"Edmund?" Lucy's soft voice floated through. His eyes fluttered open and saw the blurry outlines of his two sisters standing over him, and well as the golden face Peter hovering on his other side.
"Hullo," he replied in a robust tone, or at least what he thought sounded robust. His unused voice cracked miserably, and Lucy held a glass of wine to his lips. He noticed she had a joyful flush back in her face and guessed that her abstemious three days had been cut short by their older sister. He was back in his and Peter's bedchambers, and his face burned with the thought that he had had to be carried up to his room, perhaps even by his brother.
"How are you feeling, Ed?" Peter asked gruffly and laid a warm hand on his brother's forehead. His siblings sounded as though they'd been crying, Lucy especially.
"I'm fine," he replied irritably, remembering the events of the previous night. It was morning, but the birds weren't heralding their songs at his window. Everything was silent, as it had been when he'd looked death in the face last night. Everything had seemed so raw. There was much more time to absorb everything making it much different and more personal than the battles he had been in. He propped himself up and walked over to the open window that overlooked the grounds of Cair Paravel. Creatures of all kinds were gathered in groups, some crying, others were speaking in ominous hushed tones. Black velvet cast a pall on the west side of the castle, a sign of mourning.
"How is Cryptos?" he asked finally. Peter's expression clenched.
"Not well. He won't show it, but everyone can tell how devastated he is. It's killing him, I think." Edmund nodded gravely. Susan approached him cautiously and guided him to a soft chair in a corner of the room.
"The funeral services are tomorrow. I'm going to speak on the monarchy's behalf," she said, and her eyes filled with tears. She and Aoife had been very close, Edmund recalled. She was a seamstress, and the two often spent hours planning royal attire, or Susan being taught the tricks of the trade by the centauress. "She was…a great friend," and she burst into tears, burying her face in Peter's chest, enveloped by his strong grip.
"Are you alright, Edmund?" he was asked a second time by Lucy. Her face was splotched with red patches; it was evident that she had been crying just as much as her sister. While Lucy hadn't know Aoife as well as Susan, she possessedd the most compassionate heart out of all four of them and often cried over the tragedies that befell all creatures, whether she knew them or not. Edmund fondly remembered he had found her doubled up over a history book in the library after reading of a particularly devastating battle that had happened well over a hundred years past. She continually surprised him with her capacity to love all creatures.
"Don't worry about me, Lu. It's Cryptos we've got to help."
"I…I've been praying for him. But I don't know if anyone but Aslan can help him, Edmund," she whispered in a wavering voice as Susan's cries flew over her words. "He looked awful, Ed." Edmund hugged her as well before walking over to Peter who was now sitting next to a placated Susan on his bed.
"The wolf?"
"Taken under jurisdiction of the crown."
"Give me a report, Peter. What happened while I was out?" Peter shook his bowed head slowly. His expression was pensive.
"There was no struggle. After Oreius carried Aoife away, he went quietly." Edmund nodded, his eyebrows contracting. He supposed he was expecting it. There had been something so…defeated about the creature. As if he had done his one sinful deed in life and then simply bowed his head in submission. He hadn't been afraid of the wolf; there was an absolute absence of malice that was in his expression after he had stepped away from his victim. But he was fearful, and his fear would condemn him.
"Ed…"
"Hm?"
"You'll have to sentence him," Peter said warily. Edmund swallowed. He didn't want to have to relive the scene in the forest in court as well. But he knew what was required of him as Supreme Judge of Narnia.
"I know."
Edmund and Peter were clad head to toe in black dress tunics. They joined the rest of the family in their Lucy's bedchambers, where both Lucy and Susan were dressed in forest green dresses in honor of Aoife. It was her favorite fabric, as Susan had informed them as she tamed Lucy's auburn hair in front of the mirror.
"I wonder if they're following," Edmund swallowed. "…a conventional centaurian funeral today?" Centaurs followed a custom of public cremation as funereal rites, and the youngest king had no desire to see any more dead bodies, especially burning ones, no matter how selfish the thought may be. His question hung in the air unanswered as Lucy rose from her chair and the four siblings grimly walked out into the corridor. In lieu of the recent murder of the beloved centauress, security had been increased significantly for the four kings and queens, and they were enshrouded on the short walk to the Great Hall by an extensive escort.
The Hall had been transformed from its usually joyous appearance into a grave, mournful area surrounded by grief. The red curtains had been changed to black, although still retaining the golden outline of the Great Lion on them, and the Hall was now filled with chairs, four of which were designated at the front for Narnia's monarchs. Edmund felt fear freeze his limbs as he realized that they would have front row center seats for the cremation. He swallowed the apprehension in remembrance of Cryptos' profound loss.
Oreius nodded stonily at them as they approached. Edmund watched Peter reciprocate the solemn greeting to their general, but his own face remained frozen; he couldn't work himself up to express any sort of gesture, really, verbal or otherwise. He felt Peter's arm gripping his shoulders and steering him further towards the front. As he sat down, he felt the most unkingly and childish urge to turn his head around and scan his eyes curiously over the hundreds of spectators paying their respects behind him. Countless faces of grief stared back at him; Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, Jarren the cat, fauns, satyrs, dryads, naiads, centaurs, and hundreds more were in attendance. It made him feel very small.
"Peter?" Edmund whispered. He directed his attention towards his brother, the sea-blue eyes meeting his own dark brown with a penetrating gaze. He didn't know exactly what he wanted to say to Peter, but his brother seemed to understand nevertheless.
"I'm here, Ed," he said determinedly, tightening his grasp across the younger's shoulders. Edmund bowed his head and studied the wrinkles in his tunic. A hush flew over the occupants of the Hall, and he sensed that Cryptos had entered, so he wrenched his head up against its own will to watch the spectacle. Each creature rose to pay respect to the bereaved spouse and father, bowing their heads as the centaur passed. The Pevensies followed suit and remained standing as the body of Aoife was slowly carried out on a marble slab by her dark-skinned family members. Edmund had a chilling feeling of familiarity steal over him, as he remembered vaguely that he thought he had been to a ceremony similar to this before, although the memory didn't feel of Narnian origin. He wondered if he had lost a loved one in Spare Oom and was frightened at the fact that he simply could not remember.
Numerous family members and Narnia creatures regaled their fond memories of Aoife as the congregation listened in silence, including Susan, who told a bittersweet story of the day they had met (a day, as Edmund remembered with a dull pain in his chest, that was during his captivity with the White Witch), as well as the joyous day, now tainted by grief, that Aoife told Susan of her pregnancy.
The ceremony concluded with a Narnian farewell ballad, sung with robust vigor by the entire congregation, and Cryptos finally moved toward the small altar his wife was placed on. It was customary and respectful, Edmund had to remind himself, to watch the ritual, although he felt his knuckles go white as they gripped Peter's arm with surprising force. The centaur dropped a gentle kiss on his wife's forehead, and raised a torch that had been burning at the corner of the altar. He lowered it to the body. Edmund's vision swam with unexpected tears as a weight dropped down into his stomach. He'd never seen a centaur cry before and was sure he would never see such a sight again.
The girls were weeping and Peter had silent tears rolling down his red face, and he imagined he looked very much the same as his brother. The Narnians were beginning to disperse, but before any left the Hall, all looked on as the four monarchs paid their respects. They each laid a hand, a quivering one in Edmund's case, on the altar and knelt on one knee. Soon they were exiting with their escort, almost dazed, in the same hushed silence they had entered into, very much moved by what had occurred before them.
"Peter?" he said to his brother once more as soon as they were alone in their chambers. He couldn't seem to rid himself of the painful lump in his throat.
"It's okay, brother," Peter replied as Edmund broke down into tears, staining the shoulder of Peter's tunic, who was racked with sobs of his own. Edmund would always remember feeling that night how unkingly it was of him to cry.