Better to have one thousand enemies outside the house than to have one single enemy inside it.
– Lebanese Proverb
"Insolent! Despicable! DISGRACEFUL!"
The Grand Vizier is having a hard time trying to chase the hysterical prince pushing vases that were unfortunate enough to be on his path of destruction.
"Never in my life had I been so HUMILIATED… by an ACCURSED BARBARIAN," he proceeds to make a series of aimless kicks in the air.
"Please, my enlightened prince, might you refrain from destroying thousand-year-old relics…"
"I want to declare war, IMMEDIATELY," The prince says without much elaboration. "How do I go about it, old babbler Ahoshta? Do I write a letter to the monarchs of my intentions?"
"My esteemed and infinitely intelligent prince," Ahoshta coddles, almost regretting his obligations as a Vizier to compliment the prince at his every whim. "One cannot simply "order" a war as though selecting from a menu. There must be due reason and formal process for such a delicate matter."
"Then I would like to delicately request for an ASSEMBLY OF TROOPS."
"Please, O most inflammable Rabadash," Ahoshta is practically walking with his knees.
"You must bring your father's counsel into this!"
"Then acquire my father's permission, I shall!" Rabadash makes a sharp turn to the grand hallways where his father was conveniently in the royal chambers.
"Oh-my-Father-and-oh-the-delight-of-my-eyes," he began, without the underlying love in his words. "May you live forever, but… you have utterly destroyed me! Why have you persuaded me to let the false jade go!"
"Compose yourself, O my son," the Tisroc replies. "Departures are only as significant as those who make them so."
"But I need her," Rabadash cries in frenzied, almost rabid conviction. "I cannot stop thinking about her supple skin, her tender bosom, and complexion like she had died last week—"
"How beautifully said!" Ahoshta exclaims in an attempt to save the dignity of the court. He turns to the Tisroc with a floor-length bow, "Surely, O most venerable harbinger of the sun and moon, you cannot deny the passion that has absolutely consumed our prince?"
The Tisroc is sunk deep in thought, hands twirling around his chin as if the answer were hidden within his beard. "Why must I entertain this notion of retrieving such a costly jewel, if it risks the collapse of the entire treasury?"
It seems Rabadash was prepared for this moment. "O my Father, I am rather of the opinion that in letting a WOMAN defy a prince, you will be sending a message to all the women of Calormen that it is theirs to deny what we men have rightfully claimed."
This piques the Tisroc's interest, and Rabadash grins because he knows he has gotten the backing he needed. "Go on, child."
"Let you all be reminded that a country called Narnia which calls itself free, is unbridled, disordered, and unprofitable, simply because they have allowed themselves to be ruled by an oppressive enchantress, and now they have fallen prey to one delusional High King, his terrible swordsman brother, the false jade, and the pathetic armoured queen."
This earns the laughter of the court, which bolsters what little credibility his rationale seems to have. "The equality of such a barbarian monarchy goes against the basic tenets of Tashbaan."
When he gains numerous nods from the audience, Rabadash approaches the Tisroc and kisses his feet. "Allow me to restore the lustre of our reputation, with women not eclipsing the reign of man but shadowing it."
"The sentiment greatly pleases me," the Tisroc finally replies in his deep, quiet voice.
"But if the old enchantress that has plagued that region for a thousand years was upended by those same barbarians, I have my reservations attacking a country aided by a demon in the shape of a lion, or putting my hand further out than I can draw it back."
"O my Father, what if I can show you a way in which you can stretch out your arm to take what is ours and yet draw it back unharmed if the attempt proves unfortunate?"
"If you can produce it, O Rabadash, you will be the best of sons," the Tisroc says. "How will you attempt such a dark and doubtful enterprise?"
"O Father, the genius will only shock you," Rabadash turns to the Grand Vizier with a sly grin. "Ahoshta, regarding the spies we hired. Both of them have arrived in Narnia, yes?
"Affirmative, my prince. She has sent a raven to confirm it."
"What is this now?" Tisroc grows concerned. "You've sent spies behind my back?"
"O Tisroc, whose reign must and shall be interminable, this has all been part of my elaborate plan to give you what you truly want: Narnia, at your mercy. And all the slaves you could possibly have," Rabadash offers as if it were his to readily give. "All I ask is for the barbarian queen to be mine."
"Hear me, my son, when I say that the barbarian four of Narnia bear strength together that cannot be easily undermined."
"To hear is to obey," Rabadash agrees. "And that is exactly why, O Father and delight of my eyes, that I will break them apart. One by one."
~O~
"We are running out of options, your Majesty." Oreius explains when Edmund asks him to elaborate on what constitutes as the worst strategy he's ever made.
"Marriage? Marriage?" Edmund extrapolates each syllable as if doing so would somehow magically change the meaning. "My sister has just refused to marry the prince of Calormen—which could be grounds for war!—and this is what we're discussing?"
"It's exactly why we have to discuss it, Edmund," Lucy counters. "You know Archenland is more subject to its traditions than its allegiances."
"And just so we're exploring all alternatives, you would not have been more… suitable to take my place?" Edmund offers.
"And I would have been more suitable for marriage because—?" Lucy lets her sentence hang in the air long enough for Edmund to realise his need to sensibly rephrase himself.
"Forgive me, Lucy," he twists his heel to Oreius instead. "I meant—how shall I put this—are we on such a shortage of Archenlander bachelors?"
"To secure an alliance of great economic propensity, one that can guarantee a win in a war against Calormen," Oreius explains, "It is paramount that it should be an Archenlander of high ranking. The only one suitable for Her Majesty, Queen Lucy, would be Prince Corin."
"Yes, Corin 'Thunder-fist'!" Edmund recalls and is about to voice his approval when Oreius backpedals his enthusiasm.
"Unfortunately, Prince Corin has been reported missing for the past month. No one knows where he has gone. Some speculate he has run away."
Oreius could feel Edmund grating the wooden table with his fingers and is certain Edmund will implode if he continues but does so anyway.
"Fortunately, King Lune has a niece, one he is looking for an advantageous marriage."
Lucy tilts her head. "A niece? I thought she was already married?"
"Not quite," answers Oreius. "The prince of Telmar had been courting her and asked for her hand. King Lune refused his offer."
"And what makes you think the odds are in my favour?"
"You are no prince, your Majesty," Oreius offers. "You are a King. Not only have Telmarines never proved themselves reliable allies, but we suspect the methods to King Lune's decisions are driven by a purpose common to ours: a united front against Calormen."
Edmund massages the temple of his forehead. "If I leave, then Lucy will be left alone—"
"And left alone, I am still entirely capable," she assures.
"But Lu—"
"Her Majesty is more than qualified to defend Cair Paravel," Oreius interjects, ready with an example. "None of my soldiers have forgotten how Queen Lucy the Valiant led the battalion in driving Jadis's accomplices further in the North."
It almost slips Edmund's mind that his sister has grown into a fierce warrior, much more headstrong than he is charging into the fray. With her command, he knows Narnia could not be in safer hands, and finds even more difficulty in justifying why he should be the one who remains.
"What do you think, Edmund?" Lucy asks, turning to her brother who is pacing himself back and forth in the war room.
Edmund still doesn't answer when he eventually sits on the chair, eyes darkened with a dilemma, across the table where Lucy and Oreius are looking to him for guidance. Peter isn't here to extend his usual god-like command. Susan isn't present to offer a dollop of her logic and rationality. If it weren't for today, Edmund would be busy playing his golden chess set against himself to keep his mind sharp. Or he would be behind three rows of bookshelves laden with Narnian philosophy, reading and absorbing all he could to make himself a better adviser to his brother and sisters.
All of this gave him some semblance of control over his life. Yes, he is well-versed in the art of war and has designed—with impressive style—the strategies needed to win them. As King Edmund, the Just, he knows how to navigate the most turbulent of battle affairs. But as Edmund Pevensie, he has no clue how to proceed. With all that has kept him preoccupied in establishing security and peace and the default assumption that Peter would always swoop in and save the day, the idea of an arranged marriage has never been on his radar.
With Peter gone and Susan in the possible brink of danger, could he really refuse such an arrangement, if only for the sake of his own desires?
No, because that was the Edmund Pevensie who met the White Witch.
Who is he if not for his constant efforts to win over his people? Who is he if not the sacrifices made to redeem himself of the egregious sin of treachery?
He nearly died the night before. He cannot sustain that vulnerable image or it could mean Narnia's own demise.
Edmund rises from the chair with a starkly different demeanour. "I will take the offer."
Oreius and Lucy breathe a sigh of relief. "You mean, you will make the offer?" His sister points out with a chuckle. "Go to Archenland to propose?"
"And retrieve Susan and bring her home.'" Edmund adds, realising how much work the consequences of his decision have already reaped. "Is my sister still in Calormen?"
"The Narnian Embassy is reported to be nearing the border to Anvard," Oreius reports.
"The sooner we leave, the more likely we can get to her. I don't trust that Rabadash will let her go quite so easily," Edmund says worriedly. "Travelling by sea shall be far quicker than transporting a company on foot. Oreius, prepare thirty crewmen for my company on board. The rest of the infantry should stay here."
"Right away, your Majesty," he salutes with a click of his hooves and leaves the room.
"Come on, then." Lucy says, motioning for her brother to come. "If we are to move forward as quickly as possible, you will need all the pomp and circumstance it will take to convince the princess to accept your proposal."
"Not a moment ago, you just expressed your confidence he will!" Edmund half-screeches, following his sister out of the door. "Wait, Lucy—"
"You can't take it back, Edmund! It's been decided!"
He grabs her wrist to stop her, needing her to look at him and understand. "No, I mean. Is this what Peter would have done?"
Lucy tries to meet his brooding eyes with warmth and consolation. "Of course, Peter would have done anything to keep the peace. It's what he's trying to do right now with the giants."
"I don't know, Lucy. I feel like I should have gone north with him," Edmund steps away with a heavy gait. "I fear something's happened."
"You mustn't muddle your mind on such things. He'll write to us when he can. I know it."
"But it's been weeks, Lucy! When will he—"
"A letter for your Majesties!"
Edmund almost trips at his feet, almost baulks in suspicion at such a timely intrusion. He watches as Lucy takes the letter once again from the raven's claws, hacks open the seal and beams at him, giving him the answer that should have consoled him.
"it's from Peter," Lucy says, "I told you, he's safe."
She is smiling, running to embrace him. Even with the joyous news, he wishes for any divine explanation, whether it was the alteration of stars, the alignment of planets, the slow burning approach of winter—anything that could explain why despite very his best to match his sister's iron-clad belief, all he could think about was the ugly, bitter feeling at the pit of his stomach—like no words further from the truth have been spoken.