XXXVII

EDMUND

Breakaway – Kelly Clarkson

The peace and solitude the study provided was broken intermittently by the comings and goings of staff. Naturally, the process was quick; a delivering of parchment, a second to stoke the fire or return books to their shelves. None would linger longer than a few moments, completing their task and leaving silently.

Edmund had never allowed any staff in his workspace for longer than necessary, finding that the less distractions there were, the better his focus became.

That is why when the fourth knock of that day ricocheted across the book filled shelves, Edmund did not bat an eye and bid the company enter.

He did not look up as the rhythm of a Faun's cloven footsteps trampled across the carpeted floor. Not even when they stopped just short of the desk did Edmund stop his haphazard writings. His intense focus on the pencil markings he made was all encompassing as he attempted to catch up with his work.

Attempted being the main word here, there was not a chance on Narnian soil that he would be able to make up for the lost time of his Sisters return – not that he would ever trade those moments. What he would have traded, was the current emptiness of the room. He'd much prefer Grace be here doing something to help him steady the swaying tower of parchment that had been steadily growing.

A gruff sound of a cleared throat reminded him that the room was in-fact, not empty.

Edmund's neck creaked as he met the narrowed black eyes of the Faun.

In a sign of respect, Margrove lowered his head as he offered a square of parchment towards the King. There were no words from the Faun's lips and as Edmund eyed the lantern wax crest upon the parchments opening, he realised there did not need to be.

Edmund took the square gratefully, his pencil unceremoniously dropped in his haste. An abandonment that he didn't linger on as he shoved a reckless finger through the crest and unfolded its contents.

As he read, Edmund could feel the black eyes of the Faun upon his face, pointed and heavy like a dagger hanging on a thread above him. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the favourable words of Mr Tumnus.

Varying words caught his attention as he proceeded to skim the remaining pages, stories of the Lantern Waste and his siblings which he knew would be paramount in the weeks to come, should he play his cards correctly.

When the stare became too difficult to bear with indifference, Edmund allowed himself to meet it with an even grace, "Is there something bothering you, Margrove?"

"No, sire," The Faun returned, though there was an edge to his tone which made Edmund doubt his words.

Nonetheless, Edmund proceeded as if he had not noticed it. Knowing the Faun, it wasn't long before the truth would rear its head, "I see. Well, I thank you for the deliverance of your Uncle's letter."

The dismissal may as well have been useless. Words spoken into the air with little meaning to the Leader of the Orchestra.

"If I may, your Majesty?" Margrove deferred, eyeing one of the seats across from the large desk.

Edmund motioned approvingly.

The Faun sat wobblingly on the edge of a long chaise, shoulders steeled despite the determined look upon his face, "I wanted to enquire into the stories regarding the land of War Drobe. My questions to my Uncle have remained unanswered, however he continues to use our correspondence to reach you."

One of the letters in question flopped forwards in Edmund's hand, "What did you wish to know?"

Margrove shrugged, "Anything you can tell me."

A long-winded breath drew from Edmund's throat as he considered. It was clear that the reason for Margrove's questioning was to do with Grace and whilst her knowledge of her plans would not bother him, there was a part of Edmund that feared the consequences of releasing information too early.

"There is still so little we know about the Wardrobe," Edmund corrected softly as he folded the letter back onto itself and out of the view of the Faun's prying eyes, "But your Uncle has confirmed that his first encounter with my Royal Sister, Queen Lucy was by the pillar of the Lantern Waste."

Margrove nodded, his dark eyes less narrowed now as they flickered about making connections.

"And you believe that this Wardrobe-" The word was caressed oddly in the Faun's mouth, "-May be found near the Lantern?"

Edmund nodded, "There is hope. Though, without further investigation there is no telling how far it may be. Queen Lucy was quite adventurous as a child, she could have walked for hours before coming across it."

A familiar sensation tickled the edges of his mind as he imagined his sister trudging through the snow in her summer clothing. Materials of colour and texture that were a distant dream to him now. There were some memories of Edmund's own trek through the forest, bleak and bleary amongst the falling snow as he shivered in his own summer wear.

It had felt like he'd searched for Lucy for an age that first day; his line of sight full of nothing but snowflakes and pine trees as far as the eyes could see, until…

The memory was shaken immediately and any image of blindingly bright snow was replaced by the burning coal of the Orchestra Leader's eyes.

"Have you shared this information with Grace?" Margrove asked, his mild tone again tinged with something that Edmund could not glean for it was too quick and sharp.

There was a moment where the Just King entertained the idea. He could only guess at how Grace would look when he told her; how grateful she would be that he made such an effort on her behalf. She would be surprised – above all else – for he'd told her nothing of his letters to Margrove's Uncle or the intent that they bore.

The idea of such emotion upon Grace's face made Edmund wish to see it. To feel her appreciation rather than her cautious curiosity. The longing for a positive connection between them almost faltered his resolve.

But there was no denying the cold hard reality of the situation. They knew so little of the Wardrove and what they did at this point was guesswork. The chances of failure were much higher than success.

How would Grace react if they should not find the Wardrobe? How would her face crumple when their only lead to Spare Oom turned out to be fruitless. Would she blame him for filling her with false hopes?

Edmund did not think he could bare to disappoint Grace without knowing all of the facts, nor could he bare the weight of his sisters' disapproval from such a foolhardy venture.

"No," Edmund resolved, "And neither shall you."

At this, the narrowed anger of Margrove was clearly read, the hidden emotion blazing from the frustrated flicker it had been, "Why not? Has she not proven herself to you, your Majesty?"

Edmund's sharp glare cut against the Faun's own, "It's no longer proof of Grace's innocence I am looking for."

"I do not wish to lie to her any longer," Margrove insisted.

"Which is why I shall tell you no more," Edmund groused, irritated by the Faun's impertinence, "Save you the trouble."

A hairy hand came down hard upon the edge of the desk. Edmund did not know at what point Margrove had stood – as he'd been too tied up in his own emotions to keep track.

"That isn't good enough," The Faun seethed, "She has a right to know what her options are. Either through you or I it does not matter but it must be done."

Edmund could see it then; behind the aggressive coal irises sat a burning of a different kind. It was similar to a look he'd seen in Lucy's eyes on many occasion when her injustice of a situation was fuelled by the care she held for their people. It was for this reason only, Edmund softened towards the Faun.

"You are teetering on insubordination, Margrove," Edmund warned, "Be careful."

The hard coal split into sections, the light between the cracks that of Margrove's care for his friend, "I am sorry if my words are seen as such your Majesty but as you have directly involved me in this matter I see no other choice than to speak frankly. Grace has done everything you have asked and proven herself over and over again. I don't understand why I must be forced to hide this from her."

The Just King leaned back into his chair with a slow and deliberate grace, placing his hands folded over his lap in a diplomatic stance, "It is not a punishment on you or Grace that I withhold this information. As I have said, I am no longer asking Grace to prove herself."

Margrove's eyes crinkled with the confused set of his lips, "Then why?"

"Because I do not know where this road may lead, or if the end of it will have the satisfaction Grace requires," Edmund admitted, "And I do not wish to disappoint her without knowing first."

They were clearly not the words the Faun had expected, for as soon as they left Edmund's lips, Margrove seemed to settle into understanding. The light of his care cracking through dark irises spreading around the explanation Edmund had provided.

"I see," Margrove echoed his King's earlier words. Eventually, he calmed enough to seat himself upon the edge of the chaise again, the motion less wobbly than it had been the first time.

"I do not intend to leave her in the dark forever," Edmund continued, "But to formulate an appropriate plan I need to know all of the facts."

What Edmund would not admit was that a plan was already half formed in his mind. He'd been turning over the idea of a visit west for over a month now. He knew that he must go himself – as he had described to Susan when Mr Tumnus's first letter had been delivered – for Susan and Peter were far too busy and Lucy… Well Lucy was the first to stumble into Narnia and Edmund would do his darndest to ensure she was not the first to stumble out of it again.

As he thought, Margrove continued to stare. It held much less weight now that there was no anger within it, however, the Faun still looked uneasy at the prospect of lying to Grace – no matter what Edmund's reasonings were.

The Just King could tell that his open request to lie to Grace may have bruised the trust Margrove held towards him. It would take time to mend whatever bond this Westerner held to their King, time which Edmund would serve faithfully in penitence, after the matter was settled and done.

"Do not worry yourself over this for now," Edmund attempted to comfort the Faun, "I swear by the Lion's Mane that I will do everything in my power to see our friend safely home."

The words were odd on Edmund's tongue; not because they were a lie, but rather the idea of Grace returning to Spare Oom – of her having no presence in Narnia at all – was odd to him. He who spent as much time in her company these days as he had his own family.

What would life be like when it was only Edmund and Phillip on their morning rides, when Edmund was alone and isolated in his work once again?

The thought was shaken from his head as Edmund plucked the forgotten letter from the smooth wooden desk top, "If your Uncle's letter proves half as fruitful as the last, Grace will be home in no time."

The crisp air of the morning found little purchase on Edmund's skin as he sat atop Phillip's back.

He'd learned his lesson over the past fortnight, each day adding another layer atop of clothing to help stave off the chill. It was at its worst during the first dark dim hours of the morning, the cold air only amplified by the darkness and the silent tiredness between him and his riding partner leaving little else to think of.

He was grateful when Phillip chimed in, making comments on the different bird songs they heard as they trotted through a worn pathway. The Talking Beast would throw pointers in Grace's direction every now and then, taking up Edmund's position of instructor when his mind was otherwise occupied.

Edmund's thoughts were twisted around the letter he'd received the day before. It held enough information for a scout mission of sorts, one that Edmund knew he would undertake personally.

The question was, would he take Grace with him?

Any argument towards the negative seemed a farce, even to him. It was as if his mind kept on coming up with lacklustre reasons to keep her away from the Wardrobe. Not all of them based in mistrust or pity of her circumstance.

Edmund shoved them all away. None were a match for the simple truth that Margrove had slammed upon the table; Grace deserved to know. She deserved a chance to find out for herself and Edmund would not begrudge her that right.

It was that thought that spurred him into action, "How are you feeling about your riding skills?"

Grace's bleary eyes snapped to him, "What do you mean?"

"Are you comfortable on the saddle? Is there any part which still causes you hesitation?" Edmund questioned her.

As if reminded, Grace resettled herself on her saddle. The motion spurred Maiden's hooves forward at a faster pace, however, her rider had the foresight to predict this and easily soothed the Mare back to a walk.

It was a skill Edmund was more than pleased to see. Grace may have been hesitant at first, but she was willing to learn and that nerve had clearly served its purpose in bolstering her confidence as they continued her lessons. Now, Grace was clearly comfortable atop the dumb beasts back, her posture matching the many hours she'd put into learning the trade.

"I think galloping is still a little outside of my scope," Grace admitted, "I'd imagine that's nothing that a few more hours of lessons won't fix, right?"

Edmund nodded, "All skills come with time, practice and a steady hand to guide them."

His words made her eyebrow quirk sarcastically, "The steady hand in this instance being… yours?"

"Clearly."

Grace laughed, the sound harmonising with the emerging songs of the woodland birds, "I would call your approach to teaching anything but steady."

Edmund frowned, "I beg to differ. I have been more than patient whilst overseeing your tutelage."

There was a small and fond smile on her face which reminded Edmund not to take her words too seriously, "If you call throwing me into cantering on my second day of riding patience then I am afraid you and I have different understandings of the word."

"You never would have learned otherwise," Edmund rebuffed.

Grace pretended to muse on the matter a moment longer before assenting, "I suppose you're right."

A beat passed before she continued in a most dramatic and Grace-like manner, "What would I have done without your excellent tutelage, your Majesty?"

Edmund tried not to smile as his dark eyes turned skyward, "You'd still be on that beach, threatening to swim back to Spare Oom, I'd guess."

"And what a fine job I do," Grace remarked, "I bet I'd make it back before sun down."

A small glance was all it took to see how her expression had narrowed. Grace's features were a mixture of thought and yearning in the intermittent sunlight with filtered through the treetops.

"Do you think it would actually work?" Edmund mused, mind whirring with images of the Daughter of Eve floating in the middle of the ocean.

One image was of her floating upon her back, waiting patiently for the ocean to transport her home. The other was abhorrent, her fragile body lying face down, wispy strips of auburn hair darkened by the weight of the sea as it coaxed her lifeless body deeper.

Grace shook her head as she whispered mournfully, "I wouldn't even get close."

It seemed her fear of water would save her from either fate. As much as Edmund disliked her look of despair, he was glad that Grace did not willingly run to the end of her life.

Beneath him, Phillip chimed in, "I don't much like the sea water myself. I much prefer to stick my hooves in the low swelling end of a pond or river. Much less salty and much safer."

Grace seemed to perk in interest at the omission, "But I thought horses could swim?"

"We can," Phillip confirmed, "But this Talking Horse in particular prefers the peace of a trickle, rather than the roaring sea. There are many to be found within Narnia, though one must take great care to ask the Naiad of the Water before proceeding."

Edmund could see the questions piling atop each other in Grace's mind. She opened and closed her mouth in a manner that was so similar to a fish that Edmund had to hold his lips together to stop his laughter.

Eventually, she settled on one, "Did you have a favourite? Stream or Pond, that is."

The Talking Horse nodded enthusiastically, "I have a favourite in each region of Narnia I frequent. Whilst we remain at Cair Paravel, I prefer the Sweet Pond for bathing."

"And the others?"

Phillip did not need to be asked twice, "When I am in the South, I find the Dancing River quite nice. The North can find me amongst the Misty Waterfalls, though, her Naiad is quite feisty. I would not recommend crossing her unless you want to end up with a face full of running water."

A nervous giggle escaped Grace's lips in response.

Then, Phillip sighed longingly, "My favourite amongst them all is the Saddling Stream."

Grace leaned forward in interest, "The Saddling Stream?"

Edmund interjected here, fond memories of his own of the stream in mention, "So named for the oddly shaped rocks that are littered across its surface. They are all worn through the middle by the rush of the water so when they are viewed from a certain angle, they take the shape of a saddle."

"They're also quite useful in cleaning ones shoe," Phillip added lightly as he made an effort to display the shining metal on his sole whilst still walking.

Grace stared after the sun sparkled metal in wonder, "How on earth do you see what needs to be cleaned from it?"

"He doesn't," Edmund replied wryly, "Phillip often scratches his hooves past the point he should whenever we visit the stream. The stable hands complain of it endlessly."

"I feel far cleaner when I complete the scraping myself, Son-Of-Adam," Phillip chastised.

Edmund grinned at the familiar snooty tone of his friend, choosing to let the matter drop lest they both show Grace a side she might find uncivilised.

Instead, he shifted the topic slightly leftwards, closer to his original intent, "Perhaps you'll get to see it in action one day. Though, I doubt you'll be able to stop Phillip from over chipping himself. Not even I may manage that."

At this, the Daughter of Eve regarded him curiously, "See it myself? You mean… If I go West?"

"Perhaps," Edmund edged with false cautiousness.

The half-hearted hope in Grace's eyes was fleeting and quickly replaced with apprehension, "When would I have the chance to do that?"

The Just King shrugged, "There may be a party gathered soon for such a venture, should you wish to join it."

"A party?"

"It has become a tradition of mine; To invite Westerners to join me whenever I should choose to visit my Dukedom," Edmund explained, "They join to see their families, visit their trees or some simply for the sake of pleasure. There's nothing quite like a summer bonfire in the Dryad's Grove. I think – should you have the chance to see it – you should like it very well."

Grace gawked at him in a manner that was unbecoming of formal company. The picture painted by his words clearly enticing to her – even beyond the promise of the Wardrobe in the West which he knew she had an inkling of.

It was better than he'd anticipated. Without the promise of freedom and the honesty of his plan, Edmund did not know how successful he would be in enticing her West. The most obvious solution would have been to reveal all and let the chips fall where they may, but the King still struggled with the unreliability of the situation and the consequences of Grace's mind should they fail.

But as her blue eyes glistened and her lips parted at the prospect of bonfires under starlight, he became more assured that this course of action would prove the most fruitful. She looked the very picture of a fish ready to bite and Edmund readied his hook in preparation, "In fact, the more I think on it the more I believe it might be quite prudent to go West before the snow sticks to the ground. I do so hate travelling in winter and there are matters that must be settled before the dawn of a new year."

It wasn't a lie. There were many matters to be settled and most of them would need his personal attention. Alongside the promise to escort Mr Tumnus to Cair Paravel for the Marriage Treaty talks, the Beavers had put forth a petition for an incursion on their land. Not to mention the tree rot which was spreading throughout the Dryad's Grove. Perhaps it might be prudent to invite Lilis, considering her own tree was affected.

But there was no easy agreeance or curiosity on her features. In fact, Grace's face displayed the most infuriatingly confusing expression that Edmund had seen. He could not make head or tail of her emotions from it, other than the obvious internal argument in her mind.

He tried again, voice lofty as if he'd not noticed her hesitation, "I expect it will be a large group. These trips are quite rare so the opportunity is usually seized with gusto. One more human would not be a burden amongst the fray, should you wish to join us."

There was a flicker which made Edmund believe that she would like to join them, however, it was almost immediately smothered.

"With the Christmas Ball so soon, I'm not sure it would be wise for me to leave right now," Grace grimaced, "Margrove is relying on my organisation of three performances."

Edmund's brow furrowed as his back straightened in inquisition, "Does the Leader of the Orchestra truly rely on you so heavily?"

"Well," Grace bristled, "I wouldn't say heavily, per se, but I do have commitments to the Orchestra that likely won't be dismissed until after Christmas."

That was far too long. The Just King shifted on Phillip's back in an effort to dislodge feeling of impatience bouncing between his ribs, "Can nothing be done to remedy the situation? Surely the Orchestra holds others who may undertake the Faun's will."

Grace shook her head adamantly, "It wouldn't feel right. To abandon him now would be like abandoning our friendship. Especially for a holiday."

Edmund suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, her dramatic conclusion was expected at this point in their acquaintance.

Instead of voicing the thought, Edmund chose a different path of persuasion, "Perhaps I will speak to Margrove myself and see if my Royal Sister, Queen Susan will be an adept replacement during your holiday."

At Grace's command, Maiden halted immediately. The Mare made a noise of disapproval, one foot swiping at the dirt pathway with impatience.

Phillip lurched to a sudden stop upon noticing it, the movement thrusting Edmund forwards and nearly onto the Talking Beasts neck.

"You seem awfully concerned with my attendance on this trip, your Majesty," Grace's words edged on annoyance, "May I ask the reason."

Edmund attempted to feign indifference, "Is it so difficult to believe that I simply wish to show you my country?"

"If it was as simple as that then you would just postpone the trip until after Christmas, or perhaps even organise a second one after the Ball has passed?"

"There is a reason these trips are rare," Edmund argued, "They are no meek feat. It takes days to reach the West with a small group alone. The number of Narnian's this trip will muster will be twice the size and much slower."

Maiden shuffled uneasily under her rider and Grace paused briefly to comfort her, "How long?"

Edmund shrugged, "A week there and a week back if the trip proceeds as usual."

Grace's brow furrowed with realisation, "We'll barely make it back in time for the Christmas Ball."

"But we will make it back," Edmund enforced. It would be a close call, but if it really came down to it, he would find no qualms with letting Grace ride ahead. That is, if she made it back.

The iteration did nothing to comfort the Daughter of Eve who was shaking her head even more fervently than before.

It seemed beating around the bush was having little effect. If Grace was to agree to such an adventure, she would need to be coaxed appropriately.

"You're hesitating and I don't understand why," Edmund accused lightly, "Is this not what you've always wanted? A chance to explore Narnia and attempt to locate the Wardrobe?"

Her stony blue eyes whipped to him, "You don't know what I want."

"Oh, but I do, Grace," Edmund replied, "You've stamped your feet behind every order I've enlisted to prevent you from your freedom. Why is it now that you balk from it?"

Stone melted under the waves of incoherent emotion and it became apparent to Edmund that not even Grace could answer that question. He softened, feeling any irritation towards her shift as he wondered at the implication of those eyes. Of the mind behind them that seemed to be fighting amongst itself. He knew the feeling well.

Edmund sighed lowly, the sound covered by the now boisterous sound of bird song wafting from the treetops.

Maiden snorted, the Mare's impatience at her rider clear as a summer sky. Grace urged her forward automatically, her sight still focused unseeingly as she did.

Phillip fell into stride with the Mare wordlessly and Edmund was grateful for his friend's silence. The peace between the three sentient beings lasting long enough for him to formulate his next steps.

"If I put it to my Royal Sister and she agrees to take over your Orchestral duties, will you come to the West?" Edmund asked with finality.

Grace held still while she thought, the only tells of life being loose strands of auburn hair on the breeze and her hips moving in rhythm to Maiden's walk. When she emerged from the stand off there was a surety to her face.

"Only if you can convince Margrove to release me."

It was not smug, but there was a clear resolution that hung in the air between them. She believed the Faun would say no.

Edmund supposed he should be grateful then, for the one card up his sleeve which would ensure the Faun's agreeance.