Title: That Which Lingers
Author: Ria
Disclaimer: This is obviously not mine. It belongs to C.S. Lewis and assorted other people. I highly doubt that C.S. Lewis would approve of this, but, oh well.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: General, mostly from TLTWTW.
Pairing: Edmund-centric; Edmund/Peter
Warnings: hinted pre-slash, hinted incest, alcoholism
Summary: Edmund can never forget that which lingers just under the skin, just below the surface. It haunts every thought, every move, every decision. He will never forget all that he has done in the name of his justice.
Warnings:Edmund/Peter owns my soul, so I warn you there is very subtle (currently one-sided and unfulfilled) incest here. It's not at all blatant, mostly because being obvious really didn't fit the mood of this piece. I do believe that, despite the light-humoured and happy-ending type feel of the books, that all the kids, especially Edmund, found it hard to adjust to suddenly ruling a country, as well as adjusting to normal life when they fell back through the wardrobe (basically, I'm interested in everything that C.S. Lewis skipped over). Bluntly, I reckon Edmund had issues for a very long time.
That Which Lingers
The first time that Edmund gets drunk, it's a complete accident.
Following their coronation at Cair Paravel, the four children only dabble with alcohol, for though they are royalty, they are still children and have no experience or tolerance of wine. As the weeks go by, Peter insists that they still only drink lightly, though this is difficult because the Narnians are eager to present their rulers with every extravagance possible.
Edmund, though no longer under her grip, can still feel resentment towards his older brother. And this is the same even when his brother is High King Peter and he is King Edmund. Why should they turn away the many wines that the Narnians offer them? They are the kings and queens of Narnia who battled and defeated the White Witch. Surely they can hold their alcohol!
Later, when his head is spinning and the ceiling doesn't appear to be above him anymore, he thinks in a moment of brief lucidity that perhaps Peter was right, after all.
The next moment all he can smell is scented wool and Peter's soap, and he can feel the familiar textures of Peter's tunic and shirt between his fingers.
"Peter?" he manages to croak.
Warmth envelopes him as Peter steadies him, holding him close. "Oh, Ed," Peter sighs, but he seems to be smiling, a sad little smile, and he still holds him close as he helps Edmund to his chambers.
The bed is warm and comfortable, but that could just be the wine. Regardless, Edmund buries under the blankets and sighs. Even though the bed appears to be moving, he mumbles, "I'm sorry, Peter," and he doesn't mean just for getting drunk.
Gentle fingers smooth back his hair from his face. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Ed," Peter says quietly.
Edmund falls asleep before he can say that he will always have something to be sorry about.
When Edmund next becomes drunk, it is not an accident.
The day is wonderful until he hears voices as he approaches a corner. Hovering, he listens as two animals – he can't remember if he knows them or not – whisper about him and wonder if he's truly on their side or not, or whether a follower of the witch can ever truly repent.
Peter is away, touring the country that is now theirs, and if he was here he would have stopped this. He would have done it subtly and politely, but he would have stopped the whispers and the gossip.
Or so Edmund likes to think, anyway.
The wine is more mature than he's used to – of course, he's not really used to any wine – so it burns his throat as he swallows. He coughs, splutters, but carries on drinking.
What on earth was the point of Aslan's sacrifice and forgiveness? What was the point of being crowned as Edmund the Just if none of his subjects will trust him? Edmund knows the gossip, the whispers, and the suspicious glances. He is one of the four kings and queens of Narnia, but he really isn't at the same time.
The room blurs and tilts. The bottle is empty. His head is already beginning to hurt.
Lucy enters the room. He doesn't remember what he says to her, but he can hear her tears. Susan enters and he doesn't make her cry, but he angers her.
He is precariously close to passing out when Peter knocks and enters. It must be night, Edmund realises, using the last part of his brain that still works, if Peter is back.
Peter doesn't ask stupid questions. He simply gets straight to the point, and hits all of Edmund's sore spots with the ease that only he possesses.
Edmund thinks that Peter yells at him. He throws his goblet at the door after Peter leaves, or he'll know he threw it when he finds it by the door in the morning.
Sleep, he finds, does not help him in the least, and he wakes up feeling dreadful.
Mr Tumnus meets him when Edmund is staring morosely into a cup of apple juice and nursing an aching head.
"Why, King Edmund!" Tumnus exclaims with a smile, loud enough that he knows exactly how much it hurts Edmund's head. He glances at Edmund's cup and his smile widens. "Is that juice or whiskey, sire?" he teases, and Edmund wishes, just for a moment, that he had the witch's wand because if he had, he'd turn Tumnus to stone in such a way that even Aslan could not bring him back to life.
"Juice, Mr Tumnus," he replies coldly. Now please, go away, he adds silently. "I have no head for alcohol."
Mr Tumnus, unfortunately, is not psychic. "Judging by the way that you have been drinking, sire," he says quietly, but with a sharp smile twisting his mouth, "it would seem that you do not truly realise that." His eyes are mocking and disapproving, and Edmund knows that though Tumnus is his sister's dearest friend, there will never be any love lost between him and Edmund. Neither of them will ever forget that Edmund betrayed him to the White Witch for what was essentially a good deed.
Edmund's expression hardens and his eyes narrow; he knows his face looks eerily like it did when he was under her control. "You'd best remember whom you are speaking to, Tumnus."
Mr Tumnus meets his eyes squarely. "I am speaking to a king of Narnia," he says simply, "one king out of four royal monarchs."
Traitor, betrayer, fool are the unspoken words.
As the faun is walking away, Edmund briefly wonders what it would have been like to remain by her side.
Lucy corners him later that evening. "Mr Tumnus told me that you and he had a falling out today," she says, as direct as ever.
"So?" Edmund replies, angry that Tumnus had the gall to tattle to Lucy. For a faun who's over a hundred years old, he seems to have the mental capacity of a child even younger than Lucy.
"Edmund," Lucy says, and the disapproval in her eyes is too like the disappointment in his parents' eyes while he was attending school, too like the scorn in Peter's eyes when he messed up again; and Edmund suddenly has had enough.
"Enough, Lucy," he snaps, and she stares at him, hurt flooding her eyes. "Whatever he has told you, I tell you this: Tumnus had no right to speak to me as he did, even if I wasn't a king of Narnia." He gives her an exasperated, disdainful look, the type of look that adults often give children when they're being what they would consider childish.
"Of course," he sneers, "you wouldn't realise that. After all, you're still a child." He doesn't look back while he walks away, but he still knows how horrible those words were and how upset he has made Lucy.
He will hate himself for a very long time, and only wine seems to make it any better.
Of them all, Peter is the one who was truly the one destined to rule. From his birth and growth in the old world, he has been preparing for this role, for this moment, for ruling a country and defending it at all costs. Even as a boy, Peter was born to lead, to be the leader for which others would follow to the death.
Peter is the perfect sort of king, really. He is kind, sincere, honest and charming, sometimes all at once. He has a presence and charisma that serve him well, even if he is not always aware of them. Some people are prepared to follow him to the death, in particular his centaur general. Under him, Narnia will prosper from what the witch's cruelty did – some are already heralding their rule as the Golden Age of Narnia, though Edmund secretly thinks it's far too early to be thinking along those lines.
Peter is a striking figure, though, he can admit to himself as he watches his brother mingle throughout the crowd, smiling, laughing and lending an attentive ear, splendid in shades of royal blue and warm gold. Peter is lovely, and wonderful, and a far better king than Edmund himself is.
Edmund knows deep down that he is a good king in his own right and that his talents merely belong in the background. He is the shadow to Susan's diplomat, sounding out allies, drawing up alliances, using his spies as eyes and ears for information and knowledge that would otherwise be kept from them.
Edmund delivers his own brand of justice, colder and more practical than Peter sometimes likes to think about.
He is, in some ways, Peter's bloodied sword.
The only trouble is that Edmund can't stop thinking about these things, or stop thinking about Peter, and that is simply too bothersome.
He swallows the last of his wine too quickly, glaring at Peter all the while, and tries to ignore the burning in his throat.
The final time that Edmund gets drunk, it turns out not to be so bad, after all.
Christmas is a cheerful affair in Narnia. The lead-up begins weeks beforehand and the excitement often reaches fever-pitch. It still snows, on occasion, and when it does, efforts are tripled and the Narnian monarchs organise double the amount of festive occasions and parties to keep everyone from remembering an endless winter and a wicked witch.
Edmund… tolerates these occasions, even more so when it snows. Snow and ice bring back bad memories and he can never keep up a cheerful mask when confronted with them. His siblings and those close to them recognise this and do their best to keep him in a reasonable state of mind without irritating him, but they mostly leave him alone. This is in itself a double-edged sword: by leaving him alone, they leave him alone with his dangerous thoughts for company.
Edmund has realised over the years that his true enemy is his mind, specifically the thoughts that linger in it.
Peter, however, refuses to allow Edmund to remain alone.
There is a heavy snowstorm outside, and most of those that came to Cair Paravel for the celebrations have chosen to stay the night rather than brave the frightful weather and are comfortable housed. Peter and Edmund are in Peter's private study, safe and warm by a crackling fire. There is spiced wine and blankets, and Edmund is comfortably dozing off when Peter speaks.
"Ed, do you ever think of London and Mother and Father?"
Edmund stirs and opens his eyes, blinking as he attempts to gather his thoughts. He has drank too much, as has become the norm, and would really rather nothing more than to fall asleep right here and now.
"Sometimes," he says at last. "I wonder what Mother is doing and if Father survived the war, and what they would think of us, ruling a country and deciding the fates of so many. Sometimes it seems so ridiculous, all of this, but it really happened. This is really happening and I cannot think it a figment of my imagination, not when I sit on a thrown with a silver crown upon my brow. The memories become fainter as the years go by, however, and I'm finding it more and more difficult to remember what she looks like." The wine has loosened his tongue, forcing him to speak more freely than he normally would.
Peter sighs, and murmurs, "I wish you wouldn't drink so much, Ed. It does not become you."
"Many things do not become me, brother," Edmund replies sharply, his hand tightening on his goblet, "and most of them cannot be changed."
He makes the mistake of looking over at Peter, then, and Peter is turned golden by the flames, and looking so hurt and wonderful as he gazes at Edmund, his eyes so damnably sad that Edmund cannot keep his anger around him, and so he too sighs.
You are so beautiful, Edmund thinks helplessly, and knows then that he will do whatever Peter wants, whether it is to stop drinking, or kill, or spy. He will follow him to the death.
When wine is offered to him – his favourite, he realises – Edmund stares at it, and then glances at Peter, who gazes back at him solemnly. Lucy and Susan are equally grave and solemn and Edmund realises that everyone is watching him in some way or another: polite spying.
He stares at the bottle and thinks of a wardrobe that took them to another world, of Jadis and Maugrim and her web of lies and deceit. He thinks of Turkish Delight and Hot Chocolate, and him as king all on his own. He thinks of Aslan and his debt that only concerns Edmund, and Lucy's tears.
He remembers how Peter held him after Lucy had healed him at the Battle of Beruna, and how Peter had looked close to tears and how Edmund, even though he had felt dreadful, had thought that this was terribly dreadful because boys didn't cry, especially boys who were going to become kings.
He thinks of the taste of wine as it slides down his throat, and he thinks of when he dreams of Peter, and how warm and soft his lips would be against his.
Edmund shakes his head. "Not tonight," he murmurs, and the tension visibly lifts.
Peter's smile is better than any wine.
Finis