Edmund was the last to enter the council room. His brother and sisters, along with their councillors, were already seated around the table.

"Well met, dear brother," High King Peter said, rising to clasp Edmund's hand warmly. "We feared thou wouldst not come." Peter truly was magnificent, as they called him. He was tall and broad now, with a real king's face: comely, fierce, and inspiring love in all who gazed upon it.

"Well met, sir," Edmund replied, inclining his head. "For my tardiness and my state of disarray, I beg the pardon of this exalted company."

Queen Lucy laughed; the sound came out golden and bright as her hair.

"Oh, brother dear! Wherefore dost thou beg our pardon?" she cried. Rising from her seat, she rushed towards Edmund and seized him by his shoulders, planting kisses all over his face with unladylike abandon. "How long has it been since I last set eyes upon thee? Too long! That much I do know. My heart hath grown sick out of longing for thine handsome face. Tell us, what news of the North? Didst thou meet with the giants and dwarves?"

Lucy was a young woman now, but her eyes still shone with the innocence of childhood, and age had not diminished the grace that clung to her like a mist.

"Aye, I did," Edmund replied gravely. "And would that I could greet thy bright spirit with glad tidings. Yet the news I bear is weighty in the extreme." He brushed aside a few strands of Lucy's golden hair and kissed her gently on the cheek.

"No matter, sir. The crowns upon our heads are weighty. Duty is weighty. To alter these things thou art powerless. But come, thou must see High Queen Susan! Susan! Behold, our brother hath returned to us!" Queen Lucy tugged Edmund's hands, pulling him along.

Queen Susan was a beauty. She took away the breath of all who looked upon her. Her skin glowed like moonlight on ice, flushed with delicate brushstrokes of rose. Her raven hair fell in curtains of silk, tumbling down either side of her face. Her eyes smouldered like black pearls. For one awful moment, Edmund was reminded of another beautiful woman he had seen long ago, riding a sleigh pulled by enchanted reindeer, when he had first come to Narnia. She had that same quality about her, that bewitching, entrancing beauty. The thought made Edmund feel unclean.

"King Edmund," Queen Susan said coolly, arching an eyebrow. "Thou hast returned to us in the last. Dear brother, my heart rejoiceth." She extended a hand, pale and flawless as a drift of maiden snow. Edmund kissed it, shuddering slightly as his lips brushed her skin. "Pray join us, that we may attend to matters of state."

Edmund seated himself on a high-backed wooden chair between the two Queens. He felt out of place in his soiled riding clothes, surrounded by his fellow regents and their advisors in all their finery.

"Let us begin," declared High King Peter. "Royal Secretary Fleetfeather, if thou wouldst."

A plump crow with glossy black plumage puffed himself up and cleared his throat.

"The first order of business," he said in an oily voice, "is the question of the military tax."

"I thought we had agreed upon that," High King Peter said.

"Certainly, my liege. However, there have been disturbances throughout the kingdom. The autumn harvest was not as bountiful as predicted. A cold winter will be upon us soon. Some animals are complaining that they cannot provide the two bales of hay per household, or equivalent, that Cair Paravel demands."

"In times of war, we must all make sacrifice," High King Peter said. "Without armies to defend our borders, the common animals will suffer the most. They needs must endure the tax."

"Beg pardon, sir, but we are not at war," Edmund said.

"For the now. There are Telmarine raiders to the west, pirates on the east, giants in the north and Calormenes to the south."

"I heard there was a disturbance in the city yesterday," Queen Lucy murmured.

"You heard truly, Your Highness," Fleetfeather replied. "The Paravel Country Cows' Association held a demonstration and declared their intention to embark on a general strike, halting the production of milk."

Captain Honeyclaw, a burly brown bear who was the leader of the Paraveldon City Watch, spoke up.

"We put a stop to that protest, right enough," he said. "Chucked the ringleaders in jail. Got 'em in a holding cell for disturbing the peace."

"I was not informed of this," High King Peter said, his voice rising. "Subjects of my city will not be imprisoned merely for voicing their opinion."

Edmund found it curious that Peter called Paraveldon my city.

Honeyclaw flinched away slightly.

"Beg pardon, Your Majesty. It were on the orders of Chief Minister Dusset that I done it."

Dusset was a handsome dog fox with a beautiful rusty coat and intelligent yellow eyes.

"My liege," he said, addressing High King Peter. "At present, thousands depend on the milk produced by Paravel's fields alone. We directly supply Narnian troops in the south, east and west. I sincerely apologise if my actions seem heavy-handed, but I could not allow our local economy to be disrupted by a few malcontents. What happens in the city can have repercussions throughout the kingdom. At the earliest convenience, I will order the orchestrators released so they may plead their case before Your Majesty. In the meantime, milk production has returned almost to normal."

High King Peter looked troubled, but he nodded in agreement.

"So be it," he said.

"I will go and see the cows today," Queen Lucy announced suddenly. No one dared to oppose her.

"And what of the taxation rate?" Fleetfeather asked.

"This talk of food shortage disturbeth me," High Queen Susan said in her cool, measured tones. "I have received correspondence and reports of mine own, warning of the poor harvest. Mayhap the military tax ought to be reconsidered for those in dire straits."

"The High Queen's compassion is well known," Chief Minister Dusset said in velvet tones. "Yet this is difficult, difficult. If we begin making exemptions for the military tax, many will put in claims. The Royal Treasury will deflate. It is already nearly empty. And the common animals will complain that some are being given special treatment."

"From what I was given to understand," croaked Fleetfeather, "part of the grievance the Cows' Association had was that they were required to give up their milk, whereas other animals were asked to merely labour or gather food."

"A ludicrous complaint," Chief Minister Dusset sniffed. "We can hardly expect fieldmice to give us milk, can we?"

"How about a banking system with coinage?" Edmund put in. "It would allow us to tax each animal equally, and make it easier to trade. Calormen has a currency called the Crescent."

"The Calormene are barbarians," Chief Minister Dusset said, wrinkling his muzzle delicately.

"No doubt they say the same about us," Edmund replied. "Yet we may learn things even from barbarians."

"That idea will have to wait," said High King Peter. "The Royal Treasury is too pinched for new ventures. Our priority is feeding our subjects and guarding our borders."

"Mayhap we could trade with Archenland for food," High Queen Susan suggested. "And Calormen is not quite on hostile terms with us."

Trade Minister Goldenheim, a magpie with sharp eyes, shook his head.

"Would that we could, Your Majesty, but we have precious little to trade," he squawked.

"The north," growled War Minister Snowfang, a grizzled grey wolf bitch who lay low in a patch of sunlight. "The mountains are rich in gems, ores and precious metals."

All eyes turned towards Edmund, who shook his head.

"The dwarves and giants are not kindly disposed towards us," he said. "The memory of the Witch is yet strong in those parts."

"By rights the land is Cair Paravel's," growled Snowfang. She turned her fierce yellow gaze towards High King Peter. "With Your Majesty's permission, I will crush the northern rebels and bring their wealth to the south. Thus may we feed our people."

"No," Edmund interjected, surprising even himself. "The last thing we need is another war. War beggareth the kingdom and removeth animals who would otherwise be toiling the soil. But for the need to feed the soldiers on our borders, we'd have no food shortage."

"And how dost thou propose to feed our subjects?" High Queen Susan asked.

"I know not. All I know is that yet another war will exacerbate the problem."

"In the short run, perhaps," mused High King Peter. "Yet in the long run? Having the north under our control once and for all, with access to their riches, would take the strain off our treasury and our men."

"There is no short run in war!" Edmund burst out. "The people of the north despise us. Were we to conquer them, they would hold five years and launch a rebellion. We would need more soldiers in the north than ever before to keep the peace. And they will keep rebelling again and again, unless we were to eliminate every one of them!"

"Then let us do so," said High King Peter.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" said Edmund.

"The northern dwarfs, giants and trolls have been a thorn in our side since our coronation. We have given them every opportunity to repent of their sins, make peace and accept our authority. Yet they refuse Aslan's grace and cling to their evil ways and their service to the Witch's memory. They are a degraded and evil race, utterly without redeeming qualities. Mayhap the time hath come to eliminate them."

"When I was in the north," Edmund said coldly, "I saw giant and dwarven children slain by Narnian soldiers. Children. Slain because they were outside Aslan's grace, beyond redemption, and therefore evil. Hast thou forgotten, sir, that I was once in service of the Witch? That I was once evil? Wouldst thou have slain me? Nay, do not answer; I fear thy reply." Edmund rose to his feet. "I am weary from travelling. I beg the leave of this distinguished company to retire to my chambers."

"Oh, Edmund!" Queen Lucy said sadly, but he ignored her and marched out of the room.


A/N:

It has been a long time since I've read the Narnia books, and the only one I really remember is the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. So I may mix things up or get things wrong. Some alterations are deliberate. For example, I put the Telmarines in even though they aren't supposed to appear until after the Pevensies leave Narnia.

Please note that this story is rated M. There will be strong coarse language, violence, probably sex scenes and other mature themes that are unsuitable for children and sensitive individuals.

This is a slash story. If you believe homosexuality is morally wrong, please read something else. And don't communicate with me, or I will swear at you and abuse you viciously. Thank you.