Title: Magic of the Deep
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Summary: Peter faces his worst nightmare when Jadis finally lays her claim to Edmund's blood, but it is the more simple concerns of the rulers that have Edmund panicked.
Chapter Thirteen: Slow Me Down
Sometimes I fear that I might disappear,
In the blur of fast-forward, I falter again.
Forgetting to breathe, I need to sleep, I'm getting nowhere...
-Emmy Rossum, "Slow Me Down"
Edmund was many things, but he was not stupid. It did not take much at all for him to determine that his siblings were terrified of something, something having to do with the Witch.
Peter was fussing about, asking him constantly about how he felt and did he still have the ringing in his ears, while Lucy alternated between wanting to force the cordial down his throat and wanted to force some kind of food – soup, usually – into his stomach. Susan was the only one who had remained silent, but she was still watching him, her eyes never leaving his face even as he insisted that he was fine.
He wasn't fine, of course, but there was no need for them to know that.
He was curled up in a chair placed before the fireplace, absorbing the warmth from the flickering flames. As he stared into the fire, his mind began to wander back to the rush of emotions and fragments of memory that had assaulted his mind during the Hag's attack. He did not remember them clearly enough to have any idea of what they meant, except that he was very sure something important had happened in the past, and he just couldn't figure out what it was.
A comfortable silence had fallen over the four siblings as they lounged about, enjoying the brief moment of peace and unity. But the unease still lingered, and when Susan broke the silence, it was with a heavy tone of resignation.
Of course, when she spoke, nothing she said was remotely related to Jadis.
And yet it still managed to throw Edmund into a panic.
"We will need to hold court tomorrow. And Edmund will need to address our subjects."
Edmund's mouth dropped open in horror. "What?"
At the same time, Peter shot Susan a warning look and said, "Su… now is not the time."
"We cannot avoid it," Susan protested, refusing to back down. "I do not want to subject Edmund to anything he does not wish to do, Peter, any more than you do. But that does not change the fact that he has already been here for over a full day, and we have yet to formally and officially introduce him. That, combined with the Hag's words yesterday, is causing some to be anxious. We are rulers, we have an obligation to them. We must allay their fears."
"But… the party? The celebration. That wasn't… official enough?" Edmund squeaked, sounding very close to terrified. "And what do you mean by… by address? I have to speak?"
Susan reached across the space between him and ruffled his hair. "You need not worry overly much, Ed. It is not so difficult."
Edmund gave a slight huff of displeasure at her words. "Isn't it?" he asked anxiously. The very thought of standing before an audience and speaking about anything at all was so daunting that he thought he might pass out just from imagining it.
"Well," Lucy cut in, trying to reach some form of compromise, "perhaps Edmund could speak to smaller groups? Only a handful of Creatures at a time." She began ticking off the groups on her fingers. "His guard, obviously. His valet, his tutors, the cooks. Perhaps he should speak to Oreius separately. And Philip. And you will need to include anyone who was in the scouting party that found him in those mountains." She paused, considering the list, then added, "I think some from the Cair would be upset if they were left out. We will need to include…"
"Lu, you're listing practically everyone who lives around her," Susan said in exasperation.
Lucy flushed a light shade of pink. "I'm just trying to find alternatives," she said a little meekly, giving Edmund an apologetic glance.
"I cannot speak to people, Peter," Edmund said, now feeling something akin to fully-fledge panic. "I simply cannot do it."
"You are speaking to us right now," Peter countered. "Speaking to an audience is not so different. You just need to raise the volume of your voice."
"And try to remain composed, even if you falter over your words," Susan added.
"Really," Lucy piped up, "as long as you present yourself well, no one will notice if you say the wrong thing. They will not be listening to you anyway."
"Lucy!"
"Well, it's true!" the youngest of the four monarchs pouted.
"Then why do I need to speak?"
"People will be listening to you, Edmund," Peter replied, still frowning at Lucy. "Never mind what Lucy is saying. It is important that we do this, and you do need to think over what you will say."
"Wait, I have to come up with my own speech?" Edmund gaped.
"You know, you are really not helping him, Peter," Susan remarked loftily.
"Well, I don't see you offering any ideas, Susan," Peter answered in exactly the same tone.
Edmund, however, was far too busy worrying about the prospect of public speaking to listen to his bickering siblings, and so he let their words wash over him without paying much attention. He really did not believe he could do this. Wasn't it enough that he was trying to adjust to having three new family members? Did they really need to push him into ruling as well?
Besides, he was not a king. He would not be a king until Aslan came to crown him, and as that had not yet happened, and as he had no idea when it would happen, he did not see a reason for rushing headlong into some task he was sure he would not be able to successfully complete.
It was Lucy's incessant tugging on his hand that brought his attention back to the others in the room, and he focused on her just in time to hear her announce, "…and he could speak to them now!"
"What?" he asked, eyes widening. "Who? No! Definitely not." He did not even know exactly what it was she had suggested, but…
"It's a good plan," Susan agreed.
Peter nodded gravely. "Good. Then it is settled."
"Wait!" Edmund nearly cried. "What is settled? What has been decided upon?"
Three sets of surprised eyes turned towards him. "Haven't you been listening?" Susan demanded, looking a little annoyed.
Edmund seriously considered reply in the negative, but when he caught sight of the stern look in her eyes, he came to the quick conclusion that a little white lie might be better for all involved. "Yes, of course," he said assuredly, "but I just… I am not so sure of this."
Susan sighed and reached out towards him once more, this time to catch his hand. "Ed, we were all nervous when we first had to speak in front of large audiences or perform any other type of royal duty. The difference is that then the three of us did not have others who had been in our positions and could offer help. We had Oreius, yes, and, of course, Aslan before he left. But it was not the same, you see, not like having someone who really understood how we felt. But you do have that. You have us. And we can help you if you will just let us."
As always, Edmund found himself at a loss for words. Susan had that effect on him, making him tongue-tied and unable to respond. Unlike Lucy's endearing eagerness and Peter's firm expectations, there was sometimes something a little disconcerting in Susan's tone. He was often struck with the uncharitable thought that his siblings did not have any understanding of how difficult this was for him, that they were thinking only of themselves and their own happiness. But, on a few rare occasions, she would say something to him, and he would think that, perhaps, she really did understand how he felt after all.
He was not facing this alone. They were still there with him.
Then again, they would not be the ones speaking in front of all of Narnia. Why exactly did they think this was a good idea?
"Besides," Susan continued, "It will make much more sense for you to speak to a small group first. And none of them will judge you. So you can have plenty of time to practice."
"Judge me?" Edmund echoed, thinking vaguely that his voice sounded several octaves higher than it usually was. "But I thought you said they weren't even going to listen to me!"
"They won't," Lucy said firmly.
At the same time, Peter answered, "Of course they will listen to you, Ed. They love you." Then he slanted a hard look at Lucy and said pointedly, "When has anyone ever not listened to you, Lu? What makes you think they'll ignore Edmund?"
"Sometimes people don't listen to me," Lucy insisted.
"You're not helping."
"And you are scaring him!"
And the bickering started up again, filled with laughter and a friendly air of relaxation. Whatever Peter might say to the contrary, it was clear that he loved his littlest sister very much, and even Susan managed a few wan smiles for Lucy's antics. Edmund found himself lulled into a feeling of security, listening to the chatter of voices overlapping with the sound of the wind against the windowpane and the trill of a few stray Bats hovering in the air outside.
He did not see the satisfied smile that graced Susan's lips or the way Peter gave her a subtle wink. He did not know that it really was not necessary for him to address his subjects, that Peter could have easily done it for him. He had no way of realizing that this had all been a ploy thought up by his two older siblings to take his mind firmly off the Hag and her words, to keep him from dwelling on those threats, to keep the darkness from his eyes.
Peter watched as Susan ran a brush through her hair and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was distracted, that much was obvious from her tired expression. And he had a pretty good guess at what might have caused her preoccupation with other thoughts.
She was called Gentle for a reason, after all, and taking a life, even the life of an enemy, was not something she did lightly. Though her temper could be roused to protect those she loved, she had only once before purposefully harmed anyone, during the battle on the plains of Beruna, when her well-timed arrow had prevented Jadis from killing Peter. Killing the Hag would have left her with emotions that she'd had no experience with in the past.
He wanted to say something to her, but every time he opened his mouth, he'd end up shutting it again, unsure what to say.
She turned from the mirror, met his piercing gaze. "I'm fine, Peter."
"Aren't I allowed to worry about you?"
She sighed, rose to her feet, and crossed to his side. "And who is worry about you, Peter, while you are so busy worrying about us?" He didn't answer, and she gave a faintly pointed smile. "I know you are afraid. I am, too. You don't need to pretend to have all the answers around me."
He nodded, a little reluctantly. "They seem to think they have some hold over him." He did not need to elaborate, he knew she would understand exactly what he was referring to.
And sure enough, she answered, "I know, Peter. I don't know why they think that, but they do. And if they think it…"
Peter swallowed anxiously. "If it is true, if the Fell Beasts do have a hold on Edmund…"
"We will not allow them to take him!" Susan said fiercely, something flickering deep within her eyes. "I will not lose him again. Not now, not ever."
Peter turned away from her and began to pace anxiously across the floor. "If Aslan would simply come and crown him, then the prophesy would be complete and the White Witch would no longer be a threat to us or Narnia."
Susan licked her dry lips. She, too, was plagued with doubts about His absence, but what could she say? They did not understand how He worked, only that He did things in His own way and His own time. Surely He had a reason for holding back.
A polite tap at the door caused both to turn, and an old satyr stepped into the room, carrying a heavy book in his arms. He was followed by Oreius, who's towering height dwarfed the timid Creature. They both bowed their head with apology for interrupting a private conversation, but it was clear from the grim look in Oreius' eyes that whatever they had to say was important.
"Your Majesty," the satyr began in a shaking voice as he placed the giant tomb on the side-table next to Susan, "there is a matter that needs your immediate attention."
"What is it, Silrin?" Susan asked, eyeing the book. It was a volume of ancient laws, of the rules and magics set at the beginning of the world, at the very dawn of time. The various Magics of the Deep.
"After King Peter informed me of the Fell Beasts insistence that King Edmund's blood was theirs by right, that all traitors belonged to the Witch," Oreius explained, "I asked Silrin to research anything he could about the magics surrounding punishment of traitors."
Peter turned to Silrin then, fearful. The old satyr was one of the many royal librarians, and a very wise and knowledgeable one at that. Whatever he discovered, Peter knew, could be relied on completely with no doubts as to its accuracy. And the grim look in his eyes indicated that Silrin had found something troubling.
"There are laws," Silrin said gravely. "Laws starting that all traitors must pay their dues. Even those who repent, even those who did not knowingly commit treason, they all still belong to the her."
"Edmund is not…" Susan started, but Peter cut her off.
"He is, Susan. He might not have ever wanted any harm to befall us, he might have repented his actions. Even now, he does not remember what it was he did. But he still did it, and if the magics call that treason against Narnia… there is little we can do to argue it."
The High King leaned against the wall, feeling drained. Where was Aslan? Where was His protection and His glory? How could he have allowed this to happen?
"Unfortunately, your Majesty," Oreius murmured in a growl of agreement, "the High King is correct." He looked at Silrin for a moment, then added, "Few Narnians remember what your brother said or did those few years ago. And even fewer would care. But the Witch's supporters, the remnant of her army…"
"She's dead," Peter muttered. "How can she still haunt us?"
"She is not gone," Silrin answered. "The prophesy…"
"But she is gone!" Susan protested. "She is dead! Aslan killed her. We all saw it happen. Are you telling me she can come back from the beyond? From wherever it is she went upon leaving this world?"
"She lives on," Silrin said softly, apologetically. "She lives on, because some of her resides in King Edmund. That is how the magics work, my Queen. A traitor gives some of himself to her, and so her hold on him is absolute. Even if her flesh should perish, that hold, which is based in her spirit and her corrupted soul, remains. It lingers, and until it can be destroyed, she too lingers. Such are the laws of the magics."
"And even Aslan cannot undo the Deep Magics," Oreius added.
"So, what now?" Peter asked, trying his best not to lose all control and yell at his two subjects. "How do we fix this?"
"We cannot," Oreius answered, his tone conveying his displeasure at having to be the bearer of such news. "The laws of the Deep Magic cannot be rewritten."
"No! No, I refuse to accept that this is it. I will not give them my brother!"
"How can they even claim him?" Susan questioned, grasping at anything that could pull her brother back from this danger. "These Fell Beasts are not the Witch. They might support her, but Edmund's blood does not belong to them."
"As long as she still survives, they are her ambassadors, they carry out her will. Truthfully, your Majesty, they are doing what Jadis wants them to do. They are obeying her instructions, even if she is not here to give them. If she wants Edmund's blood spilt..."
"But she is dead, Oreius!" Susan protested yet again. "She is dead and gone and nothing you say makes sense. How can she... how can she still be doing this to us? To Narnia?"
"She is evil, my Queen," Silrin said simply. The satyr shifted his weight slightly, leaning forward and wrapping his fingers on the giant tomb. "The Deep Magics may bind her like they do all else, but she still corrupts them for her own ends. This is a perversion of all that Aslan stands for, of everything that the Emperor-Over-the-Sea has given to us and to this world. But it is her will, and she will see it done. We cannot undo what must be done."
"Not Edmund," Peter whispered, shaking his head. "Not Edmund."
Susan sank onto the small stool before the mirror and rested her chin on one hand. Tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her pale skin, leaving tracks along her cheeks. "Where is Aslan?" she asked, her previous faith ebbing away as she realized the enormity of what stood before them. How could they possibly hope to save Edmund without Him?
"He cannot help," Oreius answered. He shuffled his hooves, the loud taps echoing in the still air. "Do you see, your Majesty? Even he cannot remove this threat. He cannot take back what belongs to Jadis, and he cannot crown King Edmund until Jadis has released her claim to his blood."
"She will never do that." Peter's word, blunt and straight to the point, left a chilling silence in their wake. And everything began to fall into place, creating a horrifying sort of sense, a jarring alignment of events. "She will never..." He stopped, met Susan's tearful gaze. "She will never release him."
And Susan stared back and said just as firmly, just as fiercely, "And neither will we."
"Just remember to take a deep breath and pretend like you know what you are talking about," Lucy said quietly, giving Edmund a little pat on the back. "No one is going to listen."
"You have us for backup. If you get flustered, all you have to do is look at Peter and he will come to your rescue," Susan suggested. "Not, of course, that we are expecting you to get flustered," she rushed to add.
Edmund thought to himself that they were fools for not expecting that, and he still didn't know who he was speaking to or what he was supposed to say. But even more than that, he could not help but wonder why Susan now seemed perpetually attached to his side and Peter looked as though he were facing his own execution.
But he had little time to think about those thoughts, because soon Peter was at his side, gripping his shoulder and saying, "Speak loudly. Project confidence. That is far more important than anything you actually say."
"See!" Lucy crowed triumphantly. "I told you no one would listen."
"That's not what I meant," Peter countered, frowning. "They are going to listen. Everyone is very eager to…"
"Not helping, Peter," Susan hissed as Edmund's face lost even more color, now turning to a grayish-white that stood out starkly against his dark hair and eyes.
"Right. Sorry." Peter at least looked a little abashed as Edmund started shivering.
"Stop thinking about it so much," Lucy advised. "It will all be better if you just don't think."
"How am I supposed to speak without thinking?" Edmund demanded, his tone too high-pitched for his liking.
Susan caught that as well, and said sharply, "Lower your voice when you speak, Ed. You need to sound authorities and in charge. Not quite so terrified."
"Easy for you to say," Edmund muttered a little sullenly. "You have done this before."
"The more practice you have, the easier it will become. But the only way it will become easier later is if you practice now," Susan said reasonably.
"And you need to have the practice, Ed, because you will be speaking later, you know…"
"Oh, do not listen to him!" Lucy interrupted, shaking her head fervently. "No one will care what you say!"
And then, before the argument could escalate any further, Edmund found himself standing in what he could only assume was the kitchen. It was a large, spacious room, complete with several ovens and stove-tops, three fireplaces, several long tables, ice-boxes lined against the wall, and four or five large pantries that Edmund imagined could store enough food to feed the entire Village for at least a year.
And then there were the cooks. Seven of them, standing before him with smiles on their faces. A Badger, an Elk, two Monkeys, an Opossum, a small Cat, and some kind of tree spirit that kept flitting back and forth, seeming very distressed.
"Don't mind her," Lucy whispered when she saw Edmund's confused expression. "Daphne always says she cannot possibly leave her laurel tree, but when we try to tell her she does not need to cook for us, she becomes very difficult and insists that she will not let any of the lesser cooks ruin our meals. She fancies herself far better a cook than the others."
"She is a very good cook," Susan murmured back, giving the sprite a quick look.
But Edmund had stopped listening. His eyes had moved past the cooks and settled on the eighth Creature in the kitchen. He was sitting behind the others, looking incredibly annoyed and disgruntled, a sour expression gracing his features. As Edmund stared at him, he lifted his snout and said loudly, "You are late, your Majesty. And I have spent thirty minutes surrounded by idiots who seem to think I am a threat to all our safety, and so have been attacking me with carrots!"
Edmund stifled a grin. "I do apologize for any inconvenience, Veltra. Were you hurt terribly by the vegetables?"
Susan said softly, "It was Lucy's idea to have him here as well. She thought you might be reassured by a familiar face."
Edmund saw the way her eyes darkened as she gazed at the Wolf, the way Peter moved just the tiniest bit closer to him, one hand falling to the hilt of the small dagger at his waist. Whatever progress they might have made towards accepting Veltra had been ruined by the Hag and her prophecies of his doom at the hand of the Fell Beasts. But even though their expressions hardened as they looked upon the Wolf, Edmund felt the tiniest bit of warmth knowing that his siblings had still managed to put aside their distrust long enough to ask for Veltra's help. Their love for their sibling trumped their dislike for his friend.
And, of course, they were sure to be there at his side, ready to defend him from the Wolf if need be. The dark-haired boy wondered vaguely if they would ever fully accept Veltra as anything more than an inconvenient part of Edmund's life.
"My good cooks," Peter began formally, turning his attention to the Animals and the spirit gathered, "thank you for gathering this morning."
The spirit, Daphne, flitted forward, long hair blowing about behind her even in the absence of any wind. "It was our pleasure and honor, your Majesty," she said, her voice lilting.
"Edmund, allow me to introduce the seven major cooks of Cair Paravel. Daphne, Strongclaw, Swift, Hopper, Flisk, Neville, and Ochre."
Edmund shot a panicked look at Peter. Was he supposed to remember all those names?
But Peter just smiled at him encouragingly, gesturing for him to proceed.
"What am I supposed to say?" he hissed at Susan. He didn't even know what he should talk about, what they were expecting him to comment upon in his address.
"Food, Edmund," Susan answered pointedly, keeping her voice quiet as well. "Just say how delighted you are to meet them and how you are honored that they will be cooking for your coronation… whenever that is."
He noted the way her words became dark and filled with frustration, the way her eyes began to glimmer with the faintest trace of tears. He would have questioned it, but the cooks were waiting, and Peter was gesturing for him to speak and Lucy was tugging at his arm with an expectant air about her.
He turned away from Susan.
"I…" Already, he had faltered, unable to think of anything past that.
"Look at Veltra. Just look at him until you can start speaking properly," Lucy whispered.
Edmund switched his gaze to the Wolf and tried to pretend that he was the only one there. "I am honored to meet all of you," he began, praying that he would somehow get through this. "I…" Again, a pause. "My brother has lead me to understand that you are the finest cooks in all of Narnia." He blinked, a little surprised at his own words. Where had he thought up that sentence?
But the cooks were beaming and Lucy was smiling happily and Peter was nodding his approval.
So Edmund pushed on. "I am truly looking forward to enjoying examples of your fine talents in the meals to come." At that point, he saw Veltra's expression, the Wolf equivalent of a mocking smirk, and his entire face flushed warm with embarrassment. But though he thought he sounded like a complete idiot, the cooks were all grinning madly.
"It will be a delight," the Badger said, striding forward, "to cook for you."
"Thank you…" Edmund floundered for a moment, not remembering the Badger's name, but then opted to say safely, "Thank you, my Good Badger."
"We will make the grandest feats ever for your coronation! And the completion of the prophesy. It will be a time for celebrating, and we will make it the best!" Daphne trilled enthusiastically.
"It will be a night they will sing about in the legends!" one of the monkey's agreed. "But you must tell us, King Edmund, what is your favorite food?"
Unbidden, the thought of Turkish Delight came to mind, accompanied by a strange sensation of guilt and fear.
And then ice.
He lifted his eyes, looking past the cooks, past Veltra, to the far side of the room. She stood there, long hair flowing over fur-lined robes, gray-blue eyes glittering with cold triumph. Blood-red lips parted into a cruel smirk, thin eyebrows narrowed above a pointed glare.
"Edmund…?" Someone was calling his name, but the voice echoed from far away, and he paid it little attention.
She pointed her hand towards him and said, "I am coming for you."
And then everything went black.
As the race to save their sibling becomes more frantic for Peter, Susan, and Lucy, a surprise encounter with Mr. Tumnus leaves Edmund facing some unpleasant truths about himself and his past in Chapter Fourteen: A Long December