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Note: I've posted the second chapter. I know it's been a while, but college simply can't be ignored :sighs: much as I like it.

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"Speech"

/Thoughts/

To the Great Western Wood

By Serenity Song

Chapter Two: Of Age

An hour has passed since he encountered the Dryad. The sun now hangs at roughly its one o'clock position in the sky. He has just finished watering his mare, and has himself eaten a bit and drunk a little from the stream they are stopped at. But his stomach yet turns at recent memories, and he doubts he will be able to eat anymore for a while.

And it is by such signs that his siblings can usually tell when something has gone quite amiss. For although Edmund may be unaware of these signals most of the time, Peter, Susan, and Lucy are not, and he often catches himself wondering just how they can tell. He chalks it up to intuition.

Edmund swings himself up onto the mare's back, once more quietly grieving the loneliness of the woods. Oh, he knows there are tree spirits and subjects that live among these great trees, but after having seen one of them die, he would have very much liked to have had one of his siblings there with him.

So it is a quiet, solitary ride that he and his mount embark on towards the center of the wood.

The Western Woods are thick and deep. Detritus, pine needles, and floor growth pad the mare's hoof-beats as they continue cantering along. Occasionally a Talking Hedgehog or a Faun or a Dwarf may appear from within the many hundreds of groves or dozens of caves, for this path is a well-known one.

They greet their younger monarch with smiles and cheerful "Hellos!" and Edmund smiles back, returning the greeting.

What he doesn't know is that these subjects notice what his siblings have been noticing for the past six years.

Queen Lucy's countenance is perpetually sunny. Queen Susan's laughter is perpetually clear. High King Peter's smile is perpetually content.

But King Edmund's eyes are perpetually shadowed. And it worries his subjects—as it does his siblings—because they have become quite fond of their four youthful monarchs, and have almost forgotten a time when there was a White Witch or an everlasting winter.

It is a very deep-rooted fear in his siblings—that they may one day lose him. Somehow it is more painful to imagine losing him to his own self-torment, rather than to a battle or wound or sickness. Then, at least, he would not die hating himself.

And Edmund does not think much of himself. How can he? He knows, even though his brother and his sisters have tried to keep it from him, what Aslan did for him that night at the Stone Table. He knows, terribly and awfully well, the story of his own redemption—even though he still believes he should never have been redeemed.

These are thoughts, fears, which he has never told Peter and the girls. But they somehow know, anyway. He can see the pain in their eyes when they look at him sometimes.

And he hates himself even more for it—for the guilt in Peter's, the sorrow in Susan's, and the anxiety in Lucy's. It is a vicious cycle he has trapped himself in, and he cannot break free.

IOIOIOIOIOIOI

When she appears out of nowhere, it startles him, and he sharply reins his mare.

"Madam," he manages, just able to maintain some sense of dignity, "I apologize. I did not see you there."

She gives a wizened, toothless smile where she sits on an aged stump, and her voice creaks pleasantly when she speaks, "Ach, don't worry none, lad. I'm jus' restin' here after haulin' this bundle o' wood for a wee bit." She waves a many-wrinkled-hand at said bundle near her feet. "Them…oh what d'ye call it…them dryads are gracious kind to let me have some o' their pilings for firewood. These old bones jus' don't have th' same juice they used to, s'all."

Edmund dismounts from his mare and gives a graceful bow. "Allow me to be of service to you, then," he offers and her eyes widen as she catches sight of his crown.

"Oh, m'good lord, no!" she protests, trying to gain her feet. "No, I'm but an ol' woman, and for certs not somebody a strappin' young man like yerself ought to worry his head 'bout."

The sixteen-year-old king smiles, a small but truly genuine smile, and places a friendly hand on her arm. "Madam, it is fine. I serve my people, and certainly do not object to helping you," he advises warmly. Before she can protest further, he leans down and snags the bundle of wood, hefting it under his arm. "Where to?"

Her smile is back, and brilliant as ever. "Thank ye kindly, m'lord. Jus' down this path and 'round the bend a ways."

The young monarch gives a shrill whistle and his mare trots over to him. He pats her neck fondly a moment before placing a hand on her nose and murmuring firmly, "Stay."

The mare whickers and gently nudges his cheek, eliciting a soft laugh, but he knows she will listen.

They start walking down the path the elderly matron has indicated, and Edmund carries the wood under one arm and offers his other arm to her. Their pace is slow, but he does not mind. "Have you come from Archenland?" he asks, not terribly suspicious, merely curious.

The smile that touches her lips is mysterious. "Ay, that I may have. But please ye, m'lord, I have lived 'ere since…oh, before I remember."

"Perhaps as an infant, then, or a very young child," Edmund remarks, still smiling.

When the old woman turns to him as they continue walking, it is with an odd expression in her eyes. Eyes, he realizes, which are the most extraordinary color green. The look on her face, however, is warm when she reflects thoughtfully, "Forgive th' addled musin' of an ol' woman, m'lord, but…yer not much out o' th' cradle yerself, are ye?"

Edmund is at first startled. That is not a question one expects from a stranger. Then he thinks he ought to take offense from that statement. But he doesn't. Instead, he smiles again, "I suppose to you I must be. How wonderful to have lived all those years, seen so much."

She chuckles. "Oh, it has its high points, sure enough. Though it got frightful cold a great many years back. I s'ppose she's gone, is she? That dratted witch…Jadis, was it?"

Edmund stiffens slightly at the mention of the White Witch, for quite unlike his subjects, he has never forgotten Her. Though at times he has very much wanted to.

The elderly matron does not appear to notice, facing forward again, eyes still odd and once more looking thoughtful. "Don't matter now, I s'ppose. She's dead. Seasons will come an' go, kings will rise an' fall, evil will be 'ere one day an' gone th' next. That's th' way life is, s'all." Suddenly, she turns and taps Edmund lightly on the nose, smiling her toothless grin, "An' a young'un like yerself oughtn't carry 'round an ol' man's burden."

Edmund, who has been listening to her quietly for the past few minutes, now smiles ruefully at her. "I suppose not," he concedes softly. Then turns back to face the path, thoughtful.

He decides not to question her knowing something that really only his siblings and Aslan do. And wonders if his path wasn't somehow fated by the Great Lion to cross hers. Goodness knows, he and his brother and sisters hadn't the same wisdom she did, nor her many years of experience. Only one with so much experience could have come up with such a statement.

For the first time in six years, his load doesn't feel quite so heavy.

"'Ere we are!" she suddenly exclaims.

Edmund, startled out of his musings, looks up and comes face to face with a cave that resembles Mr. Tumnus's to a certain degree. He remembers that there are many caves like this scattered throughout the Western Woods, and isn't terribly surprised to find that this woman lives in one.

When they reach the front door, he sets down the bundle of wood and stepping back from the elderly matron, gives her another graceful bow and straightens with a grateful smile. "It has truly been a pleasure, Madam, and I am indebted to you. You have given me something that no one else has."

She flushes slightly, extraordinary green eyes sparkling, and waves him off. "Ach, was only an ol' woman's ramblin', nothin' too special in that." A cool breeze blows, and she shivers a little.

Edmund, noticing this, unclasps his cloak and shrugs it off his shoulders, handing it to her. She tries to protest, but he insists, still smiling, "Keep it, Madam. Allow me this one small favor."

Her flush deepens a bit and she pulls it around her own shoulders like a shawl. "Many thanks, m'lord," she murmurs humbly.

The sixteen-year-old takes her hand and gives it a brief squeeze. "Until next time, Madam," he replies, and then sets off back down the path, already marking it in his mind for a future visit.

He is about halfway along the path when he turns one last time, expecting to see the well-worn, slightly overgrown path they had taken to get to the old woman's hovel. He is puzzled when he does not.

Edmund's brow furrows as he tries to figure out what happened, but at last he shrugs, thinking perhaps that he misjudged his course. Yet, when he looks forward, it is to find his mare grazing in the clearing he and the elderly matron had left not ten minutes before, right along the main path.

With a sigh, he decides not to question this either, but rather trust to Aslan that everything is all right, in spite of how very odd this adventure is turning out to be.

As he returns to his mount, Edmund's step is lighter than it has been in a while—hardly noticeable, but lighter nonetheless—and (though he is unaware of it) a layer of the shadow has been peeled away.

Tbc