The Policy of Love

(Edmund)

There is something about pacing that is very calming. It must be done just right—not too fast as Peter does it, storming up and down halls and rattling his saber and pulling at his hair. No, it must be done slowly. Listen to the squelch of the supple leather of the boot and the slow, echoing tap on the stone floor. Feel the exact growth of the day's stubble in rubbing the face. Notice the dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight. Then, slowly, the world will right itself and the great problem will seem more manageable.

I was pacing for a long time, waiting for that moment. The problem facing us was of rather great proportions, as it combined personal happiness as well as the safety of the state. I never minded grappling with the security of Narnia—that was my specialty after all—but trying to manage human hearts as well made things very difficult and delicate. Despite being a legend of this time and a thousand years before, despite being quite pretty—even as her brother I had to acknowledge it, despite being Queen of Narnia and uncommonly clever and kind, the fact of the matter was that Lucy is simply not the sort of girl one courts. And nobody realized that. I doubted even Lucy realized it. She never had much experience with suitors the first time.

I had to admit, I was rather green when it came to managing proposals of love myself. That was something Peter handled. He wouldn't have it any other way, naturally, since the idea of Susan or Lucy marrying brought out his most protective streak. I was more than happy to sit in the background and play advisor if anything. Now, though, Peter was in England, probably still studying for that exam, and I was in Narnia taking on his role as marriage broker. Not my area of expertise, and that made me even more uncomfortable.

I made another slow circuit around the room, replaying the day before in my head. After Lord Sandron's departure, several of the lords from Caspian's Privy Council approached me. They made sweeping Telmarine bows when I looked up from my papers.

"My lord King, we would speak with you," the elder lord Sandron said. When I saw Lord Andarillo's cousin with him along with Lord Perano, our current suitor's father, I had an inkling of what this might be about. I folded my hands on top of my paper and raised my brows.

The others gave Sandron encouraging nods and he continued. "It is about your noble sister. And King Caspian."

The addition of Caspian surprised me. "And King Caspian?" I repeated.

"Yes. We—we believe he is standing in the way of our sons and cousins making a match with your sister."

My brows lifted and I rose to face them rather than asking them to sit down. "Gentlemen, I can assure you that the King does not stand in the way of the Queen's courtship. It is my will, as it was the will of the High King, that my sister should marry for love to a man of her own election."

Lord Perano, whose interest was most pressing, spoke up. "But how can she elect anyone if the King is always interfering?"

Lord Andarillo's cousin gave him a sharp look and said smoothly. "Of course, we would never suggest that the King is behaving inappropriately."

I shook my head and gestured that they should sit. "Gentlemen, we are not Telmarines. Narnians encourage free speech. If you are honest there is nothing to fear. So—you feel he interferes?"

Lord Sandron nodded emphatically. "Indeed. He encourages the Queen's wild side, he interrupts her private audiences with our young lords—in short, he makes things very difficult."

I leaned on the edge of my desk rather than sitting in the chair. "You feel my sister has a wild side?"

Lord Andarillo's cousin sought to pacify again. "She is very…untraditional. Not what we Telmarines are used to."

"I'm sure there are plenty of Telmarine ladies who would suit a young lord's more 'traditional' desires," I returned, inspecting my nails. "As for my sister, she is who she is, and I would not have her change." A thought occurred to me, and I decided to test it with them. I rubbed my chin. "It occurs to me that King Caspian is willing to accept her as she is. How if he married her?"

The three lords' faces darkened. Lord Sandron spoke an answer to my questioning look. "My lord King, we are loyal Narnians. We have lived in this land for generations. We have participated wholeheartedly in the unification, but we want a chance to participate in the new Narnia. Think—the Queen of Old marries a new Lord. It is a symbol of New Narnia. There are some who feel that King Caspian's reign has taken too much from the Telmarines. A marriage between Queen Lucy and one of our Lords would show this is not so."

"How many is 'some'?" I asked. "And do not mince words."

"A fair faction," Lord Perano answered.

"Are they openly disloyal?"

The three lords glanced at each other, and I realized they were loath to betray anyone. I sighed. "Never mind. I'm glad you told me."

I could see them all relax when I did not press them further. Lord Perano cleared his throat and finally said, "And King Caspian?"

"He is King of Narnia. I cannot command him." I spread my hands helplessly. "However—I will inform him of your sentiments."

This concluded the interview, although neither side was quite satisfied. I wanted to know if there was anything more to what the lords were saying about unfairness to the Telmarines and whether it amounted to anything. For their part, I am sure they wanted me to issue an edict for Caspian to keep away from my sister. I wasn't stupid enough to do it, though. Even if I managed to curb Caspian, Lucy would seek him out. I was never quite certain of my sister's feelings for the King. All I knew was that she was very attached to him, as a friend if nothing else. And Lucy's relationships had certainly never followed rules of any sort.

I did make good on my word—to an extent. I warned Caspian off Lucy subtly, using the strength of the promise he made to me so long ago. I intruded on their private moments; I called Caspian away from the suitors. I realized the whole thing had to be played very delicately or Caspian would flare up.

Lucy was another matter entirely. Of course I could see the advantages of her marrying a Telmarine lord, completing the unification of Narnia, binding her to the country once more. The problem was, all those thoughts were purely political. When she came to my room and ranted her exasperation I felt guilty for ever thinking that way. Lucy was no pawn, and she hated suitors and being doted on.

"I can't bear it, Edmund!" she raved one afternoon, pacing up and down my chambers. "The bad poetry, the flowers, the music…that would be tolerable if they didn't keep talking about plans and what they want to do once we're married. What about me? Don't I have a say? I used to!"

I twisted my mouth. "Narnia's changed, Lu."

She stopped and looked at me. "But I haven't." The ferocity went out of her, and she drifted over to the window, fiddling with the curtain. I watched her and saw the sudden sadness steal over her as it frequently did when she thought of suitors.

I sighed in sympathy and poured her a goblet of Archen wine. I got up and pressed it into her hand. "Take a drink. You look as though you could use it."

She smiled thinly and took a sip. Then she looked into the cup and watched the viscous red liquid swirl around. "It's not just that. I can't bear to think of getting married again."

I pressed my lips together and nodded. I knew she was thinking of Corin. She didn't even have to say. I waited. I wasn't sure what to say to comfort her, but the easy thing about Lucy is that she always wears her heart on her sleeve. There is no uncomfortable digging and probing as I sometimes needed for Peter and Susan. Lucy simple comes out and says what the matter is.

She motioned for a goblet of her own, and I delivered it to her. She spent a few minutes drinking and watching the wine in her goblet. "I miss him. Everything. I want to laugh with him again, or tell him I love him, or spend another night with him. I hate that we left so much unsaid." She swiped her eyes with the crook of her finger and looked into her glass.

Lucy is not one who likes to cry alone. Although I'm the opposite, I knew to tuck myself into the window seat facing her, and to reach out and hold her hand. She squeezed mine gratefully in return. "Please make them go away," she entreated, looking at me. "I can't bear to think of him anymore. Not like this. Not on a daily basis. I don't know how to get over the fact that he's gone. How do you mourn someone who's been dead two thousand years?"

I could not imagine, and the thought of a grief so great it was beyond the scope of my comprehension moved me to pity. I put my arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head on mine. After a few minutes, she started to cry quietly, and I let her. What else was there to do? Together we remembered wordlessly her great love with Corin of Archenland—all they did to be together, the child they shared, the fear when he was ill and could not be cured by her cordial. A score of years of laughter, their brightness, their joy. Funny how romantic love depends on physical closeness. I had Peridan, but he was only a best friend. I missed him, but I did not mourn him. At least, not with the same ache that filled Lucy.

In the bald light of the next morning, however, the problem was more perplexing. Lucy had asked me to call off the suitors. I had to comply; that much was obvious. If I didn't, and Peter knew, he would have my head. Furthermore, it wouldn't do to see her so miserable.

Peter would have damned diplomacy and called them off. That sort of thing seemed to work very well for him because he followed his instincts, and he had the trust of the people. This was a different Narnia, and I wasn't sure we could win the diplomatic battle.

So I was pacing, waiting for some light of inspiration, the click where everything started to make sense. The flash did not come, and I had to think my way through the thing, piece by piece.

Obviously the very first order of business was to call Caspian off. If she wouldn't have any of the lords, then Caspian couldn't be hanging off her every minute of the day. I went to seek him out, and found him with my sister—naturally. They were playing chess on the terrace overlooking the sea, and chess was the usual affair it was for them—twirling pieces in the air and talking. I itched to stride forward and move Caspian's castle, but I hung back for a moment, watching them. Caspian's voice was carried away by the sea wind, but whatever he said made Lucy laugh. Her laugh was loud and bright enough that I could hear her, removed as I was. She leaned closer to Caspian to reply, and her fingers brushed his wrist. I narrowed my eyes. How could she be uncertain about Caspian? Her love for him was written so plainly across her face. I couldn't understand why she didn't lean over the chessboard and kiss him, as she so clearly wanted to do, as she had wanted to do half a dozen times at least since her birthday.

When he replied he turned his hand over and returned her slight caress. His face was alight, his eyes fixed on hers. There was an undeniable electricity between them, a thrill that made them lean closer to each other. Their words were empty, insignificant. What mattered was the way the smiles played on their lips, the warmth in their eyes, the rich, low tone of their voices. I knew my strengths—I was a consummate diplomat because I could read people. Yet even Eustace could read what was going on here. She held his gaze, glowed under it, but then withdrew and started arranging his chess pieces that she had captured, teasing him about the loss. As she withdrew, his eyes flashed with disappointment, but that was soon replaced by a hunger in his expression. The lightning change of moods between them was fascinating. I remarked how interesting it was that two such constant people could suddenly be as changeable as the sea.

Caspian fell to contemplating his next move, and as he studied the board, Lucy picked up the captured knight and weighed it in her hand. It was the same knight that Susan had found by the well when we returned to Cair Paravel and found it in ruins. Caspian, mad for relics of the Golden Age, had built an entire chess set around it. Now Lucy weighed it in her hand.

Caspian moved his piece with a definitive clunk and called her from her reverie. She looked up at him, and for a moment her gaze was misty. That lasted a mere second before she blinked, clearing it, and dangled her own piece in the air before planting it on the board and announcing "Check." She laughed merrily at Caspian's stupefaction, and I saw that perhaps I understood her conflicted heart more clearly than she did. But that was always the way—because I was a step removed, I could sit back and examine people's emotions while they themselves were under the spell of them.

Obviously the suitors had to end altogether. Lucy needed some time on her own. I thought about taking the blame on myself, declaring that I thought her unfit for marriage just yet, that she had some growing up to do or had to become a lady or something—I could play to the Telmarines' sense of manner and orders and what women should be like. Lucy would probably get angry at me for suggesting such a thing, but I had to keep the piece and make her happy. She would thank me later. Of course, that left the problem of Caspian. He would have to be curbed too, and I thought of how to go about this. It was a far more delicate task dealing with one man than a score of grumbling Telmarine lords.

I decided to tackle the issue on a horseback ride. I thought about talking to him after practicing in the tiltyard, but then I thought that angering Caspian around weapons was probably not a very good idea.

The morning was cool and crisp, and the forest as we rode through it was very green. Caspian was looking all around with wide eyes, and I had to admit, he reminded me of Lucy. "It's funny to think I used to be afraid of the forest," he said, shaking his head.

"How could you know the truth? You grew up with the superstitions of your ancestors?"

"Mmm. I feel that I lost some time, though. Look at what I could have enjoyed! The whisper of the leaves, the springy moss beneath my horse's feat so that it feels I am riding on air, the chattering brook…it's all very alive."

"Lucy used to call it the Green," I commented softly. "She understood it in a way that none of the rest of us could. Except our nephew, Susan's son. Dash understood it, perhaps even better than Lucy."

Caspian looked at me. "Susan had a son?"

"And a husband, whom she loved deeply. She grieved the loss of him greatly—still does."

"Hm." Caspian reflected on this, touching his fingers to his lips. He might have been thinking about his flirtation with Susan when we first met him, how there had been more to that than he could have known.

"We lived here a long time," I reminded him, eyeing him carefully. I sensed an opportunity to broach the subject of Lucy.

"Yes, I know that," he answered. "Just the stories that survive talk of great deeds and great hours for Narnia. Legends seem to forget that the heroes are human."

"Very much human," I said softly. A shiver passed over me. It could have been the cool breeze, but it could also have been a reminder of my own very human moment, and the witch's temptation. "All four of us."

Caspian pulled on his reins and looked at me. "What of Lucy, then? What is her human story?"

I shook my head. "That's for her to tell you. But it does make me think, Caspian—these suitors have got to go."

"Finally you are seeing sense! I have thought that since Andarillo appeared."

"All the suitors, Caspian."

"Yes, all the suitors. I agree with you!"

I shook my head. "I mean yourself included."

Caspian glowered. "I do not court her! You bound me to a promise and I held to it. I do not speak of my feelings, I do not press for her hand, or ask anything of her."

"Yes—technically." Caspian's face darkened further, so I explained. "You restrain from pressing your suit in words, but you are free with everything else. These fellows that come to court her don't stand a chance next to the attentions you lavish on her."

Caspian lifted his chin defiantly. "And? They are not half worthy of her. She doesn't care for them."

"That may be, but you should. They are your courtiers and your people."

He pursed his mouth and was silent for a minute as he loosened his reins so his horse could munch on some grass. "So you're saying we should just let them come, one after the other to plague her. And I can do nothing about it, not even pass my time in her company?"

"Quite the contrary. I want to call the suitors off. You're right—she doesn't care for them, and they are plaguing her. But if I call them off and you continue as you are, then it will seem as though I am playing favorites. They won't like it, Caspian. They're already making noises."

"Edmund, what you're asking me to do… I don't even know how to do it. I'm not playing games. I'm not purposefully courting Lucy. I'm only being her friend, as I have been since I pulled her onto the deck of the Dawn Treader."

I patted his arm. "Just give her a bit more space. She needs it. And remember, patience is always rewarded in the end." I turned my horse and rode ahead, leaving him some room to think.

I made the speech I planned to the Telmarines and said that my sister was too young, too green for marriage. She did not know how to be a proper wife, I told them. There was some grumbling, but a general agreement, and they filed away commiserating.

I dusted off my hands and began to gather my things, considering it a job well done until I heard a sharp cough in the corner. I knew without turning around that it was Lucy.

"You heard," I sighed.

"Yes, I heard! What was that, Edmund? I'm too green for marriage? I don't know how to be a proper wife?"

I turned to face her. "What else was there for me to say? You wanted them to go away, didn't you?"

"I'd like to have kept my dignity intact." She pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest.

"Lucy…" I rubbed my temple.

"What, Edmund? How can you say those things when you know perfectly well that I was a wife for a score of years? A good wife, a devoted wife…" She tailed off.

"You can't honestly think I believe them. I know what you shared with Corin, but how am I going to tell them that? They can't wrap their heads around the idea that we lived a whole life before. Even Caspian can't. And even if they could, they would simply rejoice in the fact that you were fecund and expect you to breed."

She looked very weary suddenly, and curled into a chair. She curled her fingers over her mouth and shook her head. I waited, feeling my patience scraping thin. At last she said, "Well, I suppose it's a good thing they're gone. I don't think I could have borne them a moment more."

"By any means necessary?" I asked, raising a brow.

"By any means necessary," she answered, reaching out to cover my hand with hers. "Because now we can have some peace."

For a moment I believed it was true.