.

Then, as though her illness had sparked something within her, the growth spurts that Susan had long predicted for Lucy finally hit. Her arms and legs seemed to stretch almost as she watched, and (dismayingly) her limbs went out of her control. Her very bones hurt with painful new inches of height.

Her feet lengthened, and for a time she wandered barefoot more often than not simply because of the pinching of her shoes.

To her slight consternation and embarrassment, her body developed a more feminine shape and softness: not anywhere near the voluptuous ideal of womanhood which Susan embodied. But Lucy guessed that disguising her sex in future, while not impossible, would be rather more difficult than throwing on a shapeless tunic and hiding her hair.

The seamstresses were nearly tearing their hair (or fur, feathers, or leaves) out trying to keep up with the changes; every time they thought her growth had stopped, another several weeks would pass and bring half an inch new height to her legs, or more of a curve to her abdomen, or her waist would lengthen, or some other new dimension which threw the rest of the measurements off in some way. It never seemed to stop.

Before all this, Lucy really hadn't any idea how complicated dressmaking could be.

One morning, when she was being measured all over again for gowns, she allowed her impatience to get the better of her. "Mrs Beaver," she said. "Now, really. Why must we do all this measuring and remeasuring every time? Surely half an inch here or there doesn't make all that much difference?"

She hated hearing that tone coming out of her mouth. But this was the third full fitting in two weeks!

"Oh, but Your Majesty, it certainly does," Mrs Beaver chuckled. "You humans are built so oddly. If you gain half an inch in height here–" and she poked the curve of Lucy's lower back "–then your waist will be higher on you. If your waist is higher, the angle of your clothing that runs to the widest part of your hips must be changed, because if that is not correct, your dresses will not lay smoothly. They will either bunch up around your middle, or lay so loose you may as well just wear a sack.

"If the dress is too small around your hips, the waist bunching will make your hems far too short. Or if it is too large at the hips, your hems will drag and the dress will pull at the shoulders. That, in turn, makes the fabric in the bodice stretch out as you wear it, so it fits more poorly the more you wear it."

"Oh," Lucy said. "I didn't realize how many things would change for half an inch."

"And that's only height in the lower back." Mrs Beaver nodded. "If the height comes from your upper body, or from your legs lengthening, that changes different things. That's not to even go into how things must be adjusted if your bosom or waist or hips change. Which…" she peered at her measuring tape. "They have, again, but only a little this time." She made some notes and stepped back to eye Lucy critically.

"What is it?"

"If I may make a suggestion?"

"Certainly."

"Why don't we make up your new clothes with extra fabric in the seams and hems? It'll cost your personal household budget a little more in fabric and thread right now, but then we can simply let out or take in seams or hems if we need to, instead of sewing new gowns. Once you really stop growing, we can fix the final measurements then."

Lucy flushed, though she knew she couldn't help growing. Adding over an inch in height in not even four (painful) months meant there were several lovely gowns which she hadn't had the chance to wear before she outgrew them. She knew the seamstresses were carefully unpicking the gowns to see how they could be reworked, determining if an extra panel could be added there to accommodate Queen Lucy's new shape, or perhaps by adjusting the neckline, they could…?

She felt terrible for all the work now being undone, and hoped they could come up with new uses for the pretty gowns. Christmas was in a couple of weeks, and she still had no notion what she'd be able to wear.

"That sounds like a wonderful solution," she said. "I thank thee for the solution. Though," she sighed. "I rather do hope I stop growing sometime soon."

"It will be as Aslan wills it," Mrs Beaver said. "Don't you worry."

But despite her wishes, Lucy just wouldn't seem to stop growing.

It was making her feel very awkward, too; she kept catching things on her arms or shoulders, or banging her hips painfully into the edges of tables, or cracking her legs against furnishings.

And that was just navigating the Cair. Training with Orieus was near-disastrous now.

She still had control over the movements of her arms and legs; running wasn't a problem, nor was the actual movement of weapons through the forms much affected. Mostly, she felt, the same problems with reach and proximity applied. She'd aim for a target and underestimate how long her arms were, or she'd try to dodge a grab and still end up pinned because she wasn't as out of reach as she thought she was.

Worst of all, her balance was off. She'd be working through a martial drill, reach just the least bit too far, and suddenly find herself crashing chin-down on the ground.

It was humiliating, and frustrating, and it made her regret every time she'd wished she was just a bit taller or just a bit more grown. This was painful.

She sighed into the ice-speckled sand[RH2] , and wondered if Orieus would just let her lie here this time.

"On your feet, Queen Lucy."

No such luck today, apparently. She picked herself up and brushed sand off her front, waiting for Orieus to have her do another set of drills, or laps, or whatever else he deemed needful.

Instead he looked at her a moment. "It does get better, you know," he said.

"What?"
"The pains of growing."

"It's not so much the pain, as it is the getting used to where my hands and feet are. And once I get used to it, something changes!" She tried not to whine; it came out more of a wail.

He smiled a little wryly. "It will stop, eventually. Your balance will return, and your proper control over yourself. But I can assure you, training will help all of it come along more easily, and keep you well and strong besides."

She gave him a doubtful look.

Oh, it wasn't that she misbelieved him, but… "Thou'rt merely trying to get me to throw myself into my training." She said.

He smiled a little. "My Queen, I know how you are feeling."

At her doubtful look he leaned down and confided, "In my youth I, too, went through such a phase. And remember, I have two extra limbs to contend with." He stamped a back hoof for emphasis. She had to smile a little at that. "Believe me, I have only thy best interests at heart, my Queen."

"I'm sure you do," she said. "But I am sore tired of being incapable of walking down a hallway without running into things!"

"Hm." He considered her. "Where do you hit things the most?"

"Everywhere! The solar, the kitchens, my chambers–"

"No, I meant: what parts of your body?"

Well, that was easy. She had bruises on top of bruises because she kept hitting the same places. "Oh, let's see. The corners of my shoulders; the points of my elbows; my hipbones; halfway up my upper legs; the sides of my knees; my ankles; and my toes."

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"I did tell you. I cannot seem to walk through the emptiest room without misjudging where I am in it." She sighed.

"Stay here. I have a notion," Orieus said, and walked into the arms storage.

He returned a moment later, holding something in a cloth. No, Lucy realized as he came near, just holding a cloth.

"General?" She asked, puzzled.

"I would like to try something. If I may?" And he lifted the cloth toward her face.

"A blindfold?" she asked, as she stepped toward him and let him tie the cloth securely around her eyes.

"I would like to see if, perhaps, we can retrain your sense of space," he said. "It is important to have this sense in a fight, especially in close quarters, and that is typically what I use the blindfold for in training. But I shall be interested to see if it helps thee with thy problem, Queen."

Lucy wasn't sure it would be helpful. Being blindfolded just felt even more awkward. Lucy, you can't walk across a flat floor without injuring yourself, but oh yes! Let's remove sight. Whyever not.

"What shall I do?" Lucy asked uncertainly, hearing Orieus step back.

"Walk forward, slowly." Orieus said.

She started to shuffle forward, feeling more off-kilter than ever. This was supposed to help?

"Nay, Queen Lucy, do not slide. Walk. See if you can walk to the wall."

She picked up her feet and, arms outstretched, slowly walked forward, trying to remember how far the side of the salle had been.

She had an odd sensation of slowly tipping to one side as she moved, but found as she kept going, the sensation faded.

A shadow came across her face. She slowed further. Surely she was coming close to the wall now. The sounds around her altered. The slight breeze seemed suddenly to change directions. A cautious step; another, and–

Something told her to stop moving, and she did, turning her head uncertainly. "Orieus?"

"Lift the blindfold."

She did, and was surprised to find she was just a few inches from the wall of the salle. She was also not facing the wall directly as she'd expected, but was at an angle to it.

She hadn't known she was that close. She'd thought she was several feet away, but …neither had she walked into it, which had been how she'd expected this exercise to end.

"How was that?"

"Strange," she said, after a moment. "I had to listen and… and feel very hard because I could not see. But I noticed things I trow I'd have missed had my eyes been unmasked."

"Let us try it again. Walk to me."

She put the blindfold back on and unsteadily paced in his direction, hands slightly outstretched. When she thought she was near to him, she paused. "You are… to my left?" She asked uncertainly.

"I am, my Queen."

She pulled the blindfold off. "Oh! But I didn't walk into you!"

"With your eyes covered, you must listen to other senses, which are less easily deceived."

She smiled. "This was a good notion."

"Let us try with you walking at your more usual pace."

For another half an hour she slowly walked and jogged around a makeshift obstacle course. She was by no means perfect, and still caught herself against things now and again. But she was no longer clipping anything so bruisingly hard with her body, which she considered a vast improvement.

When Orieus declared her training over for the day, she nearly skipped away, her disposition far sunnier.

The guardsman who'd been quietly waiting to start his own training gazed after her. "Is something wrong with Her Majesty's sight?" He asked, concerned.

"Nay," Orieus answered. "She merely had to remember that if the eyes deceive one, other senses may tell better truths."

"A good lesson for anyone to learn," the guardsman agreed, and they focused on his training.

"You seem to be in a happy mood," Edmund commented, when Lucy came into his office for their meeting.

"I had a good training session with Orieus," Lucy explained.

Edmund smiled at how bright her skin looked, and the bounce in her step. Her illness still shadowed her at times; at the end of long days and during stress, one could see it. But just now you'd never realize she'd been sick.

"Good. Now, what is weighing on thee so much, you needed to set a meeting with me for it?"

"Well…" She gave him a sidelong look. "You won't like it."

"Indeed?" he lifted an eyebrow. "I suppose we don't need to meet after all, then. I simply refuse whatever it is."

"Ed…."

"I am, of course, jesting. What's toward?"

"Well... I know 'tis last minute. And I know it will complicate all manner of arrangements." She hesitated, and finished in a rush, "But I want to invite Avarro for Christmas." Edmund automatically started to frown, so she plunged ahead. "You will recall I had promised to have him visit earlier in the year, but those plans foundered," she said.

"I remember," Edmund reluctantly admitted. "How long of a visit, exactly?"

"A fortnight?" She suggested.

His mouth twisted for a second. "Verily I do reserve the right to oust him, personally, if he becomes obstreperous." He said mildly. "Is Lord Joncas not holding the festal season in his own house?"

"Evidently hast been called back to the Telmarine Court to attend on his sister, the Queen; Avarro was not invited. And Avarro's last letter tells of not expecting his uncle's return before the new year."

Edmund scowled. "Those Telmarines have strange priorities when it comes to family." He commented. "Very well, I'll look over the security arrangements. Since Avarro has been here before, and most of the guard know him, it shouldn't be too much trouble." He made a note on a paper, then pointed the quill at her. "You, however, are responsible for talking with Susan to figure out where we're going to put the fellow. We have a very full house at present."

"We'll find somewhere," she said airily. "Thank you, Edmund."

"Why did you ask me?" He said curiously. "Thou surely could have added him to the guest list, say I yea or nay. Thou'rt welcome to ask thine own friends to any gatherings, you know that."

"It is last minute," she said. "And I do not like having to disrupt already well-laid plans. He is not of this country, which does complicate any invitation. And you would know best if his presence should offend any other visitors to the Cair." She paused a moment. "I am hoping I can really mend things with him; at our last in person meeting, I think I rather offended him by leaving his birthday weekend so early."

"Well, my opinion is that you have done nothing to forgive. But I know thou think'st differently. As regards security of the Cair, I appreciate your thoughtfulness," Edmund said. "Go, find Susan; do see if there is even a spare cot to put him in before you invite him here."

Lucy bounced out of his office, clipping her shoulder slightly on the doorframe on the way out. Edmund winced for her as he head the thud, but she continued on her way.

Then he continued marking up his notes for adjusting security measures for the Cair, adding in the new information about a foreign citizen attending fetes and such.

Avarro coming here did complicate things—sometimes, he complicated things quite a lot—but if it made Lucy happy, it was worth it. She'd had a tough year. Surely they could ensure her Christmas was a happy one.

Avarro did indeed come to visit—and was short, bordering on churlish, with nearly everyone besides Lucy.

And even with Lucy, he was at times, frankly, rude.

His room this time was not nearly so nice as the one he'd had when he'd been at the Cair for nearly a year. It wasn't a bad room, but since it was intended for short-term guests, it was smaller and on a lower floor, and just a bit further away from the throne room and ballroom and dining hall and things.

"It's really the best we could do," Lucy said apologetically. "Most of our guests have been on the list for months."

"Then why—oh never mind," Avarro said sulkily.

"Avarro, please. I invited you here because I want you to have a nice Christmas, rather than wasting in Blanchston Manor on your own. Or in thy parents' manor house."

Avarro grunted in response to this.

Breezing past this non-answer, Lucy pressed him. "How is that going? Sorting out managing the manor house, and thy lands, and all."

"Oh, nothing you'd be interested in hearing."

"But I am."

"Are you really? I doubt it. Uncle had me sit in on a deadly boring meeting about planning for next year's crops, and hiring workers, and the like. I don't even know why I was there. Surely the farmers who have been digging in the dirt all their lives don't need my input to keep doing it!"

"Well, no, but as the landowner, you should know about problems with your land, or about any needed improvements," Lucy pointed out. "Surely there was something of interest."

"Oh, interest, certainly. If I wanted to take up farming." Avarro said sarcastically, and Lucy frowned at him.

"You don't need to be a farmer to take an interest," she said, disliking his dismissive tone. "If nothing else, you should know enough to ensure that your tenants all have a sound roof and food on their tables."

"You sound like my uncle," he sneered, and then looked pleading. "If you truly want me to have a good Christmas, you won't preach to me about responsibility. Can't I just enjoy myself a bit?"

Despite herself, she felt a pang at the unhappy expression on his face. He was being impossible, but she still didn't want him to be unhappy. He seemed to have so little in his life that did make him happy.

So she smoothed her face into a smile. "Thou'rt right; I'm sorry for pushing you. But I very much want to see thee find something thou'd like to do. I think it would make you happier in your life."

"Being here, with you, makes me happy," he told her. "But…"

"What is it?"

"I hardly ever get to spend time with you," he said, looking downcast. "It's like you don't want to spend time with me."

"I am sorry," she said, feeling another guilty pang. It was no one's fault that this visit had been delayed, and delayed again, but evidently what Avarro was feeling was sadness. "It's just that—"

"—you have so many responsibilities of your own. I know," he said. "But if you ever take time off to enjoy yourself, it surely isn't with me."

"Well, I was going to say, especially during Christmas, there's very little spare time to spend in idleness."

"Well then," and suddenly he brightened. "You'll just have to have me back when it's not Christmas. Right?"

Lucy found a smile, but it felt brittle. "We'll see." A knock at the doorway heralded Alissa, brandishing a list of appointments. "We'll talk about it," Lucy said. "And I'll be sure to spend some time with you this week."

Later, Lucy talked it over with Susan. "He thinks I've, well, abandoned him. I don't think he has very many friends, to tell the plain truth."

"But, sister dear, you know you haven't abandoned him," Susan pointed out. "After all, he's here, is he not?"

"True. But it is possibly the busiest time of year, and I fear his being here is making him feel more isolated since so few people he knows are here. Did I do the wrong thing, inviting him?"

"I do not know," Susan said, after a pause. "If he is feeling all that ill-treated here, nothing whatsoever is preventing him from returning home. If he chooses to stay, then it is up to him to decide if he wants to be happy or not." She smiled at her sister. "You can't force people to feel the way you want them to, you know."

"I do," Lucy said. "I really do. But—" she bit her lip.

"What is it?"

"Well, do you recall when Lord Rorin stopped speaking with me?"

"Art still hung up on that?" Susan looked impatient. "He is very busy with his training. You've told me so."

" 'Tis the point. Rorin is too busy to write, and made me unhappy over it. I'm always too busy to spend much time with Avarro. How if I, all unwitting, am making Avarro unhappy in the same way?"

"Are you still unhappy over the whole Rorin business?" Susan asked, sounding a little surprised. "I mean particularly unhappy, right now."

"Well… no." Lucy admitted. "While I wish he'd been less abrupt about it, I understand that he has other things that take precedence."

"Then just the same, it's Avarro who must work on his understanding of your circumstances." Susan said firmly. "'Tis not yours to fret over."

"I suppose you're right."

"I am." Susan said decisively, and changed the subject. "Now, come help me figure out what earrings to wear with my green dress tomorrow…?"

The rest of Christmas went well, overall. The Pevensies enjoyed a good holiday together, exchanging fun little gifts and spending time together.

They held were several dances and parties during the festivities; Avarro attended, but refused to dance with anyone other than Lucy. As she was in great demand, this meant he spent much of his time slouched in a chair drinking wine. Lucy inwardly rolled her eyes, but let him be.

Peter was also in high demand, but was able to actually enjoy the company of several ladies this year. In November, Erma had discovered a Narnian knight to fawn over, finally taking Peter out of her crosshairs—at least for now. This reprieve left Peter with only about a dozen young ladies mooning after him, but as none of them were bold enough to accost him in the corridors, he was finally able to relax somewhat.

Susan, of course, was careful only to dance with her brothers or much-older courtiers. "Even though Rabadash wouldn't come for Christmas," she told Lucy, "I still feel it would be, oh, disloyal to dance with anyone who might be thought eligible. At least until he proposes."

"And do you expect a proposal soon?" Lucy asked cautiously.

"I know not when we shall meet again," Susan's face was pink. "But I am in hopes my brother the High King shall invite him hence, perhaps in the spring or summer, and perhaps then…" she sighed.

"If he truly makes you happy," Lucy said, "then I look forward to the day he asks you."

"As do I." Susan sighed even more heavily. Then she brightened. "But look: here is yet another young man come to dance with you. Have you anyone you fancy?"

"They are all most gentle and kind young men," Lucy said. "But how should I know if I fancy any of them? I hardly know most of them."

"Oh, if you did, you'd know." Susan assured her.

Lucy thought over this, as she danced. She'd very much liked Rorin at one time, for sure; but she'd known from the outset that it was nothing more than a pash, and nothing could ever have come of it.

And she was sure, now, that she never did want something more to come of that friendship. It would feel false, strange.

Would she want someone like Susan's Rabadash? In many ways, he was much like Avarro: at times, short-tempered, arrogant, self-assured, indulgent. Susan certainly saw a different side to him, to make her sigh over him so heavily and miss him so dearly.

And Lucy was glad her sister had found someone who moved her so deeply.

But Lucy couldn't see herself with someone who showed such drastically different faces in private and to the world.

Well, if it ever happened, Susan said "she'd know." Lucy would just have to wait and see.

When the new year came, and all the visitors had gone, the Pevensies gathered to plan out the year. Peter declared a full royal tourney would be held in the summer, specifically to have a reason to invite Prince Rabadash to stay for a time.

Susan went into a tizzy of delight at the thought. She excitedly started making a list of things that would have to be arranged—tilting fields, and medics, and banquets and the like. But then she looked at the calendar and her face fell. "Oh, I fear it may be that we cannot hold this tourney until the fall, or even next year."

"How's that?" Edmund said. "Whyever not the summer?"

"Peter and I are expected in the Lone Islands this spring, and 'tis not a short journey. We'd be back early summer, but there wouldn't be time to plan things properly for a tournament in the time between." She turned to Lucy. "Not that you and Edmund couldn't handle things, but I really think I need to be heavily involved for a lengthy Calormene visit."

"I understand completely!" Lucy assured her, and was glad Susan had said so. Lucy was nowhere near as good at planning social events as Susan was.

"So," Susan said regretfully. "Is fall weather too chancy to hold a tourney? We really cannot cancel visit to the Lone Islands."

"No fear," Peter said, and leaned over and crossed Susan's name out. "And nothing easier to resolve. Thou'll stay here, Su, and mind the realm with Edmund, and plan for thy suitor's visit. Lucy will go with me to the Lone Islands."

This surprised everyone, Lucy most of all. "Really? But I've never been on a visit of state before. Except to Archenland, which hardly counts."

"All the more reason you ought to come on this one. They are a principality of Narnia, after all, and in theory at least, subject to Our will. It will be good for you to go, and should not present any surprises." He said, and was pleased at the excitement on his youngest sister's face at the idea. "Has any one any objections?"

"None here," Edmund said, a smile crossing his face.

"Oh, of course not!" Susan said. "What a wonderful idea, Peter. Thank you."

"You really want me to come along?" Lucy asked him.

"Of course I do." Peter assured her.

"Well. I'd better start reading up on the Lone Islands, then!"

Hope you enjoyed this! Sorry to be a lame person who takes months between chapters :( I'm trying to do better.
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