Blame: The Illusion of Power

High King Peter, the Magnificent, berates and blames his younger brother for mistakes that he is not to blame for simply because he cannot bear to see his siblings suffer for the errors that are entirely his own responsibility.

King Edmund, the Just, accepts this as he always has done despite the oblivious nature of his elder.

Together, they have experienced this argument thousands of times in spite of the fact that Peter has never really understood his own motives - the High King's mistakes, and the actions that the King would take immediately after in retaliation; and of course, the consequences of both. Despite what Edmund knows to be true, his brother still turns a blind eye - when he is blaming this young man that the ex-traitor has become, it is purely because he thinks that he is a clear moron who should know how to keep himself safe. It never once crosses his mind that he is the one who pushes the over-shadowed Pevensie into such grave danger.

Of course, the younger of the two siblings knew, and he suspected that Lucy also possessed a full understanding of the state of play. And Susan as well - it was, perhaps, only the High King who was blissfully unaware of the things that drove him.

"The wine - I didn't have my wits about me," Edmund began to protest, but he was cut off by his brother's louder and widely regaled voice.

"How dare you?" High King Peter asked with a roar that might have rivalled even the mighty Aslan's, "How dare you do a single thing to damage your wits when you know that they're the only thing that keep you- that keep us, keep Narnia safe?"

And it was that small hesitancy, that slip of the tongue, that correction, that Edmund could see as he so often could straight through the anger and directly to the point. Peter still thought him a child, incapable of taking care of himself, of a kingdom. Nearly eight years since they had taken to their respective thrones, and here they were, the older brother, still trying to baby his younger siblings. If he only knew when he was still acting as though they couldn't hold their own - as if they hadn't earned their right to be there just as much as he had.

And Edmund absolutely had; perhaps even more than his elder brother - after all, it was he who had nearly died that day on the battlefield, he who had crossed the White Witch in the most dangerous of ways with an almost-allegiance and it was he who had lived to tell the tale. Peter hadn't done any of those things. And now, for him to turn to Edmund and accuse him of acting, for all intents and purposes, like a child but without saying the words that they both knew were there... it was just unacceptable.

Lord Doksfeld gave a private smile, eyes downcast as he walked the halls of Cair Paravel – it had taken negotiation after negotiation and more conditions than he had ever thought possible, but finally- finally, the two countries were at peace and never again would any blood be spilled in the name of a battle that was so old that no one alive really remembered how it had started or what the point in continuing it was.

Now, happy and sated, the Lord had taken it upon himself to take a private tour of the castle, taking care to respectfully deny the company that Queen Lucy had offered him – he might have agreed to it, were it not for the quite obvious look that he had been shot by the Faun at the Healing Queen's side. And so, hoping for some time alone to consider the kingdom that they had just joined forces with, Doksfeld had bid his wife to take to bed; he would, of course, join her as soon as he possibly could.

He was in the middle of admiring the beautiful mosaic that covered the floors of this particular corridor, depicting the Battle of Beruna, perhaps most interested in the scene where a younger King Edmund could be seen shattering the White Witch's wand and breaking at least some of her magic-

And now, a noise could be heard, distracting him from his examination of the spectacular flooring that had captured his attention for more than ten minutes, following the work of art slowly around, careful of where he trod. But now, he could hear voices, hushed in conversation, the stray peel of laughter and a hurried 'shushing' sound that indicated that those he heard did not wish to be found.

Still... he didn't get to where he was today without the inquisitive mind that he was noted for, he decided as he crept further down the hallway, pausing when he spotted the alcove and the blank of a tall, blonde head. The High King Peter, of course, displaying that the truth was often in the rumour as he leant in to whisper into the ear of the latest woman he was attempting to charm, and from her quiet giggles, it seemed as though he was more than likely succeeding.

He looked on, seeing the highest power in Narnia after Aslan leaning against the wall of the alcove, doing his best to remain practically invisible as he looked on – he knew that he shouldn't be looking, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. You could never tell when this sort of thing would be useful, after all, and then- then, the High King rested himself further into the stone alcove where he and his near-conquest had secreted themselves, and Doksfeld caught a sure and sudden glimpse of the woman with the blonde man.

His heart skipped more than a few beats and his stomach almost dropped through him and into his shoes.

Serice. Serise, his wife and lady, was standing with a man who, according to politics, Lord Doksfeld couldn't even punch for this infidelity that besmirched the relationship he had with the woman that he loved. The politician clenched his fists and swallowed his anger before turning on his heels and beginning to make his way back from where he'd come, doing his best to stay silent, unable to make so much as a scene after so much work had gone into the pursuit of peace. He would make his mark on the High King's mind in his own way.

It was quite simple, really, to make his way to King Edmund's chambers, ever grateful for the first day when he had been shown their location on his first day, just in case he was unsatisfied with anything, or if he might need any help during his stay.

Well, he needed help now, and he was going to take it.

He knocked at the heavy wood of the door briefly, then folded his hands before himself and waited in silence, listening to the quick shuffle of papers from within the chambers – of course, the shadowed one would be just the sort to keep state matters a secret, even if it were from his own siblings as was more than evident when he heard his voice calling out.

"You can come in, Lucy," came the Just's voice from within the room.

The Lord couldn't deny his surprise that the man kept his door unlocked, but apparently, he felt at ease enough and so well-protected that he could indeed do so. Then again, he doubted that anyone would enter these chambers without the King's express permission unless an assassination of sorts really was on the cards – and it wasn't as though they would confront Edmund face-to-face; many people had heard of the young man's prowess on both the battlefield and in the field of politics. Still, he quelled his shock and pushed the door open, stepping over the threshold and glancing about him at the splendour that was the royal man's rooms; and he had thought that their guest wing was beautiful. It was positively crudely furnished in comparison to this.

He had to give the young King credit where it was due, really, because he didn't say the obvious 'You're not Lucy,'; instead, he stood, a smile that held more ice than warmth on his lips as he took a step forward to shake Doksfeld's hand, ever the man of business – ever the politician.

The Lord's grip was strong and firm; quite a bit like his brother's – it didn't take a genius then, to figure out that with the way Doksfeld held himself and from this similarity that he was most certainly a leader, and an open one at that. There was no room in this sort of man for the subtle control of power that Edmund often exercised, giving the other the illusion of power, yet letting them have none. Still, it was what they thought that was important: what they failed to understand couldn't hurt them, and Edmund wasn't about to shatter the illusion that he and the rest of his family's subjects benefited from on a regular basis; it was better this way. He raked his eyes across the older man's face, searching for the crack in the public mask that absolutely must be there – and then he found it, the slight flicker in the Lord's eyes that made it all fall apart.

"How can I be of any assistance?" Edmund asked, ever in keeping with the formalities even as he allowed a brief flash of concern to cross over his face; a small piece of care that should have been all it took for the mask to crumble and the truth to spill out.

The King had a fair idea of what /had/ happened, though – he hadn't seen Doksfeld pick up on it, but if there was anything the younger Pevensie prided himself on, it was most certainly his ability to observe the events around him; things were so much easier when you had all the facts and suspicions in existence. In fact, he was surprised that no one else had picked up on the fleeting glances between the High King and Lady Serice, but then, he had come to expect this sort of thing – it was a wonder that any of them had eyes, how little they actually used them.

Lord Doksfeld gave no answer, instead releasing the King's hand and taking the moment passing between the two of them to inspect the young man about whom so little was actually known – he didn't speak, he still refused to give a clue that Edmund could work off as though he'd known nothing, as though the events were such a shock that they were as new to Edmund as they clearly were to Doksfeld; it wouldn't do for the blame to shift to both Kings rather than just Peter, for the eyes of an outsider who did not understand the joint-monarchy between the four Pevensies would only see Edmund's failure to stop Peter when he had seen it coming well in advance. It was almost the same sort of blame that the shadowed King could remember from a life long-past in half-there whispers, almost alike to a painting; if you saw a bad thing taking place and failed to assist the person in need, you were just as bad as the antagonists in the same picture. Edmund had never been able to abide by this if only because his brother seemed to live by this rule; but Edmund had learned long ago from his own mistakes that if you interfered, then that person-in-need might never learn an important lesson. And while it still haunted to this day, while he might have wished for aid at the time, Edmund had since learned from Jadis what it meant to be effective and to be powerful, but he had also seen her wrongs and learned how to shape her ways so that he could help his brother and sisters rule. If Peter had taken the chance, believed Lucy, then he would have stopped Edmund from ever meeting the Witch in those circumstances or, if he had met her, then Peter would have waded in and rescued him almost instantly.

Or he would have taken his younger brother's place and been too weak to come through on the other side. The King suppressed a shudder – no, Peter had to learn one way or another, and it was for this reason that Edmund would clear up after him and pretend to accidentally show him the consequences of his actions. He would understand one day.

He knew the dance, had performed it more than once in the name of Narnia and her people; he knew what to do and how to behave when his arm was reached for without his person's permission. He graciously accepted the hand about his wrist, gave as good as he got when he was tugged over to the older man's lips. He faked the way that his lips moved, compliant and submissive; comforting. He fully intended to take lead later on, refused to give himself away in any terms that were not ultimately his own. Because this is what his love for Narnia, his love for his brother and sisters came to – he would do anything, for all of them, but he would never degrade himself again; not the way that he had that first time. Never again.

He knew what the Lord was seeking – comfort and revenge; he understood perfectly what these moves meant, how Doksfeld hoped to take away a thing which the High King cared deeply for; Edmund was blessed in all honesty, that while he knew he was at this moment considered an object, that it was not Lucy or Susan in his place right now. He relented, for a few moments as he was tugged bodily over to the bed, knowing that he could duck away and leave any time; but he wouldn't. If the King left now, he could forget all about peace of any kind – Doskfeld and his country would take a different sort of revenge on Edmund's brother, a sort of revenge that would make thousands suffer. The Shadow King had changed since his youth; he'd seen since the Battle of Beruna that it was not himself as an individual that really mattered – it was his status as a monarch and how he could help his subjects more than anything. How he could help them and how he could save them. The personal sacrifice was worth it for the safety of millions.

He let himself be led toward his own bed and over to the blue silken sheets, a colour and material that he'd decided on the moment he was first asked what he wanted; it was almost a reminder in some ways. He didn't allow the gentle push that was the Lord's attempt at getting him to lie down. No, this was where his gentle compliance ended. He didn't need words as he took control, his hands roaming of their own accord, careful and searching. He would offer more than Doksfeld wanted, or at least, more than the man thought he wanted. He would push him gently to the edge and pull him back again, lead him there over and over until he finally felt as though he'd had some minor victory in these actions, that the fleeting touches and the occasional gasp in the hour or so that the King wasted on him had gone some way to easing the pain and anger he felt.

Later, the foreign diplomat would leave King Edmund's chambers and take absolutely no care in making his way back to the guest wing of the castle, making it an absolute certainty that he would be spotted and seen as many times as possible. Reports would reach High Queen Susan and she would keep the information back for as long as she could, as long as it took for peace to be sustained and for the Lord and Lady to leave for their country once more.

"I'm not twelve anymore, Peter!" came the defence from Edmund because hell, it was never more true than it was now, and of course, it was expected of him. He had to argue because if he didn't, then who knew what his brother might think? What he might do? What he might suspect?

Peter was unsure of how he had found out – things seemed to be something of a blur, but he was fairly sure that he had heard something from Susan. He remembered sitting in the throne room with Lucy, presiding over requests from various Narnians who desperately needed this or that in order to survive midwinter.

Without Edmund there – come to think of it, he'd not seen Ed since their guests had finally taken their leave – to help him, give a nod to approve everything that the High King wanted to do and stop him before it went too far, the eldest soon found himself saying "Yes," to absolutely everything; even the really ridiculous things that he had no way of realistically fulfilling. Lucy was no help either, nodding enthusiastically at every little thing whenever the Magnificent thought to look over to her. She was all for everyone being happy and nothing out of place. It seemed that neither the High King or Queen quite understood the basic fact that not everyone could be happy; some always had to go without or suffer so that everyone else could get along with the basics. It was simply the way it worked.

The adjurations came to a halt when the High Queen approached the thrones, and the guards sent their subjects away; it was only when Peter sent their younger sister to refer their advisors as to what had been agreed upon that she finally spoke, there on both personable and official levels that she didn't want Lucy to end up overhearing. She needed shielding from this sort of thing.

"Peter––"

"The Magnificent," the High King added for her, a silly sort of grin on his face as he failed, and not for the first time, to understand that the matter his sister was here on was something delicate that truly needed to be taken seriously.

She looked at him for a moment, her stern expression exchanging itself for something softer. She had to remember that he didn't know yet. He had no idea about what had happened, so really, he could be forgiven for his poor attempt at a joke; it wasn't his fault, after all.

"Peter," she repeated, holding up a hand to stop any inappropriate additions before they came. He really was like a child sometimes. "Peter, it's Edmund."

He immediately sat up straighter, fists clenched on the gilded edges of his throne, all ready to jump to whatever battle or aid he might be needed for. But this wasn't something that he could fight. It was too late and would damage too much.

"He's safe," she assured him as soon as she could, watching his unease deflate ever so slightly, but still, he was wary – and rightly so. He'd learned some things, it seemed, "But I've had a word from one of the magpies that keeps watch over his place in the castle. On their last night here, Lord Doksfeld was seen- seen leaving his chambers, leaving Ed's chambers. I went to see Edmund the first moment that I could, and he told me, he's fine, but he said it was something he had to do. For you and Narnia."

Susan had been unable to get too much from their younger brother, only non-specifics and the vague suggestion that something like this had happened before... But from what she had managed to gather from his hints was that he had given something up, given something to Doksfeld that meant he truly had lost something. It hadn't taken her long to work out what the something was, and she'd spent an hour or two with the young King, reassuring him that everything would be fine despite the fact that he didn't seem to need it – outwardly, at least. He'd made her promise, however, he'd practically begged her not to breathe a word of what had taken place until the visitors left for their home. It was to keep peace, he'd said, and of course, she understood that. They couldn't have Peter clambering up to 'defend Edmund's honour' and start swinging his sword about with no real purpose.

She'd waited, bided her time as had been requested of her... but now her older brother knew; and from the angry fire burning in his eyes, it looked as though he understood as well – perhaps too well.

Telling him that Edmund had requested to be alone so that he could sort out new trades agreements with the country had no effect; Peter was the High King and he would see who he pleased when he wanted to. The authority of the High Queen absolutely faded to naught when it was compared to his. He pushed past her and went in search of the Just, that same look of anger spread over his face.

How could he have been so stupid?

It wasn't even that it had most definitely been a man who had lain with the younger King; if Peter was frank, he couldn't care less whether his brother favoured women or not - he knew that after the Witch, the younger boy had no reason to enjoy their company. No, instead, it was the fact that Edmund - not the King, no, just Edmund - had been used; in the name of revenge and politics and keeping the peace without something as horrific as another war. No, it was the fact that Edmund had lost the last shred of innocence he ever could have taken away from Narnia to someone who had never really wanted it in the first place. That his brother had lost without even the whisper of a gain was what bothered the High King.

But instead of admitting to all this, he began to shout, asking how Edmund could have been so foolish when the Lord could have done something evil – something disastrous like slitting the monarch's throat in his sleep, a royal assassination. They both knew however, without the need for words, that something like that wouldn't have happened. Peter knew that Doksfeld had achieved his purpose, taken his revenge on him for his infidelity in the most indirect way that he must have known would hurt the High King the most when family were the only way to truly harm him- there was no need for death, in any case.

It was Edmund who knew that there was no need for a war on a large scale here; peace was easy to keep when your battle was kept private, between men and- and women. He supposed that this meant that he was the woman if both Doksfeld and Peter were the men; the High King had defiled the relationship between Lord and Lady, and so, the opposing nobleman on his quest for retaining peace between their countries had taken it upon himself to blemish the kinship between the High King and the shadowed King, the 'woman' who stood in the background, dealing in subtlety where swinging a sword simply wouldn't do. Edmund knew all of this, that his thoughts and feelings hadn't mattered when he had accepted the advances of Doksfeld - he believed in Peter, in their country, and above all, in peace; if a war could be avoided and matters dealt with on a esoteric scale, then the Just King would use everything at his disposal to make sure that the act-first,-think-later approach of his older brother would not make him hold regrets that he would undoubtedly live with for the rest of his natural life.

So it was then, that he accepted the blame - Peter did not need to know that it was his fault, that if he had just thought or put his pride aside to ask for help just once, all of this could have been avoided. He did not need to know that if Edmund could have the time over again, he wouldn't change a single step in the cruel dance that had been keeping the peace of Narnia. He would do the same again a thousand times over if it meant that none would have to suffer for what he had done ever again.

"You're not twelve. But you're just the King, Edmund. You report to me, whatever you do. You ask my permission before you do something so... so stupid!" Peter said, already beginning to advance on his brother, wanting to be able to do something to show him just how stupid he was being.

"Just the King," the younger of the two went so far as to sneer at this. People had died in the past to be just a King. "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's a joint-monarchy. You may be the High King-" The words 'I may have sworn my allegiance to you' went unsaid, "-but you don't always know best! That's why there's four of us in charge. Not just you."

Stupid. Stupid. How dare Peter call him stupid? When it was Edmund who made sure everything ran smoothly? Who stopped things before they went too far because Peter just wasn't capable of it on his own? Edmund hadn't been stupid for years. Not since––

It took him a few moments before he finally managed to associate his stinging cheek with his brother's raised arm. He'd hit him, he'd––

And then, apparently, their raised voices had reached other parts of the castle because suddenly, Lucy was there, and she was pulling Peter away, and he was going willingly because they all knew that there was no chance of any reason reaching the High King when he was like this, when all he could think were irrational thoughts.

Edmund looked on in silence, fist clenched from where he'd been prepared to fight back just so that he could defend his choice.

Peter was a small casualty and his brother forgot the disappointed look on his face with the knowledge that through barely grazing Peter's nerves, he was saving their people and his family a world of hurt sure to come.

High King Peter, the Magnificent, was to blame for his own mistakes, and in some roundabout way, it was down to him that King Edmund, the Just, made all of the right decisions in order to defend their Kingdom. It was strange thing, their system, and with only the shadowed One in understanding of it, it was sure to succeed. This much, he had learned from his own mistakes and it was those that he could not blame Peter for.

End.

OOC: Unbeta'd and unedited, this is something that I've been working on for quite a long while. I finished it a few moments ago and since then piecing it together, I've not had the chance to read it. I hope this is acceptable. Thanks to everyone who takes the time to go through it!