Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.
DEVILTRY
Susan smiled as she blotted the film of perspiration from her sister's white forehead.
"That's good, isn't it?"
"Yes, My Queen." The Cherry Dryad healer smiled, too, and removed the topmost of the blankets covering her patient. "We can start letting the room cool. Not all at once, mind you, but little by little."
"Does that mean the spell is broken?"
Susan turned at the grim voice, her smile fading. "Peter."
Cerise made a deep curtsy, a faint tinge of pink in her delicate cheeks as she looked on the High King. "I cannot say for certain, Sire, but I believe so. Queen Lucy is warmer now. She's been improving since yesterday afternoon."
"Has she said anything?"
"No, My King. She has not yet awakened, but we have every hope–"
"Thank you."
He leaned down and kissed Lucy's cheek and then stroked the back of his fingers against it. His hand shook as he did.
Susan could tell by the deep purple shadows under his eyes and the pinched set of his mouth that he hadn't slept. She wasn't surprised. She hadn't slept much herself, not after the terrible cries she had heard from his room last night. The worst of it had lasted little more than an hour, an hour, she suspected, of being wakened from harrowing dreams and then sleeping again only to fall back into the same horrors as before. Someone had wakened him again and again, his valet or one of his guards no doubt, but Edmund was the only one who could truly calm him on such nights. And Edmund–
"Still, it's good news," Susan said, trying to smile again.
"Yes." Peter stood staring at Lucy's still face, his expression blank. "Yes, of course it is."
"I'm so glad, Your Majesty." The Dryad tilted her head a little to one side, trying to catch his eye. "I know how dear Queen Lucy is to you, to all of us, and I would–"
"Yes, thank you." His voice was as empty as his expression. "Would you excuse us please, Cerise?"
With a sigh soft as a breeze through cherry blossoms, the Dryad made another deep curtsy and left the room.
"She's been here with Lucy almost as much as I have," Susan said. "We'll have to do something especially nice to thank her for all she's done."
Peter didn't respond, so she went to him and put her arm through his, nestling against his side. Then she pulled back and put her hand on his forehead.
"You feel warm. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." He shrugged away from her. "It's just hot in here as always."
She wasn't convinced, but she let it go, instead managing a smile as she glanced at their sister there on the bed. "Nice to have good news for a change."
"If only it were," he said half under his breath.
"Of course it's good news. Lucy's getting better."
"Yes, of course it is. But, Su, have you thought about it? After she's been sick all this time, why is she suddenly better now? Why just now?"
She sank into a chair, unable to stand anymore. "Yes, I've thought about it. She's been getting better ever since you took that terrible book of spells away from Edmund."
"Exactly."
"I still can't believe it all. Dark magic? It's not only against Lucy, but against Aslan Himself."
"I always thought he was about as close to Aslan as she is." Peter sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Lucy's cheek once more. "But it must have all been an act. Like everything else."
"Everything else." Susan bit her lip, trying not to think of everything else, the bribes, the murders, that horrible letter–
"I had him moved out of his quarters to that little room down the hall. It's small, but it's still comfortable. He knows too much about all the secret places in the Cair to be left where he was, even under guard."
Susan nodded. "What are we going to do?"
The pain in Peter's expression hardened into resolve. "There will have to be a trial. Even if he is our brother and a King, justice must be seen to be done." He laughed faintly and rubbed the side of his head. "Who in the world am I going to get to preside over the case? Who ought to handle something this important but the Just King? Oh, Edmund."
He squeezed his eyes shut, and she took his hand.
"After all these years, how could he?" In spite of her efforts, her voice quivered. "And I'm still not sure I understand why."
"An Adder can't help being an Adder, Su, even if it wants you to think it's an Eagle."
And there was such hopeless grief in Peter's face, she had to look away.
OOOOO
A Raven, a Lynx and a Naiad. Peter had chosen well. Edmund knew all three of them to be wise and impartial judges well schooled in Narnian law. He had seen each of them soften the law with mercy when it was warranted, too. They would hear the evidence and rule on it fairly, he had no doubt. But what evidence?
The charges brought against him were supported with an ingenious mixture of skewed truths and blatant falsehoods. When he had actually been present at the place and time charged, his reason for being there was twisted into something dark and evil, his own words cast in a sinister light. If a particular claim had been fashioned out of whole cloth, and there were enough of those as well, the incident was always alleged to have occurred when he had no verifiable alibi. Someone had planned all this out very carefully.
There were a few who tried to speak on his behalf, a Tabby Cat who had given birth to her six Kittens in the bottom of his wardrobe and the trio of Mice who tailored his clothes, each of whom could only speak as to Edmund's character and not the specifics of the case, and his Faun valet who was adamant that he had never seen any of the evidence in Edmund's possession before the day it was all uncovered, but they were all dismissed as irrelevant. Phillip, who might have testified as to Edmund's whereabouts the day the Falcon was murdered, had left Cair Paravel that same day with no word of where he was going or why. Edmund tried to keep himself from thinking his faithful Horse had abandoned him along with everyone else.
The witnesses against Edmund were as varied as the charges. A Swallow and a Boar, the one from Glasswater Creek and the other from near Beaversdam and apparent strangers to each other, both confirmed that they had seen him arguing with the Black Dwarf Glawkin out in the forest the day the Dwarf disappeared. A Faun and two Wolfhounds, all from the troop that had served under him in Lantern Waste, claimed to have been sent with sealed dispatches from the Just King's own hand to a Minotaur, the same Minotaur who had led the charge that had killed or maimed so many of his soldiers and lost them hard-won ground that had never again been regained. Peter's guard, Oreius and Sagepaw the Hound each testified to uncovering evidence of treachery in Edmund's quarters. Several others appeared, each with a damning bit of testimony to add to the pile.
The worst by far was the Hag.
The High King had sent word throughout the kingdom summoning to court anyone with information to give concerning the charges against King Edmund. The Hag, assured of safe conduct from her cave deep in the Western March to Cair Paravel and back again, had appeared on the final day of testimony.
She came limping into the court, hunched over, wraithlike, her skin reddish and wrinkled, only a few wisps of gray hair on her shriveled head.
"I remember you." She leered at Edmund as she passed. "I see you've grown tall and handsome, just as she expected you would."
He returned her bold gaze, wondering if he actually remembered her, but he couldn't say for certain. He had seen so many horrors while he was the Witch's prisoner. Peter was watching her, too, watching her with him, searching for some connection between them no doubt.
She made a mocking curtsey before the High King. "How lovely of Your Majesty to invite the humblest of his subjects to his palace."
"You're none of ours, Hag. You're here to speak truth and only truth as you value your life."
She curtseyed even lower, an almost-smile on her beaklike mouth. "As Your Fair Majesty says, if you will have it of me."
With a glance at Edmund, Peter nodded.
"Know then that I once served the White Lady, Jadis, the true Queen of Narnia. History belongs to the victors, so I know of the tales that have sprung up since the kingdom was stolen from her, but the truth is this: One day, years ago, she found a child wandering in her woods, an angel-faced imp of a boy, and she thought how lovely it would be to at last have a son of her own. She gave the child food and drink and warmed him in her own furs and offered to make him her little Prince and eventually King after her. All this he accepted readily, and he brought his brother and sisters, Children of the Prophecy, into her realm so they might not later become a hindrance to her."
Edmund felt his face heat, but he said nothing. The Hag had so far kept more or less to the truth.
"This is all well known," Peter told her, eyes cold. "Why do you speak of it now?"
"Because, High Majesty, not all is well known." Again the Hag leered at Edmund. "Once our little Prince had made his way back to our Queen, she taught him much of her powerful magic. She taught him spells and curses and unbreakable bindings, and he took to it as eager as a snake to a warm rock. And when he thought himself learned enough, he tried to turn that magic back against her. He wanted to be King at once, not Prince, and she had no choice but to fight against him and take him captive."
Edmund could only listen in stunned silence.
"It was then, High Majesty, that he was taken from us and brought to the Enemy's camp, the camp of the Lion." The Hag clasped her gnarled hands in front of her. "I hear there was a touching reunion when the wanderer was brought home to his loved ones, repentant and never again to stray. No doubt he learned from his earlier impetuousness and decided it were best to wait until he had reached full manhood before again trying his strength and taking the kingdom. No doubt he held himself in patience until the time became ripe and all of you thought he was to be trusted beyond question."
"It's not true," Edmund breathed.
But Peter wasn't looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the Hag, and she only swayed towards him, her gimlet eyes bright.
"Did you think he broke my Queen's wand to try to save you? He destroyed it to break her power, but he wasn't quick enough yet and she had her revenge. Once that filthy cordial brought him back to life and he lay helpless before you, he knew his best course was to dissemble and wait. Wait until his skills were well sharpened and he was fully prepared. But it seems another prophecy has spoiled that plan, too."
Edmund shook his head. "Peter, it's not true."
"Traitor!" The Hag pointed a skinny, clawed finger at him. "She had every right to your blood. Do you think she cared if you betrayed your family or the Lion? Your treachery was against her, and for that she demanded a kill." She gave another vulture-like grin. "And yet she is dead and here you stand, alive and as false as ever you were all those years ago. It's in the blood, isn't it? There's no denying what's in the blood. False to your family, false to the Lion, false to my Queen!"
"Peter–"
Face ashen, Peter held up one hand to silence his brother and the murmuring court. "Have you anything more to say, Hag?"
Once again, she answered with a deep curtsey. "That is all, High Majesty. Learn from my Lady's woes what you may. I hear Queen Lucy is the first of your kin to be affected by his particular arts."
Peter nodded to the two Satyrs on guard, and they moved to either side of the Hag.
"Why?" Edmund asked before she could be escorted out.
She smirked as she led the Satyrs away. "You betrayed my Queen. Why should I not tell of it?"
And he could see that Peter believed her.
OOOOO
"A Hag? My Liege Lord and King, a Hag?" Sir Gilfrey looked at Peter, disbelief on his face. "Even with the mounting evidence, you'd not take the word of a Hag over your own brother's."
"It's not that, Gil." Peter took a deep drink from his goblet, glad there was at least something that, if only temporarily, eased the ache in his head. "What she said, impossible as it sounds, explains everything."
He closed his eyes. Why did that have to make sense when nothing else seemed to?
"But surely, Sire, King Edmund can refute–"
"That's just it. He can't. He hasn't a shred of hard evidence against any of the charges. He merely denies them."
Peter got up from his desk and flung open the doors to the balcony, savoring the winter air on his face. How could Lucy have spent so long freezing when everywhere he went was so unbearably hot?
"What will you do, My King?"
"What can I do?" He turned back to the Knight, wishing it was Edmund he was talking to about charges against someone else. Anyone else. "He's my brother."
"Indeed he is, My King." Gil poured him a little more wine. "And how is my lady Queen Lucy today?"
"She's much better. I think the spell must still be weakening. She hasn't awakened yet, but ever since . . . "
Peter left the rest unsaid. Lucy had been getting better ever since Edmund had been put under guard. Her temperature had returned to normal. Now she only slept.
"I am glad to know she is improving, Sire. I know you would do anything to protect her and our fair Queen Susan from harm."
"Of course I would. They're my sisters."
"Indeed they are, My King."
Peter sat again at his desk and stared into his wine. He would. He would do anything to protect Susan and Lucy. Even if it meant he had to protect them from Edmund.
He rubbed his eyes and then dropped his head into his hands. What was he going to do?
He thought of Lucy lying still and pale, day after day, the light and life frozen out of her. He thought of Susan, her gentle spirit crushed by being forced into an unholy marriage. And he thought of himself sold into detestable bondage in far away Tashbaan, unable to protect either of them from those fates.
He thought, too, of Edmund who had planned such things against them, thought of him sitting before the court listening to everything that was said about him, pleading with those dark, expressive eyes of his, pleading to be believed, to be trusted, to be loved.
He drained his cup in one gulp. If nothing else, years of practice had made Edmund an accomplished liar.
"What will you do?" Gilfrey asked. "If, as you say, this Hag spoke truth, there is a great danger not only to the kingdom but to Your Majesty and to our gracious Queens. Sorcery and murder and treason? There is only one penalty for such high crimes."
"I know. If he's found guilty–"
"If, My Liege? But you know already, do you not?"
Peter closed his eyes. Trusty and well beloved. Brother and King and dearest friend. Sorcerer, murderer, traitor. Oh, Edmund.
"What will you do, My King?" Gilfrey pressed, and Peter laid his head on the desk, drawing hard breaths, hoping not to be sick.
"I don't know. I don't know."
"Of course you know, Sire." The Knight's words were soft and infinitely reasonable. "You are the High King. You will do what you must."
Peter nodded. Gil was right. Gil was always right. He would do what he must.
He was the High King.
OOOOO
Edmund had seen it in his brother's eyes. Yesterday, when the Hag had finished her testimony and the judges had gone to confer, he'd seen it. On top of every other heinous charge, Peter believed him false to Aslan, false to the glorious Lion who had saved him and forgiven him and laid down His own life so that Edmund need not die. Peter believed it. After that, there was nothing more to be said. So Edmund said nothing more.
It had been hard enough to see Susan briefly testifying before the court, her voice so low it was difficult to hear her speak and sometimes so choked with tears she could not speak at all. Now the Gentle Queen merely sat waiting, dry eyed, looking away from him, her face white and cold as marble.
It had been torture to watch as Peter listened to witness after witness accuse him of every kind of deviltry, torture to strain to hear Peter speak a word in his defense and hear nothing. Now the High King also sat, his mouth set in grim lines, his eyes empty, waiting with all the court for the verdict from the Raven, the Lynx and the Naiad.
Finally it came. At a nod from Peter, the old Raven spoke.
"Before we announce our decision, we wish to say that it has grieved each of us to preside at such a hearing and to sit in judgement of our Just King. But we are mere servants of this realm, and it is our duty to render a fair verdict based solely upon the facts presented before us." He looked at the Lynx and then at the Naiad who nodded gravely in return. Then he faced Edmund. "If Your Majesty would be so good as to rise."
Edmund felt his legs shake under him, wondered briefly if they would support his weight, but managed to stand straight in spite of them.
After what seemed an eternity of silence, Peter again nodded at the judge.
"There have been many charges brought here before us," the Raven croaked. "There are the murders of Glawkin, the Black Dwarf, and of the Falcon, Windswift. There is the betrayal of the kingdom for gain, specifically in the matters of the Calormene ships and the battle at Lantern Waste. There are the actions, whether proposed or implemented, against the persons of the High King Peter, the Queen Susan and the Queen Lucy. More than all of these, there is the practice of black sorcery which is directly against the great Aslan Himself, a practice that is not seemly whether here in Narnia or elsewhere in all the worlds. In all of these, we find King Edmund guilty."
Edmund clutched the table that stood at his right hand, afraid he might fall without its support.
"As he is a King," the Raven continued, "it is beyond our authority to pronounce sentence upon him. For that, only the High King has the right."
His face expressionless, his eyes still empty, the High King stood. The three judges bowed to him, and there was perfect silence in the court.
The only penalty for such crimes was death.
Author's Note: Thanks yet again to OldFashionedGirl95 for her tremendous and wonderful brainstorming and prose poking. Bless you, dear one!
–WD