"Here," said Ivy to Lucy in a gentle tone, handing her a steaming engraved silver flagon. "Drink this. It will help dull the pain in your ankle a bit, though I'm afraid it won't do anything much for the severe limp you're sure to suffer from for a while; that's unavoidable, unfortunately."
Rhince had carried Lucy to Coriakin's office, as Professor Kirke had told him to, and placed her down in a warm cot fixed with blankets, cushions, and pillows aplenty brought in by his kindly wife Elaine.
There had been a buzzing in her head by that point; she had lost a lot of blood, was traumatized, and had been fighting like anything to stay awake since Edmund had told her she must. Now, she couldn't resist any longer, warmed by the blankets, soothed by the reassuring voices all around her, she slept.
Upon waking groggily less than an hour later, the Narnian princess found for a fleeting moment that she couldn't remember anything, and she wondered why she was lying in a dark office and why her ankle hurt so badly. Then it had all flooded back to her, the full memory of the night, and she darted her eyes franticly about the dim room, screwing her sight up searching for Edmund.
Thankfully the count had been just on the other side of the office, whispering tersely with Coriakin, who said that, while he understood that Edmund must be very upset and confused and angry about what had happened, and that he ought to know the truth about what they believed was going on, it would be best to wait for Lucy to come-to before they out-right explained anything, seeing as it mostly concerned her and she needed to hear it even more than he did.
Edmund had been about to say something very snappish to the headmaster, which he most likely would have deeply regretted, but Lucy stirred, and he was aware of her returned mental-presence in the room the second she woke.
Lucy was more important than his frustration; he rushed to her side.
It was then, as Lucy sat up in the cot with a little help from Edmund, Caspian, and Rhince, that Ivy offered the flagon.
Poor Lucy could barely grasp it, so Edmund had to hold her hands closed around the flagon, because her trembling fingers would have dropped it otherwise. He didn't mind, though; it gave him a chance to sniff at the drink, to make sure it was alright. The smell of the steam was a little sharp, but it was the sharpness of natural, non-toxic herbs, not of poison. There was another smell, beneath the steam, that was faintly of spiced wine mixed with melted chocolate to keep the wine from tasting too over-whelming. Harmless.
Ivy's drink was indeed going to help, not make things worse. The only reason Edmund had doubted the so-called maid's intentions was that, now that he saw her in her true garments, a cold ring of gold round her brow, knowing her for a god's daughter, the fear that she was also an enchantress had naturally popped into his mind.
It wasn't that he didn't trust Ivy. As it was, when he looked into the goddess-like lady's face, he believed every word she said; but then, he knew from early personal experience that that was just the sort of thing that might happen with a witch, too.
But Edmund was satisfied now, for the most part, that the river god's daughter's intentions were pure as rain towards Lucy, and he helped lift the rim of the flagon to his best friend's lips.
Lucy began to swallow it down quickly; too quickly for Edmund's liking. "Take it easy," he whispered in her ear, not unkindly, pulling the flagon back a little ways from her mouth so she could have a chance to breathe in-between sips. "Don't make yourself sick."
She coughed once and Edmund had to pound her lightly on the back, but in the end she'd managed to swallow every single drop.
Clearly the drink had done some good, at least, for there was a little colour back in her face now, and her expression was no longer a repressed grimace of excruciating pain.
"Feeling better?" said Professor Kirke, nodding expectantly at Lucy.
"Yes, thank you," she replied, delighted to find that with the renewed strength Ivy's drink had given her, had come clarity of thought, causing her to feel more like herself again-in control of her own mind and body. The ankle ached sorely more than it hurt now, which was a vast improvement.
"Rhince, make sure the doors are securely shut, admit no one else in," Headmaster Coriakin ordered. "We haven't the time to call the others just now; it'll have to be myself, Digory, you and your wife, Caspian, Ivy, and Lilliandil; we can inform the other members of these new developments later."
"Members?" Edmund repeated. "Members of what?"
"All shall be explained," Digory promised him.
"The doors are shut, Sir," Rhince told Coriakin.
"Very well." The headmaster tapped a certain dent in the wall, like Caspian and the others had seen him do a hundred times before, and the secret door slid open, revealing downwards-pointing stone steps.
Edmund's jaw hung agape; Lucy's eyes widened and she sat up a little straighter.
"Edmund," said Digory Kirke, "I'm afraid Lucy will have to use your shoulder as a crutch to get down those stairs."
"I can't believe you're going to make her go down there at all," Edmund said flatly, thinking of how dangerously weak Lucy had been less than two hours ago.
"She will be perfectly safe," Coriakin cut in. "All you need do is assist her. I assume you shan't mind? When so much is at stake?"
A mix of curiosity and guilt forced Edmund to acquiesce to their demands, and he lifted Lucy off of the cot.
At first, seeing the initial look on her face when she set her foot to the office floor and felt all pins and needles shooting through her leg, almost falling over, the count seemed more disposed to carrying Lucy all the way down, but Professor Kirke and Headmaster Coriakin said she needed to practice walking again as soon as possible, painful though it would be to see their royal princess fighting against a limp, unless Edmund fancied the idea of his best friend's lower leg giving up and crippling her for life. Maugrim had gotten her deeply, and her healing had to start at once, he now realized, or not at all. It was once thing for Rhince to carry her in initially, only since she had rested and gotten her drink, any further full-on carrying would hinder more than it would help.
Caspian lit a tall candle in a small golden holder and handed it to Lilliandil so that she could descend into the secret chamber where the majority of the group's "important talk" was shared. (This was quite a break with their usual meetings, the two of them always going last as a general rule, but nothing about that night's gathering followed the normal proceedings anyhow.)
Lucy limped down the steps, supporting herself on one of Edmund's shoulders, breathless and jolly nearly worn to a shadow but uncomplaining when they finally reached the bottom and found themselves in strange surroundings.
There was more light down here than in the office above; a crystal chandler blazed above their heads, lit by a light that looked like Lilliandil's skin when it glowed, only stronger and much easier to see by.
And there was quite a bit to see, for that matter.
The chamber had walls of solid gold, decked out with carvings and elaborate oil-paintings, most of them clearly depicting scenes from the stories of the Golden Age; a few of the larger ones-mainly carvings rather than portraits-were of a large Lion meant, it seemed likely, to represent Aslan.
The only furniture down here consisted of a few rows of soft-seated chairs and reclining couches, all done up in expensive-looking materials.
"What is this place?" Lucy asked, looking to Coriakin.
"Child," said the headmaster, "have you ever heard of the Rhindon Investigation Society?"
"No, never," she told him. "What is it?"
"Us, Your Majesty," said Caspian, unexpectedly bowing to her. "We've been waiting for you."
"Waiting for us?" Lucy repeated awkwardly, gesturing over at Edmund, thinking-somewhat mistakenly-that the Telmarine valedictorian's statement included her companion.
"Well, not him so much," Caspian admited. "You, definitely."
"By Jove, don't I feel special!" Edmund muttered to himself.
Lilliandil giggled at that. "You're important, too, if we're not mistaken regarding your identity. There is no need to feel poorly."
"Indeed not," Professor Kirke agreed.
"We be in strange times," Rhince sighed.
"We be losing our patience," Edmund snapped, helping Lucy down onto one of the couches. "Here, sit," he added grouchily. "I don't care what they say about the blasted healing process, Lu, after what you've gone through tonight, you are not going to be standing here while they hesitate on getting to the point for another hour."
"Are we certain it's too late not to include him?" Caspian asked Lilliandil. "If he's going to be like this the whole time, perhaps we ought…"
"Caspian?" Edmund said in a conversational tone.
"Yes?" He turned from the star's daughter to the count. "What is it?"
"Oh, so you can hear me from over there," Edmund sneered sarcastically. "Thus you know I can hear everything you're saying about me as well?"
"That's quite enough from the both of you," Coriakin said in a commanding voice. "Caspian, stop picking disagreements with him. Show a little respect for his position; it won't kill you, I promise. And, Edmund, for the love of the Lion, wipe that uncalled for surly expression off of your face at once; I understand how aggravating this must be for you, but you're only making it harder than it needs to be."
"This Rhindon Invitation Society thingummy," Edmund pressed, ignoring Caspian's following mumbled apologies; "what has it got to do with Lucy?"
"It's the Rhindon Investigation Society," Professor Kirke corrected, motioning at a painting of a golden-bearded man holding a sword on the wall behind him. "It was named after the sword made famous by High King Peter in the Golden Age. Our secret group believes that Peter, as well as those who played an essential part in his life-story, will one day return and bring Narnia into a state similar to that of the Golden Age."
"Basically, it's a chance to reset history," Coriakin explained, his eyes somewhat aglow just thinking about the possibilities. "Imagine, Peter returns, and we have a chance to warn him of his previous mistakes before he falls again."
"Righty then," said Edmund dryly, clearly unimpressed. "So you're telling us that Peter is going to magically come back to life, brandishing Rhindon, march right into this little meeting, and say, 'gosh, thanks awfully for the warning, chaps' and change the course of Narnian History from here on out? Oh, and that his whole court is coming with him? No, that isn't far-fetched at all…"
"That's rubbish, Edmund," snorted Caspian, tossing his head back in an irritated fashion. "Of course that's not how it is going to happen. And if it were, Princess Lucy would not figure into that plan, now would she?"
"The former King Peter has been gone from Narnia for a long time," said Lilliandil, in a softer tone, understanding Edmund's shock and disbelief. "But we believe that what he said to Master Tumnus before departing has a deeper meaning. It's our great responsibility to search for potential Peters in each generation. He won't return as himself, you see. Which, has made him difficult to identity. But we've found him-or, I should, say her, as it turns out-at last." The star's eyes shifted to Lucy.
"Let me get this straight…" Edmund held up his hands. "You're telling me that you think Lucy is the reincarnation of High King Peter?"
"No," said Rhince, shaking his head, "not exactly."
"More like his successor, if you will," added Elaine, speaking up for the first time that night.
"Think of it like this:" Professor Kirke tried, "Queen Swanwhite had Rhindon first and was a great ruler. Next, came Peter, the greatest king Narnia has ever known, the only one able to wield Rhindon. Now…the time is come for another: Princess Lucy. She's the next high king. Or, rather, High Queen. It's her, Edmund."
"I can't be…" Lucy shrunk nervously into the couch.
"You aren't," Edmund insisted vehemently. "This is all madness."
"Madness, you say?" Professor Kirke mused reasonably, secretly wishing he had brought his pipe down into the chamber with him. "Let us explore the possibility of that. If a person is mad, they are wholly insane. Does the lucid way we speak to you sound insane, in spite of the subject matter? No, I'm afraid you have to admit it doesn't, if you're reasonable. The other possibly is that we are lying. Have you ever known us to tell lies? An allegation of lying against persons you know to be truthful is a serious matter indeed, mind you. Our last possibility here is that we are telling you the truth."
"You cannot honestly expect me to believe that Lucy," Edmund exclaimed, almost laughing from the absurdity of it all, "is the next High King Peter! What's next? Jill Pole is Lady Aravis, consort of Cor of Archenland?"
"Actually," piped Lilliandil, "that's a distinct possibility. We've been speculating about that for a while. But as Miss Pole's in no danger, and we haven't even found the Cor in this generation (if there is one), we didn't think it to be of immediate importance."
"I was being sarcastic!" Edmund protested. He couldn't believe they were taking this all so seriously. Maybe this was all some sort of weird dream; perhaps, when he saw Lucy injured and Maugrim hovering over her ankle like that, his mind went into a delusional state and now he was having walking hallucinations. Professor Kirke, at least, had always seemed so sane and logical, before he turned out to be part of this creepy society.
"This isn't something to joke about, Edmund," Ivy said. "It's a very serious matter."
"Lucy is not the one you've been waiting for; she's just Lucy. She's no High King Peter."
"Well, why not?" asked Coriakin, shrugging his shoulders. "She's his direct descendant, at any rate."
"He's a mythical character! As in myth; as in he didn't exist!"
"Edmund," said Lucy, speaking up now, sounding as if she were siding with the society rather than her best friend on this one, "where do you think those stories came from?"
"Exaggerations, Lu."
"Hogwash," muttered Professor Kirke to himself. "Exaggerations, my foot."
"We've been tracking his lineage," Coriakin explained levelly, though it was easy to see more than one or two tempers in the chamber were at the verge of being lost in all the tension. "Ivy, you see, has been around for a very, very long time. It suits us that people think the stories are not true, or only half-true, but they are-for the most part-actually quite accurate. A few details have become muddled, sure, but that doesn't mean High King Peter was not real."
"I'm really descended directly from High King Peter?" Lucy gasped, realizing that would make the hero of her favorite stories her grandfather with a lot of greats in front of his name.
"Yes," Ivy assured her.
"What if Lucy doesn't want all this?" demanded Edmund, protectively, frightened of all the horrors she would have to face, all for the sake of some stupid superstition.
"It isn't a matter of anyone wanting it," Caspian answered. "King Peter didn't want it at first, either. He grew into it. He was Swanwhite's successor, remember? Ironic that Lucy also carries that name as well, is it not?"
"It's not something you choose," Professor Kirke added, sitting down on the couch next to Lucy but still looking up at Edmund while he spoke. "It's like a mantle that passes down."
"I don't believe in this." Edmund swallowed hard.
"Edmund," said Coriakin, stroking his gray-brown beard thoughtfully, "may I ask you something?"
"Yes, of course."
"How did you know Lucy was in danger tonight?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you must have had a reason to go outside, otherwise you would have never found her in time."
Edmund closed his eyes and squeezed Lucy's hand once very lightly before answering. "Lu and I, we…we've always known when the other needs us…like, she knows when I'm upset, and I know when she's frightened."
"Did you know that Peter and Susan of Old Narnia are supposed by some sources to have been able to communicate telepathically?"
"I think I read that somewhere, once," Lucy admited.
"Wait, hold everything." Edmund glowered at the headmaster. "Are you saying I'm supposed to be Susan?"
"In this generation, yes," the star told him. "Professor Kirke believes that you may represent her role in the story."
Edmund's frown deepened. It was bad enough that they were calling Lucy High King Peter, but to call him Queen Susan? Didn't that just beat all? There was no way he was Susan.
Whenever Lucy read the stories that included Peter's consort aloud, though he liked the character well enough, he found himself getting frustrated with her, and he knew he would never make any of the stupid choices she was said to have made; nor would he ever moon about the way she had in several of the stories when King Peter was wounded in battle. Part of him just wanted to give her a smack (not a cruel one to make her cry, but a sharp one to get her out of her disgraceful 'woe is me' mood) and say, "Stop your whining and go to his side already, girl! You think he wants to have a near-death experience with you locked in your private sitting chamber, far away from him, bawling your eyes out, when he needs you most? You're a queen; so be one!"
It was actually Lucy who was more sympathetic to Susan, although she did tend to take Peter's part regardless.
Edmund thought he would like to see Queen Susan from the old stories try to endure the hell his early childhood had been; he doubted she would have made it. She was too gentle, too soft-hearted, she would have felt pity for the wolves, maybe even for the witch…
He listened with borderline disgust as Professor Kirke recounted the facts that he had seen the count give Lucy an apple (which, apparently, was symbolic) and that the count was, without a doubt, the best swimmer he had ever heard of.
"I would like to point out that Lucy and I," Edmund said, since it seemed nothing else would make these people realize that they'd made some sort of horrible mistake, "are not consorts. We're friends."
"I already pointed that out," Caspian said nonchalantly. "That has turned out to be rather a moot point."
"If you still do not believe," Ivy decided, "there is something we must show you." She nodded at Lilliandil. "Go on, they need to see it."
The star's daughter lifted her palm to the largest of the golden Aslan carvings and rubbed her fingers against the lines of his engraved mane. The design changed from the Lion to a sword, then the sword was real and Lilliandil was holding it (in its scabbard, of course), her fingers wrapped around it.
Solemnly, she presented the sword to Lucy.
The princess had read enough books to recognize it at once. "Rhindon! It…it was found?"
"We found it years ago," Coriakin said, unable to keep from grinning. "And we've kept it safe here for you. Don't draw it out now, though. The time is not right. The first time you draw Rhindon from its scabbard must be for a true-hearted, noble reason."
"I can't keep this," Lucy told them, awestruck, looking down at the sword now spread across her lap.
"It's yours," they insisted.
"Edmund can show you how to hide it under your floorboards," suggested Caspian, only half-joking.
"All right, supposing for a second that really is Rhindon," Edmund sighed, "maybe one of you could be so good as to explain exactly why Gumpas and Pug cared so much that Lucy's the next bearer of it? Why would they worry about some stupid legend?"
"Our folly, Edmund," said Lilliandil sadly, looking momentarily forlorn, "is that we didn't realize Gumpas and Pug's role, and its significance, in time. We had no reason to suspect them prior to this attempted kidnapping, or else my father would have never let them work here."
"Rest assured," Coriakin chimed in after his daughter, "they will never work here again. They're both getting the sack."
"They won't make it out of the school doors," Edmund said bitterly. "I'll draw that sword you suppose to be Rhindon right out of its scabbard and run them both through." If it hadn't been for their stupidity, Lucy would have never been outside and wouldn't have gotten her injury. Maugrim was a shrewd creature and would have never entered the school building itself.
The whole Rhindon Investigation Society went silent and stared at Edmund wide-eyed, completely aghast.
At first he thought it was because they were repelled by his sense of revenge or else didn't want him to physically harm Gumpas and Pug for some reason or other, but that turned out not to be the reason for their shock at all. What appalled them was that Edmund would consider drawing out Rhindon when he had no right to be doing such a thing.
"What is their role anyway?" Lucy asked, to turn their thoughts to other subjects besides the sacredness of High King Peter's sword for a moment.
"There is a group that works against this society." Rhince's face went red with anger as he spoke of them. "They call themselves the Order Of The Dryads; we now understand Pug and Gumpas both to be active members though the leader of that vile order remains anonymous still."
"Dryads," Lucy repeated, thinking it over. She tucked a piece of her hair behind one ear. "Because, in the stories, some of them resisted Peter initially, right?"
"Well remembered!" Professor Kirke smiled and pointed approvingly at her. "I knew she was smart."
Lucy fingered the scabbard of the sword. "I don't think I can do this. I'm not going to change anything, I've never wanted to. I don't have any problems with how my parents are already ruling Narnia. I don't even have ideas…Edmund's the one who always comes up with ways of making everything just. I always feel too sorry for both sides to come to a decision on any argument."
"It's all right that you're scared, Your Majesty," Caspian said consolingly. "But you will rise above it someday, just like Peter."
There were tears in Lucy's eyes; and Edmund recognized the stricken expression on her face with a mix of aggravation, sadness, and out-right anger: she believed them. Lucy believed every single word this secret society was telling her; she was lapping it all up. And yet, he couldn't be mad at her, not even a little bit. He could only pity her. They were scaring her without reason. He wanted to send everyone from the chamber and comfort her, and he almost did before it occurred to him that he had no position of power over this society. They wouldn't leave at his bidding. Besides, this was their secret chamber, not his.
There seemed to be only one option, for he could not sit there and do nothing while endless silly tears ran down Lucy's face one after another. He had to protect her, somehow.
"That does it," Edmund decided, standing up and reaching back towards the couch to help Lucy up behind him. "I'm taking her out of here at once."
"Look, see here," Rhince began, "you can't…I mean, we haven't finished…we need more time to speak with her…"
"No," he said flatly, "you don't."
Caspian stood in his way while Ivy helped fasten Rhindon around Lucy's waist. The weight of the sword did not seem to bother her ankle, but rather to balance it out a bit.
"Caspian," Edmund ordered, as serious and dark as Lucy had ever seen him, "no more tonight. Lucy can't handle it."
"She can't? Or you can't, Edmund?" he asked pointedly.
"Look at her face," he insisted, frowning, reaching under Lucy's chin to lift her face upwards in Caspian's direction. "Does it look like she can stand much more of this? She's exhausted. I'm taking her to her room, now."
Caspian nodded, giving in. "All right."
On the way back to her room, dazed and limping, holding onto Edmund's arm so tightly her knuckles had gone as white as snow, Lucy whispered, "Ed?"
"Yes?"
"You know," she croaked through her tears and a light case of the hiccups, "before you came to live at Cair Paravel and we played together all the time, I used to pretend Peter from the old stories was a real boy living in the castle, too; like an imaginary friend, sort of. I used to tell him things…secrets…" She paused, smiling a little at the memory. "I think that's why I hated the stories of his downfall so much, because he was real to me, and it was like reading about a close friend in trouble. I was upset when Professor Kirke assigned me to write about his end, but I think I understand now."
"Lu-" he tried to interject.
She bit her lower lip, released it, then added, "The professor wanted me to learn about it in-depth to protect me, didn't he? To keep me from making the same mistakes or something…But I don't think he did anything wrong-Peter, I mean-so how can I be the one to reset history?"
Edmund stopped walking and the heel of his left boot came down heavily, echoing in the corridor they stood still in the middle of. "Lucy, listen to me, none of that…you're not…Lu, don't try to be something just because they tell you have to be. And what happened tonight…" He lifted his hand as if to stroke the side of her face, but never actually made contact before bringing it down again. "I don't think it's fair that they're doing this to you."
"Tell me honestly, do you believe in it, even a little bit?" She looked up straight into his eyes.
"No, Lu, I don't."
The corridor was drafty. "I'm so cold."
"Then let's just hurry and get you to your room so you can rest for a bit."
"All right." She seemed so small and helpless, limping and trying not to start crying again; from being over-tired as much as shocked from what the Rhindon Investigation Society expected of her.
"Promise me you won't think any more about this for tonight," he said when they finally reached their destination, thankfully not running into Mrs. Macready on the way as they had both been secretly fearing they would. "You need rest."
It took all Lucy had to give her word (for she never gave it lightly), but she could see Edmund was in as much need of rest as she was, and knew instinctively that without her sincere promise, he would stay up all night, worrying about her all alone in her room, anxious and frightened.
"I promise."
AN: Reviews welcomed!