AN: yes, you read the chapter title right, don't worry this isn't anywhere near the end of the story!
How am I ever going to manage this much fabric? Lucy wondered, gazing down at the long train of her wedding dress. She had, being of noble-birth, been to events that required fancy dressing before, and had-though perhaps not as smoothly as would have been preferred-managed to get through an evening or two. But this particular gown!
It was very likely the most beautiful thing the tailor had ever designed-perfectly fit for a queen. Unfortunately, while she was about to be married to a king, Lucy didn't think she was quite queenly enough to deal with the ridiculously long train of water-smooth white velvet that followed every step she attempted to take. How was she supposed to walk in it?
After studying the train with a determined, bemused expression on her face for nearly five minutes, the answer came to her. She would simply have to fling it over one of her arms and carry it as if it were no more than a drape or tapestry. As she lifted the train, which felt far heavier than expected, she silently prayed it wouldn't snag on anything and rip. Lucy knew at least seven or eight people who would have an emotional break-down if anything happened to the dress before the ceremony-not including the tailor.
On her left wrist she could hear a thin stack of gold bangles clanging together. In truth, Lucy sort of hated those bangles; everything about them, right down to the sound they made. It wasn't because they weren't round, bright, prettily made bracelets, for they really were, it was that they had been given to her by Edmund's stepmother. And she'd known from the first that they'd been made in Calormen. Somehow, it seemed as though Calormen was a bad omen hovering over everything. It might have been a childish prejudice, left over from the thoughts of Edmund's rotten experience in that particular country, or it could have been something else altogether. At any rate, it wasn't that Lucy didn't like Calormene culture in its entirety, it was that so much of the way it was administered in those days irked her, and the last thing she needed right then was to be irked.
Was it possible to take off the bangles and pretend she had forgotten to put them on in the first place? No, that was dishonest, and since all eyes would be on her, someone was bound to notice and call her bluff. There were few things in the world Lucy hated as much as being called a liar. So she endured, trying to ignore the sound of the gold metal clanking together.
Her shoes-which she hadn't been able to see since she'd gotten the wedding dress on-were of silver satin and white non-talking deer-hide with in-laid gold thread, lined with crystal beads. They were comfortable, but they pinched her toes the slightest bit, making her wish occasionally that she could go about this whole thing in bare feet. Of course she couldn't, splendid though it was to imagine. It almost made her want to smile-picturing herself walking down to the ceremony with no shoes on-yet not quite.
Currently she was in a spare room in Sir Digory Kirke's manor that had been put aside for her. Lucy rather liked the room; it had a large apple-wood wardrobe, the sort that has a looking-glass on the door. Under her feet was a soft, springy carpet-neither new nor old, somewhere in-between.
Still holding her train over one arm, she took a step or two closer to the wardrobe, and studied her reflection in the looking-glass. A regal bride ought to have been staring back at her, yet she simply couldn't find her, no matter how hard she tried. There was only a little girl in a very elegant gown; her hair swept up into a grown-up half-braided twist with the plaits all spun into a neat knot, the rest of her hair left lose to flow down her back. The new hair-style didn't make much difference, it didn't really make her appear any older. She was still too young, still too short, and still too frightened-looking to be a proper bride.
How could she do this? She knew she had to, but how could she? One moment it felt like a dream, a mess from another element she was going to wake up from at any given second; then it would suddenly feel so real and fear would grip her heart all over again.
Distracted, Lucy didn't hear the door behind her opening, unaware that someone else was in the room with her until she looked away from her own flushed face, catching a glimpse of a very different reflection. A dark-haired boy in a scarlet tunic raised with silver thread.
"Edmund!" cried Lucy, spinning around so quickly that she dropped her train and nearly tripped over her own two feet.
"Hullo, Lu." he said, his smile weak and his voice low.
Swallowing hard, "I thought you wouldn't come."
"I promised, didn't I?" said Edmund, honestly, taking a step forward.
Lucy blinked in an almost sleepy sort of confusion, as if he were a puzzling phantom from a dream instead of her real best friend, come to her at long last-and about time, too! "Promised who?"
His Adam's apple bobbed upwards, stiffly holding back a cry. "I knew it would hurt you if I missed your wedding, if I didn't come to say goodbye."
The brook flashed in her mind; his words as she was before him, dripping and miserable, "I promise I will never hurt you again...I'll never, not ever."
"Thank you," she choked out wearily, tears streaming down her face.
"Oh, Lucy, when did I ever not keep my word to you?" he whispered, saddened by the expression of mourning mixed with relief on his childhood sweetheart's face. "I know I've been an ass at times, a perfectly beastly liar at that, but when did I ever give you my word and break it completely?"
"You stopped coming to meet me," Lucy murmured, staring straight into his eyes now. "Why did you do that?"
I had to, I knew that it was hopeless, thought Edmund, shaking his head sorrowfully. Out loud he only said, "Don't ask me that. Please, Lucy-Lu, if you've ever cared for me at all, don't ask that."
"Look," Lucy took something out from under the front of her dress-a necklace she'd been concealing there, its pedant shaped like a dagger.
He smiled through his pain, happy to see she was still wearing it. "At least you have something to remember us by." Even to his own ears, the tone in which he said 'us' in was too tender sounding, and he knew she caught that. So he quickly added, "To remember our friendship by, I mean."
Her face fell. "Oh, we're still friends, aren't we?"
Edmund nodded, not saying anything.
Lucy wandered over to a small stand where her wedding headdress was; a slim, laurel-shaped band of white-gold from which hung white-and-cream brocade in a raised designed, coming down almost to her thighs when she wore it.
Seeing the girl he loved as a bride in full costume, knowing that he was not-would never be-the bridegroom, pained Edmund more deeply than he let on at the time. Later, he confessed that it felt like knives cutting into him and something stronger than human hands squeezing the breath out of his throat and the feeling out of his chest.
Their eyes met again as she turned around, and a new expression came into Lucy's eyes, the bud inside of them that had been there so long without making a peep, cracking open just the littlest bit as she gazed at Edmund who was no longer hers.
In a faltering gasp, Lucy whispered, "I wish it were you."
Without knowing it, selfish as such a desire might have seemed, part of Edmund had been wanting to hear that-just to know that if things were different, if they lived in a world without family pride and royalty, she would have been with him. In truth, he was well aware now, from the village talkers, that she was fond of Caspian-and he believed in time she really would be happy with the king-but this was his portion. Those five little words were all he had.
Putting his arms around her, he embraced her and held her close. In a few moments he had to let go, knowing it was time for her to go downstairs and wed the king, but he took her free hand (the other was hoisting her train over her arm again so she could walk) and led her out of the room.
Count Pevensie had agreed to let Peter be the one to lead Lucy down into the entryway of the room the wedding was to be held in; but as soon as Peter saw Edmund walking out of the spare room holding her hand, he backed away, letting them pass.
The count, seeing this, shook his head and gently pried their trembling fingers apart, placing his daughter's hand into his son's. A firm nod in his direction alerted Edmund to the fact that he ought to be with his sister and the rest of the guests, and so he went.
"Father," whispered Peter into the count's ear, trying to make it so Lucy couldn't hear it, although it's likely she did anyway. "I hate this."
"I know," he sighed softly, "I know."
The ceremony proceeded solemnly-there weren't many smiles. The precious few that were there seemed mostly to be either put-on, or else on the lips of the aged and senile.
Caspian noticed his little betrothed trembling at his side and held her hand for part of the wedding speech. This was a kind gesture, there wasn't any custom that urged him to do that, he was simply concerned for her.
When she was sure she could risk it, Lucy looked away from the man who was nearly her husband now, over at Edmund standing beside his sister and stepmother. His face was at its palest and his jaw was clenched. Her own brows were wet, her hands clammy with sweat, she knew how he was feeling.
Her left hand was pulled at then, and she could feel Caspian sliding a gold band onto her ring finger. Biting her lip, she swallowed her tears as a small red dwarf attendant with a grumpy demeanor but very nice face-she liked him-handed her the ring to put on her husband's hand.
Caspian couldn't help feeling a little sick to his stomach. Poor, poor Lucy. Her wedding-ring had been such a small size, like a child's ring. No, it was a child's ring, that was why he felt so queasy. His only comfort in being her bridegroom was that he could at least be sure she would be treated right and lead a comfortable life, that much he could promise her. He didn't know about Edmund, only vaguely that there was some young man she may have distantly fancied, but he barely thought about that.
When King Caspian and Lady Lucy were announced as husband and wife, Edmund looked away. Susan glanced briefly over at Peter, thinking how funny it was that in a fortnight, when Caspian's bride was crowned, he would be brother to the queen of Narnia.
Lucy held a weak grin on her face while Caspian lifted up her hand as they walked out of the room (this was custom) but everyone attributed that to shyness and said it was 'sweet', and wasn't the king's bride the dearest little thing ever seen?
Peter gulped and watched as they made their exit. Of course he knew all that was going to happen was that Lucy was going to be taken back to the spare room for the night, while Caspian went to the wing put aside for him and his advisors, so that they could all get a good night's rest before leaving the next day, but it was still upsetting.
In a large, unfamiliar bed, wrapped in sheets that felt scratchy, Lucy buried herself under a heavy comforter, in spite of the fact that the room was actually quite warm, and slept on and off all night with damp eyelashes and shivers racking her shoulders.
No one came to her. Not even Peter dared to think he could risk a late night visit and attempt to console her, though there was nothing more in the whole of the wide world he wanted to do.
And Edmund? He didn't sleep in a bed at all that night. Since the door no longer squeaked, he walked out of his house, through the deserted village at an ungodly hour, and spent his night sitting against the lamppost, resting under its warm yellow glow.
When the sun began to rise, his tired body drenched in dew, he rose up and wandered unsteadily back home. It is most likely that his absence that night was noticed, if not by his father or stepmother then at least by Susan, but none of them said anything about it to him as he took his breakfast in obviously less than fresh garments, his hair ruffled and uncombed, and his eyes blood-shot.
Before she was to leave in a grand procession with her husband to start on the trip to Cair Paravel (she would see the eastern sea as she had often imagined she would, however different these particular circumstances were from her day-dreams), Lucy went to see Edmund. Somehow she knew she would find him, this time, at the stone wall by the brook instead of the lamppost. Whether he was waiting for her, hoping she'd come, or simply despairing on his own some more, is debatable, but nevertheless she did come.
Lucy stood before him in a new dress, her traveling gown; white, with a pale pinkish hue to it. The braids she'd worn on the top of her head were undone, falling over the straighter strands in crimped waves. He thought she was absolutely beautiful.
"Your Highness," said Edmund, a catch in his throat, keeping his emotions in check.
While she was not yet crowned queen, Lucy was a royal consort now-not a Majesty just yet, but certainly royal-a highness.
And she watched in baffled dismay as Edmund, her quick-witted, dark childhood companion, bowed to her as if he were simply greeting a strange princess who had approached him.
As he lifted up his eyes, expecting to see her standing above him still, Edmund was surprised to see she wasn't there. "Lu-" he began, his gaze shifting downwards.
She had bent down under him so that they were on the same level more or less; not a subject bowing to a king's bride, just two friends saying goodbye.
"Don't do that, Edmund."
He lifted himself upright, knowing she would do the same. "Sorry,"
"Oh, Ed!" Lucy threw her arms around his middle and held on tightly. "Promise me you wont forget...when I go away...promise..."
"Lucy," he said, pulling away from her embrace and touching the side of her face lightly. "Don't you know I already did? It was in this very place, wasn't it?"
Shaking her head at the memory, a half-smile on her face, Lucy looked out at the brook, recalling the day Edmund had pushed her into it. She remembered Aslan, too. How she wished that wonderful Lion was there right then! He would understand, even things that Edmund couldn't, Aslan would understand-he would have helped her.
Two hours later, Lucy was hugging her brother goodbye, her parents planting kisses on her cheeks as a dryad attendant helped her up onto the back of a gorgeous white horse, a little mare with short legs.
"I'll come to Cair Paravel soon, Lucy." Peter swore to her. "And I'm always there...if you need me...even if I'm not there yet..."
"I love you, Peter." Lucy whispered as he reached up and squeezed her hand.
"Love you, too, Lucy."
The village people were throwing white and purple flower petals. They blew every which way, some of them landing on the ground, others landing on Lucy's shoulder or in her hair, or else on a servant's arm, or even the side of Caspian's tunic.
Edmund appeared in the midst of all of them, walking right up to the side of Lucy's horse, looking at her very hard, taking her in one last time.
She goggled sadly at him, reaching down into the front of her dress and discreetly lifting out the dagger pedant quickly just so he could catch a glimpse of her still with it.
Then Edmund took the lead-rope of Lucy's horse in hand, walking a while with the royal servants and ladies-in-waiting. For most of that trek-they were heading down towards the lamppost-he kept his eyes straight ahead.
When they reached the lamppost and the royal party was about to go past it, Edmund let go of the lead-rope and handed it back to the servants, who took it graciously and marched on.
To Caspian, Edmund bowed quickly and respectfully, getting a polite nod of acknowledgement in return. King Caspian didn't know why Sir Peter's squire had wanted to follow them all the way out of the village, accompanying the soon-to-be queen, but he accepted it as a kind, worthy action. Rather noble, too, he thought.
The tears came again as Lucy glanced back over her shoulder at Edmund standing beside the lamppost, watching her disappear into the forest and into her new life.
There wasn't a soul alive who would believe her when she said this afterwards, but upon her last glimpse, Lucy could have sworn, if only for a fraction of a second, that she saw the lantern atop its great iron post flicker.
AN: Please leave a review.