#hidden blessings

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It was a little after noon and the sun was high on the day that Old Narnian exiles first returned to the shores of Cair Paravel. They arrived in row-boats and dinghies and on ferries from the mainland, for no ships had yet been built. Trumpkin and the King were in the lead boat together, and by Trumpkin’s direction the boats made landfall along the stretch of beach that ran alongside the ruins of Cair Paravel. Behind them came a host of Red Dwarves and Black Dwarves with their tools. There were Centuars, led by Glenstorm and his sons, and Beasts of all kinds: Clodsley Shovel and his Moles, the Hardbiters and the Hares, nimble-footed Harts, mighty Bears, Sables, Hedgehogs, Dogs, Horses, and the Mice with Reepicheep their Captain. Then came the fauns, with Mentius and Obentinus. Last of all were the Birds, soaring over the ships and calling to one another in high voices as they went.

When the first boat alighted on the shore, a great cheer went up, starting at the king’s boat and fanning out to all the rest. Caspian stepped onto the soft sand with a crunch and surveyed the place where the ruins of Cair Paravel sat. He could not think of anything suitably momentous to say, so he sank wordlessly to his knees and looked up, giving thanks to Aslan.

That night the whole rebuilding party camped on the beach. The dwarves built bonfires and the fauns played their flutes and there was song and dance. A few of the centuars were old enough to remember living in the lands around the Cair before the Telmarines had driven them off, and those that did wept. A few of the younger creatures wept too, though they could not express why. Yet Dumnus led the singing of loud choruses and some of the others whooped and hollered for joy. The sound of their voices, both the weeping and the singing, mingled together and fled into the night.

The next day, the dryads and naiads of the land around Cair Paravel came down to the beach. The giants, who had come from the mainland on foot, arrived not long after. Their number complete, the Narnians set to work.

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“One thing we have in our favor,” Doctor Cornelius said, scroll still half open before him. “The historical records on the construction of the castle are exhaustive. There are plans and specifications for every inch of the place.”

Caspian straightened, wincing a little. He’d been helping one of the naiads clean debris from the courtyard well, and his back ached from bending over. “You might try telling that to the black dwarves,” he said. “They still haven’t figured out where to dig.”

Once the dwarves had assessed the ruins of the castle, they used a kind of scrying magic which Caspian did not understand in order to find a quarry of new stone to match the old. The trouble came when the time came for the stones to speak: they would only sing, in voices too deep for words.

“They’re too busy celebrating to tell us where they came from,” said Winnibrik gruffly when Caspian inquired about the progress of the quarry. “And I can’t blame them for that, really. It’s good that there are Narnian feet in this place again.”

Dryads guided parties into the forest to show which trees could be used for timber, and then Horses and centuars dragged the beams back to the Cair. In general, such work would have been beneath them, suitable only for dumb beasts of burden; but they did it without complaint. They knew, as everyone did, that they were in the midst of a great work.

Yet it was the cleaning and removal of debris that occupied most of the workers. Trufflehunter knelt in the dirt, patiently pulling broken bits of twisted metal from the ruin of the small armory. He hummed as he went, something lilting and wordless. A little way behind him, in the courtyard, a group of fauns hoisted a fallen apple tree and carried it away.

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It was shortly after the foundation had been laid that a band of efreets appeared from the north. They arrived late in the evening while Caspian was dredging one of the cellars and asked to be brought before the king. “If it please you, sire, let us build with you,” said their leader, a broad creature with a toothy smile. “After all, we are Old Narnians too.”

Caspian, who was knee deep in water and soaked to the skin, called for a halt and went to confer with his councilors.

“You ought to have nothing to do with them,” said Trumpkin firmly, “not by my advice.”

“I should think not!” echoed Trufflehunter. “We’ve no need of any congress with creatures of that sort. Cair Paravel must be rebuilt by those who follow Aslan.”

The efreets, however, were less than accepting of this verdict. A few nights later, a Dog reported that he’d smelled men in the woods and a few scouts confirmed that Telmarines were camped a few miles upriver. “It seems that our ghoulish friends are angry with us,” said Caspian, “though I can’t for the life of me imagine what an efreet could have said to make a Telmarine come with him this close to the sea. At any rate, we ought to be alert. Send someone down to the treasure chamber and distribute whatever weapons you can find to anyone who can use them.”

So, as the walls of Cair Paravel rose up, the Narnians carried swords as they worked. At night everyone camped together inside the great footprint of the castle, with guards stationed on the half-built watchtower under the stars.

Reepicheep took more watches than anyone, for he said that he liked to be alone in the stillness of such a sacred place. “We needn’t be afraid,” he told Caspian softly one night. “Cair Paravel is ours, and we are Aslan’s. What can hurt us here?”

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The Brothers of Shuddering Wood built the entrance to the main foyer, armed with heavy dwarven hammers that seemed to split the air when they fell. The hung the gate one glittering morning when the sun was on the sea. They left it wide open for the rest of the day.

Clodsley Shovel took the Moles to set the king’s garden to rights, and one day the Mice joined them in repairing the Tombs of the Kings. When they were through, they brought trimmings from the garden to decorate the monuments. The Dogs dug holes for posts, and a greenhouse soon followed. Then came the armory, the buttresses, the tower of guard.

“Was all of this really here before?” Caspian asked in astonishment. The water-gate had just been completed and his old tutor was beside him, looking up at the intricate device of bolts and bars that kept it securely lowered.

“Yes, my boy, it was,” said the old man. “It’s all in the books, you see?” Caspian felt a lump build in his throat: something like pride and another something like hope. He tried to swallow around it.

Hogglestock and Trufflehunter split the middle-sized Beasts into pairs for the construction of the broad wall. They told stories as they worked, in loud voices so as to carry down the length of it: stories that usually started with “Remember…” and occasionally, “In the days when Peter reigned at Cair Paravel…”

The great feasting hall came together little by little. The eastern windows were cast by dwarven artisans from enormous panes of glass while Glenstorm and his sons built the dais and drew sketches for the skylight. Wimbleweather carried great stone pillars in his arms and set them down where Ravenscaur instructed from his perch in the rafters. The Oak and the Beech made carvings on the seven heavy doors that led into the hall, and when they were through dwarven smiths fitted them with handles of silver and gold.

They ate in the hall together when it was built, though the walls were still bare and their voices echoed. The Bulgy Bears carried in the first piles of food from the kitchens, which were at last in working order. They heaped it on makeshift tables with little concern for appearance: grilled fish, pheasant, and apples prepared in every imaginable way.

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When the last stone was laid in the castle, Caspian decreed a day of general celebration. But when he turned the corner down the hallway to the grand staircase, Caspian saw Trumpkin standing at a window looking morose, with tears in his eyes.

“Come now, Trumpkin, what’s the matter?” said Caspian as he came to a stop beside his friend. “Today is a happy day, and there’s no room in it for tears.”

Trumpkin made a sound between a snort and a sigh as he turned to face his king. “Certainly, your majesty. No tears today. But—” he smiled beneath his beard, “—Turnips and thunderbolts, Caspian! If you’d asked me a year ago, I’d have laughed myself silly rather than imagine that any of this was possible.” He swept his hand towards the window and Caspian looked out.

It was a crisp, cloudless morning, the sky bright and clear, and the sounds of singing and of instruments being played filtered all the way up to the tallest tower. Caspian watched the Dogs running to and fro as they prepared for a hunt. Dryads danced in the courtyard and fauns played their flutes. Beyond the wall, a group of dwarves were coming up from the beach, where they’d just arrived with several boats full of gold and jewels from the mainland with which they meant to beautify the castle.

“Why Trumpkin!” laughed the king, “I’m surprised at you. Wasn’t it on your recommendation that all of this was done?”

Trumpkin shook his head ruefully. “My foolish optimism, perhaps. Aslan’s Mane, but times have changed.”

He cleared his throat and nodded towards the beach. “King Edmund said he’d have built a bridge if Cair Paravel had been an island in his day. What say you, King Caspian?”

The castle still needed furnishing, but there were finally tables in the feasting hall and the armory was stocked with swords. Doctor Cornelius was well on his way to reestablishing the library, and soon Cair Paravel would be adorned with the finest dwarven jewels.

“Next year,” Caspian replied. “I’ll put you in charge of its construction.”