WARNING: Er…should I say intense? This chapter is, in American slang, "the whammy." Lots of angst, emotional messiness, and, quite possibly, tears.
Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.
Dedication: This particular chapter is dedicated to GoGothGirl, whose review spurned the plot bunny for this chapter. Thank you, m'dear!
Reviewers: Thank you so much for all your reviews! Erm…I just have the slightest inkling that you probably won't be too happy with me at the end of this chapter, so no death threats, please :sheepish smile: I still need to write!
Author's Note: Did I say "reconciliation?" :impish grin: Not quite, as you'll see below. It's a long chapter, folks, and the ending…well, let's just say I'm running very, very, very far away after I post this. I hope you enjoy!
Rating:T/M (for intense moments)
Summary: What if Lucy had decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased) (NO Slash)
"Speech"
/Personal Thoughts/
Memories/Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)
(9) Prince Caspian pg. 387 in The Complete Chronicles of Narnia (Paperback)
Keeping the Faith
By Sentimental Star
Chapter Nine: The Unearthing of Truths
The Dwarf was still speechless and neither of the boys dared to ask if Aslan would follow them. All three drew their swords and saluted, then turned and jingled away into the dusk. Lucy noticed that there was no sign of weariness in their faces: both the High King and King Edmund looked more like men than boys. (9)
At the sound of cheering, a startled Edmund whipped his head around to face Aslan's How…and promptly blushed very, very hard.
A bemused Peter pulled back and fixed him with a puzzled look. "Ed?"
If anything, Edmund only blushed harder. "We have an audience, Peter," whispered, as he helped his older brother to his feet.
Peter blinked. "We do?" He turned to face the same direction his brother was looking. "Oh," remarked softly. Something in his face eased…and grew fierce at the same time. "Good," stated firmly.
Incredulous, Edmund turned to stare at him. "Good?" he sputtered. "Good? Pete, you're High King and you just--"
"Gave my brother the respect and gratitude that were his due," Peter finished without batting an eye. "Actually, they're long overdue," admitted softly as he sheathed his sword.
Edmund heaved a quiet, exasperated sigh, but his shoulders eased. "You didn't have to do that," he replied finally, as he bent down to pick up his own sword, swiped it clean, and returned it to its sheath. He straightened as Peter's hand rested between his shoulder blades. "Really, just a simple 'thank you' would have been enough."
Peter swallowed, blinking his eyes as moisture gathered in their corners, gently rubbing his hand in small circles against Edmund's back. "I know," he whispered, "I'm sorry."
Edmund groaned. "Now what are you apologizing for?"
Peter sighed miserably. "Everything I should have said or done and didn't. Everything I shouldn't have said or done and did…It's a long list, Ed."
A faint scowl covered Edmund's face. "You lug, you can hardly--"
Lucy cleared her throat, and Edmund and Peter glanced at her, startled. They had forgotten they were being watched.
Susan coughed, and indicated the nearby forest. "Just be careful," she reprimanded lightly.
Edmund sighed. "Yes, milady." He leaned over and quickly dropped a kiss on Lucy's forehead before reaching out and snagging his brother's sleeve. "Come on, Pete."
Peter pressed a swift kiss to Susan's cheek before ruffling Lucy's hair (she giggled) and following. "See you later, Lu."
As they left the clearing, Edmund faintly heard Caspian's voice asking one of the girls, "Are you certain that was a wise idea?"
Edmund, for his own morbid fascination, wondered if the prince were more concerned about the Telmarines ambushing them…or about he and his brother possibly killing each other.
IOIOIOIOIOI
"Ed, what's wrong?"
They were at the stream now—the same stream Edmund and Lucy had washed up in what seemed like weeks ago. Edmund paced stiffly along the bank while Peter sat and watched with his knees pulled to his chest and his arms lying across them.
"What's wron…Aslan's Mane, Peter!" the younger boy exclaimed raggedly, running his hands through his hair in agitation. "You just performed equalis fratres…in front of everyone!"
"We didn't know they were watching, Ed," Peter reminded him softly.
"You may as well have!" Edmund cried. Horrified to hear his voice tremble, the younger king spun away from his brother and fell to his knees in the damp grass, dragging his hands shakily through his hair as he took in deep, unsteady breaths trying to rein in the tangled mass of words and hurts that sat heavy on his chest, where it had been growing ever since Peter had returned.
The sparring match had worked all right—he loved sparring, he loved his brother, and he loved sparring with his brother, but the equalis fratres dance, which was long and difficult and so steeped in emotion and significance, had completely undone the tight lid he'd kept over the all-consuming monster in his chest. It would take very little to set it free.
"What's really on your mind, Ed?" Peter's soft voice came from behind him and caused him to start violently, especially when his older brother's hands abruptly curled around his wrists.
Whipping his head around as he lowered his arms, he stared over his shoulder at Peter. The older boy offered a half-shrug and faint smile, hesitantly squeezing his forearms before carefully turning him around by the shoulders. "Ed?" he prompted softly.
Edmund tightly shut his eyes and shook his head. "I can't." His voice was barely audible.
Peter looked like he'd been punched straight in the stomach. "What?"
"I can't tell you," whispered, only slightly louder. "If I do…" His breath caught. "If I do…"
Peter slowly shut his eyes. He still knew his brother well enough to understand what Edmund meant…and cursed himself ten thousand times over for letting things between them get this bad. "I understand," strangled, as he released his brother's shoulders.
Edmund's face tightened. As Peter's hands dropped, he grabbed them between his own and squeezed. Hard.
The response Peter gave was one Edmund had not expected:
There was a sudden hiss of pain, and his older brother's right hand spasmed in his hold.
Edmund's eyes widened. Quickly, he forced it open, ignoring Peter's second hiss of pain, and closely examined it.
His jaw clenched anxiously at the red, inflamed cut that sliced across his brother's palm. "What happened to your hand, Peter?" asked tightly.
Peter blinked, then glanced blankly down at his hand. "Oh," remarked as if he felt he should be more surprised than he was, "I didn't realize…"
There was a slightly vicious hiss from Edmund. "Didn't realize my…did Susan see this?" demanded.
Peter shrugged.
"I'll take that as a 'no,'" muttered crossly.
Peter tried half-heartedly to tug back his hand, but Edmund was insistent and did not release him. Exasperation clouded Peter's features, "Honestly, Ed, you don't need to worry about it. It's nothing you should be concerned about."
"I damn well will concern myself about it, Peter Pevensie!" retorted hotly.
Peter frowned, and tugged at his hand a little more adamantly. "Ed, really. You don't need--"
The explosion, when it came, was not one Peter had anticipated:
"That's right, you don't need! You never need!" cried brokenly. Edmund flew to his feet, and Peter watched, dumbstruck, as his brother whirled on him, "You don't let yourself need! How can you, when you're so sodding convinced that no one can make anything right but you! You run yourself into the ground, you push everyone away, you kill yourself because you think you're the only one who can fix it! You can never get it through your thick skull that we're here to help you!" Edmund's hands were shaking, even though they were clenched into fists. "You're such a bloody, self-proclaimed hero that you can't even see what you're doing to yourself!"
A second later, ringing silence pervaded the clearing as the echoes of Edmund's voice reverberated against stone and bounced back at the two near the stream.
Peter slowly rose to his feet, his face white and still as he posed a disturbingly soft question to Edmund, "And is that fair? Is that fair, Ed? To say that…"
Edmund appeared to deflate, although he didn't look any less willing to back down. "No," nearly inaudible as a trembling hand rose to cover his mouth and he started shaking his head wildly, "no." There was a hint of a sob on the tail end of his voice now, "God, no." Peter crumbled, even as Edmund did, "It never was fair. You were never supposed to take the entire burden on your shoulders. You were never supposed to give up your childhood, your innocence, your happiness…You were never supposed to take Dad's role. You were never supposed to be pushed towards a war you didn't want. You weren't supposed--" Edmund's voice caught on a cry, "You're not a martyr, Peter! You're not perfect and you're not a saint and you're not God and you're not Aslan! You're so bloody blind that you can't even see--"
Peter's hands came up to cradle Edmund's face, cutting his younger brother off in mid-sentence. "--What's right in front of me," he completed softly.
Tears flushed down Edmund's cheeks. Peter winced and slid his arms around the younger boy's shoulders. "You've been wanting to get that off your chest for a while now, haven't you?" remarked quietly.
There was a hiccupped laugh and Edmund leaned his forehead against Peter's shoulder with a small nod. "Twenty years, give or take a few," murmured. "When Daddy left I thought it then, but I could never get it just right, and then boarding school and Narnia came and well…" He shrugged shyly.
Peter blew out a long breath and pulled Edmund close. "God," whispered tightly, "what have I done to you?"
Edmund coughed, and gave a strangled half-sob, half-laugh. "I-I don't think you've done anything, really. Except maybe loved me too much," hiccoughed.
"But I--"
Edmund shook his head and leaned a little harder into Peter's chest. "It doesn't matter, Pete," he sighed.
A worried frown flitted across Peter's countenance and he looked as if he'd very much like to dispute that, but in the end he just shook his head, and gave Edmund one hard, final squeeze, stepping back and rubbing his hands slowly up and down his younger brother's arms. "It matters, Ed," he refuted softly, then gave a sigh of his own, "but that's beside the point. I know you're not going to let me out of here without first treating my hand, so let's get that over with, hmm?"
"And where exactly is it that you think you're going?" Edmund asked with a thick chuckle, drawing him over to the stream and kneeling beside the water as he began to dig around in the pouches on his sword belt for a clean piece of cloth.
Peter crouched until he could sit knee to knee with the younger man and allowed Edmund to take his right hand once a cloth had been produced. As Edmund dunked the cloth into the water where it pooled briefly by his knee before continuing on its course, Peter shrugged with a faint smile, "Nowhere, really. But I thought perhaps after breakfast we might spar a bit more." His smile became somewhat more pronounced and he lightly chucked Edmund under the chin as his brother turned back to him and wrung out the cloth. "I have missed my sparring partner, you know, and I'm sadly out of practice."
Edmund gave a small, derisive snort as he bent over Peter's hand and gingerly started cleaning it with the wet cloth.
The older boy gave a slight hiss. "Of course, that's assuming I can actually hold my sword."
Edmund rolled his eyes fondly, but lightened his touch. "I think you'll manage. You did it once already. Plus, you took on a full grown—rather nasty, I might add—Wer Wulf with an injured hand. I think you can handle your little brother in another friendly sparring match." He was silent a few moments, and when he next spoke, his voice was very quiet, "I never actually thanked you for that, did I?"
Peter hissed again. "What?"
Edmund paused, and lifted his eyes to his older brother's. "You saved my life, Peter."
Peter shook his head gingerly. Cupping Edmund's cheek with his free hand, he stroked it with his thumb. "And you saved my soul. It's what we've always done, Ed. You don't need to thank me for that."
Edmund opened his mouth to object, but Peter placed a finger against his lips, "Shh," he murmured. "Accept the compliment for what it is."
The younger king's cheeks tinged faintly, and he bent his head until his dark bangs obscured his eyes, focusing intently on the task in front of him.
He heard a fond chuckle come from Peter above him and blushed harder. "You're as bashful as a maiden in first bloom, Ed," the older king informed him warmly.
Edmund jerked his head up, a fierce blush prominent on his cheeks. "Peter!" he sputtered.
The rich laughter of Narnia's High King rang out in the clearing.
IOIOIOIOIOI
As soon as he'd been able to escape from Peter's vigilant eye, Edmund had done so. He was a tangled mess of nerves—warmed to his toes by Peter's obvious regard and affection, but feeling utterly wretched because of the words he'd spoken to his brother (who, incidentally, had taken them with far more grace than he'd ever imagined).
Since Narnia he'd always been brutally honest with himself—and with others. Usually, he managed to temper the truth in situations that called for it, phrasing it delicately and in such a way that no wars were started on his account. But with Peter…with Peter he'd never been completely calm (or logical), not when it came to his brother's health, happiness, or general well-being.
He loved him too much for that.
/It's always him/ Edmund thought with a sigh, rolling an as-yet-uneaten apple between his hands where he sat by himself at the top of the entrance ramp to the How.
He knew why, of course—sort of. It had started the very same day he'd been restored to his family after his time with the Witch:
(Flashback, 1,300 Years By Narnian Reckoning)
He'd gone off on his own to practice with his sword after Oreius had gone over some basic steps and techniques, still not completely comfortable in the company of those in the camp or even the presence of his siblings. He'd found an isolated knoll overlooking the sea where it crashed against the breakers far below him.
Soothed by the sound and the relative nearness of the water, he felt his shoulders relax and (quite fluidly) withdrew his sword from its sheath.
It was a fine sword, centaur-wrought and supple, relatively unadorned and simple—Edmund loved it. Granted, it was still a bit heavy, but Edmund blamed that on the weight he'd lost while with…Her.
Shaking his head vigorously, Edmund brought his sword up into a ready stance, shifting his feet to accommodate his weight. Taking a deep breath, he centered himself on the balls of his feet as Oreius had shown him.
His first few movements were awkward, possessing nowhere near the grace Oreius or Peter had exhibited. His hand position was incorrect and the sword sat uneasily in his grip, but after some uncertain adjustment, his form improved, even if it wasn't quite as smooth as Edmund would have liked. A hesitant smile touched his lips.
A bit of awkwardness still remained, though, and one movement in particular caused him difficulty.
It was a simple enough technique: parry then thrust, uppercut then spin, and finish with an overhand block. But Edmund found himself stumbling on the spin and then scrambling to complete the block.
He didn't need to be told that such a mistake could cost him his life.
He huffed, and just as he was about to give up in frustration, two warm hands suddenly came up to cover his own and raise his sword (which he had begun to lower) back into a ready stance. "Like this, Ed," Peter's voice whispered from above him.
Parry. Thrust. Uppercut. Spin. Overhand block.
Edmund's voice (and breath) caught in his throat as Peter guided him through the steps, moving with him.
Parry. Thrust. Uppercut. Spin…
Edmund tightly shut his eyes, willing his tears not to fall.
Parry. Thrust. Uppercut…
His brother's movements were careful, sure. Edmund gave himself up completely to the instruction, offered freely and given freely, even when he had done Peter the worst wrong.
Parry. Thrust…
Even when Edmund couldn't forgive himself.
Parry…
This was no longer about the lesson, and Edmund wondered if Peter realized that, too.
"Parry, then thrust. Uppercut, then spin. And…"
Block.
"There! Good, Ed!"
Slowly, Edmund lowered his sword. But he made no move to let it go. Or leave Peter's arms.
"Ed?" Peter's thick voice rang out oddly in the silence, and his nickname caught on the end with a hitched breath.
Tears rushed down Edmund's cheeks.
(End Flashback)
Peter had been frantic when he realized his baby brother was crying, Edmund remembered with a wistful smile. And Edmund had cried for quite a while.
"Penny for your thoughts, Ed?" Lucy's bright face suddenly entered his vision and her cheerful voice startled him so much that he toppled off the wall. Thankfully, it was backwards and into the grass behind him—albeit with a rather undignified yelp.
"Oops," Lucy giggled, helping him upright. "Sorry about that, Eddy."
"Fine, you're fine," was the rather dazed answer she received. He shook his head, settling more firmly on his perch and opening his arms to her. "Um…did anyone else see that?" asked, as she settled herself comfortably in his lap.
His little sister grinned. "Nope. You're safe."
Edmund heaved a sigh, putting his arms around her waist. "Thank Aslan for small miracles."
Lucy snorted, then giggled. "Yes, about that…" she lightly thumped his chest with her fist, grinning widely. "What's gotten into you this morning? You can hardly be in the same room with Peter without turning bright red or tripping over your own two feet."
Edmund groaned. "You saw that?"
Lucy dissolved into a fresh fit of giggles. "It was kind of hard not to. Even Caspian noticed. What did he say to you that got you so embarrassed?"
"I don't want to talk about it," muttered, as his cheeks grew slightly warm. "And it wasn't necessarily what he said—what he did, more like."
Another set of giggles claimed Lucy's slight frame. "And what exactly did he do, Edmund?"
Her brother looked at her like she had just announced she was going to Tashbaan to become a Tarkheena. "You were there this morning, weren't you? He's practically declared me the next High King!"
"Well, you are his heir in a way, Ed," Lucy pointed out softly.
Edmund grimaced slightly. "If you don't mind, Lu, I'd rather not think about that at the moment," he muttered. Because to do that would lead him down paths he really didn't want to follow.
They both knew something was going to happen—the trees stirred around them, uneasy. Although not yet in their corporeal forms, their roots ran very deep—and both Edmund and Lucy had long ago learned to trust in the trees whenever they sensed something was wrong.
And if something went wrong, both Edmund and Lucy knew that Peter would be right in the middle of it. Even though he had performed the equalis fratres, Peter was still Narnia's High King…and Narnia's High King was always in the front lines of battle.
Lucy shivered. Hard.
Edmund noticed, and rearranged them a bit so that his little sister was nestled warmly against his chest. With some juggling, he managed to find his pocket knife in one of the pouches around his waist and easily sliced the apple he was still holding in half. "Here you are, Lu," he murmured, gladly distracting both their thoughts from that darker line of thinking.
Lucy's smile was back, and she accepted the half slice of apple her brother held out to her. "Thanks, Ed." She took large bite and grinned at him. "So…" she asked, after she was done chewing.
Edmund groaned again, this time far more good-naturedly. "You're never going to let up on that are you?"
Lucy giggled. "Of course not. Did you really expect me to?"
"I'm not going to answer that," he muttered, before giving in with a fondly exasperated sigh as she pouted at him. "Oh, all right, Lu. You win."
Immediately, she grinned again and started thumping excitedly at his arm. "Tell, tell, tell!" she exclaimed.
"Why do I get the distinct impression I'm going to regret this?" grumbled. But dutifully, he began recounting the tale.
IOIOIOIOIOI
By the time he was finished, Lucy was grinning so hard he was surprised her face didn't split in half. "He called you a maiden?"
"No! He…he was only--"
But Lucy was laughing too hard to really pay attention. "He called you a maiden. Oh, please, I have to tell Susan this!"
A disgruntled Edmund muttered something unintelligible and took a rather large bite out of his apple.
Lucy grinned widely. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"
Her brother merely scowled at her (even though it held no real ire) and bit back into the fruit.
"You know what I think?" Lucy announced a few moments later, when she was sure the older boy was listening.
"What do you think?" Edmund muttered, not quite daring to look at her and taking another bite of apple.
"I think you and Peter are soul mates."
Edmund promptly choked on his next bite of apple and started hacking.
Someone hit him soundly between the shoulder blades with the flat of their palm, pounding at his back until his airway was more or less clear. "Easy there, Ed. No need for you to choke yourself."
Edmund, all at once, turned very, very red. /Of all the times Peter could possibly show up…!/
Lucy took one look at his face, one look at Peter, and immediately dissolved into gales of laughter as she followed Edmund's train of thought.
Baffled, Peter asked, "What's so funny?"
"Lucy has a perverted mind," Edmund grumbled, now very, very, very red.
"No!" she gasped out, between spurts of giggles, "No! That's…that's not what I meant. That's not it at all…"
She promptly dissolved into another laughing fit.
His cheeks stinging, Edmund muttered, "Oh, really? Then what did you mean?"
"I think…" she sputtered, as an utterly bemused Peter took a seat next to Edmund on the wall, "I think…you should...figure it out…for yourself," she managed to gasp, before collapsing into giggles again.
"And I think we shouldn't let you think so much," her younger brother grumbled, taking another bite of apple as he firmed his hold on their little sister's waist.
Lucy pulled herself together enough to smirk at him, but didn't ever receive the chance remark on it.
Susan and Caspian burst out of the How and came racing towards them. "Peter, Edmund! The Telmarines have breached the woods!" the older girl cried.
And just like that, all merriment stopped. Edmund felt Lucy stiffen in his lap, but his terrified eyes were for Peter, whose face had gone an ashen shade of gray…and who stood quickly to his feet as his jaw squared and locked.
"How many and where?"
And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.—John 8:32
Tbc.
