Chapter Eight: Life

Peter

Lucy's cordial could do many marvelous things. It could heal horrible wounds and sicknesses. It could bring people back from the brink of death and make them as good as new in a matter of minutes. Over the years, Lucy had learned, however, that there were certain things that her cordial could not do. It could not, for example, bring people back from death. It could not re-grow limbs that had been hacked off. It was also, incidentally, not much good for women in labor as it normally hindered, rather than aided, the bringing forth of a child.

They called Lucy to her birthing room, but Lucy could only wait and worry as her sister-in-law struggled.

--- -- ---

Peter knew that this was not right. He had thought that this birthing would be less stressful. They had both been through all this before. But this time everything was different. Ethnee's ladies rushed in and out of the room where she labored with much more urgency than before. Peter tried see his wife, but was immediately pushed out of her room. This was women's work, they told him. This made Peter rather angry. He was High King and let himself be pushed around by a bunch of women!

Peter sat, staring at his boots for a good long time. He no longer had any idea how much time had passed. It could have been more than a day. The curtains were drawn and Peter made no attempt to look outside. He felt sick, out of himself, as though he was being separated from his body and he couldn't imagine why this feeling had come over him. The waiting room had gone silent. No one was bustling around anymore. Earlier, Edmund and some of Peter's lords had been waiting with him, but it seemed that everyone had tired. He must have been waiting many hours.

Presently, the door to Ethnee's room opened and Lucy came out. Peter hadn't known that Lucy was in Ethnee's room. Peter saw that his sister's face and eyes were quite red.

"Peter … oh, Peter," she choked when their eyes met. Still, Peter's mind could not comprehend what his heart had known since before she approached him. He still had not stood up, so she crouched down taking both his hands in hers.

"Lu," he said, and thought that she would cry at his use of the old childhood nickname. "Lu, what's wrong? Ethnee … is something wrong with Ethnee?"

"Peter, I am so sorry," Lucy sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Ethnee … she didn't make it. She wasn't strong enough. There was nothing I could do and I – I -- I'm so sorry, Peter."

Peter leapt up and began pacing in small, agitated circles. "Didn't make it? What do you mean by that? Surely, Lu, your cordial …"

"We've discussed this before, Peter," she choked. "It's no good in these situations. At least not until after the baby is born and she died before – before – perhaps it would have been better to cut her, but that is so rarely done in Narnia that the midwife had no skill and was afraid of killing her and the baby."

Peter looked straight at his sister, not understanding. "I must see her, I must see Ethnee."

"Peter, no!" Lucy exclaimed, but Peter had already rushed past her and into Ethnee's room.

There were several women gathered in the room and they all eyed him warily. Peter realized that Lucy had been sent to give him the news. But his attention was soon drawn away from them and toward the bed. A sheet was drawn over a small body – surely it couldn't be Ethnee. This person seemed small enough to be a child hiding under the bedclothes. Peter approached the bed and drew back the sheet. When he saw her, he thought that his heart must have skipped several beats. He could not even think for many seconds, but only stared at her. Her face was pale and Peter thought that he could still see the sheen of sweat from her childbirth glistening upon her brow. She looked, as always, like an angel. For some reason, Peter was focused on her eyelashes which seemed duller and not at all like the beautiful gold frames to her blue eyes that he remembered. She was smiling a little – her face more peaceful than he had seen it in a good long while as though all the swirling, disturbing emotions of her life had melted away. It was at that moment that Peter realized that he had never understood her. After a long while, he touched her face and found that she was already cold. It came to Peter suddenly that he would never see those eyes open again, that he would never come to know the beautiful soul that rested inside this woman he had married. He felt his knees buckling.

Hands caught him and somehow managed to get him into a chair. Women worriedly bustled about him, but their words were like the chattering of the dumb animals of Peter's own world. Then, Lucy's voice seemed to come from very far away and Peter's blurred vision focused, his ears opened.

"Peter, Peter! Are you all right?" Lucy was asking. "Peter!"

There were fewer ladies in the room now and Edmund and Susan were there. How long had he been staring at Ethnee? Lucy was trying to give him a drink from her cordial, but Peter brushed her away, remembering that he was always telling her to save it for life and death situations. Susan wrapped her arms around him, crying, but Peter could not cry. Suddenly, a cry, so loud that it ripped through Peter's mind, pierced the room. He recognized it for what it was immediately.

"What is that?" he demanded anyway.

"Why Peter – that's – that is your son," Lucy said. "I was going to tell you before you ran in here –"

"My son," Peter repeated, as though not understanding the word.

"They took the baby from Ethnee in the end," Susan put in gently. "He's a beautiful child – healthy, with not a mark on his body."

"I … I have a son?" He looked in the direction of the crying to see a woman lifting an infant from his crib, soothing his tears. He realized that he had not even asked about the child. Had forgotten that there was a child.

"Would you like to hold him?" Lucy asked.

"Hold – hold him? I should, shouldn't I?"

Peter saw his sisters looking at him with concern. After a few minutes, someone handed him the baby. When he first looked into his son's eyes, Peter felt only emptiness. This had been what he wanted. What he had to have for Narnia – perhaps even for his own pride. Peter knew that he should notice what the baby looked like, but all he could see was that the child seemed large to have come out of Ethnee – surely Catherine was not this large when she was born. Peter realized that for this, he had killed Ethnee. His eyes filled with tears and his hands began to shake.

"I can't hold him," he said, hastily pushing the baby into Susan's arms. He found that he was breathing very heavily and he buried his face in his hand, trying to make the world make sense again. Susan and Lucy fussed over the baby, but Edmund spoke to him.

"Peter you should go get some sleep. You look awful."

Peter looked at his brother. "You're wearing your nightclothes," he said with a dreamy sort of amazement.

"What? Yes, I came as soon as I heard about Ethnee, of course."

"What are you doing wandering about the castle in your nightclothes?" Peter asked, for some reason infinitely relieved at being able to focus on this. "And you a King of Narnia!"

Edmund opened his mouth as though to give angry retort, but snapped it shut again. "You are right, Peter. I'll change immediately, but please go to bed."

"I can't sleep," Peter droned. "I know I can't sleep." Nevertheless, he allowed Edmund to help him up and steer him toward the doorway. Peter looked back into the room and saw that they had covered Ethnee again. Everyone was grouped away from the body. All but one, that is.

"Marna," Peter whispered, shrugging off Edmund and approaching the solitary figure sitting by the bed.

"Perhaps you should sleep as well, my dear," Edmund said, coming to stand beside Peter and looking at his wife with concern.

Marna shook her head. "I have just been sleeping." When Peter heard her voice, he knew that she felt sorrow as much as he – maybe even more. "I must stay up with her. It is tradition on the islands where we come from. To keep her company and guard the body from harm."

"Don't be ridiculous," Susan said, but her voice was gentle. "No one is going to harm the body here."

"I'm not being ridiculous!" Marna snapped. "It is very important."

"I'll sit with her, if you like, dear," Lucy offered.

"No. I'm her older sister. I'm supposed to watch after her.

Marna had understood Ethnee, Peter realized. Marna and maybe some of Ethnee's other sister's, but no one else. He had certainly never understood her. And now he never would.

Susan

"Torim, I do not think I should go with you tomorrow …" Susan told her husband.

"Susan we've been over this. I want to show my nation their new Queen. You were supposed to come for a visit months ago."

"I know … but then Peter. I don't think that Peter is over Ethnee's death yet. I need to be there for him. We have always supported one another, he and I."

"Susan, it's been months since Ethnee's death! Are you never going to think of us rather than Peter? I can't help it that Ethnee died only a month after our marriage. This is beginning to be politically harmful to me. My men whisper that I have chosen a wife who cares nothing for learning of our land."

Susan flushed. "Surely, you remember that I am a Queen in my own right, sir?"

"I do," he said, with unusual gentleness. He came and wrapped his arms around her. "Please come back with me, Susan," he whispered in her ear. "You have been taking too much worry onto yourself of late, anyway. And I am eager to show you off."

Susan turned to face towards him. He was right, she was being ridiculous and selfish. She was his wife now. "I will come back with you," she sighed, "but I will worry about my brother."

"By the time you get back, he will be a healed man," Torim reassured her.

--- -- ---

A week later, Susan stood on the deck of Torim's ship, which did not seem nearly so nice as many of the Narnian ships to Susan, although she was told that it was marvelously fast. She had her hood pulled up high over her head, protecting against the cold and threat of rain. She still had a bad feeling about going to Terebinthia, but the ship was to leave in an hour.

"Susan," Edmund said, approaching her and speaking softly, "I wish that you would reconsider this. Narnia needs you."

"I must think of my husband. And I will be back very soon, my brother," here she ruffled his hair as she had done when he was a little boy and for once, he smiled at the gesture.

"You should at least take more people with you," Edmund said. "I worry about you going off with all these Terebinthians with only a few of your ladies."

"Why anyone would think that I was leaving with a criminal, not with my own husband!" Susan exclaimed. Edmund seemed about to speak, but Susan interrupted him, changing the subject. "Listen, Ed. You and Lucy must look after Peter while I am gone. He is not the same since Ethnee died. I know that you are used to Peter and I looking after you, but we are all grown-ups now and we must all support one another."

At another time, she thought that Edmund would have hated being reminded that he was the younger, but now he nodded. "I know that Peter needs support, Su. I think Lucy and I can see to it that he remembers to live again."

Susan felt like crying as she heard his words. She knew that she should be the one doing these things for Peter. "I'm counting on you, Edmund," she said, simply, turning away in fear that he would see the tears gathering in her eyes.

Edmund

Edmund found Marna lying in bed at well past noon. He opened the curtains, letting in the light of day and his wife groaned.

"Edmund," she snapped, keeping her back to him, "I am sick and I am in mourning. Must you do that?"

"It has been months since Ethnee died and you stay in bed far too much."

"And how would you feel if your sister died?

Edmund thought about this for a moment. He knew that Marna had always wondered what Ethnee saw in Peter, but Edmund had always wondered what Peter saw in Ethnee. Still, Ethnee had been a good enough person and Peter had seemed to care for her. Edmund had been shocked and saddened by her death. "Horrible," he admitted. He got into bed and lay down beside her. "You should get out of this room," he said, putting his arm around her. "Let's go riding. You love riding."

"I can't go riding."

Edmund sighed. He should have known she would be stubborn! He pulled back her hair. "I'm worried about you," he whispered in her ear. He touched her neck and found that he skin was soft and almost inviting. He began to kiss her.

"Edmund, what are you doing?" she sighed.

"Kissing you," he said, as though it should have been obvious.

"Why?"

Edmund paused to think about this. "Because you like it," he said, finally.

"I don't," she insisted. "I feel as though I am going to be sick. Hardly a kissing mood."

"You are disgusted by me."

"I'm not. But why should you care?" she sat up and looked at him and Edmund saw that her eyes had dark rings around them. "There are plenty of far prettier girls that you could kiss, if you wanted to. But I do not think you truly do."

"You are my wife."

"And we had an arrangement."

This made Edmund angry and he jumped up and began pacing the floor in agitation. "Damn it Marna! When I'm with you – it's not as bad as being with those other girls before. Sometimes I think that I could stand it." He turned around and looked at her imploringly. "Sometimes I think that I could actually be normal. I mean, for the rest of my life."

"Not as bad, but not as good either, I'll wager," she said. "Edmund, it's the same for me. You are a good man -- no don't shake your head like that -- you are. But you and I will never be able to make one another happy in that way."

Edmund began toying with the velvet blanket. "I wasn't asking you to change, Marna. I know we had an agreement. I wouldn't care what you did with women, as long as you didn't sleep with other men."

Marna put a hand on his cheek, sympathetically. "Edmund, honey … you – you haven't been with anybody since we were married, have you?"

Edmund shook his head and attempted to laugh. "I'm not even sure how. I mean, how I would meet someone. Maybe I don't even need … that."

Marna took both his hands. "I think you do. I know you wish that you didn't – don't you think that I wish the same? It will become easier to live with yourself in time – when I was your age, I could not accept it, either."

Edmund punched a pillow, suddenly angry. "This is all Cade's fault!" he burst out suddenly. "He made me like this. I never would have –"

"You shouldn't blame someone else. If it were that easy, then all those girls after your brother sent Cade away should have changed you back."

Edmund fumed and bit down hard on his lip. "Sometimes I hate myself," he said, dully.

"Edmund!" she cried and hugged him, fiercely.

"Do you know what happened to me when I first came into Narnia?"

"Yes," she said, patting his arm. "You don't have to retell me."

"Ever since then, I've tried so hard to be a good person. I don't say this to make excuses, but I think it's harder for me than for some. Take Lucy for example. I don't think she could be a bad person if she tried with all her might. If it weren't for this one thing then I might have actually succeeded."

"You are a good person."

He leaned in and tried to kiss her, but she pulled away.

"What is wrong?" he knew that his voice sounded shy. "I thought that you were trying to have a baby?"

She gave a choked sort of laugh. "Not trying anymore."

He smiled at her, suddenly feeling light. "You mean –"

She covered her mouth as though to keep back sobs. "I am with child," she confirmed.

"But Marna, what's wrong?" he asked, alarmed. "I thought this was what you wanted. Why, it was your idea!"

"I know, I know! But I am scared, Edmund! My own sister just died in childbirth. My mother died in childbirth with my youngest sister. Did I ever tell you that?"

She hadn't. Marna rarely talked about her mother. "But you are strong, Marna. And – and I love you. No, no," he said seeing her frown, "not like that exactly. Not the way a husband is supposed to love a wife. But I love you all the same."

She looked up at him and smiled, placing her hands in his once again. "You are happy about the baby, then. I am glad. I wasn't really sure that you wanted it, Edmund. And I love you too."

Lucy

Lucy sat at her writing table, absorbed in one of Roydon's letters.

"I have been thinking about you a lot, Lucy. About our walks on the beach and rides through the forest and about how we used to visit all of our Talking Beast friends together. I introduced you to many, but you knew even more than I! Some of the younger knights – the ones without families -- tell me that they think of their childhoods when a battle looms near. I never had much of a childhood, so I think of those times instead. You always made me feel so carefree and open – just like a child. I must thank you for that, my friend …"

A hand tugged at Lucy's skirt and she gently brushed it away.

"I do not know when I shall see Narnia again. Things are at a stalemate here. We could use King Peter …"

The hand tugged a bit more insistently. "Aunt Lucy," a small voice said, not too impatiently.

"What is it, dear?" Lucy asked, looking down at her three-year-old niece. Catherine was a doll of a child. She still looked a great deal like Ethnee, with the unmistakable ringlet curls and clear blue eyes. Lucy enjoyed watching Catherine and often volunteered for the job when the child's caretakers were otherwise occupied.

"Where is my mother?" the child asked, very distinctly. Lucy sighed. Catherine was a sweet and generous girl, but was unusually solemn for such a young child.

"I did not think you remembered your mother, darling," Lucy said, flabbergasted and unsure of how to answer this question. Lucy took Catherine in her arms and sat the little girl in her lap.

Catherine scrunched up her face. "I think I do – just a little. Is my mother dead, Aunt Lucy?"

Lucy sighed again. She knew Ethnee's death had not been properly explained to Catherine. Everyone thought that she would be too young to understand or to remember Ethnee much after a little time had passed. "Do you know what 'dead' means, Catherine?"

"It means that I will never see her again, right?"

"Well," Lucy said, "not for a very, very long time. I'm so very sorry, Catherine. Your mother was sweet and beautiful – just like you." She touched Catherine's cheek and patted her hair. "Do you feel badly right now?"

"No," she said, after considering this a bit, though she sounded troubled. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, Aunt Lucy. Can we play?"

"Of course. How would you like to go visit your baby brother, Jonathan? I mean, if he's not asleep." Jonathan had been named after Lucy's grandfather.

Again, Catherine considered carefully. "Yes, I would like that." She slid off Lucy's lap and went over to where she had been playing with several of her toys on the floor. She picked up what Lucy saw was a white, stuffed rabbit.

"I shall take Jonathan my best bunny," she whispered. "Because he doesn't have a mother either."

Lucy was not sure how bunnies were related to not having a mother, but she had given up trying to dissemble the thoughts of the little girl ages ago. "That's very sweet, Catherine. Come on, then." She picked her up, gently.

--- -- ---

"Edmund, do you ever worry about Catherine?" Lucy asked her brother later.

"Not in particular," replied Edmund, who was absorbed in some documents. "Why?"

"I worry about her. She's much too somber for such a small girl."

"I think that's just her nature, Lu," Edmund mused. "She takes after Peter – very serious and all that."

"Still, it will be hard for her. Growing up without a mother."

"True. But she has you and Susan. And I could never tell that Ethnee was so great a mother anyway."

"You shouldn't say that, Ed," Lucy reproached him. "Ethnee had some problems at first, but she loved Catherine and became a good mother in the end, I think."

"Maybe you are right. But maybe Peter will marry again."

"Not anytime soon, I think," Lucy told him, sighing. Then she changed the subject. "Well, soon Susan will be a mother and you will be a father and I will have so many nieces and nephews that I won't know what to do!"

Edmund smiled at her.