AN: It's a chapter about Feelings! This one's a bit choppy? It took me like six months to finish the shading on everyone's upper lips. Next one will feature more exciting escapades, promise.
PS: The inspiration for the whole story, but particularly this chapter comes from this article here: reporting/2009/03/30/090330fa_fact_gawande.
Chapter Seven Part II: Lucy
"Are you hungry?"
"Bloody starving."
Trumpkin tossed them both a couple of small green apples. It had taken them what felt like a year to climb up to the top of the hill, where Caspian and his troops had made their hideout. Edmund and Lucy had immediately sprawled out under the wild remains of an orchard; Caspian was already showing Peter the underground caverns, and Susan was helping to bind Glozelle's leg, since he'd refused to take any cordial ('witch's brew', is what he had called it).
"Apples for breakfast, lunch, and dinner these days," Trumpkin continued. "There's a well around the corner if you're thirsty."
"Delicious!" Lucy said after polished her apple in her sleeve. Edmund pressed his lips together.
"Pass," he said, pushing his apple into her hand.
"You're not hungry?"
"Not for healthy food."
Lucy rolled her eyes and turned back to where Susan was settling into their makeshift camp, all their belongings stuck under an apple tree in the corner. Trumpkin was pretending to be busy showing Reepicheep where to stand scout for the evening watch, but Lucy could see him watching the ex-Telmarine general out of the corner of his eye.
"Hey! Hey, Ed!"
Peter was striding toward them out of the cavern entrance, his eyes bright and (Lucy caught her breath) his old familiar sword in his right hand, Edmund's in his left. He tossed Edmund's sword hilt-first at him, which Edmund just barely caught.
"Peter, is that Rhindon?" Lucy gasped.
"Stuck in a storage bins in the basement," Peter smiled widely as he began to twirl Rhindon back and forth, then gave a few strong slashes at the air. It had been ages since he'd looked so excited about anything – Lucy's heart felt a little lighter just watching him at it. Edmund, on the other hand, had gotten a very sour look on his face, which Peter hadn't noticed yet.
"Come on, let's just fight really quick!" Peter whined, tapping Edmund with the flat of his sword.
Edmund just stared down at his own sword. "Where did you find this?"
"Down in the lower chamber. Just there," he said, pointing at the little doorway that opened onto the stairs that led to the storeroom. Caspian was just emerging from them now, puffing up the stairs.
"Those chests were sealed shut for God only knows how long!" Caspian exclaimed, blinking in the sunlight. "How did you get them open?"
Peter grinned and turned back to Edmund. "Come on, Ed, little bashing of heads, for old times' sake –"
But Edmund still had that funny black expression on his face. Without a word, he dropped his sword in the grass and brushed past them down the stairs. Peter watched him go, confusion overcoming his features as he gave Lucy a questioning glance. She shrugged at him, biting her lip – she briefly pondered telling Peter about Edmund's memory loss, but she knew Edmund would hate it if she did. Damn his independent streak, keeping a thing like that secret from them all for so long.
Resolving to talk things over with Edmund later, she pulled Peter toward Susan. "You know what this means, don't you? My cordial, your swords?"
"We're at Cair Paravel. Or what's left of it."
"Bingo, Susan, nail on the head," Lucy sauced. Susan rolled her eyes, but Caspian still looked confused.
"Cair Paravel – like in the stories?"
The Pevensies nodded at him.
"The castle was here? And your sword – I mean, wow…"
"Oh yeah," Peter nodded again, swining Rhindon up and over his head with practiced grace, unnecessarily so in Lucy's opinion. "It's the real deal, bud."
So much for grace.
Edmund popped his head back up from the cellar, carrying a few dusty green bottles. "Is thirteen hundred years long enough to properly age a bottle of wine, do you think?"
Lucy shrugged. "Won't know until we try"
"I think first we should make some plans," Susan frowned. "We've got no castle. No Cair Paravel. Just ruins."
"Sorry…" Caspian said, and he sounded it. "But here – see how close we are to the cove?"
They all leaned in a bit closer to the map Caspian was drawing in the dirt. Trumpkin waddled over to inspect the wine while Caspian dropped pebbles on his map.
"This is us, then, in the Cair Paravel ruins, usually known as Ghost Island, due to the numerous ghost sightings. We need to swim across the channel, sneak past my uncle's armies, and head north past Beruna in order to get back to the How, where my forces are stationed."
"Tricky," Peter frowned, rubbing his lower lip with his forefinger. "What do you think, Ed? You were always better with maps and planning and – what's it called, logarithmics?"
"Logistics," Edmund corrected, but his voice sounded a bit strangled.
"Yeah, that," Peter continued. "So, if the troops are at Beaversdam, do we go up through Glasswater canyon, or cut around them using the tributary?"
There was a long pause in place of a reply. Edmund was staring at the map, mouth opening and closing; the others must have assumed he was thinking over the different routes, but one glance at his face was enough to assure Lucy of what the real problem was.
He couldn't remember.
Lucy cleared her throat quickly and jabbed at a random point in the dirt. "Uh, why don't we go this way instead?"
"Because that would put us South of Calormene, Luce," Peter said, almost holding back a laugh.
"Oh – well, I meant – erm…"
"What about the cliffs?" Susan asked, her lips pursed as she studied the dirt map. "Go over and around, following the line of the ocean?"
"That's not bad," Caspian said, and Peter nodded.
"They won't be watching the rocks, and there's few enough we'll be able to sneak past them and meet our reinforcements along the way."
"Alright, it's settled then. I'll send Reepicheep at first light to get word to the Princess –"
Peter held up his hand. "Excuse me, there's a Princess involved?"
"Certainly – my sister, Princess Caspina, commanding the troops in my absence –"
"Why did your mom name you both exactly the same –" Peter began, but Caspian spoke over him, his voice proud.
"Of course, I'll be king, once Miraz is gone, not Caspina – "
"Except for me, you mean," Peter cut in immediately. "I'll be High King, and then Edmund, and then you –"
Caspian's eyes narrowed further with each 'then'.
Lucy spoke before he could. "Or not, you know, Peter, you could give someone else a turn. Like me, I haven't had a go yet –"
"Well yeah, but you're not really the gender for it –"
"AND this isn't really the time to squabble over it," Susan dictated, her voice booming over Caspian, Peter, and Lucy, who had all been about to speak. "We have bigger problems, like getting past the cannons on the beach, for example."
"Cannons? Huh?" Peter interjected.
"Yeah, I've been wondering, what are cannons doing in Narnia?" Lucy piped in.
Caspian gasped and Trumpkin looked affronted.
"What!" the dwarf exclaimed. "You've never 'eard – well, I'll be blasted –"
"Even I know that one," Glozelle called from his seat at the gate.
Caspian face lit up. Trumpkin whistled cheerfully. There was a moment's pause. Then all three burst into song, even Trumpkin.
"Rifle shot across the worlds
When chasers come to Narni-aha,
Racing from the water's curls
When cannons fire in Narnia-ah!"
It was exceptionally off tune; Lucy could tell that much without ever even having heard the song before. Caspian plucked the bottles of wine from where Edmund had deposited them earlier; he and Trumpkin swayed off toward Glozelle, helping their now-cheerful prisoner limp out toward the fire pit overlooking the summit. The sound of their singing slowly faded off as they rounded the corner out of sight, and then there was silence as the rest of them just stared at the gate.
"What the hell?" Lucy mused aloud. Peter snickered, but Susan socked her on the back of the head.
"Language, Luce!"
"Yeah, but that wasn't much help, was it?" Lucy asked. The two oldest Pevensies shook their heads, all three utterly bewildered by Caspian's little song and dance. "He just stole our wine, too!"
Lucy had intended to get Edmund back in the conversation here, but Edmund was still rolling a pebble under his foot, glowering down blackly at the remains of the dirt map.
"What's eating him?" Susan asked Lucy quietly, but before she could reply, Peter was tugging both girls back toward the looming shelter of the half-dead apple tree where they'd left their things.
"Ok, everyone," Peter announced,. "Now that we've gotten rid of those lunatics, time for a quick Pevensie Powwow."
The girls crouched next to him immediately, heads so close together that Susan and Lucy knocked temples twice.
"Ow, Susan –"
"Well if you weren't leaning in so much –"
"Ed?" Peter frowned. "Powwow over here, commencing now!"
Edmund's jaw was locked in a deeply scowl, but with all three of them giving him their most impatient eyebrows, he eventually slunk over to join them.
"Here's our plan," Peter pronounced. "We meet up with Caspian's rebel group at the How. Take on the Telmarines and drive them out of our home. Once Caspian's uncle is dead, we settle the Who Will Be King issue. Are you with me?"
"Yes," Lucy said.
"Sounds a little sneaky," Susan sighed, sounding tired already.
"It sounds like you're out of your barking mind," Edmund snapped. "What do you know about any of this stuff, killing uncles and wars and so on?"
"You can't kill a war, Ed –"
"No shut up, Susan," Edmund stood to leave, but Peter grabbed his arm to keep him from walking off.
"Sit down and apologize, Ed –"
"Get off my arm –"
"Ed, stop –" Lucy tried, but both boys ignored the girls completely. Edmund kept trying to pull his arm away, and Peter kept trying to shove Edmund back into the powwow.
"Just sit down and we can sort this –"
"No – you – can't," Edmund snapped again, his voice beginning to shake furiously as he tried to wrench his arm out of Peter's grasp. "You can't – do any of this –"
"Calm down, you're getting worked up for nothing –"
"No I'm not, I'm the only one here who –" Edmund stamped on Peter's foot.
"OW!"
"Get off my arm, you stupid – "
"Ed!" Peter barked, offended. "I'm the King, and I'll decide –"
"You're not the goddamn king, alright, you're just a stupid kid –"
Oh shit, Lucy thought.
The effect was instantaneous: Peter dropped his hold and completely wilted, expression and posture slinking into his Wounded Puppy face; Susan swelled up imperiously and hissed in a way that was scarily snakelike; Lucy (for lack of better ideas) stuck her hands into the center of the huddle and flapped them around like she was trying to put out a fire. Edmund swiveled on his heel and stomped off out of the camp. He was gone before Susan had finished her hiss.
Oh shit oh shit. Why did Edmund have to choose now to have a fit? That choice of words, in particular –
Lucy snapped into action before finishing her thought. Peter was still speechless; Lucy shot an urgent look at Susan and jerked her head toward their older brother. An unspoken agreement that had been in practice so long neither of them had to think twice about it: Susan would take the nearest raincloud, and Lucy would go after the other. Forcing herself to smile, Lucy squeezed Peter's arm; he jumped at her touch.
"Let me talk to him, ok?"
She darted off without waiting for an answer; she knew it would be a long time coming. As she passed the broken orchard gate, she bent and picked up Edmund's sword from where it was lying abandoned. Caspian, Trumpkin and Glozelle had stopped singing and shot her curious looks, but she ignored them.
"Where'd he go?"
Trumpkin jerked his thumb over his shoulder, towards the rocks overlooking the eastern beach. She didn't wait for further instruction.
She rounded the bend in the hilly path, dragging the sword along with her; Edmund was a good fifty feet ahead of her, plowing past the gnarled ruins and nearly out of sight. Breaking into a jog, Lucy shouted at him to stop, but he didn't glance back. She followed him for three or four minutes, still calling at his back, before he finally slowed and sat down on a flat rock overlooking the sea.
Lucy sighed, slowing to a walk and glaring at the back of his stubborn head. It would just be one of those prickly days, that was all.
She seated herself on a flat rock a few feet away from Edmund's, separated from him by a tiny stream that flowed down past them to waterfall off the rocks and away toward the ocean. It was scenic and still – too calm, given how fraught the last few hours had been. She knew they both felt it.
"I brought you a friend," she said, setting Edmund's sword down in the heathery grass at her feet.
He ignored her.
"I know you're angry about this whole thing, Ed, but it doesn't help to blame it on your sword, you know."
He glanced at the sword and his scowl deepened.
Lucy had expected this. She was never totally sure of what went on in Edmund's head, but his stormy anger was easy enough to predict, after all these years. It would be her job to settle him down, get him comfortable talking, and win him over again. It was always her job, actually.
For several minutes they didn't say anything. The day had been warm, but the evening wind from the ocean was beginning to pick up as the sun slipped lower in the sky. She started idly braiding her hair, in the old way. Edmund didn't even look at her when she accidentally knotted it in several places and started cursing under her breath. She could outwait him, though, just watching the wind push his hair off his forehead, and pulling the lopsided strands of her braid away from her face when it obstructed her view.
Finally he said, "Are you going to tell them?"
She sighed again.
"Of course not."
"Then what –"
"I want you to tell me."
He shot her an annoyed look.
"Tell you what?"
"All of it," she implored, letting the braid fall out as she pressed his arm lightly. "Please, Edmund. You've remembered one or two things already, haven't you? Maybe if we just talk it over, we could get some of it back."
This was too honest, she was sure; if there was one thing Edmund hated, it was earnest, heartfelt conversation. Lucy bit her lip, but figured she had no choice but to press on as gently as she could.
"Please just tell me what you're thinking about right now."
He started to smirk, and she knew that reaction: some sort of flip joke was on its way, and once it arrived it'd be all she would get. Cutting him off, she said, "No don't. You can't hide that way from me. Anyone else, but not me."
That got a full frown out of him. He finally faced at her, his expression hard to read, but at least not as irate as before.
"Come on, just try," Lucy pleaded. "What you remember, what you maybe wish you didn't remember, what you've just remembered since we got here..."
"There's nothing -"
"Yes there is."
"...Well, it's not too good," he mumbled, his stare returning to his knees.
"Tell me anyway. From the start." She began to list what she knew. "We went to Professor Kirke's house. We got to Narnia through the wardrobe. First me, then you, then all four of us. We were together, and then..." she trailed off, waiting for him to speak.
It took so long she started to rebraid her hair, figuring he'd clammed up for good, and startling when Edmund spoke again, even though his voice was quiet.
"...And then I left you. I went to the Witch."
"And then...?"
"And then I told her where you three were," he said; he was finally focusing on the conversation. "I thought she'd be pleased, but she put me in the cell –" he broke off.
"Just tell me, Ed. What else?"
"She left me there. I was alone there, for weeks, except for – when she would come back."
Lucy dropped her tone even lower to match his. "How did it feel?"
"Cold," he muttered, taking long pauses between the words. "Hungry. Stupid, angry, bored. Worried. Worried sick, really."
He squinted in the dying light and began to chew on a fingernail.
"I couldn't sleep. That made it worse – being alone and not knowing what had happened outside, or how long I'd been stuck inside. Mostly I just remember feeling lonely. No news, no one to talk to, except when the guards stopped in. I remember picking fights with them, just so that they'd yell at me, even if they beat me up or anything – I just didn't want them to put me back in the cell by myself." He forced half a laugh at this, pulling his fingernail away from his mouth.
"And?" she prodded, twining the last of her braid into place.
"And that's the last I remember."
That wasn't good enough. Lucy frowned at him, crossing her legs and settling her chin on her hand.
"And…?"
He glanced at her, his expression pained.
"And I remember begging her to let me out. I screamed and cried. She laughed at me."
Lucy watched him draw in a shuddering breath. He noticed her watching, and immediately scowled and finished his story in a rush.
"And if you're wondering whether I'm embarrassed about that, the answer is yes, ok, so no need to drag it out and everything. But that's all of it. That's all of my Narnian memories. So now you know, alright?" His voice took on the high, rambling tone she recognised from the rare moments when he was truly nervous. "You three have loads of memories about powwows, and Glasswater whatever, and stories about balls, and battles, and beavers, and all those years of ruling a kingdom together. I've got Edmund's 67 Days in a Jail Cell. So there you go, you can – I don't know, laugh, or tell the others, or send me to a mental institution, if they even have those here, or I don't know what else –"
"Edmund, I'm not going to do any of that –"
"But you won't be able to help it, Luce," he whined. "I didn't tell you about the memories disappearing because – because I didn't want you all to treat me different – feel sorry for me or anything. I don't want that, ok? I don't need – I don't want – " he took a large swallow; she could actually see it traveling down the tense muscles in his throat.
"I just want things to be normal with us," he finished, pulling his legs toward his chest, face red and jaw set. Closing up again.
Lucy pressed her lips together and arranged her legs more comfortably on the rock a couple of times as she weighed which words to use next. Finally she spoke, quietly and firmly.
"But Edmund, you don't remember what's normal between us. You only remember what Narnia was at the very beginning, before any of this –" she gestured widely to their surroundings.
"I know I don't remember, you don't have to rub it in –"
"That's not what I mean. I'm saying this isn't the first time you've told me about what happened to you."
He looked up sharply.
"Try to remember. What happened afterwards. Peter, Susan, and I, we'd been battling for weeks, pushing the Witch's forces back into a retreat. Well, it was mostly Peter and his men doing the battling, but we were all involved. Everyone said the Witch had killed you as soon as she saw you, everyone thought you'd been dead the whole time…"
Even us, she almost added, before biting it back.
"Finally Oreius got word of where they were keeping you – of course he didn't say, at first, because he didn't want to get our hopes up. It had been months –"
"Nine weeks."
"And that morning when you first came back into camp –" she paused involuntarily, a lump forming in her throat.
How had Edmund forgotten that day? It was fixed in her mind precisely, every sight and sound and sensation. The cool morning air. The embroidery on the dress she'd been wearing. The grass under her bare feet. How bright the sun had been, and how warm on her skin. Spotting a couple of dim figures emerging from the forest at the edge of the camp. The way her heart had jumped and her face flushed with amazement and excitement once she realized who was walking toward her.
The starved look in Edmund's eyes, and how small he had become since she'd seen him last. He was just a child. Before the wardrobe, Lucy had always thought of Edmund as bigger and stronger and braver – Lord knew he'd always done his best to give her that impression, calling her a crybaby and pushing her around and always insisting he was right about everything – but when he'd walked out of that forest, crushing her to his chest and burying his face in her hair, that was the first time she'd ever seen him as a child, just as small and scared as she was. She'd seen right away that it had been as painful for him to be away from her as it had been for her to be away from him. That he'd missed all three of them like they'd missed him. That he'd been just as terrified at losing them as they'd been at losing him. More so, as it turned out. Even Susan and Peter hadn't quite seen that.
He had just been a small, scared child, and that damn Witch had –
Lucy clenched and unclenched her fingers, pushing the thought from her mind. It still made her furious, but there was no point fixating on it now. Right now, Edmund was staring blankly at her, waiting for her to continue, his expression a little embarrassed, but curious now, too. She cleared her throat.
"We'd all thought you were dead, but there you were, strolling down into camp, looking completely terrible of course –but at least you were alive," she beamed, trying her best to laugh lightly and flicking the tears from her face. "The others weren't sure at first how to treat you, because you were being so strong –"
Edmund snorted, but she pressed on.
"You were, Ed, you didn't complain or anything, even when some of the other Narnians were talking behind your back about how you had – anyway, you just jumped right into training with Peter and the others, and pretty soon you were as good as any of them. You proved it at Beruna."
She paused, recollecting.
"I remember Susan worrying that you would become revengeful, filled with hate. Peter just said he hoped you'd stay angry at the Witch instead of at him. But you weren't hateful or angry. You chose to be strong, Ed."
He was silent, his face turned away again.
"Don't you remember at all?" she prodded again.
Still no answer.
She tried a different tack, prefacing it with another easy laugh.
"Actually, when you first got back, you were just frantic to talk to us all, just prattle really. I've never seen you so talkative. And hungry. I think you had Mrs. Beaver buttering toast for you for about three days straight."
He smirked, and she pressed on, becoming more animated.
"We were all so relieved to have you back, and you were in such good spirits after the first shock passed – you kept making up stupid nicknames for everyone, and starting card games in the dead of night, and doing silly celebratory dances when you won –"
"Ah, come on –"
"No, really, you did, and in the middle of a war, mind you. Everyone was trying to be serious and grim, but you just made us all laugh, all the time."
She smiled at the memory, and he snorted again, but in a nice way. His gaze was fixed on her now, definitely curious.
"It wasn't always easy," she continued, lowering her voice again. "You scared us pretty often – you had these odd little moments where you'd just freeze up, or you'd walk off in the middle of a conversation, or we'd wake up in the morning and find out you hadn't slept all night. Or you'd get angry over something tiny. Or you'd get confused about something simple… It happened all the time, even years later. I think you remember some of that, don't you?"
He looked down at his feet then back up at her, but still didn't reply, so she spoke again.
"It set Peter's teeth on edge, trying to watch you all the time, just in case. Still does, actually. Susan would sort of pry in, try to get you to admit you needed someone to help you. But I just waited, and eventually you came to me. After one of those incidents, one that was particularly bad –" she winced slightly; even now the memory stung – "You came to me and you told me everything that the Witch had done to you."
Edmund looked away slowly, then put his head in his hands. This was usually a clear signal that he wanted to be alone, but she had one more thing she had to make sure he heard from her. Crossing over to the rock where he sat, she settled in next to him, facing the water. She pressed one hand onto his arm and with the other pulled Edmund's sword toward them.
"Do you know why she put you away like that, all by yourself? Mr. Tumnus told me later on. When you first got there, she put you in with the other prisoners, and half her dungeon just melted away and half her prisoners attacked their guards. We were the Narnian Spring, remember that? Just by being there, by being in sight of the other prisoners, you were an insurrection. You talked to them, and they rioted against the Witch because of you. The reason she hated you so much because they loved you, Ed. Even then, you weren't just a kid. You were a king."
The breeze was picking up again, and Edmund's deep sigh blended seamlessly with the sound of the wind in the grass. He was annoyingly hard to read; Lucy couldn't quite tell if it was an angry sigh or a satisfied one or what. She shivered a bit; while they'd been sitting there, the sun had disappeared behind a wisp of purple clouds and was now peeking back out to shine red on the rocks in front of them before setting completely.
Edmund gave a sudden shake of his head and glanced out toward the ocean again, bringing one hand to his mouth to chew on his nails again. An old, incurable habit. When he spoke, she barely caught the words.
"Did I apologize?"
Lucy opened her mouth to reply, but paused first to give her brother a long look. "Do you remember?"
"…Yes. After the battle."
"Right," she said, hoping her tone was encouraging instead of patronizing. "Things got easier after the battle – releasing all that physical tension, I think. You told me once that you thought it was kind of an expiation. You said you felt clean afterwards, in your mind. And a few long talks with Aslan helped with that as well."
At that, his face darkened completely, frustration overwhelming his features. "Why can't I remember Aslan?"
Suddenly something clicked in Lucy's head.
"Because you don't need to."
"What?" he barked. "Those memories – they're more important than the other stuff –"
"But Ed, think about it. When we came back, none of us had enough room up here –" she tapped her forehead, "to fit all our memories. Peter's forgotten loads of things that happened before we ever went to Narnia, have you noticed? He doesn't care, says he doesn't even want to remember it. I think Susan's forgotten plenty of things from Narnia and from England, but she's too proud to admit it. She still remembers being born, I think."
Edmund gave her a quick wry smile, which she returned while she talked.
"And I'm the same, I only remember a handful of things from before Narnia, but I do remember deciding that I'd rather remember Narnia then the rest of it. That first night we got back, I prayed hard so I'd never forget it…"
Edmund's mouth twisted, but Lucy pressed on.
"We became children again, sort of. You just couldn't hold all those memories in your head anymore. There just wasn't room. So you must have picked out the most important part –"
"Are you saying it's my own fault?" he interrupted angrily. "Believe me, I've been trying to forget it –"
"But you can't, can you? It's who you are."
Edmund looked ready to argue the point, but Lucy pressed on right away. The words tumbled out in a long flow; she wasn't even sure where they were coming from, but she was sure she was right.
"You remembered what you needed to remember. You may not like it, but your experience in that prison was essential to your whole personality, Ed. Still is. Everything you became later came from that suffering, pivoted around it."
She nudged Edmund's sword back toward him, pressing his arm, and this time he didn't push her away.
"Maybe you don't think you can be a King anymore, but I know you can. It always came from that painful part inside you. And that's still there."
For a long moment neither of them said anything. Lucy glanced at him, suddenly nervous.
"Well? What do you think?"
"I think…." he began. "I think that was oracular, for a nine year old."
She grinned at him. "I'm very wise for my age."
He smiled and leaned back, finally relaxing his shoulders as he ran his fingers lightly over the hilt of his sword. "Well, you're either astonishingly astute or a brilliant faker, and either way you'll make a really good psychoanalyst someday."
"Oh stop, I'm blushing."
"It's just nice to know how seriously we've all been underestimating you for all these years."
Lucy huffed. "That's what I keep telling you guys, but does anyone ever listen?"
They both laughed, and then she pulled her sweater more closely around her shoulders.
"Let's head back – it's getting dark –" Edmund said, pulling her to her feet. "Um, one more thing – " he asked as they set off for camp. "Luce, will you…"
"…yes?"
He sighed, definitely a sigh of resignation this time. "…Will you help me?"
"Sure," she smiled. "For payment."
"I knew you were going to say that," he muttered, pushing her lightly.
"Help with what?"
"Can you just tell me what it was like, back then? I'll keep trying to remember, but just help me out once in a while."
"That's not fair, I can't charge you for that."
"Well, I'll make it up to you somehow –" he grinned.
"Can you maybe start by playing nice with Susan and Peter?"
Then grin disappeared at once and was replaced with an insulted look. "It's not my fault if they –"
"I know, but just try, alright? And you can't call him a kid."
"It's the truth –"
"I know, but you just can't, ok?" Lucy felt her face grow a bit cold. "It has to do with –"
She choked. That was one memory she couldn't revisit yet, and if Edmund didn't remember, she wasn't about to remind him. Edmund was giving her a questioning glance, so she hurried along again, eager to switch topics.
"Just don't, that's all. You do remember a bit more since we got here, though, don't you?"
"Yeah, a bit."
"But still no seaweed mustaches."
His face became resolved. "I'll just have to make some new memories there."
"I'll be looking forward to it," Lucy said, waving up at Caspian, who had spotted them from the cliff. Edmund groaned.
"Quick, put your angry face back on – pretend like you're really upset with me -"
"Why?"
"Anything to avoid another round of The Cannons of Narnia, or whatever that was..."