Chapter Eleven: A Confession
The day continued to be cloudy, a welcome relief from the weeks of relentless sunshine and blistering temperatures. With my new knife and the stack of papers in my hands I wandered through the wilted gardens, looking at my notes and organizing my thoughts. I very much wanted to show Peter the gift from the Centaurs and get his opinion on what I had written. I walked and walked through the maze of flower beds and shrubs and bowers until I suddenly realized that I had no idea of where the wedding was going to take place.
"Brilliant," I muttered, feeling lost even though I really wasn't. I knew exactly where I was except in relation to the wedding. I sat down on a mossy stone wall overlooking the Eastern Sea and gazed at the pages I had written out. There was a common thread running through these notes and the conversations and my thoughts and it was upon that vein that I concentrated. I was so long at it that I completely missed the passage of time - the very protracted passage of time, in fact.
"Ed!"
I roused at Peter's shout. Looking up, I saw my brother jogging down the steps from the herb gardens and towards my perch. I smiled to see him - he was red-faced and out of breath for the second time today and he fell onto the wall beside me, gazing at me in exasperation.
"Where have you been?" he panted.
I shrugged. "I wandered around and then I ended up here. Why?"
He let out a growl of amusement and annoyance, his shoulders slumping. "Why? Do you or do you not have a wedding to perform in two hours?"
I stared at him, panicked anew. "So soon?" I squeaked.
"Yes, little brother," he teased, smiling. "We've been looking all over for you. Susan is in a rare state and I swore I'd find you and get you ready." He stood. "So. Pray allow me to make good on my promise."
We didn't make it very far because Peter spotted the knife and we stopped so that he could admire it and hear its history. We became so absorbed in our conversation and aspects of the knife that we both forgot about getting ready. So deep were we in a discussion on how I could compensate for the oversized grip that we both jumped when a deep voice yelled,
"Wolfsbane! How!"
Oreius. The general was out searching for me as well, and by his tone and his use of our chivalric names he was far from being in a jovial mood. From where he stood framed by pillars and trumpet vines he looked unaccountably fierce for such a pretty setting. He was frowning - never a good thing from a Centaur - and his tail flicked and swished in annoyance. Kanell was Oreius' good friend and fellow soldier and Xati was a distant relation. Oreius was determined to see the wedding went off without a hitch, and it seemed that at the moment, I was the only hitch.
"Blin!" Peter muttered guiltily, handing the knife back to me as he realized what had happened. "Ah, yes, Oreius, we were -"
"About to return to the palace and prepare for the wedding," he finished with inarguable finality. There was a hint of amusement beneath the stern expression, but neither Peter nor I wanted to press our luck and we made no effort to take advantage of his humor. "I know. Your sisters the queens sent me to find and conduct you to the care of your valets."
"We'll be getting along then," I volunteered, edging past him.
"Indeed you will," agreed the general, his hand falling heavily on the back of my neck, "and I'll escort you."
Peter tried to protest. "That really won't be . . ." He shut up when Oreius fixed him with a hard look.
"Come along, Sir Knights," ordered Oreius, herding us towards the Cair. "You will not be late."
Nor were we. Silvo and Martil were armed and ready with hot water, soap, and brushes. In short order Peter and I were scrubbed clean (with all ink stains removed) and dressed in whatever tunics and leggings constituted our most recent formal wear. We were both unconscious of fashion, Peter especially so, and we gave no thought to what we wore beyond our clothes fitting and being comfortable (and if left to my own devices, I simply dressed out of Peter's wardrobe anyway).
Clad in gold and blue, Peter sat on my bed as I submitted to Martil's comb. We had long ago struck a deal with our valets that we could sit on our beds so long as we didn't try to make them in the morning. My brother looked tired but content and he took the opportunity to finish his inspection of General Arna's knife. He even went so far as to draw the knife I had made him for comparison, and in his hands the blades shone blue and gray.
"What will Brickit say?" he mused.
"He'll be insanely jealous, I warrant," I said, flinching as Martil found a tangle in my hair. "Ow. How often do the Stars lose their spears?"
"Star Iron is said to have magical properties," Silvo said, bustling over with Peter's boots and a hat. "Things made of such metal can never be lost or broken."
"Not even by Star Iron?" wondered Peter, setting the knives aside to don the footwear. He wouldn't touch the hat, a rather silly affair that looked like a pancake with a brim.
Silvo smiled to himself, glad to be teased by his king after that month of bitter coldness. "I cannot say. I only know the legends."
He handed Peter the hat and I saw my brother promptly toss it across the bed a moment before I was engulfed in embroidered green fabric.
"Cheroom might know," I said, wriggling through the tunic. "We'll have to – Oh! Oreius."
Our escort was back and waiting in the hall. Clearly the general was taking no chances with us wandering off or getting distracted again. We were hastened along and within a few minute's time I was once again gathering my mess of notes and hurrying after Peter, my new knife a welcome weight on my waist. Adjusting my clothes a final time, I suddenly realized that I had been so distracted by Peter's interest in the knife that I had forgotten to ask him to look at what I had composed for the blessing.
"King Pe-"
"I am not wearing that hat, Silvo!" Peter called, darting out into the hall before his valet could catch him.
"But-"
I tried to stifle my laugh. Peter glared.
"Edmund wants to wear it."
Sputtering, I managed to insist, "He does not!"
"Fine," the High King declared. "When General Sir Oreius Heydensrun deigns to wear a mushroom on his head, so will I."
For some reason we could not fathom, our valets seemed to think that if we weren't wearing our crowns then some other form of headwear was essential before we could be permitted beyond our room. Oreius balked at being dragged into the midst of this long-running battle, but he looked at the hat in Silvo's clutches much the way he would have looked at a venomous snake poised to strike.
"I won't!" I muttered stubbornly, secretly delighted to see so much emotion out of my brother.
"Wisely said," agreed the general, his eyes narrowing sharply. He glared at Silvo as if daring the Faun to come a step closer, allowing us to present a united front against silly hats. Thus rescued by our general, we beat a hasty retreat.
"Where is the wedding?" I asked, trying to organize the papers in my hands.
Peter smiled faintly. "The Eastern Garden. It fared the best in this drought."
The Eastern Garden was not named for its location – it was actually on the north side of Cair Paravel – but because of the exotic foreign plants grown there. Strange grasses, bamboo, stunted little trees, and bizarre flowers filled the sheltered grove, and it was a favorite haunt of the Peacocks that lived and worked in the palace. Most of the plants had been imported from Calormen's tropic coast and the southern island holdings of Archenland, but a few of the trees were native to Narnia and some of them even had Dryads.
"Who is that feather-leaf maple there?" I asked, trying hard to remember the name of the delicate little tree spirit I had met only once or twice before. Her tree was a tiny red maple no more than four or five feet tall with leaves as dainty as lace.
"Lady Chingo," Oreius provided.
"Didn't she have a daughter?"
"Junko," said Peter.
"And who are the Gingko Dryads?"
"Ladies Lo-Lan and Su-Bao. I think they have daughters as well."
I blinked. "I won't remember all that."
"You don't have to," Peter said. "I will. You just remember what you want to say."
The main doors of the palace stood open, for it was very stuffy inside with so much heat trapped by the stained glass windows. Outside wasn't much better. The air was very still and heavy, and the clouds lay low and dark and thick.
Peter sighed, and he looked to the sky with satisfaction and relief. "It's going to rain."
"Not on the wedding, I hope. Perhaps we should move indoors for the ceremony."
"Why?" wondered Oreius. He, too, was scanning the skies, and after a moment he looked down at my brother and me. "If it rains we'll simply get wet. The captains won't be any more married for being dry."
Peter chuckled at this very Narnian logic and I found myself joining him. Oreius folded his arms across his chest, commenting, "Perhaps you'll be wanting your hats, my kings. Should I send for your valets?"
With a snort of protest, Peter gave me a push and we darted ahead of the Centaur before he could act on his suggestion. Oreius followed a few paces behind us as we made our way to the Eastern Garden. I plucked at my brother's sleeve.
"About the blessing, Peter . . ."
"La?"
"Will you look it over for me? When we get there, I mean. We should have a few minutes."
"I'll be happy to, Ed, but really, anything you've written will be perfect."
"Then you can make certain it's perfectly written."
Peter smiled. "Now is a little late to change any of it, don't you think?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but found I could say nothing. I stopped in my tracks. He was right. A wave of anxiety swept over me. Aslan help me, but I was frightened. It wasn't standing and speaking before our subjects that alarmed me – we did that on a regular basis – it was the possibility of disappointing these two Centaurs. They had done so much in service to me, to Peter, to Narnia. I wanted to do as well by them.
"Edmund." I felt Peter's hands on my shoulders, supporting me. "Ed. Listen to me. Are you listening? Good. Don't wander off. The past few days have been . . . trying, I know. Give yourself a chance! Do you remember when Aslan told us we would have to have faith that the other would remain constant?"
I nodded. His fingers tightened, biting into my shoulders. I barely noticed.
"Just because I made it back from the quest for the apple does not mean for an instant that my faith in you has ever faltered." He swallowed, steeling himself. "When Valerlan seized me and I woke up to darkness, I never doubted that you would find me. Not once." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I doubted Aslan, but I never doubted you."
I stared at him, thunderstruck, but I knew that Peter would never speak an untruth, especially about something so vitally important to him. In trying to comfort me, he had laid himself bare. I absolutely did not know what to say or do save stand there in stunned amazement. Pain shone in his eyes as he confessed to this crisis in faith. I shook my head, knowing Aslan would understand. A situation so frightful and desperate - who could blame Peter for succumbing to his fears? If I could be forgiven for all I had done I knew that Peter would never even face accusation. Of that I was certain.
Leaning forward, he gently kissed me on the forehead. His voice was thick with emotion as he said, "No more worries. No more doubts, brother. I have none." He held me at arm's length, and for all the emotion he was experiencing in that instant, his smile was genuine. "You will carry this office most fairly, my king."
I had no answer save to lunge into his embrace and hold him as tightly as I was able, trying to convey with touch what I could not express with words. His faith gave me strength, and my strength sustained his faith - a cycle that seemed as natural as the seasons. How could I doubt when he did not? I was at once drained and renewed as his arms closed around me, and I dropped the pages that had given me such anxiety to hold him that much tighter. Looking up at him, at the gentle and protective expression and the clear blue eyes shining with pride, I smiled.
My brother was home and all was right in the world.
