Passing Seasons, Chapter 7, for jn208505
Title: Passing Seasons
Author: nasimwrites
Recipient: jn208505
Rating: T
Content/Warnings: Violence, some dark themes.
Summary: “Here was once a land of joy and plenty, once torn apart by the Long Winter and now twice torn apart by those who dare call themselves saviors of Narnia.” Summer brings new challenges for the Pevensies.
Author’s Notes: Thank you, Janet, for being my beta even though it was on short notice!
This story was originally meant to be less than 16 pages in length, but it mutated and grew and is now over 100 pages in length and has nearly 60,000 words… I hope you don’t mind reading a novel-length fic!
Passing Seasons
Chapter 7
From where she sat near one of the small windows of Hana’s house, Susan could see the Hare family, Ash and two Fauns working on what was left of the Hares’ crops. More than half of their vegetables had been torn out of the ground, disregarding how ripe they were, and the most of the ripe ones had been stolen. The remaining vegetables had been carefully replanted, and new ones were now being planted in an attempt to replenish their stocks on some level. The rest of the group had gone to do the same work beside the construction of the Birdel house and another farm on the outskirts of the village.
Only Susan, Hana, Willow and Clover’s mother remained, working very hard on the long task of pickling and drying the vegetables and fruit that they had not been able to replant. All the farms of the area had sent what had been unintentionally harvested to the house. They had set out most of the rye and wheat to dry upon the roof of the house, where they hoped it would remain untouched. Some fruits that Susan did not recognize were also there.
Inside the house, a large pot held cucumbers, onions, asparagus, carrots and some other vegetables boiling in salt brine. Old Badger had sent them what remained of his many glass jars, which was quite a large number, which Willow was busy washing with hot water. Hana was placing the vegetables in salt brine within the already washed jars. The room was hot from the bright fire and Susan felt that she was sweating as she stirred the large pot before returning to the smaller jars, where she poured honey that the squirrels from nearby had procured and stored fruit inside them. “Sweet preserves,” Willow had said gleefully as she wiped a drop of honey from the side of one of the jars and licked it off her finger. “This shall be quite delicious.”
“Do you think it will be enough, Hana?” Clover’s mother said worriedly. “It is a lot of food, but what if it doesn’t last?”
“It shall be a winter of simple meals,” said Hana grimly as she struggled to close a jar. “If it is a natural winter, that is. If it is not… well, then, food won’t make much of a difference.”
Her words had an ominous tone, and Susan saw the others shrink back into their task, looking almost fearful. It was time to understand exactly what this was all about.
“What do you mean, not a natural winter?”
Willow and the Hare glanced at her and then looked away, the same look in their eyes. Hana did not look up, continuing to fill a new jar with cucumbers and onions. There was silence for a moment, and then the Dwarf woman began to speak.
“You don’t know what the Long Winter was like, Queen Susan,” she said in her low, almost guttural voice. “Blizzards every other day, and a cold that crushed the bones and stabbed at the stomach like a knife. There is little more terrible for simple people like us Narnians than a Winter that lasts forever, but the White Witch found ways to make it all the worse.
“We was hunted for sport, in those days,” the Hare said in little over a whisper.
Hana nodded, her lips set in a grim line. “But the worst of all, they tried to take our beliefs. And they almost did it, too. Word went about saying that Aslan had abandoned us, that there was no salvation for Narnia. And then there were more whispers, whispers that maybe Aslan didn’t even exist…
“I was lucky. My father was one of the few who remembered Narnia as she was, before the Witch took over. He told us stories of Spring and Aslan, and the Prophecy, and made sure we would always know the truth.” She set down the jar on the table with a loud noise. “They killed him for it.
“T’was many families, ‘specially the Black Dwarf clans, that lost hope and joined the enemy. Soon after went lots of the satyrs and even some of the Fauns. Folks just gave up. I expect they can’t be blamed for caving; one never knows how strong one is until one is tested. And Narnia’s faith was tested… oh, it was tested thoroughly. People stopped believing, and made themselves forget. They said it made them safer, but it really just made them weaker. Until they began shunning those of us who did believe. My husband was one of the few that fought to keep the memory of the Lion alive. Until this day I don’t know if it was the Witch herself or if it was turned Narnians who did the job.”
She looked up at Susan, her eyes like deep wells of darkness. “I’m sorry, Queen Susan, but after everything I’ve lived I can’t bring myself to think that the winter has gone forever. I can’t bring myself to believe that four Kings and Queens can save Narnia. I know the efforts you have put into this and I am thankful, as are all here, I am sure… but you can’t redeem Narnia. We have been through too much and we have sinned too much.” Hana shook her head. “Aslan tested Narnia, and Narnia failed. I won’t be surprised if the Winter returns. We brought it upon ourselves.”
Susan stared at her in concern, the jars of fruit and honey on the table before her, forgotten. She met Willow’s wide, frightened eyes, and then turned back to Hana.
“We will not permit Narnia to fall into any other hands again, Hana,” she said calmly but firmly. “That is exactly why we are here now, to help you in your time of need. You need not live through such horrible times again.”
Hana looked at her with something similar to pity. “But Queen Susan… these are times of peace. Neither you nor your siblings know the pain of living through times like those. Small battles are nothing compared to the horror of war, the oppression of losing, the fear that comes with not knowing if you will live through the day, the knowledge that you are not safe within the very walls of your own home-”
“Actually, I do know,” Susan interrupted, in a quiet voice. She met Hana’s eyes. “The country from where I come was at war when I came to Narnia. We were forced to leave our homes because they were attacking our cities, and they feared that it would all be destroyed. My father went to fight…” she hesitated for a moment, forcing the emotion to leave her voice. “And as far as we know, he has not returned yet. We do know the fear, the pain, the oppression. We come from different worlds, but our sorrows have been the same.”
Silence had fallen within the small main room of the Morkins’ house. Susan sat on the stool but somehow felt both taller and smaller all at once. Hana’s expression had changed; perhaps she had seen the tears that had threatened to make their way out of Susan’s eyes. Susan had already been old enough to understand everything the war implied, back in England. She knew she and Peter had suffered the most, being the two out of the four that fully understood that their father was most likely not to return.
She held back a shiver as she realized that she had not missed her father ever since she had reached Narnia.
“But you understand, then, perhaps,” said Hana, almost softly. “Why it is so hard for so many of us to simply accept this time meant for prosperity… there is very little enjoyment when one dreads that one might be forced to return to that life at any moment.”
“I understand,” said Susan, and she could hear her own voice saying almost the same thing to Edmund in the front porch, only a few nights ago.
//
My dear sister:
It is almost dull, being in the Festival without your presence! We all miss you dearly. I wish you could have been here to watch the feast that took place the other night; I danced so much I feared my feet would crumble beneath me! But what you are doing in the West sounds equally exciting… it must be thrilling to visit so many new places, build things and herd cows! You know I have always been eager to do such things; if only we had had a chance to do it in England! Perhaps there is hope yet… a lifetime in Narnia gives space to many new experiences.
Speaking of the feast has brought an idea to mind. In your letter, you spoke of how the villagers are gathering provisions and dividing them in equal rations for each family. Have you considered the possibility of a celebration once all the work is done? It might help increase the morale of the villagers after everything they have been through, and truly heighten the feeling of triumph that comes with a work well finished. If you do decide to carry out this idea, I expect you to tell its story in full detail once you return!
Our Brother is doing well; or at least as well as he ever does. He worries himself over the both of you, and with political and administrative concerns, it only heightens this anxiety. But it seems to me that he has been feeling better lately. As always, I do my best to assist him in anything he might need. But you know him… his concerns often cause him more anxiety than they do to most people.
Do let me know if you are partial to my idea! Send my loving regards to all those around you. I wish I could meet Willow and Ash; they seem to possess quite entertaining characters. And Hana sounds quite sweet and inspiring.
Your loving Sister,
Lucy.
Susan folded the letter after the fourth time reading it. She had read the second paragraph out loud to the others shortly after they had finished moving in the Birdel brothers’ new furniture into their new house. It was a smaller home than they had had originally, but it was sturdy and would last. Beside it, new seeds had been planted, which would hopefully be harvested during Autumn, ensuring some more sustenance for them.
There had been a round of applause and much hand shaking, and the dwarves thanked all those who had helped them with gruff, rather uncomfortable expressions. It was obvious that they were moved, though not sure how to express their emotions, not used to being surrounded by such a large group of people. But the group had understood, and there was much joy after Susan’s reading of the letter. Though there were still some more matters to attend to within Pebble, the worst of the work was over, and they all agreed with Lucy’s words: there was much cause for celebration.
Firstly, though, Susan was approached by two of the dwarves that had come with her from Cair Paravel.
“Your Majesty,” they said in low voices, looking rather concerned. “There is still an issue that must be addressed.”
“What issue are you referring to?” Susan asked, lowering her voice.
“There is still much wood left over from the trees that fell. And the dogs say that there are even more trees that they found fallen over in the forest.”
“And you have an idea of what we might do with it?”
The dwarves looked grim. One of them spoke, his voice grave. “Queen Susan, as efficient as King Edmund may be in defeating the rebels, Pebble is not yet truly safe from danger. Their proximity to the Western Mountains gives much space for sinister attacks.”
“It is well known that all the evils that befell Narnia came from the West,” added the other Dwarf solemnly.
“Perhaps the wood could be used to raise a barrier; some sort of fence would do. It may not prove as actual protection before an attack, but it will show that the village is protected and perhaps be a source of confidence for the villagers.”
“That sounds reasonable,” said Susan. “If there is enough wood and nails to carry it out, then I do not see why not.”
The dwarves bowed and thanked her.
“This village, however, requires some organization so that it may protect itself. Its proximity to the border does leave it quite exposed,” she murmured as they left.
The villagers and the visitors from Cair Paravel met the following day at sundown in the grassy land beside the newly constructed house. The barriers had been erected; they were fences that stood little over Susan’s waist, but they served their purpose, surrounding the village and blocking the Western side of the crossroads, a locked gate the only way of entry, which would be controlled by the people of Pebble. As the sun set behind the mountains, they arranged chairs and tables on the grass, decorating the trees nearby with strings of flowers. Old Badger, with some help from the villagers, the squirrels nearby and even the dryads of the forest had come to visit and enjoy the celebration as well. Every family had brought a small meal to share with everyone from the food they had in their stores: Hana had produced some lovely pastries, the Monkeys had brought piles of wild fruit they had found, the Hares brought a simple salad, the Squirrels had brought nuts, Old Badger had brought one of his last bottles of wine, and the Birdel brothers had managed to bake delicious bread. It would make a simple meal, but the joy and sacrifice behind it made it the most delectable feast any of them had ever had.
As they were all seated, and Gimor produced a fiddle, beginning a merry tune, birds and other creatures who lived nearby and had assisted in one way or other during the reconstruction of the village joined them as well, all bringing their own gifts. Suddenly, the Faun who lived beside the Hare family’s home appeared, bearing two of the six large jars of pickled vegetables and one of the three jars of sweet preserves that had been provided to him as part of the ration he had been given, as a thanks for the work he had done for the village. All eyes turned to him as he moved towards the table and set down the large jars.
“I should be giving them all back,” he said quietly. “For I know I do not deserve the generosity you have given me. Work done out of guilt should not be rewarded.”
There was silence on the table, and even Gimor stopped fiddling. Then the eldest of the Birdel brothers stood up and pulled another chair to the table, making space for the Faun to sit. And after a few minutes of silence, the music began once more and food was passed around. The monkeys and the dryads made garlands of flowers and danced together along with any that would follow, and merry old songs were sung by the villagers. Then stories were told, but only joyful stories, for the happiness in Pebble did not make space for sad memories. Susan told the tale of how she and her siblings had entered Narnia for the first time, and when she was done they all drank to the end of the Winter. Even Hana seemed to smile sincerely as she passed slices of bread to all.
Susan felt herself smiling and found herself unable to stop. She leaned back in her seat and looked up at the moon as it shone brightly in the sky.
//
Borik cracked his knuckles as Edmund climbed down the rocky formation where they had set camp. Most of the group was already there, and the others were following behind him. It was early in the afternoon, and they were ready t o set out to the meeting with the rebels. One of the centaurs held an olive branch to demonstrate that they came in peace, though his expression was distinctly war-like.
“Ready, Borik?” said Edmund as he hung his sword on his belt.
“Yes, Sire,” said the Dwarf, looking around at the rest of them. “I only hope this isn’t a trap.”
“If it is, we shall know soon enough,” said Edmund grimly.
They set out in silence, leaving the horses behind with two soldiers to watch them. Edmund went at the head of the group beside the centaurs and Borik, feeling distinctly uneasy in his stomach. What they were doing was risky, but it needed to be done. He comforted himself by remembering that the rebels weren’t particularly skilled in battle, judging from their clumsy shots the day before in the forest, and that they had probably killed most of the skilled ones in the Festival when they had come to murder him and Peter.
They reached the place within the next hour, their mood tense, their stances alert. As soon as they neared the end of the wood, Edmund sent Witrow to investigate. The large feline seemed to blend in perfectly with the foliage, crouching into the bushes without making so much as a slight rustle. He returned after a few minutes.
“All goes according to plan, Sire,” he said. “They do have a cave. A rather large one, too, by the smell of it. There’s a Minotaur and two Black Dwarves visibly standing guard, but I’m fairly sure there are many more waiting just inside.”
Edmund took a deep breath and turned to the others. “Very well,” he said, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Do not draw your weapons unless it becomes clear that they mean to kill us. If they suspect treachery on our part we lose all hope of negotiation.”
Slowly, Edmund emerged from the shadow of the trees, followed closely by Borik, Witrow, and the centaurs. He instantly heard the Minotaur draw his blade, and saw the two Dwarf sentries point at them with arrows to the string. Above them, a mountain rose into the clouds, its vast rocky wall extending on either side until it was swallowed by the shadows of the trees. The rocky floor they stood on seemed to fall rather steeply into the large, gaping cave behind the rebel sentries. Edmund set his jaw, his gaze hard as he faced the enemy, not moving from where he stood at the edge of the wood.
“We had a deal,” he shouted to those whom he knew hid inside the cave.
“Yes, little King, we do.”
The voice was an old, gravelly one, laced with mocking courtesy. A Dwarf emerged from the cave, his long hair and beard grey and matted, his eyes beady and full of dislike as he looked at them. He was dressed in what must have been elegant clothes some decades ago, but were now worn and torn in many places. His gnarled hands were folded in front of him as he slowly approached. Behind him, the sentries followed somewhat menacingly.
“Who are you?” Edmund asked warily.
“My name is Nirthic,” said the Dwarf.
“And you are the highest authority in this group?” Edmund kept his expression unreadable, his voice firm but formal.
The Dwarf smiled sardonically. “Not precisely. I am here to lead you inside, where a more… thorough… conversation might be had.”
Edmund hesitated. Going into the unknown cave would be an immense risk to take.
“Don’t worry, little King,” said Nirthic. “There will be no danger if you do not try anything.”
“I tend to suspect treachery from people who resort to poison and assassinations in my sleep.”
Nirthic’s expression darkened. He scowled. “You may bring four with you. The rest must remain outside.”
“Why can we not speak here?”
“Lord Teucer prefers to remain inside,” he said. “If you truly wish to negotiate, then you must follow me.”
He turned and began to walk towards the entrance of the cave. Edmund glanced at Borik, whose expression was grim.
“With the centaurs behind us there should be considerable safety,” Borik said under his breath.
“Not if we are surrounded by hundreds,” said Edmund. “We do not even know how many they are.”
Borik said nothing, and Edmund saw Nirthic disappear into the cave. With a sharp intake of breath, Edmund called two of the centaurs and Witrow the leopard, ordering them to follow and watch for any sign of treachery. The rest were to remain near the entrance of the cave, and if anything went wrong they were to charge inside.
With a hand on the hilt of his sword, and a silent prayer on his lips, Edmund entered the darkness of the cave, followed by the other Narnians.
As soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw large steps leading downwards as the rocky floor gave way and fell many feet lower. The roof of the cave sunk as well, making it impossible to see how deep into the mountain the cave went. He slowly climbed down the steps, grasping his sword tightly and following the golden light of torches that he could see shining ahead.
He met Nirthic at the foot of the steps, and they made way as the centaurs trotted down behind them, the noise of their hooves against stone echoing loudly. The grey-haired Red Dwarf said nothing as he turned and continued through the passage. Around them, the walls of the cave widened and gave way to a large room. Edmund kept his eyes trained on either side to ensure that no one could jump out at them, but besides the large crevices on the walls, there didn’t seem to be any other hollow spaces in the stone other than the one they were in.
The room suddenly widened and torches were lit all around them, giving light to the area they were in, though Edmund could see that the cave did go deep into the mountain, for beyond the circle of light all he could see was darkness. It was obvious that people had been living in that cave for some time; old empty barrels, crates and sacks were thrown about, and chairs and blankets were ordered haphazardly all about. Some creatures stood at the edges of the room: dwarves, panthers, ravens, satyrs and even a Faun or two. None of them seemed ready to attack, though Edmund could see spears, swords and bows here and there. Their enemy was armed, but the situation did not seem to be a treacherous one.
They followed Nirthic until they reached a place where the floor seemed to rise up in a sort of dais. On it stood a centaur.
“Lord Teucer,” said Nirthic solemnly.
Out of all the creatures Edmund had suspected might have been behind this rebellion against the Narnian Thrones, a centaur had seemed the least possible. Even during the time of the White Witch, not a single centaur had joined her side or supported her in any way. Most of them had retreated to the mountains and lived there in hiding, occasionally leading an attempt to overthrow her government, which was the reason behind the abundance of centaur statues in her palace when Aslan had gone to reawaken them.
Lord Teucer was old, even by centaur standards. Both the fur that covered the horse half of his body and the hair on his head was pale grey, seeming to be falling off in places. His body, once strong and muscular, was now wrinkled and thin with age, and his bright, glazed eyes gleaming with an intensity that betrayed madness.
“King Edmund,” Teucer cried, his hooves making noise as they crushed the small rocks on the top of the dais. “It is quite a pleasure to see you with my own eyes after having heard so much about you.”
“I would say likewise,” Edmund replied. “But I wish our meeting was not under these circumstances.”
“Your coming here is a quite a noble act,” said Teucer, his lip curling, an ugly grimace forming on his face. “But I do not know what you wish to achieve.”
“I am here to give you a chance before we decide to make justice,” said Edmund coldly. “You stand accused of the blackmail, raid and destruction of the village of Pebble and surrounding farms, and violent action against the dryads and villagers. Also, you stand accused of the twice attempted murder of the Kings and Queens of the nation of Narnia, exposing you and your followers as traitors to the country and to its people.” He paused for effect and then continued. “By Narnian law, the systematic harassment, robbery and brutal mistreatment of the villagers of Pebble force you to stand trial before its people and face imprisonment or exile. The attempted murder of the Kings and Queens is punishable by death, but those directly responsible for the attack have already received their sentence, partly absolving you from this punishment if you repent and willingly submit to the consequences for your other crimes.”
There was complete silence in the cave, broken only by Teucer’s laughter. “Oh, please,” he said scornfully, his voice cracking slightly, as if it was worn with age. “You speak as if you had the right to impart justice upon this land. My people and I have long toiled in this country and with our blood we have earned the right of ownership. We will not bow before false Kings.”
“Their Majesties’ places in the Thrones were given by Aslan Himself, as do all true Narnians testify,” Borik said, fiercely.
“So Aslan believes Narnia a country fit to be ruled by humans, traitors and children?” Teucer spat. “You speak of true Narnians, Dwarf, while you yourself have abandoned your own in favor of a King who would have sold us all to the Witch for the sake of power.”
Borik’s hand moved and it took all of Edmund’s strength to push the Dwarf’s hand away from his sword. Borik’s eyes were blazing with hatred. “Those who ignored the Lion’s Call and forgot the Prophecy for their own commodity are not of my kin, nor are any of the Black Dwarves who joined the Witch’s side.”
Edmund spoke quickly before Borik got any angrier. “By Aslan’s decree, my Brother, my Sisters and I are Kings and Queens of Narnia. It is our duty to protect Narnia from any that may wish to harm her; at this moment in time, you are our greatest threat.”
Suddenly, Teucer had stepped off the dais and was facing Edmund, standing a nearly a head over the King, his breath racing from the effort of movement. It was evident that the centaur was sickly and decrepit; as he glanced at Nirthic, who stood nearby, it became clear to him that it was probable that many of Teucer’s followers were merely using his authority as a ladder to power. He wondered how many of them had been the Witch’s followers until the Pevensies had arrived.
“Let me explain something to you, human child,” said Teucer, his rancid breath blowing in Edmund’s face as he looked down at him. “You and your siblings stand on a land of Talking Beasts, centaurs, Fauns, satyrs, dwarves, and all other manners of creatures. But Narnia has never been a land of humans. A human child understands nothing of our culture, of our knowledge, of our suffering. A human child cannot represent the people of Narnia. Perhaps in the times before the Long Winter, a human might live among us and call himself our King, but it was a rank brought with respect, with trust given by Narnia’s people because they had proved themselves worthy. Humans did not rule like you do so now. You have appeared from another country we know nothing of; you swept in and replaced our ruler through the power of the Lion, not through your own. Narnia does not need usurpers! Narnia does not need humans! Narnia is herself, and now that the Long Winter is over, she must be reclaimed by her own, not by strangers, not by children, and not by traitors!”
His voice had risen to a shout, his face contorted in spasms of anger. “We, the Knights of Stone, have fought for this country all our lives! We have given Narnia our blood, our children, our every breath until there was no more to give! We have seen everything we love fall before the Witch, and it was by our efforts that the Narnians stayed together.” Around him, a murmur of approval rose from the Talking Beasts, the satyrs, the Fauns and some of the dwarves. “Through our hands our villages were saved from being turned to stone; we were the warriors who protected our people, strong, unwavering, like stone itself! We fought battles we knew we would not win, for the honor of our people, for the glory of knowing that we never gave up our freedom.” He inhaled sharply, his tail lashing to the sides in anger as he stomped the ground beneath him with one hoof. “But what did we get when the Winter was over? Nothing. Those of us who suffered for Narnia had to stay where we were while others took the power and pretended they had the authority to wield it.” He snorted, his mad eyes fixed on Edmund’s. “What have you to say to that, King?”
Edmund held his gaze, unwavering. When he spoke, his voice was calm and steady. “This: your pain is understood, your heroism admirable, your losses lamentable. Any Narnian will testify that what you did during the Long Winter kept hope in the hearts of our people. But your actions in the past months have dishonored you and the cause you have fought for. Since when is Narnia a place where villages must live in fear of their own people? Where houses are burnt to the ground and children are threatened? Since when is Narnia a place where objections are spoken through poison and a sword to one’s throat while one is asleep? If you have fought for a free Narnia, a Narnia of peace, why do you so actively work to bring her to her ruin?
“I know the pain of war. I have lived through one. And cruel actions are not justifiable by past cruel actions; I know this, because as you have said, I was once a traitor. But I have repented, and I have suffered the consequences of my actions. This opportunity I give to you: leave this cave and endure trial for your crimes, and the worst will be forgiven. Refuse it, and we shall meet again, but it will be in battle.”
Teucer’s face remained contorted in anger as he looked at Edmund with pure hatred. “As I said… we will not bow before false justice from false Kings. I have done what must be done for this country, I have taken what must be taken from its people, and I will not shy away from killing usurpers to ensure that Narnia survives. I will not take orders from traitors.” He turned and walked away, seeming to limp slightly, his decrepit form disappearing into the shadows of the depths of the cave.
“So be it,” said Edmund grimly.
//
“Sire!”
Peter turned almost reluctantly in his tracks. “What is it? I am leaving for the dance; I am late already.”
His meeting with Oreius had gone on longer than he had expected, and he did not wish to be late to the dancing in the clearing that happened every night. Especially since he had heard word that Lucy was to sing that evening.
Aurelius bowed. “Forgive me Sire, but we have caught two thieves.” Behind him, four guards were dragging two men from Galma, their hands tied behind their backs. “What shall we do with them?”
Peter held back a sigh. He walked towards them and faced the two thieves. They remained with their faces downcast, and he initially thought it was out of shame, but soon realized by the smell that they were too drunk to hold their heads up properly. “What did they steal?” he asked, though he knew the answer already.
“A barrel of beer,” said Aurelius, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “We found them in their tent; they must have drunk nearly three thirds of it.”
“They are King Reghorius’ to punish, not mine,” said Peter, and he looked at the criminals. “He shall be the one to decide. Please summon him for me.”
The King of Galma arrived just as the vomit of one of the criminals was being cleaned off the edges of one of the carpets of Peter’s tent. He grimaced with repulsion as he caught the scent, and immediately turned away to the opposite side of the tent, where Peter sat on a chair and the two drunks kneeled on a grassy patch nearby, flanked by guards.
“What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed as he saw his men with their hands tied behind their backs.
“I am sorry for summoning you from the festivities, King Reghorius,” said Peter courteously. “But this was a matter that required your attention.”
“Why are my men bound, High King?” Reghorius exclaimed, affronted.
“They were caught getting drunk with a barrel of beer that they stole from our stores,” said Peter.
The King froze, his eyes moving back to his men. He grit his teeth with anger. “And how do you know it was stolen?”
“There is a barrel missing from the group that was meant for tonight,” said Peter. “And none of the tents were given such a large amount. Also, there are two witnesses that say they caught sight of your men transporting it to their tent.”
Reghorius said nothing, seeming rather at loss as to how to proceed. Peter almost felt pity for him; he had acted so angrily, and had now realized what a shameful situation he was in.
“I am sorry to put you in this position,” said Peter calmly. “But Narnian law states that thieves must be punished. So do Galman laws, I am sure, and since they are under your care it would not be my place to give out punishments.”
“Quite right,” said Reghorius, rather quietly. “I shall take them.” He made a motion and the two guards that had followed him took hold of the drunks, beginning to half-lead, half-drag them out of the tent.
“There is, however, a small issue to address,” said Peter, before Reghorius could leave as well. He felt rather uncomfortable, but forced himself to say the words that needed to be said. “It should not be that you should suffer shame on behalf of your men; Galma has always proved itself an honest and generous country. It is for this reason that I believe you will understand the reasoning behind my request that you reimburse us with the price of the beer that was drunk by the culprits.”
Reghorius hesitated. It was clear that he was not sure how to proceed. Finally, he gave a small bow. “Of course, High King Peter. I apologize on behalf of my men. This will not happen again.’
As the King left, Peter could not help a triumphant smile from forming on his lips, despite the stench of vomit that was slowly permeating the tent despite the best efforts of the poor Fauns that were trying to clean the mess.
//
Lucy sang a song that night, in the center of the clearing where the Fauns and dryads danced. It was not accompanied with music from any instruments, and there was no dancing while she sang. She merely stood and intoned words in a language that Peter eventually recognized as Old Narnian, a tongue that was no longer spoken anywhere, and was known by very few.
Yet there was something moving about her words, though he could not understand more than a few, and the way she stood with her arms slightly outstretched, her face upturned towards the stars as her lips formed the beautiful melody that was mournful and joyful at the same time. It transmitted such happiness that Peter felt as if it pained him, and he suddenly realized that there were tears in his eyes. In that moment, he felt as if he was the only one in the clearing and there was nothing around him but the distant shores of the Eastern Sea, the crashing waves that almost sounded like a lion’s roar, the golden moonlight making the horizon gleam as if he was seeing a bright land beyond the waters, and Lucy’s enchanted melody surrounding him, enveloping him, changing him.
That night, as he pulled the sheets over himself, he hesitated. Around him, the murmur of people had died down and he could only hear the ordinary noises of the peaceful, windy night, and the echoes of Lucy’s song in her mind.
Slowly, he pushed the sheets off his body and knelt on the ground, memories of his mother’s words to him when he was a small child crossing his mind. He remembered her hands on his and the way he had laid his chin on the mattress because he was too small to lean his elbows on it.
“I’ve forgotten the words,” he murmured softly as he closed his eyes, his voice, for the first time in a long time, sounding more English than Narnian. “And somehow, I don’t think the words would be enough to say everything I have to say. But I need this, don’t I? This is why I’m here. To finally understand.”
And kneeling at the side of his bed, Peter prayed.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 8
Author: nasimwrites
Recipient: jn208505
Rating: T
Content/Warnings: Violence, some dark themes.
Summary: “Here was once a land of joy and plenty, once torn apart by the Long Winter and now twice torn apart by those who dare call themselves saviors of Narnia.” Summer brings new challenges for the Pevensies.
Author’s Notes: Thank you, Janet, for being my beta even though it was on short notice!
This story was originally meant to be less than 16 pages in length, but it mutated and grew and is now over 100 pages in length and has nearly 60,000 words… I hope you don’t mind reading a novel-length fic!
Passing Seasons
Chapter 7
From where she sat near one of the small windows of Hana’s house, Susan could see the Hare family, Ash and two Fauns working on what was left of the Hares’ crops. More than half of their vegetables had been torn out of the ground, disregarding how ripe they were, and the most of the ripe ones had been stolen. The remaining vegetables had been carefully replanted, and new ones were now being planted in an attempt to replenish their stocks on some level. The rest of the group had gone to do the same work beside the construction of the Birdel house and another farm on the outskirts of the village.
Only Susan, Hana, Willow and Clover’s mother remained, working very hard on the long task of pickling and drying the vegetables and fruit that they had not been able to replant. All the farms of the area had sent what had been unintentionally harvested to the house. They had set out most of the rye and wheat to dry upon the roof of the house, where they hoped it would remain untouched. Some fruits that Susan did not recognize were also there.
Inside the house, a large pot held cucumbers, onions, asparagus, carrots and some other vegetables boiling in salt brine. Old Badger had sent them what remained of his many glass jars, which was quite a large number, which Willow was busy washing with hot water. Hana was placing the vegetables in salt brine within the already washed jars. The room was hot from the bright fire and Susan felt that she was sweating as she stirred the large pot before returning to the smaller jars, where she poured honey that the squirrels from nearby had procured and stored fruit inside them. “Sweet preserves,” Willow had said gleefully as she wiped a drop of honey from the side of one of the jars and licked it off her finger. “This shall be quite delicious.”
“Do you think it will be enough, Hana?” Clover’s mother said worriedly. “It is a lot of food, but what if it doesn’t last?”
“It shall be a winter of simple meals,” said Hana grimly as she struggled to close a jar. “If it is a natural winter, that is. If it is not… well, then, food won’t make much of a difference.”
Her words had an ominous tone, and Susan saw the others shrink back into their task, looking almost fearful. It was time to understand exactly what this was all about.
“What do you mean, not a natural winter?”
Willow and the Hare glanced at her and then looked away, the same look in their eyes. Hana did not look up, continuing to fill a new jar with cucumbers and onions. There was silence for a moment, and then the Dwarf woman began to speak.
“You don’t know what the Long Winter was like, Queen Susan,” she said in her low, almost guttural voice. “Blizzards every other day, and a cold that crushed the bones and stabbed at the stomach like a knife. There is little more terrible for simple people like us Narnians than a Winter that lasts forever, but the White Witch found ways to make it all the worse.
“We was hunted for sport, in those days,” the Hare said in little over a whisper.
Hana nodded, her lips set in a grim line. “But the worst of all, they tried to take our beliefs. And they almost did it, too. Word went about saying that Aslan had abandoned us, that there was no salvation for Narnia. And then there were more whispers, whispers that maybe Aslan didn’t even exist…
“I was lucky. My father was one of the few who remembered Narnia as she was, before the Witch took over. He told us stories of Spring and Aslan, and the Prophecy, and made sure we would always know the truth.” She set down the jar on the table with a loud noise. “They killed him for it.
“T’was many families, ‘specially the Black Dwarf clans, that lost hope and joined the enemy. Soon after went lots of the satyrs and even some of the Fauns. Folks just gave up. I expect they can’t be blamed for caving; one never knows how strong one is until one is tested. And Narnia’s faith was tested… oh, it was tested thoroughly. People stopped believing, and made themselves forget. They said it made them safer, but it really just made them weaker. Until they began shunning those of us who did believe. My husband was one of the few that fought to keep the memory of the Lion alive. Until this day I don’t know if it was the Witch herself or if it was turned Narnians who did the job.”
She looked up at Susan, her eyes like deep wells of darkness. “I’m sorry, Queen Susan, but after everything I’ve lived I can’t bring myself to think that the winter has gone forever. I can’t bring myself to believe that four Kings and Queens can save Narnia. I know the efforts you have put into this and I am thankful, as are all here, I am sure… but you can’t redeem Narnia. We have been through too much and we have sinned too much.” Hana shook her head. “Aslan tested Narnia, and Narnia failed. I won’t be surprised if the Winter returns. We brought it upon ourselves.”
Susan stared at her in concern, the jars of fruit and honey on the table before her, forgotten. She met Willow’s wide, frightened eyes, and then turned back to Hana.
“We will not permit Narnia to fall into any other hands again, Hana,” she said calmly but firmly. “That is exactly why we are here now, to help you in your time of need. You need not live through such horrible times again.”
Hana looked at her with something similar to pity. “But Queen Susan… these are times of peace. Neither you nor your siblings know the pain of living through times like those. Small battles are nothing compared to the horror of war, the oppression of losing, the fear that comes with not knowing if you will live through the day, the knowledge that you are not safe within the very walls of your own home-”
“Actually, I do know,” Susan interrupted, in a quiet voice. She met Hana’s eyes. “The country from where I come was at war when I came to Narnia. We were forced to leave our homes because they were attacking our cities, and they feared that it would all be destroyed. My father went to fight…” she hesitated for a moment, forcing the emotion to leave her voice. “And as far as we know, he has not returned yet. We do know the fear, the pain, the oppression. We come from different worlds, but our sorrows have been the same.”
Silence had fallen within the small main room of the Morkins’ house. Susan sat on the stool but somehow felt both taller and smaller all at once. Hana’s expression had changed; perhaps she had seen the tears that had threatened to make their way out of Susan’s eyes. Susan had already been old enough to understand everything the war implied, back in England. She knew she and Peter had suffered the most, being the two out of the four that fully understood that their father was most likely not to return.
She held back a shiver as she realized that she had not missed her father ever since she had reached Narnia.
“But you understand, then, perhaps,” said Hana, almost softly. “Why it is so hard for so many of us to simply accept this time meant for prosperity… there is very little enjoyment when one dreads that one might be forced to return to that life at any moment.”
“I understand,” said Susan, and she could hear her own voice saying almost the same thing to Edmund in the front porch, only a few nights ago.
//
My dear sister:
It is almost dull, being in the Festival without your presence! We all miss you dearly. I wish you could have been here to watch the feast that took place the other night; I danced so much I feared my feet would crumble beneath me! But what you are doing in the West sounds equally exciting… it must be thrilling to visit so many new places, build things and herd cows! You know I have always been eager to do such things; if only we had had a chance to do it in England! Perhaps there is hope yet… a lifetime in Narnia gives space to many new experiences.
Speaking of the feast has brought an idea to mind. In your letter, you spoke of how the villagers are gathering provisions and dividing them in equal rations for each family. Have you considered the possibility of a celebration once all the work is done? It might help increase the morale of the villagers after everything they have been through, and truly heighten the feeling of triumph that comes with a work well finished. If you do decide to carry out this idea, I expect you to tell its story in full detail once you return!
Our Brother is doing well; or at least as well as he ever does. He worries himself over the both of you, and with political and administrative concerns, it only heightens this anxiety. But it seems to me that he has been feeling better lately. As always, I do my best to assist him in anything he might need. But you know him… his concerns often cause him more anxiety than they do to most people.
Do let me know if you are partial to my idea! Send my loving regards to all those around you. I wish I could meet Willow and Ash; they seem to possess quite entertaining characters. And Hana sounds quite sweet and inspiring.
Your loving Sister,
Lucy.
Susan folded the letter after the fourth time reading it. She had read the second paragraph out loud to the others shortly after they had finished moving in the Birdel brothers’ new furniture into their new house. It was a smaller home than they had had originally, but it was sturdy and would last. Beside it, new seeds had been planted, which would hopefully be harvested during Autumn, ensuring some more sustenance for them.
There had been a round of applause and much hand shaking, and the dwarves thanked all those who had helped them with gruff, rather uncomfortable expressions. It was obvious that they were moved, though not sure how to express their emotions, not used to being surrounded by such a large group of people. But the group had understood, and there was much joy after Susan’s reading of the letter. Though there were still some more matters to attend to within Pebble, the worst of the work was over, and they all agreed with Lucy’s words: there was much cause for celebration.
Firstly, though, Susan was approached by two of the dwarves that had come with her from Cair Paravel.
“Your Majesty,” they said in low voices, looking rather concerned. “There is still an issue that must be addressed.”
“What issue are you referring to?” Susan asked, lowering her voice.
“There is still much wood left over from the trees that fell. And the dogs say that there are even more trees that they found fallen over in the forest.”
“And you have an idea of what we might do with it?”
The dwarves looked grim. One of them spoke, his voice grave. “Queen Susan, as efficient as King Edmund may be in defeating the rebels, Pebble is not yet truly safe from danger. Their proximity to the Western Mountains gives much space for sinister attacks.”
“It is well known that all the evils that befell Narnia came from the West,” added the other Dwarf solemnly.
“Perhaps the wood could be used to raise a barrier; some sort of fence would do. It may not prove as actual protection before an attack, but it will show that the village is protected and perhaps be a source of confidence for the villagers.”
“That sounds reasonable,” said Susan. “If there is enough wood and nails to carry it out, then I do not see why not.”
The dwarves bowed and thanked her.
“This village, however, requires some organization so that it may protect itself. Its proximity to the border does leave it quite exposed,” she murmured as they left.
The villagers and the visitors from Cair Paravel met the following day at sundown in the grassy land beside the newly constructed house. The barriers had been erected; they were fences that stood little over Susan’s waist, but they served their purpose, surrounding the village and blocking the Western side of the crossroads, a locked gate the only way of entry, which would be controlled by the people of Pebble. As the sun set behind the mountains, they arranged chairs and tables on the grass, decorating the trees nearby with strings of flowers. Old Badger, with some help from the villagers, the squirrels nearby and even the dryads of the forest had come to visit and enjoy the celebration as well. Every family had brought a small meal to share with everyone from the food they had in their stores: Hana had produced some lovely pastries, the Monkeys had brought piles of wild fruit they had found, the Hares brought a simple salad, the Squirrels had brought nuts, Old Badger had brought one of his last bottles of wine, and the Birdel brothers had managed to bake delicious bread. It would make a simple meal, but the joy and sacrifice behind it made it the most delectable feast any of them had ever had.
As they were all seated, and Gimor produced a fiddle, beginning a merry tune, birds and other creatures who lived nearby and had assisted in one way or other during the reconstruction of the village joined them as well, all bringing their own gifts. Suddenly, the Faun who lived beside the Hare family’s home appeared, bearing two of the six large jars of pickled vegetables and one of the three jars of sweet preserves that had been provided to him as part of the ration he had been given, as a thanks for the work he had done for the village. All eyes turned to him as he moved towards the table and set down the large jars.
“I should be giving them all back,” he said quietly. “For I know I do not deserve the generosity you have given me. Work done out of guilt should not be rewarded.”
There was silence on the table, and even Gimor stopped fiddling. Then the eldest of the Birdel brothers stood up and pulled another chair to the table, making space for the Faun to sit. And after a few minutes of silence, the music began once more and food was passed around. The monkeys and the dryads made garlands of flowers and danced together along with any that would follow, and merry old songs were sung by the villagers. Then stories were told, but only joyful stories, for the happiness in Pebble did not make space for sad memories. Susan told the tale of how she and her siblings had entered Narnia for the first time, and when she was done they all drank to the end of the Winter. Even Hana seemed to smile sincerely as she passed slices of bread to all.
Susan felt herself smiling and found herself unable to stop. She leaned back in her seat and looked up at the moon as it shone brightly in the sky.
//
Borik cracked his knuckles as Edmund climbed down the rocky formation where they had set camp. Most of the group was already there, and the others were following behind him. It was early in the afternoon, and they were ready t o set out to the meeting with the rebels. One of the centaurs held an olive branch to demonstrate that they came in peace, though his expression was distinctly war-like.
“Ready, Borik?” said Edmund as he hung his sword on his belt.
“Yes, Sire,” said the Dwarf, looking around at the rest of them. “I only hope this isn’t a trap.”
“If it is, we shall know soon enough,” said Edmund grimly.
They set out in silence, leaving the horses behind with two soldiers to watch them. Edmund went at the head of the group beside the centaurs and Borik, feeling distinctly uneasy in his stomach. What they were doing was risky, but it needed to be done. He comforted himself by remembering that the rebels weren’t particularly skilled in battle, judging from their clumsy shots the day before in the forest, and that they had probably killed most of the skilled ones in the Festival when they had come to murder him and Peter.
They reached the place within the next hour, their mood tense, their stances alert. As soon as they neared the end of the wood, Edmund sent Witrow to investigate. The large feline seemed to blend in perfectly with the foliage, crouching into the bushes without making so much as a slight rustle. He returned after a few minutes.
“All goes according to plan, Sire,” he said. “They do have a cave. A rather large one, too, by the smell of it. There’s a Minotaur and two Black Dwarves visibly standing guard, but I’m fairly sure there are many more waiting just inside.”
Edmund took a deep breath and turned to the others. “Very well,” he said, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Do not draw your weapons unless it becomes clear that they mean to kill us. If they suspect treachery on our part we lose all hope of negotiation.”
Slowly, Edmund emerged from the shadow of the trees, followed closely by Borik, Witrow, and the centaurs. He instantly heard the Minotaur draw his blade, and saw the two Dwarf sentries point at them with arrows to the string. Above them, a mountain rose into the clouds, its vast rocky wall extending on either side until it was swallowed by the shadows of the trees. The rocky floor they stood on seemed to fall rather steeply into the large, gaping cave behind the rebel sentries. Edmund set his jaw, his gaze hard as he faced the enemy, not moving from where he stood at the edge of the wood.
“We had a deal,” he shouted to those whom he knew hid inside the cave.
“Yes, little King, we do.”
The voice was an old, gravelly one, laced with mocking courtesy. A Dwarf emerged from the cave, his long hair and beard grey and matted, his eyes beady and full of dislike as he looked at them. He was dressed in what must have been elegant clothes some decades ago, but were now worn and torn in many places. His gnarled hands were folded in front of him as he slowly approached. Behind him, the sentries followed somewhat menacingly.
“Who are you?” Edmund asked warily.
“My name is Nirthic,” said the Dwarf.
“And you are the highest authority in this group?” Edmund kept his expression unreadable, his voice firm but formal.
The Dwarf smiled sardonically. “Not precisely. I am here to lead you inside, where a more… thorough… conversation might be had.”
Edmund hesitated. Going into the unknown cave would be an immense risk to take.
“Don’t worry, little King,” said Nirthic. “There will be no danger if you do not try anything.”
“I tend to suspect treachery from people who resort to poison and assassinations in my sleep.”
Nirthic’s expression darkened. He scowled. “You may bring four with you. The rest must remain outside.”
“Why can we not speak here?”
“Lord Teucer prefers to remain inside,” he said. “If you truly wish to negotiate, then you must follow me.”
He turned and began to walk towards the entrance of the cave. Edmund glanced at Borik, whose expression was grim.
“With the centaurs behind us there should be considerable safety,” Borik said under his breath.
“Not if we are surrounded by hundreds,” said Edmund. “We do not even know how many they are.”
Borik said nothing, and Edmund saw Nirthic disappear into the cave. With a sharp intake of breath, Edmund called two of the centaurs and Witrow the leopard, ordering them to follow and watch for any sign of treachery. The rest were to remain near the entrance of the cave, and if anything went wrong they were to charge inside.
With a hand on the hilt of his sword, and a silent prayer on his lips, Edmund entered the darkness of the cave, followed by the other Narnians.
As soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw large steps leading downwards as the rocky floor gave way and fell many feet lower. The roof of the cave sunk as well, making it impossible to see how deep into the mountain the cave went. He slowly climbed down the steps, grasping his sword tightly and following the golden light of torches that he could see shining ahead.
He met Nirthic at the foot of the steps, and they made way as the centaurs trotted down behind them, the noise of their hooves against stone echoing loudly. The grey-haired Red Dwarf said nothing as he turned and continued through the passage. Around them, the walls of the cave widened and gave way to a large room. Edmund kept his eyes trained on either side to ensure that no one could jump out at them, but besides the large crevices on the walls, there didn’t seem to be any other hollow spaces in the stone other than the one they were in.
The room suddenly widened and torches were lit all around them, giving light to the area they were in, though Edmund could see that the cave did go deep into the mountain, for beyond the circle of light all he could see was darkness. It was obvious that people had been living in that cave for some time; old empty barrels, crates and sacks were thrown about, and chairs and blankets were ordered haphazardly all about. Some creatures stood at the edges of the room: dwarves, panthers, ravens, satyrs and even a Faun or two. None of them seemed ready to attack, though Edmund could see spears, swords and bows here and there. Their enemy was armed, but the situation did not seem to be a treacherous one.
They followed Nirthic until they reached a place where the floor seemed to rise up in a sort of dais. On it stood a centaur.
“Lord Teucer,” said Nirthic solemnly.
Out of all the creatures Edmund had suspected might have been behind this rebellion against the Narnian Thrones, a centaur had seemed the least possible. Even during the time of the White Witch, not a single centaur had joined her side or supported her in any way. Most of them had retreated to the mountains and lived there in hiding, occasionally leading an attempt to overthrow her government, which was the reason behind the abundance of centaur statues in her palace when Aslan had gone to reawaken them.
Lord Teucer was old, even by centaur standards. Both the fur that covered the horse half of his body and the hair on his head was pale grey, seeming to be falling off in places. His body, once strong and muscular, was now wrinkled and thin with age, and his bright, glazed eyes gleaming with an intensity that betrayed madness.
“King Edmund,” Teucer cried, his hooves making noise as they crushed the small rocks on the top of the dais. “It is quite a pleasure to see you with my own eyes after having heard so much about you.”
“I would say likewise,” Edmund replied. “But I wish our meeting was not under these circumstances.”
“Your coming here is a quite a noble act,” said Teucer, his lip curling, an ugly grimace forming on his face. “But I do not know what you wish to achieve.”
“I am here to give you a chance before we decide to make justice,” said Edmund coldly. “You stand accused of the blackmail, raid and destruction of the village of Pebble and surrounding farms, and violent action against the dryads and villagers. Also, you stand accused of the twice attempted murder of the Kings and Queens of the nation of Narnia, exposing you and your followers as traitors to the country and to its people.” He paused for effect and then continued. “By Narnian law, the systematic harassment, robbery and brutal mistreatment of the villagers of Pebble force you to stand trial before its people and face imprisonment or exile. The attempted murder of the Kings and Queens is punishable by death, but those directly responsible for the attack have already received their sentence, partly absolving you from this punishment if you repent and willingly submit to the consequences for your other crimes.”
There was complete silence in the cave, broken only by Teucer’s laughter. “Oh, please,” he said scornfully, his voice cracking slightly, as if it was worn with age. “You speak as if you had the right to impart justice upon this land. My people and I have long toiled in this country and with our blood we have earned the right of ownership. We will not bow before false Kings.”
“Their Majesties’ places in the Thrones were given by Aslan Himself, as do all true Narnians testify,” Borik said, fiercely.
“So Aslan believes Narnia a country fit to be ruled by humans, traitors and children?” Teucer spat. “You speak of true Narnians, Dwarf, while you yourself have abandoned your own in favor of a King who would have sold us all to the Witch for the sake of power.”
Borik’s hand moved and it took all of Edmund’s strength to push the Dwarf’s hand away from his sword. Borik’s eyes were blazing with hatred. “Those who ignored the Lion’s Call and forgot the Prophecy for their own commodity are not of my kin, nor are any of the Black Dwarves who joined the Witch’s side.”
Edmund spoke quickly before Borik got any angrier. “By Aslan’s decree, my Brother, my Sisters and I are Kings and Queens of Narnia. It is our duty to protect Narnia from any that may wish to harm her; at this moment in time, you are our greatest threat.”
Suddenly, Teucer had stepped off the dais and was facing Edmund, standing a nearly a head over the King, his breath racing from the effort of movement. It was evident that the centaur was sickly and decrepit; as he glanced at Nirthic, who stood nearby, it became clear to him that it was probable that many of Teucer’s followers were merely using his authority as a ladder to power. He wondered how many of them had been the Witch’s followers until the Pevensies had arrived.
“Let me explain something to you, human child,” said Teucer, his rancid breath blowing in Edmund’s face as he looked down at him. “You and your siblings stand on a land of Talking Beasts, centaurs, Fauns, satyrs, dwarves, and all other manners of creatures. But Narnia has never been a land of humans. A human child understands nothing of our culture, of our knowledge, of our suffering. A human child cannot represent the people of Narnia. Perhaps in the times before the Long Winter, a human might live among us and call himself our King, but it was a rank brought with respect, with trust given by Narnia’s people because they had proved themselves worthy. Humans did not rule like you do so now. You have appeared from another country we know nothing of; you swept in and replaced our ruler through the power of the Lion, not through your own. Narnia does not need usurpers! Narnia does not need humans! Narnia is herself, and now that the Long Winter is over, she must be reclaimed by her own, not by strangers, not by children, and not by traitors!”
His voice had risen to a shout, his face contorted in spasms of anger. “We, the Knights of Stone, have fought for this country all our lives! We have given Narnia our blood, our children, our every breath until there was no more to give! We have seen everything we love fall before the Witch, and it was by our efforts that the Narnians stayed together.” Around him, a murmur of approval rose from the Talking Beasts, the satyrs, the Fauns and some of the dwarves. “Through our hands our villages were saved from being turned to stone; we were the warriors who protected our people, strong, unwavering, like stone itself! We fought battles we knew we would not win, for the honor of our people, for the glory of knowing that we never gave up our freedom.” He inhaled sharply, his tail lashing to the sides in anger as he stomped the ground beneath him with one hoof. “But what did we get when the Winter was over? Nothing. Those of us who suffered for Narnia had to stay where we were while others took the power and pretended they had the authority to wield it.” He snorted, his mad eyes fixed on Edmund’s. “What have you to say to that, King?”
Edmund held his gaze, unwavering. When he spoke, his voice was calm and steady. “This: your pain is understood, your heroism admirable, your losses lamentable. Any Narnian will testify that what you did during the Long Winter kept hope in the hearts of our people. But your actions in the past months have dishonored you and the cause you have fought for. Since when is Narnia a place where villages must live in fear of their own people? Where houses are burnt to the ground and children are threatened? Since when is Narnia a place where objections are spoken through poison and a sword to one’s throat while one is asleep? If you have fought for a free Narnia, a Narnia of peace, why do you so actively work to bring her to her ruin?
“I know the pain of war. I have lived through one. And cruel actions are not justifiable by past cruel actions; I know this, because as you have said, I was once a traitor. But I have repented, and I have suffered the consequences of my actions. This opportunity I give to you: leave this cave and endure trial for your crimes, and the worst will be forgiven. Refuse it, and we shall meet again, but it will be in battle.”
Teucer’s face remained contorted in anger as he looked at Edmund with pure hatred. “As I said… we will not bow before false justice from false Kings. I have done what must be done for this country, I have taken what must be taken from its people, and I will not shy away from killing usurpers to ensure that Narnia survives. I will not take orders from traitors.” He turned and walked away, seeming to limp slightly, his decrepit form disappearing into the shadows of the depths of the cave.
“So be it,” said Edmund grimly.
//
“Sire!”
Peter turned almost reluctantly in his tracks. “What is it? I am leaving for the dance; I am late already.”
His meeting with Oreius had gone on longer than he had expected, and he did not wish to be late to the dancing in the clearing that happened every night. Especially since he had heard word that Lucy was to sing that evening.
Aurelius bowed. “Forgive me Sire, but we have caught two thieves.” Behind him, four guards were dragging two men from Galma, their hands tied behind their backs. “What shall we do with them?”
Peter held back a sigh. He walked towards them and faced the two thieves. They remained with their faces downcast, and he initially thought it was out of shame, but soon realized by the smell that they were too drunk to hold their heads up properly. “What did they steal?” he asked, though he knew the answer already.
“A barrel of beer,” said Aurelius, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “We found them in their tent; they must have drunk nearly three thirds of it.”
“They are King Reghorius’ to punish, not mine,” said Peter, and he looked at the criminals. “He shall be the one to decide. Please summon him for me.”
The King of Galma arrived just as the vomit of one of the criminals was being cleaned off the edges of one of the carpets of Peter’s tent. He grimaced with repulsion as he caught the scent, and immediately turned away to the opposite side of the tent, where Peter sat on a chair and the two drunks kneeled on a grassy patch nearby, flanked by guards.
“What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed as he saw his men with their hands tied behind their backs.
“I am sorry for summoning you from the festivities, King Reghorius,” said Peter courteously. “But this was a matter that required your attention.”
“Why are my men bound, High King?” Reghorius exclaimed, affronted.
“They were caught getting drunk with a barrel of beer that they stole from our stores,” said Peter.
The King froze, his eyes moving back to his men. He grit his teeth with anger. “And how do you know it was stolen?”
“There is a barrel missing from the group that was meant for tonight,” said Peter. “And none of the tents were given such a large amount. Also, there are two witnesses that say they caught sight of your men transporting it to their tent.”
Reghorius said nothing, seeming rather at loss as to how to proceed. Peter almost felt pity for him; he had acted so angrily, and had now realized what a shameful situation he was in.
“I am sorry to put you in this position,” said Peter calmly. “But Narnian law states that thieves must be punished. So do Galman laws, I am sure, and since they are under your care it would not be my place to give out punishments.”
“Quite right,” said Reghorius, rather quietly. “I shall take them.” He made a motion and the two guards that had followed him took hold of the drunks, beginning to half-lead, half-drag them out of the tent.
“There is, however, a small issue to address,” said Peter, before Reghorius could leave as well. He felt rather uncomfortable, but forced himself to say the words that needed to be said. “It should not be that you should suffer shame on behalf of your men; Galma has always proved itself an honest and generous country. It is for this reason that I believe you will understand the reasoning behind my request that you reimburse us with the price of the beer that was drunk by the culprits.”
Reghorius hesitated. It was clear that he was not sure how to proceed. Finally, he gave a small bow. “Of course, High King Peter. I apologize on behalf of my men. This will not happen again.’
As the King left, Peter could not help a triumphant smile from forming on his lips, despite the stench of vomit that was slowly permeating the tent despite the best efforts of the poor Fauns that were trying to clean the mess.
//
Lucy sang a song that night, in the center of the clearing where the Fauns and dryads danced. It was not accompanied with music from any instruments, and there was no dancing while she sang. She merely stood and intoned words in a language that Peter eventually recognized as Old Narnian, a tongue that was no longer spoken anywhere, and was known by very few.
Yet there was something moving about her words, though he could not understand more than a few, and the way she stood with her arms slightly outstretched, her face upturned towards the stars as her lips formed the beautiful melody that was mournful and joyful at the same time. It transmitted such happiness that Peter felt as if it pained him, and he suddenly realized that there were tears in his eyes. In that moment, he felt as if he was the only one in the clearing and there was nothing around him but the distant shores of the Eastern Sea, the crashing waves that almost sounded like a lion’s roar, the golden moonlight making the horizon gleam as if he was seeing a bright land beyond the waters, and Lucy’s enchanted melody surrounding him, enveloping him, changing him.
That night, as he pulled the sheets over himself, he hesitated. Around him, the murmur of people had died down and he could only hear the ordinary noises of the peaceful, windy night, and the echoes of Lucy’s song in her mind.
Slowly, he pushed the sheets off his body and knelt on the ground, memories of his mother’s words to him when he was a small child crossing his mind. He remembered her hands on his and the way he had laid his chin on the mattress because he was too small to lean his elbows on it.
“I’ve forgotten the words,” he murmured softly as he closed his eyes, his voice, for the first time in a long time, sounding more English than Narnian. “And somehow, I don’t think the words would be enough to say everything I have to say. But I need this, don’t I? This is why I’m here. To finally understand.”
And kneeling at the side of his bed, Peter prayed.
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Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 8