XVII

GRACE

For a week, Grace and Margrove worked on the song in their spare time.

Grace would attempt to convey the song through humming and singing whilst Margrove sat at the piano, processing her instructions at a headlong sprint.

To his credit, Margrove did not falter once. He was an avid supporter of feedback and took it on with a tenacity that Grace knew she could never replicate.

To show for their work, the song had not only been pieced together, but somehow Margrove had made it better. The beat remained the same but there was something, some string of notes that he harmonised with the melody. It made Grace's hair stand on end.

He attributed his talents to another song whose name he struggled to remember. It was similar to the song they were constructing; known in the West for its tricky nature and fast beat. It wasn't until the song was completed that the name finally came to him.

"Ah!" Margrove said, head lifting unexpectedly from his arm cradle, "I remember it now. The Long Trot!"

"The what?" Grace asked.

"The Long Trot! It's a favourite in the West, rarely played due to its difficulty," Margrove explained, hands moving in a flurry as he spoke, "Only the best musicians and dancers attempt it. The Long Trot has only been performed thrice at court since the Great Peace began. It is reserved for very special occasions."

Grace smiled mischievously, "I wonder then, if this song will be too difficult for the orchestra."

Margrove stood up, nearly choking on his excitement, "It may very well be! However, we are at court and have only the best musicians and dancers at our disposal, I don't see how it can't be managed."

He flitted to a desk and scrambled through the sheets of music.

Grace watched him with a furrowed brow, "How what can be managed?"

Margrove shouted in triumph, holding a small empty scroll into the air, "Why, our performance for Queen Susan's birthday ball! It is but a few days away."

Grace's eyes bulged, "A few days? I don't know if that's enough time to-"

"It'll be fine," Margrove waived her off, "You will lead the voice, there are other singers in the orchestra who can accompany you. The dancers already know The Long Trot and need only a little practice."

"You expect me to perform?" Grace blanched, "I can barely project my voice as it is."

"You project well, there is nothing for you to be afraid of."

Grace spluttered, "Yes, there is! I've never sung in front of anyone but you and I don't intend to change that soon."

Margrove halted his actions, feather quill midair as he looked at her meaningfully over his shoulder, "Really? Grace, what do you think we have been doing here."

Grace shrugged helplessly, "I thought I was only here to assist you."

The Faun only raised his eyebrows in reply and continued to scribble on the paper. Once he was done he folded it into his palm and said, "You are here to offer a new voice to the music of Narnia."

"Which I have done by teaching you this song," Grace said resolutely.

Margrove shook his head, a small smile on his face, "It is not enough to teach it, you must present it!" To accentuate his point he thrust his fists into the air. His eyes alight with encouragement as he added, "I think you'll find it very rewarding."

Grace shuffled uncomfortably in her seat.

Margrove lifted a finger towards her, "Fear not my friend. If it is a case of nerves you are nursing then I have the remedy," Then he shuffled forward, hooves pattering on the ground as he moved closer to her hunched form on the chaise, "You must simply imagine the audience furless."

It had somewhat of the desired effect for Grace couldn't help but smile, "I don't think that will work for the Kings and Queens."

The Faun leaned back at this revelation. "Oh, will it not? I suppose they do not bear any fur apart from that upon their head, and a bald person is simply not scary."

He paused in thought, tapping his chin like a scholar before snapping his fingers and asking, "Perhaps you may simply imagine them in their underclothes?"

An image immediately burned into her retinas. Grace rubbed at them against the image as she chastised the Faun, "Margrove!"

His face dropped, "Is something the matter?"

She looked at him as though he had grown a second head, "I'm not sure that thinking of the Kings and Queens in such a way is proper."

"It isn't?" Margrove continued to stare at her blankly before shaking it off with a dismissive, "You humans are so peculiar about nakedness. Why, if you think about it. Besides my fur, I am naked right now."

It took every ounce of Grace's self-control not to look down.

"Nakedness is a natural part of life, Grace," Margrove chided, "You are in a country of talking beasts and you will find hardly a stitch on them. Why, my own uncle spends the winter with only a scarf for company. There is no need to be embarrassed."

"And yet, I am," Grace kept her eyes steadfastly on the ceiling.

Margrove snapped the folded paper on her forehead, "Stop that. It's not as if you can see anything with all of the fur."

"You're the one who insisted I imagine it gone," Grace gritted, cheeks flushed uncomfortably.

Margrove chuckled as he gave her a knowing look, "Does performing really scare you, or is it something else?"

Grace's eyes lowered to her fingers as they fiddled nervously, "I am afraid of laying myself bare and being ridiculed for it."

Margrove dropped unceremoniously upon the chaise next to her, "I don't think I single person in this court will have one negative thing to say about it," He resolved before adding, "If they do, then they will answer to me."

Grace looked up at her friend, slightly teary in gratitude and jest, "Are you going to scare away the entire court then?"

Margrove shrugged lightly, "If they truly refuse to see good music, then yes."

Her face cracked in a small brief smile, "Even with that assurance, I don't know if I'm ready for that just yet."

"Then we will find another solution," Margrove compromised, "But you will be performing in some form at Queen Susan's ball."

The Faun stood resolutely, fiddling with the square of paper as he made his way to the doorway. It had been shut during their lessons, at Grace's request since she knew a guard was posted in the hallway. It was to this guard, Margrove spoke to; he deposited the small square into their awaiting hands as he instructed on where to deliver the note before closing the door again.

Grace returned her eyes to her hands, realising that she had unknowingly returned to picking at them again, "What was that?"

"A summons for the rest of the Orchestra. We will need to begin rehearsals straight away," Margrove had begun picking up the sheets strewn across the room.

Grace did not understand how it always ended up like this, endless litters of sheets covered the floors no matter how much they cleaned it. It was not as if they threw the sheets about as they worked, nor did they leave sheets on the floor purposefully. Yet, every time she left this room in a somewhat orderly state and every time she returned it was like this again. Grace was starting to think Margrove may have been the issue.

"Now, I have a list of our most promising singers," He hurriedly deposited a sheet of paper atop her hands, "If you will not sing, you will need to pick a protegee."

Grace's eyes scanned the page, hoping for a name she at least recognised, alas there was none. She looked up at Margrove helplessly, "I don't know any of these people."

He was busy righting some instruments in their stands and did not hear her. Grace sighed; she supposed if the Orchestra would be here then she could conduct auditions on her own. Perhaps she would have them each perform The Lullaby of the River to determine the best voice.

Margrove was still flying about the room in a flurry. Grace noted with slight displeasure that he was leaving more mess than he was cleaning.

"Leave it," She sighed as she pulled herself from the chaise, "I'll clean the room. You work out who goes where and does what."

Margrove had frozen at her words, arms and mouth full of scrolls which he unceremoniously dropped, "If you insist."

He returned to the piano stool, one sheet of paper set upon it's top as he began fiddling with the keys, "I think adding some strings and woodwind will be beneficial alongside the piano and of course, the drums."

Grace hummed in approval as she set about cleaning the sheets from the floor. She had organised a neat little pile upon the wooden desk.

Margrove continued playing as she went and sometimes, Grace caught his eyes trailing her as she moved. She thought it was odd but did not comment on the behaviour. Knowing Margrove, he was likely to say something that made her uncomfortable again. Her mind flashed to the furless incident from earlier and she shook her head against the images once again.

"Don't stop," Margrove said from atop the stool.

Grace looked up from the sheet of The Ballad of the Diamond Miner, slightly apprehensive of asking her next question, "Why?"

Margrove said nothing, only stared as he motioned for her to continue. Grace's brows furrowed but she did as she was told, tucking the sheet away into her pile as she stood.

As she returned to the desk, Margrove continued testing the song on the piano only stopping again to say, "There!"

Grace turned; eyes focused on the Faun in a questioning stare.

"Did you know that you have a dance in your walk?"

"I'm sorry?" Grace blinked.

Margrove stood from the piano stool, quill feather still in hand, "A dance in your walk," he explained, "It's like a skip in your step, in beat to the music."

Grace continued to stare, "No."

"You do," Margrove flourished the feather at her, "Its slight but it's there."

Grace did not know how to respond, "Thank you?"

Margrove grinned at her, "I think I've found a way for you to participate in the performance."

"You have?" Grace could see his mind moving a kilometre a second, way too fast for her to catch up. She placed the papers haphazardly on her previous pile on the desk, "What would that be?"

The Faun's head tilted slightly as he finished surveying her, clearly a decision made in his mind, "Have you thought about dancing before?"

Before she could respond a flurry of air rushed through the open window and the neat pile of papers exploded across the room again.

"I suppose that answers that question," Grace muttered.