R&R, enjoy! Hope everyone is staying as well as may be during the pandemic : ( I'm just getting over a nasty bout of influenza. 0/10, Do not recommend, in case you are wondering.

Golden Narnia 11: Laying to Rest

Back in Cair Paravel, Barnabas ducked the items Avarro was flinging around, trying to catch them so he could pack everything up. The letter informing them of the end of their stay had arrived that morning, and it was strongly hinted that a quick departure would be best.

Avarro's temper wasn't making it easy, though.

He was spitting some nasty things out about Queen Lucy, things that Barnabas knew were untrue, but as much as he liked the young queen, he didn't dare speak up. He didn't know the High King as well, but he doubted the things Avarro was saying about him were true, either.

"I'll show her. I'll show them all. She needs me, she just doesn't know it. I'll make her beg to bring me back."

Barnabas doubted all this, but kept his counsel. He'd miss this bright palace, with its windows and music and a day off every week.

He was not looking forward to returning to the dull, grey block of a manse that was technically Avarro's home with his uncle. It was bleak, and there was little to do there—hence Avarro's initial foray into dissolution and vice.

Right now, it didn't sound like Avarro was remembering any of the lessons he had learned here. Barnabas regretted not saying something of Avarro's nature to one of the kings—but Avarro would be gone from here soon, never to return, so hopefully it was a matter of least said, soonest mended.

He hoped. He was a servant, with no power, after all; what else could he possibly do?

It shouldn't have surprised Lucy that her sleep was fitful.

She ended up rising early, and headed to the nursery, fully expecting that wrangling Prince Corin would take a few people.

She wasn't wrong. When she stepped in the room, Corin was sulkily sitting in his bed, plainly refusing to get up.

"Good morn, Corin," Lucy said.

The little boy' blue eyes widened, and he scrambled off the bed to run over to her—and, to her complete astonishment, hugged her knees.

"You said you'd come back," he said, in accusing tones.

"I did, but thou wert asleep." Lucy explained, kneeling down to his level. "But I am here now. We've got a big day today. Canst thou go with Cora to get a bath so we can get thee ready?"

"I suppose." He sounded sulky.

"Corin." Lucy looked into his face. "I will be right with you all day, unless thou sayest me nay. Thou shan't be alone."

He nodded reluctantly, and went off with Cara. Lucy sent an attendant to ask that her breakfast be brought with Prince Corin's, and by the time the scrubbed child was brought back, the food was waiting.

They got most of the way through the meal before Corin remembered what today was, and he stopped eating.

"Do I have to go to Mama's funeral?" He asked, in a low voice.

Technically, the answer was, 'Yes, absolutely,' because he was the Crown Prince and it was the Queen's funeral.

But Corin looked so lost and scared that Lucy was moved to pity.

"Not if thou truly do not wish to go," she said, and ignored the scandalized look on Cara's face. "But funerals can be a good way to say farewell. Wouldst thou like to know what will happen today?"

He nodded, and came over to sit in her chair with her. Fortunately Susan had outlined the day's events with them at dinner the night previous. When she finished, Corin sat quietly for a while.

"People are going to say nice things about Mama?"

"Oh, yes. People who loved thy mother very much, including my brothers and sisters and I. Everyone will share why they shall miss your Mama."

He considered that. "You said later they're putting her in a stone box with a stone over it."

"Yes, she will be placed down in the crypts with all thy ancestors."

He turned worried eyes up to her. "Won't it be dark in there? Won't she be cold and scared?"

She bit her lip. "Oh, dear. Corin, dost thou not know what it means when they say thy mother has died?"

"They said it means she went to Aslan's Country, but it's not so! I saw her."

Mentally, Lucy asked Aslan for help. She hoped she said the right things. "Well, part of her did go to Aslan's Country, the part that made her alive went. In Aslan's Country, one doesn't need a body anymore. Aslan gives us new ones that never die. They don't get tired or hot or cold or anything. So we leave our old bodies behind, because we don't have need of them anymore."

Corin thought about this a little. "So Mama's not sick anymore?"

"No."

"And her body is... like those bugs who leave their shells on the trees?"

"A bit like," Lucy said. "So when we leave our bodies behind, the body that's here doesn't need to breathe or sleep or feel anything, so it's not scary when we put bodies in the ground or in crypts."

"Then why is everyone still sad? If Mama's in Aslan's Country?"

"Well, it's sad that we won't get to see her anymore, because Aslan's Country isn't a place we can go visit and come back from. We know it will be a little lonely at times without her. So it's all right to be sad and miss her."

"What about Cor?"

Lucy cocked her head at this sudden question about his lost twin. "What about Cor?"

"Is he in Aslan's Country, too? Is everyone going to go to Aslan's Country without me?" He looked very worried.

She hugged him. "No, no, Corin. Thou has thy father still; and thou hast the High King Peter and King Edmund and Queen Susan and me. And of course all the good lords and ladies and other children here in Anvard. Many of them will be mourning your mother today, too."

"Oh." The boy sat a while, thinking. "I think I do want to go to Mama's funeral, Queen Lucy. May I?"

"Certainly, thou mayest. Now, thou must do thy best to behave as thy mother would want you to. That is called honoring her memory. Do you think you can?"

He nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes!"

"All right. Let's get you dressed, then."

As they moved along the corridors toward the chapel where the funeral was to be held, Prince Corin gripped Lucy's hand tighter and tighter. Lucy squeezed back, and he looked up at her and gave her a little smile.

"I'll be real quiet, Queen Lucy. Mama would want me to."

"That's all right, Prince Corin. But it's all right if you want to cry, too."

It came time to process in, and Lucy suddenly found herself in a quandary. The procession order stated that King Lune should enter first, then Prince Corin, and then the Monarchs of Narnia in succession—Peter, Susan, Edmund, and then Lucy.

But she'd promised to be next to Corin the whole time.

Disregarding her long black skirts and putting back her shoulder-length black veil, she knelt down next to Corin and explained. "But if you want me to stay with you, I will."

"I just have to go say goodbye to Mama?" he asked.

"That's all. You can touch her if you wish to, but you do not have to. Watch thy royal father, and see what he does; then do what comes to thee."

He straightened his little shoulders. "I can do it by myself." The shoulders softened a little as he immediately asked, "But will you sit next to me, Queen Lucy?"

"Certainly." They moved to the front of the line, so that Corin could see his father.

There was soft music playing as they entered the hushed chapel, lit by beautiful tapers in tall candelabra. Queen Ramilka's body lay in state in the middle of the space.

She was dressed in a long cream-colored gown and lay on a low bier in the middle of the space; she was covered by a sheer, peach-colored cloth that draped all around. It softened the harsh angles of the bier and added a touch of warmth to the dead woman's pallor; Lucy detected Susan's subtle, deft hand in that touch.

As a choir began to softly sing the songs of farewell and rest, King Lune stepped slowly across the open space in the middle of the chapel, and solemnly bent to kiss his wife's forehead. He stayed bowed over her a moment, murmuring something quietly, kissed her again, and went to his seat, a hint of a glimmer in his eyes contradicting his stoical expression.

Lucy gave Corin a little nudge, who took one last look back at her, and bravely stepped out. He walked up to his mother's body, and Lucy's heart broke again at how small he was.

The little boy firmed his chin up as he neared his mother and stood gazing at her a moment; then he bent and kissed her hand. Lucy could just hear what he said: "Goodbye, Mama. I hope you're having lots of fun and not sick at all in Aslan's Country." Then he went to sit in his seat, next to his father, who placed a hand on his shoulder.

The Pevensies were next; Peter and Edmund offered crisp military salutes. Susan kissed her friend's cheek, tears unabashedly sliding down her face, and Lucy kissed the same hand Corin had, offering up a prayer to Aslan that Ramilka's welcome into His keeping was swift.

They all filed in next to King Lune, and waited while the rest of the mourners had their opportunity to pay their respects.

As the choir began another mournful song, Lucy glanced around and saw mostly saddened faces, with a few of the dignitaries wearing suitably sober, if not particularly sad, expressions. When her gaze slid across the Calormene contingent, she thought at first the Prince was staring at her; then after a second, she realized he was staring at the back of Susan's head.

Slightly perturbed, Lucy glanced at Susan to see what had caught Prince Rabadash's attention. The waist-length black veil she wore was, of course, neat. Her long hair beneath its gauzy surface was also perfect, and Susan was keeping her eyes forward (no doubt wanting to elbow Lucy for looking about, too).

Well, Prince Rabadash wouldn't be the first man to stare at Susan, after all; Lucy resolved to put him out of her mind.

The eulogies started once everyone was in place; King Lune was first. While he was up speaking, Corin looked very solemn, and hugged Lucy's arm to himself, leaning into her side.

Next came Peter, who kept his remarks short and simple, and then Susan. She looked beautiful even when crying, and promised Ramilka that his Narnian 'aunts' and 'uncles' would do their best to help Lune shape Corin into the man Ramika wished him to be. Edmund and Lucy didn't speak, but others got up and spoke through their own tears, making similar promises.

Through it all, Corin sat silently, watching and listening.

Lune got up and everyone stood as he commended Ramilka to Aslan, and asked for His blessing on all present as they laid the queen to rest.

When the candlebearers took their place, and the pallbearers lifted up Ramilka's bier, Corin burst into tears, which he swiftly hid in Lucy's skirts. Lucy hugged him close, but it was only a moment later that his sobs slowed down. "S—s—sorry, Queen Lucy," he warbled. "I didn't mean to misbehave."

"Misbehave? Oh, Corin, no! It's very right you should cry."

"Mama would be sad I'm crying."

"Thy mother would understand," Lucy answered. "Dost thee know who else understands? Thy father."

"But he's not crying."

"I promise, he does understand. Go, go and ask him."

Corin started toward his father, who was gazing after the retreating pallbearers, and glanced back. Lucy gave him an encouraging nod.

"Father?" The boy's voice was very small in that space, but Lune heard him.

"Eh? Corin, my boy," he said gruffly. "Hast need of me?"

"Papa, is—is it all right to cry over Mama?"

"My boy—of course it is—oh—" And King Lune swept his little son up into his bear-hug arms, and wept.

Tactfully, Susan and Lord Nen ushered everyone else out of the crypt and toward the banquet hall, where the funerary feast was laid.

Just now, a father and son needed to be left alone to begin healing.

The rest of the Pevensies crept out and went to the funeral feast, where all the guests were sitting around sharing memories of Queen Ramilka.

Thoughtfully, Susan had largely foregone the formal seating arrangements typically called for at a Court function, and instead opted to provide smaller groups of tables and chairs, where mourners could actually hear one another and share their stories.

Lucy, who arrived last, was unsurprised to see the Calormene contingent standing off to one side, speaking to others only when spoken to. Most of them looked solemn and mysterious and frankly a bit pompous.

Except, she noticed, for Prince Rabadash, who was all but openly staring at Susan.

Rolling her eyes a little, Lucy drifted over to her sister, who patted the hand of the elderly woman she was speaking to, and stepped away to speak with Lucy.

"Thou hast acquired another admirer, I see," Lucy said, amused despite the circumstances.

"Who? Oh, you mean Prince Rabadash?" Susan colored prettily. "I can't think why. Black is not becoming to me in the least. Anyway, art far more pressing things at present than an admirer."

Lucy eyed her sister skeptically, but she seemed to be in earnest. Susan looked good in every color, no matter what she seemed to think. Lucy wasn't surprised Rabadash had been struck by Susan's looks now, as she appeared particularly tragic with her long black veil under her crown, and her beautiful, tear-marked face.

"Well, 'tis true; there are more pressing things now. I don't think you should expect King Lune to make much of an appearance—if at all—so what is the plan for the rest of the evening?"

"Oh, I have the musicians coming in about an hour to play, and the kitchens will begin setting out more substantial foods about then. I have the wine steward preparing a cask for toasting Queen Ramilka later, and then the traditional Archenland fanfare will end the feast. I've set a separate cask aside privily for the Palace staff later," she said. "Though they do have to work, they all did love Ramilka and need time to mourn, as well."

"How do you think of all these things?" Lucy wondered. "How can I help you, Su?"

"Thou canst assist Peter in getting away from those dreadful flirts, for one," Susan frowned, looking over Lucy's head.

Lucy turned to see some of the younger ladies clustered around Peter, and they were behaving (and in one case, dressed) quite improperly for a funeral.

Actually, they were behaving quite improperly for speaking to the monarch of a country, whether at a funeral or not; even Lucy, who generally didn't much care for propriety, was a bit shocked.

Peter was looking particularly stoic, a sure sign to his sisters' eyes that he was both offended, and close to losing his temper.

"I shall go rescue him," Lucy said, chin firming as she straightened her crown. "Honestly. Have they no sense of decorum?"

As she crossed through the clumps of mourners, she pondered her options: act the dignified Queen, or the protective sister?

She wasn't sure the 'dignified' part would dissuade any of them; she'd dealt with young women determined to win themselves a crown before at the Cair.

On the other hand, if they were being so bold at their queen's funeral, she wasn't sure the 'sister' part would embarrass them into stopping, either. Which tack to choose?

One of the young women stepped right into Peter's personal space then, clutching his arm, and Lucy saw Peter's mouth flatten in distaste.

Dignified, protective, sister-Queen it was.

She brought her shoulders back and straightened her spine to give herself as much height as she could (when would the growth spurt Susan predicted hit?). She fisted her hands in her skirts to give them a bit more heft, and sailed through the clot of young women like they were ninepins.

Obligingly, they stepped back to offer her rather shallow curtsys. Lucy wasted no time in stepping to Peter's side and taking possession of his arm. "The High King and I have matters to discuss," she informed them all archly. "He has no time at present for idle talk with no purpose."

The one with the most inappropriate dress blinked up at Peter, fluttering her lashes. Lucy was no expert, but Lucy thought that if she was trying to flirt, she was failing—she looked more like she'd got a gnat in her eye.

"And, when will His Majesty have time for… dalliance?" The girl asked, in a breathy voice that sounded affected.

"He won't." Lucy said emphatically, enjoying the girl's expression, which was rather taken aback. Lucy lifted her chin coolly and towed a bemused Peter away from them.

Where her arm was looped around his, she felt his sides shake in silent laughter as they sped away. Her cheeks reddened, and she looked up at her brother. Had she been ridiculous?

While his expression was grave, his mouth was twitching, and his eyes were bright. "Aslan's Mane, Lu, thank you. That was most effective. Where did you learn to decimate young foolish women like that?"

"You don't usually have to deal with them at the Cair, because Susan and I do," Lucy informed him. "And when all three of you were gone, I had to learn to shut them down quick, or I'd have wasted half of every day reminding them I wouldn't tell them when you and Ed were returning." She eyed him. "Maybe you'd better learn, though. I don't think I've ever seen you so beset, brother."

"Nay, Queen, I'll just step behind you and let you deal with the ravening hordes," he teased.

"Honestly, what had you looking so pinched? 'Tis very unlike you to be so discomfited."

The color rose in his cheeks above his short golden beard. "I shall not repeat what that young l—person—said to me. It shall suffice to say it was nothing that ought come out of the mouth of any gentle folk. It is not fit for thy ears."

"Hmm." Lucy glanced back, but the knot of ladies had scattered.

Peter jogged her arm. "Nay, Queen, don't plot on my behalf. The rescue is enough."

"All, the same, if she comes back, let me know."

"So you can invent more spurious, urgent conversations?"

"No, so I can spill a glass of wine on her and she'll change out of that ridiculous dress," Lucy replied meditatively, which made Peter sputter.

"We shouldn't leave thee in charge too often. You've become ruthless."

She smiled at him. "As I need to be, brother."

They walked around a while, exchanging words of condolence with other mourners, when Peter paused.

"Any idea what's toward there?" He said, in a curious tone.

Lucy looked where he was and saw Prince Rabadash, of all people, bowing over Susan's hand.

Susan looked just a little bit flustered.

"He must be some talker," Lucy observed. "Susan usually is very cool to her would-be suitors."

"Suitor? Prince Rabadash? But he's next in line for the Calormene throne!"

"I suppose you haven't noticed him staring at her all day," Lucy said wryly. "He's definitely a suitor. Perhaps he actually believes that his father the Tisroc will live forever, and is casting about for other options."

Peter snorted a little. "Oh, yes. A very likely tale. Well," he sighed. "He certainly isn't the first man to fall at Susan's feet, and he won't be the last."

"No."

There was a little pause. "You haven't got any suitors, have you?"

"Peter! I'm only fourteen!"

"Fifteen soon enough. Well, have you?"

"No!"

"What about this Lord Rorin that Edmund was telling me about?"

She blushed. Sure, she'd idly daydreamed about Rorin once or twice, but it was only a mild little crush. Lucy knew it could never go anywhere—and again, she was only fourteen. The odds she'd find a heart mate this young were, frankly, ridiculous.

"Lord Rorin is a very good friend, Peter. But that's all," she insisted.

"Is he?"

She flashed him a look of real annoyance. Rorin was her friend, a good friend. "Yes. That's all."

He seemed to realize he'd hit a bit of a nerve and backed off. "All right, all right, sorry, Lu. I just wanted to be sure I only had to practice glaring at one young man this year."

She half-laughed at that, accepting his apology, and they continued circulating for the rest of the event.

Later, in her room, Lucy allowed herself to feel the bruise of that conversation. Peter hadn't meant to be unkind, she knew he hadn't.

But having to say she had no suitors—no one who wanted to flirt with her, even—hurt, a little.

She hadn't lied the least bit about Lord Rorin. He was a good friend, and was warm to her in that regard, but Lucy knew full well he always kept up a little wall of deference to the differences in their ranks—as well he should, knight-in-training and all.

And never mind that she knew full well she was just too young for any serious romance (and as a Queen, she knew any casual romance was not ever reasonable).

It only made it worse that she'd had to say it right after rescuing her brother from a flock of empty-headed flirts and seeing her tall, beautiful sister wooed by a passionate stranger.

Well, so long as Edmund at least remained level-headed and without a girl friend, she'd have to take comfort in that.

But a part of her couldn't help wonder when her turn to be flirted with and pursued would be.

Despite that there were so many, many more important things to worry over and focus on, she still felt a little twinge of sadness at the idea that perhaps her turn would never come... she was, after all, the plainer sister. The younger sister. The little sister.

Resolutely, she pushed that nasty little jealous thought down and tried to go to sleep. Tomorrow was another day—and whether she had flirts or not just didn't matter.

That thought was cold comfort in the middle of the night, though.

Please leave a review, it really helps! For those looking for updates on Grey England: eh... I'm a bit dry on ideas for that set of stories, tbh. So if you have any 'I always wondered about X when they get back' sort of what-ifs you'd like to share... please do! : )