Epilogue #6: The Just King

I could scarcely write three "How they earned their titles'' stories and not write the fourth. So your forgiveness and indulgence for this, the last chapter, where we learn:
How Edmund earned his title.

I looked at the double doors, made of the darkest and most beautiful wood our long-ago ancestors had offered, and I despaired.

I had come for help, for justice, but…

It was my word against my neighbor's. How as a King or Queen to judge between us? She was far lovelier to the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve than I. I glanced over at her, at the pure white flowers that grew in abundance through her air, at the long graceful limbs, at her swaying height. One day, when I was four decades old, I would have as many flowers, I would reach that height, but for now—I touched the three flowers in my hair and looked at the floor.

It may not matter, a voice in my head reminded me. It sounded like the voices of the old, old Oaks and Willows, made of memories that drifted from their trees to mine on the wind, and the voice seldom grew twisted. A good judge does not allow fairer forms to alter his judgement.

The Four had to be good kings and queens, since Aslan Himself crowned them, but the whispering doubts rustled through my mind, reminding me a good king was not always the same as a good judge.

But I needed this. It had been mine, it truly had, I had reached it, claimed it, rejoiced in every whispering branch, before she ever touched the trunk. I knew I had been first, I had checked it thoroughly for any sign it had been claimed, but there had been no hints, no seeds, to weavings or crowns. I had! I was the first-

And how is the King or Queen to know that? spoke that rustling doubt. Your pleading proves nothing.

The doors opened, and a large brown Bear ambled out. "The case of the Cherry Dryads," he rumbled in just below a roar.

I can go in. I will plead my case, and they have to hear me.

But will they?

She walked in, just behind her neighbor. Her flower petals closed as she realised that she took that submissive stance. This will not help my case.

The two of us curtsied, and rose. There, at least, I had done as well as her.

There was one King on the four thrones—the younger King, I guessed, for I had heard he was slighter in shoulder than his brother, and he sat on one of the middle thrones.

"The two Dryads come to have your judgement on a disputed tree, your Majesty," the Bear intoned. The King sat forward.

"What are your names?"

"Alcienne, your Majesty."

"I'm Sakura, your Majesty," and I curtsied again.

"Both of you have your own trees; do you dispute a tree that is in the middle, that interferes with either of your growth?"

"No, your Majesty," my neighbor began.

"It is much more important than that," I interrupted, desperate not to have her explain it. "Both of us are ready to raise a child, your Majesty, and we must find a tree to grow our child in. And I found one, and I found it first!"

"No, your Majesty, I found it first. I found it before this young Dryad even left her tree, and chose it for my child, my first child. I laid my twigs around its trunk and claimed it for my own. But this summer, when I came back to it, ready to make it into a Dryad's home, I found my neighbor had taken away my ring and set her own ring of cherries around it!"

"There was no ring!" I cried. "I found the tree first, your Majesty, and I checked it for wreaths, for rings, for any touch of a Dryad, and there were none! I was the first to find the new home. My ring of cherries marked the tree as mine, and she crushed them and put her own wreath afterwards!"

"When was this?" the young King asked, his voice quiet.

"Two weeks ago," I replied, my voice catching as I remembered coming and finding that beautiful, slender tree, with green twigs spreading from every branch—and my crushed cherries bleeding into the roots.

"Two weeks and four days," my neighbor corrected, her voice kind. "She is young, your Majesty, and misses many things."

"I don't! Not when they mean so much as this! Your Majesty, please, the tree is mine-"

The King held up a hand. "If it was so long ago, there is no way to check for disturbances, to see who laid their claim first. It is the world of one against the word of the other."

So it is, I thought, and bowed my head, my hair sweeping in front of my face. There is nothing the King can do. Will we both lose the tree, then?

"Since there is no way to settle who owns the tree, the only fair option is to divide it between you. I will send a woodsman with an axe, and he will chop it in half, half for Alcienne, and half for Sakura."

No.

No. This was far worse—that tree was lovely, alive, and soon its blooms would blossom.

No, I could not endure for it to be cut down! For a living, lovely thing to become a prize, and in the becoming lose its life!

"That is fair, your Majesty," Alcienne agreed, sweeping forward in a deep bow. "Your wisdom is justly praised."

"No!" How could she? Not that tree, so young and ready! Better—better for her to have it, than for it to die. "I beg you, your Majesty, please let her have it. I will renounce all my claim, and let her grow her own child in it. Just let it live, and flourish." I knelt, bending forward, pleading. "Let it live, your Majesty. I will even move, if I must; only let it live."

"You renounce your claim?" he asked.

Yes. I can save it, if I just give it up. "Yes, your Majesty."

"Then you have won your case."

I looked up at him, startled. He was smiling.

"Your Majesty?" I asked, uncertain, and I heard the rustling of leaves behind me as Alcienne heard as well.

"To truly own a thing is to care for it; one who does not care for one's possessions soon loses or breaks them. You, Sakura, showed your care for this tree as you pleaded for its life; by your love you have claimed it, as you, Alcienne, by your carelessness have lost it. If you both had loved it, it would be a harder case, but in this, the judgement is clear. Go, Sakura, and love your child's home the way Dryads tell me such homes must be loved."

"Your...Majesty, I—thank you,"

"It is mine!" Alcienne raged, her hair and arms rising, her hairs shedding petals like a tree in a storm. "It is perfect for my child, it is mine!"

"Would it still be the perfect home for your child if it were dead, and half of it laying at your roots?" the King asked calmly.

"That would be fair!"

"But not just. To be just is to be both fair, and morally right; and it is not morally right to give a living thing to a keeper that would kill it. I, in Aslan's name, declare this judgement to be just, that the tree is awarded to Sakura. You are both dismissed."

The Bear stepped forward and took one of Alcienne's arms in his strong, enormous paw, and led her quickly out. I rose from the floor and curtsied one more time.

"Thank you for being just, your Majesty." I retreated outside the dark, beautiful, carved doors and watched them close.

"So that is a just King," I whispered to myself. "I feel like I've been to the court of Aslan."

I was not to know it then, of course, but my words were overheard by a Centaur, and he, curious, learned the story from the Bear, and spread it to the members of Cair Paravel. They, in turn, began calling my judge King Edmund the Just. Years later, when I heard my own story retold to me, my daughter sitting by my side, I smiled, and wondered how the rest of them had earned their titles.

And now I have told you all that I have learned, and I hope your ears and heart are the better for it.

Aslan, and all His Kings and Queens, be with you in your dreams.

A/N: to give credit where credit is due, this entire story is inspired by the story of King Solomon and the two women who came to him. Only I didn't feel like having Edmund offer to cut a child in half, so I tried to work around that. Thank you, one and all, for making this challenge a delight, by feedback, by reading, and by loving the books that are worth loving. Fare thee well!