The Dancing Lawn. The Northern Thicket.
1011.
Christmastime.
Lucy.
Lucy stepped quietly through the edge of the thicket, her boots barely making a sound on the frost-kissed earth. The night air, crisp and cool, wrapped around her like a blanket, but it wasn't the cold that caught her attention – it was the familiar voices ahead.
Lucy stilled.
The faint strains of music and laughter from the celebration drifted over the snow-covered grounds, but in the thicket, away from the dancing and joy, the air seemed to crackle with tension.
She didn't have magic-sense, but she didn't need it to feel the storm brewing between the two figures before her. Asura, the Captain of the Guard, stood tall and unyielding, her white hair gleaming in the moonlight like frost on steel. Her bright naiad-blue eyes burned with intensity as they fixed on Peter, her high king.
Peter, for his part, held his ground, his jaw tight and his arms crossed over his chest. The weight of his crown wasn't visible, but Lucy knew it hung heavy on him tonight. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, and Lucy hesitated, unsure whether to step forward or leave them to their argument.
"You dismissed half the Guard," Asura said, her tone low but heated. "Do you think enemies care about our celebrations, High King Peter? Do you think they'll wait politely for us to finish our revelry before they strike?"
Peter sighed; his patience visibly fraying. "Asura, it's one night. The Guard deserves to share in this, just like everyone else. Morale is just as important as vigilance."
"Not when it comes at the cost of safety," Asura shot back, her unnaturally bright blue eyes narrowing. "Half the Guard, Peter. That's reckless. If someone were to attack tonight, we wouldn't be ready."
Peter shook his head, his voice firm. "I didn't dismiss all of them. There are still plenty on duty. The clearing is secure."
"Is it?" Asura challenged, taking a step closer. "You're trusting the Calormenes, and those Queen Arianna vouched for to honour our celebration. But trust isn't enough, not when we know so little about their true intentions."
As Lucy watched them, the way their words cut and clashed like steel meeting steel, she couldn't help but notice what lay beneath it all. There was a fire there, yes, but it wasn't just anger. It was something deeper, something neither of them would dare to admit.
The way Asura's eyes flared when Peter spoke, like she was daring him to understand her; the way Peter stood firm but not unkind, his tone carrying a weight that wasn't just authority—it was something more. Lucy knew her brother well enough to recognize it.
He cared what she thought.
More than he would ever say aloud.
Peter frowned, the mention of their allies clearly testing his patience further. "Not this again. The Calormenes and Arianna's allies have done nothing to warrant such suspicion."
"They haven't done anything yet," Asura countered. "But how will we know if they do, with half our Guard distracted by wine and song? You're gambling, Peter, and the stakes are Narnian lives. You know there has been unrest, there have been attacks, and we don't know who is ordering them."
Lucy blinked.
Attacks?
Was that what had taken Edmund and Arianna out of the Cair for most of the year passed?
She had known about the giants to the north growing restless…but there was more?
And why had her siblings not told her?
Peter's voice rose slightly, though he kept it controlled. "Asura, I will not rule with fear. I will not treat our allies as enemies until they give us reason to."
Lucy shivered slightly, though not from the cold. She had seen Peter argue before, but there was something different when he argued with Asura. It wasn't just stubbornness or pride. Both of them were digging in their heels, each utterly convinced of their own rightness.
"Caution is not fear," she snapped. "It's wisdom. And tonight, you've abandoned it."
The tension between them was palpable, but before Peter could respond, Lucy stepped forward, making her presence known.
"Peter? Asura? What's going on?" Lucy approached them hesitantly, her red cheeks from the cold matching the warmth of her smile, which faded as she took in their expressions.
Lucy's oldest brother turned to her, his voice softening. "It's nothing, Lucy. Asura and I were just… discussing the Guard."
"Arguing about it," Asura corrected bluntly, her eyes still locked on Peter.
Lucy looked between them, her brow furrowed. "Is something wrong with the Guard?"
Asura let out a short laugh, devoid of humour. "Wrong? Just the fact that half of them are off duty for a party, leaving us exposed."
Lucy's eyes widened, and she turned to Peter. "Peter, is that true?"
Peter sighed again, his frustration evident. "Yes, Lucy. I gave some of them the night to enjoy the celebration. We still have plenty on watch."
Asura's voice cut in, sharp and unforgiving. "It's not enough."
Lucy placed a hand on Asura's arm, her touch gentle but grounding. "Asura, I understand your concerns, but surely we can balance caution with celebration. Isn't that what Narnia is about? Hope and joy, even in uncertain times? And is that not what we want to show our new allies?"
Asura glanced at Lucy, her expression softened slightly, though her resolve remained. "Hope and joy mean nothing if we lose everything because of carelessness."
Peter looked at Lucy, his voice weary but steady. "We've made our choice for tonight. We'll reassess tomorrow, but I'm not pulling them from the celebration now."
Lucy nodded, stepping between them with a small smile. "Then let's make sure nothing happens tonight. We can all stay vigilant together."
Asura hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. "Fine. But if anything does happen, remember this moment." With that, she turned and walked back toward the clearing, her white hair catching the light of the festivities as she disappeared into the crowd.
Peter let out a long breath, looking at Lucy. "She's so..."
Lucy smiled faintly. "She only wants to keep Narnia safe, Peter. So do you. Maybe you're more alike than you think."
Peter shook his head but couldn't help a small smile. "I doubt she'd agree with you on that."
"Go on, Pete," Lucy said with a laugh, "you've got some ruffled feathers to smooth."
They were too stubborn, too proud, and perhaps too afraid to face whatever it was that simmered between them. So, they let it surface in arguments, in bickering that barely masked the depth of their emotions.
It made Lucy yearn for Faelar even more.
For all their differences, he had never tried to hide his feelings for her. His words had always been open, honest, and free of the barriers that seemed to trap others. She missed the warmth of his presence, the way he looked at her as if she were the only star in the sky.
Watching Peter and Asura, tangled in a web of their own making, only deepened that ache in her chest.
How much simpler it could all be, she thought, if people simply said what they meant – what they felt.
She had to find him.
…
The Dancing Lawn. The Western Glade.
Faelar.
The Western glade was still and quiet, the trees around the clearing casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the ground. Faelar moved silently through the underbrush, his eyes scanning the scene before him, the unfamiliar faces of the Calormene delegation still clustered together, talking in hushed tones.
They didn't seem to notice him at first, too absorbed in their conversation, but Faelar wasn't focused on them.
His gaze fell upon the High Queen.
Lucy's older sister – Susan.
She was clothed in a dress of forest green, threaded with silver – but in that moment she would not have looked out of place in armour and leather. The bowstring creaked as her fingers pulled it back, and in a smooth, fluid motion, she released the arrow. It flew through the air with deadly accuracy, hitting the target with a soft thud even before the next arrow was already in flight.
The northman stood frozen for a moment, watching her.
Her form was perfect – fluid, effortless, but there was something more to it, something fierce in the way she moved. He had heard rumours of her skill, had heard the stories of her being one of the finest archers in Narnia, but to see it in action was something entirely different. For before their treaty, the northmen had spoken of the Pevensie siblings in hushed whispers as something to be feared – great and fierce warriors.
He had always thought of Queen Susan as the diplomat, a regal figure who wore the title of gentle with such ease. She had the elegance of a true queen, the poise of someone who had never been touched by war or violence. But, as he watched her shoot, releasing arrow after arrow with unerring precision, a new understanding blossomed.
The arrows found their marks with a ruthless certainty, and the Calormene delegation stood nearby, mouths agape in a shock that they rarely let show. They had expected to meet a delicate queen, perhaps a lady with a skill for words or the graceful art of diplomacy; a woman whose prowess was simply exaggerated.
But before them was a woman with the hands of a warrior, and every arrow she released carried with it the promise of battle, of power, of command.
The queen's stance was firm, her gaze unwavering as she released another arrow, sending it straight into the heart of the target. The Calormene men exchanged glances, a murmur of disbelief passing through them. It was as if the very ground beneath them had shifted.
Faelar could feel their shock, their unease. It mirrored his own thoughts, the shifting of the image he had held of her for so long.
He stood in silence for a moment, watching her shoot, admiring the fluidity of her movements. There was a sense of peace to her focus, a quiet intensity that only those who had fought in battle could understand.
It was easy to forget that she had been there for the Battle of Beruna, and for the Battle of the Western Woods, when she had near single-handedly protected the healing tents. It was easy to overlook those who did not lead from the head of the army/
The delegation noticed him then, one of the men catching sight of Faelar's shadow as he emerged from the trees.
"Impressive," he murmured, his voice low and steady.
Queen Susan lowered her bow, her gaze meeting his, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow. She looked so different from Lucy, but in that moment they could have been identical.
"Lucy was looking for you," she said with a smirk, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes.
Faelar's heart thudded.
Susan chuckled softly, her smile still present as she returned her bow to its resting position. "She was heading towards the northern thicket."
"Thank you, your majesty."