DISCLAIMER: I seem to have forgotten to post this on the last chapter, but, thankfully, no lawyers came after me waving lawsuits. So, here it goes: Anything and everything relating, subjecting, or relating the works of C.S. Lewis does not belong to me. Happy?
A/N: I promise a lot of brotherly fluff and awkwardness! ;) Be afraid, be very afraid. Oh, and don't get used to these incredibly long chapters. They may not be for you, but for me, they are unending to write.
NOT ALWAYS GOLDEN
Chapter Two: Comes with Being High King
The feast seemingly ended as quickly as it had begun. A Dwarf had just finished telling me the tortures he had endured because he had refused to be apart of the Witch's service. I looked up, my mind still lingering on how horrid the Witch was, and, with a shudder, thinking of how Edmund nearly had the same fate, when I saw most excusing themselves and leaving.
Feeling that it was a kingly thing to do, I hurried over to the Great Hall's main door, where I began shaking hands and thanking the smiling and joyous guests as they departed.
The faun, Tumnus, appeared in front of me.
"Mr. Tumnus," I nodded respectively. "How obliged I am to you. I never properly thanked you for keeping watch over my sister on her first adventure into Narnia."
Mr. Tumnus smiled, no doubt replaying the unforgettable experience. "No thanks is needed, your Majesty. Indeed," his eyes clouded, the merriment danced away. "I nearly…" His voice trailed off, unable to continue.
I awkwardly patted his shoulder. "Let us not think of what could have happened, Mr. Tumnus, but rather, what did," I reassured him.
I shook his hand and he was off, leaving me to a Faun who had drunk a bit too much.
Before I knew it, my siblings and I were the only dwellers in the room, sparing a few silent Naiads who busied themselves with the feast dishes. The Great Hall looked much bigger now.
"Oh, Peter!" Lucy gushed, running over to me. I picked her up, fixing her cockeyed crown.
"That's King Peter to you," I responded playfully. Lucy laughed; grin literally reached from ear to ear.
"Can you believe it's really happening?" Lucy whispered, as if afraid that talking too loud would send us back to Professor Kirke's spare room. "You, a King and I, a Queen! Can you imagine the feasts we will attend, the parties we will throw, the garments we will wear?"
"I don't see how you're so surprised," I remarked.
"And how is that?"
"Father did always say you were a quite the princess," I responded with a grin. Lucy playfully swatted me on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, your Majesties," a Talking Cat softly spoke up, long tongue softly rolling the "r's". Both Lucy and I looked down, for it was a bit surprising to be talked to by a Cat and referred to as "Majesties."
This Cat, I could tell even if it did not open its mouth, was a Talking Cat. I had begun to notice that all Talking Animals were taller than the ordinary animal, and the way their faces were arranged gave them a more intelligent appearance. This Cat was gray, black stripes encircling its body. The markings on its hairy face suggested something similar to glasses.
"My apologies for interrupting, but I presume your Majesties and your Majesties' royal siblings would like to rest? For it, if I am not too bold to say, has been quite the excitable day, and I do not doubt that your Majesties and your Majesties' royal siblings would be tired."
I had not noticed it before, but I was a bit drained. Even during the Cat's speech, I noticed Lucy give a polite little yawn.
"That," I responded. "Sounds like a lovely idea. Lead the way, if you please." I motioned to Susan and Edmund, both who had been chatting to the Naiads during our exchange.
The Cat (of whom I still did not know the name of) escorted us through a dizzyingly zigzag of halls, all which had many doors. I feared of getting lost in this complex castle.
Suddenly, the cat stopped. I, who had been first following, nearly tramped on her midnight-striped tail.
"My Queens," the Cat stated, bowing in a graceful way I suspect only Cats can do. "Your royal chambers."
Two pairs of a set of tall oak doors stood across the hall from one another. On one of these doors, "Queen Susan, the Gentle," and the other, "Queen Lucy, the Valiant," was carved in exquisite script.
Edmund and I bid our dear sisters good night, and off they went into our separate rooms.
"My Kings?" The Cat asked tentatively. We followed her through seemingly endless corridors and passages. However, it was only about a minute later when we came to our own rooms. My heart swelled with pride upon reading, "High King Peter," that was engraved on my door in the same elegant writing.
Turning around, I thanked the Cat for her guidance.
"'Twas no problem, my King."
"Still, thank you, er, Cat," I stammered.
"Please, your Majesty, call me Avas," Avas informed me.
"Well, thank you again, Avas. Have a good night."
"You too, my King." And with that, Avas walked off.
"G'night, Ed," I said to Edmund's retreating form. I got no response.
Adrenaline pumping in anticipation, I opened the wooden doors. The room was everything greater than I could have ever imagined it to be.
The doors opened to a great study. The walls were a deep emerald green, and a great mahogany desk took up nearly the whole of one of the walls. Bookcases simply crammed with books, scrolls, and maps ran from floor to ceiling on the side opposing the desk. Moonlight poured in from four wall-height tall windows on the fourth side of the room that was opposite from the doors. And, in the middle of the latter half of the room, was a set of spiraling stairs.
Quite anxious now, I traveled over to the staircase and slowly climbed up it, hand trailing along the dustless and smooth banister. At the top of the stairs I stood, unable to move, awed.
The largest bedroom of I'd ever seen undid itself before my very eyes. The bed itself looked as if it could fit a person four times my size, by length and girth. The many comforters were varying shades of a light greenish blue, complementing the walls that we painted a frothy sea-foam blue. A nightstand of the same mahogany as the desk stood next to the bed. I turned and I suddenly had a bit of trouble breathing.
Contrary to the separate, singular windows in the study, this room, my room, had once continuous window that wrapped along the entire wall. A window seat ran parallel to the window. The view was astounding; it could not be beat. Though it was dark and I could not see well, I know it looked out to the sea.
A new type of smile on my face, I toured the rest of my new room. Archways covered with silk curtains on both sides of my room led to a washroom and a walk-in wardrobe. It was not meager, in any circumstances, and it was nearly too much space to comprehend. In England, I had always shared with Edmund in a quaint little room, and having this much freedom was a nice change of space.
A fresh set of nightclothes were set in the wardrobe. I changed slowly, fingering the clever stitching of my coronation suit before putting it away. Next, I placed Rhindon and my shield on an overstuffed chair.
I then collapsed on the bed. It enveloped me. I closed my eyes, allowing the sleep that hung so near to me to come, to bid me rest. But, alas, it would not. Seemingly hours later, I was still lying in the comfortable bed, too tired, as ridiculous as it sounds, to sleep. This insomnia was not rare to me; ever since the bombings started and Father left sleep was hard for me to come by.
Usually, I would use this time to pay a visit to our library and read until my eyes closed on themselves, but, of course, I had no idea if there was one or where Cair Paravel's library would be.
To make the best out of this unpleasant circumstance, I decided to roam the castle. I was, as I had nearly already forgotten, High King, and I supposed that I should know not only my dominion but my home as well.
I did not get that far, though. I had no sooner closed the doors (as quietly as I could) when I heard a crashing noise from Edmund's room.
A bit concerned, I slowly opened the door to Edmund's royal bedchambers.
"Ed? Everything alright up there?" I half-whispered, half-yelled.
Getting no response, I pushed the doors to his chambers open. I could not see much, due to the darkness, but I figured the layout of his room was similar to mine.
Quickly jogging up the stairs, fearing the worse, I called, again,
"Ed? Everything alright up there?"
As I walked into the room, a surprised Edmund, who I could only see a dark outline of, came from the archway that I suspected led to the washroom.
"Ed?" I repeated for the third time. "Are you okay?"
"It's so bloody dark in here," a gruff voice answered. "Stubbed my ruddy toe just trying to get to the bathroom."
"Oh," I simply said. I was about to turn and depart, wishing him a good night as I walked down the stairs, but suddenly it hit me. There was something strange in Edmund's voice. And, as I glanced at him again, my eyes now better adjusted to the darkness, a most peculiar expression was on his face.
I walked over to him and put both my hands on his shoulders, and bent down to look more properly at him. Surprisingly, and thankfully, he did shrug me off. His eyes were glistening and seemed a bit wet.
"Edmund?" My worried voice keyed up a notch. "What's wrong?"
He shook his head, defiantly trying to regain composure. Crying was very unlike Edmund, and that's why I knew something was horribly wrong.
Edmund inhaled a deep, shaky breath. "Peter, I don't deserve to be King."
Oh, I thought, gaining understanding. That's what's wrong.
"Of course you do, Edmund," I consoled. "You have all right to be King. You were the one who broke the White Witch's wand. Without you, we would have been badly beaten."
But, Edmund shook his head all the more. "But, Pete, the battle would have never happened if it weren't for me. Oh, Peter, but don't you know how horrid I was? I traded my family, all those Narnians, Aslan's life, for candy. I know what Aslan did for me, Peter. I deserved, no, I deserve to die-"
"NO!" I cut him off sharply. He flinched in surprise. I quieted my voice. "Edmund, don't you ever, ever say that. What you did, well, to be truthful, it was a bit nasty, but Aslan has forgiven you. By the lion's mane, he made you a knight! We have all forgiven and forgot, and you should do the same."
"Oh, Peter, oh, how I – how I wi-wish-" Edmund hung his head, tears of self-shame running down his face. I grasped him, his head dug into my shoulder.
For an immeasurable amount of time, Edmund silently sobbed into my shoulder. Though how uncharacteristic this was, he needed this. I understood that this was how Edmund would let go. Without this, Edmund would not be able to move on. But, even though I knew this, I held onto him, too, because before he would have never cried, especially in front of me. If we were back in England, Edmund would have turned bitter. Narnia had changed him, bettered him.
"The Lion's blood has forgiven you," I whispered into his ear. "Let that be a lesson to you: forgive as Aslan has forgiven you."
When his trembling subsided and his tears ceased, Edmund looked up at me, a small smile tugging on his lips.
"Glad you're back, Ed." My smile matched his. Seeing he was better, I turned and began to walk away.
"Pete?" He called tentatively. I stopped and faced him.
"Um, er, thank you," Edmund finished awkwardly.
I laughed and was about to finally leave when I had a sudden urge to voice something that was left unsaid.
"Edmund, I'm proud of you."
I plodded back down the stairs and into my bed; the night's exciting events allowed me some sleep.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Your highness?" A soft, hesitant voice pulled me out of the deep pit of lull.
"Mhmm?" I muttered sleepily, still unused to the noble title. Half-awake, I rubbed my eyes until I could focus.
Avas, the Cat whom I met the night before, was daintily perched on the edge of my nightstand. Her tail's swaying was so incredibly similar to that of Aslan's the day prior.
"High King Peter," she said, a bit more sternly and a bit more forcefully. This time I sat up, alert.
"Oreius requests audience with you at once. Shall I tell him you will meet him in the Throne Room, at five minutes till?"
"Yes, sounds lovely." However, two thoughts crossed my mind simultaneously. "Avas, may I bother you in asking the time?"
"Twenty minutes before eight o'clock."
"And where is the Throne Room exactly?"
"Directly across from the Great Hall, your Majesty. A bust of a lion stands at its entrance."
I quickly threw on a robe that was lying on the armchair beside the bed and stood. Avas bowed respectively.
"Thank you, Avas," I said with a hurried nod.
"Your very welcome, your Majesty." Avas trotted out the room and I proceeded to get dressed.
When I walked into the wardrobe, mountains upon mountains of clothes loomed over me. I was completely unsure of the attire for an "audience."
My eyes frantically sweeping the innumerous garments, a great breath of relief escaped me. A suitable outfit was already set out where the nightclothes were the night before.
I stripped off my clothes and pulled on my new ones, muttering a thankful blessing to good ol' Avas. I then hurriedly washed myself, admiring my new attire.
With ten minutes to spare, I took off to find the Throne Room. I figured a bit of roaming around would lead me to the Great Hall, and from there, the Throne Room should be easy to spot.
I absentmindedly fixed my hair as I sped through the halls, unceasingly racking my brain for any memory of the route Avas took the night before.
Finally, with a little help from a nervous Naiad, I found the Great Hall. It took me all of thirty seconds to find the Throne Room from there. As I walked passed the lion bust, I felt my stomach softly growl. I hoped this meeting wouldn't last too long, for I was ready for some royal breakfast.
Seeing my friend made me forget about my stomach. I hadn't properly talked to the Centaur after he'd been turned into stone.
"Oerius!" I exclaimed, giving him a quick hug. I inconspicuously glanced at the clock that stood near the wall, praising the Lion I was a minute early.
"My Majesty," Oerius returned. "I am glad to see you bright, especially so early in the morn. But, before we start gabbing away like old lady squirrels, I wish to tell you of the business I sought you out for."
"Business?" I questioned. "What kind of business?"
"Your Majesty," Oerius continued. "I doubt that you know this, but, as High King, it would be most admirable and most satisfactory of you to give a speech."
"A speech?" If I sounded wary, I was.
"Yes, your Highness, you must give a speech. There's no need for any great declaration or a proclamation, but a simple speech would help the Narnians rest a bit easier."
"Rest easier? How so?"
"You see, my King, I have gotten wind of speculation that many share the same thought that Narnia is too vulnerable of upholding a monarchy of such meager years."
"You cannot mean to say that because they question my siblings' and mine leadership ability just because we are young?" Truth be told, I was outraged.
"Well, yes, my King, I'm afraid that is exactly the fear."
"Had they not seen us on the Battle of Beruna? Had they not seen Lucy heal many with her diamond-encased cordial? Had they not seen Susan slay the enemy's forces with her bow? Had they not seen Edmund, whose life hung by a single thread when he obliterated the Witch's magical wand? Have they no trust in Aslan's judgment?"
When I was done with my tantrum, Oerius spoke calmly, evenly. "My good and uplifting King, not all have seen you and your siblings' ability on the battlefield. Nearly all who have fought have perished or chosen to forget. And, quite sadly, only some of seen Aslan and those who haven't have lost faith in the Lion. That is why, your Majesty, it is vital for you to speak to these doubtful Narnians."
Oerius' words were true. Nodding my head in agreement, I thanked the Centaur for his counsel. "When must I make this speech?"
"At the noon, preferably."
I glanced at the clock. I had three and a half hours to prepare something that would convict and persuade the whole of unbelieving and untrusting Narnians. Not that there was any pressure, of course.
"And what I am to wear to this? I did not see jacket nor tie in my wardrobe."
Though I doubted Oerius comprehended the reference, he smiled anyway. "I will ask Avas to find you something suitable."
While Oerius was readying himself to leave, I spoke. "Oerius, I do thank you. For now; for at the Battle of Beruna."
The wise Centaur nodded in understanding. "I do what is necessary to better serve my King." And, with a clattering of hooves, Oerius was off.
I eased myself down in one of the hardback chairs and took in a deep breath. I looked outside the door Oerius had left open. The lion bust, though it was made of merely stone, gave me hope, gave me reassurance.
"I can do this," I muttered to myself. Then, trying my best to feel confident and failing miserably, I walked across the room and into the Great Hall. Breakfast was just getting served.
Lucy, who was all smiles and laughter, looked up at me brightly when I entered. "Good morning, Peter! Oh, isn't it just delightful?" I only managed a half-grin.
Susan, who could always tell when I was in an unhappy mood, cocked her head, trying to read the expression on my face. "What's the matter, Pete?"
I collapsed in the chair next to Susan's. Grumpily, I muttered, "I have to make a speech today."
Susan tried to her best to look disgruntled for my sake. "Oh, that is the worst luck."
"Comes with being High King, I expect," Edmund piped up.
"A speech!" I exclaimed, throwing up my arms. "I'm no public speaker! Back in England, no one ever picks me as partner on oral reports. I'm rubbish!"
"Maybe that's it!" Lucy said brightly. "You may have been rubbish back in England, but you're in Narnia! I bet you couldn't use a sword as well back at home as you can here."
"You know what? Maybe you're right, Lu." I paused, pondering it. "At least, I hope you're right."
There was a ripple of laughter and I dejectedly grabbed an apple from a nearby bowl, probably the least glamorous choice at the entire table.
"Don't you want something else, Peter?" asked Susan, who was happily pouring thick, sweet maple syrup on a stack of golden, fluffy pancakes.
"Not hungry," I mumbled. The apple was, of course, delicious in itself, but even Narnian food wouldn't stop the nervous squirming of my stomach.