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.
GUILE
"May I speak to you, My Queen?"
Susan looked up from the mound of paperwork on Lucy's desk and smiled faintly when she saw Sir Gilfrey standing in the open doorway.
"Of course, Gil. How are you this morning?"
The Knight bowed. "Well, I thank you, Lady. And you? And my lady your sister?"
"I am well enough, thank you, and there is very good news about Lucy. She woke for a time last night."
"Did she indeed?" Sir Gilfrey came to her and took her hand, touching it with a gentle kiss. "That is wondrous news, Lady, for you and all Narnia. When was this?"
"About dusk." Susan looked over at the pile of blankets on the bed, her smile brighter now to know Lucy was wrapped in natural sleep under them. "She asked for some water and ate some soup and then went to sleep again. Cerise says she will definitely recover now. She was awake for a while this morning, too."
Susan pressed her lips together and tried not to think too hard about that earlier time. Lucy had asked for Peter and Edmund both, and Susan had put her off with vague assurances that they would discuss everything when she was feeling better.
"Where's Peter this morning, Gil? Do you know? I looked for him early last night to tell him about Lucy, but I couldn't find him."
Sir Gilfrey looked at her sadly. "After the . . . audience was over yesterday, My Queen, the High King went riding until well after dark. I believe he went to bed straight after that. He had rather a difficult night."
Susan nodded, feeling a little sick. "I heard."
"I believe he is sleeping yet, but that is why I have come to you, Lady. I thought perhaps you might go speak to him. He has many pressing duties, and I fear he's not been attending to them as he ought. I'd not dare speak of such things to you, My Queen, but I fear for he health of the kingdom and of the King. I have tried as I might to ease his burden of work, but after all, he is King and not I. So many things require his approval and his seal."
Again Susan pressed her lips together and jabbed at her own stack of paperwork with her quill. "He doesn't think I have enough to do? With Lucy sick and Edmund– Edmund gone."
"Lady, Lady, I did not mean to grieve you. I merely thought you might encourage him to put this recent sorrow behind him and think of his land and his people. What's done is done, and now there is the future to be considered."
"You're right of course." Susan sighed. "I'll go talk to him in a while. I have these dispatches to finish, and then there are some Crows who insist on having me hear them about some silly dispute. After that I–"
"Perhaps I might see to the Crows for you, Your Majesty?" The Knight offered his hand and brought her to her feet. "If you would speak to the High King."
She smiled and nodded. Gil was always so reasonable. So thoughtful.
OOOOO
"Lucy's asking for you." Susan yanked open the curtains, and the early sunlight stabbed into Peter's eyes. "You look awful."
He groaned and flung one arm over his face. He felt awful. No, he felt absolutely wretched, and that on only one cup of wine. He shouldn't feel this terrible and still be able to remember last night.
"Later."
"You should have come to see her last night," Susan said, her voice hammering inside his skull. "She's been asking for you this morning."
He put his other arm over his face, too. Couldn't she let him alone a while longer? The news about Lucy finally waking up had been all over Cair Paravel by the time he came in late last night. She had wakened just at dusk. Edmund would have been put out of Narnia just at dusk. Was there room anymore for doubt? For his family, he had to do it.
. . . you shall be forever banished from the Kingdom of Narnia . . .
He had to do it. But he hadn't gone to Lucy last night.
They're your very own words, you know. Aren't they pretty?
He couldn't bear to see her. Not yet. Not when he could still see those letters cut deep and raw. Not when he knew she would ask about–
"Later," he moaned again, and Susan pushed his arms down to his sides.
"Now."
He turned over, burrowing down into the blankets, and she yanked them off of him.
"Now, Peter. Somebody has to tell her, and it's not going to be me." She stood over him, blue eyes snapping, lips tight. "You're the High King. It's about time you acted like it."
She left at that, slamming the door after her, making him flinch.
Right now he could hardly imagine even standing up straight, much less acting like a High King. But she was right. He had to do it. It was his duty, not just as King but as brother. As comforter and protector and head of the family. Lucy had to know about the banishment, and he had to be the one to tell her. He'd promised Mum, so very, very long ago, that he would look after the others. A fine job he'd made of that. But this he would do.
He'd break Lucy's tender heart himself.
OOOOO
Edmund's sleep had been deep and dreamless, the best he'd had since before he'd left to fight in Lantern Waste early in the summer. Even now, he was only vaguely aware of the playful chirping of a pair of Robins somewhere in the distance and a gentle rumble next to his ear. It occurred to him that he should try to figure out what that rumble was, but he was so deliciously warm and relaxed, he only sighed and turned over. The something he remembered from before, the warm, heavy, comfortable something, was still there, and he wriggled closer, burying his face in it.
The rumble turned into what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and Edmund lifted his head. A pair of serene golden eyes looked back at him.
"Aslan." Edmund blinked and then laughed softly, putting one hand to the whiskered face. "You've been with me all night?"
"Dear One, I am with you always."
"But, Aslan–"
"You must not tarry, Beloved. You must go to Anvard and speak to King Lune."
"King Lune?"
"You must not tarry."
"Aslan, I can't–"
A Blackbird cawed, and Edmund jerked awake. He was lying on nothing but the cold, bare ground, wrapped only in his cloak. His fire had gone out.
You must go to Anvard. Had it been direction or only a wishful dream?
He managed to drag himself to his feet. Anvard? News of his disgrace and banishment would have been sent throughout Narnia and to her neighboring rulers, and yet he was meant to walk into Anvard and demand an audience with the King of Archenland? And what sort of welcome would he find there?
You must not tarry.
Something trembled inside him. What was happening at home now? Now that he was no longer there, whoever had devised his ruin would be free to set his sights on Peter and the girls. Someone or something had already come against Lucy. He didn't know what was happening with Susan. And Peter–
He mustn't tarry. He had to go home. Somehow, though it was death to return, he had to get back into Narnia. And yet–
You must go to Anvard.
Was the dream Aslan's direction or merely his own imagining?
Yet he knew that Voice. Despite all the insanity that had raged around him these past weeks, that Voice was calm and pure and true. The last thing he wanted was to head away from home rather than towards it, but still–
Settling his cloak around his shoulders, he strode out into the early winter light and headed down the snowy path towards Anvard.
OOOOO
Peter peered into Lucy's room. Susan was sitting at the desk writing, and she glanced up at him, her mouth taut.
"Peter. I wasn't sure if you'd bother to come today."
He came up to her, not really wanting to face her waspishness again. "How's Lucy?"
"Waiting to see you."
Susan kept at her work, her voice crisp and businesslike, her quill scratching at the parchment.
Cringing a little at the sound, Peter looked over at the bed and saw only a mound of blankets. "I thought you didn't need to keep it so hot in here anymore. Isn't she warm enough now?"
Susan frowned, still scratching away. "Her temperature is almost normal now, and I think the room is comfortable."
It felt rather warm to Peter, but he didn't say anything else about it. It wasn't important anyway. Right now he had to figure out what to say to Lucy. What could he say?
Betrayer. Traitor. Forever banished.
How could he tell Lucy when she would never believe it? Not of Edmund. Edmund always said she was a badger about anyone she loved. She hung on. How could he tell her–
They're your very own words, you know. Aren't they pretty?
He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to wipe away the horrible image of Edmund–
"Will you stop that infernal scratching!"
He glared at Susan and, with an impatient huff, she tossed down her quill and stormed out of the room.
He let out a shuddering breath and then went to Lucy's bedside. She was curled up under the blankets, and he had to turn the topmost one back just to be able to see her colorless face.
"Hullo, Lu. Feeling better?"
He sat on the edge of the bed, smiling as best he could, but she only looked at him, lips pinched and chapped, purple shadows under her eyes.
"Where's Edmund? Why can't I see him? Why won't Susan tell me where he is?"
Sick or well, there was nothing more formidable than Lucy when she was determined to have the truth. Peter looked away from her, too weary and heartsore for another battle, especially one he could never win.
"Lu, I can't– You don't–"
He found both of her hands, still cold, still so pale and fragile, and held them tightly. He couldn't bear to let her slip away, too.
"Lucy."
His eyes met hers again. She sat up, waiting for him to go on.
"You don't understand, Lu. So much has happened while you've been ill."
"I've heard things. Cerise told me a lot of things. Terrible things. But Susan came in before she could finish. Edmund–"
"The spell on you was only part of it. There was the incident with the ships, the Calormenes, the murder of the Dwarf and the Falcon, one thing heaped on another. I–"
"Peter."
The word was little more than a gasp. Her face was paler than before, but her eyes–
"Please, Lu, there was nothing else I could do." His voice sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. "The evidence was there, plain as day. He couldn't say anything to refute it except that he hadn't done anything wrong and that I should trust him. What else could I do?"
"You could have tried trusting him!"
"I wanted to, Lu. So much, I wanted to. I tried. I tried!"
"Not hard enough!"
"Lucy–"
"Peter!" The bewildered pain on her face, in her voice, was unbearable. "It's Edmund. Our Edmund. Your Edmund!"
He flinched at that and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't let her see him cry. Not now.
"Lucy–"
"What have you done?"
What have you done?
"It was against Narnia, Lu. Against all of us and Narnia. More than that, it was against Aslan. When Edmund was with the Witch, he must have– Lucy, you and Susan and I have a sacred trust, from Aslan Himself, and so did he. He broke that trust. He–"
"No!"
"Lucy–"
"No!" She jerked her hands away from him. "What have you done?"
Steeling himself as he had yesterday in court, Peter stood. He was the High King. There were things he was required to do. Even if it wrung the heart's blood out of him, he had to do them. He made his face stern, his eyes hard.
"He's banished, Queen Lucy. It is done. He will never come back. Not while you or I or the Queen Susan live and reign."
Still she looked at him, tears welling into her blue eyes, eyes he hadn't been able to resist since her babyhood. Then she began to sob, almost silent sobs that shook her slender body, broken sobs that tore his battered heart and drove him to his knees there at her bedside.
"Please, Lu," he whispered, eyes again closed. "Please."
There was a brief rustle of sheets and after that only taut silence. He looked up to see she had turned her back to him and buried herself under the bedclothes once more. Oh, Lucy.
No, he couldn't let her see him cry. He wouldn't.
He shoved himself to his feet and strode out to her balcony, needing to feel the sea air against his flushed face, praying it would ease the merciless hammering in his head. The glistening Eastern Sea. Lucy's Sea. And he knew she'd give every drop of it and all the treasure under it to have Edmund back. To make the world right again.
Today the water was choppy and restless, gray rather than silver, and the mermaids were nowhere to be seen. They were under the waves somewhere, he supposed, down where it was quiet and there was no such word as banished.
He realized he was crying after all. It wasn't the hard, convulsive weeping that had broken his sleep last night and too many nights before that. This was only wretched weariness, tears that coursed down his cheeks unbidden because he was too tired to hold them back. He might not have even known he was crying, except that the wintry wind from off the sea made the tears sting against his hot skin.
Wretched weariness. He was tired, so tired.
He leaned back against the cold stone of the castle wall, still staring out to sea, seeing nothing but the shattered look in his youngest sister's eyes when he told her what he'd done. He's banished, Queen Lucy. Banished. Banished.
He scrubbed his hand over his face, scrubbed away the tears that wouldn't slow, and then, suddenly unable to stand any longer, he slid down to sit on the marble floor, his legs stretched out before him and his back against the wall. He could still see the sea through the stone railings, still hear its ceaseless pounding against the rocks and on the sand, echoing the endless throbbing in his head. Banished, it mocked. Banished. Banished. Banished.
What have you done?
The wind picked up, whipping off the water, blowing cold against the walls of Cair Paravel, freezing his wet cheeks and piercing his clothing with its icy fingers. Susan would no doubt scold if she found him here without at least a cloak and order him inside before he caught his death. Death, it seemed, was not so very hard to catch. Perhaps one need only sit still and wait for it to come.
He closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. He could wait.
How long he sat there, he didn't know, but he was finally aware of something being draped around his shoulders, something soft and warm and comfortingly heavy. He looked up to see his sister standing over him, waiflike in her rumpled white nightgown.
"Lu?"
She had already put one of her blankets around him, and now she was spreading another over his legs and chest, pulling it up to his chin.
He swiped his hand over his face again, knowing it was too late now to hide his tears from her.
"Shouldn't you be in bed, Lucy? You've been sick. Susan won't be very happy with either of us if you catch a chill."
She didn't say a word. Instead, she lifted one side of the blanket and crawled under it and into his lap, her soft weeping starting his own again.
"Lu," he murmured, cuddling her close, holding her as tightly as he dared, fearing he would crush her if he held her as tightly as he wanted to, as tightly as he needed to.
She hid her face against his neck and slipped her arms around him.
And because she was Lucy, she hung on.
OOOOO
Edmund had been many times to Anvard, as Lune's fellow King, honored guest and friend. Now, as the sun began to sink behind the western mountains, he came to the gates unsure of the reception he would find. He was again counted among the traitors. And good King Lune, jolly King Lune, plainspoken and honest King Lune, how would he welcome one sullied with such crimes as murder and betrayal and black sorcery?
The guards, well knowing who he was, looked uneasy when Edmund approached and bid them present his request for an audience with their King.
"What name shall we say, Your Maj– My Lor–"
Edmund felt the color rise in his face. "Say that Edmund Pevensie begs just a moment's talk with him."
The guards exchanged a bewildered glance, but one of them, with an uncertain bow, darted into the castle.
More quickly than Edmund imagined possible, he heard heavy footsteps and a familiar, booming voice.
"Where is he?"
He knew that voice, a voice as dear almost as his nearly forgotten father's. Afraid to see anger in that always-kind face or reproof or, more than anything, the revulsion that must flood the eyes of any honest man when faced with a traitor and a villain, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
"It is not meet that the King of Archenland should come out to look on a beggar. I have no right, nor nothing like to right, to ask that you hear me speak or even allow me to approach your gates, most noble King Lune."
His words sounded thin and unsteady to his own ears. How must they sound to the ears of a King?
He felt he ought to say more, ought to explain, ought to somehow atone for even being accused of such heinous deeds, but the words were tangled in a painful knot under his breastbone and wouldn't be dislodged. He only knelt there, trembling, waiting.
"Here now. Here."
Edmund felt himself pulled up against a broad chest and held tightly enough to feel the rumble of the words.
"You are right welcome to Anvard, King Edmund, as ever you have been."
Edmund looked up and let out a shaky breath. There was only welcome and kind acceptance on the face of Archenland's King.
"King no longer, I fear," he admitted, tears threatening and more than a touch of wryness in his tremulous smile.
"Nonsense," Lune boomed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Has not Aslan Himself called you King?"
Edmund looked at his boots. "That was many years ago."
Lune turned Edmund's face back up to him, and there was a familiar merry twinkle in his eyes. "He called you so only last night."
"Last night?"
Lune put one arm around Edmund's shoulders and turned him towards the castle. "Come in, Your Majesty. Rest and refresh yourself. I have much to tell you."
Lune refused to divulge anything more until Edmund accepted his hospitality.
"Aslan gave me express orders," the jolly King said, "and He told me not to heed any argument."
Edmund could by no means convince Lune to say more just then, and he had to admit he was glad of the comforts. He'd eaten nothing all day but the nuts and berries he was able to scrounge along the road, and the hearty meal of roast pork and apple-and-bramble pie was as welcome as the hot bath and fresh clothes. Still, Aslan's warning not to tarry stayed foremost in his mind, and he was relieved when Lune finally dismissed everyone from the table so they might speak in private.
"I didn't believe a word of it," Lune said, eyes indignant. "Even before Aslan spoke to me, I knew none of what was said of you could be true."
"I thank you for that."
Edmund felt his throat tighten around the words. Why hadn't his own brother been as certain?
"But I must admit," Lune continued, "what Aslan has instructed me to tell you seems rather wide of the point."
A little grin tugged at the corners of Edmund's mouth. How like Him. "What did He say?"
"I'm to tell you of a rare vine that grows in Calormen."
"A vine?"
"It is called Xerasthenia, Desert Weakness, though some call it Purple Binding. It springs up from a certain type of rock deep in the desert. For only a few days each spring, its leaves turn purple, nearly black, and it is then that they have a peculiar quality. If they are harvested at the right moment, the leaves can be crushed and made into an elixir."
Edmund wrinkled his forehead. "What does this elixir do?"
"My understanding is that it weakens the will of anyone who consumes it. It makes him confused and easily led. It also weakens his body and gives him headaches and fever and particularly vivid nightmares."
Confusion? Headaches? Nightmares? Oh, Peter!
"I have to go back." Edmund leapt to his feet. "I have to get back home."
"King Edmund." Lune clasped his shoulder and pushed him back down. "You must listen to all I have to tell you."
Edmund grasped the carved arms of his chair, his breath coming hard. You must not tarry. You must not tarry.
"What else?"
Lune kept his hand on Edmund's shoulder, concern in his eyes. "You know someone who shows these signs?"
"What else?" Edmund repeated, jaw clenched.
"If long continued," Lune said, "this elixir eventually brings death."
Author's Note: Thanks to OldFashionedGirl95, especially for letting me borrow her Crows, and to Laura Andrews. You're both most wonderful!
–WD