Big Bang Fic: Fuel to Fire, Chapter 2
Apr. 11th, 2012 10:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
narniabb_modTitle: Fuel To Fire
Author: snitchnipped
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Part of Four of the Dichotomy Universe. Familiarity with Dichotomy, Splintered, and Hail to the Days is highly encouraged. All can be found on my ff.net directory.
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Implied Adult Situations, Violence
Author's Notes: Many, many thanks to my betaswingedflight21, lady_songsmith, and rthstewart for all the encouragement and hand-holding. My hope is that there is a little something in it for everyone. Whatever you get out of it, I want to thank you for taking the time for reading this monster. I hope you enjoy it.
Summary: “All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope.” — Winston Churchill
FUEL TO FIRE—CHAPTER TWO
“Trumpet in a herd of Elephants; crow in the company of cocks; bleat in a flock of goats.” — Malayan Proverb
::x:x:x::
The Western Gardens, Cair Paravel, Narnia. Fourthweek, August, 1010. Lucy, Day 3.
“It’s only a small grove. My brother Peter had a few trees sent up from Archenland with the help of a few dryads. Some day we would like to dig up that section over there to the north and put in a much bigger orchard.”
Lucy ducked under the branches, looking for an available fruit. Durah reached up with her trunk and plucked one for her, dropping it in Lucy’s awaiting hands.
“Thank you, my lady!”
“These certainly are delicious, your Majesty. I have not encountered any like these where I’m from.”
Lucy crunched into her fruit, her mind at work. Having taken too large of a bite, she had to chew awhile before she could answer. “What kinds of apples do you have then?” she shrewdly asked. “Or other fruit?”
The Elephant rustled through the leafy branches, disrupting Milletpeck, the Jackdaw, from her branch. The Bird emitted an annoyed caw! and fluttered to the next tree over. Finding another apple to her liking, Durah quickly popped it in her mouth. “Not many apples in our Valley, nor oranges, unfortunately…but we do have figs! They’re the favorite amongst my Herd. Especially the green ones.”
Lucy hesitated mid-chew. “Your Valley, did you say?” she said around a mouthful of apple. She exchanged a knowing look with Milletpeck.
“Mmm-hmm,” Durah said. “Oh, these are excellent, your Majesty, what a marvelous breakfast…”
After she had seen her brother and sister off earlier that morning, Lucy had decided to take Durah around to show the Elephant the grounds she had yet not seen in and amongst Cair Paravel. The conversation had been rather benign at first—Lucy had no interest in making her new friend uncomfortable with any sort of direction interrogation. But still, she figured regularly conversing with the Elephant would eventually lead to invaluable information that she could send along with Susan and Edmund. Lucy just hadn’t expected it within only an hour of them leaving.
“Don’t you miss the Valley, Durah? And your family, your friends?”
The Elephant had stopped combing through the tree and had turned her attention to the fallen fruit on the ground. “Yes, I shall miss my family, even though they are not happy with me. They were my closest friends, too. And I will miss a few of the Bulls that I have befriended.” She picked through the rotten ones, occasionally finding an apple that was only slightly bruised.
Well, at least they won’t go to waste, Lucy thought. “The Bulls?” she prompted. This was the first time the Elephant had ever mentioned the males of her species.
“We don’t speak much with them often because they can be quite solitary. And a lot of the others are frightened of them, due to how much bigger they are,” Durah added. “But I speak with them sometimes, whenever they’ve come down from the north. I find some of them quite nice.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Milletpeck shake her dark, glossy head in dismay. Large, solitary Bull Elephants who live in the north of the Valley where there are lots of field streams and lakes and where figs grow, she thought. Surely she could have mentioned all of this before! This was going to be quite an ordeal, she realized, though she didn’t fault the Elephant. Durah really was trying her best. Lucy was glad, though, that she stayed behind. Being justified was always rather nice.
She tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear and looked up at Durah. The Elephant was blissfully chewing on another fruit, her eyes squinted shut in delight. “Mmm, delicious,” Durah mumbled.
Lucy sighed in mild exasperation and turned up towards the tree where a Jackdaw was perched. With a bob of a head, Milletpeck swooped down off her branch, eventually climbing high in the sky as she flew south to catch up with Susan and Edmund with the new information.
::x:x:x::
“Natures great master-peece, an Elephant, The onely harmlesse great thing; the giant of beasts.” — John Donne
::x:x:x:x:x:x:x::
Gale Downs, Narnia—Archenland Border, Narnia. Firstweek, September, 1010. Susan, Day 10.
The arrow shot straight and true, landing right in the minotaur’s left eye, causing it to double up in pain and the minotaur directly behind it to trip. Baris swiftly ran up to finish them off, while Susan scoped beyond for the oncoming assault, another arrow already notched on her string at the ready.
She recognized a man wearing the gold and red of the King’s Patrol come racing towards them from behind the trees, hot in pursuit. He deftly ran up behind a werewolf, reached around its throat with one hand, and sliced his sword across its abdomen in one swift movement while breaking its neck in the opposite direction. With a piercing screech, the creature twisted in place, and Sir Peridan shoved it down into the ground, his bloodied sword hanging by his side.
Across the clearing, a hag crumpled down, a gutting cry echoing amongst the clearing. Edmund raced forward, engaging a third minotaur directly with a quick block of his longsword, sweeping it to above his head, parallel to the ground. It was a tactic Susan had often seen him use in training—an unusual one, for most attack when running into an engagement, not block. She was relieved to see it work outside the training grounds.
Catching the minotaur off guard and off balance, Edmund quickly stepped in and sliced its throat backhanded, leaping back as the tip of a different Narnian sword erupted from its gut. The weapon seemed to retreat backwards as the minotaur fell forward. The stocky form of Ferrin holding the bloodied sword was revealed, the other one of Edmund’s favored Company members to join them on their quest.
There was a moment of silence that permeated the air once the last foe had fallen and they all caught their breaths.
“Is that all of them, Ferrin?” Edmund had a dark look in his eyes as he barked out his question.
“Yes, they should—”
“Are you sure?” he snapped.
“Positive, sire,” Peridan offered through gasps of exhaustion. He bent down to clean his sword, turning the dried yellow grass dark brown with streaks of blood.
Edmund collapsed on a boulder, throwing his own sword into the ground in frustration. Susan noticed that it wasn’t his real sword—he obviously thought ahead and got a standard issue weapons for his role. She still frowned, though. It wasn’t like him to be so disrespectful with a weapon.
It had been a close call. After a week of uneventful travel, the attack had come without warning, for they had not thought to send any Birds to be on the lookout behind them while they were still in Narnia. Susan saw that they seemed to escape primarily unscathed, and she silently thanked Aslan for the protection of her brother, who had bore the brunt of the enemy’s charge. And he had also been the most vulnerable, too—in preparation of parting company and going incognito, Edmund had abandoned his armor and wore the plain clothes of a traveller, with only the protection of a leather jerkin. His weapon of choice, Skarpur, was stashed away. And Edmund had the foresight to leave Phillip behind, too. The Horse had developed quite the reputation in Archenland over the years and would not easily escape undetected.
“Here you are, your Majesty.”
Susan turned and looked down from her steed to see Baris holding up two of her red-fletched arrows. “Thank you, Baris,” she told the faun. “Please give the ‘all clear’ to the rest of the company.”
“Aye, your Majesty,” Baris said before leaping off into the woods behind them.
“Report,” Edmund said firmly, and Susan observed him slowly gaining control of himself again.
“We thought we’d kill two birds with one stone and run them towards you to give you the pleasure of helping off them,” Ferrin mildly said, wiping his blade on a dirty handkerchief he pulled from his breeches.
Susan watched Edmund’s attention shift from Ferrin to Peridan, a silent order for the Knight to continue in Ferrin’s stead. She couldn’t blame him. She always found the man quite insufferable.
“There’d been no sight of the Witch’s followers for well over two months,” Peridan said. “We had barely just broke off from the Patrol to join you when we got ambushed just a few miles west of here.” He had unstrapped a gauntlet, holding it under his arm in order to rub at his wrist.
“How many were there?”
“Close to a dozen. These were the last few.” Peridan turned to look towards the direction they had just raced from, still holding his wrist. “They took out our horses in the initial attack,” he sadly added.
“You managed the rest? And ran all this way?” Susan asked, sweeping her eyes across the remains of the last victims. “That’s quite impressive, sir.”
“Thank you, your Majesty!” Ferrin piped up with a broad grin and a bow that was too exaggerated for Susan to take seriously. She bit her tongue in retort.
Susan noticed that Edmund’s other friend was wincing in pain. “Are you hurt, Sir Peridan?” she asked.
He held out his arm in front of him to inspect it. “I should be fine, just sprained when I landed. When my horse landed on top of it, that is.”
Edmund wearily scratched the top of his head, mussing his sweaty hair further than it already was. “All right, but you best get that hand wrapped up anyway. Debrief with Baris, and after that, report to Turvalin. He should have a change of clothes for both of you in the wagon. Ditch the Patrol garb.”
Peridan didn’t move right away. “The horses, sire?” he asked, the sense of loss permeating his voice.
Edmund’s head bowed, and he kicked at a small rock by his feet. “We’ll send word to the Patrol. They’ll get a proper Narnian burial,” Edmund quietly replied.
Peridan bowed his head in thanks, and jogged to the back of the line where Edmund’s squire Turvalin was.
Edmund turned his gaze to the pile of victims that Ferrin was slowly dragging into the clearing. “Leave them Ferrin, it’s not worth our time. Go change.”
His friend unceremoniously dropped the corpse, letting out a puff of exhaustion. “Aye, sire.”
“It is good to see you two again.” Edmund’s words stopped Ferrin in his tracks.
He gave Edmund a jaunty smile and said, “You know you can count on us for our unwavering support, your Majesty.” He then trotted back towards where Peridan and Baris were conferring a couple of dozen yards away.
Susan surveyed the damage from atop her horse. Close to a half dozen lay dead around them, thankfully none of their own people. It looked to be a relatively small faction of those still fighting in the White Witch’s name, but they were deadly nonetheless. Still, as successful as they were in this battle, it had come completely unexpected. Sir Peridan had been right—Susan couldn’t even remember the last time she had heard of such an altercation. Certainly none this year, or at least none that had been substantial enough to reach her ears back at the Cair.
Edmund stood and crossed over to the corpse that Ferrin had abandoned. Bending over, he reached into the mess of sticky rags by the hag’s heart and pulled out what Susan recognized as one of his knives. “Finish gathering what we need and let’s get a move on,” he called out to everyone, dumbly holding the bloodied blade at his side. “Nightfall will be here sooner than we think.”
The several dozen members of their company were quick to follow his order, and were efficiently collecting themselves from the surprise of their attack in preparation for the remainder of the day’s journey. Susan also saw Turvalin making sure that Ferrin and Peridan were seen to, as new horses were prepped for them and new clothes were doled out.
Her attention was brought back at the sound of her brother swearing loudly in a new burst of frustration, and with one last grunt, Edmund flung his knife into the ground. Susan was about to admonish him for the apparent trend of disrespect for his weaponry, but when she saw him retrieve it, she noticed the blade was wiped clean from the effort. Clever.
“Are you all right?” she cautiously asked.
Edmund looked at the knife and after one last swipe on his trousers, re-holstered it onto his thigh. “It’s the principle,” he muttered.
“I know it is,” she said sympathetically. She looked up towards the south. “How close are we to the border?”
Her brother wiped his brow with the sleeve of his arm and followed her gaze. “I’d say only a half an hour’s ride. After that, we’ll ride with you for another few miles or so before we part ways. Milletpeck!” he called, and within a few seconds, the Jackdaw had landed on the closest branch, awaiting her orders. “Please make a final sweep of the area. This group was small—there may be more out there.”
“Of course,” she said, and Susan detected a hint of shame in her voice. Susan hoped that the Bird didn’t feel any responsibility for the attack being the surprise that it was. Regardless, she was glad that Milletpeck was able to join them sooner rather than later, having received Lucy’s news quite early in their journey. Edmund tended to be more at ease with his friend nearby.
The company eventually got all in order, and once again, they made their way south through Gale Downs towards the border. It was a beautiful area of the country, one that Susan regretted not visiting more often. The reddish Claws they had passed through a few days earlier had given way to the golden hills leading up to the forested mountain range bordering Archenland. Susan thought it a shame that pockets of evil still inhabited such beautiful country such as this. As the sun descended behind the tops of the mountains in the west, the valleys were darkened with shadows, and the forest around them delved into a deeper green. Susan eventually was forced to pull her cloak from her saddle bag, almost relieved to have left the heat of the Narnian summer behind once and for all.
As they neared the border, though, Susan not only felt the chill more keenly, but she also had the expected feeling of loss coming from within. It was not a surprise—she had always noticed a distinct change of atmosphere, an overall feeling as they would cross into the neighboring country. Susan suspected it was a change of air quality, as the majority of weather systems came from the southern deserts into Archenland, but not quite making it into Narnia. Lucy, however, scoffed at the notion. “Don’t be silly, Susan,” Lucy had said once. “It’s magic. No other country has the magic that Narnia does, and that’s what you’re missing.”
Lucy’s explanation wasn’t completely logical to Susan, but then again neither was the feeling of loss in her bones as they finally crossed the border into Archenland through the hidden pass.
For the last several miles since the attack, Susan rode alongside her brother. He sat stiffly in his saddle as they started making their way downhill on the main road leading to the high valley where Anvard lay nestled. He’s not still wound up from earlier, is he?
“Ed, please don’t do anything rash,” she eventually said when it came time for Edmund to turn his horse around to ride to the back of the line. “Take care of yourself.”
Edmund nodded in response, but didn’t look directly at her, his eyes unfocused in thought. She held her hand out, and when he noticed, he took it and gave her a reassuring squeeze and a slight smile. Wordlessly, he nudged his mount back to join the other members of his Company in the back of the line in preparation for their split.
“You know, your Majesty,” Baris said. “It may be a good idea that King Edmund find a good outlet for his troubles. Something that would set his mind at ease. Something that we have spoken of before which you tentatively agreed to, might I add.”
“You’re referring to the lasaia that you smoke, are you not, Baris?”
“Ah, the blue lasaia, your Majesty. There’s a difference!”
“That I don’t doubt. Only the best for you, am I right?” At the dip of the faun’s bare chin, she let out a contemplative sigh. “I do believe that I concur with your assessment, Baris. We definitely should look into it.”
Baris smile was slow and sly. “It’s already taken care of, your Majesty.”
Susan turned to him, not bothering to ask the question on her mind. His smile shifted into something brighter and more innocent, his bushy brows wiggling in a suggestive manner. Any retort on her side was cut short as a pounding of hooves emerged from behind them. They both turned to watch three horses galloping east, towards the fields, and towards Darrinden. A small flock of Birds, led by Milletpeck, trailed behind them for awhile, gliding in the horses’ draft before spreading out in different directions.
Edmund and his group had a few hours of hard travel ahead of them. Susan and Baris, in turn, lead the remainder of the company onto the southern road towards Anvard.
::x:x:x::
“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” — Martin Buber
::x:x:x:x:x:x:x::
Dinner Hall of Castle Anvard, Anvard, Archenland. Firstweek, September, 1010. Susan, Day 12.
As the dinner chimes sounded from the musician in the corner, the parties made their way to their seats. Place cards, Susan observed. How many times have I begged for place cards only to be shot down? But if Susan was completely honest were herself, it was a rather un-Narnian thing to do, especially since many of their dinner guests in Cair Paravel couldn’t even sit at a “normal” table.
Susan nodded her head as Baris pulled a seat out for her before taking his own. Unfortunately, she would have to do without the faun’s steady support by her side as he was assigned a corner seat of the table. And she could have used said support, too—Susan was seated directly across from Lune, much to her anxiety-ridden dismay. Worse yet, to her right was seated the spotty teenage son of Lord Fridian who would not stop ogling her during the afternoon tea. As she pulled her seat up and reached for her napkins, Susan braced herself for an evening of equally awkward conversation with strangers and of those already known. If only I was more like Lucy or Peter….
“Your Majesty?”
Susan looked to her left and found a rather handsome man offering her a pour of wine—if the information Edmund had was correct, then this would either be Lord Cole or Lord Colin. “Oh, yes,” she mumbled, reaching for her empty glass. “Please.”
The man smiled warmly as he filled her glass. “I’m sorry we did not get a chance to meet earlier.” He set the pitcher down and leaned back in his seat, revealing a rather pretty blonde woman sitting to his left who sent her a warm smile. “I’m Cole.”
“Lord Cole!” Susan replied, pleased to have been close with her her guess. “Oh, of course!” She was able to relax some, for what she knew of the man was generally all good, if not exactly memorable. Cole certainly was one of the most handsome of the Lords she had been introduced to thus far this evening—Edmund’s files may have been pretty thorough, but as much as she had poured over everything the evening prior in preparation of meeting all the Lords, nothing could give her the insight that a first impression could. “Yes, I have heard great things, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Cole’s eyebrow lifted a bit, but he didn’t call her on to her bluff. “And may I introduce to you the Lady Cole, my wife Frana.”
Wife. Of course. That was not what she expected. Apparently Edmund needed to update his files further still. Susan buried her unanticipated disappointment and bowed her head in greeting to the woman.
“Your Majesty, it is a pleasure,” Frana said, in a warm, soft voice that Susan could barely hear over the din of the room.
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Susan graciously said before taking a sip of wine. A very long sip of wine. Cole and his wife were distracted by greetings from others, and Susan braced herself for further conversation expected of her from the others at the table.
The musician in the corner took a seat and picked up a lap harp. He set to work tuning it as the servers came about with the bread course.
“Susan, do tell us how your family is doing. I take it you had yet another beautiful Narnian summer,” King Lune said as he took one of the proffered loaves from a servant. “Though all seasons are marvelous there, I’m sure.”
Susan smiled. “Yes, they are indeed, your Majesty. And my family is well, though I’m afraid I have not seen Peter in some time. He’s been engaged up in the North again all summer and had not yet returned before I set out on my journey.”
“It’s been several years since King Peter has graced us with his presence, but I understand how busy he is. It’s admirable how he manages it all. Still, it’s a shame neither Edmund nor Lucy could accompany you,” Lune added, a quirk of one eyebrow raised in question.
Susan had hoped to avoid the subject of her brother and sister’s absence, so she quickly busied herself by taking a bite of cheese, allowing herself to only nod along to his sentiment. The cheese was a Felimathan cheddar, one of her favorites. Lune must have remembered. He was still looking at her expectantly, so she quickly swallowed and non-answered, “They do send their regards.”
This seemed to placate him. He tore into one of the diamond shaped small loaves, and paused as if to consider it.
“And Archenland? He fares well, too?” Susan asked. The din of the room hushed—she noticed that she and the King had garnered the attention of most of those present. Honestly, if I’m going to be the main attraction at dinner, perhaps I should sit in the corner with the musician. And of course, said musician was softly strumming along as they talked, while the rest of the room had gone rather silent. It was as if it was all a rehearsed performance.
“Aye, my Queen,” Lune said, extending an arm out to offer half of the loaf to Susan. “Archenland does indeed fare well.” She gave pause, knowing full well what the gesture implied. She eventually reached to tear off a piece, making sure not to take the loaf directly off of his hands. Lune’s kind grey eyes met hers and he gave her a small, sad smile as he dumbly held the rejected bread before him.
Susan had the horrifying notion that perhaps everyone present was expecting more out of her visit. Surely Lune did not still think that my mind would have changed…. She idly wiped the crumbs from her fingers as, much to her relief, the rest of the room broke back into normal conversations.
Lune set his loaf down and cleared his throat. “There has been no unpleasantness these past few seasons,” he continued, “and for that we are grateful.”
“No word from Telmar, then?” Susan asked.
“None, actually. Not a word since Olvin Fields. Nor have I heard anything from Vanden alluding to further issues.”
Susan thought back on her copy of the map of Archenland. Lord Van’s province was on extreme western side of Archenland, and Van himself had been terribly wounded during the Battle of Olvin Fields. “That’s good to hear,” she replied.
A bowl of soup was placed directly in front of her, and she noticed Lune’s attention was diverted, thus speaking no more on the subject of Telmar nor the unfortunate altercation from two years prior. If the subject were to come up again, though, Susan decided not to mention the lone suspected Telmarine. Neither Peter nor Edmund had apparently informed Lune of such during the rushed correspondence arranging her visit, and she trusted their reasons in not doing so.
From Susan’s experience in Archenlander state dinners, the soup course was always the quietest. First of all, it was silly for one’s soup to get cold while caught up in idle chatter. Secondly, it was awkward to talk around the ridiculous ladle-like spoons they used in the country—I hope this wasn’t an ancient tradition from Narnia—for the task of eating soup became all elbows and head tilts. Most importantly, though, not enough alcohol would have been consumed this early on in the dinner, so tongues were not as loose.
As she enjoyed the thick tomato and mushroom soup, she took a moment to take stock of her surroundings. She had been introduced to some of those present as they had gathered in Lune’s Court prior to the dinner bell, though she hoped she would be able to remember names with faces for those she had not met on previous trips to Archenland.
There was, of course, the Lord Cole and his wife to her left, but she noticed that there was not anyone there who resembled him in any way. It seemed that the Lord Colin was not present, despite the proximity of his province to Anvard itself. noted that his brother was not present, though she knew their respective provinces to be rather close to Anvard. She stole a glance to the man seated next to her, and wondered if the Lord Colin was any bit as handsome as his brother was.
Her attention was diverted to a rather loud laugh from the opposite side of the table. Lord Tran. She knew that his land was directly south, and Susan expected that she would definitely have to have to pay a visit to Tranden during her trip. Durah did say she came from the South, after all. We must hit them all. The Lord Tran was decent looking enough, with the darker coloring of Southern Archenlanders, and he perhaps only had a decade on her. He was talking animatedly with a man to his right. For the life of her, she could not remember that man’s name nor title despite having been introduced to him earlier in the day. She was almost sure that he was not a Lord. Had he been, she would definitely have remembered.
“I assumed that Tran was more interested in Lord Fridian’s sizable province more than his daughter,” came a muttered voice from her left. “But now I’m starting to question otherwise. He puts on a rather convincing show.”
Susan turned to Cole in surprise. He had the smallest of smirks on his face which he deftly covered with a long draw from his wine. Susan chanced another glance over to the opposite side of the table.
Sure enough, Susan had completely missed what Tran was up to during her initial assessment. While engaged in a rather animated conversation on the appointment of the Lord Mayor of Emmerfald with the other man, Tran would slide a glance to the young woman to his left. Ah yes, Susan thought. It was the teenage daughter of King Lune’s sister, the Lady Fridian. She had to agree with Cole’s assessment. The girl was sneaking just as many glances to Tran in return, too.
The soup bowls were cleared away, and the Lady Fridian turned to her brother. “You were speaking of the Lord Van, earlier, were you not?”
Susan sat up straighter. Are we now going to address Telmar?
At King Lune’s nod, the Lady turned to Susan. “We await news from Velstang any day now, your Majesty. Lord Van’s lady wife is expecting their first born this month,” she added, leaning forward in excitement.
Susan smiled kindly. “That is good news indeed.”
“It would have been chaotic had Van perished and his line not secured. The whole West is messy in comparison,” Lord Tran boasted to Fridian’s daughter, who seemed pleased to be included in the conversation.
To this Cole frowned at Tran, but he didn’t say anything. Susan was not sure what to make of this, so she chose to sit quietly and observe for the time being.
“Well, it’s not an issue any more, my Lord,” King Lune mildly scolded. “Vanden is at the dawn of a happy and secure future.”
“Yes, well, if only certain neighbors of theirs would follow suit,” Tran said, busying himself with pouring another glass of red wine for himself and Fridian’s daughter, who blushed at the gesture. Of course, this made him too occupied when the servant made his way around the table with his basin of wash water and linen.
Susan deliberately washed her hands twice as long when it came to her turn—as if to make up for Tran’s lack of hygiene and manners—and turned to Lord Cole. “I’m embarrassed to say, my Lord, that I’m not as caught up with the inner Archenland politics as I should be.” Even if news wasn’t entirely relevant to the task at hand, Susan was a firm believer in there being no such thing as too much information.
“The Lord Tran, I believe, is referring to Rineden,” Cole said, wiping his hands on the proffered towel. “Portions of that land has been disputed for centuries. An issue that, frankly, is none of our concern. Especially Tran.”
She nodded politely, and deemed Cole a trustworthy source. And if Susan was going to get anymore information from him, she decided that playing ignorant would be a sensible course of action. The more questions asked, the more likely she could lead the conversations toward the information needed. “I’m sure if I was put on the spot, I wouldn’t even be able to name all the provinces,” she said with a forlorn sigh.
Cole smiled at her as he helped himself to the platter of chops that was laid out before them with a set of wooden tongs. “You know the ones of present company. I hope,” he teasingly added, passing the platter on to her.
Susan laughed as she accepted the tongs from him. “Well, of course, I’m not normally this daft, I promise.” She started filling her plate with the aromatic meat and vegetables. “I know that there’s also Darden, and Haneden…oh, and of course, we’re currently here in Barden,” she added and immediately closed her eyes in regret.
Cole abruptly stilled. “Anvard and its province are Lordless. And shall remain so for the foreseeable future,” Cole tactfully said, his eyes sweeping over to the King.
“Of—of course,” Susan stammered. Lord Chancellor Bar. That was careless of me. She, too, turned to look at Lune and was relieved to see that he was caught up in conversation with his sister and did not notice her flub. If she wasn’t trying to be proper, she would have sunk lower in her seat. What she would give to trade spaces with Edmund right now. Have a pint for me, Ed, wherever you are.
Cole must have noticed her discomfort. “Worry not,” he soothed. “Archenland can be confusing I know. Half the provinces are constantly in flux from one generation to the next, sometimes merging, sometimes splitting, always with new borders. I get rather confused myself at times. Sometimes I wonder if half of these characters can name any province outside of their own, too!” Cole said with a chuckle, gesturing to the table at large with his fork.
Susan laughed along and swept her eyes amongst the present company. “Fridian, Lord of Fridianden. That’s quite the mouthful. And unusual for a Lord’s name, I should think.”
“You think correctly. It is unusual,” Cole said. “It’s not typical for the fifth son to take the lordship.”
“What happened to the other four?”
Cole shook his head. “I’m not completely sure. Fridian took over long ago, when I was quite young. Whatever the circumstances, it’s not discussed, I do know that.” Cole cut off a piece of his lamb and speared it with his fork. “But all is well as far as I can tell. Lord Fridian is a fair, honest man, and is well respected by Lune. The King’s judgement is good enough for me.”
Susan was noticing that Lord Cole’s opinions on the goings on of the other provinces were hard to come by. She wondered how much more she would be able to learn from him, and whether if all the Lords minded their own businesses for the most part. Except for Lord Tran, Susan thought. Still, this may prove more difficult than I thought.
In the meantime, she decided to keep the questions coming from the source at hand, since the time was not quite right to bring up the Elephants. Not yet. “And both you and your brother have your own separate provinces?” she asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
“We do, your Majesty.”
“Like the Lords Dar and Darrin,” she said. She took a sip of wine, looking up questioningly at Cole over the rim.
Cole let out a bark of humorless laughter. “I should hope that we manage things better than them,” he said. “We certainly have more pride in our Lordships.”
Aha! So he does have opinions on how the other provinces are run, she thought. She didn’t say anything, hoping he would continue on that vein.
“But yes, in both instances our fathers’ had larger lordships that were divided evenly amongst brothers. Like I said before, Archenland has been carved up more times than a roasted pig, straight off the spit,” Cole said. “For the most part, though, it’s been peaceful. Even if we do have the occasional flare-ups now and again.”
“And there was no dispute between your brother and yourself on who got which half?” she asked, thinking about how much smaller Cole’s province was in comparison to his brother’s.
Cole shook his head. “Not in the slightest. Not to be a braggart, but we do live in one of the most beautiful areas of the country, so Father could do no wrong in that regard. My brother is a mountain man, happy in his woods with a sparser population. And I have the green hills filled with happy subjects, with beautiful sunrises and sunsets that bring a smile to my wife’s face, so it all works out in the end,” he said fondly. “To be honest, it’s a relief not being stuck in Anvard, even if by all rights I should be.”
Susan thought about her siblings and how tasks and interests happened to fall naturally with the ruler most suited for it. She didn’t know if it was luck or skill. Perhaps such things just worked, like they seemed to with Cole and Colin.
She supposed that perhaps having their kingdom divided up, if not geographically, then at least politically and administratively was not too unlike Archenland and its provinces. But Archenland was founded by Narnians, with King Col founding the country several hundred years ago…did he base Archenland off of an old Narnian model? They currently didn’t have any lords or anyone of high rank within Narnia proper, and she wondered if Narnia ever had before the Tree died. Perhaps Ed knows….
A sudden realization struck as her fork was half-way off the plate. Cole. Who should be stuck in Anvard…? “My Lord, are you at all descended from the first king, King Col?”
“I am, your Majesty,” he said in between bites.
Susan stabbed at a seasoned potato chunk. “I may be ignorant with your current geographical affairs, but I am fairly confident in my knowledge of Archenlander customs and traditions….” she trailed off.
“And if you are guessing that I’m a direct descendent, perhaps heir, then you are correct.”
Susan sat back her eyes wide, trying to figure out how this was the case. Not only had the recorded history of Narnia proper been lacking in the last century, but the library of Cair Paravel was also riddled with gaps in their neighbors’s histories, too.”
“My father was King Cole the Fifth’s eldest, but, believing himself ever the bachelor and therefore unlikely to continue the line, he passed the crown to his nephew, Validan. Validan was his sister’s son, and His Majesty King Lune’s father.”
“And Lune had already been born by then,” she calculated, to which he confirmed with a nod. “You’re cousins, then?”
“Once removed. Though younger, my brother and I are a generation ahead of Lune. The crown skipped a generation entirely.” The hint of relief colored Cole’s tone, as if he knew exactly what pressures of ruling an entire country he had, by chance, escaped.
“You could have been King!” she exclaimed.
Cole looked at her directly. “Or, I could live a quieter, peaceful life in the most beautiful part of the country, my wife by my side, and be perfectly content not having the weight of the country on my shoulders,” he said, reaching to his left and fishing for his wife’s hand.
Frana seemed startled at first, but quickly covered with a warm smile before returning to her own conversation, hand tightly grasped with her husband’s.
An abrupt wave of envy swept through Susan, and she barely heard Cole add, “But even if I was crowned, abdicating wouldn’t have been an option, even if I wanted to. My brother will never settle down as long as he has rivers to cross and woods to explore. I would never have done that to him,” he idly joked.
Despite his lighthearted take on the subject, it was quite apparent he respected the crown and was gracious for his own position in the Archenlander hierarchy. But he did not have the pressures of continuing his line for the sake of the entire country, only of his province alone. And even then, with the understanding she had of how things worked in Archenland, Coleden would be properly taken care of by his brother were anything foul to happen. She did not know Colin, but if he had an ounce of the generosity that Cole had, she would assume that he would not let his brother’s land fall to an opportunist. Such as the Lord Tran, she thought, thinking of Cole’s observation of the man’s interest in Fridianden.
There was a shift in the room as a second musician had entered and joined the harpist, this time with a traditional Archenlander wheel drum. They quickly jumped into a livelier tune, an Archenlander reel, with the drummer elaborately spinning his instrument between beats while the harpist’s fingers flew across his instrument’s strings. It was the kind of song that were the table cleared, she was sure everyone would quickly and happily join into the dance.
But Susan’s heart was too clouded for such a tune. Freedom from rule, she thought. What a wonderful concept. It was a dream she knew could never happen for her…it was certainly not a Narnian reality, though it may have been reality at one time for her, in another world. As blessed as she felt, as honored as she was by Aslan and the Prophecy to hold such an esteemed position, Susan almost envied Cole—and his brother’s—freedom. For not the first time, she wished the pressure to marry and bear Narnia’s future was off of her and more on Peter. But that was a selfish thought, even if she secretly believed that Peter wished for the same thing, and she quickly banished it from her mind.
She looked back to her left and saw that Cole had been brought into his wife’s conversation, laughing heartily at something she had just said. Susan shelved her feelings and decided to concentrate on the other and more important matter at hand: the Elephants. It was time.
And it was also time to let bygones be bygones and to address Lune directly. She braced herself and turned to the King. “So, your Majesty, my elder brother has told me that last time he was here, that you introduced him to something quite marvelous.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, what did he call them….” she said, biting her lip in mock concentration. “Elev…no, an elephant, is it?” She heard a faint clop! of Baris’ hoof against the stone floor.
Lune blinked in surprise. “Why, yes. There was an elephant in my court when King Peter was last here,” he said, idly shoving one of the last morsels of his lamb around his plate. “A coincidence you should inquire about it, too. You’re the second in a week.”
Susan willed her face to remain neutral. “It must have been quite popular, then, to have left such an impression after so many years. Peter was last here two years ago? Three?”
Lune ignored her question, though, and uncomfortably cleared his throat. “It’s more than one elephant, actually, and they come by regularly. I suppose it’s a migratory pattern. Not unlike the sheep in the West when they are not herded. We make them comfortable the brief time they pass through Anvard, and let them continue on their way.”
It was most definitely a migration of a sort, Susan knew, but she was not about to admit that she knew of their annual pilgrimage. “So, who else was inquiring, might I ask?”
Lune slowly wiped his hands on his napkin before continuing. “Calormenes. There was a small delegation that came through, asking us for permission to herd them. They said there were reports of them fording the Winding Arrow into Calormen, but they wanted to ask before taking them into their service.”
Now that was definitely a surprise, something that neither she nor Edmund would ever have expected. And she didn’t trust the news one bit. But she also knew better than to vocalize her opinion on the matter. From the
“Curious,” was all Susan allowed herself to say. She eyed the silver-haired monarch further, and she knew from the tightness in his brow that he was holding back. But that was to be expected. Both parties holding their cards tightly to their chests….
“Yes,” Lune agreed. “It was a rather strange request. If the beasts had already crossed into Calormen, then I have no control over them. Just like I would not be responsible for any wild stags once they’ve crossed into Narnia. But I’m rather fond of the beasts, and since they asked, I denied them. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of exploiting them for their own fancies, even if they mostly likely already are. I’ve seen what they’ve done to camels.”
“Not to mention the horses, sire,” Fridian interjected. “Though I dare say that horses cannot cross the Winding Arrow into Calormen as easily as those beasts of yours,” he added, with a knowing look towards the monarch.
Lune’s forehead wrinkled with his frown. “Yes. I’m not quite sure what to make of that yet. Reports are still coming in on that business.”
Susan filed that little bit of information about horses away. From what she knew, Narnia had received no word about any sort of issue with horses and Calormen. Then again, they hadn’t had any word about Elephants until recent history, either.
“But back to these elephants,” Lune said. “It is possible they could eventually quite useful for Archenland, though I have no specific plans for them presently. I’ve found them to be rather… well, rather tame. They could be employed in construction, moving rocks from the North to the South. Calormen is undoubtedly very aware of this.”
Susan thought of the size of Durah and the power one lone beast could possess. They could be employed in many different ways. Though she still didn’t know where she stood on the matter of what they would advise the Elephants to do, she trusted that Lune would not use and abuse them as some in Calormen would.
“I would very much like to see one,” Susan said, hoping to lighten the mood and keep her inquiries innocent. “Peter says they are absolutely marvelous.”
“That they are,” was all the King offered.
Susan still needed more information, though. Time for a different tactic. “I wonder if I should come across any on my journey through Archenland. Do you know where they may be at this time of season? I would so like to see one,” she repeated.
“Well,” Lune started before busying himself with a drink of his wine. “I really wouldn’t know for certain….”
At his hesitation, Susan leaned closer, and batted her eyes—once, slowly. And she hated herself for doing it, especially for King Lune.
But it had its effect, and it was enough for Lune to smile fondly at her. “I can imagine you might find them in the South. Possibly in Nelden or as far east as the ocean.”
Just where we thought. She wished this evening would have revealed more information, but what she gathered was still useful. Besides, this was just the beginning, she had to remind herself. To her dismay, though, Susan realized that Lune’s confirmation meant she could eliminate Colinden off of her list of provinces to to visit. And with Cole already eliminated, that only left Dar, Darrin, Tran, Hane and Nel. The regret of not meeting Cole’s brother aside, she was pleased that her mission may end up going faster than planned.
Susan sat back up and raised her glass to Lune. “If I should see any elephants, I’ll be sure to send your regards, then,” she said with a beatific smile. “Not that they would understand me at all.”
Lune looked down at his empty plate, pushing it away to signal the servant in the corner. “No, I can’t imagine they would. But the gesture is appreciated on my end, to be sure.”
“Did I understand correctly, your Majesty?” Lord Fridian said. It was the first time he had addressed her throughout the entire meal. And he had barely shared two words at tea earlier, either. “You say you are touring our fine country?”
“Yes, I am.”
“The Queen Susan is on a mission to find a husband.” King Lune announced it kindly enough, but it still made her stomach fall to her feet hearing it aloud.
“I will not deny that, though one should have little reason to visit such a beautiful country as Archenland,” she said, though Lune’s eyes couldn’t quite meet hers. He concentrated intently on his chop instead.
“Where are you headed to first, your Majesty?” The eager question came from Fridian’s pimply son to he right. However, it was Tran’s eyes who met hers across the table. His attention had completely shifted from Lune’s niece towards Susan they very moment the topic of marriage was first brought up. Susan noticed the young girl was actually a bit put out, looking desperately at Tran, fingering her empty wine glass. For some reason, Tran’s sudden attention towards her put Susan on edge. But this is what I’m here for, she reminded herself. This is to be expected.
“I am not sure, yet, my Lord,” Susan responded. “Perhaps Darden or Darrinden,” she said, hoping for a reaction from Cole. She was curious of his earlier comments on the two Lords. To her surprise, though, it was Lune who answered.
“After you do visit the Lords Dar and Darrin,” Lune said, his voice slightly strained, “I would be interested in what your opinions of them are.”
Susan bit on the inside of her cheek, wondering what the King’s exactly meant. Baris, too, reacted strongly with highly raised brows to Lune’s unexpected request. “Of course,” she simply replied.
“Might I convince to visit fair Tranden first?” Tran asked, his eyes bright in anticipation. The King’s niece let out a muffled huff of protest.
Before Susan could answer, however, the door to the room opened with a creak. A matronly woman with her hair tight in braids stepped into the doorway, a finger to her lips to someone out of sight before she turned her attention to those in the room and bowed.
“Please pardon my interruption. His Highness, Prince Corin has requested that he say give a good night to the Queen Susan and your guests,” she asked.
Lune wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Yes, yes, by all means, let him in,” Lune said, folding the white cloth and discarding it by his plate.
The woman bowed again at the waist before ushering in a young boy. Susan swept her legs and skirts around from her seat and beamed at the Prince. “Corin! What a pleasure to see you again!” she exclaimed. “Did you get the gift I sent you for your birthday?”
The boy nodded slowly, his eyes wide, surprisingly stunted in speech. He was normally the chatterbox around her, rivaling Lucy at times.
“Speak up, son, when the Queen acknowledges you,” Lune admonished gently as the King’s nephew gave a slight snicker from next to Susan.
Susan ignored them all. “How old did you turn again?”
“Ten, Ma’am.”
Am I a “ma’am” now? Ouch. “Ten! I think you’re wrong, sir. You don’t look a day younger than twelve.”
To this, Corin finally broke out into a smile and his chest swelled a bit. This was the Corin Susan knew.
“Now, since when have you been shy around me? Come over and give me a hug and I shall kiss you goodnight,” she said in a serious tone so as not to embarrass the boy. Corin took the cue and walked forward, collapsing in her arms into a tight hug. As they broke apart, Susan saw him stick his tongue out at the King’s nephew out of the corner of her eye. She pretended not to notice and gave him a kiss on his cheek for show. That caused the nephew to give the response she was hoping for as he squirmed uncomfortable in his seat.
“Goodnight, my Prince,” she said with a quick wink.
Corin’s grin had grown wide, and he turned on his heel to run out of the room. He would have succeeded had his nurse not stopped and turned him in place to face the dinner crowd. “Proper,” she said sternly.
Corin half-heartedly straightened up and his eyes lifted to the wooden beams of the ceiling. “To the Lords and Ladies, to my father, the King, and to our esteemed Narnian guests, especially to the Queen Susan, I wish you all a good night.” Rehearsed, to be sure, but it certainly was proper. Corin then ducked under his nurse’s arms and fled the room. With an apologetic look to the King, the nurse bowed again and closed the door behind her.
Susan turned back in her seat and the remainder of the table continued on with their idle chat as dessert was offered to each of the guests. “He’s grown so since I saw him last,” she said across to King Lune.
“He has. If he’s anything like his cousins, he’ll be all limbs in no time,” Lune quietly mused, cutting into his pudding with a spoon.
It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact that the boy was the same age Edmund was when he took the crown. Surely Ed was not as clumsy and socially awkward—well, any more than he already is—at such an age. She hoped for Corin’s sake that he would never see the horrors her younger brother had to at the innocent age of ten.
Even though Cor may already have. Susan considered but quickly dismissed bringing up the missing Prince Cor. It was a sensitive topic at Castle Anvard, and indeed, all of Archenland. She wondered that if he were alive, how alike or different he would be from Corin. Susan believed them to be identical, but it had been many years since she had seen the two of them together, and she wasn’t about to ask for confirmation. Still, she remembered them having different temperaments, even at quite the young age. Perhaps they would have ended up as different as her own brothers—who seem to be growing further apart in personality, while complementing each other more than ever before. Or maybe Cor and Corin would actually have become more alike once they crossed the formidable years.
But they may never know. Susan looked up at the King, thinking it so incredibly sad to lose a wife and a son so close together like that. To lose one family member is tragic, but Susan believed it must exponentially grow with a greater loss. She offered a silent wish to Aslan for Cor’s safe return, all the while knowing how unlikely such a event would be.
“You will make a fine mother some day, Susan,” King Lune said, interrupting her train of thought, and locking his eyes on hers.
Susan had not realized she had been staring. She bit her tongue and fumbled into a smile, thankful that no one else around seemed to have either heard the King or noticed her reaction. If she was not comfortable having her future marriage prospects publicly discussed, then she absolutely despised having her childbearing skills even mentioned. Susan did not find it fair that others tiptoed around Peter about such subjects, but her future was acceptably up for discussion. But Lune…she could not fault him. The kind man only wished the best for her, and she for him, and Susan was sad that she could not give him what he believed he wanted. But in the meantime, she hoped she fought off the flush she felt creeping up from her neck.
Lune, in turn, closed his eyes and sighed heavily before turning back to Fridian, changing the subject to the horse herds in the valleys of his southern province.
Susan stared down at her pudding. It was a butterscotch custard, another of her favorites. Of course. She forced a few small bites, hardly enjoying the sweet creaminess as it fought its way down her throat. The music had once again died down to a slower, simpler song, this time without the drum accompaniment. She didn’t bother to look up to see if the second musician had left the hall entirely.
To her right, the King’s nephew scraped the rest of his dessert out of his bowl in an obnoxious, even pattern. She unobtrusively shifted in her seat towards the left, thankful to find the conversation on that side to have lulled.
“So, do you have any children?” Susan addressed Cole and his wife. She could tell by the way they were sitting that they still had their hands clasped between them.
“No, your Majesty, not yet,” Frana said, sharing a quick look with her husband. “Perhaps next year, though. We hope,” she said, prompting a smile from Cole.
Susan, in turn, nodded and swallowed down the lump in her throat, ignoring the tightening feeling from within. “All the best wishes to you, then. May Aslan grace you with a healthy family.”
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Cole warmly said, bowing his head before returning his attention towards his wife.
Susan wanted nothing more than to retreat to the Narnian wing and hide under the down covers. Instead, she pushed the remainder of her pudding around her bowl until an attendant asked if she wanted it removed. Susan did not know what to expect of this dinner, but her disappointment made for a surprising appearance.
Enough, she scolded herself. I need to concentrate on the Elephants and worry about putting on a show for the Lords I’m to visit. Nothing more. Hoping to reset her mind and heart, Susan let out a big sigh and reached for her glass of wine. She was startled to find it was full again, and she looked up to see Tran with a wide smile on his face and his hand still on the bottle. And we can start here, she thought.
She raised her glass in acknowledgement and downed a large gulp after Tran’s toast towards her and her visit to Archenland, particularly her upcoming visit to Tranden.
::x:x:x::
“Expectation is the root of all heartache.” — William Shakespeare
::x:x:x:x:x:x:x::
::x:x:x:x:x:x:x::
Cider House in Mittelward, Darrinden, Archenland. Firstweek, September, 1010. Edmund, Day 12, Cont.
It was rather easy to hide amongst others in Archenland because there were so many people. Edmund stuck out like a sore thumb in Narnia, and that was without his royal garb, his armor, Skarpur, his crown, or signet. Throw on a pair of common breeches and a plain shirt, remove the ring, and with his coloring, similar to that of Ferrin’s, he looked like any other Southern Archenlander.
However, the low population of humans worked to their advantage in Narnia. It had taken several years for the human population to build up, even in Cair Paravel. And even then, most everyone knew somebody, so it was hard to be a human stranger, let alone a spy. But with new colonists coming each spring, it was getting more and more difficult distinguishing citizen from visitor. And who was to say that they could trust those they did know, but Edmund knew that was his own paranoia speaking.
Times were definitely different than they were when they first arrived in Narnia under mysterious circumstances that Edmund couldn’t quite recall, when spies walked freely and by all appearances, the good guys were the minority.
But here in Archenland—in Mittelward, Darrinden to be exact, where they had arrived just that afternoon—it was very different. The place was positively teeming with humans, more so than what Edmund had experienced in Anvard. And especially in the cider house they were currently in. People were nearly elbow-to-elbow here, but that may have just been because of the season. Still, it was a good thing he wasn’t claustrophobic. Peter would hate it here.
Cider houses were just now coming in season in Archenland, and Ferrin and Peridan thought it’d be a good idea to take advantage of the situation. Peridan’s face had lit up when the realization hit that they came at such an opportune time. “Oh, the memories,” he had vaguely said upon their arrival to the last house with vacancy. They had somehow managed to snag the last two rooms—Peridan had lost the golden lion toss, and Ferrin was forced to bunk with him.
“I hope you won’t be offended if a third joins us, Peridan, though I’ll be generous,” Ferrin said as they snagged one of the last available tables in the main room. It was one towards the back in a corner, much to Edmund’s relief. “You can have a turn when I’m done.”
The look of reproach from both Peridan and Edmund was enough for Ferrin’s smile to disappear. “Right. I’ll be back with drink,” he said and quickly left the table to where the cider was being dispensed by large barrels on the north wall.
“We did luck out, Ed. People come from as far as Velstang just for this,” he said, emphatically tapping the worn, wooden table with his finger. “Of course, I grew up hearing about them and couldn’t wait ’til I was of age to come on my own. I well remember my first season of cider houses. All too well.” Peridan’s grey eyes widened in recollection. “I haven’t stepped in one in nigh a dozen years.”
Edmund furrowed his brows. “Wait a moment, how old were you during this first season of yours?”
Ferrin arrived and put a pitcher and three mugs in front of them. Peridan grinned wildly as he poured cider into a mug. “Thirteen. Cheers!”
With all the tables now occupied, patrons were forced to stand and nearly hug the walls, staying clear of the cider maids—they were busy weaving about and around the tables of various sizes, with pitchers and mugs swiftly being plopped down and picked up again once emptied. The popularity of the place and the beverage was well earned, for once Edmund took a long draught from the contents of his mug, he came away quite pleased. Good flavor and good head make for a good buzz.
He had to be careful, though. Edmund didn’t want a reprise from the previous morning, the morning after the skirmish with the loyalists. With full intention of making it to Mittelward that very evening, it was clear that night was falling faster than expected and they had decided to make camp for the evening halfway to their destination. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Unfortunately, Edmund had fallen to old habits after the harrowing encounter. And Ferrin, having come from Turvalin’s supply wagon fully stocked, only encouraged them all. Needless to say, the next morning was not a pleasant one for any of them, but Edmund worse of all—in fact, since it had been quite some time since his last run-in with her kind, he had overcompensated. So much so that they were held back an entire extra day as Edmund recovered, and they did not arrive into Mittelward until today, nearly two full days as originally planned.
How embarrassing, Edmund thought, and he was deeply ashamed. Had they arrived even the previous day, they may have had better luck securing rooms in a nicer cider house.
Of course, his friends assured him that they didn’t want a nicer cider house. “That defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” Ferrin had said. Plus, it helped that the less-nice the house was, the bigger it was in size. “And the bigger it is, the more people, and the more people, the more information, Ed,” Ferrin had added. “We should be thanking you.”
Edmund looked around his current surroundings and was somewhat pleased with how things ended up. Things do happen for a reason. Still, it was best to be safe than sorry. “All I ask of you this evening is to keep me in check, boys,” Edmund said as he lifted his mug in salute. “I don’t want to end up vomiting in the bushes in the morning. Again.”
Despite the popularity of that particular house and the amount of people, Edmund was at a loss at how to proceed. As they drank through their first pitcher, they quietly discussed different options on how to approach people and get the information they needed. Peridan suggested they split up—with three people combing the place and quietly asking about any elephant sightings in the area, they could cover thrice the ground.
“That wouldn’t work,” Ferrin scoffed. “That’s three times the opportunity for people to say, ‘Hey, this strange man came up and asked if I had ever seen a giant, grey beast with a nose the length of of a man!’ ‘You too?’ his friend would say. ‘Someone else came up to me and asked the same thing!’ ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, kind sirs, but I couldn’t help but overhearing.’ A third man would ask. ‘Did you say that someone asked you about—”
“Enough,” Peridan drawled, giving Ferrin a dull glare. “We get the point.”
“We may as well just go to the front of the room, stand on one of the tables and bellow out ‘Has anyone in this room seen an elephant!’” Edmund said. “No. We don’t want any targets on our backs. I’d prefer if word does not go back to Lune about my being here. Or for any Calormenes about to know what we are up to,” he added before allowing himself a quick scan of the room just to be sure. Good. No Calormenes.
The three sat in silence, and Edmund felt his shoulders tighten as the daunting realization of the difficulty of their mission settled in. Knowing that he needed to relax if he wanted to think clearly, he reached for the pitcher and tipped it to look inside. Empty. He considered getting up to get some more, but he reminded himself again of the previous morning and how he more than likely killed that shrub.
Suddenly, Ferrin pushed his seat away from the table and stood up with a snort of laughter.
Edmund let the pitcher fall back and it wobbled a bit on place before it settled. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded. “We haven’t figured this out yet.”
“I’m going to go do as the locals do. Don’t worry, this is going to be the quickest and most efficient way of getting the information we need. I guarantee that we’ll learn what we can from here, with no one the wiser, and then we can spend the rest of the evening as we like. Trust me.”
He shoved the chair back under the table, the scrape of the chair on the floor eliciting a loud noise, enough for several patrons to look in their direction and the room to quiet down, almost in expectation. Edmund sunk deep in his seat, bringing a hand to the side of his face while a sense of dread sank into his gut. Ferrin started to walk, stopped, turned to polish off the rest from his mug, and then continued up towards the front of the room.
Did I not just say that we should not do this, Ferrin?
Peridan, on the other hand, almost looked excited and actually sat straighter in his chair, whistling and clapping as Ferrin made his way to the back of the room. Patrons around them joined in as they saw him move past, the room slowly swelling in a cacophony of encouraging noises. And no one looked surprised as to what was happening. Except Edmund.
“Peridan, what is he doing?”
Ferrin established himself in the front as those who had occupied the standing room area cleared out of his way. He cleared his throat and sang a cheery tune in a clumsy voice:
There was a moment of silence once he finished. Ferrin stopped to read the crowd, but only a slight murmuring had started to invade the space. Ferrin continued, his voice steadier and clearer:
Edmund sat in silent horror. The room had gotten uncomfortably quiet, as patrons turned to each other and muttered quietly amongst themselves. Edmund had no idea what was going on. He didn’t want to know. His face dropped into his hands.
Finally, though, a shout and laugh came from a table in the corner and a middle-aged man with a hand slightly raised rose out of his seat. All the heads from the room turned to watch him approach Ferrin. Peridan was one of them, leaning forward in his seat in gleeful anticipation.
The man faced off to Ferrin, who in turn crossed his arms in expectation. The challenger’s voice rang out in the same tune Ferrin had set:
A loud roar of laughter and pounding of tables came from the area the singer came from, and the rest of the room erupted in applause. Edmund saw one gentleman—Lore, presumably—have a scowl on his face that quickly melted when his mug got topped off from the pour of a newly arrived pitcher.
Edmund turned to see Ferrin laughing and clasping the hand of the challenger as they struck up a short conversation. A cider maid approached him with a pint in hand, a blush on her cheeks, and a perky curtsey. Ferrin responded with a quick kiss on her cheek, followed by a long draw from his newly-earned cider as he made his way to return to their table. The singer in Ferrin’s wake remained where he was, deep in thought and silently moving his lips.
“That was vile,” Edmund said as his friend approached the table.
“That was brilliant,” Peridan added, red in the face from laughter.
Ferrin heavily set his prize on the table and sat back down in his chair as his challenger started a new bawdy verse. Edmund tuned the singer out and leaned forward to grit through his teeth, “Have you been planning this along?”
“No, of course not,” Ferrin replied. “I had no idea they sang cantas here. I figured it was worth a shot. I’m a bit rusty, though, I’ve done better….”
Susan was right. The man was absolutely exasperating. “But—but how…why did you sing what you just sang about?”
Ferrin looked at him as if he sprouted a third ear. “Because we wanted to learn about the Elephants,” he said, turning to Peridan with a shrug.
“Well, it’s rather obvious now!”
“I wouldn’t worry, Ed,” Peridan reassured, looking around the room and giving the bandage on his hand a tug. “It’s the sort of light-hearted subject cantas usually start with. See? We haven’t drawn any attention whatsoever. People like it when things start out silly,” he added, with a point towards the front.
Edmund gave a rudimentary glance around the room. It was true, most of the attention was on the singer who was facing off with a new challenger of his own, a man half the size and twice the pock-marks. And he was currently singing about goats.
“Plus, we got all the information we needed, with the added benefit of letting everyone here know that we are from out of town and under the prospect guise of finding a new home,” Ferrin said with a satisfied grin, raising his glass towards Peridan. “An alibi. We now have one.”
“And it is sold!” Peridan agreed with a sharp nod, meeting Ferrin’s glass in a clink!
It is rather bloody brilliant. He started to understand why he kept Ferrin around to begin with. And he was reminded of the first time the proud man, just a few years older than Peter, stumbled into Cair Paravel, loudly proclaiming his desire for Queen Susan the Gentle’s hand in marriage. At the time, Ferrin was technically on the right side of sobriety, but just barely. Susan had been horrifically appalled by the display.
Edmund, on the other hand, had been shamelessly delighted and immediately sought the man out after Susan’s gentle, yet firm, refusal. It wasn’t hard for Edmund to convince him to join his service. In compensation for the Queen’s refusal, of course. And when he was not out on the Patrol, Ferrin had been at Edmund’s side ever since.
“Now, just so you know how this works,” Ferrin said, pausing to wipe the cider foam from his lip on his sleeve, “they won’t delve into serious things such as complaints of the local Lord or the King’s taxations or the price of figs for awhile. And then after that, the topics will swiftly degrade back to the safer topics. You know, such as sex and drinking.”
Edmund watched as the pock-marked man in front burst into laughter before finishing his verse. “I had no idea of this tradition, and I’ve been to Archenland countless times,” he said with a frown.
“You’ve been to Anvard, you mean,” Ferrin corrected. “They don’t particularly care in Anvard what we do in the outskirts.”
This sat heavily with Edmund. He was relieved that he and his siblings were very much in tune with the small folk throughout Narnia, but he made the mental note to keep in touch with the more. Edmund considered Lune not only an ally, but a friend, and he wondered if the King knew of such practices such as the cantas and whether he paid them any heed. He hoped so.
Peridan flagged down another cider maid and slipped her a note in exchange for a fresh pitcher. “A real shame Baris isn’t here!”
“Ah-ha, but he’s with us in spirit, for I am reminded.…” Ferrin trailed off, reaching into his side pouch. He pulled out two small, polished pipes, a tinderbox, and a small leather bag. “I’m under strict orders from Commander Baris that you are to partake, Ed.”
“I don’t take orders from Baris,” he warily replied.
“What if I was to say that it was under the recommendation of your venerable elder sister?” he coyly added, packing his own pipe. “The only time I’ve ever agreed with her. Surely you can’t deny a miracle such as that. Why, that’s a sign of the Great Lion, is it not?”
He eyed the paraphernalia in front of him. “You have a valid point,” Edmund said, reaching for the spare pipe. “Unless…Peridan?”
Peridan waved him off. “After what happened yesterday, I have vowed to only take part in one vice in this evening of indulgence,” he said, raising his mug. “Twelve years, remember. It already is a special day,” he said before taking an appreciative drink.
With a shrug, Edmund picked up the bag of blue lasaia and took a whiff of the subtly fragrant, sage-colored leaves. The spicy, floral scent seemed innocent enough. Plus, he knew that his faun friend often partook in a good smoke now and then, claiming that it was a “pleasant, calming influence after a long day soldiering.” Edmund started to fill his pipe, mimicking the actions of Ferrin.
“So, where to next?” Ferrin said, puffs of smoke already emitting from the sides of his mouth.
“I suggest due south,” Peridan said loudly, setting his mug down and giving it a tap. “I’ve heard that as the picking season comes to a close, housing will become more widely available in Esting. But the window is small, what with winter coming.”
Ferrin nodded, eventually pulling the pipe out of Edmund’s hands and packing and lighting it himself before handing it back to Edmund. “It’s been many years since I’ve set foot in Darden.”
Edmund eyed their surroundings. The room had filled further still, and as people passed by to find room to stand, they hovered over their table. Too many people. “Well, the prospects of what we are looking for does sound more promising the farther south we go.” He inhaled a lungful of smoke and immediately regretted it.
“What is it your cousin Durah said, sir? That her family was particularly fond of the valleys with the lakes. Where they grown figs. You know, in the south,” Ferrin needlessly emphasized, with a scratch to the dark stubble on his chin.
Edmund held his breath, denying himself the cough that so desperately was trying to escape. He had no desire of looking the fool amongst his comrades, even if he was slightly younger and…well, inexperienced than they were. “Yes!” he ended up choking out before taking a long slug from his cider. That seemed to help. “Yes, they say the farmland was ideal, with their small lake nearby. We should definitely stop in and pay our respects. Maybe they could point us in the right direction.”
“And what are we expecting to find, Ed?” Ferrin asked. “Just one cottage? A hamlet? A village?”
Edmund slowly puffed on his pipe in thought. He inhaled in small amounts, gradually increasing as he got used to it. Durah had said they preferred sticking together in families, but there were the lone bachelor Elephant Bulls that primarily stuck to themselves for months at a time. Finding them and rounding them up could be painstaking for humans. If they could only enlist the help of at least a few Elephants to spread the word, for Lucy had explained in her latest letter that they could communicate at vast differences. That is, when they wanted to, which was part of the problem.
“I say we keep out minds and eyes open to what opportunity presents itself first,” Edmund finally said, knowing it wasn’t much. He noticed the smoke was making his mouth rather dry, so he poured himself another mug of cider. After many days of traveling, and the closer they got to their destination, Edmund was finding the entire task more and more daunting, and they had barely even started. With the autumn rain and cold just around the corner, his personal deadline of one month loomed over him.
An anxious rumble sprung from his center and he momentarily closed his eyes while blowing out a long stream of smoke, mentally calming himself down. His shoulders surprisingly felt more relaxed already, even if his mind wasn’t completely at ease.
Sometime during their discussion, the tune the Cantos sang had changed to a more somber, slower melody. A young man clutching a wool hat in his hands nervously sang in a doleful tenor:
While some applauded, others in the crowded room raised their mugs in salute. Edmund reached for his own to join them. This was proving to be a rather sobering evening. He drank, while a table mate of the singer’s came to the challenge, threw an arm around his friend, and rang out:
It was a respectable amount of applause from most of the room, much to Edmund’s relief. We should put this singer on payroll. He kept himself from snorting, for that would have been rude and inappropriate. That campaign was apparently a bigger deal in this part of Archenland than what he would have thought. To Edmund, it was just one of many fought in the years since their coronation. And he was tired of them. All of them.
Edmund saw that he wasn’t the only one not clapping, though—a table of older gentlemen grumbled to themselves, and in the corner, a burly, dark-haired man sat expressionless, one hand under the table, the other holding out his mug at arms length in front of him. When they inadvertently locked eyes, Edmund nonchalantly let his gaze wander back to the singers. Part of it was tactic, the other part was the fact that it was getting harder and harder for his eyes and attention to focus as their evening progressed. The man looked familiar, though Edmund was pretty sure he had never met him before.
“Should we tell your sister of our plans?” Ferrin spoke from his left as he shoved the bag of lasaia closer to him.
Edmund had to blink several times to get his eyes focused on his Ferrin. “What? Oh. Oh, yes, I’ll send a Bird—”
“We can find a messenger here in town in the morning, I’m sure,” Peridan interjected, throwing him a hard stare.
“Yes! A messenger. Good idea, Peridan, I know why I keep you around,” Edmund said with a clap to his friend’s shoulder before packing another pipe.
Peridan was not appeased. “Are you all right?”
“Just leave him alone, he’s having a good time. We all are,” Ferrin scolded. He looked around the room. “Have you seen that lovely maid who gave me the winning drink from earlier around? I think she has some clout around here. Exactly my type.”
Peridan shook his head and reached for the pitcher. “Do you think we could do one night without you getting in trouble with some innkeeper’s daughter?
“Oh, come off it. When was the last time that any of us had an evening of indulgences, as even you called it? Besides the other night, that is, which doesn’t count. That wasn’t public. And we’ve been out in the field for months. You could stand some loosening up yourself.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Ferrin.”
Ferrin shrugged. “Just calling it as I see it. I’m quite good at that.”
“You’re a right bastard, is what you are,” Peridan chided.
“No, I’m right horny.”
Edmund tuned their bickering out, and once again looked towards the front towards the performance. The energy in the room had picked up some, with several of those in the front sitting up in their seats and gesturing at the latest singer in support. The man’s voice was almost as angry as the glow around him, Edmund thought.
Edmund frowned. Stolen horses? What is he talking about? Edmund thought that they must be mistaken, that they were actually talking about the Elephants, not horses. But then that would not explain the earlier verse when they had easily dismissed the idea of elephants in the area completely, as if they didn’t even care about them. Why wouldn’t they care about elephants? Or Elephants? Well, Durah was special, to be sure….
The cider maid came by again and switched out their emptied pitcher with a new one. She had barely turned around before Ferrin had reached for a pinch on her bottom, to which she turned and swatted his hand away. She left the table with a cheeky grin and a bounce in her step, regardless.
She’s pretty.
Edmund drained the remainder of his mug. “Pass me the pitchy, will you?”
Ferrin laughed, and gave the newly filled vessel roughly towards Edmund, making it slosh slightly. “One pitchy at your leisure, my liege!”
Peridan shot Ferrin a steely glare.
He wasn’t supposed to say that, was he? Edmund was thankful the pipe gave his fidgety hands something to do.
“And another for you, your Highness!” Ferrin exclaimed, filling up Peridan’s mug in turn.
Peridan’s glare towards their friend didn’t let up, but at least he didn’t argue with him, much to Edmund’s relief. So much chatter, Edmund thought, when really he wanted to hear the singers up front. He was getting so much valuable information at this little—big— run-down cider house in Mittelward, and he was eager to learn what more he could from the next Cantos. He inhaled deep from the remainder of his pipe and leaned forward in anticipation, his elbow slipping off his knee several times before he properly balanced himself.
The room erupted in a clamor of laughter and toasts. The songs had returned towards a more cheery melody and people shuffled around more, having gotten their second wind of the evening. But this annoyed Edmund, as the swirling mass of people before his eyes apparently had a different agenda than what he wanted them to.
“But what about the horses!” Edmund found himself saying aloud. Quite loud, actually. “Or Telmar, what news from Telmar?”
Peridan frowned and laid a hand on his arm. “Ed!” he whispered with a slight shake.
Perhaps they should have come here right away. Perhaps the people around them did know what happened to to the Elephants, but weren’t saying. First Elephants being taken, now horses… when will it end? Edmund felt his eyelids start to droop.
And what about Susan? Poor Susan wandering out in the wilds of Archenland, with dimwitted lords breathing down her neck. When all along, she should be here, at the task at hand, learning invaluable information. The lords can wait. She’s still young, she can find a husband anywhere. Even here! He considered going up to the front and singing the virtues of his sister to the roomful of potential suitors, but an ounce of sobriety kept him in check. He decided it would be best to ask her permission first. “I…I need a Bird, I think,” Edmund sputtered and blinked slowly. “Yes, definitely a Bird. For my sister’s permission.”
Peridan eyed him warily. “You’re drunk.”
“I think he’s more than that,” Ferrin snorted. He held up the bag of leaves and gave it a sniff. “Perhaps he should not have indulged in both the cider and the lasaia.”
“And you’re just now coming to this conclusion?”
“F—Ferr…Ferridan,” Edmund muttered.
Ferrin laughed loudly and poured himself another drink before lounging back into his chair. “Y’hear that? We’re only as good as one man put together, Peridan!”
“All of your damned names sound alike. It’s not my fault,” Edmund said, reaching for the pitcher of cider. “It’s…it’s all your mothers’ faults!”
Peridan moved the pitcher away from him and took Edmund’s mug out of his hands. “All right, time to go,” he said, hefting Edmund up out of the chair. “Before you start insulting our mothers any further.”
Ferrin grinned up at them, his dark eyes twinkling. “He’s welcome to insult Baris’ mother all he wants. That son of a Beech isn’t even here!”
Edmund found that entirely too funny. He doubled over in laughter, which made it harder for Peridan to keep him upright.
“Ha! I’m one to talk about mothers,” Edmund said, catching his breath. “I haven’t got one!” He noticed his sinuses starting to clog up. It’s dusty in here, is all. He blinked away a few tears. “Poor, Susan…she—she’s had to do it all…I haven’t got one, you know, Peridan.”
“Got one what, Ed?”
“Mum…nevermind.” Edmund closed his eyes, and his head rolled forward. Peridan reached for Edmund’s left arm to pull around his neck for leverage.
“You got him?” Ferrin asked.
Peridan gave Edmund’s tangled feet a kick with the side of his boot so they would be under him. Edmund’s head snapped back up, eyes wide open. “I think so,” Peridan said.
“Good. I think I’m going to take another turn up there.”
“Somebody tell Su, I’m sorry, all right?” Edmund swallowed, his mouth unnaturally dry. “And Peter.…”
“Best not speak such names here,” Peridan muttered, grunting from pulling the weight of Edmund as they made their way across the bawdy room.
Oh, right. But he was so sorry. From the time before, from the time first here, but mainly before. There. What a right beast he was, and the noises from up above were so loud, and he wanted to stay home with her. Wait ‘til Pete hears about this….
“Left foot first,” Peridan said. “There you go!”
Edmund stared ahead at what looked like a blurry, jagged wall. So many steps, how can anyone climb those all at once? At that moment, the concept of a staircase seemed the most brilliant, yet challenging thing one could ever encounter. Edmund considered laying himself right there, and perhaps if he did, he would land at the top. Yes….
“No! Up and at them, Ed, we’re almost there.”
His room was the second on the right, where Peter would already be asleep, so he would have to be quiet and tiptoe around his brother’s bed, trying not to kick the cricket bat leaning against it. The girls would be to the left, and at the end of the hall….
I can’t remember.
“Peridan.”
“Yes, your Majesty?”
Edmund was sitting on the bed, staring at the boots that were being taken off. “The end. What’s at the end?”
“Sorry?”
Edmund shut his eyes. “The end of the hall?”
“Just more rooms.” More Peridan talking. He could talk a lot. Sometimes. If they only knew. “Now, here, drink this.”
More cider? He drank it down, he was so thirsty, but it was plain. Water or something like water. Plain. He held the mug out, and it was taken away, and he collapsed on a pillow.
“We can stay a little longer in the morning, but I recommend we take off for Esting before midday.” It got darker, slight smell of smoke.
Edmund’s head rolled away towards the window. It was so cold, and she was so beautiful. A slight breeze made the thin, cotton curtains blow gently in the room and cool his warm face. I miss her, Dad. The bombs were so loud. “I—I can’t remember.…” he mumbled.
“You’ll be fine in the morning, Ed,” Peridan’s voice called from the door.
“…I can’t remember.…”
The door quietly clicked shut, and Edmund passed out.
::x:x:x::
“A hallucination is a fact, not an error; what is erroneous is a judgment based upon it.” — Bertrand Russell
::x:x:x:x:x:x:x::
Map | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Author: snitchnipped
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Part of Four of the Dichotomy Universe. Familiarity with Dichotomy, Splintered, and Hail to the Days is highly encouraged. All can be found on my ff.net directory.
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Implied Adult Situations, Violence
Author's Notes: Many, many thanks to my betas
wingedflight21, lady_songsmith, and rthstewart for all the encouragement and hand-holding. My hope is that there is a little something in it for everyone. Whatever you get out of it, I want to thank you for taking the time for reading this monster. I hope you enjoy it.Summary: “All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope.” — Winston Churchill
FUEL TO FIRE—CHAPTER TWO
“Trumpet in a herd of Elephants; crow in the company of cocks; bleat in a flock of goats.” — Malayan Proverb
The Western Gardens, Cair Paravel, Narnia. Fourthweek, August, 1010. Lucy, Day 3.
“It’s only a small grove. My brother Peter had a few trees sent up from Archenland with the help of a few dryads. Some day we would like to dig up that section over there to the north and put in a much bigger orchard.”
Lucy ducked under the branches, looking for an available fruit. Durah reached up with her trunk and plucked one for her, dropping it in Lucy’s awaiting hands.
“Thank you, my lady!”
“These certainly are delicious, your Majesty. I have not encountered any like these where I’m from.”
Lucy crunched into her fruit, her mind at work. Having taken too large of a bite, she had to chew awhile before she could answer. “What kinds of apples do you have then?” she shrewdly asked. “Or other fruit?”
The Elephant rustled through the leafy branches, disrupting Milletpeck, the Jackdaw, from her branch. The Bird emitted an annoyed caw! and fluttered to the next tree over. Finding another apple to her liking, Durah quickly popped it in her mouth. “Not many apples in our Valley, nor oranges, unfortunately…but we do have figs! They’re the favorite amongst my Herd. Especially the green ones.”
Lucy hesitated mid-chew. “Your Valley, did you say?” she said around a mouthful of apple. She exchanged a knowing look with Milletpeck.
“Mmm-hmm,” Durah said. “Oh, these are excellent, your Majesty, what a marvelous breakfast…”
After she had seen her brother and sister off earlier that morning, Lucy had decided to take Durah around to show the Elephant the grounds she had yet not seen in and amongst Cair Paravel. The conversation had been rather benign at first—Lucy had no interest in making her new friend uncomfortable with any sort of direction interrogation. But still, she figured regularly conversing with the Elephant would eventually lead to invaluable information that she could send along with Susan and Edmund. Lucy just hadn’t expected it within only an hour of them leaving.
“Don’t you miss the Valley, Durah? And your family, your friends?”
The Elephant had stopped combing through the tree and had turned her attention to the fallen fruit on the ground. “Yes, I shall miss my family, even though they are not happy with me. They were my closest friends, too. And I will miss a few of the Bulls that I have befriended.” She picked through the rotten ones, occasionally finding an apple that was only slightly bruised.
Well, at least they won’t go to waste, Lucy thought. “The Bulls?” she prompted. This was the first time the Elephant had ever mentioned the males of her species.
“We don’t speak much with them often because they can be quite solitary. And a lot of the others are frightened of them, due to how much bigger they are,” Durah added. “But I speak with them sometimes, whenever they’ve come down from the north. I find some of them quite nice.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Milletpeck shake her dark, glossy head in dismay. Large, solitary Bull Elephants who live in the north of the Valley where there are lots of field streams and lakes and where figs grow, she thought. Surely she could have mentioned all of this before! This was going to be quite an ordeal, she realized, though she didn’t fault the Elephant. Durah really was trying her best. Lucy was glad, though, that she stayed behind. Being justified was always rather nice.
She tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear and looked up at Durah. The Elephant was blissfully chewing on another fruit, her eyes squinted shut in delight. “Mmm, delicious,” Durah mumbled.
Lucy sighed in mild exasperation and turned up towards the tree where a Jackdaw was perched. With a bob of a head, Milletpeck swooped down off her branch, eventually climbing high in the sky as she flew south to catch up with Susan and Edmund with the new information.
“Natures great master-peece, an Elephant, The onely harmlesse great thing; the giant of beasts.” — John Donne
Gale Downs, Narnia—Archenland Border, Narnia. Firstweek, September, 1010. Susan, Day 10.
The arrow shot straight and true, landing right in the minotaur’s left eye, causing it to double up in pain and the minotaur directly behind it to trip. Baris swiftly ran up to finish them off, while Susan scoped beyond for the oncoming assault, another arrow already notched on her string at the ready.
She recognized a man wearing the gold and red of the King’s Patrol come racing towards them from behind the trees, hot in pursuit. He deftly ran up behind a werewolf, reached around its throat with one hand, and sliced his sword across its abdomen in one swift movement while breaking its neck in the opposite direction. With a piercing screech, the creature twisted in place, and Sir Peridan shoved it down into the ground, his bloodied sword hanging by his side.
Across the clearing, a hag crumpled down, a gutting cry echoing amongst the clearing. Edmund raced forward, engaging a third minotaur directly with a quick block of his longsword, sweeping it to above his head, parallel to the ground. It was a tactic Susan had often seen him use in training—an unusual one, for most attack when running into an engagement, not block. She was relieved to see it work outside the training grounds.
Catching the minotaur off guard and off balance, Edmund quickly stepped in and sliced its throat backhanded, leaping back as the tip of a different Narnian sword erupted from its gut. The weapon seemed to retreat backwards as the minotaur fell forward. The stocky form of Ferrin holding the bloodied sword was revealed, the other one of Edmund’s favored Company members to join them on their quest.
There was a moment of silence that permeated the air once the last foe had fallen and they all caught their breaths.
“Is that all of them, Ferrin?” Edmund had a dark look in his eyes as he barked out his question.
“Yes, they should—”
“Are you sure?” he snapped.
“Positive, sire,” Peridan offered through gasps of exhaustion. He bent down to clean his sword, turning the dried yellow grass dark brown with streaks of blood.
Edmund collapsed on a boulder, throwing his own sword into the ground in frustration. Susan noticed that it wasn’t his real sword—he obviously thought ahead and got a standard issue weapons for his role. She still frowned, though. It wasn’t like him to be so disrespectful with a weapon.
It had been a close call. After a week of uneventful travel, the attack had come without warning, for they had not thought to send any Birds to be on the lookout behind them while they were still in Narnia. Susan saw that they seemed to escape primarily unscathed, and she silently thanked Aslan for the protection of her brother, who had bore the brunt of the enemy’s charge. And he had also been the most vulnerable, too—in preparation of parting company and going incognito, Edmund had abandoned his armor and wore the plain clothes of a traveller, with only the protection of a leather jerkin. His weapon of choice, Skarpur, was stashed away. And Edmund had the foresight to leave Phillip behind, too. The Horse had developed quite the reputation in Archenland over the years and would not easily escape undetected.
“Here you are, your Majesty.”
Susan turned and looked down from her steed to see Baris holding up two of her red-fletched arrows. “Thank you, Baris,” she told the faun. “Please give the ‘all clear’ to the rest of the company.”
“Aye, your Majesty,” Baris said before leaping off into the woods behind them.
“Report,” Edmund said firmly, and Susan observed him slowly gaining control of himself again.
“We thought we’d kill two birds with one stone and run them towards you to give you the pleasure of helping off them,” Ferrin mildly said, wiping his blade on a dirty handkerchief he pulled from his breeches.
Susan watched Edmund’s attention shift from Ferrin to Peridan, a silent order for the Knight to continue in Ferrin’s stead. She couldn’t blame him. She always found the man quite insufferable.
“There’d been no sight of the Witch’s followers for well over two months,” Peridan said. “We had barely just broke off from the Patrol to join you when we got ambushed just a few miles west of here.” He had unstrapped a gauntlet, holding it under his arm in order to rub at his wrist.
“How many were there?”
“Close to a dozen. These were the last few.” Peridan turned to look towards the direction they had just raced from, still holding his wrist. “They took out our horses in the initial attack,” he sadly added.
“You managed the rest? And ran all this way?” Susan asked, sweeping her eyes across the remains of the last victims. “That’s quite impressive, sir.”
“Thank you, your Majesty!” Ferrin piped up with a broad grin and a bow that was too exaggerated for Susan to take seriously. She bit her tongue in retort.
Susan noticed that Edmund’s other friend was wincing in pain. “Are you hurt, Sir Peridan?” she asked.
He held out his arm in front of him to inspect it. “I should be fine, just sprained when I landed. When my horse landed on top of it, that is.”
Edmund wearily scratched the top of his head, mussing his sweaty hair further than it already was. “All right, but you best get that hand wrapped up anyway. Debrief with Baris, and after that, report to Turvalin. He should have a change of clothes for both of you in the wagon. Ditch the Patrol garb.”
Peridan didn’t move right away. “The horses, sire?” he asked, the sense of loss permeating his voice.
Edmund’s head bowed, and he kicked at a small rock by his feet. “We’ll send word to the Patrol. They’ll get a proper Narnian burial,” Edmund quietly replied.
Peridan bowed his head in thanks, and jogged to the back of the line where Edmund’s squire Turvalin was.
Edmund turned his gaze to the pile of victims that Ferrin was slowly dragging into the clearing. “Leave them Ferrin, it’s not worth our time. Go change.”
His friend unceremoniously dropped the corpse, letting out a puff of exhaustion. “Aye, sire.”
“It is good to see you two again.” Edmund’s words stopped Ferrin in his tracks.
He gave Edmund a jaunty smile and said, “You know you can count on us for our unwavering support, your Majesty.” He then trotted back towards where Peridan and Baris were conferring a couple of dozen yards away.
Susan surveyed the damage from atop her horse. Close to a half dozen lay dead around them, thankfully none of their own people. It looked to be a relatively small faction of those still fighting in the White Witch’s name, but they were deadly nonetheless. Still, as successful as they were in this battle, it had come completely unexpected. Sir Peridan had been right—Susan couldn’t even remember the last time she had heard of such an altercation. Certainly none this year, or at least none that had been substantial enough to reach her ears back at the Cair.
Edmund stood and crossed over to the corpse that Ferrin had abandoned. Bending over, he reached into the mess of sticky rags by the hag’s heart and pulled out what Susan recognized as one of his knives. “Finish gathering what we need and let’s get a move on,” he called out to everyone, dumbly holding the bloodied blade at his side. “Nightfall will be here sooner than we think.”
The several dozen members of their company were quick to follow his order, and were efficiently collecting themselves from the surprise of their attack in preparation for the remainder of the day’s journey. Susan also saw Turvalin making sure that Ferrin and Peridan were seen to, as new horses were prepped for them and new clothes were doled out.
Her attention was brought back at the sound of her brother swearing loudly in a new burst of frustration, and with one last grunt, Edmund flung his knife into the ground. Susan was about to admonish him for the apparent trend of disrespect for his weaponry, but when she saw him retrieve it, she noticed the blade was wiped clean from the effort. Clever.
“Are you all right?” she cautiously asked.
Edmund looked at the knife and after one last swipe on his trousers, re-holstered it onto his thigh. “It’s the principle,” he muttered.
“I know it is,” she said sympathetically. She looked up towards the south. “How close are we to the border?”
Her brother wiped his brow with the sleeve of his arm and followed her gaze. “I’d say only a half an hour’s ride. After that, we’ll ride with you for another few miles or so before we part ways. Milletpeck!” he called, and within a few seconds, the Jackdaw had landed on the closest branch, awaiting her orders. “Please make a final sweep of the area. This group was small—there may be more out there.”
“Of course,” she said, and Susan detected a hint of shame in her voice. Susan hoped that the Bird didn’t feel any responsibility for the attack being the surprise that it was. Regardless, she was glad that Milletpeck was able to join them sooner rather than later, having received Lucy’s news quite early in their journey. Edmund tended to be more at ease with his friend nearby.
The company eventually got all in order, and once again, they made their way south through Gale Downs towards the border. It was a beautiful area of the country, one that Susan regretted not visiting more often. The reddish Claws they had passed through a few days earlier had given way to the golden hills leading up to the forested mountain range bordering Archenland. Susan thought it a shame that pockets of evil still inhabited such beautiful country such as this. As the sun descended behind the tops of the mountains in the west, the valleys were darkened with shadows, and the forest around them delved into a deeper green. Susan eventually was forced to pull her cloak from her saddle bag, almost relieved to have left the heat of the Narnian summer behind once and for all.
As they neared the border, though, Susan not only felt the chill more keenly, but she also had the expected feeling of loss coming from within. It was not a surprise—she had always noticed a distinct change of atmosphere, an overall feeling as they would cross into the neighboring country. Susan suspected it was a change of air quality, as the majority of weather systems came from the southern deserts into Archenland, but not quite making it into Narnia. Lucy, however, scoffed at the notion. “Don’t be silly, Susan,” Lucy had said once. “It’s magic. No other country has the magic that Narnia does, and that’s what you’re missing.”
Lucy’s explanation wasn’t completely logical to Susan, but then again neither was the feeling of loss in her bones as they finally crossed the border into Archenland through the hidden pass.
For the last several miles since the attack, Susan rode alongside her brother. He sat stiffly in his saddle as they started making their way downhill on the main road leading to the high valley where Anvard lay nestled. He’s not still wound up from earlier, is he?
“Ed, please don’t do anything rash,” she eventually said when it came time for Edmund to turn his horse around to ride to the back of the line. “Take care of yourself.”
Edmund nodded in response, but didn’t look directly at her, his eyes unfocused in thought. She held her hand out, and when he noticed, he took it and gave her a reassuring squeeze and a slight smile. Wordlessly, he nudged his mount back to join the other members of his Company in the back of the line in preparation for their split.
“You know, your Majesty,” Baris said. “It may be a good idea that King Edmund find a good outlet for his troubles. Something that would set his mind at ease. Something that we have spoken of before which you tentatively agreed to, might I add.”
“You’re referring to the lasaia that you smoke, are you not, Baris?”
“Ah, the blue lasaia, your Majesty. There’s a difference!”
“That I don’t doubt. Only the best for you, am I right?” At the dip of the faun’s bare chin, she let out a contemplative sigh. “I do believe that I concur with your assessment, Baris. We definitely should look into it.”
Baris smile was slow and sly. “It’s already taken care of, your Majesty.”
Susan turned to him, not bothering to ask the question on her mind. His smile shifted into something brighter and more innocent, his bushy brows wiggling in a suggestive manner. Any retort on her side was cut short as a pounding of hooves emerged from behind them. They both turned to watch three horses galloping east, towards the fields, and towards Darrinden. A small flock of Birds, led by Milletpeck, trailed behind them for awhile, gliding in the horses’ draft before spreading out in different directions.
Edmund and his group had a few hours of hard travel ahead of them. Susan and Baris, in turn, lead the remainder of the company onto the southern road towards Anvard.
“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” — Martin Buber
Dinner Hall of Castle Anvard, Anvard, Archenland. Firstweek, September, 1010. Susan, Day 12.
As the dinner chimes sounded from the musician in the corner, the parties made their way to their seats. Place cards, Susan observed. How many times have I begged for place cards only to be shot down? But if Susan was completely honest were herself, it was a rather un-Narnian thing to do, especially since many of their dinner guests in Cair Paravel couldn’t even sit at a “normal” table.
Susan nodded her head as Baris pulled a seat out for her before taking his own. Unfortunately, she would have to do without the faun’s steady support by her side as he was assigned a corner seat of the table. And she could have used said support, too—Susan was seated directly across from Lune, much to her anxiety-ridden dismay. Worse yet, to her right was seated the spotty teenage son of Lord Fridian who would not stop ogling her during the afternoon tea. As she pulled her seat up and reached for her napkins, Susan braced herself for an evening of equally awkward conversation with strangers and of those already known. If only I was more like Lucy or Peter….
“Your Majesty?”
Susan looked to her left and found a rather handsome man offering her a pour of wine—if the information Edmund had was correct, then this would either be Lord Cole or Lord Colin. “Oh, yes,” she mumbled, reaching for her empty glass. “Please.”
The man smiled warmly as he filled her glass. “I’m sorry we did not get a chance to meet earlier.” He set the pitcher down and leaned back in his seat, revealing a rather pretty blonde woman sitting to his left who sent her a warm smile. “I’m Cole.”
“Lord Cole!” Susan replied, pleased to have been close with her her guess. “Oh, of course!” She was able to relax some, for what she knew of the man was generally all good, if not exactly memorable. Cole certainly was one of the most handsome of the Lords she had been introduced to thus far this evening—Edmund’s files may have been pretty thorough, but as much as she had poured over everything the evening prior in preparation of meeting all the Lords, nothing could give her the insight that a first impression could. “Yes, I have heard great things, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Cole’s eyebrow lifted a bit, but he didn’t call her on to her bluff. “And may I introduce to you the Lady Cole, my wife Frana.”
Wife. Of course. That was not what she expected. Apparently Edmund needed to update his files further still. Susan buried her unanticipated disappointment and bowed her head in greeting to the woman.
“Your Majesty, it is a pleasure,” Frana said, in a warm, soft voice that Susan could barely hear over the din of the room.
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Susan graciously said before taking a sip of wine. A very long sip of wine. Cole and his wife were distracted by greetings from others, and Susan braced herself for further conversation expected of her from the others at the table.
The musician in the corner took a seat and picked up a lap harp. He set to work tuning it as the servers came about with the bread course.
“Susan, do tell us how your family is doing. I take it you had yet another beautiful Narnian summer,” King Lune said as he took one of the proffered loaves from a servant. “Though all seasons are marvelous there, I’m sure.”
Susan smiled. “Yes, they are indeed, your Majesty. And my family is well, though I’m afraid I have not seen Peter in some time. He’s been engaged up in the North again all summer and had not yet returned before I set out on my journey.”
“It’s been several years since King Peter has graced us with his presence, but I understand how busy he is. It’s admirable how he manages it all. Still, it’s a shame neither Edmund nor Lucy could accompany you,” Lune added, a quirk of one eyebrow raised in question.
Susan had hoped to avoid the subject of her brother and sister’s absence, so she quickly busied herself by taking a bite of cheese, allowing herself to only nod along to his sentiment. The cheese was a Felimathan cheddar, one of her favorites. Lune must have remembered. He was still looking at her expectantly, so she quickly swallowed and non-answered, “They do send their regards.”
This seemed to placate him. He tore into one of the diamond shaped small loaves, and paused as if to consider it.
“And Archenland? He fares well, too?” Susan asked. The din of the room hushed—she noticed that she and the King had garnered the attention of most of those present. Honestly, if I’m going to be the main attraction at dinner, perhaps I should sit in the corner with the musician. And of course, said musician was softly strumming along as they talked, while the rest of the room had gone rather silent. It was as if it was all a rehearsed performance.
“Aye, my Queen,” Lune said, extending an arm out to offer half of the loaf to Susan. “Archenland does indeed fare well.” She gave pause, knowing full well what the gesture implied. She eventually reached to tear off a piece, making sure not to take the loaf directly off of his hands. Lune’s kind grey eyes met hers and he gave her a small, sad smile as he dumbly held the rejected bread before him.
Susan had the horrifying notion that perhaps everyone present was expecting more out of her visit. Surely Lune did not still think that my mind would have changed…. She idly wiped the crumbs from her fingers as, much to her relief, the rest of the room broke back into normal conversations.
Lune set his loaf down and cleared his throat. “There has been no unpleasantness these past few seasons,” he continued, “and for that we are grateful.”
“No word from Telmar, then?” Susan asked.
“None, actually. Not a word since Olvin Fields. Nor have I heard anything from Vanden alluding to further issues.”
Susan thought back on her copy of the map of Archenland. Lord Van’s province was on extreme western side of Archenland, and Van himself had been terribly wounded during the Battle of Olvin Fields. “That’s good to hear,” she replied.
A bowl of soup was placed directly in front of her, and she noticed Lune’s attention was diverted, thus speaking no more on the subject of Telmar nor the unfortunate altercation from two years prior. If the subject were to come up again, though, Susan decided not to mention the lone suspected Telmarine. Neither Peter nor Edmund had apparently informed Lune of such during the rushed correspondence arranging her visit, and she trusted their reasons in not doing so.
From Susan’s experience in Archenlander state dinners, the soup course was always the quietest. First of all, it was silly for one’s soup to get cold while caught up in idle chatter. Secondly, it was awkward to talk around the ridiculous ladle-like spoons they used in the country—I hope this wasn’t an ancient tradition from Narnia—for the task of eating soup became all elbows and head tilts. Most importantly, though, not enough alcohol would have been consumed this early on in the dinner, so tongues were not as loose.
As she enjoyed the thick tomato and mushroom soup, she took a moment to take stock of her surroundings. She had been introduced to some of those present as they had gathered in Lune’s Court prior to the dinner bell, though she hoped she would be able to remember names with faces for those she had not met on previous trips to Archenland.
There was, of course, the Lord Cole and his wife to her left, but she noticed that there was not anyone there who resembled him in any way. It seemed that the Lord Colin was not present, despite the proximity of his province to Anvard itself. noted that his brother was not present, though she knew their respective provinces to be rather close to Anvard. She stole a glance to the man seated next to her, and wondered if the Lord Colin was any bit as handsome as his brother was.
Her attention was diverted to a rather loud laugh from the opposite side of the table. Lord Tran. She knew that his land was directly south, and Susan expected that she would definitely have to have to pay a visit to Tranden during her trip. Durah did say she came from the South, after all. We must hit them all. The Lord Tran was decent looking enough, with the darker coloring of Southern Archenlanders, and he perhaps only had a decade on her. He was talking animatedly with a man to his right. For the life of her, she could not remember that man’s name nor title despite having been introduced to him earlier in the day. She was almost sure that he was not a Lord. Had he been, she would definitely have remembered.
“I assumed that Tran was more interested in Lord Fridian’s sizable province more than his daughter,” came a muttered voice from her left. “But now I’m starting to question otherwise. He puts on a rather convincing show.”
Susan turned to Cole in surprise. He had the smallest of smirks on his face which he deftly covered with a long draw from his wine. Susan chanced another glance over to the opposite side of the table.
Sure enough, Susan had completely missed what Tran was up to during her initial assessment. While engaged in a rather animated conversation on the appointment of the Lord Mayor of Emmerfald with the other man, Tran would slide a glance to the young woman to his left. Ah yes, Susan thought. It was the teenage daughter of King Lune’s sister, the Lady Fridian. She had to agree with Cole’s assessment. The girl was sneaking just as many glances to Tran in return, too.
The soup bowls were cleared away, and the Lady Fridian turned to her brother. “You were speaking of the Lord Van, earlier, were you not?”
Susan sat up straighter. Are we now going to address Telmar?
At King Lune’s nod, the Lady turned to Susan. “We await news from Velstang any day now, your Majesty. Lord Van’s lady wife is expecting their first born this month,” she added, leaning forward in excitement.
Susan smiled kindly. “That is good news indeed.”
“It would have been chaotic had Van perished and his line not secured. The whole West is messy in comparison,” Lord Tran boasted to Fridian’s daughter, who seemed pleased to be included in the conversation.
To this Cole frowned at Tran, but he didn’t say anything. Susan was not sure what to make of this, so she chose to sit quietly and observe for the time being.
“Well, it’s not an issue any more, my Lord,” King Lune mildly scolded. “Vanden is at the dawn of a happy and secure future.”
“Yes, well, if only certain neighbors of theirs would follow suit,” Tran said, busying himself with pouring another glass of red wine for himself and Fridian’s daughter, who blushed at the gesture. Of course, this made him too occupied when the servant made his way around the table with his basin of wash water and linen.
Susan deliberately washed her hands twice as long when it came to her turn—as if to make up for Tran’s lack of hygiene and manners—and turned to Lord Cole. “I’m embarrassed to say, my Lord, that I’m not as caught up with the inner Archenland politics as I should be.” Even if news wasn’t entirely relevant to the task at hand, Susan was a firm believer in there being no such thing as too much information.
“The Lord Tran, I believe, is referring to Rineden,” Cole said, wiping his hands on the proffered towel. “Portions of that land has been disputed for centuries. An issue that, frankly, is none of our concern. Especially Tran.”
She nodded politely, and deemed Cole a trustworthy source. And if Susan was going to get anymore information from him, she decided that playing ignorant would be a sensible course of action. The more questions asked, the more likely she could lead the conversations toward the information needed. “I’m sure if I was put on the spot, I wouldn’t even be able to name all the provinces,” she said with a forlorn sigh.
Cole smiled at her as he helped himself to the platter of chops that was laid out before them with a set of wooden tongs. “You know the ones of present company. I hope,” he teasingly added, passing the platter on to her.
Susan laughed as she accepted the tongs from him. “Well, of course, I’m not normally this daft, I promise.” She started filling her plate with the aromatic meat and vegetables. “I know that there’s also Darden, and Haneden…oh, and of course, we’re currently here in Barden,” she added and immediately closed her eyes in regret.
Cole abruptly stilled. “Anvard and its province are Lordless. And shall remain so for the foreseeable future,” Cole tactfully said, his eyes sweeping over to the King.
“Of—of course,” Susan stammered. Lord Chancellor Bar. That was careless of me. She, too, turned to look at Lune and was relieved to see that he was caught up in conversation with his sister and did not notice her flub. If she wasn’t trying to be proper, she would have sunk lower in her seat. What she would give to trade spaces with Edmund right now. Have a pint for me, Ed, wherever you are.
Cole must have noticed her discomfort. “Worry not,” he soothed. “Archenland can be confusing I know. Half the provinces are constantly in flux from one generation to the next, sometimes merging, sometimes splitting, always with new borders. I get rather confused myself at times. Sometimes I wonder if half of these characters can name any province outside of their own, too!” Cole said with a chuckle, gesturing to the table at large with his fork.
Susan laughed along and swept her eyes amongst the present company. “Fridian, Lord of Fridianden. That’s quite the mouthful. And unusual for a Lord’s name, I should think.”
“You think correctly. It is unusual,” Cole said. “It’s not typical for the fifth son to take the lordship.”
“What happened to the other four?”
Cole shook his head. “I’m not completely sure. Fridian took over long ago, when I was quite young. Whatever the circumstances, it’s not discussed, I do know that.” Cole cut off a piece of his lamb and speared it with his fork. “But all is well as far as I can tell. Lord Fridian is a fair, honest man, and is well respected by Lune. The King’s judgement is good enough for me.”
Susan was noticing that Lord Cole’s opinions on the goings on of the other provinces were hard to come by. She wondered how much more she would be able to learn from him, and whether if all the Lords minded their own businesses for the most part. Except for Lord Tran, Susan thought. Still, this may prove more difficult than I thought.
In the meantime, she decided to keep the questions coming from the source at hand, since the time was not quite right to bring up the Elephants. Not yet. “And both you and your brother have your own separate provinces?” she asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
“We do, your Majesty.”
“Like the Lords Dar and Darrin,” she said. She took a sip of wine, looking up questioningly at Cole over the rim.
Cole let out a bark of humorless laughter. “I should hope that we manage things better than them,” he said. “We certainly have more pride in our Lordships.”
Aha! So he does have opinions on how the other provinces are run, she thought. She didn’t say anything, hoping he would continue on that vein.
“But yes, in both instances our fathers’ had larger lordships that were divided evenly amongst brothers. Like I said before, Archenland has been carved up more times than a roasted pig, straight off the spit,” Cole said. “For the most part, though, it’s been peaceful. Even if we do have the occasional flare-ups now and again.”
“And there was no dispute between your brother and yourself on who got which half?” she asked, thinking about how much smaller Cole’s province was in comparison to his brother’s.
Cole shook his head. “Not in the slightest. Not to be a braggart, but we do live in one of the most beautiful areas of the country, so Father could do no wrong in that regard. My brother is a mountain man, happy in his woods with a sparser population. And I have the green hills filled with happy subjects, with beautiful sunrises and sunsets that bring a smile to my wife’s face, so it all works out in the end,” he said fondly. “To be honest, it’s a relief not being stuck in Anvard, even if by all rights I should be.”
Susan thought about her siblings and how tasks and interests happened to fall naturally with the ruler most suited for it. She didn’t know if it was luck or skill. Perhaps such things just worked, like they seemed to with Cole and Colin.
She supposed that perhaps having their kingdom divided up, if not geographically, then at least politically and administratively was not too unlike Archenland and its provinces. But Archenland was founded by Narnians, with King Col founding the country several hundred years ago…did he base Archenland off of an old Narnian model? They currently didn’t have any lords or anyone of high rank within Narnia proper, and she wondered if Narnia ever had before the Tree died. Perhaps Ed knows….
A sudden realization struck as her fork was half-way off the plate. Cole. Who should be stuck in Anvard…? “My Lord, are you at all descended from the first king, King Col?”
“I am, your Majesty,” he said in between bites.
Susan stabbed at a seasoned potato chunk. “I may be ignorant with your current geographical affairs, but I am fairly confident in my knowledge of Archenlander customs and traditions….” she trailed off.
“And if you are guessing that I’m a direct descendent, perhaps heir, then you are correct.”
Susan sat back her eyes wide, trying to figure out how this was the case. Not only had the recorded history of Narnia proper been lacking in the last century, but the library of Cair Paravel was also riddled with gaps in their neighbors’s histories, too.”
“My father was King Cole the Fifth’s eldest, but, believing himself ever the bachelor and therefore unlikely to continue the line, he passed the crown to his nephew, Validan. Validan was his sister’s son, and His Majesty King Lune’s father.”
“And Lune had already been born by then,” she calculated, to which he confirmed with a nod. “You’re cousins, then?”
“Once removed. Though younger, my brother and I are a generation ahead of Lune. The crown skipped a generation entirely.” The hint of relief colored Cole’s tone, as if he knew exactly what pressures of ruling an entire country he had, by chance, escaped.
“You could have been King!” she exclaimed.
Cole looked at her directly. “Or, I could live a quieter, peaceful life in the most beautiful part of the country, my wife by my side, and be perfectly content not having the weight of the country on my shoulders,” he said, reaching to his left and fishing for his wife’s hand.
Frana seemed startled at first, but quickly covered with a warm smile before returning to her own conversation, hand tightly grasped with her husband’s.
An abrupt wave of envy swept through Susan, and she barely heard Cole add, “But even if I was crowned, abdicating wouldn’t have been an option, even if I wanted to. My brother will never settle down as long as he has rivers to cross and woods to explore. I would never have done that to him,” he idly joked.
Despite his lighthearted take on the subject, it was quite apparent he respected the crown and was gracious for his own position in the Archenlander hierarchy. But he did not have the pressures of continuing his line for the sake of the entire country, only of his province alone. And even then, with the understanding she had of how things worked in Archenland, Coleden would be properly taken care of by his brother were anything foul to happen. She did not know Colin, but if he had an ounce of the generosity that Cole had, she would assume that he would not let his brother’s land fall to an opportunist. Such as the Lord Tran, she thought, thinking of Cole’s observation of the man’s interest in Fridianden.
There was a shift in the room as a second musician had entered and joined the harpist, this time with a traditional Archenlander wheel drum. They quickly jumped into a livelier tune, an Archenlander reel, with the drummer elaborately spinning his instrument between beats while the harpist’s fingers flew across his instrument’s strings. It was the kind of song that were the table cleared, she was sure everyone would quickly and happily join into the dance.
But Susan’s heart was too clouded for such a tune. Freedom from rule, she thought. What a wonderful concept. It was a dream she knew could never happen for her…it was certainly not a Narnian reality, though it may have been reality at one time for her, in another world. As blessed as she felt, as honored as she was by Aslan and the Prophecy to hold such an esteemed position, Susan almost envied Cole—and his brother’s—freedom. For not the first time, she wished the pressure to marry and bear Narnia’s future was off of her and more on Peter. But that was a selfish thought, even if she secretly believed that Peter wished for the same thing, and she quickly banished it from her mind.
She looked back to her left and saw that Cole had been brought into his wife’s conversation, laughing heartily at something she had just said. Susan shelved her feelings and decided to concentrate on the other and more important matter at hand: the Elephants. It was time.
And it was also time to let bygones be bygones and to address Lune directly. She braced herself and turned to the King. “So, your Majesty, my elder brother has told me that last time he was here, that you introduced him to something quite marvelous.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, what did he call them….” she said, biting her lip in mock concentration. “Elev…no, an elephant, is it?” She heard a faint clop! of Baris’ hoof against the stone floor.
Lune blinked in surprise. “Why, yes. There was an elephant in my court when King Peter was last here,” he said, idly shoving one of the last morsels of his lamb around his plate. “A coincidence you should inquire about it, too. You’re the second in a week.”
Susan willed her face to remain neutral. “It must have been quite popular, then, to have left such an impression after so many years. Peter was last here two years ago? Three?”
Lune ignored her question, though, and uncomfortably cleared his throat. “It’s more than one elephant, actually, and they come by regularly. I suppose it’s a migratory pattern. Not unlike the sheep in the West when they are not herded. We make them comfortable the brief time they pass through Anvard, and let them continue on their way.”
It was most definitely a migration of a sort, Susan knew, but she was not about to admit that she knew of their annual pilgrimage. “So, who else was inquiring, might I ask?”
Lune slowly wiped his hands on his napkin before continuing. “Calormenes. There was a small delegation that came through, asking us for permission to herd them. They said there were reports of them fording the Winding Arrow into Calormen, but they wanted to ask before taking them into their service.”
Now that was definitely a surprise, something that neither she nor Edmund would ever have expected. And she didn’t trust the news one bit. But she also knew better than to vocalize her opinion on the matter. From the
“Curious,” was all Susan allowed herself to say. She eyed the silver-haired monarch further, and she knew from the tightness in his brow that he was holding back. But that was to be expected. Both parties holding their cards tightly to their chests….
“Yes,” Lune agreed. “It was a rather strange request. If the beasts had already crossed into Calormen, then I have no control over them. Just like I would not be responsible for any wild stags once they’ve crossed into Narnia. But I’m rather fond of the beasts, and since they asked, I denied them. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of exploiting them for their own fancies, even if they mostly likely already are. I’ve seen what they’ve done to camels.”
“Not to mention the horses, sire,” Fridian interjected. “Though I dare say that horses cannot cross the Winding Arrow into Calormen as easily as those beasts of yours,” he added, with a knowing look towards the monarch.
Lune’s forehead wrinkled with his frown. “Yes. I’m not quite sure what to make of that yet. Reports are still coming in on that business.”
Susan filed that little bit of information about horses away. From what she knew, Narnia had received no word about any sort of issue with horses and Calormen. Then again, they hadn’t had any word about Elephants until recent history, either.
“But back to these elephants,” Lune said. “It is possible they could eventually quite useful for Archenland, though I have no specific plans for them presently. I’ve found them to be rather… well, rather tame. They could be employed in construction, moving rocks from the North to the South. Calormen is undoubtedly very aware of this.”
Susan thought of the size of Durah and the power one lone beast could possess. They could be employed in many different ways. Though she still didn’t know where she stood on the matter of what they would advise the Elephants to do, she trusted that Lune would not use and abuse them as some in Calormen would.
“I would very much like to see one,” Susan said, hoping to lighten the mood and keep her inquiries innocent. “Peter says they are absolutely marvelous.”
“That they are,” was all the King offered.
Susan still needed more information, though. Time for a different tactic. “I wonder if I should come across any on my journey through Archenland. Do you know where they may be at this time of season? I would so like to see one,” she repeated.
“Well,” Lune started before busying himself with a drink of his wine. “I really wouldn’t know for certain….”
At his hesitation, Susan leaned closer, and batted her eyes—once, slowly. And she hated herself for doing it, especially for King Lune.
But it had its effect, and it was enough for Lune to smile fondly at her. “I can imagine you might find them in the South. Possibly in Nelden or as far east as the ocean.”
Just where we thought. She wished this evening would have revealed more information, but what she gathered was still useful. Besides, this was just the beginning, she had to remind herself. To her dismay, though, Susan realized that Lune’s confirmation meant she could eliminate Colinden off of her list of provinces to to visit. And with Cole already eliminated, that only left Dar, Darrin, Tran, Hane and Nel. The regret of not meeting Cole’s brother aside, she was pleased that her mission may end up going faster than planned.
Susan sat back up and raised her glass to Lune. “If I should see any elephants, I’ll be sure to send your regards, then,” she said with a beatific smile. “Not that they would understand me at all.”
Lune looked down at his empty plate, pushing it away to signal the servant in the corner. “No, I can’t imagine they would. But the gesture is appreciated on my end, to be sure.”
“Did I understand correctly, your Majesty?” Lord Fridian said. It was the first time he had addressed her throughout the entire meal. And he had barely shared two words at tea earlier, either. “You say you are touring our fine country?”
“Yes, I am.”
“The Queen Susan is on a mission to find a husband.” King Lune announced it kindly enough, but it still made her stomach fall to her feet hearing it aloud.
“I will not deny that, though one should have little reason to visit such a beautiful country as Archenland,” she said, though Lune’s eyes couldn’t quite meet hers. He concentrated intently on his chop instead.
“Where are you headed to first, your Majesty?” The eager question came from Fridian’s pimply son to he right. However, it was Tran’s eyes who met hers across the table. His attention had completely shifted from Lune’s niece towards Susan they very moment the topic of marriage was first brought up. Susan noticed the young girl was actually a bit put out, looking desperately at Tran, fingering her empty wine glass. For some reason, Tran’s sudden attention towards her put Susan on edge. But this is what I’m here for, she reminded herself. This is to be expected.
“I am not sure, yet, my Lord,” Susan responded. “Perhaps Darden or Darrinden,” she said, hoping for a reaction from Cole. She was curious of his earlier comments on the two Lords. To her surprise, though, it was Lune who answered.
“After you do visit the Lords Dar and Darrin,” Lune said, his voice slightly strained, “I would be interested in what your opinions of them are.”
Susan bit on the inside of her cheek, wondering what the King’s exactly meant. Baris, too, reacted strongly with highly raised brows to Lune’s unexpected request. “Of course,” she simply replied.
“Might I convince to visit fair Tranden first?” Tran asked, his eyes bright in anticipation. The King’s niece let out a muffled huff of protest.
Before Susan could answer, however, the door to the room opened with a creak. A matronly woman with her hair tight in braids stepped into the doorway, a finger to her lips to someone out of sight before she turned her attention to those in the room and bowed.
“Please pardon my interruption. His Highness, Prince Corin has requested that he say give a good night to the Queen Susan and your guests,” she asked.
Lune wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Yes, yes, by all means, let him in,” Lune said, folding the white cloth and discarding it by his plate.
The woman bowed again at the waist before ushering in a young boy. Susan swept her legs and skirts around from her seat and beamed at the Prince. “Corin! What a pleasure to see you again!” she exclaimed. “Did you get the gift I sent you for your birthday?”
The boy nodded slowly, his eyes wide, surprisingly stunted in speech. He was normally the chatterbox around her, rivaling Lucy at times.
“Speak up, son, when the Queen acknowledges you,” Lune admonished gently as the King’s nephew gave a slight snicker from next to Susan.
Susan ignored them all. “How old did you turn again?”
“Ten, Ma’am.”
Am I a “ma’am” now? Ouch. “Ten! I think you’re wrong, sir. You don’t look a day younger than twelve.”
To this, Corin finally broke out into a smile and his chest swelled a bit. This was the Corin Susan knew.
“Now, since when have you been shy around me? Come over and give me a hug and I shall kiss you goodnight,” she said in a serious tone so as not to embarrass the boy. Corin took the cue and walked forward, collapsing in her arms into a tight hug. As they broke apart, Susan saw him stick his tongue out at the King’s nephew out of the corner of her eye. She pretended not to notice and gave him a kiss on his cheek for show. That caused the nephew to give the response she was hoping for as he squirmed uncomfortable in his seat.
“Goodnight, my Prince,” she said with a quick wink.
Corin’s grin had grown wide, and he turned on his heel to run out of the room. He would have succeeded had his nurse not stopped and turned him in place to face the dinner crowd. “Proper,” she said sternly.
Corin half-heartedly straightened up and his eyes lifted to the wooden beams of the ceiling. “To the Lords and Ladies, to my father, the King, and to our esteemed Narnian guests, especially to the Queen Susan, I wish you all a good night.” Rehearsed, to be sure, but it certainly was proper. Corin then ducked under his nurse’s arms and fled the room. With an apologetic look to the King, the nurse bowed again and closed the door behind her.
Susan turned back in her seat and the remainder of the table continued on with their idle chat as dessert was offered to each of the guests. “He’s grown so since I saw him last,” she said across to King Lune.
“He has. If he’s anything like his cousins, he’ll be all limbs in no time,” Lune quietly mused, cutting into his pudding with a spoon.
It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact that the boy was the same age Edmund was when he took the crown. Surely Ed was not as clumsy and socially awkward—well, any more than he already is—at such an age. She hoped for Corin’s sake that he would never see the horrors her younger brother had to at the innocent age of ten.
Even though Cor may already have. Susan considered but quickly dismissed bringing up the missing Prince Cor. It was a sensitive topic at Castle Anvard, and indeed, all of Archenland. She wondered that if he were alive, how alike or different he would be from Corin. Susan believed them to be identical, but it had been many years since she had seen the two of them together, and she wasn’t about to ask for confirmation. Still, she remembered them having different temperaments, even at quite the young age. Perhaps they would have ended up as different as her own brothers—who seem to be growing further apart in personality, while complementing each other more than ever before. Or maybe Cor and Corin would actually have become more alike once they crossed the formidable years.
But they may never know. Susan looked up at the King, thinking it so incredibly sad to lose a wife and a son so close together like that. To lose one family member is tragic, but Susan believed it must exponentially grow with a greater loss. She offered a silent wish to Aslan for Cor’s safe return, all the while knowing how unlikely such a event would be.
“You will make a fine mother some day, Susan,” King Lune said, interrupting her train of thought, and locking his eyes on hers.
Susan had not realized she had been staring. She bit her tongue and fumbled into a smile, thankful that no one else around seemed to have either heard the King or noticed her reaction. If she was not comfortable having her future marriage prospects publicly discussed, then she absolutely despised having her childbearing skills even mentioned. Susan did not find it fair that others tiptoed around Peter about such subjects, but her future was acceptably up for discussion. But Lune…she could not fault him. The kind man only wished the best for her, and she for him, and Susan was sad that she could not give him what he believed he wanted. But in the meantime, she hoped she fought off the flush she felt creeping up from her neck.
Lune, in turn, closed his eyes and sighed heavily before turning back to Fridian, changing the subject to the horse herds in the valleys of his southern province.
Susan stared down at her pudding. It was a butterscotch custard, another of her favorites. Of course. She forced a few small bites, hardly enjoying the sweet creaminess as it fought its way down her throat. The music had once again died down to a slower, simpler song, this time without the drum accompaniment. She didn’t bother to look up to see if the second musician had left the hall entirely.
To her right, the King’s nephew scraped the rest of his dessert out of his bowl in an obnoxious, even pattern. She unobtrusively shifted in her seat towards the left, thankful to find the conversation on that side to have lulled.
“So, do you have any children?” Susan addressed Cole and his wife. She could tell by the way they were sitting that they still had their hands clasped between them.
“No, your Majesty, not yet,” Frana said, sharing a quick look with her husband. “Perhaps next year, though. We hope,” she said, prompting a smile from Cole.
Susan, in turn, nodded and swallowed down the lump in her throat, ignoring the tightening feeling from within. “All the best wishes to you, then. May Aslan grace you with a healthy family.”
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Cole warmly said, bowing his head before returning his attention towards his wife.
Susan wanted nothing more than to retreat to the Narnian wing and hide under the down covers. Instead, she pushed the remainder of her pudding around her bowl until an attendant asked if she wanted it removed. Susan did not know what to expect of this dinner, but her disappointment made for a surprising appearance.
Enough, she scolded herself. I need to concentrate on the Elephants and worry about putting on a show for the Lords I’m to visit. Nothing more. Hoping to reset her mind and heart, Susan let out a big sigh and reached for her glass of wine. She was startled to find it was full again, and she looked up to see Tran with a wide smile on his face and his hand still on the bottle. And we can start here, she thought.
She raised her glass in acknowledgement and downed a large gulp after Tran’s toast towards her and her visit to Archenland, particularly her upcoming visit to Tranden.
“Expectation is the root of all heartache.” — William Shakespeare
::x:x:x:x:x:x:x::
Cider House in Mittelward, Darrinden, Archenland. Firstweek, September, 1010. Edmund, Day 12, Cont.
It was rather easy to hide amongst others in Archenland because there were so many people. Edmund stuck out like a sore thumb in Narnia, and that was without his royal garb, his armor, Skarpur, his crown, or signet. Throw on a pair of common breeches and a plain shirt, remove the ring, and with his coloring, similar to that of Ferrin’s, he looked like any other Southern Archenlander.
However, the low population of humans worked to their advantage in Narnia. It had taken several years for the human population to build up, even in Cair Paravel. And even then, most everyone knew somebody, so it was hard to be a human stranger, let alone a spy. But with new colonists coming each spring, it was getting more and more difficult distinguishing citizen from visitor. And who was to say that they could trust those they did know, but Edmund knew that was his own paranoia speaking.
Times were definitely different than they were when they first arrived in Narnia under mysterious circumstances that Edmund couldn’t quite recall, when spies walked freely and by all appearances, the good guys were the minority.
But here in Archenland—in Mittelward, Darrinden to be exact, where they had arrived just that afternoon—it was very different. The place was positively teeming with humans, more so than what Edmund had experienced in Anvard. And especially in the cider house they were currently in. People were nearly elbow-to-elbow here, but that may have just been because of the season. Still, it was a good thing he wasn’t claustrophobic. Peter would hate it here.
Cider houses were just now coming in season in Archenland, and Ferrin and Peridan thought it’d be a good idea to take advantage of the situation. Peridan’s face had lit up when the realization hit that they came at such an opportune time. “Oh, the memories,” he had vaguely said upon their arrival to the last house with vacancy. They had somehow managed to snag the last two rooms—Peridan had lost the golden lion toss, and Ferrin was forced to bunk with him.
“I hope you won’t be offended if a third joins us, Peridan, though I’ll be generous,” Ferrin said as they snagged one of the last available tables in the main room. It was one towards the back in a corner, much to Edmund’s relief. “You can have a turn when I’m done.”
The look of reproach from both Peridan and Edmund was enough for Ferrin’s smile to disappear. “Right. I’ll be back with drink,” he said and quickly left the table to where the cider was being dispensed by large barrels on the north wall.
“We did luck out, Ed. People come from as far as Velstang just for this,” he said, emphatically tapping the worn, wooden table with his finger. “Of course, I grew up hearing about them and couldn’t wait ’til I was of age to come on my own. I well remember my first season of cider houses. All too well.” Peridan’s grey eyes widened in recollection. “I haven’t stepped in one in nigh a dozen years.”
Edmund furrowed his brows. “Wait a moment, how old were you during this first season of yours?”
Ferrin arrived and put a pitcher and three mugs in front of them. Peridan grinned wildly as he poured cider into a mug. “Thirteen. Cheers!”
With all the tables now occupied, patrons were forced to stand and nearly hug the walls, staying clear of the cider maids—they were busy weaving about and around the tables of various sizes, with pitchers and mugs swiftly being plopped down and picked up again once emptied. The popularity of the place and the beverage was well earned, for once Edmund took a long draught from the contents of his mug, he came away quite pleased. Good flavor and good head make for a good buzz.
He had to be careful, though. Edmund didn’t want a reprise from the previous morning, the morning after the skirmish with the loyalists. With full intention of making it to Mittelward that very evening, it was clear that night was falling faster than expected and they had decided to make camp for the evening halfway to their destination. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Unfortunately, Edmund had fallen to old habits after the harrowing encounter. And Ferrin, having come from Turvalin’s supply wagon fully stocked, only encouraged them all. Needless to say, the next morning was not a pleasant one for any of them, but Edmund worse of all—in fact, since it had been quite some time since his last run-in with her kind, he had overcompensated. So much so that they were held back an entire extra day as Edmund recovered, and they did not arrive into Mittelward until today, nearly two full days as originally planned.
How embarrassing, Edmund thought, and he was deeply ashamed. Had they arrived even the previous day, they may have had better luck securing rooms in a nicer cider house.
Of course, his friends assured him that they didn’t want a nicer cider house. “That defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” Ferrin had said. Plus, it helped that the less-nice the house was, the bigger it was in size. “And the bigger it is, the more people, and the more people, the more information, Ed,” Ferrin had added. “We should be thanking you.”
Edmund looked around his current surroundings and was somewhat pleased with how things ended up. Things do happen for a reason. Still, it was best to be safe than sorry. “All I ask of you this evening is to keep me in check, boys,” Edmund said as he lifted his mug in salute. “I don’t want to end up vomiting in the bushes in the morning. Again.”
Despite the popularity of that particular house and the amount of people, Edmund was at a loss at how to proceed. As they drank through their first pitcher, they quietly discussed different options on how to approach people and get the information they needed. Peridan suggested they split up—with three people combing the place and quietly asking about any elephant sightings in the area, they could cover thrice the ground.
“That wouldn’t work,” Ferrin scoffed. “That’s three times the opportunity for people to say, ‘Hey, this strange man came up and asked if I had ever seen a giant, grey beast with a nose the length of of a man!’ ‘You too?’ his friend would say. ‘Someone else came up to me and asked the same thing!’ ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, kind sirs, but I couldn’t help but overhearing.’ A third man would ask. ‘Did you say that someone asked you about—”
“Enough,” Peridan drawled, giving Ferrin a dull glare. “We get the point.”
“We may as well just go to the front of the room, stand on one of the tables and bellow out ‘Has anyone in this room seen an elephant!’” Edmund said. “No. We don’t want any targets on our backs. I’d prefer if word does not go back to Lune about my being here. Or for any Calormenes about to know what we are up to,” he added before allowing himself a quick scan of the room just to be sure. Good. No Calormenes.
The three sat in silence, and Edmund felt his shoulders tighten as the daunting realization of the difficulty of their mission settled in. Knowing that he needed to relax if he wanted to think clearly, he reached for the pitcher and tipped it to look inside. Empty. He considered getting up to get some more, but he reminded himself again of the previous morning and how he more than likely killed that shrub.
Suddenly, Ferrin pushed his seat away from the table and stood up with a snort of laughter.
Edmund let the pitcher fall back and it wobbled a bit on place before it settled. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded. “We haven’t figured this out yet.”
“I’m going to go do as the locals do. Don’t worry, this is going to be the quickest and most efficient way of getting the information we need. I guarantee that we’ll learn what we can from here, with no one the wiser, and then we can spend the rest of the evening as we like. Trust me.”
He shoved the chair back under the table, the scrape of the chair on the floor eliciting a loud noise, enough for several patrons to look in their direction and the room to quiet down, almost in expectation. Edmund sunk deep in his seat, bringing a hand to the side of his face while a sense of dread sank into his gut. Ferrin started to walk, stopped, turned to polish off the rest from his mug, and then continued up towards the front of the room.
Did I not just say that we should not do this, Ferrin?
Peridan, on the other hand, almost looked excited and actually sat straighter in his chair, whistling and clapping as Ferrin made his way to the back of the room. Patrons around them joined in as they saw him move past, the room slowly swelling in a cacophony of encouraging noises. And no one looked surprised as to what was happening. Except Edmund.
“Peridan, what is he doing?”
Ferrin established himself in the front as those who had occupied the standing room area cleared out of his way. He cleared his throat and sang a cheery tune in a clumsy voice:
I walk’d today on Lune’s new road
To find myself a new abode.
But when I reach’d the end of it,
I found myself in knee-deep shit!
There was a moment of silence once he finished. Ferrin stopped to read the crowd, but only a slight murmuring had started to invade the space. Ferrin continued, his voice steadier and clearer:
They say it’s from great beasts quite strong,
With trunks just short of six feet long.
But please don’t ask to see the gap
From whence out comes a great big crap!
Edmund sat in silent horror. The room had gotten uncomfortably quiet, as patrons turned to each other and muttered quietly amongst themselves. Edmund had no idea what was going on. He didn’t want to know. His face dropped into his hands.
Finally, though, a shout and laugh came from a table in the corner and a middle-aged man with a hand slightly raised rose out of his seat. All the heads from the room turned to watch him approach Ferrin. Peridan was one of them, leaning forward in his seat in gleeful anticipation.
The man faced off to Ferrin, who in turn crossed his arms in expectation. The challenger’s voice rang out in the same tune Ferrin had set:
There’ve been no mounds of size nor smell
In five straight months, that I can tell.
The talk in town’s of Lore’s new ass
To take the place of his lost lass!
A loud roar of laughter and pounding of tables came from the area the singer came from, and the rest of the room erupted in applause. Edmund saw one gentleman—Lore, presumably—have a scowl on his face that quickly melted when his mug got topped off from the pour of a newly arrived pitcher.
Edmund turned to see Ferrin laughing and clasping the hand of the challenger as they struck up a short conversation. A cider maid approached him with a pint in hand, a blush on her cheeks, and a perky curtsey. Ferrin responded with a quick kiss on her cheek, followed by a long draw from his newly-earned cider as he made his way to return to their table. The singer in Ferrin’s wake remained where he was, deep in thought and silently moving his lips.
“That was vile,” Edmund said as his friend approached the table.
“That was brilliant,” Peridan added, red in the face from laughter.
Ferrin heavily set his prize on the table and sat back down in his chair as his challenger started a new bawdy verse. Edmund tuned the singer out and leaned forward to grit through his teeth, “Have you been planning this along?”
“No, of course not,” Ferrin replied. “I had no idea they sang cantas here. I figured it was worth a shot. I’m a bit rusty, though, I’ve done better….”
Susan was right. The man was absolutely exasperating. “But—but how…why did you sing what you just sang about?”
Ferrin looked at him as if he sprouted a third ear. “Because we wanted to learn about the Elephants,” he said, turning to Peridan with a shrug.
“Well, it’s rather obvious now!”
“I wouldn’t worry, Ed,” Peridan reassured, looking around the room and giving the bandage on his hand a tug. “It’s the sort of light-hearted subject cantas usually start with. See? We haven’t drawn any attention whatsoever. People like it when things start out silly,” he added, with a point towards the front.
Edmund gave a rudimentary glance around the room. It was true, most of the attention was on the singer who was facing off with a new challenger of his own, a man half the size and twice the pock-marks. And he was currently singing about goats.
“Plus, we got all the information we needed, with the added benefit of letting everyone here know that we are from out of town and under the prospect guise of finding a new home,” Ferrin said with a satisfied grin, raising his glass towards Peridan. “An alibi. We now have one.”
“And it is sold!” Peridan agreed with a sharp nod, meeting Ferrin’s glass in a clink!
It is rather bloody brilliant. He started to understand why he kept Ferrin around to begin with. And he was reminded of the first time the proud man, just a few years older than Peter, stumbled into Cair Paravel, loudly proclaiming his desire for Queen Susan the Gentle’s hand in marriage. At the time, Ferrin was technically on the right side of sobriety, but just barely. Susan had been horrifically appalled by the display.
Edmund, on the other hand, had been shamelessly delighted and immediately sought the man out after Susan’s gentle, yet firm, refusal. It wasn’t hard for Edmund to convince him to join his service. In compensation for the Queen’s refusal, of course. And when he was not out on the Patrol, Ferrin had been at Edmund’s side ever since.
“Now, just so you know how this works,” Ferrin said, pausing to wipe the cider foam from his lip on his sleeve, “they won’t delve into serious things such as complaints of the local Lord or the King’s taxations or the price of figs for awhile. And then after that, the topics will swiftly degrade back to the safer topics. You know, such as sex and drinking.”
Edmund watched as the pock-marked man in front burst into laughter before finishing his verse. “I had no idea of this tradition, and I’ve been to Archenland countless times,” he said with a frown.
“You’ve been to Anvard, you mean,” Ferrin corrected. “They don’t particularly care in Anvard what we do in the outskirts.”
This sat heavily with Edmund. He was relieved that he and his siblings were very much in tune with the small folk throughout Narnia, but he made the mental note to keep in touch with the more. Edmund considered Lune not only an ally, but a friend, and he wondered if the King knew of such practices such as the cantas and whether he paid them any heed. He hoped so.
Peridan flagged down another cider maid and slipped her a note in exchange for a fresh pitcher. “A real shame Baris isn’t here!”
“Ah-ha, but he’s with us in spirit, for I am reminded.…” Ferrin trailed off, reaching into his side pouch. He pulled out two small, polished pipes, a tinderbox, and a small leather bag. “I’m under strict orders from Commander Baris that you are to partake, Ed.”
“I don’t take orders from Baris,” he warily replied.
“What if I was to say that it was under the recommendation of your venerable elder sister?” he coyly added, packing his own pipe. “The only time I’ve ever agreed with her. Surely you can’t deny a miracle such as that. Why, that’s a sign of the Great Lion, is it not?”
He eyed the paraphernalia in front of him. “You have a valid point,” Edmund said, reaching for the spare pipe. “Unless…Peridan?”
Peridan waved him off. “After what happened yesterday, I have vowed to only take part in one vice in this evening of indulgence,” he said, raising his mug. “Twelve years, remember. It already is a special day,” he said before taking an appreciative drink.
With a shrug, Edmund picked up the bag of blue lasaia and took a whiff of the subtly fragrant, sage-colored leaves. The spicy, floral scent seemed innocent enough. Plus, he knew that his faun friend often partook in a good smoke now and then, claiming that it was a “pleasant, calming influence after a long day soldiering.” Edmund started to fill his pipe, mimicking the actions of Ferrin.
“So, where to next?” Ferrin said, puffs of smoke already emitting from the sides of his mouth.
“I suggest due south,” Peridan said loudly, setting his mug down and giving it a tap. “I’ve heard that as the picking season comes to a close, housing will become more widely available in Esting. But the window is small, what with winter coming.”
Ferrin nodded, eventually pulling the pipe out of Edmund’s hands and packing and lighting it himself before handing it back to Edmund. “It’s been many years since I’ve set foot in Darden.”
Edmund eyed their surroundings. The room had filled further still, and as people passed by to find room to stand, they hovered over their table. Too many people. “Well, the prospects of what we are looking for does sound more promising the farther south we go.” He inhaled a lungful of smoke and immediately regretted it.
“What is it your cousin Durah said, sir? That her family was particularly fond of the valleys with the lakes. Where they grown figs. You know, in the south,” Ferrin needlessly emphasized, with a scratch to the dark stubble on his chin.
Edmund held his breath, denying himself the cough that so desperately was trying to escape. He had no desire of looking the fool amongst his comrades, even if he was slightly younger and…well, inexperienced than they were. “Yes!” he ended up choking out before taking a long slug from his cider. That seemed to help. “Yes, they say the farmland was ideal, with their small lake nearby. We should definitely stop in and pay our respects. Maybe they could point us in the right direction.”
“And what are we expecting to find, Ed?” Ferrin asked. “Just one cottage? A hamlet? A village?”
Edmund slowly puffed on his pipe in thought. He inhaled in small amounts, gradually increasing as he got used to it. Durah had said they preferred sticking together in families, but there were the lone bachelor Elephant Bulls that primarily stuck to themselves for months at a time. Finding them and rounding them up could be painstaking for humans. If they could only enlist the help of at least a few Elephants to spread the word, for Lucy had explained in her latest letter that they could communicate at vast differences. That is, when they wanted to, which was part of the problem.
“I say we keep out minds and eyes open to what opportunity presents itself first,” Edmund finally said, knowing it wasn’t much. He noticed the smoke was making his mouth rather dry, so he poured himself another mug of cider. After many days of traveling, and the closer they got to their destination, Edmund was finding the entire task more and more daunting, and they had barely even started. With the autumn rain and cold just around the corner, his personal deadline of one month loomed over him.
An anxious rumble sprung from his center and he momentarily closed his eyes while blowing out a long stream of smoke, mentally calming himself down. His shoulders surprisingly felt more relaxed already, even if his mind wasn’t completely at ease.
Sometime during their discussion, the tune the Cantos sang had changed to a more somber, slower melody. A young man clutching a wool hat in his hands nervously sang in a doleful tenor:
They came at night, this foreign band,
Attacked our safe and peaceful land.
And our brave friends did raise their shields,
To save their homes in Olvin Fields.
While some applauded, others in the crowded room raised their mugs in salute. Edmund reached for his own to join them. This was proving to be a rather sobering evening. He drank, while a table mate of the singer’s came to the challenge, threw an arm around his friend, and rang out:
And don’t forget in this great raid
Friends from the North came to our aid.
Our foes cut down while Rhindon sings,
Let’s raise a glass to Narnian Kings!
It was a respectable amount of applause from most of the room, much to Edmund’s relief. We should put this singer on payroll. He kept himself from snorting, for that would have been rude and inappropriate. That campaign was apparently a bigger deal in this part of Archenland than what he would have thought. To Edmund, it was just one of many fought in the years since their coronation. And he was tired of them. All of them.
Edmund saw that he wasn’t the only one not clapping, though—a table of older gentlemen grumbled to themselves, and in the corner, a burly, dark-haired man sat expressionless, one hand under the table, the other holding out his mug at arms length in front of him. When they inadvertently locked eyes, Edmund nonchalantly let his gaze wander back to the singers. Part of it was tactic, the other part was the fact that it was getting harder and harder for his eyes and attention to focus as their evening progressed. The man looked familiar, though Edmund was pretty sure he had never met him before.
“Should we tell your sister of our plans?” Ferrin spoke from his left as he shoved the bag of lasaia closer to him.
Edmund had to blink several times to get his eyes focused on his Ferrin. “What? Oh. Oh, yes, I’ll send a Bird—”
“We can find a messenger here in town in the morning, I’m sure,” Peridan interjected, throwing him a hard stare.
“Yes! A messenger. Good idea, Peridan, I know why I keep you around,” Edmund said with a clap to his friend’s shoulder before packing another pipe.
Peridan was not appeased. “Are you all right?”
“Just leave him alone, he’s having a good time. We all are,” Ferrin scolded. He looked around the room. “Have you seen that lovely maid who gave me the winning drink from earlier around? I think she has some clout around here. Exactly my type.”
Peridan shook his head and reached for the pitcher. “Do you think we could do one night without you getting in trouble with some innkeeper’s daughter?
“Oh, come off it. When was the last time that any of us had an evening of indulgences, as even you called it? Besides the other night, that is, which doesn’t count. That wasn’t public. And we’ve been out in the field for months. You could stand some loosening up yourself.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Ferrin.”
Ferrin shrugged. “Just calling it as I see it. I’m quite good at that.”
“You’re a right bastard, is what you are,” Peridan chided.
“No, I’m right horny.”
Edmund tuned their bickering out, and once again looked towards the front towards the performance. The energy in the room had picked up some, with several of those in the front sitting up in their seats and gesturing at the latest singer in support. The man’s voice was almost as angry as the glow around him, Edmund thought.
But Lune should know how bad it’s been—
The threat still stands from Calormen.
The desert sands protect us not,
From horses ta’en in their great plot!
Edmund frowned. Stolen horses? What is he talking about? Edmund thought that they must be mistaken, that they were actually talking about the Elephants, not horses. But then that would not explain the earlier verse when they had easily dismissed the idea of elephants in the area completely, as if they didn’t even care about them. Why wouldn’t they care about elephants? Or Elephants? Well, Durah was special, to be sure….
The cider maid came by again and switched out their emptied pitcher with a new one. She had barely turned around before Ferrin had reached for a pinch on her bottom, to which she turned and swatted his hand away. She left the table with a cheeky grin and a bounce in her step, regardless.
She’s pretty.
Edmund drained the remainder of his mug. “Pass me the pitchy, will you?”
Ferrin laughed, and gave the newly filled vessel roughly towards Edmund, making it slosh slightly. “One pitchy at your leisure, my liege!”
Peridan shot Ferrin a steely glare.
He wasn’t supposed to say that, was he? Edmund was thankful the pipe gave his fidgety hands something to do.
“And another for you, your Highness!” Ferrin exclaimed, filling up Peridan’s mug in turn.
Peridan’s glare towards their friend didn’t let up, but at least he didn’t argue with him, much to Edmund’s relief. So much chatter, Edmund thought, when really he wanted to hear the singers up front. He was getting so much valuable information at this little—big— run-down cider house in Mittelward, and he was eager to learn what more he could from the next Cantos. He inhaled deep from the remainder of his pipe and leaned forward in anticipation, his elbow slipping off his knee several times before he properly balanced himself.
Long hair the shade of rising sun,
Bright smile, green eyes—can’t be outdone!
Her legs are loose, her breasts are vast,
Please thank your wife from three days past!
The room erupted in a clamor of laughter and toasts. The songs had returned towards a more cheery melody and people shuffled around more, having gotten their second wind of the evening. But this annoyed Edmund, as the swirling mass of people before his eyes apparently had a different agenda than what he wanted them to.
“But what about the horses!” Edmund found himself saying aloud. Quite loud, actually. “Or Telmar, what news from Telmar?”
Peridan frowned and laid a hand on his arm. “Ed!” he whispered with a slight shake.
Perhaps they should have come here right away. Perhaps the people around them did know what happened to to the Elephants, but weren’t saying. First Elephants being taken, now horses… when will it end? Edmund felt his eyelids start to droop.
And what about Susan? Poor Susan wandering out in the wilds of Archenland, with dimwitted lords breathing down her neck. When all along, she should be here, at the task at hand, learning invaluable information. The lords can wait. She’s still young, she can find a husband anywhere. Even here! He considered going up to the front and singing the virtues of his sister to the roomful of potential suitors, but an ounce of sobriety kept him in check. He decided it would be best to ask her permission first. “I…I need a Bird, I think,” Edmund sputtered and blinked slowly. “Yes, definitely a Bird. For my sister’s permission.”
Peridan eyed him warily. “You’re drunk.”
“I think he’s more than that,” Ferrin snorted. He held up the bag of leaves and gave it a sniff. “Perhaps he should not have indulged in both the cider and the lasaia.”
“And you’re just now coming to this conclusion?”
“F—Ferr…Ferridan,” Edmund muttered.
Ferrin laughed loudly and poured himself another drink before lounging back into his chair. “Y’hear that? We’re only as good as one man put together, Peridan!”
“All of your damned names sound alike. It’s not my fault,” Edmund said, reaching for the pitcher of cider. “It’s…it’s all your mothers’ faults!”
Peridan moved the pitcher away from him and took Edmund’s mug out of his hands. “All right, time to go,” he said, hefting Edmund up out of the chair. “Before you start insulting our mothers any further.”
Ferrin grinned up at them, his dark eyes twinkling. “He’s welcome to insult Baris’ mother all he wants. That son of a Beech isn’t even here!”
Edmund found that entirely too funny. He doubled over in laughter, which made it harder for Peridan to keep him upright.
“Ha! I’m one to talk about mothers,” Edmund said, catching his breath. “I haven’t got one!” He noticed his sinuses starting to clog up. It’s dusty in here, is all. He blinked away a few tears. “Poor, Susan…she—she’s had to do it all…I haven’t got one, you know, Peridan.”
“Got one what, Ed?”
“Mum…nevermind.” Edmund closed his eyes, and his head rolled forward. Peridan reached for Edmund’s left arm to pull around his neck for leverage.
“You got him?” Ferrin asked.
Peridan gave Edmund’s tangled feet a kick with the side of his boot so they would be under him. Edmund’s head snapped back up, eyes wide open. “I think so,” Peridan said.
“Good. I think I’m going to take another turn up there.”
“Somebody tell Su, I’m sorry, all right?” Edmund swallowed, his mouth unnaturally dry. “And Peter.…”
“Best not speak such names here,” Peridan muttered, grunting from pulling the weight of Edmund as they made their way across the bawdy room.
Oh, right. But he was so sorry. From the time before, from the time first here, but mainly before. There. What a right beast he was, and the noises from up above were so loud, and he wanted to stay home with her. Wait ‘til Pete hears about this….
“Left foot first,” Peridan said. “There you go!”
Edmund stared ahead at what looked like a blurry, jagged wall. So many steps, how can anyone climb those all at once? At that moment, the concept of a staircase seemed the most brilliant, yet challenging thing one could ever encounter. Edmund considered laying himself right there, and perhaps if he did, he would land at the top. Yes….
“No! Up and at them, Ed, we’re almost there.”
His room was the second on the right, where Peter would already be asleep, so he would have to be quiet and tiptoe around his brother’s bed, trying not to kick the cricket bat leaning against it. The girls would be to the left, and at the end of the hall….
I can’t remember.
“Peridan.”
“Yes, your Majesty?”
Edmund was sitting on the bed, staring at the boots that were being taken off. “The end. What’s at the end?”
“Sorry?”
Edmund shut his eyes. “The end of the hall?”
“Just more rooms.” More Peridan talking. He could talk a lot. Sometimes. If they only knew. “Now, here, drink this.”
More cider? He drank it down, he was so thirsty, but it was plain. Water or something like water. Plain. He held the mug out, and it was taken away, and he collapsed on a pillow.
“We can stay a little longer in the morning, but I recommend we take off for Esting before midday.” It got darker, slight smell of smoke.
Edmund’s head rolled away towards the window. It was so cold, and she was so beautiful. A slight breeze made the thin, cotton curtains blow gently in the room and cool his warm face. I miss her, Dad. The bombs were so loud. “I—I can’t remember.…” he mumbled.
“You’ll be fine in the morning, Ed,” Peridan’s voice called from the door.
“…I can’t remember.…”
The door quietly clicked shut, and Edmund passed out.
“A hallucination is a fact, not an error; what is erroneous is a judgment based upon it.” — Bertrand Russell
Map | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
no subject
Date: 2012-04-15 06:05 pm (UTC)And then the boys in the cider house with Edmund getting drunk and stoned and the cantos. OMG the cantos are brilliant. I loved it. I love it the first time I read it and more the second. It is brilliant how the boys use this to get information and a wonderful way to learn what the real sentiment is. It's just terrific. Oh Ed.... you are a mess.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-16 06:51 am (UTC)Ah yes, the Lune issue... that little plot point snuck into this chapter and would not go away! And why not? It makes perfect sense. Lune has lost a wife and a son, and remaining son really could use a mother at this point of his life. And here's this lovely woman from the North who has come of age, could stand to secure a future legacy for herself, the two countries alliance would become stronger. Perfect!
Except no. Susan is slowly realizing that she may have to marry without love someday. I think she used the age card when she rejected him the first time. But that excuse won't always work for future prospects.
The cantos! That scene wrote itself. Even the verses. And when it came time that I had to write another verse here or there, boy, did I struggle! But nope. Not this one. It was meant to be, I guess!
More information on the inspiration for that scene is on my LJ!
no subject
Date: 2012-04-15 06:40 pm (UTC)It's interesting to see that even after ten years, the Witch's forces remain strong though it seems the number of altercations with them has decreased over the years.
LOL, oh Corin! He's so cute here. He actually reminds me of a young Prince Edward in the "The Tudors" where his greetings and farewells are so very much like the ones Corin says to the court. I also find your Susan to be so different from how we generally view her. It's rare to see how unhappy she is in such a social setting as this, and to have those feelings hold her back from being more "proper" about protocol. I'm sure she does feel like this in other stories from time to time, but never have I seen it so fully fleshed out and described as you do here.
And I was going to agree with Susan that Edmund had the easier quest but now I think she's wrong. Edmund's task is just as difficult but in a different way. Peridan and Ferrin were terrific here, and you managed to convey their characters very well in those tavern scenes. And drunk Edmund remembers England, his parents, the house and even a stray cricket bat by his brother's bed. I think that was one of my favorite bits even though it was rather sad all the same.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-16 06:59 am (UTC)Susan is... well, Susan is rather special to me. I'm a HUGE apologist. And her whole character is my stories is to prove one thing: she did NOT willfully deny Narnia. So, how to go about that? There's a big difference between the Susan in LWW and PC, so something must have happened to her. And there's the bit at the end of LWW when she did NOT want to go past the lamp post. I truly think she was happy at the end of her reign in Narnia, but there's little indication in the beginning of LWW that she was. So, what's her journey? How did she lose her happiness in PC?
And so this story. And... well, the sequel which is well underway.
The Edmund scene got carried away. Ed was not only drunk—he was under the influence of the lasaia, too. My thinking is that he had a severe reaction of the combination, perhaps an allergy, which led to the "hallucinations" which were actual flashbacks. Flashbacks of the Witch, home, his mother... and yes, it's all very sad. For a brief moment he felt what Susan feels on a daily basis.