WARNING: Angst and emotional messiness abound in this chapter. You have been warned.
Disclaimer:I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.
Reviewers: Thank you for so many reviews! I hope you like this chapter just as much as the last one!
Author's Note: I know it's been at least two weeks since I last posted, but Grad School and Work had to come first (much as I sometimes wish it didn't ::pouts::). But I don't think you'll have much to worry about for the chapter that follows this one. I'll be building barricades in preparation for when you come to the end of this chapter, of course, but I think I'm going to have some trouble waiting to finish the next one, never mind my readers! Please enjoy and, er, try not to kill me…
Rating: T/M (for intensity and emotional overload)
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)
"Speech"
/Personal Thoughts/
Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)
(12) Prince Caspian pg. 402 in The Complete Chronicles of Narnia (Paperback)
Keeping the Faith
By Sentimental Star
Chapter Twelve: The Sacrifice of Fear
An awful silence followed this remark, which was broken by Peter saying, "Giant Wimble-weather and the Bear and the Centaur Glenstorm shall be our marshals. The combat will be at two hours after noon. Dinner at noon precisely."
"I say," said Edmund as they walked away, "I suppose it is all right. I mean, I suppose you can beat him?"
"That's what I'm fighting him to find out," said Peter. (12)
"But if we are to have marshals for the lists, should I not be one of them? I mean…"
Caspian's question echoed in the chamber the five monarchs had retreated to soon after re-entering the How. Susan had since gone to find Glenstorm, in search of additional provisions in case they were needed. Peter and Caspian had remained out in the hall, just past the threshold to the room. Edmund watched their interaction out of the corner of his eye, helping Lucy saddle up the steed which would bear his sisters on their vital search.
Peter shook his head, "No, Caspian, that wouldn't be proper. After all, it is your right to the throne that this fight is about…"
"I cannot even fight in the combat, King Peter," Caspian's voice was tight with frustration, "can I not help with at least this?"
Silently, Edmund applauded the young prince. Having only known Peter and Susan for a little over a day, Caspian was sometimes still terribly shy around the two elder Golden Monarchs. Often, Lucy or Edmund ended up thumping him on the shoulder or nearest limb when he became too formal. As he interacted more with their brother and sister, however, and grew more familiar with them (their older siblings wouldn't have it otherwise), things had started to change.
It had made him bold enough to confront the High King, and Peter, Aslan bless him, saw that…and grinned. Reaching out, he laid his right hand on the prince's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "You have already done more than enough. You've kept my siblings safe, and you've rallied the Narnians. You are the rightful king, Caspian; it would be disastrous to risk you now. Everything hinges on this combat."
Edmund swallowed hard, and bent to fiddle with a particularly stubborn buckle, trying in vain to control the heat burning at the back of his eyes.
He resolutely ignored his little sister's knowing glance and the tenderness wreathing her face.
"I doubt my uncle will keep his word, King Peter." Caspian's quiet remark broke through the heartbeat of silence that had followed Peter's statement.
Edmund felt Lucy's small hand come down on his and squeeze—tightly—at their older brother's answer: "Exactly. That's why Ed suggested the archers and why we have a battle plan. We have to be ready. For anything."
"Be ready, yes," was Caspian's quiet response, "but are you?"
Lucy's hold became painful, and Edmund had neither the heart, nor the voice, to ask her to let go.
He risked a glance at Peter, who looked a slightly confused and rather startled. He'd clearly not expected the question and did not seem to know how to respond.
Caspian folded his arms across his chest, a small, stubborn frown working its way across his lips. "You are everything the Tales say you are, King Peter. Courageous, skilled, selfless…" He looked away, frowning even more. "But they neglected to mention that you were also human—and very mortal." His eyes lighted on Lucy and Edmund, who were clinging together as they listened, and his dark gaze softened. "Perhaps something has been lost throughout the years because they also do not mention how your siblings felt when you left them behind."
Peter looked like he'd just been slammed into a wall. Edmund looked like someone had just drop-kicked him in the stomach and he turned away, shutting his eyes.
Their older brother never had considered it from their point of view before. And Edmund was always careful not to mention it—the pain and the grief and the worry Peter put him (and their sisters) through—because he knew what it would do to their brother.
He swallowed, straightening up and giving Lucy's hand a squeeze, before taking a deep breath and turning back to the two older boys, "It's all right, really, Caspian. Peter can usually take care of himself." He shot a quirky, half-smile, half-(attempted) playful grimace at his older brother and received a startled, grateful half-smirk in return.
Caspian looked anything but convinced. "But, Edmund--"
The younger teen shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. "We've all participated in combats before, Caspian. Even Lucy. It's nothing we're unfamiliar with."
"Familiarity does not make it any easier," the prince argued softly.
"He's right, though, Caspian," that was Peter. Lucy was remaining oddly silent on the matter, and Edmund suspected she rather agreed with Caspian. "We are no strangers to death."
Caspian's lips drew into a thin line. "I did not mean to suggest that you were not. I am well aware you have had more than your share of experiences with death. But that is exactly the point, King Peter. You are willing to die for your siblings, your people, and your country," he looked away, "but you are not willing to live."
Edmund sat down on the ground—hard—and brought Lucy with him.
Peter reeled back from the prince a whole pace and a half.
And Caspian, though his face turned white, remained tight-lipped on the matter.
It was into this bizarre tableau that Susan walked a minute later, a saddle bag slung over her shoulder. She froze in the hall upon taking in the state of the four most important people in her life at the moment. "What did I miss?" she asked warily.
IOIOIOIOIOI
It took no small amount of convincing (on Edmund's part, incidentally) that everything was all right and would be all right—eventually—to get the three oldest monarchs to leave he and Lucy alone for a few minutes.
As soon as they were, his youngest sister wasted little time colliding with his chest and wrapping her arms fiercely around his middle.
"I'm scared, Edmund," Lucy whispered into the fabric, clinging to his tabard with tiny fists. "Not just a little scared—really, really scared. Peter and Susan…"
Edmund hugged her. "I know, Lu," he choked, and hugged her tighter, thinking of Peter. "God, I know."
He felt tremors wrack her small frame. "Caspian was right," she murmured, "Caspian was right. Nothing ever, ever makes watching you and Peter risking yourselves, Susan risking herself, any easier. And I won't be there—I can't help you if the worse should happen."
It was a frustration she had often struggled with when she was younger, and they were in Narnia. Whenever a potentially dangerous situation had come up, her brothers' first thoughts had always been for "their" girls' safety. Susan was happy enough to remain behind, but Lucy…Lucy who had been named "the Valiant" by Aslan himself, did not like it. At all. Because one or both of her brothers usually needed the cordial, because she knew she could do something to help.
As she had grown older, "potentially dangerous" had changed into "potentially fatal," but she still did not like it anymore than she had as a young girl.
Now she was back to being nine, and all three of her siblings were in more than a little danger. And Peter and Susan, who had come back from their own journey so very changed, seemed to be in the most.
/No, not the most,/ she silently corrected herself as she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep back a sob, glancing up at Edmund. /Just more than they've ever been. And Ed--/ she couldn't even continue the thought, and buried her wet face back in his chest.
She didn't want this!
Edmund's sigh wafted through her hair as he squeezed her. "If it makes you feel any better, Lu," he murmured, "I'll carry a small phial of the cordial with me. Just in case Peter--"
"No!" Lucy's sharp exclamation interrupted him, and she pushed herself away from his chest to glare furiously at him. "If I give you a phial of the cordial you have to promise me you'll use it if you need it, too!"
"I can't promise you something like that, Lu," Edmund countered quietly. "You know that probably better than anyone."
Her bottom lip quivered as she stuck it out in a stubborn pout. "Then I'll give it to Peter."
Edmund gave her an amused half-smirk. "Then I'll just convince him to use it on himself or on someone else who needs it. You know I can."
"Then I'll tell Caspian--!"
Edmund merely raised an eyebrow at her, a sardonic smile quirking his lips.
A wet growl was his answer as she hit his chest with both her fists. "You stubborn prat!"
He responded by giving a rueful chuckle and drawing her into another hug. "There's a very simple solution to this, you know," he offered finally, voice soft, a few minutes later, rubbing his nose in her hair. "If you have enough, you can make sure each of the three—four of us," amended as he thought of Susan, "have a phial to carry."
The tension in Lucy's small body wavered an instant before it vanished.
Edmund grinned into her dark hair as she thumped his arm and spoke up again, voice strong, "Then you had better promise, Edmund Pevensie!"
He did.
IOIOIOIOIOI
(A Half-Hour Later)
He did. He promised. And it had led him to where he was now, standing in the threshold of a side annex off the armory. He had been in here earlier today, suiting up in preparation to enter Miraz's camp.
Now it was Peter's turn, and Edmund entered the small chamber with a sigh, rolling a stoppered glass phial between his palms. His own had been safely tucked away inside his tunic. "I thought I asked you to wait," he murmured, stepping into the beams of sunlight that had made it through the various cracks in this room.
Peter started, twisting to face his younger brother as he struggled to pull his hauberk over his head.
Shaking his own, Edmund slipped the phial into a side pouch on his belt and moved to join his brother, gently yanking the chain mail shirt down over his head.
With a gasp as his head came through, the older boy shot him a sheepish smile and fumbled for the ties and latches behind his neck. Edmund lightly batted away his brother's hands and set about tying and latching them himself. "I know, but I wanted to get started on it, anyway."
Edmund gave a slightly thick snort. "Good job I came in just now, then. Otherwise Narnia's High King would have gotten stuck in his own armor." He again batted Peter's hands away when his brother reached for the pauldrons which were to protect his shoulders. "Hands off, Peter."
He received a playful scowl in return. "Says he who wrenched his back trying to get on his own just before the Tournament in the Lone Islands."
Edmund finished with the last few ties and reached for the chausses, chain mail leggings which he helped his brother pull on. Leaving Peter to tie them, he picked up the coif—or chain mail hood—which the older teenager would be wearing under his helmet. He waited until his brother had straightened and then slid that over the blond head, carefully tugging it back until the helmet was needed. "You were a little busy with the Baron's lovely daughter, if I remember correctly."
His older brother chuckled. "Yes, she was rather...ah…interested in me. Or was that her mother?" reflected pensively, a smile twitching at his lips.
Edmund snorted again, warmly, and picked up two boot-like pieces of armor called sabatons from the table where they had been sitting. "I believe the term is 'husband-hunting,' Peter." He handed them to his brother and allowed the older teen to lean on his shoulder as he strapped them over his leather boots. "Hence why I…er…'lost my footing' that night at supper." He grinned up at his brother when the older king regained his own balance.
Peter squeezed his arm with a tender smile. "Much to my eternal gratitude." He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. "You've always watched out for me like that, really."
Edmund averted his eyes and busied himself with strapping the first of Peter's pauldrons onto his right shoulder. His fingers stumbled on the last clasp and he hissed as it pinched his skin.
Peter's warm hand came up to wrap around his and gently tugged it away. Edmund determinedly kept his eyes turned away from his brother's face. "I'm fine, Peter," he murmured, reaching for the second armored shoulder guard with the hand Peter hadn't captured.
His brother reached for the same pauldron with his other. "Ed--" he began.
A sharp look quelled the older boy's movement. "All right," Peter agreed amicably, holding up both his hands in surrender.
As his brother patiently submitted to his ministrations, Edmund found it increasingly difficult to keep the steadily building burn at the back of his eyes at bay. Deftly, he strapped the remaining shoulder guard onto his brother's arm before kneeling and attaching the greaves to Peter's shins. They were followed by his scarlet tabard which Edmund helped him tug over the hauberk.
Peter, however, stopped him before he could put on the vambraces or gauntlets. "I won't be able to touch you once they're on," he insisted softly.
Edmund could only shake his head repeatedly, backing away and desperately trying not to let the tears that wanted to fall, fall. He scrabbled blindly for the nearest piece of armor…and ended up grasping the hilt of Peter's sheathed sword.
When Edmund's shaking hands tried to give him Rhindon, the older king gripped fast to them and gingerly shook his head. "Keep it for now," he murmured, "I want…" he took in a deep breath, "I need you to walk out there with me."
Edmund's entire world collapsed in upon itself.
Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.—Ephesians 6:11
Tbc.
