It may comfort the reader to know that Peter had his talk with Edmund and was gradually able to get his squire to stop drinking. True, it was something of a hard running at first; and Susan was none too pleased with her brother, rather in the same way a mother is more angry with her own child rushing out recklessly into overt danger than she is with a stranger. Anyone else who had recently become a drinker merited pity from her, whereas her little brother got a scowl, tears, and angry facial expressions by the bucket-load.
Lucy was never told anything at all about this point of time in Edmund's life. This period was the dark age of the Philippe boy's existence, and he preferred not to harp on it. So, without going into detail, it would be sufficient to say that-with help-he kicked his own enforced habit, started going on more and more trips to where ever Sir Peter would send him (since he seemed less inclined to touch drink if he was away from the common, now-bleak, sights of his home village), and eventually qualified for knighthood himself.
In the meantime Lucy had been crowned queen in one of the grandest ceremonies seen in Narnia in at least a half-decade. A silver crown that was solid-but not at all heavy-with eight diamond diadems was placed on her head, and everyone shouted, "Long live the queen!"
One group of small animals-squirrels, beavers, and ermines-standing up on their hind legs, clearly talking creatures as opposed to the other kind, had come in and watched the coronation from behind the legs of a very tall black-and-white centaur, and had cried out, after everyone else had finished and the room was slowly retreating back into dead-silence, "Long live Queen Lucy!"
This was so unexpected, and so funny how it happened out of turn, that Lucy's serious, anxious little face that had, up till then, been peering down nervously from the great dais at her courtiers and high-ranking subjects, began to smile and then to giggle madly.
Everyone present-including Caspian, Rilian, and the small animals who had caused the laughter in the first place-thought she was a perfect darling for it, and adored the new queen all the more so. Even those who had stubbornly willed themselves not to like her couldn't help noticing the natural goodness in this child, thinking rather that with the passing of time she might grow up to be a very wonderful queen after all. She was already loveable; most of the castle folk at Cair Paravel thought they would willingly lay down their lives for her at the drop of a hat; so such an out-come was not unlikely.
"How do you feel?" Caspian asked afterwards, leading her down from the dais after the coronation was completed.
"I don't know," Lucy whispered, her cheeks flushed pink, "ask me later."
That very night there had been a ball in her honour and she'd danced with her husband the king, though they did look such a very odd pair to everyone except for apparently Rilian, who had at first loved his stepmother only out of duty but now felt the sun rose on her in the mornings instead of on the east, and said quite clearly that they were the prettiest sight in the castle since his dear first mother had been lost in death.
A week after this, a letter from Peter arrived which read:
My dear sister Lucy,
How are you? I hope all is well for you, and regret not coming and finding out for myself.
I am terribly sorry I missed your coronation-I apologize for this both as your elder brother and as a knight of the court of Narnia, as I'm sure the other knights were all present-and that I was not near the east as quickly as I promised. Some complications came to light that compelled me to send out a companion of mine on a much needed trip, and to do some traveling in Ettinsmoor myself. (Grandfather says Hello, by the way).
While in Ettinsmoor I had the misfortune of meeting up with some giants. As it is my duty as a knight of Narnia to fight and to keep the borders safe as far as it depends on me, I was detained. Now, don't get upset, I know you, Lu, and that as you're reading this, you must be panicking over my safety, but I assure you I am completely unharmed
Anyway, I am still in Ettinsmoor now as I am writing this-which should explain the funny-looking post marks you are bound to find all over this letter when it reaches you. I apologize, dear heart, my precious sister, that I cannot come to see you once I leave this area, either.
There are matters over at the Lantern Waste I must attend to. I don't know if you've heard that I'm betrothed to Lady Susan Philippe again? Well, I am and there's some rot from the family about some issues I won't bore you with. What's more is that the companion I mentioned earlier in this letter is likely to return to the western woods, and I fear that without my guidance he may go astray and turn to things that will bring him into trouble. I'll not tell you his name, Lucy, so you needn't ask nor plead, for I simply cannot, you must trust me, but I assure you that if you knew who he was, you would not be cross with my having to help him out as well as dealing with matters of my recent engagement.
I love you always,
Your brother and devoted knight,
Peter Pevensie
The 'companion' Peter spoke of was of course Edmund, though Lucy hadn't the foggiest clue. She did, in her letter back, ask about Edmund, but when Peter finally got around to returning her letter he completely left out any mention of his betrothed's brother. When she wrote to Edmund himself she didn't get any replies; but did not give up trying.
Because he was away, most of the letters didn't reach him until long after they'd originally been sent out, and he was a bit embarrassed to reply to them then. Yet, to be fair, he did keep each and every one, reading them over and over again. There were few things he liked better than to sit in the evenings with a hot drink (tea or cocoa), to take out the old tin box he'd put the papers in for safe-keeping, and to read her words by firelight.
There were nights, when he gazed into the orange glow with his eyes half-closed, playing her words over and over in his mind, remembering every moment of their childhood together, Edmund could almost pretend she was sitting right next to him.
Painful as it was to envision, since he knew it could never be, upon occasion Edmund imagined-in stunning detail-what it would have been like if he had been Lucy's bridegroom instead of the king. He never pictured a wedding; his mind always went straight to the afterwards, what their life together might have felt like. Her head on his shoulder on a cold winter evening, their fingers intertwined, the once-familiar breathing coming from the other side of his bed at night; all the little memories that he could never have.
Then, a lump in his throat and a feeling of over-all loneliness would make him reach over to crumble up her letters for the sake of throwing them into the fire, so that he might forget. But he couldn't do it. His hands would not obey his pounding heart and reeling mind and destroy all he had left; they would merely put them back in their proper places until the next time.
I wish it were you, she had said, right before her wedding, he recalled gloomily.
"You know what, Lu?" Edmund would whisper to himself in a hoarse voice, wiping away a few stray teardrops. "So do I."
For the most part things were going well for Peter and Susan; but the 'rot' to which Peter alluded in his letter was unavoidable. And not really all that surprising when you thought of how much pride-swallowing was still called for in spite of their mild 'we're doing this to avoid a scandal' excuse.
When the issue was first brought up, Susan's father crossly demanded to know if Count Pevensie was insinuating that his daughter was a whore. Which, needless to say, since he was implying nothing of the sort, the count took great offence to.
The half-Calormene stepmother and Countess Helen spoke to each other only when absolutely necessary; preferring to use Peter as a sort of go-between most of the time, which was one of the reasons he had to return to the Lantern Waste, or else nothing would have been sorted.
In the end, it was finally agreed that the wedding could be held a few days after Edmund was knighted at Cair Paravel. That way the young couple could be married at court instead of simply in the village. Which was more than even Queen Lucy had gotten, the half-Calormene stepmother whispered to Susan when the count and countess were not listening. And Susan rolled her eyes, wishing the wedding could be over and done with before something else went wrong, holding them back from being man and wife.
Edmund did not at all like this arrangement and sulkily demanded why Peter, being a knight of reasonably high-authority, couldn't just dub his squire himself. He wasn't sure he could endure seeing Lucy as a queen face-to-face. For pity's sake, he couldn't even will himself to write back to her, knowing the two of them-once the closest of friends-would never be the same again. But Peter calmly explained that while he did have some rights to pass on titles under certain circumstances, it would almost entirely break with tradition if a Narnian-born gentleman was not dubbed properly by the queen when there was no political reason he couldn't be, especially since it was a new queen-only just crowned.
"They would consider it a matter of allegiance to her, Ed, surely you understand that." said Peter one day as they were walking down by the stone wall at the brook, their swords on their hips, looking quite noble.
"What rubbish!" exclaimed Edmund, folding his arms crossly. "I can be loyal to a queen of Narnia without-"
"It wouldn't look proper." Peter warned him, playing on Edmund's sense of justice, wearing on his overt bitterness. "Think of what everyone would say."
"Peter, I understand, and I will do it-I'll go to Cair Paravel to be dubbed-I'll even become a bloody courtier if they end up wanting me to stay-I will do whatever they want of me, because I am as loyal to Narnia as you are; but do you really think, after all that's happened, I give a care about what other people think about me, or scandals, or how things look?"
"Your father would say you are a born Philippe, just a little rough around the edges, and that you will care eventually." Peter grimaced, none too pleased with his future father-in-law.
"I used to care," said Edmund contradictingly. "I never will again."
"I'm sorry," Peter said softly, putting his hand on his squire's shoulder.
"It's not your fault," Edmund replied; "but I want to ask you something-something I've been wondering about lately."
"Sure, what is it?"
"If things had been different, and your parents had wanted Lucy to marry someone else, somebody closer to her own age-hypothetically, let's say, I don't know, me-would you have given your blessing then, or would you have still been angry?"
Peter thought it over, weighing his growing fondness for Edmund against his protectiveness of Lucy. It was a moot question, no doubt about it, but it was an interesting one all the same.
"She was too young to be married," he spoke at last, shaking his head. "But I think-I don't know for certain, but I do think-that, with time, I would have given you my blessings."
"She sounds happy in her letters," Edmund said, changing the subject a little bit, "don't you think?"
"Yeah, she does," that fact did make Peter feel a little better. "I think she really misses you, though. She asks about you all the time. Ever thought of writing her back?"
"Well, of course I've thought about it," said Edmund cheekily; "I just haven't done it!"
"So," said Peter, forcing a laugh, "do you think you'll trip walking up the dais to be knighted?"
"That would be quite a show," the squire cracked a small smile.
"Can you keep a secret?"
"No," smirked Edmund, just to be smart.
"Well, I'll tell you anyway; I almost tripped when I went up there."
"Liar, you're just saying that because for some demented reason you think it's going to make me feel less nervous."
"Am not."
"Are too!"
"All right, hang it all, so I didn't trip!" Peter laughed, his mirth genuine this time. "Not everyone is as well-balanced as me."
"Or as modest," Edmund added sarcastically with a short eye-roll.
"You'll be fine, trust me."
Edmund couldn't help thinking that Peter was one of the few people he still had faith in-it was a remarkably small, constantly shrinking list, but Sir Peter Wolf's Bane had always managed to keep himself on it.
When Lucy found out she was to dub her first knight (she didn't know it was Edmund right away because it wasn't until the day before the ceremony that someone actually bothered to mention his name) she was rather nervous.
"Don't worry, Mother," Rilian had attempted to reassure her. "Everything will be quite fine so long as you don't forget to use only the flat of the sword and cut his head off by mistake."
Lucy instantly went very white; not being very handy with a sword (though she had been studying some archery lately), she was afraid of wounding the knight on his first day on the job.
"Rilian, don't scare her!" Caspian snapped, noticing his wife's flustered face, reaching out to box his nearly-grown son's ears. "Don't listen to him, Lucy, dubbing knights is actually one of the easiest parts of being royal."
"I was only joking," laughed Rilian, none the worse for slightly reddened ears.
Lucy smiled at him; finally having learned not to laugh whenever she had to call him-or think of him as-'son'.
"You'll do great, I know you will." said Caspian in a reassuring voice, planting a quick kiss on his little wife's cheek.
The morning she was to knight Edmund, Lucy was watching from one of the tower windows for her brother's arrival. She knew her old Ed could be quite unpredictable and might, for all anyone could expect, show up three minutes before the ceremony started, but Peter-in spite of his disappointing recent letters-was more reliable.
When she spotted his horse galloping into the courtyard, the young queen dashed down the stairs, practically flying out through the arched doorways and garden-paths, right into her elder brother's arms, never minding if she mussed up her pale green velvet dress and gold-thread cloak, or if her crown slipped and went a tad askew.
"Lucy!" bellowed Peter, squeezing her tightly, forgetting for that moment that she was the queen of the whole country, thinking only of how wonderful it was to hold his baby sister again.
"I've missed you so much!" Lucy told him, unable to tear her eyes away from his face.
"You're taller, I think," mused Peter, unsurely.
Lucy nodded. "About an inch-that's what the tailor told me; they make me get new dresses for nearly everything, it's exhausting."
"I think I have a betrothed who wouldn't find it so," he laughed.
"Well then she can stand for four hours having people measure her." Lucy retorted playfully.
"I have a meeting with some of the other knights, but we'll talk more later." Peter promised her, feeling a little sad as he loosed his grip, having to walk away after not seeing her for so long.
"Edmund didn't come with you?" Lucy double checked.
"Well, yes and no," Peter told her, shaking his head and sighing heavily before he took off. "He stopped along the way-I'm sure he'll be here soon."
'Soon' was a relative term. Edmund did arrive shortly thereafter; but only with enough time to dodge anyone who wanted to speak with him-including Lucy-and to go into the chamber set aside for him to change in. He would have preferred to wear a simple dark jerkin over a light doublet, but tradition held to fancier dress. It wasn't uncomfortable, though, to be completely fair; no stiff collars or itchy fabrics, just a dark velvet tunic over new tights and shinny leather shoes that were tight only because he hadn't broken them in yet. If anything, he felt a little too warm-it was a sunny day out, not suited for thick garments.
As he entered the throne room, courtiers applauded and a fat old squirrel let out a cheer, but Edmund's gaze never fell on them, not even for a passing moment; he was staring too intently at the queen. She wore a floor-length velvet dress the colour of a peeled banana with a rounded, flat white-lace collar, long sheer sleeves that broke down into two separate parts, and a flowing scarlet cape. Her long hair was pulled back into a tight braid formed neatly-starting from around her silver crown-that reached the middle of her back, with three small coiled curls loose around her dimpled face. Could this dazzling young lady, this glittering fairy-tale girl, really be Lucy?
Getting closer, almost holding his breath, he started to recognize some of the old familiar features in her face that had been there before, reassured that it was still her. Edmund could see her bright eyes, almost exactly the same as the eyes of the little girl who used to follow him up trees when he was trying to avoid her.
Next he found himself looking at her jewelry. Considering that she was a queen on a formal occasion, there wasn't all that much of it. She wore a glass-bead bracelet on one wrist, her gold wedding-band on her left ring-finger, and a ruby necklace pendant on a chunky silver chain. Because of how the cut of her dress was formed, he could tell she wasn't wearing any other chains: namely, she wasn't wearing the dagger pendant. He knew it was silly, that it was moot, but he couldn't help feeling disappointed.
As she met his gaze with pretend-formalness, Queen Lucy knew exactly what he was thinking and wished they were alone so that she could explain, so that they could just talk like they used to.
While Trumpkin the dwarf read off of an impossibly long scroll the rites of knighthood, Lucy pondered over her options, coming up with a plan. There was one way they could talk after the ceremony was over; if only Edmund would stop being aloof and corporate.
Following the customs, Edmund kneeled before her, kissed her hand, wincing as his lips brushed against the cold, bitter metal of her wedding ring, and lowered his head. Then he muttered off his vows to serve Narnia and its king and queen loyally for all of his days.
Willing herself not to tremble, Lucy touched his head and shoulder with the flat of the blade of a jewel-encrusted sword. When she was lowering it, she found herself almost in line with his ear, and quickly whispered, "Meet me in the apple orchard when this is over."
When she had finished knighting him, making him officially Sir Edmund of the Lantern Waste, King Caspian came up and took her arm, leading her off the dais.
"You see, sweetheart?" he whispered kindly. "You did fine. I told you it would be easy enough. You are a natural at this sort of thing."
"Would it be all right if I went to my chambers for a little while?" Lucy asked when she could get a word in edgewise between her husband's constant praise of her.
"Of course," said Caspian. "I'll send for you when it's time to sup with the knights."
Lucy nodded, anxious to be off. She wondered if Edmund would actually turn up, or if he would ignore her request. Although she was aware in theory that because she was the queen it was his duty to obey her, remembering the boy she'd grown up with made it hard for her to imagine him taking orders from a little runt like her. The first-and only-signs of him ever cowering down in her presence had been that time at the brook when he'd bowed to her; and she had been relieved not to find that same expression in his face during the knighting. For, in truth, she hated that expression-it wasn't the face of the Edmund she knew and cared for, it was the face of a broken-in knight doing his duty. Whenever she forgot herself she always valued their friendship more than their courtly devotion to the king.
Hastily removing her cape and tucking in some of the folds of her dress so that she could walk more easily, Lucy made sure the doors to her chambers were latched and crept over to the wardrobe. She held a small object concealed in her right hand as she pushed the robe-rack aside with her left and slipped into the tunnel. Within two seconds, she dashed back into the room, having forgotten to bring a candlestick to light the dark passageway. A lit candle in hand as well as the other small object, she tried again, and walked along until she came to a large wooden door with a brass handle-at least, best she could make out in the candle's light, it looked like brass.
Pushing it open, Lucy could smell apples and feel a few rays of the nearly-setting sun on her face.
Under a tree, his back to her, was a dark-haired knight in a brown doublet.
The little queen paused for a moment, waiting to be sure it really was him and not someone else out for a stroll where they didn't necessarily belong. But then he turned his head just slightly, showing the profile of the face Lucy would have known anywhere.
"Edmund?"
He turned around all the way and walked over to her.
Before he could say anything, Lucy threw her arms around him, embracing him tightly. "Oh, Edmund!"
Touching her only in the most sparing, gingerly manner, he pushed her away. "Your Majesty," he took a step backwards and bowed.
Lucy felt her chin shaking; she wanted to cry. "Edmund, don't."
"I am a knight in your service, Your Majesty." said Edmund, pointedly.
"You were my friend first," Lucy whispered. Her hopes were shattered; how badly she had wanted to believe he'd come to the orchard because he wanted to see her again! Now it seemed he had come because the queen had ordered him to.
"Those days are over," he reminded her darkly, glancing at her neck without meaning to.
"It broke," Lucy confessed, knowing what he had been looking for.
"What?"
"The chain of the necklace you gave me, it snagged on something a few weeks ago."
Staring into his brown eyes, Lucy opened her right hand and showed him the little dagger pendant. The chain had been beyond repair, but she would have never parted with the dagger-it meant too much to her.
Inside he was aching to forgo all of this 'Your Majesty' rot and to call her by her real name, but he willed himself to calmly say, instead, "I can get it put on a new chain for you."
"I should have thought of doing that myself...I just didn't want..." her face went red and her voice trailed off. She hadn't wanted to give it to a royal jeweler who could have lost it accidentally.
Edmund took the pendant from her trembling fingers, trying not to think about how he felt when they brushed against his own.
"Ed, why didn't you ever answer my letters?" Lucy dared to ask.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty."
"You're just making fun of me now!"
"No," he shook his head.
"Why can't you just call me by my name?" Lucy reached for his sleeve, thinking to tug on it like she would have done to get his attention when she was younger.
Edmund saw her hand and moved away. "Sorry, Queen Lucy."
"I thought...at the brook...you...you weren't going to be like this anymore."
"L-" he caught himself, cursing mildly under his breath. "Queen Lucy, I don't have a choice."
"Peter doesn't talk to me like this," said Lucy.
"He's your brother."
"And I thought you were my friend!"
He swallowed hard. "I'm your subject."
"Edmund, you promised." Lucy whispered, her face becoming twisted with pain.
That cut him to the core. "Oh, please don't cry, we're friends-I swear it-don't be hurt. Do let's make it Pax."
Lucy stared at him through her tears. "All right."
"I have to go now," Edmund told her when her sobs had lessened, "but I'm going to get that pendant on a new chain for you."
It wasn't until he walked away that Lucy realized that, even after he'd begged her forgiveness and sworn they were still friends, he hadn't said her name. At least, not without putting 'queen' in front of it.
Edmund did not turn up for supper with the rest of the knights, and Lucy ended up watching sadly as the servants came and took his empty plate away.
They were not to see each other again until Peter and Susan's wedding.
During the course of the wedding, Lucy couldn't help but feel a little jealous of how beautiful and happy Susan was. Easily the most stunning person in the room, dressed in white silk, her brother's bride was positively beaming. Lucy thought she would never know what it was to be excited about getting married, seeing as all she'd felt through her own wedding was loss and fear. Caspian was always kind to her, but there was something in the fact that Susan and Peter were so close in age that made Lucy yearn for something, something she couldn't fully understand, something missing from her own marriage.
When they were pronounced man and wife, Peter and Susan breathed sighs of relief. Any hopes of being together had sure been a long time in coming, but they had made it in the end.
During the feast afterwards, Lucy felt something brush against her hands before she sat down at the table. Edmund had slipped her a small blue velvet case.
Opening the case under the table, Lucy had to hold back a gasp. Instead of getting the dagger pendant hung back on another simple gold chain, Edmund had re-strung it onto a necklace of the most perfect-looking seed-pearls you could possibly imagine.
When the queen looked over at him, Sir Edmund Philippe lowered his eyes, pretending he hadn't the faintest idea why her gaze was resting on him.
AN: Please review. It's not hard, just click that fun little button on your way out!