Chapter Seven: A Question Without Answer

I missed the meeting with the Giants entirely, and that did not upset me in the least. I had not been looking forward to the assembly at all. Giving the matter some thought, I was surprised to realize that I was indeed nervous about being in close proximity to Giants no matter how good they may be. I had thought I was not so affected, but the intensity of my relief proved otherwise.

Perhaps Lucy had been right when she had hinted that I been forced to live with the Ettins as well. My contact with them had not been direct, but they had consumed my thoughts for what felt like an eternity as we chased them through the caverns that linked Lake Asher to Ettinsmoor. In the end the foreign Giants had proven even worse than I imagined, not just in their appearance but in their conduct and treatment of my brother. They had tried their very best to kill me, and I shuddered to remember Peter's terrible expression when he faced Valerlan for the final time.

Sitting in the shade of the barracks, I closed my eyes against the memory of Peter's wrath. It had been both dreadful and thrilling to behold. The thought that Peter had such depths within him and was capable of such unrelenting fury was at once frightening and comforting. Frightening because I knew the price such rage had exacted from him, comforting because it had been in my defense that he had risen up in such a ferocious attack.

Lucy had hauled him away for a walk through the gardens, promising me she'd keep to the shade. It was strange to see him now, so pale and disheartened. Physically Peter had never been more fit, but the spark within was struggling to survive in the tempest of his reactions. Still, this quiet brother of mine was much better than the cold and silent one that I had lived with after we returned from Ettinsmoor. I sensed that if the necessity for it arose, the dark rage that had fueled him then would come to the fore again and drive his actions, turning my brother into a living weapon capable of any violence or deed to keep what he loved safe.

And I must do everything in my power to keep that necessity from rising again. I saw that now. I was his weakness and his defense, just as he was mine, and I needed to shield him as he needed to defend me. The price we paid for such a bond was at once terrible and beautiful.

And worth it. Lion's mane, but for one such as Peter no price was too great to pay. Somehow, wonderfully, he was my brother, and Narnia and Aslan had worked to forge us into something far greater than either of us had ever imagined. Apart, we were strong, but together we were unstoppable.

What, then, had driven me to such wild ends at Loy as to face the worst of the Ettins by myself? Fury, yes, and determination, just as I had told Peter, but a great deal of what had motivated me had been that lingering shame and knowledge I carried with me since Jadis' abuse. Peter was right. I would have done anything to spare him the humiliation I felt. Peter's simple declaration, Ed, we have to stop them, had become like unto law for me. A direct command from Aslan himself would not have spurred me to further ends or motivated me more than my brother's desperate words.

Oreius' concern and Peter's worry were starting to make more sense to me. Despite my belief otherwise, Valerlan and his Ettins had managed to affect me, and probably more deeply than I realized. A long sigh escaped me. I wasn't certain if the feeling in my chest was guilt or annoyance or some combination of the two emotions. I didn't want to cause them any anxiety – Peter especially – but there was no controlling such a reaction. I had been so absorbed with Peter that only now, as he slowly recovered, did I have time for myself. I wasn't exactly pleased with the opportunity for reflection and self-analysis, to be honest. Dealing with the Ettins had dredged up a lot of memories I did not want to address, especially now. There were too many issues of greater importance to address – Peter, the drought, the wedding. There would be time for memories and the pain they brought later. I was avoiding the issue, I knew, but its time would come.

I heard movement before me and I opened my eyes to see Yoli, my well-meaning but annoying Harrier friend, slowly walking towards me. He paused, panting heavily in the afternoon sun, and I sat up straighter on the log that served as my bench. He was a loyal, honest Dog, uncomplicated of thought and pleasingly distracting. I waved him over.

"Yoli, good friend, come out of the sun and cool off."

He hesitated. "Did you want to be alone?"

"I don't know what I want right now, sir, so your company would be welcome."

With a doggy little groan of relief the Harrier lay down close by my feet. I smiled faintly and leaned over to thump his side. He looked up at me, gazing with open curiosity in his brown eyes.

"Are you lonely, King Edmund?"

I paused, surprised by the question. "Lonely? Why do you ask?"

"You seem that way. You've seemed that way since you returned from Ettinsmoor."

I stroked his head. "I suppose I have been in a way. I've been so busy. Peter hasn't been himself and I miss my brother."

The Harrier rested his head on my leg in a comforting gesture. "He'll be back, King Edmund. He has too much waiting for him not to come back to himself."

I smiled at his simple logic. Dogs were quite good at seeing things in basic terms, and for someone like me that over thought the least thing, they made for refreshing company.

"And once King Peter is back to himself, then you can be content again," he reasoned.

There was no denying I had been on edge. Without Peter's steadying presence I tended to be harsher and less patient than I intended in many cases. But not this one.

I eased myself down to sit on the ground with him. The earth was dry and dusty and I noticed the grass was turning brown for want of water. The trees were listless without as much as a breeze to stir their leaves. A sigh escaped me. Narnia was parched, gasping for a drink.

"We need rain, Yoli."

His whip of a tail slapped the ground, sending up a small cloud of dirt. He looked across the lawn, seeing what I saw, and knew that I was stating a fact, not a complaint. Inching closer, he leaned heavily against me, a Dog's embrace.

"My mother says that everything is a blessing from Aslan, and all blessings are good."

"Even a drought?" I wondered, determined to stay collected and free of annoyance.

"Even a drought, King Edmund. Sometimes you have to look harder to see good past what's bad. That way, when the rains come, the blessing seems all the greater. My mother says we Animals have been gifted with speech so that we can bless everything around us and sing Aslan's praise."

"I've always counted you amongst my blessings," I admitted.

Tail wagging with delight and showering us both with dirt, Yoli said, "I've thanked Aslan for you every day since I was a pup."

I shook my head. "How could you know we'd come in your lifetime?"

He smiled a doggy smile. "I didn't. I just knew that you'd come."

A laugh escaped me. "Yoli, some day you'll have to teach me to think like a Dog."

"It's easy, King Edmund. We just think about one thing at a time."

"Dogs are lucky, then."

With an affectionate whine he pushed his nose beneath my hand so I had no choice but to pet him. I stroked his short hair and he smiled anew, awkwardly pawing at my leg as he said with all sincerity,

"Yes we are, Majesty. We have you."

I leaned over and kissed his dusty head. "And thank Aslan, I have you."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

I am not particularly fond of tea – I far prefer coffee or hot chocolate – but I found myself looking forward to tea today. Normally we had guests or ambassadors or representatives of some sort or another joining us, but in light of the morning's events – and given a lack of ambassadors and representatives this week - Susan had affirmed that it would be strictly for the family. After leaving Yoli and listening to tales and misadventures in getting married from about a Hen, a Nymph, a Horse, a Gryphon, and a Lion, all of them female and, I might add, all of them intent upon dragging their spouses or would-be spouses to the wedding ceremony tomorrow evening.

Tomorrow. Dear Aslan, but I needed help! A day to go and I had nothing but a handful of notes written by an Opossum.

Going directly to the library, I tip-toed past Irel, who was soundly asleep in his basket, and laid hold of all the books and scrolls Arthur Ravenwolf had set out for me on what I (and most everyone in Cair Paravel) considered to be my table. There were more resources than I anticipated and I hesitated, reluctant to rouse the old Hedgehog just to ask for a basket to carry everything. I started gathering up the books into a heavy pile.

"Your Majesty?"

I turned, dumping the books back onto the table. "Ah! Cheroom! would you help me?"

The old Centaur nodded his head and bowed. "That was my intent, King Edmund."

Instead of helping to gather up the scrolls, however, Cheroom unrolled the first one he picked up and began to read it.

"You're researching weddings."

I could not help but sigh. "I have to perform one tomorrow evening."

He smiled and lifted the next scroll, scanning the contents before looking at me. "Majesty, if I may, I believe that this is one case where less research would be more. Blessings must come from within, and the truest ones are not based on forms, but emotions."

Easily said, I thought sourly, doubting that he had performed his first wedding ceremony at the ripe old age of twelve. Aloud I replied, "Never having done this before, some sort of structure to follow would help."

Knowing me too well to argue, Cheroom set the scroll down. "Has anyone described the ceremony to you?"

"Minovin did, a little."

"Then sit, my king, and allow me to tell you more detail."

I was grateful beyond words and wondered where my sense had gotten off to that I did not turn to him first. Then again, things had been so disjointed of late.

". . . have them join hands or wings or paws and you should hold that bond in place with your own hands, like this . . ."

His voice was deep and rich and soothing, like the rhythm of the waves, and I listened intently. It was so easy to lose oneself in Cheroom's instruction. If Narnia in all her glory had been reduced to words on a page, Cheroom would have done them the justice they deserved.

". . . must remember you have been asked to bless a union. It is their faith in you and the words you will say that will bind them as husband and wife from that moment on . . ."

I don't know how long he spoke. Not long I think, for the ceremony is a simple one, but in its simplicity was its beauty and depth, and I felt a nagging sensation at my conscience.

"Cheroom?"

"Yes, Sire?"

Stumbling through my question before I lost my nerve, I awkwardly wondered, "Does . . . does it ever matter that the person performing the ceremony has not always been . . . I mean, it's such an important moment in peoples' lives . . . shouldn't the person blessing them be . . ."

I didn't know how to finish, how to describe myself adequately. I stopped talking when my dear teacher put his hand under my chin and lifted my head to look at him.

"King Edmund the Just," said the old Centaur in that same stern, gentle voice that Oreius used so often with me and Peter. "Do not doubt your own merit. Aslan set you upon the throne. That alone should tell you and all the world of your worthiness. You are King of Narnia. You are Narnia. Narnia, which is the seat of the Great Lion's grace. What greater praise can be sung, O Son of Adam? What greater love hath Aslan than to give us such a ruler as you?"

I had no answer. There was no answer.

"What is past is past. Do not live there, Edmund Pevensie. Kanell and Xati know what you were. They asked you to marry them because of what you are. You are King Edmund the Just. Live that, my child."

Dumbly, I nodded, ducking me head in the hopes he would not see the tears threatening to fall. He was silent for a long while, letting me collect myself and regain my self control as I turned his words over in my head. Narnia? How could I be Narnia? What could Cheroom mean? It was a puzzle I did not have time to figure out just yet. When finally I looked up again the Centaur smoothed my hair and cuffed me lightly on the head, showing his affection in the manner of his people.

"Look upon your role in their wedding as the honor that it was meant to be," he advised sagely, smiling all the while. "No matter what you say, Sire, if you are sincere then their union will be blessed, for you yourself are blessed."