A Tale of the Lost and the Unworthy

by ElsieLouiseMoore

A story in four parts detailing one man's search for his worth and another woman's search for belonging.

44. XLIII

Hello again!

Thank you all so much for your kind words on the last chapter. I won't lie, I held A LOT of anxiety over writing such a scene. Mostly because I knew that it made sense to me, but wasn't sure if it would to others.

In any case, here is the next chapter. We are not yet done with Part II, it looks like there will be one or two more, depending on when I get to the point I've planned to end at.

Alongside this update I wanted to let you all know of a decision I've made in regards to chapter releases - I plan on releasing chapter by chapter on a weekly basis from now. This change is tentative as the chapters are starting to get BIG and my tendency to ramble is starting to come out. Either way, I hope you all enjoy the updates as they come.

TLDR - Thanks for kind words. 3 - Weekly updates from now on each Sunday/Monday (Australian Time).

XLIII

EDMUND

No Light, No Light – Florence the Machine

There was an itch of anticipation as Edmund sat upon the leather saddle. His ankles bobbed in a misshapen rhythm, spurred by the pat of his finger pads upon saddle grip.

By the end of the day they would be in the Western Wood. His soul rejoiced at the thought of home. Or well… a home away from home. In truth, he felt as settled there as he did within the walls of Cair Paravel, sometimes even more so.

There was something to the civilised wilderness that enthralled Edmund; something too dear to be named, too implicit to be declared. There was no better place to be found in Narnia by his own count – and he had traversed enough of the country to make such a bold claim.

His fingers itched to trace the striped bark of birch trees, his feet yearned to walk barefoot upon dry leaves and revel at the sound. Edmund's foot mirrored the motion in mid-air, almost hearing the crunch underfoot as he did. A longing breath clawed it's way free from his chest, the air doing nothing to dissipate the feeling.

"Could you stop that," Phillip murmured, "You're putting me off my rhythm."

At once, the foot tapping stopped and Edmund felt a little ashamed at his lack of consideration.

He patted his friends shoulder remorsefully, "I'm sorry, old friend."

"It shouldn't be that easy to put you off your walk," interjected Starlight, "If it is then I think it may be time to hang up the saddle, old coot."

Phillip side-eyed his counterpart with a dark glare, "I'd like to see you try to keep pace with your rider bobbing about, young Filly."

The white coated Talking Horse narrowed her own skylit eyes in return, "I think I very well could. How about it Grace? Feel like dancing a jig upon my back and showing this sack of bones what for?"

"Huh?" The Daughter of Eve in question jolted to consciousness, eyes still unfathomably lost as she attempted to gain a grip on the conversation.

Edmund felt his lips press humorously at her face, "I believe they're involving you in their spat about riding rhythms."

The befuddled expression did not waver, "Oh?"

"Yes," Starlight nipped impatiently, "Can you manage a jig upon my back? Nothing too extravagant, just a tapping of toes will do."

"Don't bother the Daughter of Eve with your fancies Filly," Phillip gruffed.

"I shall bother her with whatever I like," Returned the younger, "And the name is Starlight if you don't mind-"

The growing argument grew quiet to Edmund's ears as he observed Grace's perplexed frown. She seemed troubled, for lack of a better word – her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her leather saddle in a beat much more harmonious than Edmund's own.

"Are you well?" He asked, leaning towards her so that his soft tone might be heard amongst the arguing of their companions.

The trance broke and Grace laid her bright and surprised eyes upon him, "Hm?"

Edmund's head tilted with concern, "You seem troubled."

"Oh," Grace muttered, her eyes glazed over again as she recalled her thoughts, "I was only working on something."

"Working on something?" His glance flickered from the open field in her glassy gaze to the fingers which tapped upon the saddle grip, "In your mind?"

Grace nodded assuredly, "The beginnings of a song, I think. But it's all muddled."

Edmund felt his curiosity heighten, could it be another song from Spare Oom?

"How so?"

"There are bits and pieces," Grace explained, "The murmur of a beat, a word or two of lyric but none of it matches together yet."

"I won't agree as it is a childish notion!"

Phillip and Starlight's argument began to peak; both Talking Beasts reaching a volume and tone which could no longer be ignored.

"It is not childish," the younger returned, her tone had turned hostile under her counterparts pettiness, "The High King himself has accepted it, which means you must."

Grace put a hand to her friend's mane soothingly, "Starlight?"

The White Coated Horse slowly began to cease her tirade under the ministration, though the frustrated snorts continued with bitterness.

Phillip was no better, his teasing bordering on cruelty as Edmund watched on with a scowl.

"Phillip, I don't think that was necessary," Edmund commented after a particularly rude remark.

His friend only responded with a frustrated huff.

"Perhaps we should take a break?" Grace whispered over the distasteful noise of their companions, her eyes fixing upon a point in the distance.

Edmund followed the line of her gaze, easily landing upon a pond which sat nestled under the enclosure of leaning willow trees.

The sight was just that – there was nothing particularly enticing about it. From this distance, Edmund could tell the pond's edge would not house the entire party. The time it would take to ensure a complete watering would be detrimental to their journeying efforts.

Or at the very least, detrimental to his journeying efforts - Edmund wanted to make it to the Western Wood by nightfall. There was a particular surprise which would only have full effect in the light of day. A surprise which he did not plan on missing.

It was for that reason that Edmund shook his head, "It would likely do more harm than good to our time constraints. Weren't you the one who was worried over such a thing but days ago?"

Grace gave him a look, no doubt reliving the awful moments of that sunlit afternoon, "I think in this case it's necessary."

The last word was punctuated with a look to the Talking Horses - they had moved a pace apart in their anger.

Edmund noted the loss of Grace's leg warmth with a mild disappointment.

There was little Edmund could do to bring Phillip to his senses, and he tried. The huffing and snorting continued as they unblinkingly split around the invisible boulder of their argument.

As their positions neared the edge of the travelling line, Edmund felt his anxiety peak. The distance between he and Grace would be insurmountable should there be any kind of attack, and from his view of Starlight, she showed no signs of stopping once they were cleared of the party altogether.

In a last-ditch effort, Edmund placed a hesitant hand upon his friends chestnut clad shoulder. He hadn't meant for his voice to sound so commanding as it did, however it seemed to do the trick, "Towards the pond, if you please."

The Talking Horse snorted but veered all the same.

"What is this about, Phillip? I've never seen you act thusly with Starlight," Edmund questioned as he leant against the bark of a willow.

The Talking Horse paused his drink at the sandy edge of the pond, "Filly started it when she called me old."

There was a mild annoyance in Edmund's features as he rebuffed his friend, "Her petition has been heard and accepted by the Court and so the name Starlight is legally bound."

Phillip snorted, "Not to me, it isn't. It's an affront to the people who raised her!"

"How so?" Edmund quirked a brow, "From my understanding she still honours the name she was given, she simply wishes to go by another now that she's grown."

"I'm sure you'd share my annoyance if you knew the lengths that were undertaken for her safety," Phillip grumbled, "Ma Ivy sheltered that foal as though she were one of her own."

The name tickled something in Edmund's mind, conversations from a lifetime ago between a young boy and his riding companion, "Ma Ivy?"

Phillip nodded, "A mare of fearsomely strong character. She took on many foals near the end of the hundred-year-winter."

"And Starlight was one of these foals?"

"Not exactly," The Talking Horse replied as his eyes glazed over, "I remember the day when a snowy mare barged down the stable doorway, huffing and puffing about this and that. I was but a yearling, my own mother had left to join Aslans army a year before."

The frayed edges of his friends story knit a clear assumption in Edmund's mind, "She birthed Starlight in the stable?"

Phillip spared a look to the King, "And left straight after. Something about 'Agents of the White Witch' being on her tail."

Edmund's arms crossed against his chest, "This doesn't explain why her change of name is so abhorrent to you."

"I was getting to it," Phillip protested, "It wasn't long after Filly was produced that they came. Maugrim and the rest of the wolves surrounded the stable, threatening to tear us all to pieces if we would not give up the mare. We tried to explain that she'd gone, but they knew she had been carrying and couldn't have made it far."

"We hid Filly with the other Foals," he continued, "Though, it was plain to see she was new. Her size was smaller and she was still covered in birth."

Edmund could see where it was going, "Maugrim would have sniffed her out."

Phillip affirmed the suspicion with a snort, "It took him all of five minutes. I remember what his snarl looked like. His mouth was dripping with the blood of another. The only thing that stood between Filly and that beast was Ma Ivy and I."

A suppressed shudder rattled Edmund's spine, he knew the sound of the dead wolf's snout all too well, "How is she alive?"

"It was touch and go at first. Ma Ivy only convinced them to leave by trampling a wolf that snapped too closely. She saved us all."

Edmund's brow crinkled. He'd read over many of the Secret Police's reports and knew it was rare for many to be left alive, and those that were found themselves dead soon after.

"I'd imagine the relief was temporary," He voiced thoughtfully.

"We left the stable that night," Phillip confirmed.

The tree steadied the sway of Edmund's memory; rough bark etching into the bare back of his hand and grounding him to the reality of the moment, "This still doesn't explain why the name change bothers you."

The Talking Horse let out a noise of annoyance, "That is because you keep interrupting! The point to the story is that I gave her that name."

The knowledge stunned Edmund, "You did? I thought you said it was Ma Ivy-"

"I said," Phillip sighed exasperatedly, "That it was an affront to the people who raised her."

Edmund chose to hold silent, still confused between the trajectory of the story and the reason for his friend's offence.

Phillip continued, "Once the agents of the White Witch had retreated and the muck was cleaned from her coat, Ma Ivy moved us south; past the Dancing Lawn to the border of Archenland to the encampment of the Southern Herd."

There was a soft snort as the Talking Beast returned his muzzle to the clear pond water, "The journey was long and there were oft times when the little foal would lean on me for support. I remember pitying her – she was so soon taken from her mother's side and pushed on the run. It's a wonder she survived."

"You almost sound like you care about her," Edmund remarked.

"I came to care for her in a way you do your own," Phillip returned evenly, "Regardless of how she irritates me, that remains the point to which I stand."

Edmund didn't know what to say to that. It was already obvious that he understood Phillips regard, he himself having siblings which brought him to the edge and back again repeatedly.

The reason behind both Phillip and Starlight's arguments settled against each other in his mind. The right of autonomy against that of guardianship. It was a difficult judgement, one that Edmund did not yet see a path through.

As if to drive the weight further even, Phillip whispered, "I named her Filly. Not for her age, but out of the same care my mother showed me as a foal."

The vibrations of his voice caressed the pond with soft ripples, a song of time across generations.

Edmund's brow crinkled, "But you are no longer called Filly?"

Phillip's dark eyes returned to his friend once more, "No. My use of that name passed when my mother did."

Compassion filled Edmund's heart, the clear sight of his friend's troubled one tugging at its strings. However, the half which remained mindful of his duty sat distantly – steadfastly attached to the Law he'd sworn to uphold.

"Starlight's request has been heard and accepted in the Court of Aslan, Phil," He began cautiously, "Neither you nor I can change that now."

Phillip looked dejectedly into the mirror of sunlit trees.

Edmund regarded him with a pursed lip, his compassionate side spinning elaborate plans and promises he was not sure he could keep, "But perhaps, she might be willing to make allowances for family…" He trailed, the last of the sentence delivered at a point, "If you were to ask her nicely?"

"I sincerely hope Starlight is in a better mood," Edmund muttered as he lowered himself into the grass beside Grace.

"She is as well as she can be," Grace returned equally, a torn piece of grass pulled tight between her hands, "I did what I could."

The grass twisted with a fresh crunch and snapped at the middle. The noise made Edmund cringe.

"And Phillip?" Grace asked, discarding the broken stem to the side.

Edmund returned her look of exasperation, "I did what I could."

A sigh, followed by the sharp sound of another stem plucked from the ground, "At this rate, we'll be walking to the Western Woods."

"I wouldn't say that," Edmund disagreed, "Phillip can be quite persuasive, he made some meaningful points to me."

A disapproving brow arched on Grace's freckled forehead, "What argument can be made against basic rights?"

Edmund shook his head, "It's too personal to share."

There was a nod of acceptance as the blade of grass twisted in her fingers. Grace did not pry for once. It was an action which was met with both incredulity and relief.

Inwardly, Edmund allowed the cautious reprieve – he did not know whether he could deny her the information if she truly asked. In fact, ever since that morning at the Stone Table, he wondered whether he could truly deny her anything. If the darkest moments of his past were not off limits, then what would be?

As if sensing his thoughts, Grace looked to him with the full force of her incandescent gaze, "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Edmund muttered shortly. He had no wish to repeat their moment upon the stone table, no matter how much solace it had begun to provide.

The grass snapped again with a squeaky crunch.

"Will you stop that?"

Grace froze, stunned at the tone of his voice, "Stop what?"

"Picking at the grass," Edmund snapped, "I don't like the noise."

There was another perfect arch of her brow, "You don't like the noise?"

"Yes," Edmund grunted, "Please, stop doing it."

Grace regarded him oddly, "Seems like an overreaction over a bit of grass."

The weight of her knowing gaze settled uncomfortably upon his face. Edmund bristled under it, the feeling only adding to the discomfort he already wore outwardly.

One of Grace's more irritating traits was that she was persistent, and so it should have come as no surprise to him that she stared with that petulant knowing until she got her way.

Edmund sighed, "Tis nothing but my impatience."

"Your impatience?"

Edmund grimaced on the admittance, "I'd hoped to reach the Western Wood before nightfall."

Her gaze relented, "Oh."

A silence settled between the two under the pond's shadowing willow trees. Grace resettled against the rough trunk as she seemed to think, no doubt trying to come up with a solution.

Edmund had already tried and failed, knowing that they would be sat here for at least another hour – judging by the slow speed at which the Narnian's drank at the edge of the glassy water. Only half had managed to quench their thirst in the time it had taken Edmund to speak to Phillip, the other waited patiently for their turn.

"How long until we reach the woods?" Grace asked.

"A few hours at least," Edmund answered, eyes drawn skyward to the midday sun filtering between the billowing willow vines, "I could see the curve of The Great River this morning when we departed. We will cross it soon."

Grace leaned towards him, "And then?"

His sight of the sun-bleached leaves was traded for the glimmer in her eyes, "We move onwards until we reach the first trees of the wood."

This peaked her curiosity, "The first trees?"

Edmund's felt his lips curve at the pleasure of her interest, "You'll see them first. In the distance there will be a great wall of green as far as the eye can see. Thick, obstinate and never ending."

At his description, Grace's eyes glazed in wonder. Her lips parted minimally, the long-drawn breaths between them a high-pitched whisper as the imagination of such a place enthralled her.

Edmund couldn't help the way his grin grew. This had been what he hoped to see, the wonder which only new eyes could bestow.

Now, he was no Margrove, nor a Centaurian storyteller, but Edmund liked to believe the learnings of the West had had some effect on his storytelling approach.

With slow purpose, Edmund leaned across the twisted expanse of willow roots and whispered, "They are not always so obstinate, you know."

If it were possible, Grace's eyes grew brighter at the hooked words.

He felt his cheeks warm at her attention, "If the weather is right and you ask very nicely, some say that the trees will move."

"Moving trees?" Grace wondered whisperingly, her auburn hair catching on the soft breeze.

Edmund shrugged lightly, "We have to get around the woods somehow. After the Great Peace began, more saplings propped up than we knew what to do with. The elders had to make way for the new."

"So they moved," Grace surmised.

Edmund nodded, "And so the reach of the Western Wood grew nearly twice the size."

If he did not get to see her reaction to the Swaying Path today, Edmund would settle for this. The unencumbered light in her eyes made him hope for something he could not yet understand.

"I hope we see it today," Grace whispered, her voice carrying the short distance to his ears.

The sentence tugged Edmund back to the reality of the situation. He heaved a deep breath, the distance the sun had travelled compared to how far they still had to go weighing heavily upon his mind. They would reach the Western Woods this day – that point remained undoubted – but the question was whether they would reach it before nightfall.

"Perhaps the water will refresh the party enough to pick up speed?" Grace ventured, a clear grasp at empty air.

"Perhaps," Edmund murmured defeatedly.

At the noncommittal reply, Grace visibly slumped.

Edmund followed the movement, one hand landing on the roughly woven sack he'd pilfered from Phillip's back. He reached into it, the weight of the bag a reminder of his duty. As soon as the encampment was made there were three matters which would need to be settled posthaste.

One; the wood rot pandemic would need to be assessed and the findings sent to Lucy.

Two; A journey to Beavers Dam would be planned so that Edmund might oversee the dispute of incursion on their property.

Three; Edmund would have to send for Mr Tumnus.

The roughness of his hand trailed across plush ribbon as he tugged a stack from the bag.

The green velvet bounced as the parchment was tugged to his lap and Edmund leaned over it to locate his quill and inkwell.

"Are you working?" Grace demanded.

"Yes," Edmund quipped, a triumphant noise in his throat when his hand felt the tickling of a feather, "We're likely to be here for a while, what else am I to do?"

Grace only stared. Edmund didn't need to turn to confirm the gaze's existence, he could feel it.

"Don't you ever take a break?" She asked.

"I've done nothing but 'take a break' since we left Cair Paravel. There is not much work that can be done upon horseback – trust me, I've tried."

"Don't lie, I heard your quill scratching in your tent this morning," Grace returned with narrowed eyes.

Edmund's eyes lifted with surprise, he hadn't even realised she'd been awake.

It was true that he'd whittled away at some work under the dim candle light of that morning. It couldn't be helped. Waking before the rise of the dawn was a habit Edmund had honed through years of practice which had been instigated by an incessant anxiety over the amount of work sitting atop his desk.

As time wore on, it had become easier to ignore the burn of his eyes and the jittered feeling which clung to the edge of his senses. Noting of course that they still remained, despite the amount of sleep Edmund obtained.

He wondered whether there was something inherent to the pattern of rest. Whether time and effort had no bearing on these things if ones body was so disposed to a particular sleeping pattern.

As it was; regardless of what time his head hit the pillow, Edmund knew he could sleep until noon.

He'd made an attempt that morning, under the dim freezing light of the stars which filtered through his tent opening. He'd rolled one way, then rolled back when the dirt pressed against his shoulder uncomfortably. There was some peace there, shuffled against the leftmost wall of the tent. It billowed towards him in enticing waves, as if on the breath of another.

Edmund had nearly fallen asleep again, eyes drooping just past the point of no return… when a snort had woken him again.

It was at that point that he had given up.

But surely, Grace could not have known he was working? By the time Edmund had stopped, she had yet to stir in her tent.

He decided to call her bluff, "Was that before or after you woke me with your snoring?"

The pale, freckled expanse of Grace's cheeks was overtaken by a red and furious flush. It was her embarrassment which rattled Edmund out of the pleasure of his comeback.

"Sorry, that was rude," He apologised.

Grace sniffed, "Don't be. I'm sorry I disturbed your precious sleep."

The chill of her tone shamed him into silence. He sat awkwardly for a moment, unsure how to amend the breach he'd made, one finger fiddling with the loop of the velvet bow in unrhythmic tugs.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Grace asked, her voice clearly out of necessity rather than actual care to assist.

Edmund glanced between her and the tied sheet. Regardless of the authenticity of her request, he found the grasp of his stricter self-holding his hand in place. It was the first insurgence of that voice he'd heard in weeks, as if it had been biding its time for this very moment.

They were in the open now, and Grace no longer had the sanctions upon her which had kept the order. Now, with no borders to confine them, what would stop her from taking the work and simply running away. The old terror gripped with a renewed strength, nearly overpowering the lesser voice which Edmund had become accustomed to.

He shook his head, "This business is based in decision not paper work. Mr and Mrs Beaver have filed a complaint regarding an incursion on their land," the stack of green-tied parchment was held aloft on display, "I must read this to determine the parameters of the decision."

The answer was accepted with a stony expression, though, Edmund could see the questions that burned away in the grey of her irises, "How long will that take?"

"However long it takes," He replied, tugging the bow loose and coiling the green ribbon betwixt his fingers, "There can be no true guess. I will see to the matter directly after we have reached the woods."

The silence that followed was tense and unyielding. Edmund could feel the cool and unsympathetic eyes of the Daughter of Eve remain upon him with an uncharacteristic coldness. His comment had clearly bruised her pride.

"Well then," Grace murmured when the air could be stood no longer, "I suppose I'd better leave you to it."

She moved to stand, the motion straining Edmund's sight with stress, "Where are you going?"

"You've said I'm too loud twice now, first with the grass and now with my… snoring. Clearly I'm a disturbance," Grace rambled.

Edmund didn't wait, one hand snapping into the air and onto her sleeve, the fabric was long steeped in the warmth of her body which simultaneously welcomed and burned.

"Grace, wait-"

Grace rolled her eyes and jerked her chin to a willow nearby, "I'm only going over there," There was a slight tug on his grip as she muttered, "Like I would get far without Starlight."

"Regardless, I maintain the request that you stay by my side," Edmund ordered, "If only for your safety rather than my sanity."

Grace regarded him levelly as her attempts to free her arm continued, at the second tug it was released, "Would it change your mind if I told you that I plan on making a ridiculous amount of noise? The kind of noise that would irritate you?"

Inwardly, Edmund felt his insides curdle in distaste – he held no doubts that Grace knew exactly what to do to get on his nerves. Outwardly, he replied, "I'll bear it."

She glared at him levelly, the flush of anger in her cheeks apparent and unyielding as she assessed his entreating eyes.

"Fine," she settled.

Grace reseated herself upon the tree roots with an overexaggerated huff, her hands instantly thrown into a similarly coloured sack of belongings. From its depths she tugged a bulbus carving of wood, it's neck strung with strings of varying thickness.

It was a lute. The realisation came to Edmund dully, like an expected visit from a friend.

Immediately, Grace cradled the instrument atop the green swathed dress of her lap. Her fingers ran over the smoothened wood with a familiarity Edmund wondered at before she plucked one of the taut strings.

He cringed, the grip on the feathered quill briefly faltering when it sought to cover his ears. The instrument was woefully out of tune, no doubt due to the carelessness with which it had been packed. Edmund didn't have the heart to contradict her, however, and so she continued working while he himself attempted to pen a note of comprehension on the Beaver's letter.

A feat which in and of itself was near impossible.

After a minute of plucks, Grace let out a disappointed sigh, "It doesn't sound right."

Edmund replied without looking up from his work, "That's because it's out of tune."

The object was noisily inspected in her inexperienced palms, "But that doesn't make any sense, it was tuned when Margrove gave it to me four days ago."

Edmund looked at Grace, the grimace on his lips difficult to conceal, "That's because you haven't stored it properly. Did Margrove not give you a case?"

Grace's eyes widened, "No, was he supposed to?"

Her questioning eyes were traded for the polished lute as Edmund inspected it. He'd seen it before – the Faun in question prized the instrument. Notably spending his first few months at court with it strapped to his back so the Narnian might burst into song at any moment.

It was quite funny until Susan had put a stop to it.

Edmund jerked his head in the direction of the leather, "It is supposed to be carried upon your back when not in use. I'd imagine Margrove kept it on a stand otherwise."

At the information, Grace slouched, "He never told me."

The King's lips twisted with humour, "You need to be told when the strap is right there?"

Grace's answering glare only served to seal his lips tighter, "It's not funny! I was supposed to learn how to use it before…"

Edmund caught the tantalising end of her sentence in interest. He leaned forward, "Before?"

Grace looked at him. Really looked at him, the knowledge held in her eyes dancing at the edge of Edmund's intuition. Surely, she did not know?

There had been no word spoken between them, no promise that this was her return to Spare Oom. Yet, Edmund now recalled the words she spoke two mornings ago. Her spoken fears that he planned to visit the Wardrobe without her.

The instrument was tugged tighter to Grace's chest and those eyes bolstered with something more than courage, "Before we reached the Western Wood."

Edmund attempted to hide his anxiety under a raised brow, "Why the time limit?"

The hesitation was enough to make her next statement questionable, "I was planning something."

"Planning something?" Edmund echoed as he determined her deceit.

Grace grew bolder under the perceptive gaze, "A performance."

"A performance?"

Her face narrowed, "Do you live the life of a parrot or do you simply speak like one?"

Edmund recoiled a fraction at her tone, "Forgive me, I am only surprised. The Lute is a thorough instrument, it cannot be learned completely within a week. You could grasp the basics, but I fear a performance might be unpalatable to your pride."

"I already know basic chords," Grace bargained, "It's only practice I am lacking."

Her negotiations crumpled under disappointment as Edmund shook his head, "It is not enough."

The instrument was cradled amongst the green ripples of Grace's dress as she lowered it, a dejected frown upon her face.

Edmund returned his focus to the work upon his own lap, mind torn between the inked words and the dismayed Daughter of Eve at his side.

The hope that Grace did not know the true purpose of this trip was beginning to drown in the realisation that she was smarter than Edmund had given her credit for. It should not have surprised him so that she would have put two and two together. Or that Margrove might have told her; either explicitly or inexplicitly by giving her his prized instrument.

Edmund found he could not fault the Faun. The relationship between the Leader of the Orchestra and his charge had grown substantially over the month they had worked together. Grace's contributions to Narnia's music had not gone unnoticed and so had given the pair a reputation. Something of which Margrove coveted with a finesse unlike any other.

"How did you know the instrument was out of tune?" Grace's curious voice tugged at his conscious.

Edmund's eyes snapped unwillingly to her face, finding the renewed strength there gratifying and frightening, "Pardon?"

"The lute," Grace explained, "You said it was out of tune. How did you know?"

He found it difficult to maintain the staring match she was set upon, "It's quite obvious that it doesn't sound as it should."

Grace's head shook, "Not to me, it isn't."

Edmund's scant attempt at avoiding her suspicious gaze was ousted when Grace leaned into his field of vision, "You know how to play it, don't you?"

Her face was inches from his own and Edmund had to lean back in order to avoid a forehead altercation, "I never said any such thing."

"But it was insinuated," Grace persisted.

Edmund held his distance, pure survival instincts overriding any decorum he'd learned. There was no telling what the expression upon his face was or where his hands stood. All that was known to him was the insistent storm of her irises and the scent of smoke that wafted from her hair.

Her breath ghosted over his face, "Teach me."

Edmund's resolve briefly faltered, "Grace, I barely know enough to sustain a lullaby. It will be of no use to you."

"That's better than the simple chords I know," Grace argued, the determination in her voice an indicator that she'd already won, "With your knowledge of the instrument and what I already know of music, you could help me piece this song together!"

There was a nagging realisation, a thought which he'd processed before in passing that had begun to take hold in absoluteness. Edmund was now certain that it would be hard to deny Grace much of anything, especially when she looked at him like that.

"I thought you were looking to perform?" His voice was thoughtless with a touch of something else. It washed against Edmund's ears like an unknown birdsong. Curious and foretelling.

"Yes!" Grace whispered ecstatically, "It would be much easier to remember a song rather than learn a whole new one. That and the songs from Spare Oom seem to cause a stir here, don't you think?"

The memory of the music played at Susan's birthday ball came to mind. The Long Trot's newer shroud had proven to be lively and beautiful. It's otherworldliness shining like an enthralling beacon, even through instruments for which the song was clearly not made.

Edmund nodded – an odd feeling when one's neck was already stretched as far backwards as the bones would allow.

As if sensing his discomfort, Grace returned to resting on her ankles. The lute was plucked from the roots of the willow tree and held aloft in the space between.

"So, you'll teach me?" She asked with hope brimmed eyes.

For a moment, Edmund only stared at the instrument. His senses had returned with the absence of smoke and lightning, the aftermath of the storm a welcomed calm. His hands reached across the space until the warm wood touched his skin.

The transfer was as natural as breath, the weight of the instrument wearing familiarly in Edmund's hands as his lips twisted wryly, "You do seem to enjoy being my student, don't you?"

Grace scowled, "Not when you say it like that, I don't."

Edmund chuckled as he focused. One hand cradling the thinner end of the instrument as the other gently fiddled the pegs into tune.

It was a slow process of inching and plucking and if Edmund was honest, he was not absolutely certain each string was right. It did not matter, for Grace watched on with the intense interest she seemed to always hold; her stare burning holes into his fingertips as he worked.

"Who taught you to do this?"

Edmund didn't spare a glance from the slow turning peg in his grasp, "A faun by the name of Tumnus."

"Tom-nus?" The word was sounded slowly on Grace's tongue, the odd inflection of it a circumstance of her accent.

"Yes," Edmund confirmed. His fingers moved to the next peg in the box, skilfully twisting this way and that as he mulled the repercussions of his next omission, "You may know him as Margrove's uncle."

It had the desired effect. Grace's shoulders opened, her eyes widened and bore into his own. The spark of recognition within them undisputedly familiar with the topic.

So, Margrove had mentioned his uncle after all.

"Will I get to meet him?" Grace asked.

Edmund cringed as a note fell flat from his fingers, "I would hope so, considering he is to return to Cair Paravel with us."

If it were possible, Grace's eyes widened, "Why?"

"Court business."

Those same eyes narrowed just as quickly, "Do you still not trust me?"

It wasn't that. For once, Edmund could claim his vocal interference was not a circumstance of their strained relationship. This defence mechanism had built itself into his conscious months before her arrival – from the very first speech Susan had made of diplomatic relations with Calormen.

Edmund considered his response as he fiddled with another peg, "It's a topic I do not wish to discuss right now."

His words must have held enough weight to occupy her mind, for Grace did not question him further. There was a moment of peace, only broken briefly by the discordant sounds of untuned strings and the shuffle of fabric as Grace reseated herself against the willow's trunk.

There was something to the air that hung about the place. It danced across whispering vines and settled on the dewed grass like a small bird landing from flight. In response, the willow sang; it was small at first, the whistly tune drafting through it's hollow and tinkling across the lance shaped leaves.

Between the soft hum of the earth and the ever-sweeter sound of the instrument betwixt his fingers, Edmund began to feel his entrenched soul soften. It warmed itself at the hearth of the ordinary and puddled comfortably into it's cracks.

As he sat on the repetitive motion of tweaking and plucking over and over, it occurred to Edmund that he could not remember the last time he'd done something so simple. Something without an ulterior motive. It was a peace of purpose he had not known for a very long time.

Edmund fell into it's welcoming haze, eyes glossing over as he gave over completely to his senses. A keen knowing stopping his fingers at just the right point before he moved on to the next.

The wind continued to coax it's own music from the world around him; a haunting ripple on the ponds surface, a feathered scratch when it flattened his hair atop his forehead... And something else. Something much throatier… something much more human.

The voice didn't harmonize with the music of the breeze, in fact it seemed to follow a tune of it's own. The melody bobbed and weaved over the baseline of the world, wrapping it in something more substantial.

"That's nice," Edmund whispered.

Grace spared him a brief glance, "Thank you."

She didn't launch into some tale of its background like he'd expected. As soon as she'd spoken the words, her focus returned to humming once more, as if she'd lose the train of thought if she let it pass her.

Edmund wondered at the edge to it, how the song stirred the puddle of his soul to a curiosity that could not be satiated. He'd heard it before, he knew he had. In passing, a brief fragmented memory.

"Is that the tune you were thinking of before?" He asked.

This time, the look Grace threw him held traces of annoyance, "Yes."

The fiddling of Edmund's fingers stopped, "It seems as though you've managed to put it together."

"Seems so."

The short answers were becoming irritating, but whilst Edmund was no stranger to drawing the truth from unwilling parties, he didn't believe brute force would be the tactic to follow here.

"If you don't mind my asking," He reattempted, "The song you conjured for the Long Trot – how did you put that together?"

"Memory mostly," Grace replied simply.

He leaned forward in interest, "You have such a thorough memory of music?"

There was an infuriatingly easy shrug, "It comes easily when you can listen to it all the time."

The fact was not difficult to reconcile and yet, Edmund wondered at it. How was it managed? Was Grace truly wealthy enough in Spare Oom to enlist her own orchestra to play songs repeatedly?

Something in him yearned to remember anything from the land he'd once called home, if only to have some common ground with which to discuss it with Grace. Edmund had never envied Susan as much as he did in that moment, to have the recollection of their past life so close to her fingertips… so easily coaxed to the surface.

"What spurred it?" He spoke before thinking, the tug of want at his abdomen taking total domination over his mouth.

Grace's hands smoothed over the bunches of her skirt, "At the time it was a memento of Earth," She omitted, "Something I used to stay sane. Margrove picked up my humming and convinced me to teach him the song."

"No," Edmund dismissed, "I meant, what made you remember?"

That was how it worked right? That was how it was for him. A chilled wind, the unexpected brush of fur, a tinkle of a bell.

"My emotions I suppose," Grace looked to him openly, the sheen in her eyes the only barrier between him and her soul, "The tune coincided with how I felt at the time. Tenuous, like I was on thin ice constantly. It spoke to my fear of living on it forever."

Edmund grimaced, "Sorry"

He was consoled by her warm smile, "It's alright. I no longer fear you, your Majesty."

Your Majesty. Edmund felt an uncomfortable jostle at the address. It was not like the first time she'd spoken it in the words; with such imagined venom as to make Edmund snap at her. The address felt different now. Warmer, like she meant it.

The genuineness felt wrong. She who had seen him at and knew of his worst yet had continued to support him in any case. It was a feat which warranted a reward better than distanced greetings and stoic good byes.

"Edmund."

The warm expression slipped, "What?"

He held her gaze, hoping his eyes were half as open as hers had been just moments ago, "If you are to witness my darkest moments, you may as well know me by name."

There was a beat where none said anything. Even the wind had stilled to bear witness.

It was different to the usual battle of wills they found themselves under. One of a King offering a well-earned gift and a quasi-subject near denying it's value.

She would not win, however. Edmund would not allow it. The words had been spoken and decided and anyone who knew him would tell you that he would always return the victor. Whether it would be underhanded or not, Grace would bow to his will.

The Daughter of Eve looked away, the sigh on her lips restarting the wind's song, "Alright."

Edmund waited for the rest of the sentence. He was disappointed when her lips closed, when her storm ridden irises returned to the skirts of her dress. The sigh he released was covered by the wind as he returned to tuning the strings.

It took a moment for the humming to return and even then the sound was thoughtful, wracked with the inner turmoil ricocheting within Grace's mind.

Edmund didn't need to watch the instrument closely now, the motion almost reflexive as he picked at the strings until they were near-perfect. Instead he watched Grace's hands.

They were pale against the worn green, the thin limbs lithely bunching and smoothing the fabric in maddening repetitive motions. The humming only made the movement seem wilder, as if it was the last dredges of her sanity she was grasping at.

Perhaps he might have offered his familiarity too soon.

"What made you remember this one?" Edmund wondered, hoping it would serve as distraction enough to stop whatever cliff she was leaning over.

Grace's nose scrunched with a guilty conscience, "Our conversation at the stone table."

There was a shrill noise as Edmund veered the peg he'd been tuning.

He cringed at the sound and her implication, "Do I dare ask?"

"It's nothing derogatory," Grace promised, hands raised as if she meant no harm. Finally, she met his eyes with her own. The gaze softer with the memory of two mornings ago, "It's just the way you spoke of it. It inspired me."

Edmund wished it hadn't inspired anything. He mulled over the melody as he returned to twisting the pegs. How could such a melody hold such a horrible meaning? At once the song became as abhorrent to him as his own memory did and Edmund plunged into the feeling and let it fester.

He did not know how long he spent within it, but eventually there was an unseen sigh and Edmund began feel the impatience of his student.

"Are you almost done?" Grace bristled.

"Nearly," He grunted, the practiced callouses of his hands spinning the last peg into place.

Another sigh, this time drawn out and dramatic. It coaxed a tilt at the edge of Edmund's lips and spurred away a little of the veiled depression he'd allowed himself to fall in to.

"There," With a flourish to match, Edmund lifted the – now tuned – instrument into the air, beholding to all under the shade of vines to its completeness. It was returned to his lap with a contented breath before Edmund plucked each string in equal testing succession.

He supposed it would be good enough to teach with.

The instrument made no noise of protest as it was held aloft to Grace. She looked between the two for a moment, as if trying to decipher if there was more to the extension than the simple hand over of the instrument.

And knowing him, there might have been. But as much as Edmund would have liked to barter at that moment, he knew it would be difficult amongst the overpopulation of emotions he already felt building inside his chest.

He liked to assume that it was the honesty in his eyes which made Grace accept the bulbous carving of wood. It was taken into her lap similarly to before, only this time there was no horrendously untuned sound at her fingertips.

Grace's bright grin was well worth the effort to place it there, "Alright, where do we start?"

Edmund took a once over of her position, "Well, for starters, you're holding it wrong."

Her brow furrowed as she argued, "But, Margrove holds it like this?"

"Margrove is experienced and set in his ways," Edmund leaned across the twisting vines of the willow tree to place the instrument correctly in her hands, "You're a beginner without the luxury of choice."

"Fine," Grace muttered petulantly. She allowed the corrections he offered, only recoiling from his touch when his hand met with the bare skin of her forearm

"Good," Edmund returned at an equal tone, "Now we need a song to practice with."

That task would be a feat all it's own for Edmund had not lied when he'd told her he could barely string together a lullaby.

Her practiced hands strummed the strings in unison testingly, "You don't want to try to develop that song with me?"

The grimace Edmund's face undoubtedly bore served as enough of a deterrent from that course.

Thankfully, Grace didn't press the matter, "Alright, do you know of any songs you can teach me then?"

He looked at her obviously, "I know of many songs, but unlike you I do not have a mind catalogue I can choose from at whim."

Grace's storm ridden eyes narrowed at his tone, "Fine."

She blinked and the discontentedness was gone, hidden somewhere behind the glazed thoughtfulness which had rooted in its place.

Perhaps he ought to have assented to the song – Edmund was unsure he would be able to reliably teach her any Narnian music. Even if he could, there was no chance his teachings could be a match for that of Margrove. He knew the songs well enough to sing them and understood the instruments behind them and that was about as far as his learnings had gone.

In his attempt to offer her kindness and teach her new things, Edmund knew there was a backhand that was his irritability. It spiked often in Grace's presence which was often returned with her own. There was a chance that he may have irritated her enough to cause retaliation and with the knowledge he knew she held, that could mean anything.

The song from Spare Oom was sounding more appealing by the second but before he could take back his abhorrence, the Daughter of Eve seemed to obtain a thought.

Grace's head whipped in his direction, her warm eyes spun with a myriad of ideas, "Do you know any fast-paced marching songs?"