Chapter Text
Narnia, 1014
Every morning, Eleanor explored Cair Paravel — sometimes by herself, other times accompanied by Lucy, and once even with Susan and Rabadash, though the two mostly strolled lazily from a distance, entranced in their own conversation. Eleanor, on the other hand, was eager to get acquainted with every corner of their home, from its sumptuous dining halls and grand libraries to the most enchanting gardens. There was an observatory on top of the highest tower, with a telescope so big Eleanor thought they might even glimpse the entrance to Aslan’s Country, if they searched far enough in the east. She looked up and wondered if Ramandu could watch over them, from wherever it was he lived in the heavens.
The tournament took place in the afternoon, each day a different competition. Eleanor was surprised to watch Edmund win the archery competition, much to Lucy’s dismay, though Susan herself had preferred to sit with Mr. Tumnus by the stands. Edmund, Peter and Rabadash would place first in most of the trials, through both talent and esteem from their fellow competitors. A scrawny looking knight managed to rise among the rankings of the jousting matches, until it was revealed he was in fact a young boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, who had sneaked into the field with a dwarf’s armour. Later, Eleanor found out he was actually Prince Corin of Archenland, who was also visiting the country. She marvelled at the sight of this kid, smaller than herself, who would one day be celebrated in history books for defeating his enemies with nothing but his bare hands.
At night, the kings and queens of Narnia hosted a different themed feast. The spring feast was followed by summer, then autumn, then winter. The fifth night honoured the sun itself, and they all dressed in golden robes and wore gilded adornments with star polygons. The sixth night celebrated the moon, so they gathered draped in silver silk, and the seventh night was in praise of the stars. They drew on an outdoor patio so the heavens could bear witness as they danced. As Eleanor watched the kings and queens twirling about, all dressed in the most resplendent tunics and gowns, she found her mind drifting elsewhere.
Narnia was idyllic as always, yet Eleanor could not absorb herself entirely into it. She would be brushing her hair and see Gracie’s reflection in the mirror instead, reminding her of the friend she had just reconnected with, whom she had left in a different world. She would watch the ocean and think of Birdie, Theo, and everyone back in Stamford. She would lie in bed at night, in the regal quarters of this mythical fortress, and think of Susan and Leonard in the Pevensies’ Fairholme Gardens house, and she would wonder how she could ever make amends with them. Would she visit them in London, or would they spend the rest of their lives apart? Would Susan one day have children of their own? Would she be a stranger to them?
The song ended, and everyone was suddenly clapping. Eleanor blinked and joined in the praise, forcing herself to feel the brush of the wind on her collar, the liveliness of chatter around her, the solidity of the ground beneath. This was a dream, one she would soon wake up from, but she would never dream it again. She would do well to cherish it for as long as she could still dwell in it.
She found Edmund in the distance. It anchored her back into this reality.
His gaze met hers, and he made his way towards her. "Will you join me, my lady?" he asked, offering his hand. A slower tune had roused the dancing crowd into pairing up, joined by hands and hips as they twirled about.
"It would be my honour, Your Majesty," she replied, accepting it. She was glad for the glove that separated the touch of their palms as they took their places amongst the other couples, for only a brush of his bare skin would have been a punishment too sweet to endure.
They danced in silence for a bit, and it was as comfortable as lying in bed together in their old London flat. This was their first dance just as much as it was their thousandth, she realised, and perhaps it didn’t matter what memories this Edmund carried. This was the language their love was fluent on, a dialect they had created together, one only the two of them could speak. She would teach it to him, just as he had once taught it to her.
"Did you enjoy the tournament?" Edmund spoke at last.
She looked into his eyes, realising she could fall for their darkness, time and time again, for an entire lifetime.
"It was splendid," she confessed, smiling. "I had never witnessed such an event myself. Nor have I ever seen more skilled participants. Your Majesty was quite a marvel at archery, if I may say so. I had heard tales of your talents at duelling, but must admit I did not anticipate such versatile proficiency."
His fluster brought a tingling to her stomach. It was too delightful to tear down his armour, to dig for the Edmund who shielded behind the king.
"It is not so much talent," he replied, "as it was training, my lady. Rest assured my abilities were only built over the years. My sister Susan was always the most natural with a bow, even if she will so often deny her gift."
"I could argue that perseverance should be just as esteemed as natural talent," she countered.
He was quiet for a bit. "Perhaps," he finally said, "depending on the reason behind it. If it was simply for ambition, for pride, then it would not be so honourable, would it?"
"Was that what drove you?" she asked quietly, hoping he did not hear judgement in her tone.
"Not exactly," he muttered. "I think it was repentance, most of all."
She was struck silent for a moment. This was the oldest she had ever seen Edmund, yet he was the greenest at heart. He would still spend his entire life fighting a feeling of worthlessness, trying to build a version of himself big enough to eclipse the sins in his past.
They did not talk too much until the final song ended, and he accompanied her back into her room. She had been about to bid him goodnight when he called her back.
"My lady," he said, "tomorrow Prince Rabadash will return to Calormen. Queen Susan and I will sail there, for he has invited us to stay at his palace. The High King will soon depart for our northern borders, so Queen Lucy will sit at Cair Paravel."
Eleanor nodded, and her heartbeat rushed as she grew with fear. This could not be goodbye already, could it?
"Oh," she uttered. "I hope you will enjoy your travel, Your Majesty. I have heard Calormen has a great many beauties."
"I was actually wondering whether you would like to come along," he said. He rearranged his stance and stood straighter. "Queen Susan would benefit from having a lady in her company."
Eleanor beamed, concentrating all of her will not to start skipping around. "I would love to," she replied. "I have never been to Calormen myself. I have heard it is a most exquisite place."
Edmund smiled. "Very well. We are set to depart at noon."
She nodded. "Thank you for inviting me, Your Majesty. I am honoured."
He crossed his hands behind his back and took a step closer. "If you would not mind," he began uneasily, still looking down, "I would prefer it if you called me Edmund, when we are by ourselves. I cannot help but find it strange to keep up the formality around you."
Her chest ached with tenderness and longing. "Alright," she replied, smiling. "But you must call me Elle in return."
He had agreed, and she both laughed and sobbed as she lay in bed that night.
They departed the next day on a ship called the Splendour Hyaline, a multi-decked galleon which exhibited the grandeur and force of the Golden Age. Eleanor loved spending time at the poop, watching the horizon line, feeling the breeze on her hair. If she closed her eyes, she could picture a young Caspian beside her, handling the sails or steering the ship itself. If she focused on the glistening water beneath, she could conjure Reepicheep’s humming, and she could almost bring herself into feeling Lord Drinian’s quiet presence.
Her purpose had been to keep company with Susan, but Susan kept busy with coddling Prince Corin to his needs, so they spent a great deal of time on deck. The two of them mostly watched from the sides as Corin pestered the crew around, climbing the masts and swinging around with ropes. At one point, he took a sword from Thornbut, a red dwarf within the royal party, and began petitioning for the crew to join him in a duel.
"Corin, Corin, have you not learned?" Susan pleaded. "You are much too young to participate in such perilous activities."
"Indeed, princeling," Tumnus agreed. "You are not to receive your first suit of armour and war horse until your next birthday. It shall come very soon. Remember the High King himself has promised your royal father he will make you knight at Cair Paravel when you come of age."
"But how will I become a knight if I do not commence my training?" Corin countered, swooshing the sword in the air.
"You will find, my young prince, that the noblest course of action is to avoid battles," Edmund appeared, gazing at him sternly. "Not to demand them at your own whim."
"That is easy enough for you to say, Sire," Corin said. "Your Majesty has already fought in countless battles."
Eleanor could not help but think of her own younger self, and how desperate she had once been to grow up. Back when she, Birdie and Gracie would sit at the Radcliffes’ garden and pretend to host tea parties for their dolls, popping their little fingers as they held their cups, sneaking into high heels and painting themselves with Mrs. Radcliffe’s makeup.
"Can’t Your Majesty train with me?" Corin still pleaded. He then turned to Lord Peridan, who manned the ship’s till nearby. "What about you, sir? I saw you in the tournament, you were quite skillful yourself."
Susan and Edmund laughed as Prince Corin went about the deck, nagging the crew for someone to join him. At last, he reached Eleanor, and she smiled at him.
"I will join you, Your Highness." She then turned to Susan and Edmund. "If it is not an issue with Your Majesties, of course."
Edmund stood up, looking puzzled. "It is not an issue to us," he said carefully. "But do not feel an obligation to comply with the prince’s desires."
She shook her head. "Not at all. I am actually eager to put myself to the test. It has been so long since I have held a sword."
Edmund drew out the sword from his own belt and gave it to her. Eleanor and Corin then positioned themselves at the centre of the deck, surrounded by a few curious spectators, and began pacing around. She could not have held her ground had she been back in England, but the salt in the breeze was familiar enough to awaken the abilities she had once trained with both Edmund and Drinian, years ago, at a ship not too different from this one. At the first clashing of metal, she had already remembered every lesson she had ever learned.
Corin was stronger than he appeared, and his advances were sharp and earnest, but his lack of formal training made it easy enough for Eleanor to disarm him. By the time his sword fell on the wooden deck for a fifth time, the prince’s face had grown red with effort, and Edmund and Susan both looked like they were trying very hard to cover up the amusement in their expressions.
"Why, Madam, you are very well trained!" Corin squawked, still regaining his balance.
Eleanor blushed, realising perhaps it hadn’t been the brightest idea to fight the heir of Archenland. "Your Highness…" she began to stutter an apology.
"You must train me," he urged. "Please, let us take advantage of this time aboard and practise!"
Thankfully, Edmund came to her rescue. "Leave the lady to be," he said. "When the time comes, your father will grant Your Highness an instructor of your own. Until then, I would advise patience."
Corin had sighed and left mumbling, and Eleanor thought Edmund’s words had had no effect on the young prince. Susan and Tumnus followed him to his cabin, while the deck cleared of all but Lord Peridan. Eleanor gave Edmund his sword back, which he placed carefully back in its sheath.
"I am curious," muttered Edmund, as they positioned themselves by the ship’s railing, "on where you learned to fight. Your technique was quite impressive."
Eleanor fought the urge to laugh, knowing Edmund was complimenting his own craft. "I had a great tutor once," she said.
He eyed her thoughtfully. "You are most unexpected," he said quietly.
They stared at each other for a second, then turned immediately to the sea, watching the waves crashing as if it was an unforeseen spectacle. When they spoke again, they talked of the temples, the palaces, and all that awaited them at the city of Tashbaan, their words once again embellished with renewed decorum.
As the days passed, Eleanor would often feel Edmund’s gaze lingering on her, when he thought she would not notice. His smile loosened more easily now, wider each time, a grin which resembled that of a kid more than a king. When they reached Prince Rabadash’s palace and began attending the many festivities the Tisroc had prepared in honour of Queen Susan and the rest of the Narnian party, Eleanor found she and Edmund would often orbit each other around whatever room they were in, moving in synchrony, following opposite trajectories until they were side by side. They conversed for hours on end, sometimes in the midst of a dance floor, other times on balconies under the moonlight. Nights were colder in the desert, and still they would loiter outdoors until their knuckles and fingertips turned purple.
"Do you miss home?" Edmund asked on one of their final nights in the city. By then, Prince Rabadash had already begun showing his true colours, turning prouder and crueller each day, which Eleanor knew meant they would have to flee very soon.
"I do," she replied, and for a second she felt a craving for carrot and lentil soup. "Very much. And you?"
"It has only been a fortnight since we have left Cair Paravel," Edmund replied.
Eleanor looked at him.
He then met her eye and exhaled slowly, mustering up a more difficult response. "I do miss home sometimes," he admitted. "It is… almost bewildering, wouldn’t you say, how one might miss something they were not even content with?"
"It is certainly intriguing," she agreed. "Though I don’t think I find it bewildering at all. Look at the stars above us. It is one of the most breathtaking skies I have ever seen, and yet I find myself searching for the same constellations I have gazed at for most of my life. Why, if not for the comfort of knowing they are the ones who have always watched over me? I think our souls are as much imprinted by the places we have lived in as they are by the people we have loved, despite the fact that we can’t choose either of them."
Edmund did not speak immediately, choosing instead to follow her gaze to the heavens. "Perhaps so," he muttered at last, without turning to her.
"Would you ever return?" she asked quietly.
He frowned, almost in censure. "I am avowed to my country."
"Of course," she said, shaking her head. "But… don’t you ever entertain the thought? Even only as a harmless daydream?"
"It is no use to dwell on what we cannot change. We should not forget our past. But sometimes it is better to let go of it."
Eleanor looked at him, her own, most treasured ghost, the lovely apparition of her cursed past. How could she ever let him go?
She could only respond with a faint nod, and the two of them went back to admiring the view around them. They watched the city which spread below, a thousand flickering lights drowned in the muffled chatter of night. Tashbaan was as breathtaking in the dark as it was under the sunlight. It was crowded, noisy and brimming with life, and it reminded her of London. Even though Edmund stood right next to her, Eleanor found herself longing for all the nights they had walked around its busy streets, hand in hand, from theatres to pubs to dinners at Mrs. Plummer’s or the Pevensies’; back when he had been her husband and she had been his wife, back when he called her his love rather than his lady.
"Elle," Edmund called her suddenly.
"Yes?" She turned to him and added, hearing the fever in her voice, "Edmund?"
He gaped at her so intently she almost thought, for a moment, he had somehow accessed all of the memories they would one day share, and he had become the Edmund she had lost. Yet she knew it was not it, it could not be it. The glow in his eyes was nothing but a fickle interest, the first sprouts of a passion. She was just planting the seed in his heart, while hers already tumbled with the weight of a fully grown tree.
He seemed to come to his senses. "It is late," he finally said. "Let me escort you back to your chambers."
He offered his arm and she took it, as they had done almost everyday for the past weeks. Except this time, when she held onto the bend of his arm, he then put his other hand on top of hers. The tips of his fingers stroked the back of her hand, brushing as lightly as a feather, until they intertwined with hers.
She thought perhaps the cavities in her heart had all collapsed on one another, her veins and arteries combusted by the force of his touch. He felt as brisk as the evening air around them, so numbing it burned right through her. Could he sense the old scorched burns he had left on her skin? Could he feel the way their hands tangled together in the most perfect fit, as if they had been sculpted from the mould of one another? Could he know, somehow, he would one day put a golden ring around her finger, that he would promise her his soul, his heart, his best years?
She yanked her hand back. It was a cruel gesture, and the confusion in his eyes shattered her heart as much as it shattered his. But she finally understood why Edmund had run away, that first Christmas dinner at her aunt’s house, when they had almost kissed in the dimly lit kitchen. She would not trade his first kiss for her last. She would not rewrite any of it. Not one chapter, not one line.
"Goodnight," she whispered, not daring to look at him. She turned and bolted down the hall and through the many passages that led to her room. Before she realised it, she had become lost in a maze of identical corridors and staircases, and she at last collapsed on an open ceiling patio, which had a fountain on its centre and greenery all around it. She rested her body upon the stone structure, weeping as quietly as she could.
But she heard sobs that were not her own, and she shuffled to the side to find someone else hiding in the shadows.
"Your Majesty," she called. "Are you alright?"
Susan bounced in a startle. "Elle," she responded, wiping the trails on her cheeks. "Yes, I am fine."
They stared at each other for a second before the two of them broke into laughter. It quickly began resembling sobbing once again, however, and soon they quieted.
Susan looked up to the dark sky. "It is Rabadash," she sighed. "He has proved, at last, he does not care for me. It is my titles, my lands, my looks which tempt him."
Eleanor stared at her, too stunned by the heartache in Susan’s voice. All of the tales she had heard portrayed Prince Rabadash as a fool, as an obvious tyrant, but never as someone capable of truly enchanting the gentle Queen Susan.
"He is not the first suitor to come after such things," Susan continued. "There have been too many to count, and I have grown accustomed to their false professions, their empty words, their pointless gifts. Yet Rabadash," she chuckled lightly, shaking her head, "he actually took the time to get to know me. He was warm, and he nestled my heart until I opened it to him. He showed me a map of his darkest corners, telling me I was the light that could rekindle them. We talked of the burden of looking after our younger siblings, of the responsibilities of leading a kingdom. We shared dreams of quiet lives in small towns, of tending to our own gardens and raising more children than we could carry in our arms. We created a life together in our heads. But now I see the picture was only ever painted in my own mind."
Eleanor kept silent for a while, wondering what she could possibly say other than the fact that she was sorry. That Susan did not deserve any of it, and that she would one day find a love to share all of her dreams with. That in a few years she would meet a modest man with a kind face, and she would lose a dress but find a friend, and he would cross an ocean and build a life on foreign land for her.
She thought back to what Prince Ravi had once said, the question which had gloomed over all of her best and worst days. "We are all fools in our pursuit of love," she said quietly. "And it might feel like doom at times. It might feel so despairing we want to believe it is not worth it at all. After all, there is no pain greater than the loss of love."
She looked at her left hand, at the ring she could not let go of. Hers and Edmund’s story had been the loveliest tragedy, so fateful it could have fed poets and songwriters for a lifetime. And yet she would not have traded it — not the anxieties of unrequitedness of those first days, not the years spent apart, not even the mourning of losing him. She would choose to do it all again if she had to.
"But I suppose, in the end," she muttered humorously, "love is still the best part of life."
Eleanor reached for Susan’s hand. She knew Susan would one day forget all about Narnia, and this very conversation, and Eleanor herself, but she hoped the sentiment could remain tucked away somewhere deep inside her, waiting to be retrieved when she would need it most.
"And we are so much more loved than we know," she said. "Romantic love is only one kind of it, lovely as it might be. But it is not the only one that makes it all worth it."
Susan still held her hand as she readjusted her stance, breathing deeply.
"I was four when Lucy was born. My mother told me I loved holding her, that I would want to climb into the cradle with her. She said I used to promise to never love anyone more than her." She smiled, though her eyes glistened once more. "I suppose perhaps it is better to keep that promise."
Eleanor gripped tighter to Susan’s hand. "It is a lovely promise," she whispered.
The stars above them shone as they listened, securing their love in the heavens with them, promising to hold onto it for all of eternity.