Disclaimer: No, I don't own Peter or Edmund or Cair Paravel. Wish I did, though. sigh
AN: I tried something a little different in this chapter, and I hope it works. The litany of Aslan is meant to convey venerated tradition – Peter and Edmund have been kings for probably 11-13 years at this point (give or take a few), and they have observed this ritual many, many times. They insisted on leaving nothing out. Who am I to refuse? And don't worry, there's more Peter in the next chapter...

III. In Memoriam

It did not take the young king long to reach his destination. The duskiness of the Cair's chapel and the faint scent of candle smoke and exotic spices always made Edmund feel as though he was in another world – one of silence and contemplation, of meditation and reverence. The room was long and rectangular, with a high, carved roof and several golden lanterns depending from it on long, cleverly worked chains. Colorful tapestries depicting the fall of the White Witch and the triumph of Aslan hung every few feet to each side, and several intricate wooden benches sat along the walls, leading to a raised dais at the front. Two tall candelabras flanked an arched window above the dais, which allowed the sunlight to stream in during the morning. The room faced east, looking towards Aslan's country, and Lucy had chosen it for that reason as much as its simple beauty. She had been most insistent on Cair Paravel having a chapel. "Every king, queen, or noble knight needs a place to go and pray," she had said firmly, and that was that.

Edmund made his way slowly to the front and knelt in his accustomed spot, placing his hands upon his knees. Had it really been four months since he and Peter had been there in the chapel together, as the High King prepared for his journey North? The younger king remembered well their conversation that evening, their confidence of a hard-fought but ultimate victory, and the army's subsequent departure the next morning with trumpets and pipes skirling, banners flying, and sunlight sparkling off of polished armor and weaponry. Edmund always felt a thrill of pride watching Peter ride off to war, so straight and proud on his warhorse, even though they both knew well the danger and the horror of battle. Only four months. Time certainly had a way of slipping away, the king thought, letting his memories carry him back.

Interlude – Auspicium – Four Months Prior
A dusty bottle of the best syrah held carefully by its neck in one hand, a small loaf of crusty bread tucked under the other arm, and fingers twining the stems of two wine goblets, Edmund pried open the chapel door with a foot and shouldered his way inside. He knew he had no hope of beating his brother there, for Peter made it a habit to spend a great deal of time in prayer and contemplation before setting out on a campaign. Indeed, as he entered the solemn dimness, he saw the High King down on one knee; his sword balanced on its point before him, a calloused hand wrapped around its grip. Peter's voice carried to him as a muted murmur – it appeared he had already started the litany of Aslan and was about halfway through. Edmund grinned. He had come at just the right time.

The younger king made his way towards the dais, his soft leather half boots making no sound in the luxurious carpeting. He set the wine bottle, bread, and glasses on one of the benches and cleared his throat softly into a balled fist. At the sound, Peter broke off in mid-sentence and then turned, and a smile crossed his face as he stood and sheathed his sword. "Good to see you, Ed," he said, clasping arms with his brother, "Didn't know what was taking you so long, so I started without you."

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Thank Master Rowbothom for that," he said, and Peter chuckled. "He wouldn't let me out of the bottlery – kept yammering at me about the virtues of some odd new grape over this other old grape, and wouldn't I like to try the latest of the Calormene reds – here, take a bottle of the verdeaux, and how about the prospects for a good harvest this year?" He took a corkscrew from the pouch on his belt and set to work peeling wax off the mouth of the bottle. "I mean, I'm all for a good glass of wine, but honestly! All in moderation!"

Peter laughed again and sat down beside Edmund on the bench, a devilish twinkle in his sky blue eyes. "Rowbothom is a corker all right," he said, lips twitching as he struggled to keep a straight face. The king's hands abruptly stopped opening the wine, and the look he shot his brother was full of pure long-suffering venom. "You promised, Peter," he said reproachfully.

"I did," Peter said without a trace of repentance in his voice, "But what is a promise if one cannot break it from time to time?"

"Empty words," responded Edmund, setting to work on the wax once more.

"Never fear, brother, I won't subject the giants to my horrible word-play."

"I would advise instead subjecting them to your considerably superior sword-play," the younger king said as the last of the wax came free. Silence fell for a moment as the two traded a long look, the seriousness of the upcoming campaign intruding on their good humor.

Peter took up a wine glass and held it out. "I intend to," he said, and the undercurrent of steel in his tone made Edmund give him a quick glance. He poured out the syrah and recorked the bottle, replacing it on the bench. "I wish you would change your mind," he said quietly. "I've almost a mind to disguise myself as a lowly squire and come anyway."

"And then be sent packing in disgrace when you were found out." the High King responded, "Ed, we've been over this countless times, and I grow very weary of discussing it. Believe it or not, I am able to look after myself on campaign."

The younger king snorted, a skeptical expression on his face. "Couldn't prove it by me," he said, burying his nose in the opening of his glass.

Peter sighed. "Let me ask you a question. Do you trust Rabadash?"

Edmund looked up sharply. "What?" he asked.

"Do you trust Rabadash? The flouncy Calormene prince who has come courting Susan. You remember her, our sister?"

Edmund put a finger to his lip and looked vapidly confused. "Sister?" he asked in a cracking falsetto, "We have a sister?"

Peter raised an eyebrow sternly, and his brother shot him an irritated glare. "What kind of a question is that? Of course I don't trust him."

"Then you've just made my point," the older king said, "I won't have Susan visiting Rabadash alone, Ed. Sending Lucy wouldn't be enough to protect her, not in Calormen itself, and I think you know that just as well as I do, if you'd stop being ridiculous long enough to listen to yourself. If it helps, consider yourself her bodyguard, for you're not meant to be her chaperone." He chuckled to himself and swirled the wine in his glass before lifting it to his lips. "Good choice with this, by the way."

Edmund stared at the deep violet liquid in his own glass and tasted defeat. He knew Peter was right and that a king of Narnia should escort its beautiful queen as she visited her suitor in his own country, never mind he was also her brother and bore responsibility there as well. As he considered it further, he suddenly felt he was meant to go with Susan. It would be the pinnacle of foolishness to let her go alone.

The High King eyed his brother, seeing the resignation in his face, and blew out a short breath. "Edmund, please believe me. I would rather have you along on this campaign than anyone else. Your gift for strategy and your trustworthy council astounds me, and while I know the plans we've drawn up will work, I still would rather have you by my side. There's no one else I trust as much to guard my back."

The younger king looked up again, and his eyes were burning. Peter smiled. "But I have sworn to protect my kingdom and my family. I need you to be with our gentle sister and keep her – and through her, Narnia – from harm."

"I understand," Edmund replied, "and I am willing. I just wish all these things had come at different times – or that I could be in two places at once."

"We must do our best with what Aslan gives us," Peter said, standing and returning to the dais. "Come, let us to prayer. There is much to be done before the dawn."

Edmund joined him with the wine and bread, breaking the loaf into two smaller pieces and refilling their glasses. As was their custom, they drew their swords and lay them down, hilts just between their knees, points facing the eastern window. They took their bread and wine and held it up, bowing their heads, golden brown and almost black, their crowns glinting in the lamplight. As was his right and duty, Peter began.

"Mighty Aslan, Great Lion, protector and defender, Highest of all High Kings, we beseech thee now and always, hear us, have mercy upon us."

"Have mercy upon us." A whisper, Edmund echoing.

"Lord Aslan, son of Emperor over the Sea, our wisdom, our help, our comfort, we beseech thee now and always, hear us, shower your grace upon us."

"Shower your grace upon us."

"We sup now with your blessing, taking into us the life of Narnia, earth and sky, field and mountain, ocean and desert. The bread, symbol of your provision…" They ate. "The wine, symbol of your blood, poured out for this land and for its people…" They drank deeply. As one, they took up their swords and rested upon the hilts, hands gripping the cross-guards.

"By your great mercy and love, Aslan, from all evil and mischief; from all blindness of heart; from pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy; from envy, hatred, and malice, and all uncharitableness; in all time of our tribulation; in all time of our prosperity; in the hour of our death, Great Lion, deliver us."

"Great Lion, deliver us."

"Most powerful and glorious Aslan, that rules and commands all things, we make our address to thee, that you would stir up your strength to help us, for you give not always the battle to the strong, but can save by many or by few. Hear us, Aslan, your servants begging mercy and imploring your help, that you would be a defense unto us against the face of the enemy. Hear us, Aslan, and keep in your care those most precious to our hearts. Defend them from all dangers and adversities, and grant them such trust in thy loving protection that they may be free from all anxious fears. In your great wisdom, grant that we should be reunited and may that day come soon."

"Great Lion, we beseech thee, hear us."

"From our enemies, defend us."

"Graciously look upon our afflictions."

"Favorably with mercy hear our prayers."

"O Great Lion, have mercy upon us."

"Both now and ever vouchsafe to hear us."

"Graciously hear us, lord."

"Aslan, let thy mercy be showed upon us and let thy will be done."

Peter paused, and then he and Edmund said together, firmly, finishing the litany, "As we do put our trust in thee."

Pulling himself back to the present with the echoes of the past in his ears, Edmund closed his eyes wearily. "If only I had been there, Aslan!" he whispered, "Why did you send Rabadash then, to keep me here? I could have protected Peter – you know he forever charges into the thick of things when he's on his own in a fight. You know this!" He felt the old black anger building and fought against it, for long and bitter experience had taught him that raging against situations out of his control brought nothing but harm – to himself and to others. The young man took a deep breath and steadied himself. He still wanted to leap up and shout "WHY?" while shaking his fists at the eastern horizon, but the best solution lay in quietly asking for succor and trusting Aslan would do what was best. Edmund bent his head. Only the Great Lion could help his brother now.