Where was Susan during Peter's visit-when he accidentally spotted Lucy in his old doublet and finally agreed to let her try to help his brother? Well, she had been, believe it or not, outside-taking a short walk. Of course she wore the veil the whole time, telling the precious few who's curiosity were peeked enough for them to inquire about it that she wore it to protect her eyes from the sun. The 'sick' claim was, now that she seemed doomed to be for ever ugly, always her best defense. She didn't particularly like pity, nor she did actually want it, but it was better-far, far better-than disgust. To imagine lifting the veil in front of anyone besides innocent, careless Lucy! Oh, it was too horrid to even consider!
She was still warding off remaining shudders from the thought when she arrived back at her bed chamber. Out of habit, Lucy dimmed the oil-lamps, knowing that, unless her elder sister intended to do some sewing, she probably didn't want the room to be bright enough that she might see her reflection staring back at her from the mirror by mistake.
"I hate public life now," Susan commented glumly as she took off the veil and set it aside. "It's so secluded."
"That's because you're pretending to be sick," Lucy couldn't help reminding her. "Everyone thinks you're trying to recover."
"Well, we both know I never will." she answered darkly. "We're going to leave, aren't we, after they-I mean, you-figure out what's wrong with Prince Edmund?"
In truth, Lucy didn't want to leave Cair Paravel; not even when the mystery was solved. She loved this court and she was very fond of everyone in it-except maybe for Lord and Lady Scrubb. But, she remembered that she had promised to stick by Susan, so if her sister meant to leave, she would likely have to go too. Maybe she would change her mind, though; Susan couldn't be bitter over her circumstances for ever, could she?
Early that evening, directly before supper, Lucy went to Peter and asked what time she ought to be ready to enter Edmund's chamber that night.
"Oh, Lucy, I thought you understood!" said Peter in a bewildered tone.
Not knowing what he was talking about, she frowned at him, hoping he didn't intend to go back on his word so quickly.
In as few words as possible, the crown prince explained that he hadn't meant that she be allowed to attempt to solve the mystery of his brother's illness at night-he had assumed she would be working at piecing it together during the daylight hours.
Needless to point out, Lucy was rather indignant at this and expressed her displeasure in a manner that would have made Susan cringe; but Peter understood and amended with apologetic-rather unkingly considering how he'd been brought up-stammering. He was still, at first, rather insistent that she not try anything at night, reminding her of his own stumbling in the darkness, yet her adamant resolve never waned and the crown prince was-wearily-forced to give in when all was said and done.
So after Lucy had a quick supper and made small talk with those who were still talking to her (a few were 'sucking up' to Lady Scrubb who thought Lucy was being vulgar going into her young nephew's bed chamber at night, and some others were unnerved by how intense her desire to help the prince was), she left the dinning hall, escorted by Peter, two guards, a serving maid, and an old housekeeper woman who's job it was to clean the north wing every third Sunday (one could often see her dozing in a rocking-chair placed in one of the less busy corridors). The group took her up to the younger prince's sick chamber (for, of course, he refused-still-to call it his bed chamber, determined as ever to be allowed to leave it and return to his former room) then all except Peter and the housekeeper woman bid her goodbye and left in a formal, courtly manner.
"Edmund?" Peter called into the room, knocking and entering on the same breath just in case his brother was too tired to answer, or else asleep.
The young prince looked worse than before; he was paler than his previously-white bed-sheets, and his body was getting painfully thin. In one horrified glance towards his brother's nightstand, Peter noticed that Edmund had not so much as touched his food that day. When he mustered up the courage to ask if he had at least been drinking enough water; the servants replied, "He drinks a little."
"In other words: hardly at all?" Peter said sharply, as he strongly disliked being patronized, even when he needed it.
The servants tightly pressed their lips shut and nodded sadly.
Lucy watched the tragic figure in the bed and found she could momentarily forget that he was a prince. In his weak state he wore no crown and while his nightclothes were fine enough, there was nothing that stood out about them, and she couldn't help thinking that he just looked like any poor boy might. He was a prince, technically, but in her eyes he was only a sickly, frightened boy-young enough to have been a companion of hers if he had been well. It was so sad to think of him like that. She couldn't help wondering what sort of things he'd liked to do before he had gotten so ill. Was he any good at sports? Did he like horses and riding? Was he interested in hunting? She knew some boys his age were. Maybe he liked books just like she and her sister did. Or he could be fond of chess and card games like Peter seemed to be. He could have been very like his quiet-but-kindly father; grave and thoughtful, but friendly under it all. But as long as he was sick, she'd never know.
Edmund shivered and clung with one of his hands, tightly to the edge of the sheet closest to him, safe in that place between sleeping and being awake. It was safe because when he slept he dreamed and was afraid, and when he was awake, he felt his own pain and weakness and shied away from even his inner self; this was the one place he had left. But he was leaving it slowly, he knew he was; he could already hear his brother calling his name; he could even sense that there was someone else in the room, too. The prince wasn't sure who it was, but he guessed it was a female and thought of the little princess from Ettinsmoor.
Opening his eyes, he found he was quite right: it was the princess, though why she had returned at this time remained a mystery.
Then Peter spoke up. "Princess Lucy is going to sit up with you tonight, Ed."
His lips trembled, stuck together from dryness and saliva, before he managed to part them and say in a rather disgusted, cough-racked tone, "Why?"
"Er..." Peter coughed into his hand to clear his throat. "...she wants to try to find out why you're ill."
"She's not going to find out any-" he stopped and moaned as he shifted one bloodied foot. "-thing from sitting around staring at me all night. Wasn't it bad enough that I had to put up with that bizarre calormene who hovered over me muttering the law of Tash for eight hours, claiming I was going to go Hell for my sins?"
"I'm sorry, Ed," said Peter, trying to keep his voice light and cheerful, willing himself not to cry over his brother's distress again. "But I think we can make Lucy promise not to say a single word about Tash all night."
"I promise." Lucy giggled, feeling a little better as she looked away from the sickly boy in the bed, over at his healthy older brother.
Staring hard at her in the dimly-lit room, the corners of Edmund's mouth turned up ever so slightly, and he murmured hoarsely, "Well, so long as she promises."
An extra candle was brought in for Lucy to read by along with a few books from the Cair Paravel library, should she grow restless. She sat quietly for an hour reading a very interesting novel by a famous (or infamous, depending on how you looked at it) Narnian author and almost forgot what she was there for, pinching herself and placing the book down when she felt she was getting too involved and not paying enough attention to Edmund.
In her defense, Edmund wasn't doing much besides blinking at her occasionally and ignoring her by turn, not giving so much as a half-clue regarding whatever ailed him. Peter sat in a chair on her left and he didn't look very hopeful, either.
At nearly ten of the clock, the crown prince rose and said he was retiring to his own bed chamber for the night, asking Lucy if she would like to do the same.
A short, "Of course not!" came from her, just as he had suspected it would. Sighing heavily, he kissed her lightly on the cheek in an endearing, brotherly fashion (the housekeeper would have been scandalized, but she was already asleep, snoring louder even than the sick prince did whenever sleep claimed him) and left the chamber with a heavy heart, feeling somehow that it was the end of a false era of innocence and safety he would have liked to cling to all the same.
"You're still here?" Edmund whispered faintly at eleven, keeping his eyes closed while he spoke.
Lucy jumped a little in her chair, surprised that he was talking to her now. "Yes."
"I think you should go, you aren't going to figure anything out, trust me." He started coughing and groaning again.
"I wont go," said Lucy, with surprising meekness.
He sighed and rolled over. She thought she could vaguely hear him crying to himself but never commented on this afterwards, not wishing to embarrass him.
Because he wasn't looking and it was getting later, Lucy started unbuttoning the front of her dress so that she could slide it off without notice. Under it, she wore Peter's (Edmund's?) doublet and the rest of the boy clothing the unicorn had given her. When she reached the button around her waist, she unlooped a long piece of silk ribbon and shook it out.
The wind from it blew out her candle; but she could feel that it was a cloak again, keeping her fingers wrapped around the material protectively. Something deep within her told her she was going to need to use it very soon, even if she couldn't possibly guess why.
Feeling more and more awake as she sat there, eyes wide in the darkness, ever holding-fast to the cloak, Lucy waited for an hour that felt both like a year and like a minute at the same time. The clock in the nearest corridor began to chime midnight and the coldest shiver she had ever felt ran up her spine, dripping back down slowly, merciless as ice.
Grunting softly, Prince Edmund pushed back his sheets and comforters and stood up. His feet ached; there were still the marks and sores of bloodied-up spots on them, but he stood straight up all the same, bracing himself, enduring the pain in spite of the fact that it felt like knives were cutting into his soles.
What's he doing? Lucy wondered, expecting, if only for a moment, for him to reach for his glass of water, maybe look out the window, and then go back to sleep.
But if Edmund had done any of those things, then this story would have been changed beyond recognition, and Lucy would have found out nothing at all and Narnia would have been in horrible danger.
So, in light of all that, Edmund walked-wincing with every excruciating step-over to the closet where his clothing was stored, taking out a pair of brown tights, russet breaches, and a loose white shirt. He dressed himself quickly (though Lucy was stunned and confused, she had the decency to look away while he did this-even in the dark) and threw a greatcoat made of greenish, grainy-coloured wool over himself to keep warm.
Sensing that he was done, heading towards the door now, Lucy ducked behind the chair she had been sitting in up until that point, lest he by some odd chance notice her and-squinting-realize she was in boy clothes. Watching him carefully, she saw him look around the room briefly, wondering if he was looking for her, but uncertain that he was, seeing as his glassy eyes looked incoherent and half-maddened. Poor Edmund...
Because he was slowly creaking the door open and slipping out, Lucy hastily threw the cloak over herself, tossed the hood over her head, and fastened the clasp. There was no flowing dress to give her away this time; she followed the prince unnoticed through the darkened castle which seemed so different, at this ungodly hour, from the Cair Paravel she knew and loved so well.
Once, she heard him cry out, biting onto his lower lip to muffle the noise that would just barely be muffled. Edmund's hurt feet had almost given way under him, his body was shaking violently even under the warm greatcoat, and he clung to the wall for support. Part of Lucy was fairly dying to rush over and help him up, but she caught herself and held off, making herself little more than a pair of eyes staring at this horrid occurrence with all the sorrow and intensity it deserved.
It took a great deal of struggling-and hurrying through the struggling-but eventually, Edmund made it the stables. He stopped for a moment at the place where Susan's horse was and blinked in confusion-the horse was the wrong colour and he didn't seem smart enough to speak.
"I'm over here!" a voice called to him.
The prince spun around and saw his horse-a talking brown gelding named Phillip-was in a different stall. Actually, Phillip had been in a different stall since two days before Susan and Lucy had even arrived at Cair Paravel, but Edmund was half-delirious, and at such moments couldn't help getting his times mixed up. Phillip had at one point been in that stall, so he looked in there first, out of a forgotten habit-picked up again in his distraught state.
"Oh!" Edmund coughed and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his greatcoat. "There you are, Phillip."
"Master," said the little brown horse, a pleading look in his eyes. "You should be in bed so that you can get better. Why do you make me carry you off every night?"
"Do as you're told." Edmund croaked; the same way he always did when Phillip asked him that question-usually once a night at least.
"I cannot..." Phillip had made up his mind that he could no longer contribute to Edmund's illness. He didn't know where it was that he carried his beloved young master to, only that he was allowed to go just part of the way, and that it was making the prince sicker with each passing night.
"With or without you, Phillip, I'm going." said Edmund, glancing back over at Isbjorn.
Lucy frowned, a little disappointed in him for so readily thinking of stealing her sister's horse-it didn't take much to follow his line of thought as far as that went.
"That's the princess of Ettinsmoor's horse," Phillip told him honourably. "Puddleglum brought him here."
Edmund started coughing again, nearly falling over.
Kindness took over the brown gelding's heart; he couldn't let his master go out on a dumb beast that couldn't protect him if a strange wild animal should sense he was weak and attack. "I'll take you-where ever it is."
Without even bothering to put a saddle on his horse, Edmund jumped up onto the creature's back, ready to set off.
Lucy, lest she be left behind, fumbled up onto the edge of the stable-board, between the low rafters, and took a complete leap of faith onto the horse's back behind him. Shielded by the invisibly cloak, the horse could neither see nor feel her there. As for Edmund, even when Lucy had to grab onto his waist for fear she would fall off as Phillip broke into a canter, he didn't notice her presence-it seemed quite the same as any other night would have.
He rode onward.
AN: So whatja think? Tell me! Tell me! Please review.
