"That's quite a story, Lucy of Ettinsmoor," sighed Master Tumnus when the princess finished her account of what had brought her to the fairy-court.
"But it isn't over yet," Lucy said boldly. "It shan't be over until I can help him."
The faun sighed again, gently reaching over to squeeze the top of her hand. "I wish I could do something, but I am afraid I cannot."
"Why does he come here, Master Tumnus?" asked Lucy, her eyes wide with longing for knowledge-she had to have something to go on. "Why doesn't he stay at Cair Paravel and rest so that he can get better?"
"I'm afraid I don't know-at least, not exactly-the whole story," Tumnus told her. "But I think it is something to do with the crown prince."
"Peter?" Lucy's forehead crinkled and she looked perplexed.
"I heard one of the fairy queen's closest ladies say something about the over-tenderness of the human heart and how lucky fairies were not to be plagued with such a thing; and of course, when he is at his most delirious, not knowing what he is muttering off about, Edmund himself has told me bits and pieces of the story."
"And what is that story?" Lucy held her breath, waiting for an answer.
"As I said before, I don't know the whole thing, but I gather that when Prince Edmund was nine years old, his elder brother was gravely ill-perhaps even nearly as ill as he himself is now."
Something in Lucy's mind clicked at these words; Peter himself had mentioned being ill before Edmund started weakening, and Edmund's own words rang in her head: "I was nine years old, do you know that?"
Ever so slowly, Lucy's cheeks began to lose their colour, growing quite white, and her lips parted as she swallowed hard and blinked back a couple fresh tears. "Edmund made some sort of bargain with the fairy queen so that his brother would get well again, didn't he?"
"That is what I would guess," said Tumnus unsurely, his tone very modest.
"If you don't mind my asking, how did you come into all of this, Master Tumnus?"
"Ah," said the faun, "now that is quite simple, actually. Many years ago my great grandfather and great uncles made some sort of deal with the fairy queen-I'm not sure if it was even the same one that we know now, one can never be sure with these kinds of courts, unusual passage of time and deaths and alliances and all that-that they would serve her if she helped them drive out a shape-shifting green snake-a witch, I think-from nearby their homes.
"The snake-witch had killed a visiting star's daughter, and they were afraid that the star would gather up an army and wage war against them unless they took it upon themselves to avenge his daughter. They died before their terms of service to the fairy queen were all finished (they had promised too long a time, I think) and so the bargain passed down for a few generations."
"That's beastly," said Lucy rather quietly, feeling sorry for the fauns.
"Oh, it's not so bad," Tumnus assured her. "Quite a few of the fauns like it here, they enjoy the dancing and the festivities, and we are not badly treated-more like high servants than slaves. It is the young Narnian prince who suffers, not us."
"Do you like it here?" she asked flat-out.
"Yes and no." Tumnus smiled wistfully. "There are some lovely things about it, but other times I think I should like to be free, to make up my own mind. You see, while I enjoy the court, I don't much fancy the queen's manners and way of handling things."
"Like with Edmund?" said Lucy.
He nodded. "Exactly; like with Edmund."
"Now, I do have some good news for you, if you would like it hear it." Tumnus offered with a half-smile.
"Good news?"
"Regarding your sister."
"Something about Susan?" She wondered what he was getting at.
"There is a little fairy-child, perhaps you've seen her sitting around watching everyone dance, she's been playing with a little wand."
"Oh, yes," Lucy smiled thinking of one of the few likable fairies she'd seen in her short time there. "Gael, right?"
"Three strokes of that wand would make your sister beautiful again, as lovely as she ever was."
"It..." Lucy found her voice faltering with surprise. "..it would?" While it was not something that would help Edmund in the least, she knew it would make her sister happy again, not to have to hide her face anymore.
Tumnus put a finger to his lips; Lucy watched as the little reddish-gold hairs on them curved along with the bend in his knuckle. "You didn't hear it from me."
Lucy nodded and crept away, her cloak refastened (for thankfully the clasp was not actually broken) and her invisible head held high. She would get the wand for her sister, and then she would see to it that Edmund got home in one piece. Truly, she wished she could do more; but she was at a loss for other ideas.
Back in the ballroom, Edmund had fainted onto the couch and the fairy queen's favored ladies were fanning him with dark leaves that had a velvety texture about them. Lucy clenched her jaw, full of anger at their uncaring actions; she knew perfectly well that they were not trying to revive him because they liked him but only so that he might get up and dance some more. In her eyes-and in the eyes of any feeling human being-they might as well have been signing the prince's death-warrant. For that, she despised them.
Then Lucy saw little Gael clutching the wand for amusement or comfort, holding it close to her tiny chest, looking anxious over the fainting prince and utterly distracted by her own childish playfulness by turn.
That gave her an idea.
If she attempted to run up to the fairy-child and snatch the wand away, a ruckus would be started; the girl would likely weep openly, drawing unwanted attention to them both. But if she could be distracted...if Lucy could use something simple and bright to lure Gael away from even caring a fig for the wand, then it would be grab-as-grab can, no harm done.
She knew she didn't have much to offer the little girl; no candy or toys, and even if she'd had those things, Gael had been spoiled by the court and would have thought she had seen much nicer treats.
Suddenly it came to her: the crackernuts. The shimmering silver crackernuts! Most of her proof would have to be sacrificed. Not all of it, though, for she quickly bound two of them in the handkerchief Master Tumnus had loaned her, tucking it away to save for later-Peter would believe her story yet!
Whistling softly to get the little fairy-girl's attention, Lucy tossed a silver crackernut so that it bounced a little ways off.
Sitting up a little straighter, Gael's eyes widened and she stared curiously after the bouncing nut.
Cooing lightly, Lucy tossed out three more, making them bounce further away than the last one had.
No one else seemed to notice the nuts, but Gael was captivated now. Standing up and smoothing out her fine lavender ball-gown, she started taking a few uncertain steps closer to the crackernuts.
She still had the wand in her hand, Lucy noticed, wondering if her plan was perhaps not working out as well as she had hoped. One last try; one final toss, the last of the unbound crackernuts rolling passed the little fairy's shinning eyes.
"Ooh!" said Gael, her sweet pudgy fingers slowly uncurling from around the slim wand.
Lucy took a step forward just as the wand fell to the floor with a faint, ping. Holding her breath, she bent down, picked it up, and hid it under her invisibility cloak. She paused for a moment to see if Gael would react to her plaything being taken away, but she was too busy amusing herself with the little silver nuts, giggling merrily, no harm done.
Breathing a sigh of relief now, Lucy turned to look for Edmund again and found him getting ready to leave, blood pouring from his feet, sweat-beads so intense they almost seemed to have colour in them dripping from his face, as he wobbled over to Master Tumnus who brought Phillip out to him.
Hopping on Phillip behind the shivering younger Narnian prince, Lucy reached under her cloak to be certain that, right beside the wand she had taken for her sister's sake, the handkerchief with the two crackernuts she'd been able to spare was tightly secured-she would not lose them this time. Edmund would have to fight to take them from her-fight harder than he'd ever fought in his life-and clearly he hadn't the strength for that.
On the way back to Cair Paravel, Phillip let out a startled whinny, and Edmund, in spite of his shaking self and weariness, managed to figure out that the source of the gelding's hubbub was a tree that had fallen down, blocking their path. He could distantly recall another path that would take them back to the castle, but this one was over a lake with a narrow dark-stone bridge that happened to have a few thick cracks in it, and as the horse couldn't help getting his hoof caught at least once, he shook his leg to get it out.
The sudden jolt almost threw Edmund to the stone-ground, but Lucy reached out and saved him just as she had before, not thinking much of it besides getting him back to his sick chamber in one piece. That is, she didn't think much of it until she heard a plop in the water below them.
Instantly aware of her loss, Lucy felt for the wand, feeling that it was still there, relieved for one split-second before she felt that the handkerchief with the crackernuts was not. Edmund hadn't had to take them from her, not this time, the lake did it for him.
She almost began to cry, but then she remembered something and cheered up a bit. Maybe after she used the wand to make Susan her old pretty self again, she could show it to Peter as proof. Surely he couldn't scoff at a real-as-corn fairy-wand? Hope burned in her again so that she clung to Edmund's waist, holding him in place so that he didn't end up at the bottom of the lake with the crackernuts, with a more confident grip.
At Cair Paravel, it was nearly dawn when Edmund fell into his bed, so distraught and sore that he wasn't even able to pull the covers over himself. Without thinking, Lucy did it for him. Confused, though he did know in the back of his mind it was her, he kicked them off again. He shivered violently, but he didn't seem to actually want the blankets and sheets.
Telling herself in little murmured whispers that soon it would all be over, that soon Peter would know and would be able to do something about this unwarranted 'deal' Edmund had made with the fairy-queen, she hustled down the corridor to her sister's chamber, the cloak thrown over her left arm, slowly turning back into a ribbon as the first rays of morning light fell through the slatted windows onto it, the wand in her right hand.
It wasn't until she had reached the double-doors of Susan's chamber that Lucy began to wonder if part of the reason Edmund was so secretive about his nightly dancing was because he was embarrassed to admit he was doing it for his brother's sake. But then, that didn't fully sound like him. Surely he was wise enough to know that a little embarrassment wasn't quite so bad as death? He couldn't really want to die, could he?
No use thinking of that now; she crept in through the right-side door and approached Susan, who had gotten into a rather ridiculous habit of sleeping with her hands in front of her face.
Oh, Susan, Lucy couldn't help thinking, you really almost do make it worse than it truly is, don't you?
Lucy half-smiled and shook her head as she quickly gave her sister three light taps with the wand. It felt feather-light, little more than a tickle, and Susan didn't stir or move her hands. With each stroke of the wand, Lucy felt the little fairy-object growing slimmer in her hands; by the last stroke, it was paper-thin, lifting her hand to try and save it from blowing away, it disintegrated into stardust-like ash, tumbling onto the floor and disappearing into the carpet. Susan might have been back to normal, if she ever moved her hands away from her face and let anyone see for themselves, but the proof Lucy had set her heart so intently on was for ever gone. Her heart broke and she dashed off, racing back to Edmund's sick chamber. Peter would come in to see him, and proof or no proof, she had to try again-she had to tell him something.
"He can't even drink water," Peter told Lucy through his held-back tears and blood-shot eyes. "The servants have to put ice-cubes into his mouth, and he's barely strong enough even for that."
"Peter, he-" tried Lucy, "-I mean, I-"
"Your Highness?" a broken-looking manservant approached Peter nervously. "The physician was called in again; he says...he says...he says that Prince Edmund might not live to see the afternoon, if there's anything you need to say to him, you should say it now."
"I have to go talk to him, Lu, I'll see you later." Peter told her, walking into the sick chamber looking torn and grave, very like an aged king who has lost a war, leaving his country in shambles.
"Peter, you don't understand, he-" Lucy's voice died off; he'd never believe her, and his grief made it impossible for her to keep pressing on about it. He would never listen to fairy-stories about his brother dancing all night until he was worn down to nothing, he would never hear of a bargain made-apparently-over his own self, but he might let her stick by him and see Edmund if she kept quiet a little longer. "-he wanted to see me, too, I think."
Peter was smart enough to know that that wasn't what she had really meant to say, but he let it go. He understood, he was going to miss him, too.
"Stop...making...all this...fuss..." Edmund whisper-croaked slowly to a few flighty, whimpering servants at his bedside. "...I'm...not...oh bother it all!" He sunk his head back down into the pillows and groaned, lightly spitting up a thinly sucked ice-cube.
"Ed," Peter's tears freed themselves now.
"What?" Edmund moaned slowly, slurring nearly every single word. "What...do you...want?"
"Ed, I-"
"Everybody out!" said Edmund, gathering up whatever strength he could muster in his voice.
"Edmund!" Peter protested.
"Please, Pete, just go."
His brother looked so hollow-eyed and pale, so thin and fragile, that to refuse any request on his part felt like beating a lame puppy; Peter could only press his lips together and leave.
Lucy turned to leave, too, trailing behind the startled servants, when Edmund gave her a funny look-an intense stare-and hoarsely grunted, "Not you, Princess. You stay. Come here."
If he was well, she would have been rather put-out by his bossiness, but as it was, she was touched and surprised that he was calling her to him, so she obeyed, even mustering up the formalness to curtsey at the bedside in spite of everything.
"Give me your hand." Edmund ordered feebly.
She hesitated, blinking in confusion.
"Lucy...just do it, all...right?"
Gulping, though she didn't know why, Lucy stretched out her hand to him.
Edmund took something out from under his pillow and pressed it into her palm. "For the good of Narnia," he murmured.
Lucy glanced down at the object in her hand: a dagger in a copper-sheath. "What?"
"Lucy, promise me something," Edmund breathed shallowly, trying to keep his hearable tone constant. "If I go-I mean, if I die-I want you to stay in this court, I want you to have a place at Cair Paravel, do you understand?"
Lucy shook her head; she hadn't the faintest idea what he was getting at.
"Make sure my brother marries your sister," with much struggling, the corners of Edmund's mouth turned up just a little bit. "I know he likes her; and if they marry, she becomes the future co-ruler of Narnia, meaning you find yourself in a permanent position in the queen's household, you never have to leave Narnia if you don't wish it."
Tears pricked her eyes; clearly he had put much thought into this. Here Edmund had been dying, and-probably for a while, too-he had been thinking about securing a place for her? Because he knew she loved Narnia? Her heart was breaking again.
"Leave me now," he said shortly, as if he had not just been speaking of such a thoughtful, tender subject to her. "I want to rest."
AN: Reviews? Pleaseth?
