To rthstewart, TwinklyMarshmellowSnowPuffle , and Eftelthing, thank you for following (and favoriting) my story! If you review, I'll thank you personally, but this is all I can do if you don't leave a message. :/ Still, I appreciate it!
Onward!
Disclaimer: I don't claim C.S. Lewis or Machiavelli. But I do claim Edmund. ^_^
/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
The Lion and the Fox
Chapter Three: Lion's Gift
Finchley, November 19th, 1939
"Since a prince must know how to make good use of the beast [in his own personality], he should choose then the fox and the lion [as his representations]; for the lion has no protection from traps, and the fox is defenseless against wolves. It is necessary, therefore, to be a fox in order to know the traps, and a lion to frighten the wolves. –Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince chapter XVIII 'How a Prince Should Keep His Word'"
/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
Peter rolls over in bed and forces his eyes open. He must not sleep. Tonight of all nights, it's imperative that he not give in. It's hard to stay up so late, but he's promised himself he'll do it, and he intends to keep that promise.
He did think it would be an easier pledge to keep, though. But it's only two more hours. How hard can it be? Dad always manages it.
Peter pushes up the sleeve of his nightshirt and pinches his arm furiously. He winces, then repeats the motion. After a few moments, the pain fades and he feels sleepy again. That option clearly doesn't work.
He reaches up and holds open his eyelids, but when they itch and he needs to blink, he finds it nearly impossible to reopen them again. Another unusable choice.
Throwing off the blankets, Peter slides out of bed and into his slippers. Padding over to the closet he shares with Edmund when at home, he tugs open the door and freezes when it creaks. His little brother doesn't move, still burrowed under the covers and fast asleep. Peter reaches into the closet. He never takes his eyes off his brother as he unhooks his dressing-gown and shrugs it over his shoulders. When he ties it about his waist, he pauses, frowning. His robe isn't usually so tight. He looks down and realizes that he has accidentally taken Edmund's, but he doesn't see that as a problem. In fact, it seems more like a good sign.
Peter doesn't touch the closet door again, lest he wakes Edmund with its creaking, and instead tiptoes out of their bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom. He splashes water on his face, takes a long drink, and looks at the clock on the wall. One hour and fifty minutes to go, now. He simply must stay awake.
After he slides a comb through his hair and decides he's really run out of things to do in the bathroom, Peter slips down the hall and silently pushes open the door to the girls' room. He daren't go in, Lucy being such a light sleeper, but he watches for a few minutes, smiling at the ferocity of her stranglehold on Elly the stuffed elephant. He pities Elly. Mum will have to sew her head back on and add stuffing in her neck soon enough.
He watches Susan as well, but watching Susan is rather boring, if he's being honest. She lies there so perfectly, like a queen. Perhaps the man Susan marries will enjoy watching someone so peaceful, but Peter is looking for aids for wakefulness, not reminders of what he could be doing instead. Susan makes sleeping look like the most wonderful thing in the world. And, Peter thinks, fighting a yawn, maybe it is. He could certainly use it right now.
Before leaving the girls' bedroom, Peter squints at the clock on the nightstand between them. One hour and forty-six minutes. Bother. He decides to walk around some more.
He considers looking in on Mum, but there's something too personal about watching her sleep by herself. If Dad was with her, it would be normal. He might be coming in for comfort from a bad dream. But Dad is gone, off fighting somewhere, and Peter doesn't want to see his mother all alone. He doesn't want her unhappy. That's why he's taking up this tradition, one she might not even know about, but that Peter does because he's been there every time.
It's Dad and Edmund's thing, and Peter's allowed to watch, but with Dad away…well, he doesn't want Eddy to think he's forgotten. Peter heads for the stairs, smiling wistfully. He's always wished Dad would do it for him too, this special thing, but he understands that he has other moments with Dad to look forward to. The nighttime visit is Eddy's alone.
Downstairs, Peter makes his way into the kitchen and fumbles about in the drawers for a candle. He wants to turn on a light, but the hum of electricity might wake Mum or Lucy—never Susan, she can probably sleep through a bombing, though he hopes he never finds out if that's a fact—and he doesn't want their interference. He wants to get this right on his own.
He smiles when his hand closes around a candle, and soon after, Peter discovers the matches. Carefully, he lights the taper and sets it into a bell-shaped glass sheath with a wooden handle before he turns to the icebox. In the back, where he quietly slipped it earlier in the day is a small white box tied with silver and blue ribbons. He's saved up all his penny-candy money for weeks to buy it, and he knows he was lucky to get it, sugar rations the way they are. It was indecently expensive, but Peter doesn't care. Even not managing to buy Susan that book a month ago, though it had disappointed her because he had promised, helped pay for this prize. He hopes it will be enough, because he couldn't afford to get Eddy anything else.
Peter sets the box on the kitchen table, along with two plates, napkins, and two forks. He thinks about pouring milk, but realizes that leaving it out for almost two hours would probably spoil it, so he'll get around to it later. Then, he sits at the table and tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling. He is so tired. And there is still…one hour and thirty minutes until he wakes Edmund. Sighing, Peter leans forward, resting his arms on the table, pillowing his head. He's just going to close his eyes for a few moments, not too long really, just a few heartbeats more…
"What are you doing?"
Peter jolts upright. Edmund is standing at the doorway to the kitchen, swathed in Peter's dressing-gown, the sleeves of which cover his hands completely. He stares at Peter in confusion. His eyes drop from Peter's sleep-numbed expression to the box on the kitchen table and he pales. "Peter, what is this?"
Peter's mouth goes dry as he stands nervously, shoving his hands into Edmund's dressing-gown pockets. "It's my birthday present to you, Eddy." He glances at the clock above the sink and groans. "And I overslept it by three hours. I'm so sorry-"
"What are you going on about?" Edmund's voice is shaking, and he hasn't moved from the kitchen doorway. "What were you doing for my birthday?"
"Well, it is your birthday, Eddy, and I thought maybe I could get you a cake and wake you up at midnight and we'd come down and eat it." Peter shifts his weight uneasily. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to wake Eddy at midnight and say, 'Why don't we have a little snack, birthday boy?' the way Dad did. He was supposed to bring Eddy downstairs and sit him at the table, sing happy birthday while he opened his cake-
"That's what Dad does."
Edmund glares at him, openly hostile. Peter scrambles.
"I know, Eddy. But I thought it was really nice and since Dad isn't here that I'd do it for him, you know? So you wouldn't think anyone had forgotten." He gestures to the cake. "So, three hours late, but still. Happy birthday, Eddy."
Edmund's face has twisted. He's staring at the box on the table as though it's insulted him. He strides into the room and Peter's stomach churns. He wouldn't-
He can't stop the gasp of horror that leaves his lips as Edmund knocks the box to the floor and steps on it. Creamy frosting spurts out like blood from a wound.
"You're not Dad, Peter," Edmund looks at him steadily, his eyes unreadable except for their blinding anger.
He steps up to Peter and even though he's a good three inches taller, Peter feels quite small as Edmund grabs fistfuls of his—or rather, Edmund's—dressing-gown. "Stop trying to be."
Peter watches him leave, shocked and silent. After he hears the bedroom door slam upstairs, he kneels and carefully cleans up the mess Edmund's made and tosses it into the rubbish bin. He swipes at his eyes, puts away the plates, blows out the candle.
As he walks up the stairs to bed, his horror turns to raw fury. How dare Edmund throw that cake to the floor? He's sacrificed so much to get that cake and Edmund never even looked at it. Peter knows he isn't Dad. He's just trying to be Peter. He just wants to watch out for everyone like Dad asked him to.
He knew Dad's cakes to Edmund always had the same words scrawled across them in frosting: 'Happy Birthday Eddy and Many Returns!'
His cake had simply said, 'Make a Wish!'
Well, if he could have that wish, Peter would want Edmund to bugger off and go live somewhere else where he could be sour and not hurt anyone by it. Mum had taken them all off school to celebrate, but that didn't matter now. Peter knows Edmund will be horrid when morning comes, and Lucy will get the worst of it. Edmund never dares to be rude to Mum, but he'll be cheeky to Susan and downright cruel to Lucy. He'll probably tell them their presents are awful. Susan will sigh and walk away, but Lucy will stay and cry and he, Peter, will have to comfort her. Lie through his teeth and tell her that Edmund's just having a bad day and he doesn't mean what he says.
Peter enters his bedroom and walks over to the closet to hang up Edmund's dressing-gown without so much as glancing at its owner. Sliding under the covers and into bed, Peter turns to face the wall and blinks back his tears.
He doesn't want to be like Dad, but sometimes Edmund forces him into it. And Peter knows with every fiber of his being that as badly as he has ruined things tonight, tomorrow will be much worse.
And Peter will have to pick up the pieces.
/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
According to the Narnia Wiki, Edmund's birthday is sometime in September. I decided to change this slightly, as I don't believe C.S. Lewis ever really confirmed it. I think as long as Edmund's birthday is sometime during the winter any day is appropriate.
Please review!