Edmund hated travelling by ship.
A month ago, they had been just fine, enjoyable even, and he had always looked forward to his and Lucy's journeys to Galma or the Lone Islands. Or even going to Tashbaan with Susan, provided they took the scenic route.
He had never encountered a ship quite like the Riveiosa before. It was a beautiful vessel on the outside, but it was not a Narnian ship, and was heavy and slow, and every agonizing minute spent aboard had him dry-heaving into a bucket or wondering why they hadn't crashed yet.
Mahir was not very sympathetic to his plight. Of course he wasn't; he was gaining much from Edmund's suffering, and likely hadn't given a thought to what would happen to Edmund after he was handed over to the Tisroc.
Not that Edmund was giving that morbid area much food for thought, either. He touched the scar that the Tisroc had given him the last time they'd met and winced, though it long since stopped aching.
Peter would find him. Peter always found him.
The door to his little cell opened then, and Mahir stepped inside, shutting it soundlessly behind him.
Edmund had been placed in this room, rather extravagant, he admitted, for a prisoner, by the Emissary after his sister left the ship. It simply wouldn't do to have him out and about, scouring the ship for some way to escape, and there were no portholes in this room; only the one door leading out to a hall that was guarded.
They were taking no chances with him. No one was even allowed to enter the room, but for Mahir, in the chance that Edmund might find a way to take advantage of them and escape.
His hands were chained above his head to a wooden pole. He had a feeling that he would not be going anywhere for a while, seeing as no one seemed interested in bringing the key when they came to visit him.
Just then, the door opened, Mahir stepping into the room with a wooden plate on which sat half a loaf of bread and a few pieces of dried meat. He seemed more tense than usual, and, after a moment, Edmund realized why.
Amin Tarkaan stepped into the room, looking exceedingly smug as he glanced down at Edmund. "Your Majesty," he wheedled by way of greeting, and Edmund turned his head away in disgust, barely able to look at the man.
Amin did not seem at all offended by this. If anything, he looked amused as he set the food in front of Edmund and motioned for Mahir to unbind him long enough to eat it. "I trust your quarters have been comfortable, so far."
Mahir looked almost...uncomfortable, with the words, though Edmund couldn't imagine why. It was his fault the Just King was a captive aboard this vile ship anyway.
"Just fine," Edmund gritted out, rubbing the circulation back into his wrists before picking up one of the dried pieces of meat and eying it distastefully.
"Is there anything you require?" Amin continued pleasantly, and Edmund thought that he could have pleasantly strangled the man, in that moment.
Instead, he muttered, "Some peace and quiet would not go amiss, I think."
Amin smirked. "I see, Your Majesty. So you enjoy the solitude of this cell more than the pleasure of my company? You Northerners truly are as barbaric as I was always led to believe."
Despite knowing that it could only lead him to further trouble, Edmund could not help but rise to the bait. "Are you so great a fool that you think my brother won't scourge all the lands between Narnia and Tashbaan until he finds me? That what happened last time won't happen again, but in even greater strength this time, so that Calormen will never recover from it? The Tisroc understands that well enough. I cannot believe he would be fool enough to try my brother's wrath again."
The smirk on the man's face disappeared then, and he paled considerably before hissing, "Calormen has had an experience with your brother's wrath once before, yes. But you are dead to your precious brother in this moment, and he will continue to believe you dead until the Tisroc, may he live forever, informs him otherwise. And then your brother will pay any price to get you back, knowing that a Calormene saved you from death."
Edmund snorted. "A Calormene did not save me."
The Emissary paled again, glancing at Mahir once more before stalking out of the room, slamming the door behind him loudly.
Edmund released an audible sigh of relief as he left before turning to Mahir in annoyance. He'd been cooped up for too long; this man the object of most of his wrath. If the bounty hunter hadn't found him, he'd realized while being shut up in this room, he would have made it back to Cair easily enough by now. Would be home with his family, all right in Narnia...
"Do you even know who you're working for?" Edmund asked, unable to help himself, only to be submitted to the bounty hunter's stony glare.
"A very powerful man, who can get me what I want," he answered coldly, grabbing Edmund's wrists and shoving them into the manacles none too gently.
Edmund didn't bother to resist; he wouldn't get far if he tried to escape. After all, a whole hull full of rowers and overseers, as well as all of the sailors on deck, stood between him and swimming back to Cair.
"Amin Tarkaan is one of the most volatile, oily men I have ever had the displeasure of meeting," Edmund said. "You shouldn't trust him for a second."
"Are you giving me advice about my kidnapping of you, Your Majesty?" Mahir asked with a smirk. "One would think you were worried about me."
"I trust you more than I trust him," Edmund muttered through gritted teeth. "And if it comes a choice between finding myself your captive or finding myself his, I might choose the former.
"I'm flattered," the bounty hunter remarked dryly. "Though I wasn't aware that you had a choice, in this situation."
"He might just gut me before we reach Tashbaan for that time I stole his horse," Edmund muttered under his breath as the bounty hunter scooped away his mostly uneaten food.
Mahir lifted a brow. "You stole his horse?"
Edmund looked away. "It's a long story. He hasn't exactly forgiven me for it."
Breakfast was not a charming affair that morning, two days after the departure of the Riveiosa from Cair Paravel. Susan almost regretted insisting that her siblings join her for it.
But she needed to be near them, hated that both of them seemed to be pushing her away these days, lost in their own grief.
Peter spent his days pacing in the Throne Room, or otherwise sitting upon the throne and glaring at anyone who had a grievance, and Susan was quickly growing tired of this attitude, though she still tried to be understanding.
But he came to her, in the evenings, broken and crying for the brother that they would never see again, and Susan was reminded at these times why Aslan had named her the Gentle, as she held him and told him that all would be well.
She was not used to comforting her brother so. That task had always fallen to Edmund, or, sometimes, Lucy.
And in the morning, her brother would be almost unrecognizable once more, a mask falling into place over his worried features, his body tense and
Indeed, Lucy came in late, black circles under her eyes a testament to how little sleep she had gotten in the library the previous nights, though she'd seemed happy enough at breakfast She sank down next to Susan, smiling a strange smile that brought worry to her sister's eyes, the same smile she wore yesterday, and then piling her plate with a few pieces of warm bread and jam.
Susan sighed. "Did you...you appear to be feeling better now, Lu," she said finally, tentatively gazing at her younger sister.
Across the table from them, Peter's place was still empty, and a sinking feeling in both girls' hearts told them that he was unlikely to join them for the morning break of fast.
It was beginning to scare Susan more than her sister's seclusion in the library. Peter was...understandably shaken by this whole ordeal, but where Lucy locked herself away and would see no one but her siblings and Mr. Tumnus, Peter sat upon his golden throne and stared at the throne that had once belonged to the Just King, listening to matters of state with a halfhearted carelessness that suggested he would much rather be doing anything else.
He was waiting, he told her. Waiting for Aslan. Nothing else mattered until Aslan appeared and explained how they were to get through this.
She understood that they all needed time to heal, especially after the horrific condition in which they had found Edmund's body, but this...They had a duty still, to their country. And Susan was not going to let her siblings shirk from it, not going to let them place all of the weight on her shoulders forever.
She was in just as much pain as they. Narnia was as vulnerable as ever.
Susan hated this feeling. Hated the resentment growing in her toward her siblings.
Hated most of all that she knew it was not their need for solitude, for her to do the work, that she resented.
"Much better," Lucy said, in the same chipper voice she used to have, before all of this.
Before Edmund...
"You look very tired," Susan answered softly, not quite certain if she wished to broach the topic after the disaster of their encounter the previous afternoon. "Have you been getting enough sleep, locked away in that library?" she tried to make her voice sound cheerful, to some extent.
But before Lucy could answer, a side door to the dining hall swung open, and Peter walked in, effectively quelling all of Susan's fears for her sister, replaced by her worry for her older brother.
Peter sank into the chair across from them in silence, only glancing over at the empty chair beside his own for a moment before rubbing at his eyes and reaching for some food rather indiscriminately.
Susan noticed with some trepidation that Peter only grabbed a handful of fruit and a piece of bread before downing most of his tea in one gulp.
"Lune's pledging soldiers to the sea borders and in the mountains," he said, in a dull voice that Susan had never heard from him before, as he bit into some of the fruit and it dribbled down his chin. He wiped at it with the back of his sleeve. "To ensure that we're protected from any threats. We're more vulnerable than ever now."
Thank Aslan King Lune was still helping them, even if he had returned to Anvard. Susan would have to send him some of those Calormene gifts, as thanks.
"I'll be in the healing wing today," Lucy said, still smiling that strange smile she had been sporting for too many days now, and Susan was getting genuinely worried that there was some sort of poison laced in the pages of those books she poured over so diligently.
But then she heard her younger sister's words, and couldn't suppress a grateful smile. "That's good," she heard herself saying. "I'm glad you're getting back to it."
Peter's hand clenched into a fist, and then relaxed. He took another bite of the bread.
"I thought it was time I stopped moping about in the library," Lucy said, with a shrug. "I'm not getting anywhere with my research, at any rate. Ed...Edmund was always so much better at this sort of thing than I."
Susan swallowed, glanced at Peter out of the corner of her eye. "Well, there are many who treasure your skills as a healer, Lu. And I think it would be good...to go back to something that you enjoy."
Lucy didn't dignify that with a response, and Susan was almost glad for it.
"The Fell Creatures," Susan said abruptly, when the silence between them grew too thick.
Edmund would have thought of a slightly more cheerful topic of conversation.
Peter glanced up then, sharply, and Susan missed that look from her brother. She swallowed hard.
"The Council has put forth the terms of surrender," she went on, ignoring the way Lucy suddenly paled and glanced at her older siblings as if they were doing something wicked, rather than cleaning up a war. "They believe that, in light of what happened the last time Narnia turned their backs on them, we should treat the Fell Creatures with mercy, so that they are not inclined to be angry with us or side against us in the future."
"Angry with us?" Peter spat then, eyes glinting. "They killed our brother and sided with the White Witch after they used dark magic to resurrect her. Out of the two sides, I don't think they have the right to be angry with us."
Susan was not deterred. "Nevertheless, something other than what we did last time must be done if we do not wish for some kind of horrible repeat, if it is indeed possible. We should not make a decision just yet, based out of anger, without first listening to the Council's words on it."
"Susan, they killed Edmund," Peter grit out.
Susan swallowed. "I know."
"The only mercy they'll see from me is the edge of a sword for it. I can't...I won't let them get away with that," Peter said, voice very soft and young sounding then.
Susan sighed. Perhaps she should have waited to broach this subject with her brother until he was of more sound mind on the matter. They all grieved, and yet something had to be done, and soon. "That's not who we are, P-"
"I saw Aslan two nights ago," Lucy blurted out then, her voice loud in the otherwise silent room, and causing Susan to jump in surprise.
Peter turned to her, eyes wide. "What?"
"I saw Aslan," Lucy repeated, as if merely commenting on the weather. "In the library."
Peter jumped to his feet before Lucy could add, "He didn't stay long, but he was there. We are not alone. We never were," she said those last words as if just realizing them for herself for the first time.
Susan spun to her. "Are you sure?" she asked, and if either sibling noticed that her voice was a bit shaky, they said nothing of it. "Are you sure you saw Aslan, and weren't dreaming? And if you did, why didn't you say anything earlier?"
"I did, Susan. And, well, as I said, he was only there for a few moments, in the middle of the night," Lucy went on, though she was still smiling over the fact that she had seen him at all. "Then he vanished. I didn't...I wasn't sure if I should mention it, if...he wasn't coming back soon to prove it anyway."
Peter pushed out his chair then, moving past them and throwing open the door he had just come through without so much as taking a bite of his food, presumably headed toward the library.
Susan frowned, and then chided her younger sister, "You shouldn't have gotten his hopes up like that for a mere dream, Lu."
"But I wasn't dreaming, Susan, I saw him!" Lucy insisted, eyes widening at the thought that her sister thought she was making up a tale.
Susan shook her head, looking at Lucy with something in her eyes that vaguely resembled pity. Her words came as if from far away. "Lucy...you were in the library for three days in a row. You were barely sleeping...We're all worried about you..."
"Peter isn't," Lucy muttered under her breath, taking another bite of her bread and refusing to meet Susan's eyes.
"Is that what this is about? Trying to gain Peter's attention? Oh, Lu-"
"No, that isn't what this is about!" Lucy snapped angrily. "But he knows that Aslan hasn't abandoned us. He knows, Susan, and I don't understand why you refuse to believe in him!"
"Because he let Edmund die!" Susan shouted, and, as soon as the words were out of her mouth, her face colored with guilt, but, despite the embarrassment she felt from admitting the words aloud, she didn't dare retract them. Instead, she slumped in her seat, wiping at her eyes. "He abandoned us to the Witch, and because of him, Edmund is dead," she whispered through clenched teeth.
Lucy stared at her. "Oh, Susan," but when she leaned forward to embrace her older sister, Susan jumped to her feet, brushing down her robes and staring down at stained hands.
"I'll be in my chambers if anyone has need of me," she said finally, and made her quick exit.
Lucy stared sadly after her.
But it was not to her chambers that Susan's feet eventually took her.
She hadn't gone down to the crypt since her meeting with Lucy in the library, when Lucy once again insisted that this body did not belong to her brother.
And she had to be sure that it was indeed her brother, before she could return to this body. Some part of her demanded that she know, for certain, before she cried over his body, even if Lucy's doubts were so unbelievable, even to her.
For Susan wanted to believe Lucy's words. Wanted, more than anything, to know that Edmund was still alive.
She could understand well why Lucy refused to believe he was dead.
But the proof lay before her, interred in a sole stone tomb, and Susan couldn't help but think of how much Edmund would have hated that, knowing that his body had been placed inside a stone prison.
Couldn't help but think that it would have reminded him of the White Witch, of her ability to turn her enemies to stone.
She had almost protested, the day it was done. Peter had been distraught, hardly thinking about the implications as the funeral dirge swept through Cair Paravel, as the healers washed the body and put it away.
She hadn't wanted to add to his growing feelings of guilt and grief, and truly, hadn't had a better alternative, at the time. Lucy was inconsolable, refusing to believe the body belonged to her brother, and so not very thoughtful as to what might be done with it.
Susan swallowed hard, shifting forward until she stood directly in front of the tomb, hand going out to touch the stone coffin in which lay her brother.
Edmund.
The tears came then, as she'd known they would, and she was glad to be alone, here. Glad that there were none to witness her like this, other than a few other filled coffins, to witness what a few simple words from her sister had reduced her to.
There were others buried down here, those who had perished during the first battle with the White Witch, and those who had perished during this one. Those who had fought in tourneys and been killed before Lucy's cordial could revive them, or those who had been close friends of the Four and interred down here because of it.
The bodies from Before, from the time when monarchs ruled over Cair Paravel and the White Witch did not, were dust and ashes now, and Susan's greatest fear was that, when she next came down to mourn her brother, his body would be reduced to the same fate.
For a moment, she thought of opening the coffin and looking down at her brother's face, mangled and unrecognizable though it was.
She could not stop thinking about her final moments with him, alone in that tent while she worried whether he would make it until they found Lucy's cordial. Worried as he cried out Peter's name, and not hers, not Lucy's. He'd only wanted his older brother in that moment, the one who always fixed everything, and Susan felt utterly useless as she squeezed his hand and waited for the raging battle outside to come to an end.
She'd never felt so useless in all of her days.
And then he was gone, stolen from her by the White Witch, and Susan had been unable to do anything to stop her. Had been unable to save her brother in time.
And Aslan had not come.
She sniffed and, with shaking hands, lifted the coffin's lid before she could convince herself not to. It was heavier than she'd thought it would be, and she managed only with some difficulty to lift it until she no longer needed to hold it up, bracing the lid against the near wall and gazing down at her brother's corpse.
The healers had done what they could, in their attempts to turn the dead boy's corpse into the Just King that they all remembered. His skin had been cleaned, body placed in royal robes rather than the rags he'd been wearing when they found him.
But she still couldn't recognize in him the boy that she remembered, sweet, wise Edmund, and before, the terror from England that she'd still loved. She couldn't see in him the young man he'd slowly become while ruling Narnia. The King who always remembered to bring Lucy sweets from Archenland when he visited, or dried flowers from the Western Wood. Who sparred with Peter on the training grounds when he was in a rage, and no one else could reach through to him without fear of losing their heads. Who held Susan when she cried over her latest suitor, a thing her other siblings seemed unable to understand.
The body was in a gruesome state, and Peter had hardly been able to look at it for long, but Susan found now that she could not tear her eyes away without them tearing up once more.
When she finally closed the coffin and wiped her nose on a handkerchief before taking her leave, Susan's face was clear and pale once more. The Gentle Queen that she needed to be for the world above.
She hadn't been able to save her brother, but some part of her, the part of her that was not gentle at all, but still a Queen, took satisfaction in the fact that she had been the one, in the end, to avenge him. To strike the killing blow against the White Witch when she usually could hardly stomach the thought of killing another living creature.
And though she might have preferred it to be Aslan, once upon a time, for him to come and save them at the last moment, as he always did before, now, she was glad of it. Glad that she'd had the chance to avenge her brother, in this small way.
Mahir left the little King bound to the main mast, in the bowels of the ship, hands and feet both chained this time. It was a wonder to him how the boy, for that was what he was, a boy king, rather than the man Mahir had imagined the Just King to be, was able to sleep in that position, but when he had left the little king, he had been sound asleep for some time.
Perhaps the rhythmic rowing of the men had lulled him into sleep.
It certainly hadn't done so for a man used to spending his days in the desert, or in the mines. Though he supposed that the things that helped him sleep might have seemed just as strange to the boy.
The Tarkaan stood leaning against the bow of the ship, not turning as Mahir sidled up beside him. In his hands, he held a raven, the creature cawing at him in an attempt to free itself, even as the Tarkaan bound a missive to its foot.
Then the creature was set free, letting out one more caw before starting its journey South. Mahir knew better than to comment on this, and stayed silent until the raven had melted into the dark night into which it flew.
Moonlight lit the sea, casting eerie shadows as both men stared out at the glistening waves in silence, the only sound about them the rowers below and the men still working on deck.
"I see that my sister is not with you, O Promise Keeper," Mahir said finally, when the silence between them grew too thick for comfort. "I hope that you did not leave her in your home unattended, for she can find mischief where she will if left alone too long."
The Tarkaan was silent for only a moment, before turning with an eyebrow raised in anger, lips set into a firm line. "I do not believe, O Hunter of Men, that I saw my boy with you, when you bartered your way onto my ship and out of a country that will now most certainly want both of our heads."
The bounty hunter dipped his head at this. "But I brought you a far greater prize, and I think not even you could disagree on that count."
The Tarkaan turned away then, but not before Mahir saw the expression of pain in his face, his eyes wet and clearly so in the light of the moon. "I did not want King Edmund the Just, I wanted..." he paused then, as if he could not articulate the words he would say.
Finally, with a defeated sigh, he said, "But it doesn't matter now. I waited for some time for you to return with the bastard in exchange for your sister's life. I believe that there are many, even the Tisroc, may his Most Gracious Majesty live forever, who would say that, indeed, I waited even longer than most would have."
Mahir stiffened at these words, reaching for the knife at his boots. "What have you done with my sister?" he demanded, voice icy.
The Tarkaan flicked a fingernail into the sea carelessly. "She is dead." He glanced at Mahir with a cruel smile. "I am a wealthy and impatient man, and grew tired of waiting for your continued failure."
Mahir could hardly hold back a growl at these words, fingers clenching around the very same knife he had held to the Just King's neck not so very long ago. But he did not strike, not on a ship where the Emissary's word was as weighty as the Tisroc's, may he live forever, in Calormen.
"What did you expect, from the length of time that it took you to find the boy, and in your failure to do so? Just because you have brought me another prize...yes, I am sure we can come to another agreement, but not the original, as you did not bring what I asked for. And, I believe I did you a favor, Hunter of Men. Your sister was an unwanted weakness, after all, and I merely rid you of it."
Mahir's teeth ground together, knife suddenly pressed against the Emissary's neck. "You will pay for the mistake of killing my sister with your own life," he hissed, and had a moment of deep satisfaction as blood began to well beneath the blade. "We had a deal."
It did not last long. In a few moments, the Captain's keen eyes moved from the Wheel, finding Mahir and the Emissary and causing him to frown. A reminder that, should Mahir do anything, he would be killed as well.
The Tarkaan smirked. "Kareema, I believe her name was?" He pretended not to notice as the blade cut deeper into his throat, only smirked at the look of distress on the bounty hunter's face.
"A pretty thing. Well, I suppose it is of no matter. Just as you aren't. Do you honestly believe that, should you kill me, the Tisroc will not simply exact justice on you for killing his favorite emissary on his own ship, and then take the Just King for himself? You are a fool if you think anything else." His lips twisted into a cruel smile. "No, you will be satisfied with the amount of payment I originally offered, and the realization that you should be quicker on your next job."
Mahir's hand shook, but the knife did not cut deeper into the Tarkaan's skin. Instead, he finally pulled it away, wiping the blood off of the blade and onto the Tarkaan's fine robes. The man let out a gasp as the blood instantly stained his clothes, before wiping his tanned hands on them and threatening, "You have come close to taking my life once, bounty hunter. Do not think that I will make the mistake of allowing you to do so again."
Mahir bit down hard on his lower lip. "Of course, O Merciful One. I will not make that mistake again."
Lucy found Peter in the library, standing at the balcony and staring listlessly toward the Eastern Sea. She sighed, moving next to him and leaning her head on his shoulder, though he had yet to acknowledge her presence, and she didn't try to break the silence.
She had almost gone after Susan, before deciding that her sister would be better off without her words. Whatever Lucy seemed to say these days only seemed to aggravate Susan further, no matter how she tried to give her sister hope.
Susan didn't want hope, it seemed. And, Lucy supposed, in her mind, it was a useless thing. It had not saved Edmund, after all.
Lucy could remember a time, not so long ago, it seemed now, when she had watched Aslan walk away into that Sea, disappearing even as Mr. Tumnus attempted to comfort her, telling that he would return.
Because Aslan always returned, when Narnia was in need of him, and Lucy couldn't believe she had ever doubted that for an instant, even if he had yet to make himself known to any but her.
"Is this where you saw him?" Peter asked, voice faint, as though he were trying very hard simply to remember to breathe.
Lucy nodded.
"Why haven't I?" Peter demanded then, voice suddenly hopeless as he turned to her. "I've been waiting ever since...but why hasn't he made himself known to us, Lucy? Why didn't he come sooner, to fight the Witch?"
"I...I don't know, Peter," she whispered hoarsely. "I wish that I did. But we have to have faith that there is a reason."
Peter snorted derisively. "Susan doesn't." He bit his lip. "I didn't realize...not until breakfast this morning. She's given up, Lu. She won't say anything, because she doesn't want us to worry, but she...she's lost her faith, in Aslan, I think. And I don't know that she isn't wrong to do so." He huffed. "Where is he?"
Lucy didn't answer him for a while, partially because she wasn't sure that she had an answer for him.
"Have you, too?"
Peter startled at her words. "I...don't know. I keep expecting him to show up at any moment, but I'm afraid...What can he do now? Now that Edmund is...dead." He breathed the last word, as if it took the last of his reserves to say it.
"Oh, Peter," Lucy whispered, and leaned against him once more.
It was not for some time that either of them spoke again, and when one of them finally did, Lucy was surprised to find that it was Peter. He seemed trapped in a melancholy these days that none of them were able to pull him from.
"I'm going to deal with these Fell Creatures, Lu," he whispered hoarsely, and Lucy stiffened at the words. "And I'm not going to listen to the Council about it." He swallowed hard. "I can't. Edmund...I just can't." He looked down at her, eyes shining with tears. "I hope you can forgive me for it, someday."
And then he was gone, leaving the library with swift, staccato footsteps, and Lucy was alone in the library once more.
She stared after him for a moment, unsure whether or not she should go after him or leave that to Susan, who, at least, seemed to agree with her on that account. And besides, she wasn't sure that she could change his mind, from the tone of his voice when he'd spoken.
Then she turned back to her books.
She had come to the point where the books were vague and mostly unhelpful in her little quest, but at least they brought her some meager comfort, she supposed. Knowing that Edmund had once poured over them, and that she just might find something, if she continued to search.
She didn't remember falling asleep, body curled almost protectively around the book she held, but when she did wake, with heavy eyelids crusted over, Lucy gasped in surprise, jumping to her feet.
All of Susan's doubts and Peter's fears vanished from her mind then, and her face split into a grin as she ran forward. "Aslan!"
This time, he did not disappear at the exclamation.