AN: Sorry to keep you all waiting...got this finished/posted as soon as I could. Well, to be honest, I COULD maybe have had it up a little sooner (a few hours earlier, nothing that would have made too much difference) but "The Middle" came on TV, and my dvd copies of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights weren't going to order themselves off of Amazon, so I was a little occupied. But I'm back now, and I hope you all like the chapter!
When Lucy arrived at the stables (because Coriakin's mansion had it's own stalls and horses, naturally) wearing a black doublet and hose, her hair neatly braided down her back, Edmund felt like he got his second wind. The voice in his head became a little more cocky; without the golden dress, she did look much more ordinary, and he scolded himself inwardly for letting his imagination turn her into something she wasn't-something separate from business and separate from all the other girls on his conscience.
He came up with three ground rules in case his mind decided to play any more tricks on him in the future: 1) He could do this, 2) He would do this, and 3) If ever he thought again that he couldn't/wouldn't do this, he was to redirect his mind to rules one and two immediately.
Taking a deep breath, he laughed, "All right, I give up. Why are we meeting in the stables?" Edmund made himself smile at her. "I thought we were going for a walk."
"We are," said Lucy, smiling back. "We're just going to take the horses down the hill and into the heart of the village. When we get near the shops and fire-pits, then we can walk around and look at everything."
There were only about six horses or so in the stable, and two of them were the dapple-gray war horses that belonged to Perry and Alexander.
"This one's mine." Lucy pointed to an extremely pretty white horse who snorted and extended her neck, nudging her mistress's arm, hoping for a lump of sugar. "Her name's Snowflake."
"What about this fellow?" Edmund gestured at a large black mare.
"Ah, that's Coalblack, Susan's horse."
"What's Peter's horse called?"
"Coalblack," Lucy laughed. "You see, Peter named his horse first, and, well, imagination was never my sister's strong point..."
Edmund suppressed a chuckle. "Oh." Then, "So who do I ride?"
"Phillip," said Lucy, pointing at a brown gelding, who's head reared up at the sound of his name.
There was something about this brown horse, though he wasn't quite as strikingly good-looking as the others, that made him seem different; like he was more intelligent. There was an extra sparkle in his eye that was wholly absent in Lucy's beloved Snowflake and Susan and Peter's Coalblacks.
"But," she went on, "you will have to ask his permission first. He's a Talking horse, not a dumb creature like these others."
Edmund snorted self-righteously. "I've never asked a horse if I can ride it in my entire life, and I'm certainly not going to start now."
Lucy's brow lowered itself and she pouted seriously. "You don't mean you feel superior to him?"
"Of course I do!" Edmund rolled his eyes.
"Listen to me," Lucy said sternly when his eyes met hers again; "you feel superior, but you are not."
"Lucy," he said, cocking his head, "if I'm not higher on the chain of life than he is, why would he carry me on his back in the first place?"
"Well," huffed Lucy, folding her arms across her chest, "I'm sure he wouldn't, if you keep that attitude!"
"You really want me to ask the horse?" sighed Edmund. If he was going keep earning her trust, he might have to bite the bullet, however embarrassing it would be. He had, of course, talked to Talking animals before, but he had never lowered himself to ask their permission for anything. But, then, now that he thought of it, aside from Jadis, he never really asked permission for anything from what he perceived as 'higher life forms', either.
"I only want you to do the right thing," Lucy said meekly.
"Fine, make it Pax, but you have to help me out," he told her, reddening slightly. "I mean, what am I even supposed to say? 'Pardon me, might I saddle you now?'"
The terse look on her face softened considerably and a light giggle escaped her lips. "You could start by introducing yourself; but keep the pardon bit in there, since Phillip probably heard everything you just said."
Edmund approached the brown horse. "What-ho, Horsey?"
"My name is Phillip." The gelding let out a peevish-sounding whinny.
"Phillip," said Lucy, realizing that she would have to be the one to rise up to the occasion, "Edmund is a friend of mine, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind carrying him down into the village while I ride alongside on Snowflake."
"Why didn't he say so?" snorted Phillip, jerking his head up and down.
"He..." Lucy glanced back at him. "He doesn't understand. I don't think he's ever had anyone to teach him about Aslan and the difference between Talking animals and dumb beasts."
"Perhaps I'm just not cut out to be a proper Narnian," Edmund said, shrugging. "Whatever else I am."
"I wouldn't go that far," replied Lucy, shooting him a very kind facial expression that made him feel momentarily sick to his stomach with guilt till he reminded himself of his three new rules and it settled miraculously.
"I will take him as far as the start of the village," agreed Phillip, gently nuzzling Lucy's neck with his muzzle. "As a favor to my favorite Ramandu child."
She giggled and gently pushed the horse's snout away from her. "That tickles."
Great, not only was there a mansion full of half-stars and noble people that loved this girl who was going to vanish without a trace if he didn't fail miserably, but even the smelly, blabbering horse loved her! This was so typical, thought Edmund, frustrated.
He was actually thankful that Lucy took to talking about Aslan on the way to the village; even though it wasn't a very long way to go, and at first he wasn't terribly interested in what she had to say, more concerned with his own problems, as he tried to let his mind get off of his worries so he could pull this off without losing what was left of his mind into the bargain, Edmund began to all but lap up the information about the Great Lion of Narnia.
It was interesting; he'd been a little curious at the start, but by the time they were at the bottom of the hill, Lucy's tales of Aslan held his attention unwaveringly.
She lost his serious admiration for a moment, however, when she mentioned that Aslan had sang up Narnia and the surrounding lands into existence.
"Now you're teasing me," Edmund said flat-out.
"I'm not," Lucy insisted, bringing Snowflake to a halt and tying her to an iron ring (Phillip, naturally, didn't need to be tied; he would be wandering as free as they would until it was time to go back).
"No, you are," he retorted. "It sounds impossible."
"Impossible," she repeated. "What does that mean?"
"It means unbelievable, incredible."
Lucy looked very thoughtful. "So just because something's incredible, it can't happen?"
"That's right," said Edmund, climbing off of Phillip's back.
"So you've never seen anything incredible in your life?" Lucy asked pointedly.
"Not as incredible as a lion singing and creating worlds, no."
"Where do you think everything came from, then?"
"I don't know." He wrinkled his nose and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe it just appeared."
"Do you think the mansion I live in just appeared?"
"Well, of course not."
"Why?" She arched an eyebrow. "You didn't see it being built, did you?"
"No."
"You seem awfully sure."
"Of course!" exclaimed Edmund, looking over his shoulder at the extravagantly large mansion on the hill. "I mean, it would be an insult to whoever made it if I said it just..." His voice trailed off and his eyes widened; his mouth formed a distinctive O, and he couldn't think of anything else to say to counter that. Lucy was a lot wiser, it seemed, than he gave her due credit for.
"By Jove, Ed, I believe you got it." She took his hand and started to lead him over towards a strip of well maintained pasture only a little ways off from the village they were standing in front of. "Come, I want to show you the fire-pit the family sits at every year."
For a 'small fire-pit', it was fairly large, but not unreasonably so; after all, it had to fit all of Lucy's family, and likely her friends as well, and it wouldn't do to have them all crammed together in a tight, hot space; they'd all end up hating each other by the time twenty minutes had gone by if it was too small. It was well dug out in the rich, soft earth and surrounded by white and gray stones.
Bigger stones, carved like benches, some even with the symbols of Lions and Stars etched into their sides, were in front of these for the Ramandu family to sit on. One of these stones had S and R carved into it, then scratched out with what looked like slashes from a pocket-knife about fifty million times.
"What's that?" Edmund wanted to know, gesturing to the knife-scribbles.
Lucy laughed and tossed her head back. "Oh, that's where Susan sits. She had a suitor named Rabadash a few years ago; it...didn't work out..."
"Not Rabadash the crown prince of Calormen?" His face recoiled like he smelled something rotten.
"That's him," sighed Lucy. "Do you know him, Ed?"
"Yes, disgusting man." Edmund gritted his teeth. They'd made each other's acquaintance during his short stay in Calormen, and naturally they hadn't exactly hit it off.
"Oh, you do know him," said Lucy, gathering that much from his accurate two-word description. "Where did you meet?"
"In Calormen." It was all right to say this much; after all, Lucy knew he spoke Calormene, since she heard him yelling at the neighbours in their native tongue.
"What happened?"
"We got into a fight."
"No!" gasp-laughed Lucy, trying to picture the prissy fellow her sister had courted against their brother's orders then decided she would rather eat dirt than be stuck married to boxing with Edmund; somehow she had a pretty fair idea of who would have won that match. Unless, of course, there were swords involved; Rabadash was pathetic, but he could wield a curved Calormene sword all right.
Edmund half-grinned at the memory. "I won, by the way."
"How?"
"He got stuck to a hook on the wall and I refused to help him down." Edmund paused for a moment, recalling the look on the prince's face. "I was going to pull him down and keep trying to beat his lights out, but...well...someone told me to just leave him, so I did."
"He could have hung you for that, you know," said Lucy, sort of quietly, her shoulders shaking from holding back laughter in spite of the seriousness of her tone.
"He bloody well tried!" Edmund snorted.
"How did you escape?" Lucy took her hand off of her mouth and, sitting down on one of the stone benches, folded both hands into her lap.
He would have loved to lie and say he did it all on his own, with his own cunning and wit, but truthfully he hadn't, and it wouldn't hurt to at least show some humility, considering he had been a real ass about Phillip earlier. "Someone hid me when Rabadash's men came and told them I had already left."
"Where were you when they came, anyway?" Lucy asked curiously, her eyes wide. "In the Tisroc's palace?"
"Come on, Lu, do you really think I would be allowed in the palace?"
She considered. "Well, I don't know, Edmund, but you couldn't have been among commoners; Rabadash considers them lower than dogs and wouldn't go near them."
"He's hardly one to talk," he muttered.
"Tell me about it," she agreed. "So, where were you?"
"A broth-" Edmund started, then, realizing how that would sound and what even an innocent like Lucy might wrongly assume he was there for (and even if she didn't, she could always mention it to her brother, and then Peter would never let him within ten feet of her again), immediately stopped. "I mean an entertainer's house," he amended in the nick of time.
"What kind of entertainer?"
"Just some dancers," coughed Edmund (that wasn't completely a lie; a lot of the women there danced professionally) as offhandedly as he could manage.
"Was it one of them that hid you from Rabadash's men?"
"Yes," he said.
"You were very fortunate to have found a friend there," said Lucy.
"Well, I was more free with my coins than Prince Rabadash," Edmund laughed. "You could hardly expect her to let them drag me out into the square and hang me when she had expenses that needed covering."
"So you think she protected you for the money?"
He shrugged. "Who knows why women do anything."
"Do you have any sisters, Edmund?" she asked. "Or brothers?"
For a moment he looked away from her, then, looking back in her direction, he whispered, "I don't know." In a clearer tone, he added, "If I do, probably not full ones, anyway."
"Where's your mum?"
He shook his head, closing the subject on his end. "Where's yours?"
"She died." Lucy blinked back a few stray tears and wiped her nose on her doublet sleeve. "She went in her sleep. Peter says it was painless. I believe him because there was a smile on her face, like she was still sleeping, and having good dreams."
Awkwardly, Edmund placed the palm of his hand over one of her shoulders. "I'm sorry."
Lucy leaned against the back of his hand, accepting his comfort. "Hey, it's all right. I'll see her again. I can't help crying a little, though, sometimes."
"How do you mean?" He released her shoulder and sat down beside her. "Dead people don't come back. Not ever, Lucy. Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"
"Of course they do," said Lucy, a little shocked. "Who told you they didn't?"
"Um, every single person I've ever met...except for you, obviously."
"They come back in Aslan's country," said Lucy, her eyes glowing with wistfulness.
"You don't mean he's got his own country?" Edmund exclaimed.
"Yes, of course he does!" She couldn't help getting a little overexcited; she had never met a Narnian so nearly a heathen in her life. "And all true Narnians go there at the end of time; Aslan will bring them all together there."
"Aslan's quite the over-achiever, isn't he?" Edmund smirked cockily.
"Edmund!" she elbowed him in the ribs.
"Nah, it's good that you believe you have something to look forward to," he told her honestly. "I wish I did."
"I believe you will," said Lucy gently. "Someday."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"Can you have faith in something you don't know?"
"Of a sort, I think," Lucy mulled, pursing her lips in deep thought. "If that something knows you."
"What if you never find whatever it is that knows you?"
"That's just it," she replied. "You wouldn't have to; it would find you. Or maybe you sort of both find each other."
"What if it doesn't give a fig about me?"
"Maybe it needs you to care first."
"You mean the Lion, don't you?"
"What else would I mean?"
"Tell you what," Edmund said. "When you get to Aslan's country, you be sure to send me a post-card."
They talked for a few hours, chatting away like old pals, like small children who have run into an ideal playmate and haven't another care-or agenda-on their minds. Even Edmund was able to let himself momentarily forget what he was meant to do to poor Lucy P Ramandu and simply enjoy her company without being too over-ridden with guilt. Their conversation flowed steadily; Edmund liked it when Lucy said something that made him want to laugh...he even liked it when she said things, queer things that made very little sense when put to the test of the sort of logic he'd been raised on, that made him want to cry.
While they talked they could see fauns and dryads and naiads, as well as a few humans (village folk, mostly) carrying firewood to the various pits, preparing them for tonight.
A faun who must have been Clara's cousin or something, because he looked a great deal like her, dropped some wood in their pit and told Lucy to give his best to her father.
Eventually they became hungry, their growling stomachs impeding whatever their current topic of conversation had been, and Edmund peered curiously at the picnic basket Clara had fixed for them and Lucy had carried all the way here.
There were chicken sandwiches wrapped in cloth napkins, some kind of salad with red peppers in a covered dish with hinges that latches closed for easy transportation, two flasks of lemon-water, a little box full of six different kinds of cheese cubes, some Toffee-Fruit (no leaves, naturally), a loaf of white-flour bread in a sack, and a half-pound of the leftover hart from a precious supper.
"Does Clara think she's feeding the two of us, or half the population of the village?" Edmund asked sarcastically.
"Maybe she noticed how much you ate at breakfast," Lucy teased.
"In that case, she should have packed a box of matches so I could turn this bread into toast," he countered.
"She probably thought you wouldn't know how," she could help adding cheekily.
"I'm cut in two by your wit," Edmund said, pretend-sadly. Instantly brightening, "Oh, look, I'm over it. All better. Let's eat."
Lucy picked up the cheese box, revealing two small sphere-like objects made of silver.
"What's that?" asked Edmund, helping himself to the cheese.
Lucy's whole face lit up. "I think Clara packed us some ice cream." She fingered the top of one of the silver insulated canisters.
"Is that like anything like sherbert?" Edmund asked, working on the hart now as if he were afraid it would spoil in five seconds unless he downed as much of it as possible (he hated to waste good food).
Lucy gaped at him opened-mouthed, almost dropping the piece of cheese she'd just picked up. "You've never had ice cream?"
"I had sherbert in Calormen." He shrugged his shoulders. "But, no, I never had a chance to try ice cream."
"You're in for a treat," Lucy told him. "Clara likes to put cake crumbs in hers. She doesn't let the Dufflepuds make the ice cream anymore, not since they upset the cream five years ago and the cat lapped most of it up."
"Those Dufflepuds would be fired anywhere else," Edmund said, wiping his fingers on his doublet. "Your father is too kind to them, Lucy."
"I heard it was a punishment," Lucy said, in a lower voice. "I don't know what it is that father did, but they saddled him with those Dufflepuds for it."
"Didn't you ever ask?"
"Of course, but he said it wasn't for a little girl to know the sins a full-blooded star can commit. He says mortals aren't supposed to know too much about that kind of thing."
"All grown-ups say stuff like that when they don't want to answer children's questions, Lu. Sounds like 'children should be seen and not heard,' to me."
"Did anyone ever say that to you?"
"I wish," he said. "I learned a somewhat different lesson."
"What was the lesson?"
"To shut up when you're told to, or you die."
Lucy blinked at him, horror-stricken; a piece of lettuce-wrapped pepper fell off of her fork and into her lap with a light plop.
He forced himself to laugh, even throwing back his shoulders in an exaggerated gesture, trying to make it sound as if it was entirely a joke, when, really, it wasn't that far off from a true account of his upbringing. You didn't exactly die if you stepped out of line, but you did jolly well come close, that was for sure.
After the meal was over, Lucy cleaned up the picnic supplies and took out the ice cream. "Feel like looking at the shop windows while we eat it?"
"Sure," Edmund agreed, picking up the basket and hiding it under one of the stone benches while Lucy showed him how to flip back the silver lid over the ice cream. "Say, Lu, how does it keep cold?"
"The silver is insulated."
"I wish I had something like that." He thought woefully of the rare times he had a little scrap of something good to eat, more than he could finish in one sitting, but couldn't keep it from spoiling and had to abandon it or give it away.
"If you like it so much," Lucy said kindly, "you can keep it. I can have it brought to your room after the Dufflepuds wash it out."
"You can give it away, just like that?"
"I don't see why not, it's my silver anyhow." She surveyed the size of the little silver canister regretfully. "I don't think it will fit anything much bigger than a snowball, though."
"This vanilla ice cream kind of looks like a snowball," Edmund stated, bringing the spoon out of his mouth. "But it tastes a lot better."
"And how do you know what a snowball tastes like?" she giggled.
Edmund smirked. "I tried to eat one once, obviously." He gestured at her pointedly with his spoon. "I also found out the hard way that when snow is yellow, it's not always from reflecting the sunset."
"Ew!" exclaimed Lucy, suddenly wondering if she would even be able to finish her ice cream after hearing that particular story.
Edmund, however, seemed to have no problem with continuing to wolf down his. "Eustace made fun of me, so I told him to go stick his tongue to a frozen pillar."
"He didn't do it, though, right?"
"Oh, no, he did. It takes a while sometimes, but eventually he tends to do what I tell him to." Edmund sighed, shaking his head. "But the real joke was on me, since I had to help him get unstuck."
Lucy stopped walking; Edmund didn't notice for a minute, still talking until he realized there was no one beside him. "Wait, I'm alone." He went back a few steps. "Lucy?"
She was staring into a shop window at a long, thick hooded green velvet cloak draped over a very bland-looking, tan-coloured manikin with no head. "Look at that, Edmund. Isn't it pretty?"
"Very nice," he agreed, finishing the last of his ice cream and snapping the silver canister closed. "Why don't you get it?"
"Oh, I don't need another winter cloak," said Lucy, beginning to walk again. "I was just admiring it."
Edmund glanced over his shoulder at the cloak to embed in his memory which one it was she liked; considering what Lucy was going to go through if all went according to plan, a new cloak to keep her extra warm on the way couldn't hurt. He had every intention of coming back here once he'd found a way to exchange his Charnian coins for Narnian ones. It occurred to him that he'd never even thought of doing something like that for any of the other demistar girls and felt a pang of regret. Oh well, this last time he would rectify that over-sight; even if he couldn't keep her safe, he would keep her warm. Jadis wouldn't like that; she liked to see them suffer bitter cold along with everything else. But that was one bit of satisfaction Edmund did not intend to give the witch this time around. She would still get what she wanted, and the Traitors would get their freedom. He wouldn't let her grudge him this one less thing off of his burdensome conscience.
When they went back to the mansion to get ready for the bonfire, Edmund found Tumnus and Eustace in his room, waiting for him. Tumnus was in a chair by the window, practicing on his little pipe-like instrument and watching the road behind the house, and Eustace was sprawled out across his bed with half-closed eyes.
"So, how did everything go?" Tumnus asked, dragging the mouthpiece away from his lips and looking up.
"Yes, I would like some time to myself," Edmund said sardonically; "thanks for asking." To Eustace, he said, "And you! Get off my bed at once."
"Does she like you?" Tumnus pressed on.
"Yeah, tons," Edmund grunted. "Can you please go?"
"Did you talk about me?" Eustace wanted to know.
"Are you kidding?" He widened his eyes at his cousin and stood with one hand on his hip. "We didn't talk about anything but you."
"Wow, really?"
"Uh, no!" Edmund hit Eustace upside the head.
"But for the record, it went well?" Tumnus said.
Edmund nodded. "I think so."
"All right." Tumnus accepted this, looking more relieved than he did pleased. "Did you think of what you're going to say to her at the bonfire tonight?"
"I'm going to wing it," Edmund told him. "It's been working so far."
"So, how long do you think we'll need to wait before you pull the vanishing act?"
"Considering that she's known me for, what, three days?" Edmund took a moment to count on his fingers. "I'm guessing we won't have to linger here too long."
"Good, Jadis said if that if we dragged it out this time she would be sure to saw off my horns when we got back." Tumnus grimaced and tightened his grip on his instrument.
"If we have to be worried about her hurting anyone," Eustace chimed in, "it's Ammi. I mean, she's still there; we're here."
Edmund's expression dropped. "What?"
"You can't tell me you didn't think it, too, Cousin." Eustace sighed. "I mean, why else would she keep Ammi there this time?"
"You might have bloody well said something at the time of departure!" Edmund snapped, wondering if he should hit his cousin again or just threaten him.
He snorted, "I didn't want to get left behind with Jadis."
"Eustace is right," Tumnus said, a little dejectedly. "She might just be keeping her as the stick behind us, our freedom being the carrot."
"Our freedom is a carrot?" Eustace wrinkled his nose.
"One little flaw," Edmund pointed out. "Why would Jadis think any of us care what happens to Ammi? You two barely talk to her for weeks, sometimes."
"I think she had you in particular on her mind in this case, Edmund," said Tumnus.
"Ammi isn't anything to me, she must know that." Edmund tried to figure out the White Witch's line of logic in this instance; and came up with nothing.
"Edmund, you asked her to marry you and run away from Charn how many times?" Tumnus felt the need to point out. He personally would have thought it was time to give it up after that tome was hurled at his head, but that was just him; Edmund evidently didn't see it that way.
"Eight, by my count," Eustace muttered. "And thanks awfully for offering to take me with you, Cousin!"
"You would have slowed us down." He waved him off; it was unimportant. "Anyway, you know why I asked her."
"Personally, I think a lot of Toffee-Leaves went into that decision," Tumnus said under his breath.
"I was in excruciating pain and we didn't have any healing herbs!" Edmund exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air out of frustration. "What was I supposed to do? Besides, they're not illegal in Charn."
"Keep your voice a little lower," Tumnus warned him. "Remember who's home we're in."
Edmund nodded. "Fair enough."
"You have some here, don't you?" Tumnus scanned the room warily.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." He knew exactly what the faun was talking about, and made sure not to let his eyes drift over towards the draw in the nightstand the bag of Toffee-Leaves were currently hidden in.
As soon as Tumnus and Eustace vacated his room, Edmund decided he had better change. He didn't have a whole lot of options; most of his doublets and tunics looked the same, but he had a tunic with little red and brown autumn leaves embroidered at the hem that looked a little nicer than what he had on.
Unfortunately, Eustace hadn't closed the door all the way when he left, so it was still open a crack; enough, anyway, for Lucy, who was trotting down the hallway carrying something in her arms, to be able to see into the room as Edmund, his back to her, was lifting up his tunic and under-shift.
All across his back were countless brutal marks that looked like barely-healed, partly crusted-over lashes from a whip; some of them appeared to have been there for a long, long time, but several others looked like they had to have been more recent. The worst part was that many of the new marks actually went over the old lashes, obviously making them smart again at the very least.
Startled, Lucy gasped and dropped what she was holding.
Edmund turned around and noticed her standing there.
"Does that hurt?" she whispered.
"What do you think?" He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "You weren't supposed to see that." The last star-blood girl hadn't; but it seemed as though Lucy were determined to be an exception to all of the usual patterns and rules of the witch's cruel games. He opened his eyes again.
"I'm so sorry," said Lucy, almost trembling. She got down on her knees to pick up what she'd dropped. "Forgive my intrusion, I was just bringing..." Her eyes widened as she got another glimpse of his back as he bent down to help her. "What happened?"
"So what's all this?" He purposefully avoided giving her an answer.
"Oh, Clara thought you might want some of Peter's old tunics," Lucy explained, showing now that the bulky items in her arms had been some previously neatly folded tunics of very fine quality. "He's out-grown them, and she would have offered them to Eustace as well, but he's almost as small as Alexander."
"I didn't know my clothes looked that bad," Edmund said, taking the tunics graciously anyway.
"They don't," Lucy assured him wearily. "Really."
"You're crying." He noticed tears forming in her eyes and starting to brim over.
Lucy bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling.
Edmund could tell she was trying not to stare at his shredded back. "Hey, it's all right, I'm fine. I...I've gotten used to it." He sat down on the floor beside her. "I told you before: I don't need people feeling sorry for me."
Lucy swallowed and took a deep breath. A couple of her tears ran down the bridge of her nose and landed on the floor in front of her, making two tiny splashes.
"Lucy, look at me."
She did.
He wiped lightly at her eyes with his thumb. "There. When you feel like crying, why don't you just do what I do?"
"What's that?" Lucy asked curiously.
"Think of somebody who annoys the living daylights out of you and become angry instead of sad." Edmund started to stand up, then offered her his hand. "With me, it's Eustace."
Lucy managed a smile. "You're still coming tonight?" she double-checked, wondering how he did all the things he did with a back like that; taking that tumble on the balcony when he was facing that dragon must have made him hurt like crazy.
"Wouldn't miss it."
"I'll see you downstairs in an hour, then." She nodded and slowly backed away, taking one last look at her friend standing there before shutting the door behind herself, feeling terrible even though it wasn't her fault.
AN: Pleaseth to Reviewth!
