So...apologies in advance...I originally planned to make Edmund talk to Peter in this chapter, but Edmund and Susan had other ideas and refused to cooperate. Once again I was forced to argue with literary characters...Needless to say they won. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway and the next one will be posted soon.
Susan was not particularly surprised to find Edmund with the horses. At first, she had expected to find him with Peter, and was rather surprised when it was Lucy she found asleep on her older brother's shoulder instead. After ushering them both to bed-Lucy hadn't even stirred and in the end Peter had carried her-Susan turned her own increasingly weary steps towards the section of the courtyard where the horses had bedded down for the night. If her stubborn younger brother wasn't with Peter he would be with Philip, and that was where she found him.
Philip was laying down, half curled around her brother protectively, and undoubtedly fast asleep. Edmund was leaning back against the Horse's neck, eyes closed, and appearing (to anyone unused to his actual sleeping habits, at least) to be as fast asleep as his Horse. Susan however, was not so easily fooled.
She sat down a safe distance away, she had learned quickly after coming to Narnia that if she planned on startling one of her brothers it was better to do so from further away than the reach of a sword, and tossed a blanket at his head. He caught it, glaring blearily at her from under half closed eyelids, and sighed.
"I'm fine Su. My ankle isn't broken, I didn't hit my head that hard, and I just want to sleep."
Just then Susan wasn't sure if older brothers or younger brothers were more annoying. Peter had responded to her queries about his health in much the same way, and with far better justification considering the worst of his injuries had been healed. She wisely decided not to debate the truth of Edmund's insistent statements, instead settling for rolling her eyes and making a feeble attempt at humour. "Of course, dear brother, that would explain why you are sitting here not sleeping."
He laughed, though she could tell it was more from a desire to humour her than because he actually found her remark funny. "It isn't for lack of trying. At least you managed to get Peter to go to sleep."
"How can you be so sure I did?" She wondered, as she always did, how her brothers could be so certain of what the other was doing without being told.
"Because, you're the one pestering me and not him."
She really didn't know what to say to that, and they sat in silence for a long moment. Edmund had closed his eyes again, obviously hoping that pretending to sleep would force her to leave, and Susan found herself wondering what on Earth (or anywhere else for that matter) she could say to him.
"I'm worried about Lucy." At last she decided to steer the conversation back to a topic he would be more likely to acknowledge as worthy of his time.
"So am I; she shouldn't have had to do that."
Blast! Of course, he would be feeling guilty about it. She silently added a few more, less queenly words to phrase, and was surprised when Edmund grinned and tossed a handful of hay at her.
"Your ears turn red when you curse," he said matter-of-factly, though there was still a hint of amusement in his expression.
"They do not! Besides, I wasn't." And you're one to talk about cursing, young man!
"Not audibly. But, about Lucy, I wish that hadn't happened." The amusement was gone as quickly as it had come and he was back to looking exhausted.
"I suppose that's part of being an older sibling; wishing some things hadn't happened but not being able to do anything about it."
"I thought we were talking about Lucy."
"We are." But she isn't the only one I'm worried about.
He sighed in exasperation and disappeared under the blanket she had tossed at him until only his forehead and a tangle of dark hair was visible. "I know you're worried about me," his voice was slightly muffled by the blanket and Susan smiled, remembering a much younger Edmund trailing after her dragging a quilt. It was a strange memory and she wasn't quite sure where it had come from-it wasn't a memory from Narnia that much she was sure of-but it served to further emphasise her earlier point. None of us will ever be that young again. And she didn't necessarily mean age in the physical sense.
"I am worried." It was somehow easier to talk to him when she couldn't see his expression. "You never talk about things when you need to and then everything gets so terribly out of hand. The next thing I know you, or Peter, or both of you will come galloping home half dead, because you're both too bloody stubborn to talk about what's bothering you and would rather go charging into danger so you can forget!"
Philip swished his tail along the ground in annoyance at the volume of her voice but did not wake, and the blanket covered lump that was Edmund did not visibly respond. Susan clenched her fists in frustration. Younger brothers-they are definitely more annoying, she decided, resolving her earlier uncertainty. "Lucy told me what happened," she continued, lowering her voice so she would not wake Philip. "And I saw what happened with the giant in the castle."
"I don't want to talk about it." The stubbornly insistent words were almost too quiet for her to hear, but they were clear enough to make her grit her teeth and consider throwing something more solid than a blanket at her idiotic brother. When will he learn that it's perfectly acceptable to admit when something is wrong?
"No," she said at last, trying to make her voice sound reasonable. "But you need to."
"Fine. I'll talk to Peter; happy now?" She was, and also rather surprised by his quick agreement, but she was not about to complain.
"Thrilled. Will you really though? Promise?" The blanket shifted down infinitesimally, and he scowled at her.
"You, dear sister, have my word of honour that I will speak with him."
Susan stood and kissed his forehead before he could object. "In the morning?" She asked, deciding to risk annoying him further.
"Certainly Su, whatever you like." He disappeared entirely under the blanket now and Susan smiled; she didn't quite have the heart to tell him that it was already morning.
Edmund, through no purely intentional fault of his own, had no opportunity to speak to Peter that morning. He had just fallen into an uneasy sleep when he woke to find Metelus shaking his shoulder urgently. No amount of grumbling or attempting to burrow back under the blanket Susan had brought him would dissuade the old faun from his mission, and Edmund reluctantly admitted defeat and opened his eyes.
Metelus, very used to his student's morning mood, handed him a tin mug of coffee and smiled over his spectacles. "Forgive the disturbance, your majesty, but I have been informed that the Green Lady possessed an extensive library. Perhaps you might assist me?"
Edmund mumbled something incoherent in response as he fumbled with his boots, finding that he could not get the left one on over his swollen ankle. Abandoning the fruitless attempt, he tossed both boots into an untidy heap with his socks and resigned himself to going barefoot. Susan would likely murder him if she ever found out, but he was in no mood to continue fighting with treacherous footwear.
The coffee was rather warmer than he had anticipated, scalding in fact, and his first coherent statement of the day turned out to be a particularly colourful string of words he had picked up from a Calormen soldier. Metelus raised his eyebrows and shook his greying head in mock despair. Philip, awake at last, lifted his head and snorted quietly in amusement. Edmund glared at the pair of them, daring either to comment, and got stiffly to his feet.
"The library, your majesty," Metelus said with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
Edmund scowled, balancing awkwardly on one foot, and tried to remember what exactly the faun had been saying. "What about it? I didn't burn it down, did I? I seem to recall giving the guards strict instructions not to; I thought you might find some of her books informative."
"No, the library was untouched by the fire, and I hope to find her books extremely informative, her correspondence even more so. Perhaps if your majesty would accompany me?" He coughed, a reminder that not long ago he had been ill, and Edmund nodded without further complaint. If an ill, elderly faun could drag himself out of bed at such an unacceptable hour (in reality it was nearing midday) then Edmund had no acceptable excuse to not accompany him.
Philip lifted his head and glared fiercely, first at Edmund then at Metelus. "Keep him out of trouble, won't you? I'll have grey hairs in my mane by the end of the year at this rate!"
"Perhaps for once I will have some success in that respect," Metelus said gravely but with a quick, nervous glance in Edmund's direction.
Edmund only rolled his eyes. "If I'm not allowed to sleep perhaps we could get on with it?"
The library, as Metelus had said, was one of the few rooms in the castle where the fire had not spread, and under different circumstances Edmund might have been eager to explore the vast rows of book covered shelves. As it was, he sat gratefully in the nearest chair, propped his fantastically bruised and swollen ankle up on another chair, and glared at the stack of parchment Metelus presented him with.
The letters were written in a beautiful, elegant hand that seemed vaguely familiar, and there were at least two hundred of them. "Any of these in particular, or am I going to be here for the next week?" Edmund asked miserably.
Metelus diplomatically said nothing as he split the pile into two equal halves and retreated to an adjacent chair.
The first letter was more a list of names than a proper letter, and half way down the first column Edmund spotted a familiar title. Tumnus the Faun, currently residing in Lantern Waste; loyalty is questionable. Frowning he set the list aside for more careful consideration and turned to the next letter.
To The Lady of the Green Kirtle, heir apparent of Harfang and of the White Throne, Enchantress in her own right and loyal daughter; Greetings and Salutations from Her Imperial Majesty-
"I should have guessed." His hands shook as he passed the letter to Metelus, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach as he at last recognised the handwriting.
Metelus' face lost all colour as he scanned the page quickly. "Her Imperial Majesty, Jadis, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Empress of the Lone Islands-King Edmund, forgive me, I did not know-perhaps the High King would…" he let the sentence trail into silence, stopping just short of questioning Edmund's ability to put aside personal experiences when necessary.
Edmund silently took the letter back, feeling rather foolish. It's a letter; there's nothing dangerous in that. Still, he couldn't quite keep his hands from shaking as he continued reading. The first half of the page seemed to be a simple exchange of pleasantries, but the second half was far more informative.
There have been rumours and whispers abroad in the kingdom of late. I have heard tidings of the accursed Lion's return and of the coming of the Four. Daughter, I tell you plainly that I shall destroy them, but, if by treachery or foul magic, they should prove victorious I charge you to avenge me. May a thousand curses fall upon you if you fail to do so, for it will not only be my life that is lost, but my kingdom which shall be corrupted by these prattling fools who follow the Lion. I have no doubt that our beguiled King will aid you in your enterprise should the need arise. Promise him what you must to keep his devotion unshaken-even if it be one half of Narnia in exchange for his assistance. He will be easily dealt with in the end.
There was more, but it ran much along the same lines, and Edmund put the letter aside. Metelus was watching him over his spectacles, looking very shaken, and he forced a smile. "Well, I suppose that explains rather a lot." The discovery was less upsetting than he might have expected. She had failed, they were all alive, and Narnia remained free; since she was dead, and the Green Lady was injured badly enough to flee, what more could she do? It was a reassuring thought and Edmund reached for the next stack of papers, ignoring Metelus' mumbled protest. I'm not entirely helpless, he thought crossly, but chose not to make the remark aloud.
There were hundreds of pages; lists of spies and strongholds, names of rebels the Witch had turned to stone in the hundred years of her reign, and pages upon pages of instructions for various enchantments. Hours later, he looked up from a particularly complicated spell, which would enable the caster to trap a living spirit within an inanimate object, to find an annoyed Susan glaring at him from the doorway.
"So," she crossed her arms and scowled fiercely. "Are you aware that Peter has been looking for you all day?"
Metelus rose, bowed, and then diplomatically attempted to disappear behind a heavy book. Edmund briefly wished he could follow suit. "I'm sorry, Su. I lost track of time." He smiled, hoping that would appease her somewhat. It did not appear to and her expression darkened still further.
"Edmund Pevensie! Where are your shoes?" Her voice rose in volume painfully as her eyes flashed dangerously. He would almost have rather faced a giant just then.
"In the stables," he responded meekly. "My ankle was too swollen-"
He instantly realised his mistake when she rounded furiously on Metelus. "And you thought it was a good idea to drag him up here with a sprained ankle? Really Metelus, I expected better of you!"
The faun's naturally red face turned redder still as he shuffled his hooves, bowing and mumbling an indistinct apology. Edmund threw him a sympathetic smile and limped forward to take his sister's arm. "He was quite right to bring me here and it's my own fault I lost track of time. Allow me to offer my sincerest apologies, dear sister."
Susan huffed, unimpressed, but her scowl faded. "Very well, but you are going to talk to Peter now, even if I have to personally escort you."
"I did promise; I was going to find him at some point." Even if it was rather convenient to lose track of time. "Metelus, a word?" Susan retreated a few steps with a resigned sigh, though she tapped her foot impatiently on the polished floor.
The unfortunate faun shuffled his hooves uneasily, stealing terrified glances in her direction and Edmund had to bite back a laugh. "She's not nearly as intimidating once you get to know her," he reassured his tutor quietly.
Metelus shook his head. "I daren't get to know her; I fear I have greatly offended her and I am not certain how or in what way I can make amends."
Shrugging, Edmund glanced back at his impatient elder sister as she cleared her throat. "I can assure you there is no need to make amends. She isn't cross with you; if she were it would be painfully obvious." He hastily pushed the Green Lady's letters under a heavy volume of Ettin history. "You must not breathe a word of what we have found to anyone, least of all my brother the High King, he would be unduly distressed to learn he was nearly the willing slave of the White Witch's daughter-even if she was not so by blood."
Metelus shifted uneasily again, hooves clacking against the marble tiles. "But surely he must be told! I mean no disrespect, but is it proper to keep such information from him?"
"No, but it is necessary." He's unbearable enough as it is.
"As you say, King Edmund." But he looked thoroughly miserable, and Edmund did not miss the fact that he hadn't actually promised.
"Do I have your word then?" He felt rather guilty for forcing the matter, but Peter really couldn't know.
Metelus sighed, nodding. "I swear in Aslan's name and that of His Great Father, The Emperor Over the Sea; I shall tell no one what we have discovered here, least of all the High King."
Edmund smiled gratefully at him and limped after Susan, expecting (quite correctly) that she would have much more to say once they were out of earshot of the old faun.
"You look like a Calormen beggar," she began crossly.
"I really was going to find Peter," he assured her quietly, knowing that was the true source of her annoyance.
"I know, I trust you to keep your word, but I would prefer you keep it more promptly." She smiled reluctantly. "I fear I rather upset poor Metelus."
"Upset? The poor chap is terrified of falling prey to your wrath. He seems to have forgotten that you are the Gentle Queen and not prone to fits of murderous rage."
Susan laughed, appeased by the teasing tone of his words, and allowed him to escort her through the arched doorway. The rest of the castle was soot covered and gutted by the fire, and Edmund studiously avoided looking at anything too closely. It wasn't blatantly unjust to burn down an enemy fortress, but it was a good deal harsher than his usual methods of securing victory and he couldn't help but feel vaguely regretful. There might have been a better way if I had stopped to look for one. But it was no good dwelling on what could have happened; the past would not change.
He didn't mean to fall asleep when Susan left him alone in Peter's tent with a cold compress on his ankle and strict instructions not to move. He was too exhausted to try avoiding the impending conversation that he really didn't want to have and the exhaustion happily took the conscious choice from him and he fell asleep.
Please leave me a review! Many thanks to everyone who has already reviewed and special thanks to PaintingMusic14 for being a beta reader extraordinaire!
Anyone else a little worried by the fact that Edmund, who has really bad nightmares according to Lucy, just fell asleep? Yes? Good. See you next chapter!
Cheers,
A