Neither paradise nor love unpaged
title from "Aurora" by Federico García Lorca. No habrán ni paraíso ni amores desojados.

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"He calls me The Gentle. I wouldn't have thought those names would be known so far into the Eastern Sea. We don't use them in other countries."

"Do you suppose he's been asking around about you?" Lucy chirps, gathering the blanket from the bed into her arms. Light streams through the open window. Spring is in Narnia, and everyone is intent on bringing every ray into the castle, every fresh breeze and smell of flowers. Susan sits on a cushion in a patch of sun, examining an increasingly more wrinkled piece of parchment. The ink has bled through to the other side in places, and Lucy wonders if she could read it backwards, or if it spells some coded message meant for Susan's eyes only.

"He might know from the selkies. They're our ambassadors to Terebinthia, aren't they?"

"Yes, Siluwya and Merum," says Edmund, leaning in the doorway. "At least I think those are their names. It sounds different every time I speak to them."

"Help me air this, won't you, Ed?"

He sighs and takes the corners she hands him. "Why are you so suddenly fixated on cleaning?"

"I'm not, it's Mrs. Beaver, she's so worried about the state of Cair Paravel and what the Terebinthians will think of our housekeeping. The more we clean, the less she'll be on about it, taxing herself and fretting Mr. Beaver."

Susan barely hears this exchange, preoccupied with rereading the letter. She knows that she's been growing older, but the thought of marriage had never entered her head until the letter from the Terebinthian King came. What was proclaimed a formal visit of state had an underlying driving force, hidden beneath the surface of the flowery language of the court – this was true in every case, Susan was beginning to realize. She hoped for some clue to what sort of man this was – if he seriously intended to woo her, who he expected to meet when he arrived. Queen Susan the Gentle, apparently. She sighs and rubs her temples.

"I hope he's handsome," Lucy says.

"He's probably old."

"Not that old," said Edmund. "The upper end of thirty at the most. I couldn't get a clear answer from the selkies, since they don't have a firm grasp on how humans seem to age."

"He's old for Susan!"

Susan smiles and shakes her head. "Not for Kings and Queens. And who said I was going to accept his offer anyway? I've not yet met him and you're playing matchmaker."

Lucy huffs as she and Edmund shake out the comforter by the window, sending up a spray of dust motes that drift in and out of the sunlight.

"It's a visit of state, first and foremost," says Edmund. "Then we'll worry about his intentions towards Susan."

"Marriage is a matter of state, King Edmund." Peter appears in the doorway with a sheaf of papers tucked under his arm. "Even a romantic gesture has a political nature when you're the ruler of a country. King Ardamin was raised in it, unlike us. We're going to have to be on our toes."

"And here I thought this was a political gesture with a romantic nature," says Susan, standing. "Are those for me?"

"They're just a schedule of accommodations for the delegation, and a new map that's just been made of our border with Archenland. It's rather large."

"They're both rather large countries, Peter."

"What? Oh, sorry, I meant the delegation. Are you still poring over that letter?"

"Looking for clues." Peter moves beside her and adjusts her wrist, angling the letter so he can see it better. He frowns. "Don't worry so much, Peter. All the arrangements are in order. There will be enough food and entertainment, we'll meet with the King, we'll share a few dances, and then they will all go home."

Peter says, "That's not exactly it."

Susan kisses his cheek, removes her hand, and picks up a cushion to fluff it.

-

The slap of the waves on the boats that bring them in sounds like a lazy greeting applause. Gulls call softly as they wheel far above in the cliffs, and the Terebinthians who have come ashore are feeling the ground beneath their feet, looking about, but mostly staring at the Narnian welcome party. The Kings and Queens are there, as is Tumnus, two cheetahs, and the centaur Oreius.

"What is it?" Lucy whispers in Edmund's ear while they are still out of range. "Do we look strange? Are our clothes on backwards?"

"I think it must be Tumnus and Oreius," Edmund murmurs, barely moving his lips. "They might not have fauns or centaurs in Terebinthia."

"I wonder!" Lucy says. But the party is approaching and she quiets as their herald announces them.

"His Royal Majesty the King of Terebinthia, Ardamin the Eighth, Sovereign of the Scattered Isles." A broad-shouldered man with a golden crown nested in his brown curly hair steps forward from the boat that has been pulled ashore. His clothing is practical for seagoing, but fabric is rich and trimmed with gold; the make and fit of his clothing is as fine as anything Narnia has ever seen. He is still too far off for Susan to see for certain, but he looks to be in his mid thirties, as Edmund had guessed. At the Terebinthian King's side are other men, dressed in much the same way while clearly subordinate to the King's presence of quiet command. One of them looks much like him, but younger; he wears a silver crown on a darker head. Unlike his serious companions, he has the hint of a smile on his face as he gazes up at their hosts, and past them at Cair Paravel, the stone face almost golden in the afternoon sun.

"His Royal Highness Prince Talmin, Duke of Everun," the herald continues, as more step from the boat. "His Grace the Duke of Kirna. Their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Inshem. Lord Berwyn of Meranth." The titles go on as more boats land, and more men and a few women line up in the sand. Susan tries to pay attention to every name but she knows she won't be able to. She already knows those she must remember from reading the selkies' reports.

She senses Peter straightening beside her as Tumnus calls out, "The High King Peter, Queen Susan, King Edmund, and Queen Lucy of Narnia extend the hand of friendship to their cousins from Terebinthia, and bid you welcome to their land." The Terebinthians bow at this, and the Kings and Queens of Narnia bow in response.

"We hope you will find rest in our palace, King Ardamin. My royal siblings and I would be honored by the presence of you and your company this evening. There shall be a feast to celebrate your arrival," Peter says in a voice whose strength belies his years as King.

The King of Terebinthia inclines his head. "We accept your gracious invitation."

-

Edmund, who doesn't much like parties, is placed between the old Duke, who is more interested in speaking to Peter than to him, and a Duchess who speaks little but mostly to her husband on her other side. It leaves him in a good place to eavesdrop, a vice he's been prone to since arriving in Narnia. Lucy became the chattier of the younger siblings, and he grew silent and more pensive. He is not sure if it was for the best.

Right now, for example, he can tell that she is dominating the conversation with the Prince. The topic doesn't matter; he can see she is enamored of him and wants to share every part of her that might draw him in. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes bright, and her eyes are either on his or looking down coyly at her plate. The Prince is receptive at first, and listens generously to her requests, but soon Susan's questions of Terebinthia draw his attention.

Susan, Edmund observes, is in every sense the font of gracious company. Peter is regal, but a little distant tonight. Susan inclines her body slightly toward the King when he speaks, smiles a little at his words and laughs lightly at his smile. She asks questions and listens to his quotations of Terebinthian verse as though she were drinking deeply. Her questions provoke discussion among the visitors, who reveal a passion for history and legend that Edmund would not have guessed. And as the Prince is drawn into the conversation, Edmund sees Susan incline in his direction as well. Prince Talmin hears her questions of Terebinthian culture and his eyes brighten. Gradually he turns from Lucy and adds more to the Terebinthians' stories, and the sisters listen, rapt. Edmund sees Susan's eyes brighten at his description of Terebinthia's rainbow of sea stars, her smile widen at the revelation of his fondness for archery, the heliotropic turn of her body toward his as he spoke of his journeys among the Eastern and Southern islands.

Edmund sighs inwardly. What trouble these charming Terebinthians will bring.

-

Peter is pleased with the feast, as pleased as he can be. The King at his side is polite, diplomatic enough so that if Peter didn't already know his intentions, he would not notice how he had only eyes for Susan. And who am I to blame him? Peter thinks. She looks radiant. He had already known, or so he thought, that she was growing into a woman. It is not until now, however, that he sees how she fills those spaces in fully, every movement elegant. Next to the Terebinthian women, she is a Venus de Milo among statues. She is Narnia beside every England.

Susan is quiet, compared to Lucy. She spends the meal at the Prince's elbow, asking him what sort of animals Terebinthia has, whether they talk or not, if they've ever seen a sea serpent or sirens that far out in the ocean. Prince Talmin answers graciously, revealing himself to be a competent woodsman and well-versed in sea lore.

"Our sailors who travel east tell tales of porpoises with women's voices that lead the lost ships home," he said, taking a bite of tart and pausing. "There's one story of a ship that was blown off course to waters far south where the skies are hot and cloudless, where every breeze dies and the sails go slack for days and weeks. Finally one of the sailors saw an albatross in the distance, and they were all cheered for an albatross is a sign of fortune, of land. It hovered behind the boat, which was being rowed at a snail's pace, for days. Soon some of the sailors began to talk of an omen or curse, but the first who spotted it still believed. One day when the fresh water was nearly down to the bottom, the first mate, sick with hunger and sun, went up on deck and fit an arrow to his bow. He pointed it at the albatross and drew to shoot. But the sailor who first saw the bird and held hope and mercy in his heart cried out and knocked the bow from the first mate's hands. 'Why would you murder one of the sea's most noble creatures?' he asked. 'We are at Tethys' mercy. Would you have us evoke her wrath?'

"That night, the sailor was on watch with his spyglass, looking for a sign of cloud or land. Suddenly he heard the albatross cry, and he looked aft. It dove as though to dash itself on the deck, and the sailor's heart stopped. At the last minute, it spread its enormous wings to slow itself, landing on strange feet, and became a woman wearing a cape of feathers." Lucy lets out a involuntary gasp; Susan is rapt. Even Edmund leans forward slightly from across the table.

"She was taller than any woman the sailor had ever seen. Her skin and hair were white; her eyes and brows were dark and striking. 'You have saved my life today,' she said to him in a clear, piercing voice. 'For that, you may ask of me anything you desire.' The sailor bowed and said, 'Lady, the only wish I might have is that my companions and I may return home alive.'

"'You might have asked for all the riches of the sea, or command of a great fleet, or my very hand in marriage,' said she.

"'Nay,' the sailor said, 'I am but a humble man who is sick for his island home. If it is not within your power to send us home to Terebinthia, I ask nothing of you.' The albatross woman said, 'You are true of spirit, son of Adam. Your roots will draw you home.' The sailor was puzzled, but before he could ask what she meant, she took wing in the shape of an albatross and flew away. At the midnight hour he traded his shift, and slept deeply through the night, dreaming strange dreams of wings wrapped around him, the scent of earth, the sound of the sea washing the shore. As the sun rose, the lookout cried, 'Land! Land!' They all rushed to the ship's side, and there she was: the green isle of Terebinthia, like a jewel rising out of the sea.

"From that day on, any act against an albatross has been nearly criminal among the fishing peoples of the coast."

"Is that true?" Lucy asks. "Do they worship the bird?"

"No," the King says. "It is a commonly known tale, little more. But to make an enemy of the sea is unwise. Terebinthia would perish if it destroyed the sea's benevolence; we would be made well and truly an island, instead of a rich center for merchants' trade from the islands of the East, Calormen, and Archenland. The fine steel wares our smithies produce may be of interest to the Narnian Kings; my Queens, have you seen the fabrics from the South embroidered by Terebinthian women?"

"No, King Ardamin," Susan says, "we have not traveled out of Narnia since the beginning of our reign. We have heard, though, tales of Calormen silks and the Terebinthian steel. Long I have thought of journeying south to see these lands of riches, especially in Narnia's cold winter."

"To receive your visit would delight us," the King says, lifting Susan's hand to kiss it. His beard feels strange on her skin. "It would please us well to see Narnian citizens and goods one day in our markets."

"It would please us as well," said Peter. "I am sure that time may soon come. Our people are industrious; our land is in her spring, after a very long winter."

-

Susan has almost escaped into the kitchen when Peter finds her in a narrow corridor off the throne room. The dinner has finished; the guests are well-wined, and the fauns' music has set some to dancing and some to sleeping. Susan has already danced with Peter once, the King twice, Prince Talmin once. Her eyelids are dragged down by the low flickering lights and the low babble of conversation. When Lucy and the Prince stand up to dance, she takes the opportunity to excuse herself. She never realized how tiring politeness could be.

"There you are," he says, catching her elbow gently and taking her cup from her, setting it in a nook by a candelabrum. "You look beautiful." His eyes are warm and soft in the small light.

Susan's shoulders relax; she hadn't even realized she was tense. "Oh Peter," she sighs, leaning on his proffered arm, "you don't know how worrying this is. How lovely their fashions are! How beautiful these women! I spend my days in bare feet, keeping up a castle. They would think us barbarians if they knew Lucy and I helped prepare this feast. How am I to know that even if they look at me and smile, they're not making fun?"

Peter cups her elbows now, gently, and pulls her close. "How could the ever laugh at you?" he says fervently. "They wouldn't think of it. I see them listen to you seriously, and the green of your gown brings out your eyes. I've even heard one of the ladies admiring your embroidery on Lucy's dress. You have everyone's eye, the King's eye for certain." He tries to ignore the strange feeling uncurling in his chest with these words. He doesn't want to think about Susan being an object in any eye, her body held in the mind and contemplated in its series of gentle curves, held against any body but his.

Her breath is hot through his tunic, mouth pressed against his shoulder. "I don't really want his eye, you know," she says, lifting her head.

Peter lets her go with a mischievous smile, "Is that so?" Picking up their glasses again, he hands Susan hers. She sets it down again. It's Tumnus' favorite, so it's a little strong for her taste, but the Terebinthians seem to like it well enough.

"You know how I feel. He's so old."

"He's a worldly man. Did you notice how many times he spoke of Terebinthia as a cultural crossroads? I imagine it would be like living in Byzantium or Italy in the Renaissance."

"If I didn't know any better I wouldn't be able to tell if you were making fun or trying to convince me to consider his offer."

Peter takes a sip from his glass. "You do know me. But if it's his age you dislike, I saw a certain prince who particularly enjoyed your presence tonight. Would you take his eyes instead?"

Susan hopes her cheeks are already pink from the wine, so he can't see her blush in the dim light.
"That's hardly the point. And he had Lucy hanging on his every word all night, if you hadn't noticed. We must talk to her; she's far too young for this."

He arches a brow. "You didn't answer my question, you know."

Susan opens her mouth to protest when Lucy comes to take her free hand. "There you are! Do you remember this song from midwinter? Come dance, it's my favorite!" Before she can say anything, she is pulled away into the whirl of dancers. Peter leans against the wall and sips long at his wine.