A/N: Because Kay is misunderstood. More so than Gawain, even. ;) I mean, Kay isn't really unlikable and grumpy and sarcastic. Well he is. Just not in a bad way.

Um. Yeah. Enjoy. ;)


Chapter 3: Edmund and Kay

"Bother." Edmund watched the door to Peter's study shut with a worried look on his face, the white beard and red gown of the wizard Merlin still imprinted in his mind. He leaned forward, waiting for the unavoidable order from Peter to leave, because it wasn't audience day and there was far too much to do without having strange bearded men invade one's study.

To his surprise, there was the sound of a chair scraping the floor, and then the noise of muffled conversation. And then an order to leave—but it was the guards and Peter's advisers who came through the door, not Merlin.

"Peridan—what's going on?" Edmund asked, stopping the man, but directing his question to the Tiger, Faun, and Fox as well. Peridan shrugged.

"You know better than I, Sire. Who is that man? He speaks with such authority!"

He was talking, of course, about the wizard. Edmund still wasn't sure how they'd ended up at the door of Peter's study—Merlin seemed to know where he was headed pretty well, unless Edmund had given everything away without meaning to. He sighed, but it was the older knight beside him who answered Peridan's question.

"Authority! More like misplaced arrogance. As mentors go he wasn't too bad, but he's not exactly the most awe-inspiring of wizards."

"Wizards?" Lord Peridan said, and the heads of the Beasts jerked round to stare at Sir Kay ominously. "What is he doing in the castle? He hasn't…"

"It's…it's alright, Peridan," Edmund said, realizing that even though his mind was still spinning, he had to do something before Peter's guards rushed back into the study and attempted to assassinate the old man. "Merlin is from…Spare Oom. He serves a good king, but in that land, magic is…treated differently."

There was a moment of silence as Peridan wondered how there could be a kingdom in which magic and wizards were good, and Kay wondered what on earth was a Spare Oom. After a moment, Edmund cleared his throat.

"Well, there's no point in all of us waiting here. There's a Galmian ambassador who had some questions concerning the tax on trade. Would you look in on him for me?"

Peridan nodded, looking relieved that he wasn't the one who would have to be around when a wizard was consulting the High King, and looking worried because he wasn't sure that was a good thing. After all, the kings were still just boys.

Well. Highly intelligent, responsible, battle-ready boys (who were really pretty much practically men, at their ages) who had been personally chosen by Aslan for the job of ruling Narnia. He shrugged. As long as the wizard wasn't planning to stay at Cair for too long, it was probably alright.

Edmund watched as Peridan and the Fox (his aide) headed down the hall. The Tiger and Faun lingered, and after a moment, Edmund gave them both a nod. After all, they were guards. If for some reason their visitors turned out to have less than honorable intentions, it might be good to have a couple hands (and paws) on his side. He glanced at the man who called himself Sir Kay and noticed the way the man was staring at the Tiger and Faun—well, mostly at the Faun. Edmund reflected on how he'd felt upon first seeing a Faun and grinned a little, feeling it was his duty to explain.

"Many of the creatures of Narnia only exist in legend back where you come from. Fauns, centaurs, griffins…"

Sir Kay gave him an incredulous look. Edmund nodded understandingly. "The animals talk, too. At least, some of them."

"Ah." Sir Kay glanced over at a bench and Edmund caught the meaning in the look at once (he was, after all, the King of Subtleties).

"I would be honored if you would join me in waiting for my brother and…erm…Merlin. Please, won't you sit?"

"After you, sire," Sir Kay replied courteously. Edmund complied and then proceeded to tell him a little about Narnia, its rulers, and its inhabitants. A little, anyway. If Susan or Lucy were here, or even Peter, surely they would know what exactly to say. But somehow, Edmund was having trouble with coming up with the words. He disliked it when people prattled on meaninglessly, and had a feeling by the look in the tall knight's eyes that he felt quite the same about it. So eventually Edmund's words trailed off, and Sir Kay shifted his weight, looking as though he was about to speak, but wasn't exactly sure what to say.

The silence was a little deafening. It wasn't exactly an oppressive silence; just one that contained many unasked questions, with a little bit of bemusement to go along with it, topped off with anxiety. The young king braced himself, took a deep breath, and spoke.

"I suppose you're wondering why there are two kings and two queens of Narnia and how youths such as we were chosen to rule this kingdom."

"Not at all. Actually," Sir Kay said thoughtfully, a wry smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I was wondering why you had flowers in your hair."

Edmund put a hand to his hair, eyes widening in bewilderment, but when he had some of the little blue and white flowers in his hand, he flushed with embarrassment, wondering why on earth someone hadn't said something before and what had put the idea into Lucy's head.

"She's the youngest, eh? The little queen in the courtyard?"

Edmund nodded. "Aye, sir. Peter's the eldest, as you know, and then there's Susan, then me."

Kay harrumphed and stretched his leg out gently, as though there was some hurt in it that made him do it carefully. "So—the High King's brother. I suppose you're the one who has to deal with all the audiences and paperwork and complaining peasants?"

With a snort, Edmund shook his head. "Not on your life! If Peter dared leave it all to me, I'd put salt in his tea and oil the hilt of his sword. Um," he cleared his throat, knowing that Susan would be scolding him for that, and amended, "only figuratively, of course."

Now it was Sir Kay who snorted, and Edmund struggled to recall what exactly he could about the Kay of King Arthur's court.

"I remember hearing about you, but I can't recall…wasn't there something about you and King Arthur during the king's childhood? And a tournament?" He shifted his weight uncomfortably at the man's sudden grim look, and took another breath. "Forgive my memory—it's been ages since I heard the story properly, and I'm afraid I was very young at the time."

For a moment, Edmund thought the knight was not going to answer him. But then Sir Kay breathed out a long sigh and leaned back against the wall.

"Arthur was my foster brother—my father, Sir Ector, raised him as a second son. We didn't know he was the heir to the throne until…until the Great Tournament at Camelot."

Edmund nodded quietly. He'd remembered something about a tournament. An important tournament. But now Kay had fallen silent, as if reflecting on whatever it was that had happened, so the young king cleared his throat.

"There was something about Merlin too, wasn't there? And a sword?"

"I suppose you will want the whole story," Kay grumbled. Edmund began to stammer an apology (not wanting to have upset a guest) but the knight waved it off and continued, gruffly. "Yes, Merlin was there. He'd done something years before to stop quarrelling between different lords about who was to be king when Uther Pendragon died without an heir. In the churchyard at Camelot, a stone appeared with a sword sticking out of it, and an inscription reading, 'He who pulleth out this sword from this stone is the rightful king of Logres', or some other such rubbish. Wart—I mean, Arthur—was my squire when our party came to Camelot for the tourney. He was so scatterbrained—left my sword at the inn on the morning of the First Day."

The Faun standing beside Peter's door was trying to look uninterested, but Sir Kay must've noticed that he was leaning slightly toward the king and knight, and raised his voice a little, considerately. The Tiger appeared not to care, but Tigers were always like that.

"I told him to go fetch it, of course. And then I paced for a good half hour, hoping that the—that he would make it back in time. And what should he do but burst into my tent at the last minute, carrying a sword that was probably worth half of Father's lands—a sword that was most definitely not mine. I recognized it, having tried with all the other young bucks to dislodge it from the stone the day or so before. One look at his glowing face told me exactly what had happened—how he'd happened across it and drawn the thing from the stone, and yet here he was, only jubilant because he'd managed to fulfill my request in time."

The knight stopped. There was a hard look in his eyes, and Edmund, who had by now remembered the rest of the story, had a sinking. He shouldn't have brought it up. He opened his mouth to change the subject, but Kay held up a hand and said, miserably, "No. Let me finish. I chose what happened next—chose it knowing that it was wrong. Would it be wrong to say that I convinced myself that I had a right to the sword because my brother was offering it freely—giving the Throne of Logres to me? Would it be wrong to pretend that I did not see the wrong in it?" His eyes turned downward, too heavy with grief to remain on Edmund's face. "But no. I knew, when I chose, that it was wrong. How could I have known that I was choosing deception for my legacy?"

"No…" Edmund began, but the knight snapped his eyes back up to meet the king's.

"Yes. I took the sword to my father. I told him I drew it, and then when we returned to the stone and Arthur was the only one who could bring the sword forth, as I knelt on the snowy cobblestones and looked up at the hapless boy who had been my brother and was now the Prophesied King of Logres, I felt in full the depth of my foolishness and pride. My betrayal of his trust."

The gaze of Sir Kay pierced Edmund like the searing pain of an arrow. He swallowed and smiled, bitterly.

"That's nothing. At least you didn't try to murder your brother."

The hard look faded a little from the knight's eyes, replaced by bewilderment, and then disbelief. Edmund nodded slowly, and then looked down at his hands.

"I betrayed Peter—and the girls—by helping the Witch-queen of this country track them down so that I could be the king. They got away, but it was only when the witch turned on me that I realized my mistake." He didn't trust himself to look up. He was afraid of what he would see in the man's face. "She had a right to my blood, because I was a traitor. Aslan—the Lion who watches over us and all of Narnia—freed me and died in my place. He came back to life—killed the witch—made us kings and queens. But that still doesn't erase what I've done."

The weight of a hand bowed his shoulder. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Edmund lifted his eyes and met the gaze of Sir Kay—a gaze that was not scornful or disgusted or dismayed. It was understanding.

"You did not have to share this with me," the knight said softly. His voice was rough with emotion.

Edmund sighed and ran a hand through his hair (sending a few more flowers floating to the floor). "Nor were you under any obligation to share your story with me." He smiled, slightly. "That wasn't your legacy, though."

A furrow appeared between Kay's brow. "Whenever the story is told of how Arthur became king of all Logres, my part will be the blot—the stain—the part of the villain. This is something I cannot change."

"No," said Edmund quietly, "but the story is not yet ended." He fiddled with the lining of his jacket. "In the place where I come from, Sir Kay was the name of a man who was fierce and grim and often downright dislikable. But faithful." This time he put his own hand on the other's shoulder. "Kay was Arthur's most faithful knight."

The tall man drew in a quick breath and then let it out slowly. Then he lifted his eyes again and smiled, wryly. "Ah, lad. You've got it easy. At least it's your older brother who is stationed over you. Wart was my younger brother."

Edmund snorted. "Not that it makes things any easier. Peter is wiser than me, though. In some ways. I shouldn't want to be the High King."

Kay nodded grimly. "Nor I, lad. Nor I." He shifted his weight and rubbed at his leg again. "Tis the duty of the brother—to be loyal and trustworthy in all things. Although," he added quietly, "if I had been in Arthur's place, I don't know if I would've trusted me again."

Thinking of the bewildered expression on Peter's face on the occasion of his younger brother's most recent apology for the betrayal, Edmund smiled.

There was a shout from behind the door of Peter's study, and the subject was dropped as the Faun and the two humans were suddenly very interested in listening to whatever might be happening inside those doors. Only the Tiger remained unmindful of the room behind him.

But that was nothing new.


To be continued…