For Disclaimer and Information, see the first chapter.
Edmund and Peter met again on the practice court. Surprisingly enough, it was the first time they had been able to stop and speak since Edmund left the council chambers. "Peter," he said before his brother had the chance to speak. "I'm sorry about my behavior yesterday. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble."
"I know, Ed, and it's fine," he said soothingly, looking with concern at Edmund's haggard face. He couldn't help but think how unfair it was. His brother was thirteen, but for some reason looked down upon when he behaved as a child. No one had any problems when the other Pevensies remembered their ages. And it looked like Edmund needed to now more than ever. The defeated look in his eye alarmed Peter more than he could say. "They were prats and deserved it, to tell you the truth. Are you all right? Prim said you were still upset."
Edmund turned red. "Is that all she said?"
"Yes. Why?"
Orieus trotted up before another word could be said. For once he was not alone, but in the company of a bear, a leopard, and another centaur. Cotton the rabbit was in his arms. "Many meetings, your Majesties," he said, dipping his head.
"Many meetings, Orieus," Peter answered. "Are we to have an audience today?"
"Not quite, King Peter," the general said. "Cotton brought me some interesting news of King Edmund." Both looked at him, Orieus with an eyebrow raised. Peter looked worried. "We would like to try something different with your training, King Edmund. Something entirely different. We think it might help, but before you start we much have your and King Peter's permission. Would you care to try?"
The kings exchanged glances. "Can you tell us what exactly this new training would entail?" Peter asked.
Orieus smiled, startling them all the more. "I cannot. These four are the leaders of the 8th and 22nd squadron."
"Isn't that the one that never does anything?" Peter asked, then blushed. "I mean...I didn't mean...They're never here, and..."
"Yes, that's exactly the one," the centaur said with a smile. "There are only seventy-five of us, so it's hardly a squadron to begin with. We have two numbers to distinguish us from the rest of the army."
"They want to take over Edmund's military training," Orieus said. "They are extremely secretive about their peculiar arts. Even I know nothing of it, save that it will help."
"We just need your permission," Cotton said. "It would look terrible if the Just King left in our company and returned wounded when you had not both blessed the training."
"Wounded?" the kings said together.
"Oh, yes. We'll be working you rather harder than Orieus would."
Orieus, Edmund, and Peter snorted. "I doubt that," Edmund said. "In what way will this help me?"
"In every way," the leopard said in a surprisingly delicate female voice. "You will know challenge. You will know success. You will have the world at your fingertips and peace in your heart, the land 'neath your feet and song on your lips. You shall be undefeatable."
Edmund looked downright terrified. He'd been offered all that before.
"There is more than one kind of power," the centaur said softly, almost as if she'd read his mind.
Edmund glanced at Peter, who nodded. "If you want to try," he said, trust shining in his eyes, "then I'm behind you."
"Then…then I suppose I could try."
"Excellent," said Orieus. "You shall have a month with your new tutors, starting today. After that you shall resume practice with Peter and me, with them taking you away every third day."
"Come with us, Majesty," the bear said, putting a huge paw on Edmund's shoulder and steering him toward the small forest next to the courts.
"I guess I'll see you later, Pete," Edmund called back.
"See you," Peter answered, watching Cotton leap out of Orieus' arms and follow the others.
The group waited until the centaur and his now-lonely student were out of earshot before saying another word. "Now then," the Leopard purred. "First thing's first. I am Groul, Sybella is the centaur, Tabbarack is the Bear, and you already know Cotton."
"The first thing we shall do is talk about you, King Edmund," Cotton said.
"These past few years have been very…hard on you," Groul said softly.
"It's my own fault," Edmund said glumly, his eyes growing dark.
"On the contrary," the Rabbit said. "It's ours."
"Yours?" Whatever do you mean?"
"We—all of us Narnians—have been foolish," said Tabbarack. He seemed much…different from the other Bears Edmund had met. He had the same bumbling voice, but the words were much more intelligent. "Each and every time you became the subject of some kind of test, every time you have been in position to lead, every time you have to prove yourself to us, we have expected you to be one of five things."
"The first is a coward," Cotton continued. "The second is a spoiled brat. The third is a sneak. The fourth is a masterful judge. The fifth is Peter. Our standards were unfair, and they have caused you to blunder and fail repeatedly. You are not yet a judge, Edmund. Nor are you a brat, a sneak, and certainly no coward. Above all, you are not your brother."
"You have tried to be your brother, and that is what has caused your hardship," Sybella said. "Peter is Magnificent, brave, proud, loving, royal, and ready for anything in a matter of hours. He instantly inspires loyalty and love. He is great and chivalrous. He is a Soldier, and a King."
Now Groul took up the lesson. "You have been trained as a soldier-king, you have been treated as a soldier-king, and we have expected a soldier-king from you. You are not, cannot be, and never will. We were not aware of this until last night. From now on, things will be different."
"But what am I, then, if not a soldier and king?" Edmund said, deeply disappointed and fighting to keep it hidden. Tabbarack, who had been leading the way, stopped abruptly and pulled Edmund in front of him.
They had arrived at an enclosed clearing in the woods, marked similarly to the training ground he was used to with Peter. There was a small pond off to the side of the clearing, and there were fewer weapons just lying around, but otherwise it was very close.
Cotton hopped in front of him, raising on his hind legs and surveying him with a curious look. "You are a Warrior Poet," he said firmly, his chest expanding with pride as he said the words.
"But…I don't write poetry! I hardly write at all, except to clear my head."
"Doesn't matter," said Tabbarack. " 'Poet' is more of a figurative term, anyway. Being a Warrior Poet means that instead of running on instinct and strategy, you run on thought and intense feeling. Where Peter is ready for anything that comes his way in a matter of hours, you must be ready for anything and any moment."
"Soldiers run drills until the drill becomes instinct," Groul said. "Warrior Poets hone the bare instincts until they are just as deadly. We will sharpen your wits and focus your instincts and turn them into battle tactics to rival the greatest of strategists. This exempts 'Poets from most if not all of the laws of chivalry and honor. Your new code is survival. People will expect a Soldier. You shall surprise them greatly."
"You will rely upon your heart and mind in the thick of things," Sybella told him. "A downside, you could say. Unlike other most other warriors, soldiers, berserkers, or guards, you cannot lose your head in battle or emergency and let your hands take over while your mind is clear. You cannot give way to pure impulse and motion. You must be forever conscious, painfully conscious, of every thought, feeling, and move you make. You must always be aware of your actions and choices, constantly thinking of consequences and possibilities, exploring many options at once, all within a matter of seconds."
Edmund frowned. Everything had sounded good until that.
"Don't worry. We'll cover the mental material later. It's more natural than it sounds." The centaur smiled. "For now we will stay within your physical ranges, checking your strengths and weaknesses and seeing where we need to start. Well, that, and undoing most of what Orieus taught you. You'll learn that each of us have a hand in different aspects of your training. My duty is to help you apply your mind to your hands, to stay focused and remember everything you've learned. I'll also be reteaching you weaponry."
Tabbarack the bear raised onto his hind legs. "I will build your strength, in the ways of a 'Poet instead of a Soldier."
"Believe it or not, I'm a fighting teacher, too," Cotton piped up. "We'll be working on your speed, agility, and unarmed combat."
"And I am a combination of all," Groul said with a graceful nod. "I am your ultimate test, as well as your instructor in negotiation and politics."
"All right, then," Edmund said, hoping he wasn't in over his head. "Where do I start?"
"By helping us gauge where you stand now," said Cotton. "You will start by play-fighting Groul in the practice ring."
"Actually, it's not a fight at all," the leopard said, leading him to the ring. "Your task is to grab my ears. If you can take hold of my ears, you have won our little game. The rules of combat do not apply to a Warrior Poet, remember, so feel free to fight as dirty as you like."
She spoke quite amiably to him, setting his nerves on edge. Edmund was excited despite himself. He had always been tempted to fight dirty against Orieus and Peter, but hadn't dared. He had never fought a female anything before, much less a leopard.
"Above all, you must keep your head," Sybella stressed upon him. "If you lose it, you are lost. Ready to begin?"
Edmund gulped and nodded, and he and Groul stepped onto the court.
The first thing Edmund did was begin to trace a wide circle around the leopard, readying himself for an attack at any given moment. Ed was surprised when Groul did not make a single move, not even following him with her eyes. He waited until he was behind her and to the left, just out of sight, and sprang at the cat.
He landed, painfully, on the hard-packed ground. He grunted and sat up, rubbing his bruised ribcage. Groul was sitting innocently in front of him, swishing her tail absently. "Not quiet enough, not fast enough," she said. Then she began to move around him.
He sprang to his feet, never turning his back on her. Her sinewy muscles rippled with every powerful step she took. Edmund was suddenly terrified. "Well?" she asked, never ending her circle. "Aren't you going to try again?"
The Just King gulped and tensed, then leaped toward her. Quick as lighting she stepped away, leaving him falling to the ground. "Come along, Edmund. Third time's the charm."
He growled and launched himself at her, letting his frustration fuel his attack. Instead of dodging him this time she dove under him, flipping onto her back and lashing out with her back feet. She hit his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending him flying to the other side of the ring. Hit the ground with a groan. Before he had the chance to move again Groul was standing over him, rolling him onto his back and pressing a paw onto his chest, right over his heart. Pressing a little harder, she allowed her claws to shoot out of their sheaths and bury themselves in his skin. He cried out in pain.
"You lost your head, Edmund," she said calmly. "See the dangers now?"
She released him, stepping away and allowing him to stand. He did so, a little shakily, examining he claw marks on his chest. They stung, but were very shallow—what little blood there was already clotting. He eyed his teacher warily, afraid she was going to strike again. Instead she walked to the side of the ring.
"I'm done now," she called. "We'll start you off with Cotton and switch you to Tabbarack in about half and hour."
"All right… what do I have to do with them?"
Both grinned. "Fight me," Tabbarack said, rising to his hind feet and towering over the centaur next to him.
"Catch me," Cotton said, hopping into the ring.
It was going to be a long session.
After an hour they allowed him a sparring session with Sybella, who deemed him "all right for a 'Poet who spent the last three years pretending to be a soldier." As the session drew to a close, Edmund felt ready to crawl into a hole and never come out again. He was dizzy and couldn't walked straight, forcing him to lean on Tabbarack's sturdy shoulder in order to make it back to Orieus and Peter on his own two feet. The two were having a chess/strategy lesson in the shade when the party of 'Poets returned in sight.
When Peter saw his brother staggering out of the woods covered in ugly bruises, sporting a black eye, and wiping the blood off his tunic, he nearly passed out himself.
"Ed!" he called fantically, springing from his chair and sprinting to the five figures.
His brother looked exhausted, but surprisingly happier than Peter had seen him in years. "M'alright, Pete," he slurred. "No need t'fuss. Look!" He lifted his hand to Peter's eyes. Clutched tightly within his fingers like a trophy was a tuft of soft white hair. "I caught Cotton!"
The rabbit chuckled. "Yes, very good, Edmund. You'll have to try harder than just the tip of the tail next time."
He scowled and fell into the High King's arms. "Next time, I'll reach for his ears," he muttered under his breath, confusing Peter all the more.
"He's going to make an excellent 'Poet, Orieus," Groul purred, twitching her tail.
Peter frowned. Edmund looked that horrible because they were teaching him…poetry?
"I'm glad to hear it, Groul," the centaur said, eyeing Edmund's condition with raised eyebrows. "You, uh…weren't intending to kill him first, were you?"
"Of course not. What sort of teachers would we be then?"
"Don't worry. I won't let them go too far," Sybella said with a big smile. She struck Peter as being very laid-back for a centaur.
"I'm counting on you. Why don't you get your brother inside, High King, and clean him up a bit?"
"Yes, Orieus," Peter said, half-dragging, half-supporting Edmund into the castle.
Thank you Shizuku, lunawannabe, and Eavis for reviewing the first chapter! Hope you enjoy the rest of the story, too.
