Disclaimer: I was not born November 29, 1898. I wasn't even alive by November 22, 1963. And I did not conjure the image of a faun carrying parcels in a snowy wood. On that note, I didn't even know what fauns were till 2005….
Winner of The Stable Award for best use of Scripture in fiction in The Lion's Call's 2013 Lion Awards.
"Long live King Peter! Long live King Edmund! Long live Queen Susan! Long live Queen Lucy!"
He tossed and turned. In his dreams, he heard the merfolks' song wafting into the Great Hall. He smelled the salty breeze that carried the song to his ears. He saw the Narnians bow reverently.
He felt the weight of the silver crown.
Edmund sat up in his bed. The dreams were not particularly troubling, but they had a tendency to overwhelm him with his new responsibilities. He closed his eyes and slowly inhaled. Rubbing his hands over his face, he sighed, "Oh, Aslan." The soft sound of waves on the surf came through his open balcony doors. Maybe a walk will help. He swung his legs out of bed and pulled on some clothes. He reached for the door handle, but stopped himself. No guards. I want to be alone. So much for a walk on the beach. He decided he would have to content himself with standing on the balcony. That is, until he raided a closet instead and began to knot sheets together. He dragged his armload of makeshift rope to the balcony and secured one end to the railing before pitching the rest over and shimmying down.
The grass was cool to Edmund's bare feet and the moon lit the night. He took especial care to slip past the stables and pasture as silently as possible. Rousing the horses – especially the Talking Ones – wouldn't help his case any. Once he reached the gardens, he breathed a little easier. It took longer than he expected, but he finally found the side door that would let him out. It opened onto a narrow shelf of cliff that overlooked the Eastern Ocean. I'll have to come back during the day to climb it, he told himself. If I'm not too busy ruling, that is. He could almost feel the crown on his head again. As though to assure himself of the crown's absence, he ran his hand through his hair. "I don't know if I can do this."
Edmund followed the shelf down until he reached the beach. He picked up a few moonlit pebbles as his feet took him east till the water lapped at his feet. One by one, he threw the pebbles into the water. What if I don't do well? I'm too young; what do I know of running a nation? What if I let everyone down? Narnia… Peter, Susan, and Lucy? Or… or Aslan? He couldn't bear the thought of that.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and began to walk down the beach. He barely noticed when he passed Cair Paravel entirely as he continued southward. However, he did notice deep impressions in the sand. He crouched to inspect them. Pawprints. He lightly traced his fingers around the edge of one of the prints, touching what the waves had somehow not erased. His pawprints. Massive, deep. Edmund looked up a little to follow the tracks with his eyes. But there was no need, for the paws themselves stood before him. "Aslan."
"My son."
Edmund could only look at the Lion's paws.
"What troubles you, Son of Adam?"
Edmund swallowed. "Aslan… I'm not a very good choice for a king."
"I do not make wrong choices, Son of Adam."
Edmund let those words sink in. He never makes mistakes. That is very comforting to know, but… but what if I fail anyway? He licked his lips. "You've made me king, but I'm just a kid. I don't know anything about ruling a nation. I don't want to fail You or the Narnians. I don't want to rule the way… she did." He shuddered as the memory of a cold, white face – her face – flashed before his eyes.
"Then ask what I shall give you."
Edmund's eyes met His. Massive, deep. "All I ask, Aslan, is that You grant me wisdom to be just, so that I may rule as You'd have me to."
Aslan's lips turned up in a smile. "A wise request, Son of Adam, and one that I gladly grant. And because such was your request, I will bless the endeavours of your hands and you will rise in honour."
The weight of responsibility was no less, but the burden of worry dissipated from the young king. "Thank you, Aslan, thank you!" he exclaimed as he leapt up to embrace the Lion.
"And now, my child, you must rest."
A warm and cozy feeling overcame Edmund's senses. "Mmm, sleep," he said as his voice faded into Aslan's mane.
.0.
In the light of a golden sunrise, Edmund found himself back under his covers. Was it just a dream? The balcony railing was free of sheets for they lay crisp and folded in their closet. But the door is wide open. It wasn't open before I'd pulled the sheets out…. He got up and noticed that he was fully dressed. Did I sleepwalk? He opened the bedroom door.
"Good morning, sire," the Fox guard greeted, bowing with a graceful sweep of his tail.
"Good morning," Edmund replied. "Sire." Guess I'll have to get used to that. "Please inform anyone who asks that I've gone for a ride before breakfast."
The Fox bowed again but Edmund couldn't help but catch his bewildered expression. Paying no heed to it, he raced out to the pasture.
"Phillip!"
The chestnut horse tossed his head and cantered over. "Good morning, sire!"
"And to you, Phillip. How do you feel about a ride down the beach?"
"A pleasure, my king."
Edmund used the fence to help him mount Phillip and, before long, they were on their way.
"Any particular reason for this early ride, sire?"
"Uh… I just… wanted to see what the beach looked like this morning?" he offered. He imagined Phillip wondering what could be so especially interesting about sand and water, but the Horse merely trotted on. Edmund saw that the beach was clear of all marks. He stopped Phillip at the very spot where he'd seen Aslan and slid off. A tiny ridge of sand caught his eye and he brushed his fingers against it just a moment before a wave swept it away. "I don't understand," he mumbled to himself. "Was it a dream or wasn't it?"
"A dream, sire?"
Edmund smiled and mounted up again. "Well, if it was a dream, it was a jolly good one. What say we gallop back?"
