Chapter Two
Pack Up the Moon
Why then, why there
Why thus, we cry, did he die?
The heavens are silent
- W.H. Auden-
There was nothing Edmund wanted to do more than stay in bed all day, but with a sigh he made himself wake up. He knew he had a kingdom and subjects that needed him, no matter how caught up he was in the recent developments. Edmund knew he couldn't expect Susan and Lucy to be any stronger than he himself was and rule while he moped in the back of his room.
Taking his time, Edmund slowly pulled the bed covers off. Part of him wanted to think that his tear-stained cheeks were just from another nightmare, a bad possibility his subconsicious had plagued him with. The rational part of Edmund's brain, however, knew it was best not to give in to denial. He knew what was true and how hard it would be to have to come to terms with this reality twice.
The sun was not very far in the sky, but had fully risen. It was later than Edmund slept-though not by choice. The palace valets normally woke the Pevensies up at the crack of dawn, a fact that often irritated Edmund, who was quite a heavy sleeper once he actually was asleep. According to Edmund, waking up that early was a waste of perfectly good sleeping time.
Edmund yawned and stretched his arms up as far as they would reach. He had slept well, surprisingly, though he had dreamed of Peter. It wasn't a nightmare, but a refuge of a peaceful fantasy, because now reality was the nightmare.
Edmund smiled as the bittersweet dream came back to him. It had been an exact memory of something that had happened about six months into the Pevensies' reign.
It took Edmund only a minute to pause, size up the door, and push the handle. Edmund was aware that Peter would be sleeping soundly-he had always been a heavy sleepier, even though he seemed to value his sleeping time less than Edmund.
Edmund stood over Peter, neither speaking nor moving. What was there to say? He wasn't even sure why he had come to Peter, except Peter's presence just. . . . comforted him. There was always a peace there.
Edmund stood there for several minutes until peter slowly woke up. He batted his heavy eyelids, clearly still half-asleep.
"Ed?" Peter sat up, still rubbing his eyes.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
Edmund blinked back tears as he tried to turn his face slightly away from Peter so he wouldn't see. Edmund brushed the tears away and they seemed to sting deeper than any wound.
"Nightmare?" Peter guessed. Edmund nodded, his movements barely perceptible in the dark.
Peter looked at Edmund with understanding, patient eyes, and neither brother said anything. After a while, Edmund moved from his standing position right outside the door, sitting on the bed next to his older brother.
"I dreamed about her," Edmund admitted in a whisper. Jadis was an ever-repeating nightmare for all the Pevensies, but Edmund most of all.
Peter wrapped his arm around Edmund, drawing his younger brother close. Around others, Edmund would have resisted, but alone, Edmund instead embraced the comfort that Peter gave.
Edmund's voice was broken, holding back tears.
"I don't know if I'll ever be free of her," He whispered.
Peter stroked Edmund's hair, as one might do to a small child. Normally, it would have annoyed Edmund, but he knew it wasn't a demeaning gesture coming from Peter, it was simply. . . Peter.
"Ed…" he murmured, "You're already free."
Edmund wiped away the burning tears from his eyes. Not now, he told himself, not now. No matter how much he wanted to breakdown, he knew he had a kingdom and a family in need, and the day had now begun. You can cry tonight, if you need to, he reminded himself.
Edmund shivered, trying to drag up some comfort in the fact that no one had found the High King's body. Maybe there was still a glimmer of hope, somewhere, in that darkness. Perhaps Peter was simply lost, and not to death. In the chaos of battle, not everyone can be accounted for at all times. Mishaps and mistakes happen, quite frequently.
Edmund pulled himself up as much as possible with a sigh. He knew the coming days would not be easy, but he was determined to survive on reality and rationality, as well as the sense of comfort he knew he would give Susan and Lucy. They needed it.
Edmund fell to his knees. The day had been torture. He had managed to go along with business as normal, forced to hold his tongue. It had been Susan's idea not to tell the kingdom of Peter's death until it had been confirmed, and Edmund and Lucy had agreed it was the best course of action. None of them spoke the words that they were all thinking, that it was just a matter of time before one of them – Edmund, most likely – would have to make such an announcement. Having to act as if nothing is wrong when the world had just fallen would beat anyone down, and Edmund was no exception.
The day shouldn't have been difficult. There were a few annoyances, but that was to be expected. The worst was some ambassador from Archenland who had come bearing gifts of wine and good food, but the price they had to pay was his company. The monarchs had tried to entertain him willingly, since it was obvious he didn't mean ill, but he asked so many questions and sometimes bordered on rudeness that it was overwhelming. On a normal day, Edmund could easily deal with an annoying ambassador. Today, however, it gave Edmund a painful headache on top of the deep ache in his heart.
Glancing down, Edmund realized he was not in his own chambers, as he had thought, but in Peter's. He really wasn't paying attention when he picked a door, any door, to collapse behind, but this realization just made his pain increase tenfold.
Might as well do it now, Pevensie. He told himself. And he gave himself the permission to release the tears that had been threatening all day, at different times, ebbing and flowing and the back of his eyes, to come forth.
Several minutes later, Edmund had spent all the tears he had, and was slightly surprise that he did indeed feel much better. The ticking clock in the corner of the room told Edmund that it was quickly approaching time for dinner, and he knew he needed to at least wash his face, red and stained from tears. After such an emotional release, he felt much more prepared to face the conversation at dinner, and decided, wearing a determined, hard look, that for the rest of the day, he would not only appear fine but would be fine. Everything's all right, He told himself, everything must be all right. What other option do I have?
Lucy reached behind her desk and pulled out the worn book that had fallen over the edge, slowly pushed off by the growing mountain of papers, correspondence from friends throughout Narnia, and the sheet music she was attempting to learn to play on the simple, but pretty, wooden flute that was often found in her favorite Narnian music.
It was a journal, of sorts, though Lucy made no attempt to keep it in any habit. She did always write down any encounters she had with Aslan, and any time her brothers had returned from battle. There were other random memories, as well—a story Mr. Tumnus had told her on his last visit to Cair Paravel, or an account of when the bluejay family that lived in the tree closest to her window expanded to include three new birds. However, it was her gratitude over safe returns for Peter and Edmund that she was interested in currently.
About a year ago, Peter and Edmund had returned, barely alive, from a rather vicious battle against some remnants of Fell Beast. Lucy had administered the cordial to both of them, and had written down the reunion in the journal.
Peter and Edmund are back! They're both pale, and sick, but they've returned safely. Aslan has returned my brothers once again.
Lucy swallowed the lump that was growing in her throat. Aslan has returned my brothers once again. Was He done returning? Was it trust in Aslan or denial to believe that Peter was still alive?
Lucy pulled the journal to her chest, feeling a small amount of comfort in all the memories the leather-bound book held. She wasn't sure if she could trust her instincts or not, but she could trust Aslan, and she would, no matter whatever happened next.
