All Sails and Shields
Description: Edmund thinks about what it means to rule a land he does not know anymore.
Disclaimer: Characters and original inspiration accredited to the visionary, C.S. Lewis.
He leant against the side of the ship and closed his eyes. The voices of Narnia dipped and turned and sang around him – the silken melodious whisper of the wind, the low smooth knock of the waves against the wooden hull, the high sweet call of the stars. The breeze ruffled his hair, like a comforting hand, and he smiled softly.
It was not only a warrior's skill that returned to him with re-entry into Narnia, but also his old instincts. He could judge the flight and path of an arrow, glimpse the gleam of a sword in the corner of his eye, smell the smoke of a fire from the other side of the woods, hear the step of a soldier behind him, especially on wooden boards. "How now, Narnian King?" he asked, opening his eyes.
Caspian laughed, catching on to Edmund's teasing tone. "Peaceful night. The sailors are content and the waves are still." Edmund looked down. The water was lapping gently against the ship immediately below, but further out, the sea was as flat as a tabletop; a perfect mirror for a luminous moon. Blue and black mingled in the water, and glitters of silver where the stars' images rose from between the waves and perhaps, the tails of mermaids– Lucy's Eastern Sea had always been colourful and full of life.
But it wasn't Lucy's Eastern Sea anymore, it was Caspian's; and both Edmund and Lucy knew it.
"May I ask after your brother and sister?" Caspian was saying, which jolted Edmund out of his thoughts.
"Oh," Edmund said, startled slightly. He cast about for some relevant information. "Peter has gone to study with another friend of ours – a Narnian friend, coincidentally. Susan is with our mother and father, travelling."
Caspian looked off into the distance. "It must be good for him. To be able to study what he wants."
Edmund had, unsurprisingly, never thought of this. "I suppose so." Caspian looked upwards to where the stars sparkled benevolently. "You can study what you want to study, Caspian," Edmund told him. The other young man turned, eyebrows raised. In answer to the unspoken question, Edmund continued. "I did." His eyes misted over with memories. "When we began our rule, each of us had our own priorities. Mine was that no Narnian would ever be treated unfairly. I studied law and justice and court rulings. It was something dear to me – that I wanted to do."
"But you did so for other people. Not just yourself."
Edmund smiled down at his hands. "That's what being a King means," he said. "And I know it doesn't seem to you as if I'm older than you, but remember, I've lived two lives. I'm speaking from experience when I say – it's the best reason for doing anything."
"Are you alright, Edmund?"
The voice came from around shoulder-height, and even after all of Narnia's music and mellifluence, it was still the most beautiful sound in either world he had known. "Fine, Lu. Why do you ask?"
"You look a little bit sad."
Edmund uncrossed his arms and turned to her, eyebrows raised. "What makes you say that?"
Lucy folded her lips in and assessed him with a frown. "Is that a trick question? Your looking sad made me say that."
He laughed and ruffled her hair. "Fair enough." In front of them, Susan and Peter were discussing directions, and Trumpkin was sharpening his hunting knife.
"So are you? Sad?" Lucy asked expectantly. "We're in Narnia, you know. It's home."
"Yes, home," Edmund murmured. There was something odd about the way Lucy said the word. As if it were something she believed in; something that was always with her. Narnia was with him in England, of course. It brought him comfort during emotional upheaval; relief from stress; sanctuary from the pallor of war and reality. But it was always his own Narnia that he returned to – his own hills and trees and gardens and woods; his own castle with its light-bearing windows; his own chapels and courtrooms and stables and chambers; his own armchair with his own library and his own books. It was not a wild, savage land that held all of its former beauty but none of its former life. It was not a land where animals were chained and beaten, while men roamed freely. It was not this Narnia that he had always called home.
"Edmund," Lucy said, sounding a little alarmed. "Are you going to cry?"
He blinked the unbidden moisture away from his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Lucy." And then, thinking that his tone might be a little sharp, placed a hand on her head for a brief moment. "After all," he added when she looked unconvinced. "We're home - there's nothing to cry about."
Caspian asked, often, about their Golden Age. He did it so shyly and so sheepishly that both Edmund and Lucy laughed at him kindly and told him that there was no shame in asking for stories. "They should be the currency of the world," Edmund said and Lucy smiled in memory of the person who had once said those very words. "Our tutor," Lucy added when Caspian looked impressed. "He was a Centaur – one of the best and wisest."
Once Eustace had been un-Dragoned, he asked often as well, with shining eyes and a new deference to his majestic cousins. "Stop that, Eustace," Lucy warned him with a teasing smile. "It's true that we once ruled this land, but we're the same as we've always been."
And the stories they told put fire in the hearts and eyes of sailors, and stars in the eyes of Caspian and Eustace. They told of wars and of festivals and solstices and masses ad wine-drinking and decision-making and law-writing and training and learning and exploring. "The year the delegation from Archenland arrived dressed in those ridiculous outfits – Princes Cor and Corin played a joke on them," Lucy laughed and Edmund gave his own rare laugh.
"King Lune was furious. Peter almost bit through his lip trying not to laugh," he recalled.
"That was the same year the mermaid died," Lucy recalled, tipping her head to the sky. "She was washed up onto the beach at dawn, and we were woken up by the singing." Caspian made a sound in the back of his throat.
"Singing?" Eustace asked, unaware of custom.
"Merpeople rise to the surface of the sea and sing when one of their own returns to Aslan's Country," Edmund explained to their cousin. "They aren't exactly subject to our laws, and they believe less in the concept of death and more in being returned to Nature, but they always honour Aslan by coming to the surface and showing their sorrow to the rest of the world. It's one of the saddest things I've ever heard."
"And one of the most beautiful," Lucy added quietly.
"Yes, that too," Edmund murmured.
The sea swelled as they stared off into the distance, their stories swirling around them. Even though Caspian and Eustace and the rest of the sailors they had come to call friends watched them with affection and love and awe, it saddened Edmund to know that buried in memories was where the two felt most at home.
When Caspian was crowned King, Edmund did cry, and without shame. Beside him, his little sister, a ring of summer flowers in her hair, laughed gaily and shed tears of equal happiness with him. Susan and Peter found it difficult to laugh, but they did so regardless, with the duty of monarchs still weighing upon them, even when there was nothing left for them to rule. Edmund watched them, admiration and pity surging within him, but he said nothing. Beside him, Lucy did the same, for it was not their experience to share.
Caspian shed tears himself when he was told that he would never see Peter and Susan again. But Peter only offered him a hand to shake, like a real English gentleman, and told him that Narnia would always be their home. "You may never come home again," Caspian said sorrowfully, but Peter only smiled.
"Narnia is our home, but it belongs to you now. There is nothing else for us to do here."
Caspian embraced him, then Edmund, then Lucy, then Susan. "Take care of Her, won't you?" the latter said to him, and Caspian promised.
As they turned to make their final farewells to Aslan, Edmund caught sight of a strange expression on his elder siblings' faces, and surmised that they had come to understand something very profound that he himself did not yet know.
"Did you ever miss your home in Spare Oom?" Caspian asked Edmund one night when the two were sharpening their swords. The sounds rung harshly into the silence, but it comforted Edmund; reminding him of countless times when he had repeated these very actions in the armoury, his friends and comrades gathered around him.
"What an interesting question," he said and Caspian chuckled. "No, I don't suppose we ever did. Lucy did miss our mother and father at the beginning, but we never missed our other home."
"Why not?" Caspian said. Such a simple question, and it took Edmund a long time to answer.
"We read about places like Narnia in books when we were young children – swords and archers and glory and honour, and beauty and freedom and magic. When we were crowned, we were enamoured with the land. We viewed Narnia when we came here the way you view the period of time when we ruled – too distant to be real, but close enough that we knew it was true." Edmund ran the stone down the edge of his sword again. "And then we grew up. And we were enamoured with the land in a different way – we loved it, we cherished it, in a way that we never did with England. And now, we've grown enough know how to miss a home – and it's Narnia that we miss."
Caspian watched him, somewhat uncomprehendingly, and Edmund shook himself and smiled at his friend. "But no matter. We're here now."
Once again, there was silence but for the sound of their whetting stones, then Caspian asked, "You grew up twice."
Edmund chuckled at that and Caspian looked up quickly to see if he had caused offence. His worried were swiftly dispelled by Edmund's next words. "Peter said much the same thing to me once." Edmund paused, then added, "I disagreed."
Caspian laughed aloud at this. "Did you and Peter disagree often during your reign?"
"Naturally we did," Edmund said, then, remembering that Caspian had no siblings, cast about for an appropriate comparative comment but found none. Instead, he continued with his previous line of thought. "Peter had two very different experiences in his two different homes, but I found I was quite unable to grow up twice. I had done it once, and by the time I was set to grow up in England, Narnia had taught me everything I needed to know."
Edmund stopped his movements and rested the hilt of his sword against his leg. The sailors were moving about on the lower deck; slow and calm, calling and laughing and chatting to each other. Caspian ran a smooth ship, and Edmund had watched with an appraising eye as the other King had displayed an impressive hand of leadership over the past days. Caspian kept on with his rhythmic action, but also watched the action on the deck below. "What was it that Narnia taught you?"
Edmund could not say that he was surprised by the question. Caspian loved Narnia, he knew, as they all did, but he would never know the difference between one world and the next. The Just King considered the best way to respond to the question; to make Caspian aware of what Narnia meant to him.
At last, there was only one, obvious answer that could be given. "It taught us to be good."
A voyage on the sea, it turned out, was every bit as exciting and fast-paced and pressing as one on the land. It was a rare moment that Lucy and Edmund had together, and they took their privacy down into the prow of the ship, just behind the head of the great dragon. They felt no need to talk, although occasionally, one or the other would point into the distance at a plume on the horizon, or up at the sky where occasional flashes of colour occurred above the slowly setting Sun.
Tossing his head back, Edmund smelt the salt in the air; felt it settle into his hair from the spray. "It must be nice being back on the water, Lu," he commented. "Last time we were here, we didn't get much of a glimpse at it."
But Lucy did not smile as he had predicted. Instead, she leant her arms on the side of the ship and gazed with serious eyes at the horizon. "It feels different," she told her brother in a grave voice, and Edmund knew that his little sister was gone and in this moment, he was addressing one of the wisest monarchs Narnia was ever likely to have.
"Different?" he questioned and Lucy nodded.
"Heavier somehow; darker, and older."
"Narnia is older," Edmund reminded her gently.
Lucy sighed, like a parent concerned for their child. "I know." They stood side by side quietly. Behind them, one of the sailors yelled for rope, and another for more sail. "Do you think we can really sail to Aslan's Country?" Lucy asked suddenly.
Edmund, a scholar of law and history and politics and art and folklore and stories and magic, could only shake his head. "I wish I could tell you, Lu."
"What do you think will happen when we get there?" Lucy asked quietly, in a tone that suggested she already knew the answer. Edmund said nothing and waited for his sister to continue. "We have to go home at some point," she said finally. Edmund turned to face her, but she continued to look outwards. "I don't think I'm ready."
There were no appropriate things to say. Edmund could only reach an arm around Lucy and draw her closer to his side; she rested her head on his shoulder, as she had so many times before. Edmund was aware, at every waking moment, that he and Lucy were rapidly approaching the age at which Peter and Susan had been deemed too old to return to Narnia. His brother and sister had borne the information with grace and courage. Edmund did not know whether or not he would be able to do the same. Even thinking of never seeing Narnia again; never walking Her earth or breathing Her air, or spending another night out under Her stars and moon, felt as if he was ripping a part of himself from his body and waving goodbye to it.
He remembered the mornings he had spent walking along the parapets of the Cair, feeling the sunlight on his face and seeping through his skin, until he had felt he was a part of the air itself; the afternoons lying face-up in the river, floating along like nothing more than a blossom from a tree; the nights feasting and dancing, or sitting cosy around campfires, watching the sparks rise into the air and wondering where they travelled to, what tales they might tell if they ever returned.
The grief threatened to rip him apart sometimes, to think that he might never be allowed to experience such things again. The magic seeped into his bones when he was home; home in Narnia; and justice and courage and wisdom and grace. England was a grey, hollow echo.
"Do you ever miss England while we're in Narnia?" Edmund asked his sister.
Lucy was clearly lost in her own train of thought; it took a while for her to dismount it and regain her footing on the platform of reality. "No," she said finally.
Edmund turned again to look back out over the sea. "Do you think you would," he said, "if you knew we could never go back?"
To which Lucy had no answer at all.
Caspian was an adventurer. His heart yearned for the unfamiliar, and his hands for new things to hold. His desire to see Aslan's Country came from a place deep within his soul that called simultaneously for peace and the cry of the unknown. Edmund reflected afterwards what an impeccable academic his friend would have made.
The boat was moored and the lilies stretched in so many miles; it was the most beautiful and the strangest thing Edmund had ever seen. Caspian's mind might have been that of a scholar, and his heart that of a sailor, but Fate, and Aslan, had made him a King instead. And all of a sudden, Edmund understood.
"Caspian," he spoke up in a voice full of command. "You can't do this." And of course, Caspian fussed and blustered and shouted, but Edmund held fast and would not meet Caspian's pleading eyes.
Later, much later, Edmund went to his friend. "You have work left to do here," he told the young King.
"As do you," Caspian said, wiping tears from his eyes.
But Edmund shook his head. "There's nothing left for me and Lu here."
"It's your home," Caspian cried, and Edmund placed gentle hands on his shoulders.
"Yes," Edmund said. "It is, and always will be. But we ruled a different Narnia than you do, and that one is gone. It's nobody's fault, and nobody's doing. Time moves and we all have to follow that call." Caspian had stilled and was listening. Edmund felt very old for a moment, and sad, and sorry. "We did our best for Her; we always will. But Caspian – listen to me," Edmund said sternly as Caspian's eyes started to well with tears again. "This is what Peter was telling you when he left Narnia – the git figured it out before me, as usual." Edmund scowled slightly, and as he had hoped, it made Caspian laugh a little. "It's your turn to do your best now. She belonged to us, and now she Belongs to you."
"She still belongs to you," Caspian said. "You're Her King; you always will be. Aslan said so."
"Yes, Aslan said so," Edmund told his friend quietly. "And we always will be Her Kings and Queens. But we've given all we have to Narnia. All that is left for us is to belong to Her, the same way She belonged to us all those years ago. I suspect that you'll understand one day, when it's your turn to give Her up."
It was with a great, great fear that Caspian asked his next question. "You won't come back again, will you?"
Edmund could not say for sure, but he felt in his bones the answer, ringing true. "Nobody can say what's in the future, Caspian," he said finally. Caspian knew what Edmund was telling him, and fell into great sobs. Edmund took his friend, and pressed gentle lips to his forehead, like the Kings of Old; like brothers.
They were given a rowboat with oars, although both Edmund and Lucy suspected that oars would be unnecessary. Edmund stood very close to his sister, and she took his hand once or twice and squeezed his fingers. He did not know whether she was comforting him or herself. They had not spoken of what was to come, but Edmund knew that Lucy understood all the same things that he did.
"It's been my greatest honour to know you," Caspian said to Lucy, who shook her head.
"Don't do that, Caspian," she told him in her wise, knowing way. "Don't say goodbye. I'll see you again." This did not seem to give Caspian much comfort, but he embraced them each in their turn.
"We will never forget you," Caspian said loudly, so that all the crew could hear, and each nodded their own promise. "Songs will be sung of King Edmund the Just, and Queen Lucy the Valiant, and their un-Dragoned cousin Eustace, throughout all the times of Narnia. They have left us their country to safeguard, and their legacy to protect. And we shall protect it." The sailors gave their cheers of assent, with tears in their eyes. Caspian continued. "We shall honour that legacy; we shall honour them; we shall honour Narnia until the day we die."
Caspian met Edmund's gaze. "And we shall fly all sails and shields," he said in a quieter voice. "To farewell our truest friends."