Fest Entry: A Year in Their Courts (2/2)
Summer
As the days grew longer and longer, Hermione and Peter spent most of their days outside. The Kings practiced their swordplay every morning, and Hermione always went to watch, and sometimes to cheer them on. Edmund was not as good as Peter-not as tall or broad, and not always as quick on his feet-but in this case, “not as good as Peter” still meant “much better than most.” Their matches were wonderful to watch, and sometimes the Queen Lucy would come and sit with Hermione, and explain the finer points of swordsmanship to her (though the Queen did not carry a sword, she could use one if pressed-a bow was her weapon of choice). “We should teach you to fight,” the Queen said one morning.
“I can use a bow,” Hermione said. “Do I need to use a sword, too?”
“I think every woman should be able to defend herself, if it comes to that,” Queen Lucy said gravely. “And queens even more so.”
Hermione nodded, and the Queen said no more about it; but the unspoken assumption that Hermione would, one day soon, become a queen herself hung between them. When Hermione turned back to watch Peter, she found him watching her, with a smile.
“Perhaps,” Queen Lucy said slowly, “we should start sooner than I thought-how does today sound?”
“Right now?” Hermione asked, and the Queen smiled and nodded.
She sent a page off for two daggers (“We may as well begin with those,” she explained), and then took Hermione to a corner of the soon-to-be apple orchard to demonstrate how to hold a dagger, and what to do with it. The knife was dwarf-wrought, nearly impossible to break, and it glinted mutely in the sun. “You can kill with this,” the Queen said seriously, “so it’s best to be careful.”
Hermione took the blade from her and held it carefully. “Have you ever used yours?”
“Once or twice,” the Queen said quietly. “I prefer to use my bow, but arrows will do you no good in close quarters.”
Hermione nodded, feeling very solemn, and followed Queen Lucy’s example, thrusting against imaginary opponents and stabbing them where she judged their hearts were. “That’s better,” the Queen said, when they had been at it for several hours. “We shall have to talk to the arms master about it, and see if he will take you on.”
“That sounds good,” Hermione answered, panting. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, honestly,” said the Queen. “Call me Lucy; you call Edmund and Peter by their first names, and they are much more formal than I.”
“Lucy, then,” Hermione said with a smile. “But if you don’t mind, I think I am going to go change my clothing.”
“Yes, of course,” the Queen said, and Hermione sheathed her dagger and dashed off. When she looked back, Lucy and Edmund and Peter were all standing together, talking quietly. They were all smiling, and Lucy, who was laughing, had her hand on Peter’s arm.
**
“Our royal sister is to return for Midsummer,” Edmund told her one afternoon, and Hermione smiled.
“Do you know what she has decided?”
“No,” Edmund said with a laugh. “When I left them, she and King Lune were flirting and dancing every night, and she and Prince Corin were getting on admirably-but I do not know my sister’s mind, or her heart.”
“I don’t think anyone could,” Hermione said quietly. “She keeps it well-hidden.”
“Yes,” Edmund said, “she does. More so now than she used to, I sometimes think. But that was not why I mentioned it.”
“Oh? What was your reason, then?”
“Peter thinks we should hold a ball, on Midsummer’s Eve, outside. Then if Susan has anything she wishes to announce, she can announce it among all her friends.” He hesitated a fraction of a second. “I think,” he added, “that Peter is growing tired of waiting.”
Hermione felt her heart leap into her mouth. “That’s good,” she said finally, for Edmund seemed to be waiting for some response. “Because I am growing tired of waiting as well.”
Edmund smiled. “As, I think, are we all. And-and I say this, please understand, with all the respect I have for you-you are fertile, aren’t you? It is just-Narnia will need an heir.”
Hermione felt herself flush. “Yes,” she said. “I am healthy. And didn’t you say Aslan watches over this country?”
“There is that,” Edmund said thoughtfully. “Perhaps he will come to the wedding.”
It was the first time anyone had, directly, mentioned Hermione and Peter marrying, and she felt a thrill run through her entire body.
**
Midsummer’s Eve dawned warm and sunny, with a slight breeze rustling the leaves (or perhaps that was the dryads, showing their appreciation for the preparations for the ball). “You haven’t told me the color of your gown,” Peter said quietly, startling her, and Hermione turned to face him with a happy smile.
“I didn’t know you wanted to know the color,” she said. “But it’s yellow, like sunlight.”
Peter laughed. “Somehow,” he said, “I thought it might be, so I found these”-and he brought out a small box. When Hermione opened it, she saw a necklace and bracelet, both set with citrine stones the color of the sun.
“Oh!” she gasped.
“You will wear them, won’t you?” he asked. “For me?”
“Yes,” she told him. “Yes, of course, thank you!”
He leaned in closer as she shut the box and whispered, “There is another piece, but I thought it should wait until tonight.”
She could barely breath for happiness, but when she finally gasped out, “Oh, Peter,” it was enough.
**
The ball was set up outside, on a great lawn, close enough to the sea to hear the merpeople, who had come out of the water to sing. There was also a team of musicians, the best in the court, who sat up in the trees and played, so it sounded as if the music was drifting down towards them from the stars. Hermione wore the yellow gown, and the bracelet and necklace, and whenever she caught Peter’s eye, she blushed. “You are the most beautiful woman here,” he whispered in her ear when he took her arm to start the first dance, and Hermione thought that she had never been happier.
She danced with Edmund next, and he twirled her around on the floor to the whirlwind music. “I am happy for you,” he said firmly.
“He hasn’t asked me yet,” Hermione felt compelled to point out.
Edmund merely smiled. “But you’re wearing jewels that once belonged to Queen Helen, the first queen of Narnia,” he said quietly. “He wouldn’t have given them to you unless he intended to propose-and anyway, the ring’s missing from the set.”
“I know,” Hermione said. “He said that it should wait until tonight.”
“You see?” Edmund said.
He passed her back to Peter next, and then she danced with the minor lords and the Calormene ambassador, and even joined hands with Susan and Lucy for a long winding dance through the trees. That was when a hush fell over the crowd, and even the musicians stilled. “What is it?” she asked Lucy.
“Aslan,” Lucy whispered, her eyes shining. “They’re saying he’s quiet close, somewhere.”
“Aah,” Hermione whispered, and they all dropped hands and looked around for the lion, hoping to catch a glimpse of him through the trees. But after several minutes, the moment passed away, and the musicians took up their bows again.
“Perhaps they were mistaken,” Queen Susan said thoughtfully, and took up Hermione’s hands again; but Queen Lucy shook her head.
“I felt him,” she insisted, and then she kissed them both on the cheek and walked out of the clearing, disappearing amongst trees who took her hands with their branches. Queen Susan shook her head, bemused, as the line started up again.
“Hermione,” someone said, and she turned to see Peter. She dropped hands with Susan and the hamadryad on her left and ran towards him.
“What is it?” she asked when she got closer, for he looked…older. Sadder. “Peter?”
“It’s no use,” he said sadly. “I’ve just spoken to Aslan-well, he’s spoken to me-and it’s no use, you and I.”
“Peter?” she whispered. “What do you mean, it’s no use?”
“He says you’re to go-on-and I to stay here, and that-” He broke off, and Hermione realized with a sudden sinking feeling that he was trying not to cry. Tentatively, she took his hand in hers, and he gripped it like a drowning man. “I love you,” he said finally, very steadily. “And I would marry you, if I could; I would make you queen of Narnia, and I would make your sons princes and your daughters princesses. But it’s-I cannot work against Aslan, Hermione, and I wouldn’t even if I could.”
She was about to argue when she saw him swallow heavily, and she bit back her words with the sudden realization that he was being entirely truthful: he did love her, and though he was obeying Aslan, it was tearing him apart inside. She felt a sudden wave of fury against this-this creature, who demanded loyalty and obedience and made Peter’s eyes tear up like this.
“Hermione,” came a deep voice from the edge of the clearing, and when she turned there was an enormous lion there. Everyone-even Peter the High King-went down on one knee before him, but Hermione could only stare in the creature’s dark eyes, which were deep and warm. “Hermione,” it said again.
“Aslan,” she half-whispered, half-cried, and her fury left as suddenly as it had come.
“Daughter of Eve,” he said, “walk with me.”
She nodded, and then she turned back and kissed Peter, desperately, on the mouth; and he kissed her back and entwined his fingers through her hair. “I will always love you,” he whispered, when he had pulled away. “Always.”
“I know,” she whispered. “And I will always love you. And-and maybe we will meet again, somewhere. Somehow.”
“Yes,” was all Peter said, and she squeezed his hand once more and walked towards Aslan.
“Daughter,” he said, and when he breathed on her face, Hermione realized she was crying. His breath, though, seemed to send a sort of strength through her, a sort of serenity, and she drew in one shaking breath and let it out again, more calmly this time. “We have much to discuss, you and I,” he said.
“Please, why do I have to leave?” she asked. “I-I think I should have made a good queen, and I do love him.”
“That is not the point,” the lion said, his voice so deep that she felt it vibrate in her heart. “You were called here for one purpose, and he for another.”
“What purpose?” Hermione asked. She was calm now, her breathing steady. There was something in the lion’s breath and in his mane (for her fingers were entwined in it) that must have held courage, and strength.
“To see this world,” he said, “which is ruled by men but which belongs to the talking beasts, the waking trees, the divine waters. For here, all are treated the same, as if they had worth and purpose, as I wish them to be treated. But it is not the same in your world.”
“I don’t remember,” Hermione said honestly. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you do not,” the lion said. “But you will. And when you return, you will remember this world, or parts of it, and you will know what you are working towards in your own.”
“What about Peter?” she whispered. “Will he be happy?”
“Child,” he said, “that is someone else’s story.”
“Oh,” Hermione said. “Yes, I see. Will I see him again, at least?”
Aslan nodded his huge head.
“When?”
“Soon,” he said. “Soon. Now, Daughter of Eve, do you see those trees?”
“Yes,” she said, looking where he indicated: a grove of trees, thickly growing.
“If you pass through it,” the lion said, “you will find a lamp-post growing out of the ground. If you continue past that, in a straight line, you will find yourself back home.”
She swallowed. “Yes, Aslan,” she said, and then they were both silent for a moment. “I suppose,” she said finally, “that this is the right thing?”
He leaned down and breathed over her, and Hermione felt herself grow even more relaxed, and even more sure. “Following me, Daughter of Eve, is always right.”
Hermione nodded, and then she kissed him and walked, without looking back, toward the grove of trees.
“Hermione!” called a woman’s voice, when she was but halfway. “Hermione!”
She turned to see Lucy running towards her, still in her ball gown (luckily, in Narnia formal clothing was comfortable as well as beautiful, for just these occasions). “Lucy,” she said, “what are you doing here?”
In response, Lucy handed her a small book and a wooden stick. “Your wand,” Lucy said. “And you had the book when you came; we thought it was a spell-book. I cannot read it.”
Hermione took the book and opened it; the alphabet was unfamiliar. “I can’t either,” she admitted, and then she took the wand. “Thank you,” she said finally. “And-Alambil, my friend. She doesn’t wish to return to Archenland, I don’t think, but she is to shy to ask.”
“Of course,” Lucy said, and then she hugged Hermione tightly, and Hermione wrapped her arms around Lucy. “We will miss you,” Lucy whispered. “But I think we will see you again, someday.”
“Soon,” Hermione said. “Someday soon.” And they smiled at each other for a moment, and then Hermione turned and continued into the wood. In a moment she saw a lamp-post growing out of the ground, and before she had gone twelve steps farther she realized the book was Plato, and not a spell-book at all, and that there must have been some magic working that night, for her (and Lucy, too) to walk all the way from Cair Paravel to Lantern Waste in only a quarter of an hour.
When she had gotten only a few feet farther, she saw a small glint of light in front of her, and when she had gone towards it she remembered it was a wardrobe, and that she had come out of it from a place called Hogwarts, in a country called Scotland; and when she had taken two steps more, she found herself tumbling out of the wardrobe, and she was no longer a Duchess but simply Hermione, in her eighth year of schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Autumn
She ran as fast as she could from the wardrobe and the room, clutching Plato in one hand and her wand in another. Ron and Harry, she knew, had to be worried sick-not to mention her parents. And the exams she’d missed, being gone a whole year!
She was barely looking where she was going, so she did not see the Divination professor until she ran into her. “Oh-sorry-I’m all right-” she panted, and then she looked up into her face. “Your Majesty?” she whispered, and curtsied awkwardly.
“I think,” said the professor after a long, frozen moment, “that Susan will do, under the circumstances.”
“But-I have to-I’ve been gone a whole year-you know-”
“No,” Susan said quietly. “Narnian time and Earth time do not run the same way here; your adventures have taken no time at all.”
“Are Peter and Edmund and Lucy-”
“No,” Susan cut her off, and a shadow crossed her face. “They are not here. Come with me, Hermione, I think we could both use a cup of tea.”
**
They sat in Susan’s apartments and drank mint tea, and Susan tried to explain all she knew of Narnian time and the doors between the worlds, when Hermione saw a picture of Peter on the mantle and felt her eyes tear up. “Will it be like this forever?” she asked.
“No,” Susan said gently. “It will begin to fade, in a few days. The memories will not be as vivid, your feelings will be muted. You can even forget entirely, if you want to.”
“Why would I want to?” Hermione asked, shocked, and Susan merely shrugged. “What about your brothers and sister?” Hermione pressed on. “Where are they?”
“A moment, please,” Susan said, disappearing through the door, and Hermione sipped her tea and studied the picture of Peter. He was younger than her Peter, and yet his eyes were older, all the same.
“Here,” Susan said, when she had returned. She was carrying a pile of books; they looked, Hermione noted with some surprise, as if they had never been opened. “Jack knew our story, or most of it, and much of the rest of it. It’s-been changed, for the books, but it is still mostly true. And it is better than what I could tell you.”
Hermione took the books wordlessly: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe; Prince Caspian: The Return to Narnia; The Voyage of the Dawn Treader; The Silver Chair; The Horse and His Boy; The Magician’s Nephew; and The Last Battle. “They’re all about you?”
Susan shook her head. “I’m only in two of them; Peter is in four. Lucy gets five. You will not find yourself, I don’t think.”
“Ah,” Hermione said, slowly running her fingers over the covers.
**
She read them that night by the light of her wand, curled in her four-poster with the curtains all shut. The books were what she wanted to hear, and yet they also were not: they did not answer the important questions. Was Peter happy, without her? Did he marry anyone else? What about Alambil-did she live out her days in Narnia, or return to Archenland?
She fell asleep that night dreaming of Narnia, of her cool waters and dancing trees, and of Peter, who whispered in her ear and took her by the hand. But she did not see his face, in her dream, and when she woke up, she could not picture it.
Hermione was starting to forget.
finis