CHAPTER SIX
ACCIDENT
As time passed in the Narnian court—alongside all the Kings and Queen's birthdays—and the weather turned kinder, the youngest of the Kings had done as promised to his own mind and asked the new General of the army for a sparring session, making him not only like the Lady more, but find himself soulfully agreeing with the opinion from his older brother: Lady Athena Ashdown was definitely the most skilled and made to lead. For it, now that she had become General, if she hadn't been so before, Lady Athena had truly become a great friend to the Kings alike she already had been to the Queens. After all, it was not everyone who could throw the young King on his behind after merely three minutes of a fight, and the brunette of green eyes definitely had been able to do such a thing; it had been so absolutely impressive, in fact, that not only all sense of failure Edmund might have felt dissipated entirely for the agreement of the girl's position, but he even found his admiration turning to amity as the General helped him up from the ground with a big smile across her face, regardless of how it was a King she had beat down.
Yet, after a great sparring session, as ever, King Edmund felt the need for a bath; a hot one, where he'd be able to relax and forget he had duties waiting for him for the rest of the day. Duties such as judgement against the young ten year old who had stolen gold from one of his Lords; a thing he was extremely good at, yet did not always entirely enjoy —he had not been named head of Justice by his brother for nothing. Thus, it was truly no surprise at all that he wished to forget such a thing awaited him as soon as he was better disposed; and it was such a thing he was getting ready to do—ever even imagining the bath that so wonderfully awaited him—when the loud crashing of glass came down the hall opposite to the one leading to the stairs to his wing.
Blasted be the curiosity of the young King, for the suddenly appearing frown in the middle of his forehead gave company to halted steps that soon after moved forward when the gentle tone of a female voice echoed all the way in his direction with the intonation of a language he could only think to relate to bread or gangsters from America; he didn't understand the words, of course, but the sound alone, accompanied by the crash of glass on the floor, became enough to lead the King to the source of the mess. And perhaps, if he had at all stopped to think and remember that there was only one person in the castle that could at all know of another language from his world, then maybe he would have known exactly who he would find once he reached the other hallway and looked into the other side of the only open door in the hall, allowing him the possibility of doing no more than roll his eyes and walk away into the peace that awaited him on the upper floor; yet, alas, he did not think, and for it, the sight that befell Edmund upon arrival to the source of the noise was one that not only made him release the soft echo of annoyance within a breath, but the frown that had already been there deepen enough to make his eyes narrow shortly: Juliet Capulet.
"What in the name of Aslan's mane are you doing?" He wondered loud enough for the girl to not only hear but to be dangerously startled upon that moment; dangerously for no other reason than the fact that she was quite literally balancing upon the top of the backrest of a trembling chair, her body stretched as high as it could go whilst her fingers graced the clay surface of a bowl atop a wooden shelve inside the room—a small square of a thing that would have been called a broom-closet in England but was called a cleaning room in Narnia—and the broken shards of what Edmund assumed had been what he had heard, spread all around the small floor and even out the door, making him step on a couple of crunching pieces upon his greeting.
Thankfully, though, the young girl had not tumbled to the ground like he'd been scared she might have, what with the trembling chair and her little less than secure position atop that thin wooden backrest. "Oh, King Edmund," Juliet said seconds after he had spoken, one hand moving to rest upon the place her magical heart hid as if that would make the organ stop beating so loudly, yet leaving her hold on the wooden shelf much more precarious than before. "Beg pardon, sir, you've startled me." Easily said, yet swiftly ignored, for no faster did she speak that her frame moved to the position she'd been found in, reaching her hand upward and doing no more than gracing that clay bowl with the tips of her fingers, her tongue out as if it were to make her be able to grab the bowl faster.
Edmund simply couldn't believe her. "What do you think you're doing?" He repeated, ignoring her words as much as she seemed to have done before taking a single step inside the room, crunching yet more glass under him. "You're going to fall." He paused, "Not that I care, obviously, but I'd very much appreciate it if you fell when I'm not around to be found to fault."
No more than a swift scoff came as quick response from the shaky girl atop that even shakier chair. "Nay, his majesty mustn't worry, thou wouldst ne'er be found at fault whilst I have voice to speak." She said in the soft echo of breathless sarcasm upon the, not only rude, but ridiculous content of his utterance; "Besides, my balance is great." And sure, perhaps she wasn't lying about that fact, but how was Edmund not supposed to worry if she not only continued reaching up, but moved even more hazardously to stand on the tips of her toes upon that backrest—as if it were not the stupidest thing she could do. "E'er thou wouldst have naught to do but leave me to my own devices and none would know thou hast seen me; as it is, none but one of the cleaning maids under my care know I am here; yet none of thee."
Still, Edmund took another step forward regardless of the reminder that Peter had in the end given the position of Head of Household to Juliet, like he had said; though, higher position or not, he simply wouldn't have it. "Get down from there this instant." He nearly spat, the frown deepening as his steps took him even closer to the girl and her dangerous disposition. "I don't want Lucy to blame me if you get hurt." Even his arms had begun to rise, as if getting ready to catch her.
"She would not, sir." Juliet continued, keeping her eyes planted on the slowly nearing clay bowl and even speaking in some sort of effort-heavy tone. "Not if thou wouldst leave this moment, for I know what I'm doing, and thus, need no heeded warning against any danger."
"You're going to fall, that's danger enough!" King Edmund repeated, now inches away from her, and even daring his fingers to softly hold on to the hem of her dress, for it was perfectly in level with his hands; doing so over only the logic that perhaps if he held onto her somehow and she fell, she wouldn't actually fall too badly. "Get down!" Damn him for walking in her direction and getting involved in the first place; he could have continued with his day, and if she fell, he would be none the wiser for it.
No more than a short yelp came from Juliet's lips, whose hands tightened upon the shelf she had been reaching after the shock of the short tug on her dress. "I say, let me go, for thou wouldst make me fall." She called, listening to the shaking of the other objects on the shelf due to her quick hold and shaky frame.
But it was as if she had spoken in that foreign language once again, for the King heeded not her words and, instead, held onto her ankle by reflex the moment she even began to tumble on the chair once more. "Just get down from there and we'll both be fine."
"Nay, sir, let go!"
"I'm trying to help you!"
"I don't need any help!" But the understanding was none, for his hold on her did not waver, and her shaking only became wilder until even the tips of her fingers could hold her in place no longer, and all sense of balance left the girl before her frame fell backwards on the chair, crashing against the King's front enough for him to thoughtfully 'save' her by holding onto her middle with the arm that had been trying to help her, yet failing to stop them both from falling when the heel of his boot slipped on one of the glass shards, thus making them both tumble to the ground with enough force to take Edmund's breath away.
As if such a thing weren't enough, by instinct, the King had tried to lessen the damage of the fall by putting his free hand on the ground, forgetting entirely that there were shards of glass spread all over, thus making his palm land on one of the sharpest bits strongly enough to split his palm open, making of their fall a mess of limbs and clothes that made him wish to be able to scream out in pain, but one that made him unable to do so at all over the loss of his breath from their harsh landing on the floor. All made even worse by Juliet's wriggling in his hold alike her requests for him to let go of her, and the anger drowning him over the pain and annoyance of the other's fault on him being hurt in the first place. He even tried pushing her off, which was easier said than done over her movements and the silk of her clothes, which made her slip quite easily enough to land on the King once again and steal his breath alike, making his bleeding palm hurt even more, and his stomach feel as if someone had punched him with a giant's hammer. "Get off me!" The King wheezed, pushing the Lady with the hand that had been holding her and, regardless of his lack of breath, move himself upon the ground to try getting up.
He obviously could not.
"Wherefore hast thou insisted on not listening to me, you fool!?" Lady Juliet exclaimed once she was able to kneel beside the King, not only forgetting her position compared to the King due to her distress, but noting her hands hovering above him over the truth that she wished to help, but knew not what to do at that moment; his voice was broken, his breath gone, and there was a small pool of blood near his head that was enough to alarm her over the truth that she did not, in fact, know the crimson river came from his hand and not his head like she thought. "GUARDS?!" She called, looking away from the wounded King for a short moment and down the hall outside the door they rested halfway out of, and finally resting one hand on the King's unwounded arm. "Keep still!" She requested with a frown deeply implanted on her forehead and the tips of the long waves of her hair falling to grace Edmund's cheek. "GUARDS!" She called again over the lack of response.
Thankfully, only a couple of seconds later, a pair of fauns made their way to where she was. "Help me get him to the infirmary." And no more of import was said, for the girl attempted to explain to the guards what had happened with as much of an apologetic note as she could muster within her gentle rage, and a wheezing and complaining Edmund between them had been unable to give any orders even after he had regained his breath; even he didn't know why he had remained quiet as Lady Juliet scared the caretakers tending to other wounded or ill members of the court enough to stay back over the claims falling from her lips that she would tend to the King herself. Indeed, he frowned, and simply watched as she explained her reasons for wishing to tend to him—apparently it was custom of her people to tend to those they had seen be injured, and due to something Edmund didn't entirely care to understand about some Protectors he was sure he'd heard Lucy speak of once, Juliet knew how to tend to wounds—and what was more surprising, he even nodded the caretakers to leave them be; as if he wanted it, as if he wasn't completely disgusted with the entire situation in the first place, when the truth was that he would much rather have the most horrible Mrs. Wright be tending to him in the rough means in which she had as head nurse in his English school than the soft touches from Juliet Capulet. Thus, they were both left alone after she had been given wet cloths, bandages, a bowl full of water, and some herbs, and the King had lain on a cot simply clutching his hand as if it were burning instead of bleeding.
Such was the way silence fell, with both Lady and King fuming within their own minds onto the carelessness of the other, and in his, more over her words and actions even as she began cleaning his wound; there was a frown adorning the middle of both their foreheads, and even the soft touch of Juliet's dainty hands was not enough to dissipate them. For, in her mind, the frown came from worry onto her own fault and place, the truth that there would be no wound if he had never come about, and the possibility that the great Head of Justice could sentence her to the worst for his troubles if he so easily wished.
Much unlike him, who raged over the things she had said, over her stubbornness, over the stupidity she had had to have in the first place to be balancing upon such a dangerous place as if she could very well fly; but above all, he was angry over his own stupid sense of duty or the speck of gentle worry that had fallen against the pit of his stomach when the chair had trembled under her weight to begin with, as if he cared, as if it were more to him than just the truth that he didn't want something horrible to happen in his watch, lest he be blamed or worse. And it was all worse enough for the truth that, due to her brand new position, she had been able to order the guards around like the Great Lady she was; it left him with no more than his shifting movements and annoyed grunts of pain brought from the stinging on his hand. "Will your majesty please stop squirming?!" The girl finally said after a couple of minutes within their silence, dropping the reddening cloth on the bowl of water to clean it further.
"It hurts!" Edmund complained, frowning.
But apparently, even in her concern, Juliet could not keep quiet. "It would not hurt so much if thou wouldst stay still!"
"I can't stay still because it hurts!" The King retorted, his voice slightly louder than before, thus startling the poor girl, "This is all your fault." He accused regardless, "I wouldn't be hurt if you weren't so stubborn."
Which was a statement that allowed the scoff of a sardonic breath to escape from Juliet's equally sarcastically smiling lips, "Nay, sir." She responded; taking the newly wet cloth from the bowl, yet keeping her eyes focused completely on Edmund's heavy gaze. "Thou wouldst not be hurt if thou hath listened to me when I said I knew what I was doing."
There was a sense of shock crossing the King's features as he shifted on the cot, trying to sit up. "You're the one who should have listened and done what you were told!" He exclaimed, pulling his hand away, thus leaving her holding the air with one hand and the wet cloth with the other.
"I wasn't doing anything wrong!" Even her eyes seemed stubborn as she tried reaching for his hand again and failed.
"I got hurt trying to save you." He called, pulling his hand away from her reach once again.
But to no avail, for Juliet half rose from her seat to quickly hold his wrist and softly pull him down so he could fall on the cot once again; surprisingly, she was strong enough for him to give up. "Firstly, I ne'er asked to be saved," She said, leading frown-shadowed eyes to the blood that painted the cloth pink as she pressed it to the wound. "Secondly, all was going well until your majesty showed up."
Edmund scoffed. "Oh, so this is my fault, then, is it?" He wondered, trying and failing to pull his hand away again, yet looking heavily upon Juliet as he did so.
"Yes!" Not one of them was surprised by her response.
But still, the young King had something to say; heavy words, angry words, but also words that were immediately killed by the harsh sting coming from his hand, which not only made his eyes widen, but a loud "OW!" escape his lips enough to make Juliet's own meet his with disbelief and rather evident annoyance.
"Wilt thou stop!?" She said again, holding on his wrist still, yet releasing a puff of exasperation from her lips. "'Tis only water, sir; I am trying to help you!" She paused, the frown in the middle of her forehead deep alike his. "I swear, thou criest more than a baby when it's hurt."
And may it be the pain, or the words spoken by the Lady, but the concern Edmund had throughout his reign alongside his siblings up until then—that he was in a continuous trial of which his crown could be removed if arrogance showed alike when he was ten—dissolved in a short disbelieving scoffed breath, "How can you speak to me like that? I am your King!"
"Aye, sir, and a child by the looks of it, too;" Juliet quickly retorted, as angry as she had seemed from the moment they had fallen, "Be it mine friendship with thy family, be in my position, I know not: thou hast mine loyalty, but not my respect." With her eyes deeply set on his and her hold on his wounded arm as tight as before. "That, your majesty, is earned."
Yes, Edmund scoffed, not because Juliet was wrong, but because he couldn't believe the gut in the girl to speak to him as if he couldn't make or break her with a single word. "Please." He simply countered, deciding to focus only on the first of her words for mere stubbornness and arrogance, leaning against the cot and crossing his free arm against his chest by show of his own displeasure. "You're barely two years older than me."
Finally able to focus on her work, even through her worry and annoyance, the girl found a sardonic smile lifting the corners of her lips at his words. "By looks, aye, your majesty, but not in truth," She confessed, barely looking at him for a second as she attempted to clean more of the blood away from the cloth. "I am more than a thousand years old in this world, and centuries old in the other." She paused. "Or hast thou forgotten I come from that world too?"
"If only I could." He said in a low enough voice to make Juliet ignore it; leaving such to be their last words for a few moments as she finished cleaning up the wound well enough for it to stop bleeding regardless of how he winced once or twice and tried to pull his hand again, inviting no more than a near deadly and annoyed glance from the Lady every time he did.
Both thought that would be the last of their conversation, with their minds drowning strangely upon each other and the annoyance held by the situation even as her hands now softly attempted to bandage his wounded limb as gently as she could; yet the thoughts rolling within her mind allowed for no more than the outward expression of her most curious reality, and the one thing that, ever since the very first meeting she had been allowed, had been tainting her mind with thoughts of hate in one way or the other: "Why dost thou hate me so?" Yet even spoken like that, so mindlessly and lowly and with the true evidence that perhaps she had not meant to say such things at all, King Edmund heard.
It made his eyes fall on her, his frown disappear, and the words from his older brother come tumbling within his head like a snowball down a hill; for, yes, young Edmund Pevensie thought he hated the girl, but there was something going on inside his dropped stomach that made him deny the sentiment whenever it was spoken, so it must be true: he didn't. It would be so much easier if he did, would it not? Would it? He didn't know; he was so young, in truth, and had no experience with any other sentiment that was not love toward his own family, or admiration for those who were supposed to be his friends; but Juliet? No, he could not entirely admire her, much less call her his friend regardless of how his siblings could. Not but for the drop of his stomach and that strange sensation he felt in which he couldn't breathe whenever he caught her smiling or laughing, or even joking with the rest, or the strange wing-y feeling within his chest whenever she answered back as if he weren't a King; it was a sensation so foreign that it annoyed him, and thus he related it as if she were the one to annoy him in the first place. But hate? Apparently, no; no, "I don't hate you."
And the words were as mindlessly spoken as hers, with the frown much smaller upon his forehead as her eyes lifted to look into his, her expression a mirror to him alike, but more for concern and wonder than the mere strangeness that drowned his mind, the lack of understanding. "Then why...?" She began within the wonder of his utterance, for she truly wondered if it was as true as he spoke it: he did not hate her, no matter how hard he tried. And that silence; it was the first spent in peace between the two as they looked at each other; he gulped and her lips remained parted to let breath in easier to her lungs; even her hold on his now perfectly bandaged hand remained, and he didn't pull away, leaving the tension and annoyance splattered by both of them as no more than little momentarily forgotten butterflies floating above their heads. She wanted to speak, and so did he, but the frown in their foreheads stopped the other immediately; they said no more.
At least not until someone behind them sneezed in one of the other cots.
Juliet cleared his throat. "All done, your majesty." She said, her eyes blinking away whatever had held her in place and letting go of the younger King's hand.
No sooner had she let go of him before Edmund gulped once again and forced his frame to stand from the cot whilst he nodded a gesture Juliet missed before simply saying "Thanks." And leaving the room at once; in it, Juliet; her heart heavy, her head rattled, and her eyes doing no more than looking behind the disappearing King as he went. Making of her brain a mere mess that wondered simply one thing in his stead:
Indeed, why?
