There are few tragedies more under-rated than rifts between close friends. It is unknown who first started undermining such a common disaster with the words, "Oh, all friends disagree, I'm sure it's nothing!" but whoever it was ought to be smacked upside their demented head, however pure their intentions might have been. The reason being is that for ever after, down to this very day, people still say that about good friends, not even bothering to review the facts before doing so-more often than not in an off-hand, rash manner.
Now in fairness to all parties, past and future-both those who have to do with this story and those who, well, don't-it must be admitted, and clearly stated, that many times true friends do patch things up. There are times when it really is 'nothing'. Yet that also happens to be the reason no one actually works on mending friendships anymore. And holes that are left unmended grow.
It was like that with Edmund and Lucy. The tear began slowly, unapparent at first, but soon to grow larger. The first great rip began, sad to say, because of nothing more than despair on Edmund's part. He despaired because he found out-from Lucy herself-that the man she was betrothed to was none other than the king of Narnia.
From the moment the shock over the news of his childhood sweetheart's engagement faded, a new bitter emotion took its place. He believed that he himself had some rights to Lucy; after all he knew her better than anyone, except for maybe Peter. There was nobody else who could claim her confidence the way he held it. To Edmund it started to feel like a great out-rage, some nobleman swooping in from Aslan-knew-where, making off with the girl that he had had all rights over as a child.
Now that it became apparent that the only way to keep her with him always, the only way to not lose her (for he suddenly realized that he didn't only love her, he was also in love with her), would be to renew the once-familiar bonds through vows of marriage, he felt he would do anything and everything in his power to keep some old troll from taking her away. Then he might (to that hot scary place with whatever his family thought about pride and all that!) ask her if she would have him.
When it came to light without so much as a shadow of a doubt that the 'troll' in question was King Caspian, nothing could have pained him more. All the fire in Edmund melted away into a hopelessly pale, thin line of curling smoke. To exasperate the plans of any other marriage arrangement would be a simple affair; yet to dare try such a thing with a royal marriage, well, that was treason, wasn't it? Edmund was a loyal Narnian. If he'd been only a few years younger, he would have remained impulsive and not seen it that way; but a fifteen year old squire to a great knight-who was aspiring for knighthood for himself one day in the future-knew better. He knew the laws of the country. Those laws made his stomach hurt and his heart sink. Edmund Philippe had lost his love without being given anything like a fair chance to fight for her; he was defeated before the battle could begin; and he was disarmed before he'd even drawn his sword from its scabbard. It hadn't started, but it was already over.
Lucy, perhaps because she was younger than him, didn't understand this. She simply could not comprehend why Edmund, who had been such a dear friend to her, was barely speaking to her, now when she needed him the most. Marriage at any age can be a daunting thing to face, and to someone as young and sensitive as Lucy, it was no doubt frightening. It was then, more than ever before, that she needed her Ed to stand by her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. Everyone and anyone else could-and would-say it until they were blue in the face, but it wasn't the same.
They stopped meeting at the lamppost; rarely speaking to each other at all while plans for her wedding were being set. In fact, the last time they'd met was when Lucy had told him the bridegroom was going to be King Caspian; Edmund had all but disappeared from her life after that. Everything moving so swiftly, and she so dejected, Lucy had never felt more alone in her whole life.
Not even Peter could be of any comfort to her, for he was a hollow silhouette of the brother she'd always known. Racked with guilt, barely able to glance sideways at Lucy without a lump forming in his throat, the knight once filled with liveliness was rendered monosyllabic and slow-witted. Once he had walked into the cottage, not knowing that the tailors were there for a fitting of Lucy's gown for the ceremony, and as soon as he saw her-the little, unsmiling figure surrounded by yards and yards of white velvet and silk not yet snitched into their proper shapes-his eyes welled up with tears, and he went away for an hour to weep by himself. His precious baby sister had looked more like an afraid, small girl playing dress up than a queenly bride-there were very few sights in the world that could have broken his heart more easily.
The wedding was to be held in the Lantern Waste at the manor of Sir Digory Kirke, an elderly retired knight who owned the most land and wealth in the whole of the village, then King Caspian was to take his bride back to Cair Paravel where the coronation (which was going to be a bigger deal than the relatively simple marriage ceremony) would take place a fortnight after her arrival.
Lucy herself had little say-or need to be involved-in most of these plans (she had been shocked when the tailors actually asked her what colour ribbons she liked), so when she wasn't personally wanted around to try on a dress or nod and say, "Yes, that's fine," over some seating-chart (she sometimes wondered what would have happened if she said she hated it-and had a sneaking suspicion that the courtiers who were planning the darn thing would have a break-down if she didn't act the way she knew she was supposed to), she was allowed to go out on her own.
During one such time, only four days before the wedding, Lucy decided to visit Edmund. She walked to his house, waving to a few people she knew on the way, and arrived quietly, unannounced.
Knocking on the door there was no answer, so she peeked inside, hoping no one would mind. Evidently they'd fixed that squeak in the door, because all was quiet, almost completely silent, except for the mumble of distant voices. It was not Edmund, for the voices were female; only Lady Susan and the half-Calormene stepmother in the kitchen with their serving wench, cutting up celery for soup.
"Hallo?" said Lucy softly, more or less on tip-toes as she walked all the way into the house.
The stepmother noticed her first. To the woman's credit, despite all of her faults, she still liked little Lucy, however much of a falling out she and her mother had had. It was a little strange to think of the funny little girl who had all her life been regarded as something of a village pet as the woman who would be sitting on a throne at the king's side, ruling the country, though, she couldn't help mulling-over.
"Child, what are you doing here?" she asked, not unkindly.
"I wanted to see Edmund," Lucy answered, forcing a friendly smile.
"Ed's gone out, Lucy." Susan told her, noticing who their guest was.
"You can wait for him if you like." said the stepmother graciously.
Lucy felt as though she wanted to cry. "No," she said falteringly. "That's all right, I should go. Maybe you could tell him I came by?"
"I will," Susan promised, looking rather forlorn herself. Part of her was aching to ask about Peter and how he was doing-but how would that seem, to ask about someone you knew you weren't going to be betrothed to? So she said nothing more and wandered back into the kitchen.
Hot tears in her eyes, Lucy felt a cold twinge in the air smack lightly at her cheeks in a seemingly-mocking fashion. Although she wandered as if she wasn't going anywhere in particular, she knew all along that she would end up at the lamppost-and she hoped, hoped with all her might, that someone else would end up there, too.
As soon as she saw that he hadn't come, she knew at once that he wouldn't arrive later either. He wasn't coming; and once again, she'd been left to face her looming future on her own without a single living soul to wipe away her tears.
She leaned her back against the chilly iron pole and slid down until her bottom touched the moist soil around it, not caring if she ruined her dress or not. What did it matter? Who was going to scold a girl who was going to be queen and could afford all the clothes in the world if she soiled the back of one measly garment?
The tears came like a storm, and she was weeping so hard that she didn't even hear the hooves of a familiar horse approach, nor the sound of a slightly taken aback Telmarine-Narnian getting down from the saddle and walking over to her.
"Don't cry," said a kind voice that should have been above her but wasn't.
Lucy's eyes had been closed, squeezing out tears, but they opened now to see the man squatting in front of her, trying to see if she was all right. Sniffling a little bit into her sleeve, she recognized him as the nice man who'd let her ride his horse once.
It was good to have a friend again.
"What is so horrible?" he asked as she peered up at him.
She stared at him dumbly, so relieved to have a comforter that she could barely speak.
"Come now," he said, moving over and sitting on the ground beside her. "I'm sure whatever it is can't be so bad as it seems."
A smile found its way onto her face. "I'm glad to see you."
"It's good to see you, too."
"How's Destrier?" She glanced over at his horse who was snorting in a contented enough matter just a little ways off.
"He's doing fine." Caspian told her. "Better at least than you seemed to be doing a moment ago."
Lucy sighed and finished wiping her eyes dry with the back of her hands.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Arranged marriage," she groaned, glad to be speaking to someone who didn't know who her bridegroom was, since everyone who knew went on and on about what a good man the king was...how wonderful, brave, considerate...blah blah blah...
"Goodness!" he exclaimed, clicking his tongue. "You too?"
This caught her attention; took the focus off of her own problem for a moment. "Someone's making you get married?"
"Yes, I suppose you're never too old to get pushed into things, not that it matters."
"How can it not matter?" Lucy asked, thinking that if he was content, and in the same boat as her, she might learn from him.
He shrugged his shoulders. "I love my first wife still, and she's gone. Doesn't matter who I marry in her place, she'll never be her."
Lucy couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the Telmarine-Narnian's bride, whoever she was, poor girl might be disappointed to know her betrothed thought so little of her. "She might be nice, though, you never know."
"I could say the same to you," he said, raising an eyebrow.
She shook her head. "I don't know."
"Hey, aren't you a little young to be getting married? How old are you anyway?"
"Nearly thirteen," said Lucy, wanting to gag on those words, as they were what her parents made her say now whenever anyone asked about her age. She wasn't allowed to say, "Oh, I'm twelve," anymore.
"People these days," muttered Caspian, looking annoyed.
"Tell me about it!" exclaimed Lucy, rolling her eyes.
"Well, I must say, I do hope it works out for the best for both of us." said Caspian, dusting himself off and standing up, reaching out to help Lucy to her feet.
She took his hand. "I hope your new wife is very nice."
"And I hope you like your bridegroom when you meet him."
"I hope so, too." she whispered in an almost teary voice.
"Now, then, please don't cry again-he might be a very good person."
"Everyone says he is," Lucy had to admit.
Caspian wanted to cheer her up, so he said, "Well, there you go."
"Thank you," she smiled again.
"Do you need a ride back into the village?" he asked her, walking over to Destrier.
"Oh, no thanks, I'll walk back in a little while, I just want to wait out here a bit longer."
Something in her tone tipped Caspian off to the fact that she wasn't just waiting around because she liked the lamppost; he was older, and he understood these things. "He doesn't deserve you, you know, whoever he is."
Her forehead crinkled. "What?" She thought he was talking about her unknown bridegroom, but that didn't seem to make sense with what he had been saying a few moments before.
"Whoever the young man you're waiting for is," he clarified. "If he doesn't come find you, he is not worth it."
Her eyes drifted up to the bright light on top of the post; she didn't want this man to see her start crying again, not after all he'd been doing to try and make her feel better.
Sorrowfully, he urged his horse onward, going into the village.
The very last thing Lucy wanted was to admit that Caspian was right. She wanted to believe in Edmund, in their unbreakable friendship, but it was getting harder and harder to do so. Why wasn't he here with her now? Why was she left staring up at the brightest light in all of Narnia, wondering where he was, if he was thinking about her at all, on her own? Since she had told him she was going to be queen, he'd become a completely apathetic figure in her life.
As a few hours ticked by, she steadied her quivering chin and held her head high. "I am going to be queen of Narnia," she told herself in a proud voice, wishing it didn't sound-and feel-so hollow. "It's time to go home."
When Lucy arrived back at the cottage, she got the biggest shock imaginable. Her parents told her the king had arrived, was waiting in the parlor, and wanted to meet her. Aunt Alberta was there, too, and she pinched her niece's cheeks to make them look pink before they led her inside.
"Ouch!" she protested as Peter pulled her away from their aunt's grasp, a faint snarl forming on his lips.
"There's no need for that, my daughter is perfectly lovely as she is." said Countess Helen, taking Lucy away from Peter's grip which he had unwittingly been tightening before his mother intervened.
"You could have at least had her brush her hair," sulked Aunt Albert, folding her arms across her chest.
"Oh, shut up," hissed Count Pevensie, frowning at his brother-in-law's wife.
"Ready?" Helen whispered in her daughter's ear.
Lucy nodded, but she didn't mean it.
Nevertheless, they led her into the parlor where the king was sitting. His back was turned to her at first, hissing something exasperatedly at Lord Sopespian and Lord Glozelle, but then he turned and looked at her. His eyes widened with something like horror as the realization dawned on him. This was Lucy Pevensie.
"You!" Lucy gasped, taking a step backwards, bumping into the wall of family members that stood right behind her.
"You know each other?" Peter asked, nearly as stunned as they were.
"You have got to be joking!" exclaimed Caspian, jumping up from the couch. "You expect me to marry a child?"
When Lucy had told him she was going to be married, he hadn't imagined her bridegroom to be older than sixteen or twenty, but now that he knew he was her betrothed, he didn't know what to do with himself.
"She's nearly thirteen," Aunt Alberta put her oar in automatically.
"You're the king?" Lucy still couldn't believe it.
As much as he wanted to keep on protesting, the shock slowly started to wear off, and reasonable thought returned. Caspian knew he couldn't back out on this marriage, not even if she was so much younger than him, everything had been arranged. A king of Narnia must not go back on his word; and he had given this family his word that he would marry their daughter.
Everyone's eyes on him-except for Peter and Lucy's-seemed to be asking only one thing, "Will you keep your promise?"
Yes, he thought sadly, I will keep my promise. "Forgive my out-burst, Count and Countess Pevensie, I will marry her."
AN: Please review!