Try as he might, Edmund found it almost impossible to piece together what was going on with the Pevensies; and why his sister never went to see Peter anymore. He was a clever boy, and he honestly believed that, if only he could get someone to give him an honest answer, he might be able to think of what to do. But how could he do anything in ignorance? Such a technicality had never stopped him before, but even a person as bold as Edmund could be at times could see quite clearly that this was, whatever else it happened to be, a delicate situation.
Finally, in desperation, he cornered Susan. She would tell him nothing at all about Lucy, not even the precious minor nuggets she did know for certain regarding the little Pevensie girl, but he managed to get her to tell him that her own possible marriage was ended before it had even begun.
"You mean Peter's broken it off?" Edmund asked, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot; if it weren't for his concern over where all this hubbub left Lucy, he would have rather eaten dirt than had this particular conversation with his broken-hearted elder sister.
Susan shook her head. "No, Edmund, he hasn't, but the Count and Countess won't have me for a daughter-in-law now."
"But why not?" he huffed, wishing she would get to the point-and fast.
"I believe our stepmother had some sort of falling-out with the Countess, and now...it's over..." she blinked her eyes as she spoke, not crying, yet not exactly dry-eyed at the moment, either.
"But Peter himself hasn't said a word about breaking it off to you," said Edmund, not at all surprised-he knew Sir Peter; and he knew that the knight would rather throw himself out of a moving carriage than do anything that might hurt or upset Susan.
"No," Susan sighed, biting the very tip of her lower lip lightly and then releasing it, letting out a faint, sad breath.
"Then why don't you ask him, Su?"
Her brows arched and furrowed at the same time, her forehead clinking deeply. "Ask him what? If he still wants to marry me?"
Edmund rolled his eyes, tempted to reply sarcastically. But he didn't dare, not just then, he wanted more information out of her and didn't think he'd get it if he got her mad at him. That was the last thing he needed. "Yes, why not?"
Susan's mouth dropped slightly, her lips parting in shock. "Edmund! You mean, go to him-on my own-and just ask? I can't ask him that! Think of how that would seem!"
Inhaling deeply, Edmund closed his eyes and composed himself. "Susan, you want to marry him, don't you? Isn't that what marriage is supposed to be all about; about saying things to each other that you can't and-thank Aslan-won't say to anyone else?"
Susan knew, and hated, that her brother was right. Still, the thought of going up to Peter after their parents had broken into tiny shattered bits whatever hopes they'd had of being together, and then just asking him if he would go against them and marry her in spite of that, made her tremble all over and her throat close up, aching. She wanted him; but it seemed better almost to lose her dear Sir Peter altogether than to have to buck-up and say...say that...to him. She was a brave girl in other things; in this, though, she had no pluck, no courage left.
"I can't do it," she whispered, her voice so small and pale-sounding.
"Why not?" Edmund rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You've just said it to me, haven't you? Why can't you say it to him?"
"You are my brother, Ed." Susan said it as if that explained everything and made perfect sense, even though it didn't. "You're family...you're close."
"And is he that far?" inquired her brother gently.
Susan closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, trying to think. "I don't know."
"Courage, Su, courage." Edmund patted her lightly on the arm. He would say no more about it, not then, but he wouldn't leave without having those last words.
Some time passed. Edmund turned fifteen; Lucy getting closer to thirteen, though still not quite there yet. Susan did not go to Peter; she procrastinated dreadfully, and of course the longer she waited, the more awkward she felt. Soon she felt as if she simply had to make up excuses not to try and speak to him. Once, he tried to speak to her, but she-mortified-feigned a stomach-ache that day (by the time he left, she felt terrible and was no longer faking quite so much) and spent hours up in her bedroom. It was too embarrassing to think she had waited all this time for him to come to her, and she doubted whatever he'd come to talk about had anything at all to do with marriage between them. No, it was better to hide away until she could be certain over what she should do.
Certainty did not come; before she knew it, she was able to blame her aloofness on distraction by gossip. And perhaps she truly did have some level of excuse, at least as far as being surprised was concerned. It was Edmund, however, who received the biggest shock.
At supper one night, his stepmother announced, rather airily, that she heard Lady Lucy Pevensie was betrothed to a man old enough to be her father.
Edmund nearly choked on the bite of food in his mouth, and dropped his fork on the floor. "What?"
"Not sure who it is yet," she prattled on, "the countess wont speak to me, horribly uppity these days, but I've heard he is a nobleman of politics, very wealthy. At any rate, they're keeping his identity under wraps-I don't believe Lucy herself knows anything of it yet, and she's to be the bride."
His face whiter than salt, Edmund gasped, "Lucy's getting married? Isn't she too young for that?"
The stepmother shrugged her shoulders. "She's getting older, some families like to marry their children off young, perhaps they regret not marrying Peter off any sooner."
"What I still don't understand," said Edmund's father, looking baffled, "is why the count and countess are so cold with us now. Count Pevensie snubs me every time I try to approach him, and just look at how he's broken off any chance of a betrothal between his son and our Susan without any explanation."
Susan looked down at her plate, pretending to be fascinated by the delicately-cut slices of roast beef, she wanted no part of this conversation.
"Lucy's getting married?" said Edmund again, unable to get over that fact.
"I expect she will do well," sighed the stepmother. "You know, at one point, I believe Helen wanted to fix her marriage in this household."
You could have knocked Edmund over with a feather. To be honest, he had never thought of marrying Lucy Pevensie up until that moment, they being only the best of friends, but such a notion didn't repel him in the least. He thought-almost knew-right then, that he would have wanted to marry her if anyone had gotten the good sense to ask him what he would have liked. Of course no one had!
To his stepmother, he murmured, "And?"
"And what?" she asked pointedly. "At the time we were still under the impression that Peter was going to marry Susan."
I wish they'd stop saying that, thought Susan, wondering if it would be rude to excuse herself from the table before she had finished eating-suddenly she wasn't feeling very hungry.
"So?" said Edmund, his brows sunken. "What does that have to do with it?"
"We didn't need another marriage arranged in that household."
"Is that why they're upset with us?" Edmund's father asked, the realization slowly dawning on him.
"Oh, who knows?" huffed the half-Calormene stepmother.
"At any rate, they hadn't a right to treat us as they have." the father decided, resolved to stay cross and believe that he and his wife were in the right, however much evidence proved the contrary.
What Edmund wanted, still in a state of shock, was to go to Lucy and tell her all the things he had heard, but they wouldn't let him out that night. And the windows were barred by a certain hour to keep potential criminals out, unfortunately having the added result of keeping a near-desperate Edmund in. The front door seemed a sensible option, but it had a loud squeak in it that hadn't been fixed yet; for sure someone would hear him leaving if he tried to go out that way.
By the time he was able to meet up with Lucy, she already knew.
That very night, in fact, her parents announced-in front of Peter, too, knowing they couldn't hide it from him for ever-that they had arranged a marriage for her.
A darkish vein in Peter's forehead throbbed; his lips quivered with furry, so upset he couldn't speak.
"Marriage?" Lucy asked in a surreal, rather frightened, voice.
"Lucy, sweetheart, I think it's time we explained to you why those Telmarine-Narnian men spoke with you a few months back." said Count Pevensie, reaching over to lightly pat the back of his daughter's hand.
"It bloody well is!" exclaimed Peter, finding his voice at last. "What men? This is the first I've heard of it."
"Those men were-are-advisors and courtiers of King Caspian," Count Pevensie said slowly, not sure if Lucy would understand the veiled hint or if he would need to go into detail.
Lucy did not understand; but Peter did, and he was beside himself. "How could you?" His eyes narrowed in on his parents, filled with hurt and betrayal. "How could you do this to her?"
"Do what?" asked Lucy. What did King Caspian have to do with a marriage arrangement for her? This was getting hard to follow.
"Lucy," said Helen in a voice that sounded as if it wanted very much to be glad but couldn't be in spite of its best efforts. "You will be the next queen of Narnia, do you understand?"
She was an innocent, not a dolt-now she understood. It all became so clear: the strange questions, the underhand arrangements, them not letting her tell Peter what was going on...all of it!
"I cannot believe that you would-" Peter started again.
"Oh, for the love of all that is good and holy, Peter, shut up!" Count Pevensie barked, feeling rotten the moment the words were out of his mouth, wishing he could take them back.
"I wont allow this," said Peter, his voice cracking and his misty-eyes shifting towards little Lucy. That dear, sweet child; she seemed even younger than her twelve years, making the pain of what was happening almost unbearable.
"You are not her father," the count reminded his son, speaking in a more kindly way now, keeping his voice firm but not rough. "It is done."
"Aslan help this family if this is what we're coming to," Peter muttered.
"What about me?" Lucy spoke up.
"I beg your pardon, sweetheart?" said Helen.
"You're all acting like there's only two options," said Lucy, holding her moist, clenched fists in her lap. "Marrying the king because you've arranged it," here she paused and fixed her eyes very intently on her parents before letting them drift over to her brother, "or not marrying the king because Peter doesn't want me to."
Peter rolled his eyes. "You really should have been listening, Lu."
"No, none of you are listening!" her tone was bordering on bitter now. "Or have you forgotten who this really affects?"
"I wont let anything bad happen to you," Peter firmly promised.
"Son," said Count Pevensie, "if you think we would do anything, arrange anything at all, that would harm our daughter, then you don't know us and we've raised a perfect stranger."
"He's almost as old as Mum is," he protested weakly.
"He is a good man, Peter." Helen murmured. "Once I would have dreamed of a very different sort of marriage for her, but now...now things are quite changed."
"To become queen of a whole country is by no means to make a poor match." Count Pevensie added, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder.
"Countries and loyalties put aside," said Peter coldly, "it's Lucy who's made the most valid point; what if she doesn't want to be queen?"
"Sweetheart," said the count, looking at his daughter, both unwavering and slightly regretful of such a stand. "It's done."
"When do I have to marry him?" asked Lucy, tears welling up in her eyes as she tried not to cry.
"We-your father and I-would have preferred to wait a few years, but the thing is, because this is a political matter as well, the king's advisors want the marriage to take place in a few weeks."
"I don't believe this," Peter buried his face in his hands.
"I see." whispered Lucy brokenly.
"It will be all right," Count Pevensie promised. "I swear everything will be fine, you will be happy."
"What if I'm not?" she dared to ask, under the impression that the king was an old man and a complete stranger to her.
Helen took her daughter's hands. "Dear one, then you must learn to be."
It was at the tip of her tongue to say, "But what if I can't learn?" but her throat was closing on her and all that came out was a half-strangled sob and a mousy squeak.
AN: Please review.