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Faint voices drifted through the thin material of the tent, laughter, the distinct clink of glasses against each other. Lucy appeared behind her, light brown hair twisted up in a very grown up style, making her appear older then her thirteen years. She was carrying a glass of champagne in her fingers. “A gift from Peter,” she said, offering it to her elder sister. “Liquid courage, I believe he called it.” Susan smiled as she accepted it, twirling it in her fingers to observe the amber hues. ‘Oh, Sue,” Lucy added, taking a step back to view her. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you,” Susan replied, feeling the tears misting at the corners of her eyes, not for the first time. She took a shaky sip of her champagne and turned back to the mirror to take herself in. The dress was pure white silk, reaching to the floor. The bodice started just above her breasts and tapered down to her narrow waist before flaring back out in the natural grace of her hips. Over the top of the silken gown, from the covering of her shoulders to a few inches above the hem was a sheet of hand woven lace, thin and delicate against her fingers. Her hair was pinned up in an elegant twist, tucked under the fine lace veil that was pinned into the bun it created. The veil itself cascaded down to mid back, creating a caplet over her shoulders when she moved.
Lucy had just come up behind her when the tent flap pushed aside and the newly married Sara Barker stepped within. She was wearing the same gown as Lucy, a deep Narnian blue tea length silk dress with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Her own hair was pulled back in the same updo as Lucy as well. “Oh, Sue,” she whispered. “You look lovely.” Susan smiled at her as she took another sip.
The flap pushed open again and her final bridesmaid, Jocelyn, stepped in with her mother. Helen paused at the sight of her daughter, eyes bright with joy. “Oh, Susan,” she whispered. “You look beautiful.” Helen came toward her, taking her daughter’s hands in her own and holding them to her lips for a moment. “It’s time, my sweet. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Mother,” Susan answered softly, her eyes moist.
“Good. I’ll send your father in.” She turned to gesture to the three girls in the room. “Ladies, if you will take your places.” The girls nodded, each stealing one last glance at Susan in her gown before the big reveal, and then exiting for their lineup. Helen gave Susan one more kiss on her cheek before squeezing her gently and making her exit as well.
Susan had only a few moments in the silence before Clive Pevensie stepped within, his brown hair brushed back and his blue eyes twinkling. He did not look like a disheveled professor today, today he looked like a king. She reached a hand out to him, tears burning in her eyes and when he took it he was shaking. It was enough to make her almost lose her tenuous control over her emotions. “Papa,” she whispered. “Don’t. I can’t handle it if you cry.”
“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he whispered in return, pulling her closer to him. “He is the luckiest man in the world, my angel.” She blinked, fighting back the tears. “I won’t say anything more, little girl. I don’t mean to make you cry.”
“It’s ok, Papa. They’re happy tears.” He reached up and grasped her veil, leaning in to kiss her cheek just as Lucy popped her head in.
“We’re ready when you are,” she murmured. Clive and Susan nodded to her as the veil dropped over her features. Lucy disappeared again as Clive reached for her arm. Together, the two of them pushed out into the sunlight.
His heart was thrumming violently in his chest as he stood in the midst of the Chelsea Gardens of London. He was surrounded by late summer blooms, each more beautiful than the last. Peter stood beside him, sharp in his slate gray tuxedo. There had been much deliberation over whether Caspian would wear his military uniform, but in the end he had decided that he wanted a more elegant look. He could not shake the image of Susan in the Narnian gown standing behind him in his white tunic with the embroidery of Narnian blue. Though his tuxedo was slate gray, Susan had chosen the perfect blue for the bridesmaids dresses and he and the men had cravats to match.
Peter remained still at his side, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Over the last few years, the two of them had managed to get back to the way they were in Narnia. It was a longer journey this time, without the pressure of war to force them together. They stayed true to themselves though, talking things out instead of holding them in. They also managed to get their hands on a set of a combat swords and had dealt with some of the frustrations by sparring in the Commodore’s gardens. He had even arranged for a sparring field to be constructed for them when they had accidently ravaged one of his topiaries.
The music began, throwing Caspian’s already rebelling heart into a whirlwind. This was the moment he had been waiting for all his life. Seventy some odd years had been put into this. He barely thought of his first life, his first marriage. Amada had been the wife of his rule, not the wife of his heart. He had wondered briefly if this was a disservice to her, but had dismissed the idea. She would have wanted him to be happy; she had always known he had loved her. She had even wished him happy as her last words to him.
As Lucy reached the front of the aisle between the audience, her blue eyes bright on him, he let that final piece of Amada flutter free of its mooring and release his soul. Everything about him belonged to Susan now. To his right stood Lucy, Sara, and Jocelyn, to his left were Peter, Edmund, and Ton in his wheelchair; before him, at the end of the aisle, standing beside her father, was Susan.
He inhaled sharply as he took her in. Her bouquet was bluebells, her gown was lace, her veil obscured her features but he felt her smile burning through him as they approached. Every step brought her closer to his and he found his hands trembling as she and Mr. Pevensie reached the edge of the makeshift altar. Her father reached out and drew her veil over her head, spilling it down her back. He kissed her cheek and relinquished her to Caspian’s shaking hands.
She stepped up before him, her own hands in his, her smile only for him. The world quieted. He knew his lines, he knew his vows, he spoke when tradition dictated. But the outside world was dull, the colors were muted. All he saw were the blues of her eyes, the soft brown of her freckles, the pink of her lips, the blush of her cheeks. When it came time to exchange the rings he fumbled, nearly dropping it. Her hand was there to stop him, soft and warm and everything she was. He recovered and slipped the simple gold band onto her finger. She did the same for him.
Then the priest officiating said the words that he had never expected to hear all those years ago when he had stumbled across the four siblings in the forest of Narnia. “I now pronounce you man and wife! You may kiss the bride!” He reached out with both hands and pulled her against him, not carrying for the slightest who thought what. This woman had pledged her devotion to him, and he to her; that was all that would ever matter, ever again.
When they broke away, he leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. “Well, Caspian,” she whispered. “We did it.”
“Yes, my Queen,” he answered, just as softly. “We did.”