well behaved women

Buried Queens
Chpt. 5

Susan Pevensie has been living alone in London since her siblings died, alone with her grief and determination. She's long since abandoned childish fantasies, but her recent dreams of a great lion give her comfort where nothing else does. And then she is catapulted into Narnia again; but a very, very different Narnia indeed.

The book actually called the Professor--Caspian's tutor--Doctor Cornelius, but since I'm blatantly mixing and matching canons with a heavy inclination toward movie, I blended them.



The camp was unsubtle, and that surprised her.

There were a lot of young men among the soldiers that she'd seen, surrounding her and through the trees, but none of them looked green or stupid, and the veterans far outnumbered them in any case. But there it was; camp, tents, several pavilions, spaces strung through with picketed horses and men in armor.

As they moved deeper in, however, she saw more care showing in selection of spots. More positions spread out, in the hollow between trees and sheltered in the shadows of the caves or in copses. Most of these quick, ultilitarian and easy to pack up and move.

They entered one of the pavilions, Susan tracking mud and blood over carpets. This was not an easily relocated structure, and it was clearly Caspian's territory, if only for the leonine ease he adopted once within it, beginning to methodically shed gloves and then draw on mail as he paced around a large map to a fur-piled bed in the corner.

"Your Majesty," one of the younger men--the one with the sensual mouth and the long hair--stripped off his gloves as he followed him into the open space. "Caspian, if she is--"

"I am well aware of the implications, Apolinar," he returned, quiet voiced and sharp, his eyes returning to Susan. He had the same mannerisms as the Caspian she had known; even in rest and relative relaxation, he held himself poised, with a prince's guarded composure. "You need not instruct me on the dangers of my current position."

Apolinar opened his mouth as though to say something else, and then he glanced at her as well. She thought he saw something different from Caspian, or at least took something different from the same sight, but he fell silent.

Good lord, but she hurt. Pain throbbed down her legs, back and spiked hot and insistent in her feet. Her thighs hurt, unaccustomed to riding, her fingers throbbed, and she wanted nothing more than to totter over to those inviting furs, topple over and fall asleep. Instead she kept her shoulders back and her gaze level and she watched Caspian, who looked back at her, dark eyes wide, and then came gracefully to the edge of the table covered with map and picked up a pitcher, pouring cool water into one of two tin cups.

"We should kill her," Apolinar said matter-of-factly, and she froze.

"Should she be a spy," Mazramorn began.

"Then she needs to die," Apolinar said immediately.

"She could have information."

"You think Miraz or his men would send someone like her?"

The rhythms of their voices, the rich drops and spiked, silky consonants nearly lulled her, though the words kept her tense and wide-awake. True, it was a Telmarine accent, but most of her exposure to Telmarines had been confined to Caspian, which made it a welcome sound.

"Who knows what Miraz plots."

Caspian had not spoken, instead holding the tin cup and watching them all with half-closed eyes.

"She could easily--"

"I am not a spy," she said, clearly, using a Queen's dictation and carefully modulated but undismissable volume both. It cut through their voices like a well-honed blade and they all looked at her.

"Then why have you trespassed on our territory?"

"My business is my own," she said, and before they could argue added, "and none of any man's."

"And what assurances," Apolinar asked, voice heavy with sarcasm, "can you give to us?"

"I am a friend to Professor Cornelius," she said, plucking the half-dwarf's name from a memory that welled with fondness.

Her spine prickled. None of the soldiers showed even the slightest sign of recognition; Apolinar just frowned at her, fingering his sword hilt, and the other two exchanged glances.

Then she realized Caspian's fingers had gone tight around the stem of his goblet, and his eyes were cold and harsh. "Professor Cornelius," he said, voice sharp and dark, "is long dead."

The first thing that hit her was the pain, biting and twisting savagely beneath her breastbone. The faithful Doctor? The man, teacher and loyal friend with all the slightly staid and traditional graciousness of a courtier. Tears burned suddenly behind her eyes; she widened them desperately, regaining control of her breathing, and the second thing that hit was the realization that this solved a fair part of this new Caspian's mystery.

Without Cornelius--the man who had raised Caspian in an influence as far from Telmarine traditions as he safely could--Caspian would, of course, be a different man. He had still lived long enough with him not to be entirely of Miraz's kind, but he was still...different.

She stared at him with new eyes, shaken, scrutinizing the familiar face, steadied by the stare he returned, unreadable but without discernible hostility.

Surer. There was a harder impression of arrogance, of a prince who had grown up commanding obedience rather than earning it, a man who had a stronger belief in what he deserved. How had that come about? Without Cornelius he might be a different man, but he would still have spent his life knowing with excruciating intensity of the delicate balance his survival struggled not to tip.

"My Lord," Mazramorn said quietly, "if I may respectfully suggest--"

But surrounded by human men, human lords and supporters, he would have been groomed to be an entirely different kind of king, one bestowed with the full force of Telmarine entitlement and presumption. The last piece slotted into place with a bitterly ironic click, and Susan steadied herself and forced her attention back to the conversation.

"--not your place," Caspian said almost gently, a velvet weight of threat in his voice.

"She is almost certainly a spy," Apolinar said curtly.

Susan stayed silent, even as their eyes flicked toward her; a well chosen moment weighed more than any number of repetitions, and this was not one.

"You cannot afford," he continued after that pause, "to let her live."

Susan's fingers dug into her palms, a new and insignificant flicker of pain, and still said nothing. She had to--do nothing, that voice whispered. Wait. Wait. Pick your time.

Caspian said nothing.

"If she is a spy," the bearded soldier began finally, voice quiet.

"If, Feranzo?" Apolinar queried sharply, clearly not pleased.

"If," the other man repeated, laconic. "She could indeed be dangerous, my lord."

I am, she thought grimly. But not to you. Not now, or at least not yet.

"No," Caspian said softly, and the sheer finality of the word struck the air like a stone.

"My lord," Mazramorn began sharply.

Caspian set down the cup, the small sound echoing in the air, and gave the man a long, considering stare. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. It was a familiar look; the flat stare of the wolf, head down as it paced with keen, predatory attention through trees, or the cheetah's gaze during a deceptively lazy stalk through long golden grasses, drifting towards its feeding prey.

"Are you questioning me?" Caspian asked softly, and one corner of his mouth tipped up in a mirthless smile.

Mazramorn bowed, mouth tight, and said nothing more. Feranzo, heavy lidded dark eyes calm and maybe even amused, stood patiently with his arms crossed. She thought he perhaps the most dangerous of Caspian's three companions; Apolinar was rasher, Mazramorn a calm but also older warrior. And all of them dangerous to her.

"My lord," a breathless soldier said, abruptly entering with a quick bow. "We have found a way and await your decision."

They were shifting camp. Caspian kept her before him, moving close at her back, and she saw them moving tents and animals, some she recognized from the bizarrely haphazard arrangement of camp they'd passed through. They were fixing it.

Alarm raised the hairs along her spine as they treaded through trees, her feet throbbing, to the tangled honeycomb of cave mouths rising along the sides of a long alley cut into the rock. Higher up and to the west, the caves went deep and high, and harpies had hibernated there the last time she was familiar with this area. It would not be wise for men to venture there.

And the majority of the soldiers were headed for the most dangerous caves.

"Stop," she said sharply before she could silence herself out of caution, her voice cutting through the noise and movement like a well-honed blade.

Apolinar swung around the stare at her; Caspian's eyes, she realized, had been on her before she spoke. He held her arm above the elbow, helping her cross the ground, and his hand lingered there now.

"Stop them," she snapped at him. Once she'd started, she may as well finish.

"My lady," Feranzo said, deep voice holding a note of irony.

"This place is dangerous," she snapped, her tone icy, tearing her arm away from Caspian's grip. The men were inside, now. "Stop. Them."

Caspian's eyes narrowed as he lifted his chin and considered her. Some of the soldiers near the mouth of the cave that had heard had stopped and were watching them.

"My lord?" One said, voice uneasy. She remembered the stories told of Telmarine superstition and called to him, voice clear and sharp.

"Get back! Get out of the--"

Too late.

The cry split the air, a shatter-glass shriek of unearthly strength, making her stagger. She fell against Caspian, her cheek smacking his shoulder, mail digging into her skin, and he caught her, other hand on his sword, as the deep shadows of the cave exploded into motion.

The harpy swept out into the air, great wings snapping open. A woman's face--fierce, feral, avian and buried in feathers with great golden eyes--turned toward them briefly, but then she winged up, screaming again in distress and rage, and opened her claws, letting the man fall to the top of the stone. He didn't move or struggle perceptibly during the fall; she'd probably killed him when she seized him, and Susan was briefly grateful for small mercies.

The sound he made when he struck ground was horrific and the harpy sang out again, a terrifying and beautiful sound, spread her wings and soared away.

The light of the setting sun struck gold-sheened red off her long feathers, and a golden fiery joy flowed up Susan's throat, filling her from the inside out until she nearly sobbed aloud. She'd forgotten the sheer beauty of Narnia's creatures--and here they were, still alive. Still real. Still potentially in reach.

And then, with excruciating intensity, she became aware of the soldiers around her and grappled for control, struggling to quell her visible delight. Caspian, who had been paying the most attention to her, was at her back--his chest pressed against her spine, his arm looped loosely around her, supporting her, his thigh between hers as she sagged back, boots against her bare calves--and the others were staring at the harpy.

The rest of the men that had been in the cave were outside and shouting, swords drawn, ringing the cave mouth.

After a long moment Feranzo sheathed his sword and turned to her, eyes lingering on her face, stern mouth and dark eyes inscrutable. "Well," he said softly, and a multitude of gazes turned toward her at the word.

Caspian released her, sliding back a step.

Apolinar's mouth twisted. "Any more advice, my lady?" He asked, and she took in a deep, unsteady breath.

"Yes," she said, determinedly ignoring the hint of sarcasm. "Lower. And try not to scare her again when she comes home."

"Scare her?" One of the younger soldiers near them demanded, clearly unsure which word to put more incredulous emphasis on.

"Scare her," Susan repeated. Her shoulders felt the chill bite of wind with disconcerting keenness, and she squared them. "Lower," she said again. "And on the other side."

Feranzo's eyes slid behind her, to Caspian, and when after a moment he turned away and strode toward the gorge, obediently shouting commands, she knew he must have nodded.

Caspian's hand closed over her elbow. "My lady," he said softly. "You will follow me."

It wasn't a question. Tired, aching and wanting more than anything to simply lean into his touch, Susan stumbled after him and hoped the night didn't have too many other surprises in store.