Fulfilment

The rain took two more months. August finished, still burning hot; September dragged out the same – but Aslan had promised rain, and in that promise the King and Narnia waited.

"It makes it easier," said Caspian to the Queen, one late September evening, as they walked in the hot shade of the orchard because it was still far too hot to walk on the terrace. "To wait."

The Queen's rather weary-looking steps slowed. "Having a promise of rain?"

"Yes..." said Caspian. "And also, I'm meeting – just a little laughter, each day. Just sufficient for each day."

The Queen's appreciative laughter had been sufficient for that day. In the first week of October, a faun had just chuckled heartily over some joke whispered to him by his neighbour, when a sudden cold breath of air swept in the wide open windows. Everybody paused, and in the hush, everybody could hear the roar, the rushing, thundering roar of a rain squall coming across the sea. With a din like a thousand feet running, the rain slammed into the castle walls, drummed on the roof, streamed down the windows. If anybody had said anything, it could not have been heard – but Caspian didn't think anyone had. He didn't think he had said anything either – he had only sat transfixed like everybody else – and then risen like everybody else and leaving a half-eaten breakfast, they had all rushed out into the rain.

Rain! Rain! Rain! A clear, cool, miraculous torrent pouring from the sky! Rain! The entire court of Narnia stood in the downpour, and got joyfully soaked. Giant Rumblebuffin simply stood there with his arms outstretched and head tipped back, sheltering several indignant dwarfs who'd wanted to get wet; Trufflehunter lay down in a puddle and rolled; the fauns-in-waiting broke into an impromptu dance on the lawns, their feet raising splashes of water with every step they took. One by one, the wet, laughing crowd of courtiers joined in, the castle lawn turning into a vast, muddy, rejoicing Grand Chain.

Rain – Laughter – Life – had come back to Narnia. Caspian swung round to look for the Queen to share his joy with.

She was not on the terrace; she was not among the dancers; she was not, in that instant, anywhere to be seen. Caspian peered rather frantically about – then Trumpkin danced past, arm in arm with a Hedgehog on one side and a Bulgy Bear cub on the other. "Her Majesty," he bellowed over the rain, displaying his usual ability to guess the king's anxieties, "is down there!"

'Down there' was the seaward edge of the lawn. As Caspian wove his way through the crowd of soaked and happy courtiers, he could see the Queen, standing quite still in the rain with her arms held out to the east as she had that first morning on Ramandu's island. Caspian stopped. He didn't think he'd spoken; he didn't even think he'd moved into her line of vision – but she turned, and smiled at him. A smile like the rising sun, full of the joy – like his own – that was for all Narnia.

"The stars have changed," she said softly, holding out her hands to him and the sky.

"Rain," Caspian agreed, catching her hand. Rain. Strange that you could put so much joy and thanksgiving into one short word. They stared at each other for a minute's perfect, happy silence amidst the rejoicing hubbub of the court and the patter of the rain, and then Caspian gestured towards the castle. "I had probably better go in and start writing orders for everyone to be moved out of low-lying areas in case of flooding. And I think we ought to start making arrangements for a feast."

For the rest of the day, Cair Paravel hummed with preparations. There is a great deal involved in laying on a Narnian feast, especially when the number of giants attending swells from one to five, as the entire Rumblebuffin clan arrived to offer their assistance in case of flooding, and, Caspian suspected, to not miss out on the feast. Such was the hurrying and scurrying, the peeling and plucking, the roasting and baking that the king eventually betook himself out of the way of all happily over-busy cooks and courtiers, and spent the afternoon carrying all his paperwork back from the cubbyhole to the royal study. Had there ever been a more joyful sound than rain drumming on the big, south-facing windows? He thought not – until the Great Hall was filled that evening with every courtier of Cair Paravel and every Narnian who had travelled in to join the celebrations and the feast, and the great, joyful hubbub that they made.

Caspian wasn't quite sure afterwards exactly what he had said by way of welcome, only that it had seemed to please all those smiling faces of his people looking up at him on the dais – and that a few minutes after he had sat down again and the feast was in full swing, the Queen had murmured an apology and left the High Table in a hurry.

An empty chair draws almost more eyes than the King standing to make a speech. A thread of uncertain whispering developed suddenly through the noise of the feast – a whispering as puzzled as Caspian felt. In the spreading hush, Lord Mavramorn leaned forwards from the far end of the table. "I am wondering, Your Majesty," he said in a voice louder than the question required, "just what further surprise in the matter of provisions Her Majesty went towards the kitchens to attend to?"

Her Majesty had gone to the kitchens to arrange more of the feast. The words could not be heard, but the pattern of the whisper could be as it flowed out from those within earshot of the High Table. Where it went, the noise of the feast rose again, back into happiness. Her Majesty had gone to the kitchens to arrange more of the feast. It was an explanation, a reassurance Caspian knew he should have provided, even as he woodenly smiled his thanks down to the table to Lord Mavramorn, but – the Queen?

Fear slipped into the back of his mind. The Queen knew as well as Caspian and Mavramorn what her absence from the feast would do – the damper on their people's happiness – there could only be some overwhelming reason for it. And – and – and there was sickness in Calormen. There had been, somehow, no pestilence come to Narnia – so far. But-? Caspian sat, his mind racing. The Queen had been pale at breakfast, before the rain. She had been tired, yesterday. And for several days before that. And then she had worked like a faun-in-waiting herself all day, to organise this feast – and got completely soaked in the rain on the lawn – and had in fact, been standing off by herself, rather than joining the dancers...

Caspian could stand it no longer. He leaned along the table towards the ever-faithful Trumpkin. "Make my excuses – for a minute." He tried not to hear the sudden drop in noise levels as he hurried through the door off the dais.

The Queen was not in the ante-chamber, but the door to the back staircase was open and as Caspian listened at the foot, there was the murmur of a dryad-in-waiting's voice at the top.

One dryad, holding a large bowl. The Queen, bending over it. Caspian forgot all greeting or warning of his sudden presence. "Are you ill?"

It was, perhaps, abrupt, for both the ladies jumped, and the dryad blushed and hurried away with the bowl. Caspian crossed the room slightly slower than he had climbed the stairs, and looked down at his wife. "Are you ill?" he repeated frantically. "Are you ill?"

"I was sick," said the Queen ruefully, brushing her limp hair back. "But that doesn't mean I am ill."

Caspian stared in blank bewilderment. "But – what – I –?"

His wife looked at him gravely. "It is the way of women. That they may, in the beginning of a little one, be rather sick on occasion."

"A-? A-?"

"Your son. Your heir," said the Queen, slowly and clearly. "I only knew this morning, but there was no chance to tell you before breakfast. A couple of months."

"August," Caspian calculated almost automatically. "The day..."

His wife inclined her head in agreement. "I think I interrupted Glenstorm before he delivered his whole message about the stars changing. We thought it was only rain, and afterwards-"

"Yes," said Caspian slowly. "Afterwards..."

He could not find any more words. Aslan? The stars had assembled with Your answer, and it was this? All this? Laughter – and rain – and an heir for Narnia...?

"Why are you standing there smiling?" said the Queen, with a gentle, half-mocking laugh. "With your wife sitting up here, feeling awful; and your court sitting downstairs, wondering what the matter is?"

The King smiled suddenly. "Because there is a time for everything, and because sometimes the steps of the dance are so intricate the dancers do not see the pattern. Only He does."

And Caspian bent and kissed her. "And because our son will be born in the spring."

~:~~:~

A/N: There will be a sequel one-shot tomorrow!