Sunlight filtered through the high balconies and windows, casting brilliance and dust onto the two figures - one motionless, one insouciant - residing in the throne room. The High King sprawled in his throne, hands resting easily over his form. He regarded the marble chess set with apparent disregard and amusement, but this was a specious countenance. His moves were often fast, often careless - or so one might think, until it became clear that every move was as precise as a battle stratagem. Peter's weapon was disarmament: He would fool you into comfort and then sweep your easiness out from under you, an action as effortless as the simple motion in which he moved the hand that moved the piece.
His opponent was a stoic opposite. The Just King sat rigidly, elbows resting on his knees as his hands folded cryptically over the lower half of his pale face. His large brown eyes regarded the marble men as a real army, ready to be moved as a formation to do his bidding. He only broke his stationary stance to do one of two things: move a soldier, or challenge the High King. The first was simply an arm moving, plucking, placing as a loyal soldier faced his victory or his defeat in the uncharted territory of a new square. The second action was accomplished by merely raising brown eyes to meet a blue pair in a silent but definitive challenge. Edmund almost never spoke during chess matches. Peter accepted this and generally stayed quiet as well. Edmund never moved rashly, never sent a chessman to an unnecessary death; he was slow to play, sometimes painfully so, but his patience and fastidious manner made his moves as strong as a bulwark. Contrary to what most thought, it didn't take him the majority of time between moves to think of his next one; rather, the time was spent making sure his opponent could not pervert the move to his own motives and thus render the decision useless. Edmund was a quick thinker, if a slow mover.
Today, however, the game was unevenly matched. One player was distracted, a fact that was becoming increasingly obvious to his opponent, who chose to say nothing, waiting for the other to offer an explanation. When Edmund foolishly moved a rook into the way of a bishop, however, Peter couldn't help himself.
"What's the matter?"
Edmund, ever silent, appeared not to have heard him. Peter was about to ask again when his brother spoke.
"Do you ever feel sorry for the pawns?"
"What?" Peter abandoned his sprawl and leaned forward. Edmund never spoke during chess matches. The brother in question rested his elbows on the table.
"Do you?"
Peter swallowed. "I suppose I'd never thought about it before."
"I do." This was a thoroughly strange turn of events. Peter knew that Edmund thought of his chessmen as a little army, but he hadn't thought that Edmund cared quite this much about them. Edmund continued.
"They're in the front. They start the war, but they're the most useless of all the men. They can only move forward, unless they're capturing a piece. They're not pieces. They are sacrifices." Edmund looked down a pawn he held. "Their only function is to attract bigger pieces that eventually capture them. They never make spectacular captures, never get the glory. They do the brunt work and they aren't even recognized."
Peter spoke gently. "They're pawns, Edmund. Their purpose is to be used by the other pieces." Suddenly Edmund jumped up and swept his arm across the board. The marble figures clattered to the ground, rolling as they hit the floor.
"It's not fair! They don't get to do anything else! They're destined to be used their entire life! They always have to answer to someone else!"
Now Peter spoke sharply. "Edmund. You are talking about inanimate objects. Calm down." Edmund sat down heavily, and Peter's heart plummeted as he saw that he was trembling. Just then, it hit Peter.
"Edmund . . . you aren't just talking about the pieces, are you." Edmund shook his head and leaned defeatedly against the table. Peter rose from his throne and started toward his brother.
"Edmund . . . do you feel like a pawn?" Edmund buried his face in his arms. He was acting most unnatural, and it was worrying Peter immensely. Edmund began to shake, and Peter realized that he was crying. The sight of his stalwart brother quivering with tears made his heart ache. He pulled a chair next to his brother's and began to rub his back, feeling dreadfully awkward as he did so. He was used to comforting the girls, not his brother. The movement seemed to help calm Edmund, however. He stopped shaking and lay on the table in a pitiful little heap until Peter pulled him off the table to rest against his side. Edmund leaned against his brother, making little sniffing noises every now and then. Peter closed his eyes. The sniffs gradually died, and Peter began to feel a little sleepy with the warm body at his side until a voice spoke.
"It's just . . . my entire life . . . I feel as though I've either been used by others for their own purposes, or else simply ordered around." Edmund tried to laugh, but it came out as a cross between a cough and a squeak. He cleared his throat. "I know it's pathetic. It's just me feeling sorry for myself." Peter held him more tightly against his side.
"It's not silly." He paused. "Who exactly makes you feel that way?"
"Well . . . the witch, I suppose -"
You suppose? thought Peter. She practically kidnapped you.
"- and, well, I don't know . . ." Here Edmund paused awkwardly, as though he knew the answer but didn't want to say it. With a sinking heart, Peter realized he knew the reason why.
"Yes, you do."
"Peter. . ."
"Say it."
"Fine. I feel like your pawn." Even though he'd ordered Edmund to say it, the words still rent Peter's heart. Both were silent for a while. Finally Peter spoke.
"Do I make you feel that way?" Aslan, Peter thought, this feels like a psychiatric session.
"No . . . it's not the way you treat me . . . it's just . . ." Suddenly the words came out in a rush. "You're the High King, and I'm not, and even if you don't act superior people still treat you like something special and I'm just there, and a lot of them still don't trust me, and I feel like I'll never be anything great, like - like you." After this monologue, both were, again, silent. Then Peter shifted Edmund so that they both faced the chess board.
"Edmund, what happens when a pawn reaches the other side of the board?"
"It turns into a queen."
"And the queen is...?"
"The most powerful piece."
Now Peter looked straight at his brother.
"Edmund, the pawns are their name: pawns. They are weak by themselves and, yes, are often sacrificed for more powerful pieces. But - look at me." Edmund locked eyes with Peter. "They have the chance to become something better. They have the chance to become the mightiest piece on the board." Edmund considered this, brightening a little. Then his face darkened again.
"Peter, pawns hardly ever make it to the other side of the board."
"I know. It takes a lot of hard work, persistence, and skill. But it is possible." Peter grabbed Edmund's arms. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"That I'm destined to become your queen?" Edmund smiled lopsidedly at his brother, who made a ha, ha, very funny face at Edmund.
"No!" Then he considered. "Well, actually, in a way, yes. What's the main job of the queen?"
"To protect the king."
"Exactly." Edmund thought for a moment.
"So . . . what you're saying is that I'll eventually get stronger and have to protect you?"
"What happens to the king when he's captured?"
"The game is over."
"What happens to the rest of his army - his rooks, his bishops, his queen?"
"It doesn't matter. They've all lost alongside him."
"You aren't a pawn, Edmund, even if you feel like one. You're just as powerful as I am - you just don't realize it yet. We're equals." He swung off his chair and extended a hand to Edmund. "Fancy a game of chess?" Edmund smiled, took his hand, and resumed his position, setting his army up and Peter went back to his throne and arranged his own men. They sat in companionable silence, until,
"Thank you."
Blue eyes met brown.
"You're welcome."
A/N Chess terms:
Bishop - a piece that can move diagonally; fairly powerful.
Rook - a piece that can move up-and-down or side to side; also powerful.
Pawn: The weakest piece. Can only move forward unless capturing a piece; then it moves diagonally. Can move two squares on first move, but can only move one square after that.
Bind - A strong grip or stranglehold on a position that is difficult for the opponent to break.