Disclaimer: If you've read my work long enough, you've figured out by now that I'm not C.S. Lewis. If you haven't, then you should at least know he's dead. If you don't know that, you live probably live under a rock and don't have access to a computer in the first place.
Rating: Er...probably a K+, increasing to a T later on for scary sequences.
Summary: Very few people on earth knew, but Edmund wrote poetry. So did all of the other monarchs, at one point in time. In fact, Edmund's poetry started a tradition in Narnia that would last a millennium. Read on discover what and how...
From the Narnian Annals
All four of the Pevenises would be the first to admit that the young kings and queens of Narnia made some terrible, terrible mistakes during the first three years of their reign, a period that many scholars would grow to call either the Trial-and-Error Years or the Age of Misery and Discovery. No one made more mistakes, or graver ones, than those of King Edmund. In fact, the age did not even begin to end until the Northern Troll's hideous battle with King Edmund while High King Peter and Queen Lucy were attending to affairs in the south. His small infantry unit was victorious, but just barely. While the king himself escaped with only minor cuts and bruises, half the soldiers under his command had been ruthlessly slaughtered due to the trolls' superior numbers and the Just King's inferior battle tactics.
At the time of the battle, King Edmund was the same age that his brother had been when he had led a very successful attack on the White Witch's remnant army with half as many men and twice the enemies. The hardly-successful troll skirmish, in comparison to High King Peter's victories and natural battle skills, sent further waves of mistrust and uneasiness into the heart of Narnians, and they began to doubt the abilities of their younger king. What made things worse was that the battle took place in the very late fall, and the king had already begun to sink into his almost annual winter depression.
Historians later believed that King Edmund's greatest failure as king became his greatest victory in the months to follow, as an eccentric branch of the army adopted him as their "mascot" and student. Under the strict and top secret training regime of Sybella the centaur, Cotton the rabbit, Tabbarack the bear, and Groul the leopard, King Edmund grew from the "Traitor-King" into the legendary judge that all Narnians now praise.
Poor Edmund couldn't seem to be able to do anything right. He had never bested Peter in the practice ring, he lost his temper in council meetings, he couldn't stay awake through the speeches of foreign dignitaries, he panicked when asked to take charge of anything, and he was having a nightmare of a time actually making friends among the Narnians. Everything that his siblings could simply fall into, everything they found easy, everything that came as naturally as breathing to them, he simply could not master. What made it all infinitely more painful for the siblings was just how hard he tried He was constantly wearing himself down to the point of physical and mental exhaustion while simply trying to do what he was supposed to do, what was expected, and what was right by Narnia.
It was now their third winter. Edmund's patience—and his health—ran thinner and thinner with each cold snap. He tried so very hard to control himself. He loved winter just as much as he loved every other season, and saw no sense in brooding. But with every winter wind that blew in a few snow flakes came the agonizing whisper of the Narnians. This is Edmund's season, the traitor-king. This is the season of the fall of Justice and the coming of Ice and Hatred. All of Narnia whispered with the breezes and with such a whisper, whisper rattling through his ears, Edmund found it impossible to keep his spirits up and his mind inevitably turned to his treachery. This winter was no different. If anything, it was worse, what with news flying all over about his autumn disaster.
Lucy, with all these worries plaguing her heart, slipped into the council room where a dozen Archenland dignitaries awaited their very first audience with the famous Kings and Queens of Narnia. She was late, and she walked to her seat at the head of the council as quickly and quietly as she could. Much to her disappointment and further worry, Edmund was even later than she.
Peter waited in tense silence for several more minutes before clearing his throat. "Well," he said, nervously shuffling the papers in front of him. "I suppose we can get started now, gentlemen."
"Aren't you going to wait for the other one?" asked one of the nobles.
Peter smiled. "My brother has been under quite a bit of stress lately, and I cannot say that I would blame him if he didn't come to council today. About the treaty— "
The door flew open again and Edmund, pale and panting, staggered inside. "I'm—sorry—Peter," he said, moving to his seat as gracefully as he could. "I'm afraid—I—got lost." He blushed as he said the words.
"No trouble, Edmund," Peter said heartily, squeezing his shoulder as he sat.
On the other side of the room, the Archenlanders made faces at each other.
"What's the problem?" Peter asked.
"There is no…problem, your Majesty," said one. "It's just…this whole business must be a bit embarrassing for you."
The Pevensies stared. "What do you mean?" the High King asked cautiously.
"Begging your pardon, Majesty, but don't you think you ought to keep your siblings in hand?"
Susan's eyebrows shot up into her bangs as she glanced at the jay perched on her shoulder. Lucy giggled in disbelief at the foreigner's words. Edmund's white face flushed cherry-red and Peter's went stone-hard. "Care to explain your reasons behind that statement?"
"We have heard…stories about all four of you, wondrous tales, and we had believed them all to be true. Now we are not so sure. You truly are Magnificent, High King Peter. However, your Gentle sister, here, has the nerve to bring a pet bird into a council meeting. Of course, was must concur that she, at least, was on time. Lady Lucy was late, but she had the decency to come in without a word. Sir Edmund blew in through the doors as if at a hunt and not a diplomatic council. This is really most disconcerting to see."
"That's Queen and King," Edmund said softly, his eyes darkening.
"…Excuse me?"
"Queen Lucy, not Lady Lucy," he continued. "King Edmund, not Sir Edmund."
"And I'm no pet," the blue jay said, her feathers bristling at the thought. "I'm a member of the Narnian High Council!"
"Primplefeather is right," Edmund went on coldly. "And Lucy was late because she's been assisting the healers in the sick ward all morning. You have no call to accuse her of tardiness."
"And I suppose you were rescuing a talking kitten from a burning tree while you were so late as well?" another man drawled, lips pursed in a tight little line.
"No. I really did get lost," the Just King said with a dangerous smile. "The castle is too huge for even us to know our way around quite yet. But I'd much rather be lost than downright, priggishly, pin-headedly rude. If there is any embarrassing behavior going on in this council, it is yours."
At that moment Edmund went even paler, realizing what he had just said to whom, in his sibling's company. He rose to his feet. "Pete, I pray you forgive me my outburst. May I be excused from council?"
"Go on, Ed," he said, rubbing his temples.
The Just King nodded and left, headed straight to his chambers.
Some time later Edmund was seated at his desk, running through some private papers, when a soft knocking came at his door. He sighed. "I don't want to talk right now, Peter," he called. "Go away, and tell the girls not to come in either." The last thing he wanted to see was family.
The knocking stopped for a moment. As he went back to the papers, the door scraped on the floor, easing open just a few inches. Primplefeather the jay flew in and landed on the doorknob. "Sorry, Majesty," she said, smoothing her feathers as she spoke. "Susan sent me to check up on you. Said you wouldn't want to see family right now. She'll have my tailfeathers if I don't actually speak with you. How are you feeling?"
He sighed and fiddled with his quill. "I don't know. More tired than anything. I…I didn't make a huge mess, earlier…did I?"
The jay sniffed. "Nothing doing. I say good job on a well-deserved insult. You didn't leave anything Peter couldn't manage." She flew to his desk and landed in front of him. "It was a close call, though. Not your fault. The stuffy nobles had it coming to them. Lucy defended you rather adamantly after you left. They insulted her for it. Peter became spitting angry, but didn't show it. Gentle Susan snapped at them, which shocked them into apologizing to her, not to anyone else. That made Lucy angry and she stomped out with much less grace than you did. Peter lost his temper then and made a very impressive speech on insulting the monarchy and explained for the thousandth time how you three were not under him, even if he was the High King. It was all rather amusing if you could get over being insulted in the beginning. I haven't seen so much blushing since the dryads composed Peter's song. You'll probably be receiving a formal note of apology soon."
Edmund grinned despite himself and ran his hands over his face with a weary sigh. "I'm going to have to apologize to Peter," he said. "By Aslan, why do I have to jinx everything?"
At that moment a large brown rabbit with white feet hopped into the room. His name was Cotton. He was a close friend of Orieus and Peter, and had been eavesdropping at the door for some time. Edmund was not surprised to see him. "Now, Majesty, don't be so hard on yourself."
"But it's true," he said. "Prim, Cotton, I know better than most what the masses say about me."
"We don't blame you at all for all that's happening," Prim argued. "You are all young. Accidents will happen."
"You don't blame me intentionally," Edmund countered. "But have you noticed that everyone calls Peter, Su, and Lucy by name, or at least King Peter and Queen Susan, yet I am still only ever called Majesty? No one's used my name since Aslan's last visit. No one."
The animals had no answer, exchanging glances with wide eyes. They hadn't noticed, but it was true.
"Did you know that, when they think no one can hear them, people call me Traitor-King? Foreigners, too; people I've never even seen before. They're right." He buried his head in his hands. "I'm thinking of just…giving up. Would that be so hard, or wrong, for any of us?"
"Giving up?" Cotton asked sharply. "Giving up what?"
Edmund looked away.
"You just need a chance to forget…her, that's all," Primplefeather said. "Winter makes things so difficult for all of us."
"No," said the boy. "It's not winter. I don't mind the snow, and I don't want to forget. I want to remember every single minute of my foolishness and failure. I need to remember. I just want to live past it. How can I when everywhere I go, no one will even give me a chance?"
Cotton studied his paws, thinking hard and deep on what Edmund had just said. Every word of it was true, and he couldn't believe he was just noticing now. No one called the Just King by name. No one ever mentioned his betrayal or gave any sign that they thought he was untrustworthy…but there were no songs dedicated to Edmund. Poets praised Aslan's might, Susan's beauty, Peter's greatness, and Lucy's wonder…but no one sang anything of Edmund the Just.
But there were so many good things about Edmund, things that Cotton was just now realizing. He had the deepest memory and sharpest mind of all four Pevensies. He tried new things constantly. He spent less time in childish escapades. All the monarchs made mistakes, but Edmund was the only one who never made the same one twice. It's incredible, the rabbit thought. As if Edmund is a separate being from the others. Why does he fade into the background like he does?
Prim wasn't thinking at all. She was staring at her feet, ashamed to meet the king's eyes. She noticed she was standing on a parchment covered with Edmund's graceful, sweeping, private handwriting, the script he reserved for history volumes and notes to Peter. She scanned a few lines just to have something to do. Surprised to find that those few lines deeply and quickly interested her, she began to read more deeply.
Edmund noticed what she was doing and turned bright red, all the way to the tips of his ears. "That's private!" he said, snatching up the stack of papers with unbelievable speed and shoving them under a stack of books.
"You…wrote that?" Prim asked, cocking her head toward him.
"Yes. What of it?"
"What was it?' Cotton said, rising on his back legs, feeling uncomfortably as if he should have noticed something long before now.
"N-nothing!"
"It was…quite good."
"…It was?"
"What was it?"
"An account of the demise of the White Witch," the bluejay said, sounding almost cautious. "And just the small bit I read was incredible. Almost lyrical. You have a way with words, Edmund."
Cotton started, a light of recognition gleaming in his eyes. "Well, we'd better go," he said in a hurry, signaling to the bird as well. "We shouldn't have interrupted you in the first place."
"Yes," said Prim, catching on. "We'll see you later."
"All right, then. Good bye," said the king as they dashed out the door, confused at the abrupt parting.
Cotton kicked the door closed behind them, looking around eagerly.
"You have an idea," Prim said almost accusingly at the rabbit.
He nodded. "I have more than an idea. Quick. Go to Peter. Tell him of his brother's hopelessness. I need to talk to Orieus."
This is the "Let's see how many stories I can juggle at once" game. Considering I've already got the first four or five chapters of this done and things are going well over in Graced and I've got a boatload of new Scenes you can expect in the next three or four days, I think I'm doing well. :)