Work Text:
CAIR PARAVEL. LATE SPRING 1001
The reality of their situation came to Susan a full week after the coronation, in the form of names and numbers. Around the table, she was met with guilt and apology in the pale, grim faces of her siblings. Lucy’s smile had fallen the furthest at the final reports. Even with Aslan’s restorative measures and her work with the healing cordial, there had been too many lives lost at the hands of the White Witch. Many had lost their lives long before Beruna, but that didn’t stop Susan from grasping the full picture of their lives now, beyond the grandeur of the castle and the richness of their new clothes.
They were still just children, playing at heroes in a land they had all but stumbled their way into.
“Of course, they will all be given a proper burial,” Jurien finished. He was an elderly satyr who not only instructed them on Narnian culture, but had also taken to providing them with updates on the state of the kingdom and their daily itineraries over breakfast. He wasn’t nearly as tactful as Susan hoped—particularly when it came to sharing the more troubling information—and she wished he’d wait until after their meal had time to settle, but their tasks were often so numerous there was not time.
“Is there anything else, Jurien?” she asked, snapping out of the dread that came with this latest report.
“Only that the appointment of the Paravelian guard is scheduled for the day after tomorrow,” he replied curtly. There was a slight pause as he took in their expressions, then he swallowed a sigh and continued. “The Paravelian guard has always been specially chosen by the monarchs themselves. Their chief objective is the safety of the kingdom’s crowns. The guard has typically only ever included six members, three each to the king and queen, but for your majesties, the guard will be appropriately doubled. They’re to accompany you to any and all matters of court, inside and outside of Cair Paravel’s walls.”
Peter frowned. “We’re to choose them ourselves?”
“Yes. Oreius has already requested the presence of several who he believes would fit the task to meet with you throughout the next two days, but you are welcome to make your selections as you see fit.”
“Are the appointments permanent?” Edmund asked.
“Traditionally, yes. But King Frank III kept a rotating guard for several years, and I believe there were several instances of new members needing to be appointed throughout the generations.”
“And we can choose anyone?” Lucy asked, the smile spreading rapidly across her face.
“Yes, of course. Though I’ve looked over the candidates and can’t think of anything against them.”
Jurien left them shortly after, to allow them the opportunity to discuss the morning’s news amongst themselves, but Susan had the feeling her contributions would not be received well. Peter and Edmund spoke animatedly at the other end of the long table, seemingly more than ready to accept the task set before them—it was how they’d approached everything as of late.
Peter had taken his role as king in stride from the moment he’d been given Rhindon. Susan had called him out on what she had thought to be fanciful delusions at the base of the waterfall, when they were facing Maugrim. But it was against the very same wolf that Peter had truly stepped into the beginnings of Narnia’s High King. He had always been protective, but the extension of that care and concern from his siblings to the whole of Narnia had come easily.
Edmund himself had led Peter in that endeavor—had prompted them all to take responsibility, really—shifting dramatically from his usual anger and bitterness to thoughtful honor and integrity. In fact, Edmund had adopting such a serious affect since Beruna, Susan was surprised to find him so animated now. The last time she’d seen him smile so widely, he’d been lost in conversation with Philip in the stables. He’d been so lost that he hadn’t realized she was there at all. That had been just a few days ago, and Susan had already thought that Edmund had forever left behind the boy had once been.
Both Peter’s willing and eager shift toward his new role and Edmund’s clear-cut abandonment of prior childishness were for the better—they had larger obligations and responsibilities now that were propelling toward the maturity necessary for who they were to be. But she wondered if either of them understood how their decisions with the guard would affect the lives of those they picked.
“Are you alright, Susan?”
She blinked herself back to the breakfast table at Lucy’s voice and smiled faintly. “Yes, just thinking.”
Lucy’s gaze lingered, but eventually, her expression brightened enough for Susan to relax. Of all her siblings, Lucy was the one who made accepting their new role as Narnia’s monarchs feel as natural as it was complicated.
It was clear to all who saw her that Lucy’s love for Narnia was incredibly strong, especially considering how short their stay in the kingdom had been so far, and her affection was exceptionally contagious. But Susan imagined her sister held the most fanciful opinion of their new existence here, embracing the wonder and fantasy of it in the way only a girl so young could: without recognition of potential difficulty or hardship.
Shattering the image Lucy held of Narnia and their place as kings and queens was the last thing Susan wanted to do. But as she looked from her sister to her brothers, she couldn’t help but wonder if they even had a proper view of what was expected of them.
They had known this world for less than a fortnight and its people for even less, and as honored as she felt to have been crowned along with her siblings, Susan felt unfit for the responsibility, and the as-of-yet short length of their reign only heightened her insecurity.
This task in particular—appointing citizens of the kingdom to act as part of a royal guard—was exceedingly unsettling. It seemed an impossibly unfair task. Who was she to resign someone else to that sort of danger after such a short time? She’d done so little in the days since coming to Narnia, she hadn’t a clue as to why anyone could trust her with that sort of responsibility.
Susan worried over how far a reach their decisions would have for the remainder of the morning. It seemed a lot to ask a girl of sixteen to love a kingdom and a people she hadn’t even known to exist before that week, and even more to select any one of those people to place her life ahead of theirs, let alone three.
Her doubts lingered throughout their morning lessons and the following day, leading Susan to a quiet afternoon in the gardens on the east side of the castle, along the cliff side. The idea of choosing a guard sat no better with her now than it had that morning. Worse, perhaps, now that she had met with each of the potential candidates Orieus had chosen.
Just as Jurien had noted, they seemed more than capable. Oreius had only confirmed the assessment after Susan met with each of them. Several satyrs and fauns, a number of Talking Beasts—there had even been a couple men, freshly returned to Narnia at the defeat of the White Witch.
There were a few who stood out to Susan, but the weight of her decision seemed too much still. It weighed heavily enough on her mind that she didn’t notice Lucy until she dropped unceremoniously onto the bench beside her with a huff.
“Lucy?” Susan frowned. “Are you alright?”
“I think Mr. Tumnus might leave soon,” Lucy confessed, quietly. “Back home to the Western Wood.”
“Oh, Lu…” Susan tried to hide her grimace. Lucy loved all the Narnians at court, but Mr. Tumnus was special.
“Do you think he’d stay if I asked him to be one of my guards?” she asked.
“Maybe, Lu,” she admitted. “But don’t you think one of Oreius’s candidates would be better?”
“They’re supposed to protect us, right?”
“Right.”
“There’s no one I trust to do that better than Mr. Tumnus,” Lucy declared. “Well, except Aslan, and you, and the boys, but I don’t think I can have any of you act as my guard.”
Susan threw her gaze up to the sky for a moment. Lucy trusted with blind hope that sometimes it hurt to watch.
“I mean. Mr. Tumnus loves Narnia. And he cares about us too. It would make sense to ask him, wouldn’t it?”
Susan let the words sink in slowly, and then all at once. Lucy said it so simply, she wondered how she hadn’t put it together before.
Insecurities and doubts aside, the four of them cared about Narnia and its people—there was no other explanation for why they would have gone to war after only a few days. But the Narnians cared, too, enough to believe that she and her siblings would not lead them astray as their kings and queens.
Susan had felt undeserving of that faith, but that sort of trust went both ways. It had to, or they would fail each other.
“Susan?”
She blinked, refocusing to find Lucy looking at her curiously. “Sorry. I just…” she trailed off, shaking her head briefly. “Yes. It would make sense to ask Mr. Tumnus.”
Lucy’s furrowed brows lingered for a moment before evening out. “Okay,” she accepted cautiously. “Are you alright?”
Susan met her gaze, serious as she considered her answer. If Lucy had asked her even just a moment earlier, her response would have only held a fraction of the truth. But if anyone deserved her trust, it was Lucy. “Just a little worried about this guard business, but I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?”
She shook her head slightly as a genuine smile etching its way across her face. “Actually, you already have.”
Lucy tilted her head, curious, but didn’t ask her how. Instead, she simply nodded and then looked out over the edge of the garden to the Eastern Sea beyond. Susan watched her for a moment, noting how comfortable Lucy appeared in her crown—more like Peter or Edmund. But where Susan had previously focused on how uncomfortably heavy the weight felt to her by comparison, now, she felt she understood why.
It wasn’t that Lucy wasn’t similarly burdened by their newfound roles as kings and queens. It was that she didn’t allow the difficulty to hold her down. She was a child as wild and small as some of the Talking Beasts themselves, and somehow more vibrant and full of life than she had ever been in Finchley. Some new kind of energy had been breathed into her, and it was one that took up her imagination and love and gave it purpose. Whether Lucy’s effusiveness due to her youth or her character, Susan wasn’t certain. But she didn’t think it really mattered, either.
Lucy had a good and honorably heart, one that made her easy to follow. She was like Peter in that way.
Susan by contrast, was far more practical—her leaps of faith were puddle jumps compared to Lucy’s high soaring vaults. But Lucy had always had good intentions, and she could see the good in people much better than Susan could. So, in a way, Susan felt that if she could just follow Lucy’s lead—in selecting the guard and in the rest of their duties as queens—then maybe they would settle into their reign just fine.
There would be difficulties and mistakes, certainly. They were still just girls. But Lucy believed they could do it, and if Susan could believe in anything, she could believe in her sister.