The bright melody sprang joyously around the ballroom.
Queen Lucy smiled as she watched her people dance to the jubilant tune. They twirled through the hall gracefully, people of varied shapes and sizes sliding in and around one another in traditional dance (or in the case of the centaurs, cantering about clumsily to the beat of the music), before once more stepping in line and neatly exchanging partners. Even not considering the lively music (of which she was very fond), the simple sight alone of her merry subjects filled her with more joy than the actual event they were celebrating: her sixteenth name day.
She herself sat away from the clamour, enjoying the festivities best from the sidelines. Outside, the orange sun set over the sea, its shimmering reflexion cast across the whole room as if the sky itself celebrated this day.
Lucy sighed contently, eyes twinkling and a sense of sedate delight washing over her. Her gaze swept around, finding it wonderous how such simple pleasures could make life worth living. She froze upon her sister's form, pausing as she spotted the other woman amongst the crowd.
Her sister, High Queen Susan, stood out. She always did, wherever she went and whatever company she kept. Tonight she wore a fine gown of lilac-pale and silver starburst, the light of sunset casting it almost into forbidden colours. Her sister's skin glowed from without... and yet, there was a sense of discomfort in her posture, Lucy thought. A sense of not wanting to be here.
How curious.
Susan was dancing with the young, Doornish prince who had travelled far to be here tonight on this fortuitous occasion. Even from her own throne clear across the room, Lucy could see how the smile on the other woman's face was forced. Her sister's smile always reached her eyes. Always. Even in the worst of times, Susan never allowed her tumultuous moods to diminish the intensity of her smile. Never. They were blinding as the sun.
It was troubling to see one fail to reach Susan's eyes.
Lucy wondered if she ought to move to step in, to snatch her sister away from the surely boorish foreign prince and lead her in a dance of friends. It became unnecessary for her to do so only a moment later.
Clearly, she was not the only one to have noticed her sister's well-concealed discontent.
Without any prior indication he intended to do so, the High King rose from his throne by her own, a half-full goblet of wine abandoned carelessly on its broad arm. He strode briskly forth with a decidedly determined set to his jaw, until he reached their sister's side (how easy this was made by the way the endless crowd parted for him without resistance) and was standing firm behind the young prince's back, forcing him to relive his grip on Susan and address the High King of Narnia.
Lucy was hardly close enough to hear the discourse exchanged but, given the way the young man stepped aside, she could assume her brother had requested their sister to dance. The thick crowds yawned at their centre, affording their High King and Queen a respectful berth; Susan took Peter's hand delicately — gratefully. The two of them got into position and, with no direction necessary, the band struck up a new song; the music fell away from the sparkling tune of before into brief transition, then turned over itself and spread out into something stirringly gentle, swimming with warmth.
She looked on with curious apprehension as Susan's shoulders became rigid in response to their brother's strong arm wrapped about her slender frame, her sister's wide and pale, almost in panic. Briefly, Lucy regretted not having been the one to rise to her sister's aid. But, as Susan allowed herself to be spun around the ballroom in Peter's arms, Lucy watched whatever her sister was suppressing evaporate, easing away with every nimble step and twirl.
"I must say, sister mine, I never thought I would see the day our dear Peter would willingly subject himself to dance," Edmund said from beside her.
Lucy's heart gave a startled lurch — she had forgotten he was there — before picking up again at a hard, rapid pace like a horse's gallop or the fierce beat of a war-drum.
She swallowed and collected herself. "Tis true," she replied calmly, voice not betraying her nerves, "yet the sight does not surprise me. Peter often used to dance with me when I was but a child."
"Ah, but you are yet a child, Lu," Edmund teased, free hand reaching out to tug playfully on a strand of hair fallen from her bun.
"I am no child," she retorted stubbornly. "I stopped being such long ago." She harrumphed, making her brother chuckle. "Besides," she went on, "you are little older than I, brother mine, let us never forget that."
A moment after saying this, she flushed scarlet at the reminder.
"Well, my Queen, never shall you stop being my baby sister." Edmund smiled wide and held out his goblet in salute.
In this instant, the Valiant Queen of Narnia felt nothing like her title implied she should be. Instead, Lucy fought to force down the bile threatening to rise in her throat.
"My apologies, King Edmund," she said suddenly, reversing to extreme formality as she rose hurriedly from her seat. She curtsied. "I have just recalled I am to meet with the nymphs in the gardens. I would not do to keep them waiting."
Edmund's smile fell but he was quick to conceal this. "Of course, my Queen—" he rose briefly and bowed "—and a happy name day to you."
Lucy wasted no time in fleeing the castle proper to seek shelter amongst the overflowing wildflowers of her favoured garden.
Forget. That's all Lucy, youngest Queen of Narnia, wished to do.
Forget. Forget it all.
Her shame. Her feelings. Forget everything she knows and once thought she knew.
Lucy just wanted to erase herself, to empty her mind and heart. She wanted it desperately. There was nothing, she believed, she had ever wanted as desperately as this. But even that want was a lie... because, as much as she wanted to forget what had happened, her stubborn heart was not so gracious as to allow her to do so. And her mind — oh, her clouded, misguided mind — refused to stop replaying the same moments over and over (and over and over and over—) behind her eyes, torturing her.
The salt of the sea left a sharp, tangy taste in her mouth even as drawing it in burned her breath beneath her chest. Lucy barely had a chance to breathe as heavy, gurgling, paradoxically-hot water was forcefully expelled from her lungs. Through the fog and wind and sense of satire, she felt something striking at her back. No, not something but someone. They were shouting. Her ears rang and her mind was a dizzying haze, she could hardly discern who the voice belonged to, much less what it was saying.
It was not until after one long, hacking coughing fit (where she sputtered and choked and drowned all over again on the water her body tried to expel from her lungs) that Lucy regained any of her senses. And a shame unlike any she had ever known washed in and threatened to consume her like the ocean consumes the pebbles on the shore.
"What were you thinking, Lucy?" Edmund growled.
Had he always been a talking wolf?
She didn't think so.
With great effort, Lucy heaved and rolled and flopped over to look at her brother properly. She attempted to speak but all that passed her lips was a broken sob. Her whole frame trembled with adrenaline and cold and the force of her cries.
She felt, more than saw, Edmund soften at her state. Had her tears created the sea? Salt enough to raise a city-state on the back of its worth.
"Oh Luce," Edmund sigh-sobbed tremulously in her ear, wrapping his arms around her shivering form and pulling her in tight to him.
A fresh wave of tears came. Two city-states.
He held her for some hours in the biting cold and wet, which seeped into them. A vigilant observer, the moon rode high in the sky, casting silver light over the sea, until Lucy had cried herself dry. And still, he continued to clutch her. His body radiated warmth around her. Again, she felt invisible chains encircling her, tightening. He was heavy and imposing and he held her so very close. Too close.
She came to her senses.
"Stop it, let go of me!" she commanded harshly, the previous enervation disregarded in a jolt of energy.
Her hands pressed into his chest, shoving him away from her. He resisted and then, seeming shocked by her sudden outburst, released her all at once; he went tumbling back onto the shore.
Never one to be kept down for long, this did not deter him. He was sprawled out on the sand for but moments before pulling himself back to his feet.
"Do you mind explaining to me what was the meaning of this?" he demanded, towering over her where she suddenly wilted, shivering and so very small. At her non-reply, he said, "What, in the name of Aslan, possessed you to take a boat and enter a cave in the dead of night? Fully dressed, for that matter! How was any of this a good idea?"
Again, his only reply was her stubborn silence. She watched his temper rise, ready for the ineluctable flare.
"Answer me!" he growled, wolflike again.
"I wanted to kill myself!"
As soon as the words had slip-tumbled from her mouth, a sensation of dread flooded her the same as that of before, creeping up on her back in the cave. The moment she had realised there was only one way to escape her own shameful truth, for she couldn't forget.
Edmund went stiff. "Lu—"
"I carry this shameful, disgusting secret inside my heart," she confessed, cutting off whatever rebuke he intended to give her. "I have tried everything to wash this sin away, purge it from my heart, my mind. But it has wormed itself into my entire being and I could find no way to be rid of it but to rid the world itself of me, rather than to taint it with my continued existence.
"So I dressed in my heaviest gown and waited until all in the castle were fast asleep. I left its confines and came down here, to the sea, with the intent to drown myself. I wished not for any to see, so I took my boat into the caves beyond the cove and jumped." She was weeping again, now (how could there be any tears left in her?) "I cannot know if it was a good idea or not. All I knew, right until the moment I jumped, was that it was the only solution."
She rose weakly to her feet, supported poorly by aching legs, and nearly tumbled over herself.
Edmund's hand automatically reached out to steady her. She recoiled from his touch, shouting that he must never touch her. Lucy saw his dismay, the way he swallowed thickly and his eyes filled up with despair. Of her. For her.
"No! Do not pity me! You — you of all people should not pity me," she said. "If only you knew what I... You couldn't understand! You would only—"
"Then tell me!" her brother shouted, slicing through her vitriol. "You say that I would not understand, yet you give me no insight on the matter... How am I to understand that which you will not share with me? Am I supposed to guess what this terrible secret of yours is, sister mine? Or must I prise it from your lips, begging on my knees? Is that want you want, sister, to see me beg for you to confide your troubles? Or would you prefer—"
"Stop it!" Lucy demanded again, sounding very much like an enraged woman and lost child all at once. "That is enough. I do not wish to speak of this any longer," she said, turning to leave.
"Don't you walk away from me, Lucy! Don't you dare!" she heard him shout behind her. To her relief, he seemed not to be following.
She quickened her step.
"A sad sight it is," Edmund spat after her, "to see the Valiant Queen running away from her troubles like a coward!"
Then nothing more.
After the incident on the shore, Lucy took care of avoiding her siblings. Edmund in particular, she avoided as a plague. At first, she had feared her brother told their elder siblings about her little stunt; that fear alone had her locking herself alone inside her chambers, refusing all company. It was only at the gentle urging of a dismayed but ever-kind Mr Tumnus that she eventually expand the limits of her self-imposed exile to cover her entire wing of the castle. Even then, not until Peter, in his non-familial guise of High King, marched himself into her chamber earlier one morning and put his foot down, did she reintegrate herself to court.
Which worked well enough for everyone, as Yule celebrations were well underway by then.
With the help of Susan, eventually, Lucy was able to forget her troubles. She locked them away in a box, a treasure chest as in the old stories of seafarers and gold-plundering rascals. She hid it with no map and no X to mark the spot. She never wanted to find it again.
It worked well enough, yes. At least until the grand New Years ball.
Over months, Lucy's burden had grown lighter and easier to manage under the attentive care of Susan and her own faun friends. However, each and every time she thought she may persevere, that her respite might last any significant amount of time beyond 'just for now', Edmund would come around a corner in the castle and their eyes would lock. Or she would be quietly having tea in the gardens with her sister and their ladies, then he would impose himself among them... and the cycle reset. She would try to avoid her youngest brother and he, in turn, would plant himself firmly in her path like an arrogant, pigheaded dryad insinuating itself in soils it was not wanted.
"Sisters!" said Peter on the last morning of the year, shocking Lucy out of a daze. "Merry year's end!"
He smiled and wrapped his arms around each of them in turn, pressing kisses to their cheeks.
"Merry year's end, my Lord!" they said customarily in return.
Lucy did not miss the way her sister's cheeks stained pink and her eyes, shining with emotion that made her own heart ache.
"Will you be joining us for tea this morning? I could have one of my ladies fetch us another cup," Susan asked, gesturing to the clustering ladies sitting at their own set table.
"My apologies, ladies, but I must decline your invitation," their brother lamented, offering them a quick bow in consolation. "I have some last minutes business to attend to but you feel free to enjoy your morning, you have a busy day ahead of you."
Her sister's face fell, it was only slightly but obvious enough Lucy picked up on it before Susan broke into an easy smile. "Another time then, brother," she said.
Peter bowed again before turning on his heel, leaving them to their thoughts.
Sometime around midday, both of them found themselves getting ready in Susan's chambers.
"Oh, please sister! Will you not come out and let me look at you?" her sister pleaded.
Lucy hid obstinately behind the dressing screen. She sighed down at herself and relented. After a moment or two, she emerged from the shelter of the screen. Susan gasped at the sight of her.
Slowly, she turned herself to face the full-length mirror and could hardly contain her own gasp. She had donned a long, cream-coloured chiffon dress that flowed down past her ankles and a long overdress in plum velvet. The two fabrics were at heavy contrast, one flowing when she shifted and the other steadfast and shining. On closer inspection, Lucy noted the overgrown was encrusted with a scattered arrangement of shimmering stones, giving the illusion she wore the very night sky. Descending from her breast, secured by a large topaz, were long thin ropes of the same stones.
"Sister dearest, you look beautiful!" Susan breathed, a hand at her lips. "Sit, sister, sit!" she exclaimed excitedly (causing Lucy to jump), gesturing at the seat of her vanity. Once Lucy settled before it, her sister smiled and said, "Prep your hair. I'll put on my gown, then help you finish up."
Susan slipped off behind the modesty screen.
Blinking slowly at her sister's unexpectedly effulgent countenance, Lucy rose the brush to her head and began working the tangles from her hair. She paid little attention to the passing time, lost in her thoughts, but it seemed only moments later that Susan was behind her again, twirling, inspecting her reflection in the mirror. She asked Lucy for her opinion on her chosen garment.
While Lucy's own gown was quite simple, though by no means plain, her sister's was a work of art.
Susan's dress was made entirely of chiffon in pearl white and periwinkle. The gown, much as her own, was off the shoulder, but while her own's sleeves framed her arms, Susan's fluttered in gentle waves down the length of hers. The nacreous white contrasted beautifully with the single layer of blue, cut short at the front and coming to a low point at the back, golden silk tracing its edges and running across the bodice in an intricate, swirling pattern with stars that seemed to fall at the other woman's feet.
What wonder could be wrought of fabric. Though surely much of the beauty was afforded the gown by virtue of the one wearing it.
"You look magnificent, my Queen," Lucy eventually managed to say with a bright smile. "Will you not be cold, however? That gown, while beautiful, does not look to be warm."
"I thought so too, but none ever allow the castle to chill," Susan said, shrugging a shoulder. "If it becomes too frigid, I shall simply throw on some furs."
Lucy rolled her eyes and pushed back the stool at the vanity, letting her sister sit in her stead. Susan reached for the brush she was holding but Lucy pulled it out of her reach, grinning.
"No, let me."
Gently, Lucy began to pull the brush through her sister's long, chestnut locks. They were soft and scarcely even knotted.
"Your hair is getting awfully long," she noted after a few minutes. "Have you thought perhaps of trimming it?"
Susan shook her head slightly, jostling the brush, as a blush began to rise up her cheeks. "N-no, I just mean to continue to keep it styled," she said quietly, reaching forwards to fiddle with her jewellery box. "Speaking of hair, you intend to keep yours down?"
"I do."
Thereafter, the sisters continued to prepare in relative silence, until Lucy spoke up again.
"Su?" she asked tentatively, opting to refer to her sister in a much familiar tone than the formality she generally despised. "Have you ever been in love?"
A sadness washed over her sister's face, one Lucy felt she would surely recognise in herself if she were to examine her own expression in the mirror.
"I think I have," the elder woman whispered. She blinked rapidly, as if to clear her vision of something that was not actually there. "Why do you ask?"
Lucy smiled wanly and shook her head, deciding against delving into such a delicate matter at this time. "Just curious," came her easy reply. "Come. As queens of this land, we truly mustn't keep our people waiting."
High King Peter had never been much of a dancer.
He attended to the dance floor with as much duty as he did the battlefield (that is to say, with great reluctance rather than joyful enthusiasm).
Occasionally, a visiting noblewoman would brave through and invite him to the floor. He would smile politely at her and, if his sisters were watching him, begrudgingly lead her down the floor, among the swirling couples who were of a merrier disposition than he. Once there, his approach to dance was simple: a step to the left and one to the right, a step forward and one back again. His feet swaying lightly with each step he took. Despite all the lessons he received in this area, the High King remained without rhythm or interest in the subject.
It was several tedious years post his (and his siblings') coronation before their attendees caught on to his distaste and finally stopped approaching him altogether. Now, years again after that time, the only ladies he would grace with a dance were his sisters. Even those occasions of dance between them were few and far between.
The High Queen, on the other hand, had long loved the art of dance. She always had, even back in England, which was now only a fuzzy memory, bounded by her smile. When his sister first discovered the Narnian dances, she threw herself into this cultural importance in earnest and took it upon herself to teach him (and their brother and sister, also) the steps to every dance. From the day of their arrival, for every celebration held within the mighty walls of Cair Paravel, dozens of eager noblemen would flood in for the chance to dance with the graceful and radiantly beautiful High Queen of Narnia.
As much as she willing took to the floor with these princes, more often she showed preference to dance with him, the High King.
So when, this night, he saw fit to rise from his throne and approach hers with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and an outstretched hand, he knew she would not refuse him. Much as the time he tapped the shoulder of some rude prince she was dancing with many moons past, with a barely polite 'May I cut in?'
No one dared refuse the High King of Narnia. Not even High Queen Susan.
Unlike his royal siblings, King Edmund was neither indifferent to but nor was he overjoyed with dancing. While he certainly appreciated the allure of dancing, understanding that in itself it was a subtle art in manipulation, seduction and diplomacy, he hardly approached the activity with the alacrity of his eldest sister. He danced when it was strictly necessary and, in so doing, pleased the visiting dignitaries by entertaining the princess and duchesses accompanying them. He would too often have a line of waiting partners nearly as long as Queen Susan's and, although he liked their company fine, it was only tepidly he could regard them. His true, heartfelt attention was always set upon Queen Lucy.
Which was how he was instantly able to note her absence from this evening's festivities.
His youngest sister revelled in dance. Even if she would never match their other sister for grace, she approached the pastime with an enthusiasm that could be rivalled only by that of the fauns. It was them with whom she danced with most. This was well, for he knew also that his dearest Lucy was far too clever for any of the men who haunted the ballroom. No, when men dared to ask the youngest Queen of Narnia to the floor, he saw red.
At balls, Edmund spent most his time offering her his hand, glaring dangerously at anyone who would dare think to cut in. That he was not having to do so tonight caused a great deal of unease in him, something indefinable stirring up from the pit of his stomach.
He could have sworn he had seen his youngest sister not but a minute previous. With this certainty in mind, he came to the conclusion he should seek her out. Edmund pushed off from his throne and departed the festivities without a word.
Lucy had found herself unable to remain in the ballroom for long. This was not because she took no joy in dancing or, in fact, the rest of the festivities; it was because being so close to the object of her desires caused her both immense want and a great deal of pain. So, once having finished up a song hand to shoulder with Prince Corin, she removed from the celebrations, heading for the library.
Despite whatever her siblings might have erroneously thought, she loved books. They allowed her to explore worlds she could barely imagine, living lives ten times as adventurous as her own or, just as often, ten times more peaceful. More importantly, they kept her mind occupied. Let her step outside herself. Helped her avoid. Helped her forget.
Tonight, against all reason, Edmund found her at her encampment.
In a well-cushioned window seat, Lucy sat curled with her feet tucked beneath her and face buried in a book. The glass of the wide window was cool against her back and the thick, coarse paper of the tale was warm at her fingertips.
A sudden low, rich sound shattered her solitude. A throat clearing.
Her head jerked up from the book, startled.
"My Lord, I did not see you," she managed to say in a reasonably level voice.
Her heart was hammering now inside her chest and oxygen seemed suddenly irrational hard to come by. But Lucy would not crumble. No. She was the Valiant Queen, after all — the Valiant Queen. She focused on this thought, this assurance of her station, and demanded her body relax, breath even out. It did. Her heart, however, was no slave to her thoughts and refused to cave to her wishes. It was, therefore, only an exterior calm for which she had to settle; there would be time aplenty to give into her instinct to panic later, when she was alone.
"You have been avoiding me, my Queen."
Lucy offered a tight smile in response. "Nonsense, brother."
"I wish you would not lie to me, Lucy," Edmund sighed, moved closer until there was barely a couple of steps between them. Reaching out, his hands grasped hers tightly. He stared unwaveringly into her eyes. "You have to talk to me, Luce, please," he implored.
She could not bring herself to say anything, much less keep looking at him. Her eyes broke contact with his long before she bothered to turn her head aside; down to her lap, where their hands were joined. A fresh wave of emotional agony rushed through her and her heart stumbled, making her lightheaded. Her reticence only made him grip her hands tighter, stepping ever closer to her. He invaded every one of her senses and it was so hard to keep herself together.
This had to stop.
"Ed! Please, Ed, please..." she begged, aware of how pathetic she must sound.
She certainly felt pathetic. At least, the part of her that wasn't perversely overwhelmed by him did, anyway.
"What is it, Lucy? What is it that troubles you so?" he pressed. "I know there's something, otherwise you would never try to kill yourself. Please, just tell me..."
Too close. Too Edmund.
Her mind and want rebelled.
"You are!" she snapped, finally convincing herself to pull from his grasp. "You are the reason I tried to kill myself!" she admitted furiously, angry tears burning her eyes and threatening to spill hot over her cheeks.
Her brother stilled. Went slack.
"What, b-but—"
Fell short.
"What, have you nothing to say?" Lucy asked almost mockingly, words full of humourless laughter. "And here I was thinking you wanted answers," she hissed, a single tear escaping her eye to cut a path downwards. She hastily brushed it away with one trembling hand.
Dumfounded, Edmund took a reflexive step back. Lucy laughed again — this time bitterly — shaking her head.
"Just go, Edmund," she whispered, voice broken and small — it was the shore all over again. "Please... Just go and leave me to my thoughts. Alone. Leave and forget any of this has been said. I will try to forget as well."
And feeling there was really nothing more to be said, she turned around to face the cold window; outside, the wind had picked up from the still of the past weeks, now blowing brisk enough the glass vibrated lightly. She pressed a desolate hand against it, humming against her palm; it was as her heart — liable to shatter if it had to bear much more pressure.
Moments passed and her pain remained. Her mind tripped over itself, stuck, as it often became, on how desperate she was to just forget any of this ever happened. Forget so she could heal. So the pain could vanish. Forget because... how can anyone ache and grieve for something no longer recalled? In silence, one could begin anew.
The still that hung between them in the library was nothing to make King Edmund flee. No. Even if he had wanted to leave, to seek his own solitude and process what he had just heard, he would not have been able. Her words had rooted him to the spot because... he was the reason she had tried to take her own life?
Edmund could not accept this as truth. Had he not spent his life endeavouring to do everything in his power to ensure both his sisters were as happy as possible? Lucy even more so than Susan. Had he also not, at every turn, sought to bring a smile to his younger sister's face? Had he not cared for her, protected her, loved her? He assuredly had.
But then... perhaps that was the issue at hand?
How many times had the pried her from the arms of a visiting prince and had her dance with him instead, knowing she would not turn aside? Had he not on multiple occasions challenged a suitor in her honour, claiming their intentions with his sister were not as pure as they would have he and Peter believe? Perhaps the sweet Queen Lucy had come to grow tired of his constant hovering, his endless protection... Perhaps she just wanted to be free.
By any means.
But how could he leave her? Just the thought of being forced from her side nearly brought him to his knees and stilled his heart in his chest. How could he walk away from her, when the very thought of her in another man's arms filled him with uncontrollable rage?
But, he wondered if she might... if she might...
A feeling he could not quite describe, much less name settled over his whole person.
He could not - would not- be lead to believe that his youngest sister simply wished to free herself of him. What was it she had said that night by the shore?
Perhaps she...
He paused and took a breath. There was only one way to answer that question, which he dared not quite put into words even in the privacy of his own mind.
As one approached a nervous animal so as not to startle it, he slowly reached out to her, firmly wrapping his hands around her shoulders. She started. When she turned to him, it was with fresh tears streaming down her face, eyes glistening with those still yet to be shed. He was reminded violently of that night on the shore, when she had seemed to weep all the water that her body harboured in one continuous wave of despair. Here and now, her lips parted — probably preparing to tell him to leave her be — but any words that might have been on them died when his fingers found her chin.
"Tell me the truth, Lucy," he breathed quietly. "Please." He swallowed hard. "Are you... are you in love with me?"
His could hear his voice trembling and, for a moment, he feared she would feel how there was an echoing tremble in his fingers.
Lucy's sobs renewed, her whole body wracked with the force of her cries. "I'm so sorry."
His breath left him in a rush; when had he held his breath? He felt suddenly awash with… something he could not quite name. That nameless feeling from before settling into his very self.
And in the absence of being able to identify the emotion, he lowered his lips to hers.
Edmund had kissed girls before, before and after becoming a king. One occasion, back in England before the war began, had been with a girl named Paty; she had pecked him on the lips after presenting him with a valentine. He had traded kisses in Narnia, as well. Once or twice at balls with visiting noblewomen who had a little too much to drink. But any of those emotionless moments failed to compare to the kiss he now shared with Lucy.
This kiss was unlike any other. The sort that took one's breath away. That made the heart race in the chest. That had the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
It started out slow, just the slight pressure of his lips to hers. Gently at first, his tongue pressing along the length of her mouth; when her breath hitched and she parted her lips, Edmund took the opportunity to enter the warm cavern of her mouth and relished the way her arms came up to wrap themselves around his neck, pulling him closer. He briefly registered the taste of wine and tears. Then he was overcome with a taste he could only describe as being Lucy.
They pulled apart only to briefly to catch their breaths before their lips crashed together once more, drawn inexorably together. He kissed her feverishly for what could have been days, if not years. He kissed her like his life depended on it and, in the back of his mind, he thought that maybe it did... Because after having a taste of her, there was no hope he could go on living without this. He was unwilling to part from her. In lieu of this control, he allowed himself to kiss her for hours, breaking away only when the sounds of explosives going off in the distance frightened them apart.
The fireworks. The forgotten festivities.
He huffed a ragged laugh. "Happy New Year my Queen."
She smiled, a smile so bright he wondered if the sun would rise early if only to not be left behind by the radiance behind her smile. "Happy New Year, my King," she said sweetly, rising on her toes to press her lips against his once more.
Afterwards, as King Edmund held his sleeping Queen in his arms, he wondered if he was damned. If his soul would forever burn for loving this woman in his arms the way he did. He wondered what Aslan would say. Would the great lion strip him of his crown and force him into exile? What would become of dear Lucy should such a thing occur?
But as he lay there, his beloved sister wrapped in his embrace, her head tucked in the crook between his shoulder and neck, Edmund realised he would overcome whatever fate had in store for him... whatever fate had in store for them, he amended a moment later.
Because suddenly nothing mattered. Nothing but the woman sleeping beside him. For her, he would denounce his crown. He would gladly take up arms against his older siblings if it meant keeping Lucy in his arms.
For Lucy, he would turn his back on Narnia.
In the Great Hall, the High King paced to and fro before his throne, a grim expression haunting his stern features.
"They should be here by now," he grunted. "The winds are fair enough, no reason should there be for them to be delayed."
"Be calm, my brother." came the soothing voice of Queen Lucy. "I am sure all is well, for if any trouble had come their way I'm certain Susan would have sounded her horn."
She smiled unworriedly, calming the High King almost instantly. His youngest sister did always seem capable of radiating a sense of tranquillity that filled any room she was in.
"But it has been four moons since they departed!" the High King said, pausing in his repetitive passage across the small portion of floor at the foot of their thrones. "They should not be taking this long. They were supposed to return to us last month's eve," he sighed, taking a seat on the second Throne, on the fourth step and shot an apprehensive look at the throne beside him.
The young Queen looked pensive her gaze drifting to the eastern door which overlooked the vast (and currently conspicuously bare of a ship) sea bordering their realm. "Shall I ask the Merpeople to seek them as far as they dare go, and to send us notice to if they are spotted?" she asked.
"No," he sighed, resigned. "That will not be necessary. We needn't worry them."
His sister smiled at him agreeably and, following a small respectful curtsy, went to rest upon her own throne. Which unlike his own, stood on the third step directly opposite that designated for the High King and Queen of Narnia.
Long ago, shortly after their coming to Narnia, they had been told the people of this land were all brothers and sisters. However, unlike in their tales of the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve, the Narnians were related by race rather than blood. At first, all four of them had been uncomfortable with this information; they had all always thought themselves as brothers and sisters and that long persisted, but as time went on and years passed them by, the way he saw each of his siblings began to change. He thought he was not the only of them to now see one other in different lights.
Something curled in the High King's gut at this thought and Peter dared not pursue it further. Instead, he turned to his sister and suggested tea should be had while they waited for their royal siblings to arrive.
It was just after the (still concerned, though now less verbal) High King and his (seemingly much calmer) sister had finished their tea that the doors leading to the hall opened.
They paused, forgetting about returning to their thrones as they stared at the two breathtaking figures before them.
One a tall woman, gracious and beautiful, whose brown hair was twisted into elegant knots; her blue eyes were as clear as the sky on a warm spring day. Beside her, though a few short steps behind, came an equally tall man with smooth yet wise features; lean and muscular but not overly so, with rich, dark waves of hair cropped at his shoulders to hang in a shaggy sort of elegance. Deep eyes, also blue, that seemed to look through the skin and into one's very consciousness, to weigh the soul and know your every thought.
Both he and the young queen held their breath at the radiating beauty of the arriving pair, watching them approach with overwhelming relief and joy. Despite his elation, as High King, Peter had long since grown to be the most careful of his fellow rulers. He was first to speak but he kept his voice level, calm; it would not do for King Edmund and the High Queen to know he had been fretting at their continued absence only hours earlier.
"You are late, your majesties. You were to have returned by the end of last month," he stated simply as he rose to greet them.
The High Queen's eyes met his and, though they were precisely the same shade, he could not help but be reminded how his own always seemed sterner, more distant. This was not to his credit, oftentimes, he knew; her gaze quickly dropped and hardened.
"Do forgive us, my King, but it was by my counsel we had to delay our trip back home," she explained, briefly kissing her sister on each of her cheeks before heading to her own throne between his and Queen Lucy's.
He turned to face King Edmund. "Is this true brother?"
Edmund, who had been in the process of kissing their sister on the cheeks as Susan had a moment earlier, nodded in response to the query. The High King watched curiously as he whispered a few short words in her ear, causing the young woman to redden. He wanted to call them out, ask them to share that which they shared in hushed voices with the rest but decided that if it was something that would cause his ears to ring in embarrassment, he rather they kept it to themselves.
"Tis true, brother," he confirmed. "Susan felt we should not trust the armies of the people of Doorn, and that we might be headed to a trap upon our departure."
Instantly, the High King's eyes returned to Queen Susan's stiff form on his left, pinning her with a troubled gaze. "Was there any sort of trouble?" he demanded.
She shook her head in response. "None at all, my King. Our King Edmund was wise enough to do as I suggested and so we avoided the impending attack on my ship," she informed him flatly. "Edmund and I had the crewmen take the Silent Star a few winds off of Felimath and waited there. Not a day after we had supposedly set sail, the people of Doorn send their ship in pursuit of ours."
"We both thought it would be wise to let them sail further on before setting sail ourselves. We did, however, have to take a lengthier trail back home," said King Edmund.
"Have they no shame?" the High King all but bellowed as he shot up angrily from his seat. He returned to his agitated pacing. "Attacking the ship of the High Queen of Narnia while her royal brother, also himself a king, is on board! Surely they must still be in some sort of alliance with the White Witch to attempt such a nefarious move!"
"I do believe this is the very reason King Edmund chose I, as opposed to you, to accompany him to the Lone Islands," Queen Susan commented dryly. "You are such a brute... Always ready to carry on headfirst into needless battle. Did it ever occur to his Glorious Majesty that the people of the Lone Islands do not wish to be party to any sort of rule?" she asked condescendingly.
"Did they claim such?" he asked, sitting back down thoroughly cowed.
His brother and Queen Susan each nodded in turn.
"They did," Edmund confirmed.
Apparently having had enough of the stilted atmosphere he was responsible for creating, Queen Lucy, his ever thoughtful sister, disregarded the tension and spoke up, changing the subject.
"Oh please, let us not quarrel — we should be rejoicing! Regardless of events beyond our control, our Gentle Queen and Just King have returned to us, safe and sound," Lucy trilled. "Why spoil such fortuitous times with squabbling?"
"Oh Lucy," Susan laughed, "when did you become so wise?" She wondered, turning her gaze towards their eldest brother, a conspiratory look on her face. "Surely this is Edmund's doing, for I much doubt our magnificent brother cou-"
"Alright," Peter cut her off brusquely, ignoring the subsequent giggles shared by the two queens. "What then, does Queen Lucy suggest we do instead. How should we rejoice?" He asked, only just refraining from rolling his eyes at her.
"Well," she grinned, sharing another look with her sister, "the High Queen has been brooding far too much as of late, something I am sure is brought on by the passing of her favourite season. So, perhaps instead of squabbling, we should throw a feast in hopes of brightening up the castle, and in turn our sister's face."
Even he had to relent at this point, for he would never refuse either of his sisters anything (Susan above all). So convinced, he alerted the kitchens immediately and sent messengers out into their realm to tell that their envoys abroad had returned to them and that there would be a celebratory feast at the castle as soon as one could be put together. If it pleased his sister, rejoice they would.
In fact, a grand feast was held in the Great Hall at sundown, filled with much laughter and music and dancing.
Susan had always been pretty, Lucy noted thoughtfully one day during tea out in the Orchards. Her sister even glowed sometimes.
Yes, Queen Susan did indeed glow. It was a glow that radiated a special sort of beauty that was somehow also edged with sorrow nobody could touch. Only Lucy's eldest brother, Peter, was capable of chasing that sadness from her face... and yet, sometimes her sister watched Peter in such a way that suggested he was also the cause of her indefinable grief.
At home, things had been terrible. All of them had fought as cats tended to in the company dogs. Peter could hardly stand being in the same room as Edmund, and Susan was unable to go fifteen minutes without picking an argument. Lucy herself was always found in the middle of these numerous fights, trying desperately to ameliorate the situation between her siblings.
She never helped. Or so her siblings said.
Narnia had been good for them. Here, they were different. This land was everything they had not realised they were looking for. It was here, for the first time they stopped lying to themselves and to one another... Or at least, the place Edmund and Lucy had stopped lying to each other.
She feared her other siblings were not yet so enlightened.
Setting her cup down, Susan excused herself from the table, stating she needed to get some practice in with her bow. Peter remained a short while longer before young Freesia came to summon him away, some situation or another requiring his attention. Even Edmund had business to attend to and was forced to depart, leaving a soft kiss upon the crown of her head as he did so.
Lucy sighed in her solitude. Just over a year ago she had imposed this upon herself, fearful for what Edmund would say if he knew how she felt about him. Now, the isolation was entirely unwanted.
She wandered as the proverbial cloud had in an old poem she recalled from their childhood in England. Not over the hills and dens of the north but around her fair home of Cair Paravel. No matter how often Lucy explored the castle, it always seemed ready to offer her some new surprise. She knew not how it was that she made her way to the practice fields today, following her feet rather than any well-considered purpose, but she supposed it was because on some deep, unconscious level she felt she needed to spend time with her sister.
When she found herself at its edge, however, she was surprised to find Susan was not on the practice field. Nor was she, when Lucy looked, on her favoured bench beneath a trellis where the roses bloomed yellow and sweet every spring; her bow was abandoned there though, appearing forlorn without its mistress.
Her circuitous route took her through the gardens-proper, so it was out by a copse of nearly barren cherry trees that she suddenly heard raised voices just out of sight and stopped to listen in.
"But I have no want to leave," said a female voice with so much anguish Lucy found herself taken aback.
Such impassioned pain was rare in their peaceful Narnia. Instantly she identified the speaker as her elder sister and crept closer, pressing herself against a tree to conceal her eavesdropping, the shimmering orange of her dress blending smoothly with that of the leaves of her surroundings. It felt an awful lot like being a small child again. She knew it was rude to listen to private conversations but they were being quite loud and, to be fair, Lucy would have no need to if Susan would simply be more upfront about what has been upsetting her of late.
Now in view, Lucy could see two of her siblings standing together. One is Susan, as expected, and the other is Peter. The other woman's hands are tight and bloodless on their brother's broad shoulders and even from here her bright blue eyes are visibly stained with tears.
"And I wish not for you to go, sister," Peter responds, cupping her cheek gently, "but it would be wise... and being a King or Queen of Narnia means we must sometimes put what is best for her above what we want for ourselves."
"Then I don't want to be a Queen anymore," Susan sternly asserted.
Their brother brushed a thumb over her trembling lower lip, sweeping aside the first of the tears slipping down her cheeks, making them sparkle under the light of the autumn sun. "My Queen, we must be practical." He presses a kiss to her forehead and then again two more to her eyelids as they flutter closed.
Susan drew in a shuddering breath and pulled away; gathering her skirts, she turned and fled deep into the woods. Lucy remained safely ensconced behind her tree, but considering it, she decided Susan would not have noticed her even if she had been standing out in the open.
What had this been about? Leaving Cair Paravel again?
So soon after the last journey . . . That couldn't be the cause for this anguish in Susan.
Stealing a last look at her brother, whose back was turned to her as he slumped against another sturdy tree on the far side of the copse, Lucy walked on. For once, she thought it would be best for her to leave her siblings to their own thoughts; not all quarrels could be settled by outside interference and this, she feared, was one of them. Besides, they never thought much of her help.
Deciding the library was the only suitable place for her to spend her morning without boring herself into a stupor she picked up her skirts and headed for the castle. She was pleasantly surprised to find her favourite part of the castle was not empty, as it was more often than not (there was a reason Lucy's go to hiding place was the library).
Inside the library, and crowded around the small fireplace, sat five of her sister's ladies and at sight her they made to rise to their feet in greeting. With a smile, Lucy held out a hand and gestured for them to remain seated, finding it unnecessary for them to stand if she was only passing and did not require their assistance.
Allowing them to return to their reading, Lucy quietly browsed the shelves until she found a volume from one, making her way towards her preferred seat by the window.
She had not read more than a handful of pages when her thoughts were confiscated by her sister.
What in Aslan's name, did Susan mean when she said she did not want her crown?
Surely she was not unhappy with her role, for Lucy knew for a fact the High Queen found great joy when she was at the service of their people.
What then would cause Queen Susan to ...
"Oh!" She gasped, breaking the quiet of the room.
"Your majesty?" One of her sister's ladies spoke, brow furrowed in worry for the regent.
Lucy blushed and ducked her head down. "Excuse me, it's just…" she held her tome up, as if in explanation.
The young group of girls relaxed, some chuckled in understanding before resuming their reading.
Lucy, however, did not.
Instead, she quietly ducked out of the library and walked aimlessly amongst the halls of the castle, her mind reeling at her sudden realization.
Susan is in love with Peter… she thought, and if the interactions she had witnessed between her two siblings were any indication, there was the strongest suggestion that perhaps Peter was in love with Susan too.
Lucy could not believe it. How long had these feelings been in the making and why did she not notice them sooner? Perhaps it had been because she had never paid much attention to her other siblings in lieu of all that she had been going through with Edmund or maybe it was only now that she was able to asses the situation from the standing of a woman in love with her brother that she could notice these same feelings in her eldest siblings.
And if this was the case, then Susan had every reason to want to put down her crown. Lucy herself knew what she was willing to sacrifice in order to remain by Edmund's side. She could only imagine the lengths her sister would go to just to remain at the side of their High King, the dismissal of her crown was far to easily given out to be the the only thing the High Queen would do. And Ludy did not for one second doubt that Susan understood the significance of such a declaration.
Her sister was not as vain as she looked, the woman commanded their armies for Aslan's sake, there was no way she would not know the repercussions her refusal to marry and consequently relinquish her crown would mean for Narnia. Queen Lucy might have been meaning to give up her life she could not spend it by Edmund's. But Sussan, the High Queen of the Realm of Narnia, would go war for High King Peter's continued presence in her life.
Lucy spent hours after the realization in her chambers attempting to understand what this could potentially mean, for siblings, for Edmund, for her. Hours she spent before deciding to call it a night and sleep for the night, after all, she could never claim to be a girl who could know what another person thought, no less what her eldest siblings thought. But even after a long bath, a complete nighttime care routine, and long hours of staring at the sea out her window that she realized sleep would not greet her.
It was well into the dead of night now, but dawn was still hours from now, and so it was with a frustrated sigh that Lucy wrapped a long wool robe and stepped out into hall. Even in a castle as beautiful and secure as Cair Paravel, autumn nights were getting longer, colder and darker, signalling winter was once again near. Queen Lucy quietly navigated along the dimly lit corridors with their flickering torches. Wrapped in a robe of soft velvet and wool to keep warm she made her way to the Astronomy Tower.
Pushing open the door (for no door is locked to a King or Queen of Narnia), she stepped out of the shadows in the stairwell and into the light the moon above provisioned; bright it met her eyes, almost blinding after the scarce illumination inside. She made her way over to the stone rails at the parapet. Back against the door, she stood there for a moment staring up at the moon hanging there in the clear night sky like a glowing white pearl, turning a long pillar of the sea below to coruscating silver.
She knew not how long she had stood like this, just gazing out, when two strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist.
"Night terrors again?" Edmund asked, resting his chin upon her shoulder, cheek gently caressing hers.
Lucy shook her head slightly.
"Not at all... I just couldn't find sleep," she said honestly, one of her hands coming up to rest on his. "What about you?" she wondered.
"I went to your rooms and found them empty. I knew you would be here."
Lucy smiled. "You worried?"
"Aye," He admitted, "The feeling grows stronger every day."
She closed her eyes for a moment against the sea and turned to face him; her free hand went up to his face to cup his cheek briefly, then wound itself around his neck to lace her fingers in the dark waves of his hair.
"Oh Edmund, if I could make things any different I would," she said sadly, looking into his eyes; they were almost the same shade of blue as hers, only his were darker, sterner.
They closed. "The only thing that keeps me calm is knowing I will get to keep you longer than Peter will get to keep Susan and me."
Lucy frowned at this assumption and sadly corrected, "Ed, I don't think so."
"Why so?" he asked.
"Because I have seen the looks they have on their faces whenever they happen to be in the same room."
Edmund frowned. "And what looks might those be? I see no difference in how they look at each other — I do believe they both look at all of us the same way," he said.
Lucy shook her head, a soft, rueful laugh left her lips as she looked square into her brother's eyes. "Oh how blind you must be, my King," she said. "They look at each other the way you look at me and I look at you.".
Edmund stopped smiling for a moment, as if a nervousness had graced his face. "I will do whatever needs to be done to keep you by my side. Peter and Aslan be damned," he continued despite her startled gasp, "I understand what is required of me as a ruler of this land, even if is not yet time for me to dwell too heavily in these, but I refuse to leave my siblings, leave you behind and marry for the sake of politics." He stated, growing serious.
They looked at one another sullen, then, just for a moment before Lucy spoke, her voice small and muffled against his chest. "We do not have much choice in this my lord."
Edmund closed his eyes and pulled her tighter against him. In the two years that had passed since he had first held Lucy in his arms like this he had made sure to cherish every moment they had together, knowing that their time together was limited. They knew they would one day have to leave Narnia and marry in hopes of forming alliances with surrounding kingdoms.
"There's always a choice to be had," he spoke after a long pause, "we just have to be willing to live with the consequences."
Several days following his quarrel with the High Queen, he and the other three sovereigns of Narnia were sitting upon their thrones when a very dear friend, Mr Tumnus the fawn, arrived to bear them exciting news.
"Your Majesties, it is with great joy I now inform you that the White Stag has once again been spotted in the Western Woods," he said after rising from a deep bow, a brilliant smile on his old and greying face.
"What does it mean?" the High King immediately asked.
He had not been the only of them to speak. Concurrently, Queen Lucy wondered, "What does it do?" Even as Susan asked if they ought to be worried and Edmund inquired whether or not this White Stag was dangerous.
Mr Tumnus chuckled lightly. "Oh, it is not dangerous at all, so you mustn't be worried," he assured. "The White Stag is magical, for he can grant your wishes if you manage to catch him. But we must hurry, your Majesties, for we do not know for how long he will be here or when he will be coming back."
"Worry not, Tumnus," the High King said imperiously. "I will go after the Stag and bring it here to the castle to let everyone be a witness of it granting my wish."
To the left of he and King Edmund, their female counterparts made some very unladylike scoffing noises. Peter leaned forward and stared at them both, his eyes burning frustration.
"Something you'd like to add?" He said.
"I do believe it would be best if Lucy and I were to go after the stag ourselves. Cooler heads will surely prevail at this task and bring it back to the castle." Said Susan. "No need to worry — if we bring it back here, perhaps it will deign to grant your wish as well as ours."
"Cooler heads!? What will you do, then? Ask nicely if the wild animal will please come back with you?" Peter mocked the idea.
"At least we'd maintain clear vision tracking the deer down, my skill with an arrow is the best of us." Susan replied, giving Peter a stern glare.
Now Edmund scoffed. "Nonsense. You girls should stay here at the castle, and I'll go get the stag myself," Edmund interjected, "Clearly I'm the only one of us who can be trusted to round up this creature."
Before any real argument could break out between them, M. Tumnus cleared his throat politely and spoke again. "Perhaps it would be best if all the four of you were to head out in pursuit of the White Stag... along with the best members of your own court hunting parties, for your protection and assistance, of course."
He and his three co-regents remained silent for a full minute, looking first at Mr Tumnus and then at each other in turn. Finally, they came to a silent decision. With a sigh that was only very slightly weary, he decided to acquiesce to his siblings' wishes.
"Very well then," he announced. "Gather the principal members of our courts. Tell them to gather their hounds and ready our horses, we're all hunting the White Stag."
So it was that High King Peter departed Cair Paravel west across Narnia, taking all three of his siblings and the principal members of their court along with him. With horns and hounds they rode hard, following the White Stag.
They had not laboured long when they caught first sight of their quarry amongst the trees, it's pristine fur little camouflage amongst the green and brown and blossom pink of grass and trees. Though the animal was poorly hidden, it was extremely fast; it lead them all a merry chase over landscape rough and smooth, through sharp bracken and clear plain until their whole party was tired out and the only of them willing to continue were his siblings and he himself.
Eventually, the stag wisely entered a close thicket and their horses were unable to follow.
The High King sighed slightly in resignation. "Come, we must leave our horses behind and follow the creature on foot. Never do I think I have had the chance to hunt such swift and clever a quarry."
"We shall have to," the others agreed, "if we wish to catch it!"
They each descended and, after securing their horses, went into the area of thick woodland on foot. Almost immediately, the High Queen came across something strange. He turned to her as she spoke in a strange, wonderous tone.
"Here is a great marvel! I seem to have found a tree grown of iron!"
Behind them, King Edmund laughed. "If you look closer, silly sister, you will notice it is actually a pillar of iron with a lantern set at the top."
Now very interested in what his siblings had come across, the High King doubled back to investigate.
"This thing . . . is bizarre," said King Peter, "To set a lantern here where the trees cluster so thick about it, and so high above, if it were lit it would give light to no man."
None of his siblings seemed to have a good answer for this mystery.
"It is curious..." said his youngest sister suddenly, voice wistful and quiet. "I cannot get this idea out my head, if we were to venture past this post-lantern we would find strange adventures or some other great change to our fortunes."
"I have a similar sense, Lucy," King Edmund admitted, sounding uncommonly uneasy. "I am not entirely certain I like it. I am pleased with our fortunes as they are!"
"As am I," the High King declared, thinking of his siblings, his kingdom and all who dwelt therein.
Queen Susan seemed a little more hesitant to declare herself pleased with her lot, but eventually, even she agreed that they should investigate the land beyond this post no further. A self-imposed border to their realm, as of this moment.
"By my counsel, we ought to return to our horses and seek the White Stag no further," the High Queen advised. "I would sooner admit defeat than sew discord amongst us over so petty a thing as curiosity over an iron tree."
These four nodded and through the thicket, they ventured once more in a different direction from wince they had first come. Suddenly a noise.
In a heart's beat, Queen Susan had an arrow ready and had sent it through the air in its general direction. Something fell and these two Kings and Queens ran to it and then made a circle about the fallen beast.
"By Aslan's Mane," said King Peter, "you have brought the White Stag down."
"Look, it remains with life," said Lucy crouching down to the fallen beast. "Your arrow only seemed to have gone straight through its hind leg." she gently graced her hand over the wound and the beast stirred but didn't seem like it would attack.
"What should be done then?" Edmund wondered.
"I believe that we should remove the arrow," Peter responded, "it would not be very polite of us to ask it to grant you a wish if we keep it wounded."
Ed sighed to himself, he supposed he deserved that answer.
Susan nodded. "Oh please do, I could not, for I believe if I were to do so, I would surely put it in more pain."
King Peter stepped forward. "I shall remove it," said he and got on one knee over the wounded beast and pulled the arrow out. Had this been any other arrow he would have removed the end of it and pulled the other end out. But Queen Susan's arrows should never be broken, they were a gift and magical after all.
Handing the red ended arrow back to its possessor all four took their eyes away from the beast for a fraction of a second, and when they looked back, the wound was no longer in its place, but the White Stag, who was now standing, remained where it was.
"By the silver sea," Edmund was astonished, "Is it-. . . Is it recognizing that its been captured?" the beast just stood there waiting to be set free. It didn't move, it just looked at them with an understanding. It knew them now, somehow, it knew who they were, what they stood for, where they'd come from.
"It would appear so, and I would not want to keep it waiting for Susan, he might think it rude," said Lucy.
"Oh but, I do wish to share my spoil with you three, I would like for a wish that will make us all happy." Said, Queen Susan.
"Perhaps we should wish for Narnia to always be Peaceful?" said Queen Lucy.
"But then who would be around to keep it so, in order for peace to be maintained, Narnia should always have a King and Queen in the thrones of Cair Paravel," said Queen Susan.
"In that case, we should wish to be able to rule Narnia forever, " said King Edmund.
"You mean for us to become Immortal?" asked Lucy and Susan.
Lucy chimed in, "Like Father Christmas?"
"Yes, if we four live forever, we can ensure Narnia is always at peace." Edmund clarified his intention, "Our reign has been the best of Narnia."
"That is quite foolish," Said the High King, "And arrogant to claim. For even great immortal beings can be put to their death. They age, they grow weak, and though they cannot die,
they can meet their ultimate ends by an outside hand. Aslan himself came close, don't you remember? Father Christmas may be an immortal but has still become an old man."
The four grew still again, none speaking, yet the High King was once again the one to break the silence.
"In which case . . . we should wish to remain young forever, perhaps not immortal, but with youth comes strength and that alone might be enough."
Finally, Queen Susan spoke. "But if we remain young forever," she began, "we might remain the same in mind, and no matter how many the years we might always be stuck with the mentality we have in the spring of our youths. The mind is powerful on its own, if we take on the shape we perceive, we will forever be that shape, so goes the shape of youth. We would always perceive ourselves but the same children."
All nodded in agreement.
"By which means It would be wise then to wish to keep our youth to be eternal, and to permit our minds to open so as to not lose ourselves, let our heads keep up with the passing of the times," Susan continued, "but even so these are foolish wishes, and we aren't really giving them much thought, we must take the stag back to the castle until we are ready to give it out wish." Susan said and they then all turned to the spot where the White Stag had been standing not a moment prior.
"I do believe he must have grown tired of listening to us quarrel and decided to leave us to it." Queen Lucy said.
"Matters not, Let us return to our courtiers, they mustn't be kept waiting much longer," spoke Edmund.
"Yes, they might be getting worried, we've been out in the woods for too long, " said Lucy.
And so the two Kings and two Queens threaded through the thicket and made their way back to their court and mounted their horses and made their way back to the castle of Cair Paravel. When asked what was of the White Stag, it was Queen Susan that informed that she had been the one to bring it down, and King Edmund to inform them that the Stag had gotten away from them as they debated what their wish should be. It was Peter that reminded them of their long-winded debate over what their wish should be and Lucy who told of their general indecision.
Freesia, an elderly fawn who was in charge of arranging the Kings' and Queens' daily schedule smiled brightly at the news. "Did you make your wishes aloud? What were they," she asked excitedly. Then realizing that she may have perhaps pushed her lines, blushed a bright shade of red. "That is if you don't mind the question, your Majesties." She bowed.
The Pevensie children smiled at their Royal Adviser. "No, not at all," Lucy assured and then each proceeded to tell Freesia the wishes they had thought about and how they would make conflict and how they decided to bring the Stag back to the Palace, only to find the Stag had already left the clearing.
The young record keeper's eyes went as big as saucers and she very nearly dropped her clipboard, something that unfortunately did not catch the eyes of the four monarchs as they had returned to speaking amongst themselves regarding their wishes ( Edmund perhaps muttering that one of these being a good way to go insane, causing Susan to scowl at her younger brother). Quickly bowing and nearly jumping down the steps to their thrones, Freesia exited the grand room and proceeded to walk around in a daze about the castle, and whenever asked what had placed her in such a state she would tell them the tale she had been told.
Word spread across the land of the possibility of having Immortals sitting on the thrones of Narnia, of what it would mean for them. But as the years crept past, and peace remained across the land, all worries passed, and the words were never spoken again.