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Dearly Beloved	By : songofasiren Category: A through F > Chronicles of Narnia Views: 10160 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Chronicles of Narnia, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A New Dress
- 2-Tea and Corsets
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Dearly Beloved
"Truth is beautiful, without a doubt, but so are lies."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

“Oh, isn’t this exciting, Susan?” Lucy asked, twirling her torso about as much as she could, purposely trying to avoid tangling Mrs. Beaver in the full skirts of the dress the furry creature was currently attempting to pin. “A wedding. A real, live, honest-to-goodness wedding. Right here at Cair Paravel!”
“And you’ll have real, live, honest-to-goodness pin pricks in your ankles if you keep shimmying about,” Mrs. Beaver teased, finishing up what was left of the hemming.
“There now, let’s have a look at you.”
Lucy’s smile broadened even more, though everyone in the room thought it an impossible feat. “Oh, Mrs. Beaver,” she gasped, looking at herself in the mirror being held by two of her maids, “this gown is breathtaking.”
Truly, the deep blue velvet skimmed her body in all the right places, flaring out at her hips to barely kiss the floor - thanks to the vigilant work of her expert seamstress, of course.
“Oh no,” Susan said with laughter in her voice, “she’ll begin to believe it’s her own wedding day and not Peter’s. We‘ll never hear the end of it now!”
“My dearest Susan, were you attempting to be funny?” the youngest Pevensie asked with disbelief, her sarcasm being lost on no one.
“Just as much as you are not attempting to be modest, my darling sister,” came the retort, with Susan standing to look at the many trimmings and adornments Mrs. Beaver’s team of tailors had brought for them to choose from during their dress fittings.
The wedding of the High King was nothing to sniff at, after all. With the blessed event only three days away, many of the citizens of Narnia had already begun to prepare their finest attire.
Lucy shook her head and smirked, something Susan surmised she had picked up from Edmund. “I’m not Queen Lucy the Humble, Susan,” she provided as an explanation for her boasting, fingering the brightly colored ribbons that were neatly laid out on her writing desk.
Susan sighed. “I wish, so very much, that you would use that brain of yours before you act and speak, Lucy. You are a queen. It is high time you began to behave as such! If you aren’t out fencing with the boys, then you’re gallivanting around doing Aslan knows what with Tumnus and the nymphs. Last week alone I found you swimming in the stream wearing only your petticoats! What next, Lucy?”
Lucy laughed silently to herself as Susan continued to give her a lecture, or at least what she considered to be a good tongue lashing. She knew she ought not to test her sister’s patience, but Susan rarely got upset with her - or anyone - enough to do more than scold.
“What do you think?” Lucy asked, placing a mother of pearl brooch surrounded by gold latticework between her breasts.
“And this for the sleeves and belt,” Susan said after a moment, choosing a braided gold cord after considering her youngest sibling’s choice in adornment. “I can’t believe you‘re already wearing a corset,” she said thoughtfully, handing off the accoutrement to one of the tailors.
“It seems just yesterday you were protesting my wearing one to the Autumn Feast,” Susan recalled, returning to her seat by the window to continue her needlework.
“I may protest myself wearing one as well,” Lucy said with an overdramatic grimace, pretending to tug at the silk and boning underneath her newly-constructed gown.
“Why can’t we be free to run around as we please? Never cut our hair, never have to wear constricting clothes, never have any responsibilities…” she trailed off, becoming wistful at the thought of running barefoot through the woods with her friends, laughing and telling stories about the most trivial things in the world, and yet caring about them as if they were the only things that mattered.
“Are you going to be joining me for tea this afternoon, Lucy?” Susan asked, easily changing the subject while never taking her eyes off the current design she was stitching with nimble fingers.
“Oh, goodness gracious! Tea!” Lucy gasped suddenly, running to her closet to lace on some sandals. “I had no idea it was so late,” she said, murmuring her frustrations under her breath as she realized she had snatched up two different shoes in her haste.
“I’m off to meet Mr. Tumnus,” she called over her shoulder, racing toward the door with two matching shoes in hand.
“LUCY PEVENSIE!” came the cry of both Mrs. Beaver and Susan, who could be quite shrill when they wished to be. “You will take off that dress this instant,” said Mrs. Beaver, pushing the crudely-fashioned dress form toward her. “You‘ll have it torn or soiled by nightfall,” she said with a small smile, which Lucy returned with a short laugh.
“You’re probably right,” she said in agreement, returning to the closet to quickly change and choose a suitable outfit for her daily ritual with the favored faun. Lucy’s dryad attendant, Hersilia, helped her undress and dress again in a gown of pale lavender damask.
“When will you be…back?” Susan called after her, only to have the slamming of Lucy’s bedroom door resonate as a reply.
The small furry creature on the far side of the room looked up at the crash, and over to Susan. “That girl certainly has a spirit about her, doesn’t she?” she asked, her fondness for the youngest queen shining in her large eyes. “My heart goes out to the one who thinks he can stifle that much energy,” she said with a laugh, becoming quiet yet again when Susan visibly stiffened.
“She doesn’t know yet,” Mrs. Beaver prodded, “does she?”
The gentle queen shook her head with a sigh. “None of us wish to tell her,” Susan answered quietly, knowing that what had been set into motion by Peter’s engagement could possibly wreak havoc on the very bonds that held them all together.
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Dearly Beloved