As established in my timeline (at the head of the first chapter) I think there was supposed to be a bigger gap between the canonical timeline established in the first three books. Most of the books reference events in LWW happening "years ago" during the War (as in the Second World War) and the Pevensies feel much older in PC and especially VODT than they do in the beginning of LWW. Part of this, of course could be chalked up to the maturity given them by being the rulers of Narnia for years, but I think part of it is simply time passing in England and the kids growing up in this world.
Lucy is about 13 here, Edmund 14, Eustace 12. The following story takes place between LWW and PC, which I'm thinking has about a two-year gap between, so this will be about a year and a half after the last Christmastime story.
Lucy took a moment to remind herself to be kind, and patient, and good.
Though the presence of Eustace in the house certainly made her wish to be unkind and impatient and… and… well, just as rotten to Eustace as he was to her and Edmund.
Hot angry thoughts buzzed in her head like swarming bees. Aslan wouldn't like that she was entertaining those thoughts, she knew, but when she had to think of going down and sitting across the breakfast table from Eustace, well, Aslan seemed very, very far away.
She did feel just the littlest bit worse for Edmund. Peter too, since they had to share their room with him, but mostly her pity was for Edmund.
Edmund had been kicked out of his bed at the beginning of Eustace's visit, as Aunt Alberta insisted that her Eustace Clarence's delicate constitution would be irreparably harmed if he slept for five weeks on a camp bed, which would be too close to the floor (and drafts) and was liable to collapse and bruise him head to toe, anyway.
If they are so concerned with drafts, Lucy thought, when she heard this, then why is Aunt Alberta so worried about there not being too many blankets on the bed, and insist on having the window open at night, regardless of the weather? She was smarter than to ask any of this aloud, however.
"And my Eustace Clarence has such fine skin, very prone to bruising," Aunt Alberta had tutted, causing her brother Joseph to roll his eyes when she couldn't see him. "You will need to make sure he has his vitaminized nerve food, to keep his strength up."
"Don't you think you're coddling the boy, just a bit?" Joseph asked, and Alberta's eyes had flashed with anger.
"Coddling! No! My precious boy is special and needs special care. You are fortunate enough to have spare children; I have only Eustace Clarence. Do you not remember how sickly he was as a baby?"
Edmund had muttered to Lucy, "Was?" when they heard this, and they both laughed.
Eustace, though, heard them, or at least guessed they were laughing at him, since he glared daggers at the two Pevensies who were present. When their father glanced at them, though, they both had perfectly open and innocent expressions on their faces.
Joseph elected to not take offense at Alberta's insinuation that any of his children could be considered 'spares' or 'replacements' for one another, as though they were buttons or bottles or something else easily swapped out.
He turned back to Alberta, and was not terribly surprised when she next gave him a booklet of all of the various dangers Eustace Clarence was prone to, the various illnesses he would undoubtedly contract if he didn't adhere to the timetable listed in the booklet, the schedule of assorted medicines and elixirs which were absolutely imperative to Eustace Clarence's continued existence, the list of items that he was allergic to, or probably allergic to, or could possibly develop an allergy to, etc.
Eventually Uncle Harold, who'd hardly entered the house and had said as little as he usually did, came and took her away. After Eustace had shook hands with "Harold" and "Alberta," and wished them a good trip, the house went quiet again. The Pevensies who were present (Mr Pevensie, Lucy, and Edmund) stood looking at their temporary houseguest, rather in the same manner as a house full of foxes might greet a baby skunk that wandered into their den.
"Well," Joseph said, in tones of forced cheer, "Why don't you and Eustace go up to your room, Edmund, and get his things settled in? Peter should be back from the library soon, and Susan and Mother will be back from the market, and we can all tuck in to a good supper. How's that?"
"Certainly," Edmund said, and picked up one of Eustace's several bags. "Bring your other things, Eustace, I'll show you to our room."
Eustace looked a little aghast that he was being asked to carry his bags upstairs, so Lucy chirped, "I'll grab one of them, you get the other," and followed Edmund. Eustace was left with no other options, so grabbed his last bag and proceeded to lug it up the stairs. Either it was very heavy, or Eustace was not very strong, for he bumped it off of most of the stairs on his way up.
Joseph watched them straggle up the stairs, sighed a little, and returned to his study, keeping an ear out for any squabbles.
At least Eustace was generally a quiet sort of boy, if unimaginative. He shouldn't cause any more tumult in the house. No more than usual, at least.
Though, for the boy's own sake, Joseph would try to get him out of doors, as his pallor wasn't delicate, as Alberta liked to think; it was unhealthy. There was a difference. His own Edmund was cursed with exceptionally pale skin, which only freckled slightly and then burnt, but Edmund's paleness had health shining through, health born of hours spent working outside in the garden, or running about with Lucy, or practicing boxing with Peter.
As Eustace had no siblings to encourage him outside to play like a normal boy, Joseph hoped that perhaps his cousins could provide the same outlet. Perhaps even make friends with him.
There was a muffled thud overhead, and a squawk from Eustace, followed by a sarcastic drawl from Edmund, and Lucy's behind-her-teeth laugh.
"Oh, calm down, Eustace," she said, and her voice was much clearer (she must have stepped out into the hall), "Your precious books didn't slide far. Here, I'll—oh, I thought you said you liked reading!" she interrupted herself.
"I do. Those are decent sorts of books to read, with things it's useful to know." From his tone, Joseph could tell the boy had folded his arms and put his little, pointed nose in the air. "None of the silly babyish things little kids are reading."
Lucy sounded doubtful. " 'Understanding the Modern Scientific Method'? 'Model Schools of the Colonies and Far East'? Oh, Eustace," and she sounded quite sympathetic, "Does Experiment House give you things to study over the summer hols?"
"No," Edmund sounded petulant. "I just like reading those. One of the other boys tried to give me some piece of American trash—something about a Yankee at Court—and then another suggested I read some stone sword thingy, but it was all twaddle. Baby stuff. None of it was about anything real, or useful. Clearly they were only trying to drag me down to their level."
"You didn't like The Sword in the Stone?" Lucy sounded horrified. It was one of her favorites. "Oh, Eustace, you don't like reading. You just like facts."
"And what's wrong with facts?" Eustace demanded. "They help me get top marks, and all my masters know I'm the smartest boy in my class. Alberta told me so."
"Nothing's wrong with facts," Edmund put in. "Learning as much as you can is wonderful. But facts are only good so far as you can use them. It's like rocks. It's all very well to have a lot of them, but they're only really of use when you build something out of them, you see."
"I don't see," Eustace replied stiffly. "You're both just jealous of my being able to read such grown-up books. I would wager neither of you have ever read something half so grown-up."
"Who would want to?" asked Lucy, who sounded as though she somehow did have experience reading 'grown up' doocuments. Joseph thought that was curious, but dismissed the thought.
She continued, "They're not really enjoyable to read, if useful. Not enjoyable for me, anyway," she added hastily. "I suppose if you like them, well, that's good enough. I was just surprised you chose to bring them along for the summer holidays."
"Well, if you run out of deadly boring stuff to read, I'm sure Peter has some advanced algebra books you can borrow. Or perhaps some charts of foreign imports and exports." Edmund suggested, and Joseph, listening below, could tell he was laughing. "But for now, let's get washed up and ready for supper."
Susan and Mrs Pevensie arrived home not long after this. Susan gave her mother a martyred look and immediately offered to get supper started (she knew Eustace certainly wasn't going to volunteer to help).
When Peter walked in, Lucy could tell by the set of his shoulders that he'd forgotten Eustace was arriving today. She seized his hand and dragged him into the parlor before he could 'remember' something he'd left at the library and leave.
"Well, how is he?" Peter sighed.
"He's Eustace." Lucy rolled her eyes. "He's reminded me he's a vegetarian twice, in that annoying superior way of his; he's chiseled Edmund out of his own bed already; and he's brought just the most dreadful books to read."
"You? Maligning a book?" Peter goggled at her. "I never thought I'd see the day. They must be dreadful."
"He says they're useful sorts of books." Lucy made a face. "I don't know how much use knowing about schools in China is, though."
"Perhaps we can smuggle him onto a boat heading there and be rid of him that way," Peter said thoughtfully.
Lucy laughed.
Peter smiled at her, and reminded her, "He is a guest, even if he is rather beastly. We'll just have to grin and bear—oh, hello, Eustace. How was your trip down?"
"Mar—Aunt Margaret says you're to come to the table," Eustace muttered, and turned back toward the kitchen.
Lucy turned to Peter, eyes wide. "Do you think he heard you say he was beastly?"
"Don't care if he did," he snorted. "He is, after all. Perhaps hearing the truth would knock some of that undeserved arrogance off of him."
"You always did enjoy taking the wind out of blowhards' sails."
"Only when you didn't skewer them with a sharp word and an innocent expression. Your big eyes were really always an unfair advantage, you know."
"It's not my fault they looked at me and saw someone to pat on the head, and looked at you and saw someone to fight," Lucy replied. "Your fault for growing up to be so big."
"Fighting giants does make one grow," Peter chuckled. "But let us go and rescue our royal brother and sister from our ignoble interloper, dear sister."
"Gladly," Lucy laughed, and they went in to eat.
It was now the beginning of Eustace's third week of his five-week stay, and Lucy again reminded herself to be patient with her odious cousin. So far, he'd spent two days sulking that he hadn't brought his cards and pins for collecting beetles, and no one would give him the materials to do so.
Susan had flatly refused to let him have any of her sewing needles.
"It's bad enough I wouldn't ever get them back," she told her mother, "but the use he wants to put them to! Ugh!"
"Where is he finding beetles, anyway?" Mrs Pevensie asked. "I can't imagine those around here are any different from those in Cambridge."
"Oh, down in the park by the stream, I guess."
Just then the back door flew open, and Lucy stomped into the kitchen. Margaret exclaimed, and Susan stared: the girl was half-covered in mud.
"What on earth happened? Don't move, Lucy, you'll track mud all over the house."
"It's Eustace and his stupid bugs," Lucy replied, and she sounded close to tears. "He just kept going on about them, so today I said I'd help him catch some. I thought maybe if he got to do something he liked he'd be happier. And then he found one he didn't know, and he trapped it, and I thought that perhaps he was getting a good look at it so he could identify it later. Then he asked if I had a hairpin on me." She stopped.
"But what then, Lucy, dear?" Margaret asked, wetting a dishtowel to try to wipe off some of the mud. She wasn't very successful; the mud was very thick.
"So I gave him one of my hairpins, and—he tried to stab the poor thing with it! There was no reason to do that! He has nowhere to keep it, anyway!"
"That can't be all," her sister said, pulling a clump of mud out of Lucy's hair. "You're quite upset."
"W-well, I shouted at him to not be cruel, and—he threw the beetle at me!"
Susan and Margaret shared an understanding look. Lucy was incredibly brave in a lot of situations, but most insects larger than a bumblebee made her rather go to pieces.
"But how did you end up covered in mud?"
"When I ducked, I somehow slipped and fell into a half-wet patch of earth. Ed was coming, looking like a thundercloud, so I cleared out and came home."
"Didn't Eustace try to—never mind." Susan said. "Gosh, you must have found the worst possible place to fall, though, Lu. This stuff is sticky."
"Susan, go up and get Lucy's robe. She'll just have to get out of these wet clothes here," Margaret said. "Otherwise we'll be picking up mud through the house for days."
"I'm sorry, Mother," Lucy said.
"I know it was an accident." Her mother soothed her. "But let me lock the door and close up the curtains so you can get into your robe quickly. Then I can just throw these clothes right into the washing bin."
"I'll wash them," Lucy volunteered. "Mud is awful."
"Don't worry about it now," she said. "We'll work on it together."
Lucy was out of the clothes, into her robe, and back up in her and Susan's room getting cleaned up and putting fresh clothes on when the back door rattled.
"Why's the door locked?" came Edmund's voice. "Come on, someone let me in."
"Sorry, Ed," Susan apologized, letting him in. "We had to—"
"Don't care," he cut her off, and she realized he looked quite angry. "Where's Mother and Father?"
"Why, Father's still at the university, and Mother is in the laundry." Edmund pushed past her and headed toward the laundry room door. "What on earth…"
"Mother, I'm not going to apologize, and Father can whip me if he likes." Edmund said to Margaret, with no preamble. "I don't care if he's my cousin, I don't care if he's smaller and younger than me—"
"What is this all about, Edmund?" Margaret shoved Lucy's muddy clothes deeper into the soaking bin, and came out into the kitchen. "Sit down and tell me."
"It's that rotter, Eustace." Edmund said. "I was playing ball with one of my friends in the park when I saw Eustace and Lucy come along. Eustace was looking for bugs or something, and Lucy was keeping him company. He said something that upset her, she shouted at him, he shouted back, and then that little louse tripped her into the mud."
"What? Are you sure?"
"I watched him check where the mud was deepest, just before."
"But what did you do?"
"Just after Lucy fell, he stepped forward and was laughing at her for flinching at a bug, and falling into the mud, and all. I don't think Lu realizes she was tripped. And when he stepped forward he deliberately ground some of the dirt in with his shoe. I think he stepped on her, a little. Is she all right?"
"She's fine," his mother waved it off. "Now. What have you done that you feel I will demand an apology for?"
"Billy and I both saw all this, and we went tearing over to help Lucy. She was already on her way home when we got there, so we grabbed Eustace. I shoved him first, and then Billy sat on him while I got in a good talking-to, and then he had the gall to make fun of Lucy for being upset about the beetle, and the mud, and all. So we shoved him into the deepest puddle of mud we could find."
"Edmund!"
"I won't apologize for it. That kid doesn't understand how to see things from other people's perspectives, and he always thinks the worst of others." Edmund sputtered. "Can you believe he thought Lucy was trying to sabotage his insect collecting, when she wouldn't give up one of her hairpins to skewer some creature? Maybe having mud up his nose will make him understand that his behavior is far from admirable."
"Oh, Edmund," Margaret sighed. "I will have to talk to your father about this. You know better than to go about pushing smaller boys around."
"I didn't give him a black eye, which was my first inclination," he informed her. "As it is, he's just wet and dirty. And crying. I don't suppose we could lock the back door again?"
His mother gave him a look, and pointed. "Up to your—oh. No. That won't do. Go sit in the parlor until your father comes home. I don't want you or Eustace to encounter each other until we have come up with a suitable punishment."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Susan, go check on Lucy. I want to know if that boy really did step on her."
"Certainly."
As the kitchen finally quieted, Margaret sighed and picked up her now cold cup of tea. And they had three more weeks of Eustace to get through, too.
She hoped Joseph had some suggestions.
Joseph did not have any suggestions. Any reasonable ones, anyhow.
"Joseph," Margaret said, exasperated. "You are supposed to come up with realistic punishments, not egg on your fourteen-year-old son."
"I'd have pushed Eustace into the stream!" Joseph said, sitting back in the chair at his desk. "That little rat of a nephew would have deserved it, and—"
There came a soft rap at the door. Both parents turned. "Come in," Joseph called.
Peter's golden head poked around the doorframe. "May I speak with you?"
"Certainly."
"I couldn't help noticing the… tension… at the supper table," Peter began. "And I've talked it over with Su and Ed and Lu, and tried to talk it over with Eustace, and I think things are mostly all right."
"Peter, I know you love him, but we cannot let your brother bully his cous—"
"He wasn't bullying, Father," Peter said. "He was defending Lucy. You'll never get Ed to think otherwise, and believe me, even if he thinks things through very quickly, he does weigh the potential consequences of any actions he takes." He chuckled. "Besides, in a way, Ed was defending Eustace, too."
"How's that?" his father asked.
"You've never seen Lucy really riled up." Peter said simply. "But when she does, she's as tenacious as a badger, and as fierce as a lioness, and she can be pretty firm when it comes to handing out just deserts. And Eustace wanting to skewer a beetle alive—well. I don't think she'd have minded half so much if he'd been planning on killing it with camphor before putting a pin through it. It was the fact that the beetle would have been alive when he skewered it that got her upset the most, I think."
"I can see that." Margaret said.
"So if Lucy had had a chance to get up and get at Eustace, he might have ended up with a black eye, not just muddy hair. He got off easy. Both Ed and I have convinced him of that, at least for now, so I think he'll leave Lucy alone." He chuckled. "Though he sputtered at the idea that anyone, let alone a girl, would ever think of hitting him. Funny, I'd have thought most people who met him have tried to hit him at one point or another."
Margaret shook her head. "I just don't know what crazy ideas Alberta has put in that boy's head."
"That's just the problem. Alberta has made him all head, and no heart." Peter said, and he actually sounded sympathetic. "And at this point, it will take something pretty significant for him to understand that it's not an asset."
"Well, I think it's only fair our three muddy miscreants have to scrub all the mud out of the clothes," Joseph suggested. "And then scrub the laundry room clean."
"That sounds fair," his wife agreed, and Peter smiled.
"And that way none of them can say one of the others is getting unfair treatment. Very clever, Dad."
Joseph made a show of straightening his shirt cuffs. "Your old Dad has a few tricks, you know."
Later that night, the four Pevensie children met in the girls' room.
"Three more weeks," Edmund was moaning. "How will we survive?"
Peter gave him a hard look. "I suggest you stay clear of him as much as you can, or Father will whip you. You got off easy, you know."
"Probably because Father wanted to push Eustace in the mud himself," Susan opined. "But really, Ed, that wasn't very fair-minded of you."
"It was perfectly fair-minded," Edmund protested. "He pushed Lucy in the mud, so I pushed him in the mud. Perfectly equitable. Not," he added, "that it's tempered him in the least. He's in our room reading one of those awful boring books he brought with him."
"Can you believe he doesn't like The Sword in the Stone?" Lucy asked. "No, wait, I can. Never mind. But really—what would he say if he knew we used to read 'grown up' things all the time? Treaties and proposals and petitions—"
"—and law books and treatises—" Edmund put in.
"And alliance proposals, tourney invitations, political documents—" Susan ticked off on her fingers.
"…and strategy and battle plans, and Court documents…" Peter said, and sighed. "I never envied you, Ed, reading all that law and security stuff. I think Eustace would be more shocked we liked 'childish things' too, even though we were kings and queens. Stories and poems and songs."
"Well, at least Eustace's books can't be as bad as Calormene poetry." Lucy wrinkled her nose. "And perhaps he'll spend the rest of the hols reading his books and leave the rest of us alone."
Peter huffed. "Imagine, him pushing you into the mud. Can you imagine what Orieus would have done?"
"Besides chased him around the Cair, and beat him black and blue with the flat of his sword?" Edmund asked dryly.
"I'd have thrown him in the dungeon." Peter replied darkly.
"You would not." Lucy told him. "Cair Paravel didn't have any dungeons."
"Well, I would have built them, and then thrown him in."
"Orieus would have helped you there," Susan said. "He'd be muttering about attacking a Queen of Narnia the whole time, and—"
"Narnia? What's that?" an unwelcome voice came in. They all turned. Eustace was standing smirking in the door. "Are you all telling baby stories to one another?"
"Oh, go away, Eustace, do." Susan replied, in the put-upon tone she'd borrowed from her mother. "It's nothing to do with you."
"Well, if you're all going silly," he smirked, "it's my duty to keep on top of it. We can't have a bunch of madmen running about."
"We're just… remembering some things that happened while we were away during the War," Lucy said.
"And they don't concern you, so go away." Edmund added firmly.
"Oh, that's right. You ran away like frightened children during the War, didn't you? No wonder you're telling one another fairy stories."
"Eustace," Susan said, in reproving tones. "The evacuation was mandatory. They were bombing London. We had to leave."
"You were all safely tucked away in Cambridge," Edmund said dismissively. "You don't understand what it was like."
"I know our evacuating all the cities only gave the Jerries heart," Eustace replied. "What must they have thought! Whole droves of people fleeing the cities when nothing had even happened yet."
"Oh, and you'd have stayed and fought, Mr Pacifist?" Peter asked sarcastically. "The first order of policy when you have an attack on a major city, is to get the noncombatants safely out of reach, if you can." He informed the boy. "Otherwise what's the point? A city doesn't do any good if you have no people to live there after a battle is through, and a war is won."
"As though you know anything about it," Eustace scoffed. "So what's this Narnia?"
"Nothing that concerns you." Lucy said flatly, and Eustace sneered.
"Did you come up with the name, Lucy? It sounds awfully silly. And you were all pretending you were kings and queens? What bosh. Why, it doesn't even begin to make sense. Everyone knows there can only be one King or Queen at a time."
"There is Someone who knows better than you, then," Edmund replied stiffly. "And it's not for us to gainsay Him."
"Well, I think you're all quite mad," Eustace informed them loftily. "And I don't think I shall trouble myself about you any more."
"Good riddance," Edmund muttered. "Wonderful. Now would you go away?"
"But on the other hand—"
"Go away, Eustace," all four of them said, in concert, and finally he left.
Lucy fell over onto her bed. "Aslan, give me strength," she said into the bedclothes. "Three more weeks. Ugh."
"Don't let's even think about it," Susan said, sighing. "We just have to be patient, and find things to do, and hopefully the time will just fly by."
"I never thought I'd have a reason to look forward to going back to school, but there it is," Edmund said glumly.
Most of the next week did go by quickly. It took Lucy, Edmund, and Eustace two days to get all of the mud out of the clothes to Mrs Pevensie's satisfaction, and then half of another day to clean everything in the laundry room. Eustace kept a muttering grumble under his breath the whole time, and Lucy and Edmund mostly ignored him.
Lucy hummed Narnian songs under her breath, and occasionally Edmund would join in, until Eustace burst out in protest that they were humming things he didn't know, and humming was silly, and what good did it do, anyway.
Edmund and Lucy just laughed at this and went on with their work.
At last the next weekend arrived, and everyone was surprised when Mr Pevensie suggested that everyone—everyone, from Mother to Eustace—should go out fishing and on a picnic that day.
The day had dawned beautifully, and looked to be sunny all day.
Most of them enthusiastically agreed, and ran to get changed into play clothes that wouldn't take much hurt from getting wet or dirty. Eustace lingered around in the hall until Edmund realized he probably hadn't brought anything that shabby with him. If, that is, he even owned play clothes.
Sighing, he thrust a pair of older trousers and a comfortably soft shirt at Eustace. "Here, you can borrow these. They're a couple of years old, and should fit you all right."
Eustace glared at him, but took the clothes.
Everyone else was quite merry as they trooped the mile and a half to the preferred fishing hole. Lucy and Susan were carrying the fishing tackle, Peter and Edmund were carrying the picnic basket, full of good things, and Eustace had been pressed into service carrying the blankets to sit on. Mr and Mrs Pevensie strolled ahead of them, arm in arm, talking to one another.
"Oi, Dad," Peter called, clearly joking. "Why aren't you carrying anything?"
"Father's privilege," Joseph called back. "Why do you think we had four children? To carry things, of course. In any case I am terribly busy escorting your mother, can't you see?"
They all got a laugh out of that. Soon enough they arrived at the place, and got settled in.
Mrs Pevensie had brought some crochet to work on, as she wasn't a fisherperson. Susan sat by her, talking over some of the chores around the house that needed to be done before they all left for the school term, reminding her that all four of them would be at boarding school this term.
Mr Pevensie settled in with his pole, and Peter helped Eustace get set up. Of course, he'd never fished before, and he seemed rather squeamish when it came time to put the worm on the hook. After he'd lost the third worm, Lucy and Edmund exchanged a look, and volunteered to go dig up more nightcrawlers. Peter gave them a 'thanks a lot' look, and patiently tried to explain, again, that the worm needed to be very firm on the hook, or the fish would just tug it off rather than taking the hook in their mouths.
When they were in the woods a little way, Lucy glanced at Edmund. "Is he being very beastly in your room?"
He lifted one shoulder in response. "No more than usual, sister dear, but thanks for asking."
"I just wish," Lucy said, as she poked at a likely dark patch of earth, searching for worms, "that we could do something to help him."
"What do you mean?"
"Well…" Lucy seemed reluctant to speak. "Forgive me, Ed, but Eustace is a bit like you were. You know. Before."
Instead of flaring with anger, her brother sighed. "I know. It's what has kept me from just knocking him over any number of times. I had Aslan. Poor Eustace just has us."
"And," Lucy added reflectively, "consider how different our families are, too."
"I know!" Edmund laughed. "Hard to think that Dad and Aunt Alberta are brother and sister."
"You don't suppose that will ever happen to us? That we'd grow so different from one another?"
"No fear," Edmund said immediately. "Not so long as we remind each other of Narnia and Aslan and how we are all to live as Kings and Queens, where ever we are. As Peter pointed out, when He told us 'once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen,' He said nothing at all about it applying only in Narnia."
She smiled. "I suppose you're right." She exclaimed as she found a likely patch of earth, and dug her hands in, searching for the squirming bait.
"Now, as for Eustace…" Edmund tapped his pursed lips thoughtfully. "You're not wrong that his situation is something like mine a few years ago, though I'm not sure that helps us here. I can't tell you exactly what He said, because a lot of it was just Him, His presence, you know? And I'd really already started to realize just how vile I was being, purely because of how vilely the witch and her minions were treating me. And then when I heard that stone knife being sharpened…" he shuddered. "Well, you might say that woke me completely up." He knelt beside her, and helped dig the worms out.
"Well, we're not going to treat him vilely, much as he might deserve it." Lucy said. "And I don't think holding a knife to his throat will make him do anything but go running to Aunt Alberta."
"No," agreed Edmund. "Though I will admit it was satisfying to make him go splat into the mud. I think," he sighed, "we're really going to just have to make up our minds to be as nice to him as we can bear to."
"I'm not objecting—it's what I'd rather do anyway, most of the time—but why?"
"Well, part of what turned me back to you was that I knew, deep in me, that you and Peter and Susan really loved me and wanted the best for me. And when I was feeling particularly miserable—before Narnia I mean—I'd do things to make you all angry with me or shout at me or cry, almost like I wanted someone else to be as miserable as I, but I didn't dare to try to be as happy as you. I think I felt I didn't deserve to be as happy, and then it all got muddled and mixed up inside until all I could feel was that misery, and I couldn't see a way out.
"And then of course the witch basically rewarded me for being miserable and awful, which just drove me down further and—well, you know the rest. It's very difficult to put into words."
"I think I understand," Lucy said.
"Good. So what I'm getting at, is let's treat Eustace as nicely as we can stand to, and at the very least we won't be indulging him in making us as miserable as he is."
"All right, I suppose I can see that. And I know it's what He would want. Even if I rather do hope Eustace falls in the pond today."
Edmund smiled at her as they stood, hands full of wriggling worms.
When they returned to the pond, Susan and their mother were still on the blanket, Eustace had fallen into a sort of silent sulk, Mr Pevensie had apparently fallen asleep, and Peter was drawing in a fine fish with a satisfied exclamation.
"Oh, well done, Peter!" Lucy exclaimed. "We've brought more worms."
"Good," Peter said. "You can take my pole, and Ed, you take Eustace's. I'm going to show him how to clean a fresh-caught fish."
"What?" Eustace's head snapped around. "Clean? It just came out of the water, isn't it already clean?"
"Not… that sort of cleaning," Edmund told him with half a grin, as he took the pole from Eustace's slack grip. "Just go with Peter, he'll show you."
Lucy silently mouthed 'good luck' to Peter as she took his pole and handed him the knife set. Peter winked, and led Eustace off into the woods a ways, where he knew a good flat rock was, just the perfect height for cleaning small game.
"What is all that about?" Mrs Pevensie called over to them.
Lucy's laugh tinkled back to them. "Peter is going to show Eustace how to clean a fish."
Susan's nose wrinkled. "Better him than me. That's such a messy business."
"Not so messy, when you know how to do it properly. And you simply refused to learn,Susan," Edmund replied comfortably, settling back onto his elbows and keeping a lazy eye on his line.
"Learn? Susan hardly ever goes fishing," their mother objected. "When would she have had to learn? When did you learn?"
Susan, Lucy, and Edmund exchanged quick, slightly alarmed looks. "Er—when—" Edmund began hesitatingly.
"When we were in the country during the War," Lucy said. "Didn't we tell you we just did and learned lots of things while we were at the Professor's? Peter, Edmund, and I learned how to clean fish and game—well, Peter already knew some from Father," she said. "But we all learned a great many things while we were there."
"Oh, that makes sense," Margaret nodded, and turned to Susan. "But where were you, dear, if you weren't out fishing with the rest of them?"
The entirely truthful answer was that Susan had been at home ruling, while the rest of them were on a hastily thrown-together campaign to quell robbers in the northwest.
But of course she couldn't tell her mother the entirely truthful answer, could she?
"I was helping to finish an embroidered tapestry," Susan replied. "There was a deadline to have it complete, so they really needed my help. I learnt quite a bit about embroidery, though I suspect my skills are rather rusty from disuse," she said lightly. "We all learned a great deal during our time away."
"Oh, tapestry," their mother sighed. "I'm surprised anyone could even find enough materials to complete one, during the War. We used to work on altar cloths in the convent school I attended as a child," she reminisced. "It was such exacting work, but so lovely to see everyone's contributions in one beautiful whole, when the project was finished. I hope you got as much satisfaction out of the project."
"Oh, I did. In fact, I—"
There was a rather high-pitched squeal of disgust from the direction Peter and Eustace had gone, loud enough that Mr Pevensie awoke with a start.
"What on earth's that?" He asked blearily.
"I think Peter just split his fish open to get at the guts," Lucy said.
"Or made Eustace do it," Edmund put in.
"What? Oh," and Joseph started chuckling. "I wasn't going to teach someone as, ahem, delicate as Eustace how to field dress a fish, but if Peter decided to take on the task, well…" He shrugged, and then grabbed for his pole as he suddenly got a bite. "With any luck we'll have a few fish. Whoa—I'm glad Eustace's yelling woke me, this is a good sized one!"
It was a good sized fish he caught, and a few minutes later Edmund pulled one in, also.
Peter and Eustace trooped back to the rest of them, Eustace looking rather greenish. He sat down and didn't speak to anyone.
"I don't suppose any of you children learned how to put together a campfire?" Margaret asked idly. "It would be nice to have some fresh fish for lunch.
"Of course," Lucy answered without thinking.
"Certainly," Peter said at the same time.
Margaret started, and stared a little at them. "I was joking, mostly!" she said. "My, but you children must have learned a terrific amount in the country."
"More than you'd believe," Edmund said solemnly.
"Lots of useful things, like how to build a fire," Lucy put in. "Here, Eustace, take my pole. I'll find some rocks if you want to gather kindling, Ed?"
"And I'll get a space ready," Peter said, pulling out his pocketknife and starting to slice a neat square out of the turf.
"What are you children doing?" Joseph asked, as he walked back with his own freshly-gutted fish hanging from one hand.
"They're building a campfire," Margaret answered, sounding bemused. "Do you know how to start a campfire, too, Susan?"
"Oh, yes," Susan replied. "But I'll stay here with you. They've got it in hand."
And indeed the other Pevensies did, and they had a nice small crackling fire going in short order. Edmund had also cut and sharpened some nice straight sticks to skewer the fish on.
When she saw those, Susan exclaimed, and got up. "I'll be right back, I just remembered something," she said, and when she returned not too much later, she had handfuls of freshly-picked herbs, with which to flavor the fish.
"Oh, brilliant, Su!" Lucy said, clapping her hands. "Come on, Eustace, I'll show you how to stuff the fish before you cook it. It's much less messy than cleaning them, I promise."
Eustace grumbled, but allowed himself to be drawn in to the procedure, and in about twenty minutes their little glade was filled with wonderful scents.
Margaret and Susan and Lucy unpacked the picnic basket while Edmund kept a close eye on the fish. With only three fish to go among six people, no one got a lot, but it was a lovely hot addition to all of the cold things they'd packed for their picnic—sandwiches with thick bread, sausage rolls, meat pasties, apple pasties, a thick chunk of cheese, and two bottles of lemonade (and where had Mother got those?).
They all settled down across the blankets, basking in the sun and simply being content. Even Eustace had a less disagreeable look on his face.
Lucy smiled up at the sun, contented, and prayed that Edmund's plan of simply being nice to Eustace had a softening effect on his character. She couldn't think of anything else to do.
And he certainly couldn't get much worse… could he?
So, there's the next bit. I don't think I will belabor the 'Eustace is Awful' thing by writing the next two weeks. What I have in mind for next will be set between Prince Caspain and Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and will detail precisely WHY Susan went to America, instead of staying in England.
Yes, we're going to see the beginning of Susan's slide downward. : (
But there will also be some Peter and Edmund and Lucy butt-kicking too.
