Chapter 33 ~ Guilty Conscience
If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
Edmund's heartbeat pounded in time with his footsteps on the stone floor as he raced down to the Great Hall. Thud. Thud. Thud. Both barely kept up with his racing thoughts. I have to warn Caspian. Why didn't Aslan warn us? I should have anticipated this, someone's bound to try and step in when there's a power vacuum. Find Glenstorm first. He can take a few guards…Narnians…we don't know which Telmarines we can trust now…keep Caspian tucked away. Einar and Braelion can start questioning the garrison so we can determine who might be in on the coup…No, they aren't back yet. They're still closing off the passes and shutting down Lorzan's slave routes. Peter will have to do it. This is treason. Lorzan and Govari, they'll have to be executed. And the Ambassador…. We can't execute an Ambassador, that will certainly start a war. Aslan, what are You doing? This is no way for Caspian to start off his reign.
He felt hot and clammy all at the same time, skidding to a stop in the Great Hall and nearly colliding with a Bear staggering past under a pile of brightly colored garlands. "Peter!" Edmund called, forcing himself not to start yelling and waving his arms around to signify the severity of the situation. That was exactly what he wanted to do, but it wouldn't help to have everyone else in the room start panicking. Peter was standing across the hall, looking confusedly at the banner stretched over the dais where the throne would be placed for the coronation. Lucy stood beside him, pointing and gesturing over head. "Peter!" he called again, raising a hand and beckoning his brother over when he finally turned and caught Edmund's eye. "Where's Caspian?" he whispered as Peter jogged up to him. "Lorzan and the Ambassador, they're plotting to overthrow him."
"What?!" Peter yelped, drawing several stares. He gripped Edmund's arm, bright eyes blazing. "Edmund, are you absolutely certain of this?"
"Yes," Edmund hissed. "We have to find Caspian and stash him somewhere safe."
"I think he and Susan were going to meet with the Marshal of the Guards to walk through the ceremony for tomorrow," he said in a low voice, frowning.
Edmund shook his head sharply. "Caspian isn't with the Marshal now. Govari's involved. He was meeting with the others. Peter, he said at least half the soldiers would support Lorzan in a coup, because they're afraid of the family. It's like Tarkaan Kehdras all over again."
Peter's eyes were sparking with fury, and he'd drawn himself up to his full height, once more giving Edmund that strange sensation of seeing his brother as he had once been, or would be, a warrior-king, ready to fight to the death for his kingdom. "You will find Caspian," he directed briskly, his face set and grim. "I will deal with the soldiers." He slammed a fist into his palm. "Narnia must be united. They must be reminded of all Aslan has done," he added, almost to himself.
A couple Minotaurs that had been standing at attention near the entrance approached and placed themselves on either side of Peter. "Is everything well here, Your Majesty?" one asked sternly, glaring at Edmund. "Only we heard you shout."
"No, I'm afraid things are rather unwell at the moment," Peter said wryly. "I must rally the soldiers. You two don't let King Edmund out of your sight," he added, waving towards the Minotaurs before turning and running out.
"Now, let's not make any sudden moves," grumbled the Minotaur with shaggy brown hair, hefting an axe from the leather belt at his waist. "We're just going to stay nice and calm until the High King returns to deal with you."
Wha-what?! "No, you've misunderstood," Edmund began, shaking his head. "That isn't what he meant. He meant for you two to help me—"
There was a small commotion at the double doors leading from the courtyard into the Great Hall. A trio of black Wolves sauntered in, looking around the room curiously. "We have heard news of our new king and bring greetings from the southern mountains!" one called out.
The Minotaurs turned slightly towards the Wolves. Edmund wondered if he ought to try and make a break for it, but in the moment it took him to form the thought a faint desperate howling echoed from somewhere far off. The first howl faded and immediately started again. The Wolves pricked their ears and turned toward a west corridor.
Maeve! Edmund felt as if a gust of icy wind had slapped his face as the import of the sound registered. It was Mim. Something had happened to Mim. And he had…he had left her there, in the tunnel. A sour bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed, his stomach starting to churn. He'd failed her. He'd chosen to worry about Caspian instead of looking after her like he'd promised. Would he never learn? Edmund grasped for his sword, before remembering he wasn't wearing one. It was in his room still. He'd just have to find some sort of weapon—
Reepicheep scampered from the west corridor into the room, waving his sword. "Treachery!" the Mouse screeched, sliding awkwardly to a stop, his gold circlet falling half off his ear. "They will overthrow our king! Pray Aslan we are not too late!"
Reepicheep's statement unleashed chaos. Birds dropped the bundles of flowers or ribbons they had been tying, which fell to the ground all among the people like a bizarre sort of colored snowstorm. Chirps and roars and shouts echoed around the room, trills and shrieks pierced the air. The Bear lost his pile of garland and it landed on a Dwarf's head, burying him up to his neck.
Edmund moved to go towards the Mouse, but one of the Minotaurs grabbed his arm.
"Here now, don't be trying to run away," he groused. "The High King said to keep you here."
"That is not what he meant!" Edmund snapped, trying to jerk away. But the powerful fist held him tight.
Lucy was clambering up onto a table top and began waving her arms. Her mouth was moving, but her voice was lost in the clamor of the room. Then one of the Bears let out a monstrous roar, "SILENCE!"
A hush fell immediately. "The young queen is trying to speak," the Bear rumbled, twisting his paws together as he ducked his head to nod shyly at her. Lucy smiled and patted his shoulder.
"Everyone please stay calm," she yelled in her small voice. She looked to Edmund. "Edmund, what is going on?"
"There is a plot to overthrow King Caspian," Edmund said, his voice cracking at the end of the sentence. The clamor that had died down returned with a vengeance. He cleared his throat and tried again, raising his voice over the tumult. "We need to find King Caspian and keep him under guard—"
"King Edmund! King Edmund!" Fergus tore into the room, claws scrabbling on the stone floor as he slid to a stop. "Maeve is in trouble," he growled.
"Yes, I—" he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud in front of everyone. I left them there. It's my fault.
"It is the young girl, Mimlia!" Reepicheep interrupted, drawing his sword. "She has been captured. But the king must be our priority. Fergus, you can scent Caspian out the fastest. Find him and stand guard. Take a couple of the Bears with you. I will take the other Wolves to Maeve." He nodded towards them. "They look like they'd be good in a spot of trouble."
The Wolf that had spoken up on their arrival smirked at Reepicheep. "We're quite familiar with trouble. We can help a sister Wolf." He cocked his head a moment and stared at the Mouse. "But I do not think you can keep up, little friend."
Reepicheep drew his sword and offered a flourishing bow. "Then I will deign to consider you a valiant steed," he squeaked, whiskers quivering as he raced over and leaped upon the Wolf's back.
The Wolf barked a gruff laugh and took off towards the corridors, Reepicheep gripping the fur at his neck while he waved his sword shouting, "For Narnia and for Aslan!"
"Right then!" Lucy shouted over the muttering that had started again. "Anyone with teeth or claws or weapon who is loyal to Aslan and King Caspian, gather over here! Those with wings, divide into groups and scout out the perimeter of the castle from the air. Larger Beasts pair up with a Human and clear the castle rooms. Everyone on the grounds must be accounted for and brought up here!"
Right. Good. Lucy and Peter could see to the rest. Edmund needed to find Mim. He pulled experimentally, but the Minotaur held him fast. Well, if he couldn't break away then he would just have to convince them to help him. And he would be dead in a tomb before he ever again pretended to be the sort of horrid, playboy, thug that Lorzan had been.
Edmund tried to stand as straight and as kingly as possible, staring up at their soft, bovine faces. "Now then. The three men that I heard plotting to kill your king are right up there and have captured a friend of mine," he said sternly, jabbing his finger towards the stairwell where Reepicheep and the Wolves had vanished. "King Peter is trying to rally the soldiers. We don't know how many are loyal to Caspian and how many might be traitors. The first time I came to Narnia the Minotaur clans served the White Witch and were the enemies of Aslan. Is that still the case? You are interfering with one of Aslan's servants. So the way I see it, you can stand here trying to guard someone that doesn't need to be guarded, or one of you can go interrupt the High King to ask if I'm telling the truth, or you can trust me now and go with me to ensure that those men are locked away and your king kept safe." He paused, glaring at them both as he drew a long, slow breath through his nose, keeping his lips pressed tightly together. Susan did that sometimes so a person would know how irritated she was with them. Usually worked too.
The Minotaurs blinked dumbly at him, looking shocked and insulted. "We are not Aslan's enemy!" The shaggy brown one spluttered.
" 'Course we aren't! Been waiting for Him to come back, haven't we?" said the other, a tawny color with white ears.
"Well, you said you weren't sure if He was real," the brown one muttered, jabbing the other with his elbow.
"That was before," the tawny one hissed. "How can anybody say He's not real now? But how do we know this one isn't a traitor?" he added, jabbing a knife in Edmund's direction. "I've heard as how he was gambling away money at gaming tables with Telmarines."
"Ay, he was on trial for stealing from the King Caspian. Maybe we ought to ask the High King."
"Go on," the tawny one sneered. "Would you want to be interrupting the High King if he's trying to gather up soldiers to fight?"
"Say our choices again, slowly," the brown one said, turning back to Edmund.
Edmund didn't know whether to laugh or scream. "We are going after Reepicheep and those Wolves," he said slowly," pointing to the stairwell. "Now you can wait here for me or you can follow after me, I don't care. But don't you dare try to get in my way. I too am a king of Narnia and I have a promise to keep."
The Minotaurs gaped at him and the tawny one muttered, "King Peter said not to let you out of our sight, so I reckon we'd best follow you."
"Just don't you do anything shifty, mind," cautioned the brown Minotaur, shaking his shaggy head.
"But that's usually my best work," Edmund muttered to himself, turning on his heel and striding away. He maintained the stiff, regal king act for a moment before he broke into a run. It had only been a few minutes since he'd left Mim in that tunnel. Had the men run into her in the hallway outside their room? Maeve could have easily handled them there. Or had they discovered the tunnel? If she were trapped in the room with them…
Edmund stumbled on an uneven flagstone and the brown Minotaur grabbed him by the back of the neck, holding him upright. "Perhaps you're being a might too hasty, eh?" the brown Minotaur chuckled. "Can't help your friend if you damage yourself."
Edmund ignored him, and continued up the first staircase. Silly git, pull yourself together. He was just so angry. Or worried. Both, but he couldn't tell which emotion had the upper hand at the moment. Why didn't she leave when I first got there and told her to leave? But no, she had to stay and get her dress caught…No, that's not fair. This is my fault. I mucked it up. I left her there. And I of all people knew what Lorzan might be capable of. Argh, this always happens! I let my feelings take over and now look. If I hadn't been so angry at what he said about me…his pet. My lifestyle was the talk of the court. I think I could watch him hang and almost enjoy it…
"Who is this friend you're supposed to be saving, then?" The tawny Minotaur's panting question interrupted his castigating train of thought as they mounted the last staircase.
"Mim. Or, uh, Mimlia. She's a Telmarine girl that Aslan—"
"Ay, we know her," he interrupted. "Heard Tavros speak of her."
"She's a good lass," huffed the brown one. "I reckon she'd like you better if you stopped gambling and stealing. Not fit pastimes for a king, to my way of thinking. My mam always said womenfolk will put up with a lot, but not gambling, not if it takes money out of their bairns' mouths."
"He's not got bairns to feed, Zandor," grumbled the tawny brute, waggling the white tips of his ears.
"Ay, but I doubt he will have if he keeps on like this—"
"Quiet," Edmund snapped, shutting down the bizarre conversation. "They should be just here." He slipped ahead of the Minotaurs. One of the black Wolves was stationed at the statue of the old king, watching the hidden door with hackles raised.
"Someone is stuck inside, Your Majesty," he growled softly. "They were crashing behind the wall moments ago, but then it got quiet. I can still hear them rustling inside, but not coming closer. The others are there." He jerked his head to the right, not taking his eyes off the door.
Edmund and the Minotaurs hastened to the Ambassador's room. Two other black Wolves were standing over two bodies in the hallway. The largest raised his head and watched Edmund's approach with shrewd yellow eyes. "You are one of the ancient kings?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble.
"Um, yes. I'm Edmund," he answered, peering down at the broken bodies. It was rather gruesome. Govari's neck had been bitten open, and he lay with wide, staring eyes in a pool of his own blood. Lorzan was beside him, also covered in blood, but he let out a moan and writhed slightly. Still alive then. At least for the moment. "Go and find a Healer," he called to the two Minotaurs, waving them back the way they had come. "Bring Lucy if you can't find anyone else." He looked back at Lorzan's face, that handsome, sneering face now grimacing in pain and horror. Edmund supposed he should feel a little remorse, for the Marshal at least, a bit of grief for one who had lost their chance to meet Aslan and find hope. Lucy could have managed it. But he didn't feel that, not a speck of anything like it. He felt relieved. And yet still angry for all the evil these men had wrought. And Mim had been in their clutches…Mim… "Where's the girl?" Edmund whispered, not quite able to look towards the room.
"In there," the Wolf growled, turning his nose to the open doorway. "We didn't do this, by the way. It was the female, the grey one in there. The men were screaming and thrashing around when we got here. She had the dead one in her jaws. Then she dropped him and went back into the room. Didn't say a word. The Mouse is with her."
Edmund walked slowly to the doorway, his feet leaden, unsure of what he would find. Reepicheep turned as he entered the room. "Your Majesty," he said softly, bowing his head. "Thanks be to Aslan, we were not too late."
"She's…she's all right, then?" Edmund said, his voice sounding harsh and raspy in his own ears. He swallowed, throat dry, and walked over to kneel beside them. Mimlia lay on the floor, looking like a rag doll that had been carelessly thrown down, a curtain of her hair covering her face. He might have assumed her lost but for the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. He pushed the hair aside, revealing the bright red mark of a slap across her cheek and some bruising along her jaw.
"You left her."
Maeve's voice was a low whine, full of anger and grief. Edmund couldn't breathe. Couldn't look at her.
Reepicheep glanced at Maeve and back at him. "I believe she has fainted, Your Majesty," Reepicheep murmured. "She does not appear to be badly injured."
"You left her," Maeve repeated, her voice tinged with a growl. "Aslan appointed us to protect her and you—" She stopped, huffing angrily through her nose.
"Someone ought to fetch Aurelia and Helmfire," Reepicheep said, starting to back towards the door. "They will want to know—"
"I'll go," Edmund said, rising to his feet. Maeve didn't want him around right now, that was certain. "I…I am most terribly sorry for what happened," he added softly, wiping sweaty hands on his trousers. "I thought she was behind me and…" His voice trailed off. What was he to say? I was concerned for the fate of the kingdom. But that was only partly true. Which made it partly a lie. He'd been angry. So overwhelmingly angry. Angry that he'd been taken as some fool, a mug that Lorzan could manipulate and use. And he'd forgotten about her. "I am sorry," he said again, barely breathing the words out.
"I will try to forgive you," Maeve growled. "But it will take me a while."
He turned and left the room. The Wolves standing guard in the hall watched him, only their eyes shifting as he moved past. They would have heard every word, known he was at fault… He started to walk a little faster, slipping back down the stairs, away from their watchful gaze. The stairs curved around and he almost crashed into Lucy coming up, the two Minotaurs puffing behind her.
"Edmund, you look ill. Is Mimlia—" She clutched at his arm, her eyes searching his worriedly.
"She's alive. So is Lord Grinespian, but only just. I need to find Aurelia…" His voice trailed off and he swallowed, any other words sticking in his throat.
Lucy stepped to the side to allow him to pass. "I have my cordial. I'll see to them. A Robin brought word that Fergus has Caspian under guard in the old Professor's rooms. Susan is trying to organize everyone in the Great Hall."
"Good, that's good," he said, bobbing his head. Lucy tilted her head slightly, like a little bird, studying him.
"Your Majesty, ought we to stay with the Queen?" asked the shaggy brown Minotaur, pulling awkwardly at his beard. "Or do you need us elsewhere?"
Well, that was a switch. He supposed they didn't think him some sort of villain anymore. "The Calormene Ambassador is hiding in a tunnel behind the wall. The Wolves have him trapped. Get him out of the tunnel if you can, and take him down to the dungeon."
Lucy was still looking at him studiedly. Don't ask me anything else, he pleaded silently. I don't want to talk about it now.
As though she could hear his thoughts, Lucy nodded and patted his arm, offering a small smile. "Aslan is out in the courtyard, I believe," she added as the trio moved past him up the stairs. "I heard His voice, after Peter started yelling some sort of speech outside."
A curious twisting feeling worked its way through Edmund's chest that terrified him more than anything else. He'd felt that same sort of twist in his chest once before. It was burned into his memory, a cozy kitchen in a Beaver's den, his brother and sisters and the Beavers talking excitedly about Aslan bringing an end to the Witch's winter. And the mention of His name gave Edmund a mysterious and horrible feeling. He had that same sensation now when Lucy had mentioned that Aslan was in the courtyard. But that was ridiculous. He wasn't the same boy he was then. It was good that Aslan had come. He could unite the different peoples of this kingdom far better than any of them. Wrong will be right when Aslan comes in sight, he recited to himself, slowly descending the stairs.
He found Aurelia in the Great Hall. She spotted him first, and hurried over, her hooves clipping loudly over the stone floor. "Your Majesty, where is Mimlia? They are saying that she was captured—"
"She's in the Ambassador's room in the West Gallery. Maeve is with her. She was injured, but Lucy should be there now and will take care of her." He should be consoling, but his voice sounded mechanical, even to him.
"Thank you, my dear. I appreciate you coming to tell me. I am so thankful that she has you to look out for her." The Centauress patted his cheek and he pulled away from her. She was so warm, so… so mothering. Part of him wanted to shout at her and part of him wanted to throw himself into her arms. The sick twisting feeling grew stronger.
"No, I…I didn't," he managed to stammer. "It was my fault she got hurt."
Aurelia raised her eyebrows, but didn't glare or chide him. Instead she reached out and ran her hand over his head, ruffling his hair. "Well, I'm sure you didn't intend for anything to happen to her. I'll go to her now. Come and make your apologies later if you need to."
Edmund gave a stiff nod and she left. The doors to the courtyard swung open and the faintest sweet scent came in with them. That scent that meant Aslan. And the curious twisting sensation was nauseating. I can't see Him now. Edmund grimaced as the thought flew through his head. What a horrid thing to think! He'd spent years praying to see Him, begging. But He gave me a job to do and I mucked it up. I'll have to explain…confess that I still let my anger control my decisions… Had he changed so little? It was anger that had driven him to the Witch, anger that had drawn him into a dozen fights at school, anger that had kept him focused on Peter instead of Mim, and anger that had put Mim in danger today. What a waste of Aslan's sacrifice!
A torrent of condemnation poured over him, the familiar whispers he was never able to banish completely, highlighting all his faults and failures. Only this time the whispers didn't sound like Jadis. They sounded like himself. That was worse somehow. When he heard her in his head it was easier to call the words lies, to push back the darkness. But his own voice sounded reasonable, matter-of-fact about the whole business. He had failed. For all Peter's words about Edmund being the only king to remain true to Aslan and Narnia, Edmund could see that for what it was — nonsense. He was arrogant, certain he was usually the smartest one in the room, and convinced that his course of action was always the best, the most well-thought out, the logical choice. But all his rationale couldn't keep his temper in check when it really counted. Your anger will not produce My righteousness. That was what Aslan had said.
He made an abrupt turn, away from the open doors, away from the beckoning scent. I just need some space. Just a little time to sort out my thoughts. Then I'll talk to Aslan. The corridors were strangely quiet as he made his way to his room. Whoever Lucy sent off must have already cleared this part of the castle. That was good, he could be well and truly on his own for a bit. Warm, bright sunshine poured through the open windows of his room, a soft breeze pushing the edges of the thick drapes back and forth ever so slightly. Edmund had intended to draw, to let the soft scrape of pencil on paper and emerging images of his favorite memories soothe his turbulent soul. But he'd missed quite a bit of sleep the last few days, and the warmth of the room and the lure of the bed won out. Kicking off his boots and sloughing his jacket, Edmund sprawled across the bed, not even bothering to climb between the covers. Before he could decide whether he ought to recite the kings and queens of England or the times tables to help him fall asleep faster, he had already dozed off.
The crash of the ocean waves were normally calming to him, but this sea was angry, hurling its waves toward a jagged and rocky shoreline. Edmund picked his way along the beach, the bits of rocks and broken shells cutting into his bare feet. A red sun was setting behind black thunderclouds. The beach stopped at a large rocky outcropping. Something dark and tentacled slithered along the edge of it and splashed into the water. It would be night soon, and something told him this was not a place to linger at night.
He tried to climb the rocks, hoping to get a better view and figure out where he was. It felt like it took hours, searching for hand and footholds only to slip and fall back to the ground. The clouds billowed more fiercely and the sun sank lower, but still night did not fall. With the last attempt Edmund fell and landed hard on the ground below, crying out as a bit of broken shell sank deep into his heel. He sat back on the sand and examined his foot, plucking out the shell and watching a trickle of blood run down. Tears gathered. But it wasn't just because of the pain. He was alone, lost. He looked up and wiped his eyes. There was a house there, off in the distance. Some sort of stone villa. Maybe someone was there who could help him…help him what? Edmund scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to think. He had been doing something, looking for someone. No, avoiding someone. Peter probably. That brother of his had done something stupid…no, he was the one that had done something… Ugh, he couldn't think properly. Maybe he was just tired. Or hungry. Yes, that was it. He needed a rest and some food. He could stop off at that villa. Then things would sort themselves out.
He stood to his feet and winced. Right. His foot was injured. Better see if they could help with that at the house too. He began to walk, favoring that foot, slowly, so slowly making his way back down the shoreline. He'd never felt so sluggish. At this rate it would be well after dark before he made it to the house. But darkness never quite fell. The sun glared red and swollen at the edge of the black clouds. It was as if time moved as sluggishly as he did. Edmund stopped looking toward the house and just focused on his feet, taking one step after another, occasionally landing on a sharp bit of rock or shell just under the surface of the sand.
Finally he reached the courtyard of the house. It was eerily silent, the sun streaking the stones of the courtyard with a reddish light. He hesitated at the open gate, unable to make himself step into the courtyard. Those streaks of light looked like blood. And it was so quiet. Probably no one was home to help him anyway. He'd better just keep walking. But he was so tired. Why was he so tired?
"Son of Adam."
Edmund froze. He knew that voice. It made his skin shiver and his heart ache. He was supposed to trust the voice, but he was afraid of it too.
"Edmund, come to Me."
He looked up. There on the threshold of the doorway, lit in a ring of fire by the setting sun, was the Great Lion. Edmund took a shaky step forward, but then stopped. The Lion looked so solemn and sorrowful. His eyes were flames of fire, eyes that intently watched his every movement. Edmund couldn't say why he still hesitated. If Aslan was here, then he wasn't really lost or alone. But something about this house felt wrong. He rubbed at his chest absently. Maybe it wasn't the house. Maybe it was him. Something felt wrong inside of him.
"Aslan, what is this place?"
"It is a place of sacrifice."
"It feels…evil."
There is great evil here now, but it was not always so."
"Why are we here?"
"Someday you will help to vanquish the evil that resides here. I need you to remember this place when that time comes."
"Shouldn't we vanquish the evil now? Why is it allowed to endure, even a moment longer?"
"Do you believe you are ready?" The Great Lion fixed His eyes of fire on Edmund's own. They mesmerized him, drawing him step by shaky step across the courtyard. His wounded feet were leaving bloody, dirty marks across the smooth stones.
"No," Edmund whispered, falling to his knees at Aslan's feet. Now he knew why he felt so awful, it was his own guilt, hissing and chafing at him. "I feel all wrong inside. I'm tired and sad and angry. And…guilty. I didn't do what you asked. I forgot about Mim and she was almost killed."
"Yes. And you would not come to Me. So I have come to you. Rise, Son of Adam."
Edmund stood up and then watched in bewilderment as Aslan bowed His head and swiped a large, sandpaper tongue over his dirty, bloodied feet. "Why are You doing this?" He almost wanted to push Him away, embarrassed that the King of the Whole World would behave this way. But Aslan didn't answer, not at first. He finished what He began, until Edmund's skin was shiny and pink from the rough tongue cleaning every speck of dirt and blood.
Then He lifted His head and stared once more into Edmund's eyes. "Satisfying your flesh will lead only to corruption. But what I see in you, King Edmund, the Just, is a man of integrity, one who has trusted without wavering and walked in the truth. And you will see your name vindicated in Narnia."
Dash it all, he was going to blub. Until the words had been spoken aloud Edmund didn't even realize how badly he wanted it, to see his name vindicated. For the people of Narnia to know that everything he had done had been for her, the land he loved so dearly, to see her restored and renewed. He squeezed his eyes shut tight against the tears.
"Edmund, wake up! Why on earth are you sleeping now? Honestly, I will never understand boys of any age. Peter has been looking everywhere for you!"
Edmund struggled to fully wake up, trying to reconcile Susan's shrill voice with the dream that was starting to fade. Wait! His eyes flew open. Aslan asked him to remember the place. He pushed himself up from the bed, rubbing at the indent on his cheek where the edge of the pillow had left a mark.
"Finally," Susan sighed. "I was about to empty the pitcher from the wash basin over your head. The Ambassador and Lord Grinespian have been locked up. Caspian is meeting with several councilors and waiting for you to join them. What are you doing?"
The dream was starting to fade, and Edmund had to capture what he could before it was gone. "I just need to sketch this…" he mumbled, fishing around in the satchel for a pencil. He sat at his small table and flipped open the notebook to a blank page, closing his eyes for a moment to remember his approach to the house. It would be easier to identify if he caught it from a wider angle. He just needed the rough lines of it now. If he got that out of his head he could usually recall details to add in later. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Susan open and close her mouth a couple times, before pursing it tightly, choosing irritated silence over questioning him further. But she crossed her arms and tapped her foot until he was finished, making sure he knew she was not happy with this additional delay. He finished the sketch and shoved the notebook away from him, dropping the pencil onto the table and leaning back in the chair. He scrubbed a hand over his face, closing his eyes. Thank you, Aslan. Thank you for drawing me to You, to confess my sin even when I didn't want to, for Your promise of restoration. Help me to walk in step with You and not run on ahead.