Narnia Fic: Loyalty (Part Two)

[gmtaslash]

Part One here

That night, before he gets to sleep, Edmund lies in bed and makes a decision. Perhaps he is going mad. Perhaps this is all Magic, or some sign, or simply fantasies made more potent by tiredness and hope. There is only one person who will know the difference. Edmund doesn't know if he can even be found in this unmagical country, but decides to try anyway.

They never talked much, he and Aslan, and they never spoke alone again after he was forgiven. Perhaps Aslan felt that all they needed to say was wrapped up in that brief time before the battle with the White Witch. Perhaps the very fact that he was forgiven was supposed to be enough. All Edmund knows is that he would have liked to have felt the same certainty as Lucy, or to have been guided as Peter was. He left it alone in Narnia, always telling himself that there would be time in the future, when Aslan would explain and things would make sense.

He cannot wait any longer. He has to know this. 'Aslan,' he whispers, trying to keep his voice steady, to sound kingly and worthy to take up Aslan's time. 'I would have speech with you, sire.' The old mode of speech drops easily from his lips, just as it always did, and abruptly he falls into a deep slumber.

'Son of Adam, you are afraid.'

'I ... don't think I am, Aslan,' says Edmund carefully, not meeting the eyes of the Lion.

'And you fear these dreams that you are having, dreams of Narnia and your old dominion there.'

'I do not fear them,' Edmund retorts, a shade more defensively than he intended. 'Sir.'

'Do you not? Perhaps then it would be more correct to say that you fear how much you like them. And you fear how much you think of the young King, Caspian. Would that be fairer, Edmund the Just?'

Edmund tries again. 'That's not ... I mean ... I don't understand why I'm having these dreams, Aslan. It wasn't like this last time.'

'You are older now, a different person than you were, but it is very natural to you to seek understanding. Very well. You understand, do you not, why you and your brother and sisters were sent from Narnia after the coronation?'

'I ... I do,' says Edmund hesitantly. 'The political balance there was too delicate ... If we'd stayed, Caspian's rule would have been weakened...' He knows, yes, but that doesn't mean he doesn't wish it could have been otherwise. Again he is assailed by the thought that if he'd only followed Caspian, that last night ...

Aslan chuckles, a deep rumble, almost like a purr. 'Although I sent you back for reasons you understand, you are unhappy with my timing, is that not so?' he asks.

'Aslan, I...'

'And you fear to disagree with me.'

'Aslan...' Edmund gives up, and looks up into the Lion's face. 'Couldn't we have stayed just a few more days? I ... he ... there were things I needed to ask him. Things we needed to say.'

'And you are certain that after just a few more days, you would have been satisfied?'

'Well...'

'You are young,' says Aslan warmly. 'You will learn.' He turns, and begins to walk away on silent paws. 'Dream well, Edmund the Just. Use your judgement. Perhaps the opportunity you seek is yet to come. You will see that this was best.'

Edmund thinks that it is just like Aslan to be cryptic.

***

It is halfway through French the next day when Edmund, reciting conjugations, begins to ascertain the shape of a conclusion.

'J'ai, tu as-'

That was certainly Aslan in the dream. Edmund would know that Lion anywhere.

'- il a, elle a, nous avons-'

He knows about the dreams.

'-vouz avez-'

He would certainly have said something if he didn't approve of them.

'-ils ont, elles ont-'

But ... kissing boys is wrong, or at least, so vague hints delivered in stern ways from various masters and from the Head, Matron and the Chaplain have led Edmund to believe. He considers the punishments: a caning now; a life eternal in Hell later. The caning is unlikely to transpire, given he hasn't touched anyone. The prospect of Hell does occupy him briefly; after all, just because he's never been there doesn't mean there is no such place. He consults his Bible before bed; surely answers will lie there? He's read it before, of course, but this time he is actively searching for something, rather than reading it out of a sense of duty and for the satisfaction of memorising psalms and winning a prize at the end of term.

Things that he'd read before and dismissed as nonsense or stories take on new meanings now. It reads as if whoever wrote the Book was trying desperately to make sense of something that kept slipping out of reach. Edmund knows exactly how that feels.

Aslan knows, too. Aslan always knows, whether it is right or wrong. Edmund thinks that, probably, he asks too many questions. But Edmund always trusts that, when he doesn't know, Aslan will, and does. He's quite sure that these dreams he's having would fit quite snugly into the catalogue of sinning, a subject declaimed upon at length by the Chaplain and Matron. He's not sure where Aslan stands on sin, though, and he has much more compulsion to obey Aslan than the Chaplain, who is a slimy little man and worryingly reminiscent of some of the Telmarine Lords that Caspian had to remove from his counsels for being sycophants and bribe-takers. It certainly didn't sound like Aslan disapproved of Edmund's dreams and daydreams of the other king, and Edmund recalls strongly a conversation between Lucy and Susan on the subject of a suitor from Terebinthia.

It began, he recalls, after the man had left. Susan's face had fallen from its gracefully held smiles and blushes as soon as the door closed behind him. She looked tired, wearied almost to the limits of her inestimable patience by his simpering praise. She had made to leave, skirts sighing around her as she rose, but her hand was caught by Lucy's.

'Dost thou love him, sister?' she asked, straightforward as ever. Edmund had looked up from his reading as Susan replied.

'I ... we need this treaty with Terebinthia. Whether I love him or no, I see no other way to achieve that end.' The weariness in her voice stung him.

'By the Lion-' began Peter, but was quieted by a look from Lucy.

'We need it no more than we need thee on the throne, directing affairs here,' the youngest of them said. 'Ed can surely bring matters to a close without thy hand being the lure that ensnares that fat fish?'

'Only with extra expense, further coin and concessions. I would not have it said that my reluctance to wed were the cause of the beggaring of our nation,' said Susan, with a tiny toss of her head, a hint of the archer-queen who had taken to battle years before still shining below the façade of serenity. 'Nay, sister, I am too proud for that, tho' the prospect of marriage with him weighs heavily in my mind.'

'The prospect of a loveless marriage for you weighs on mine,' rejoined Lucy. 'It seems to me that to bestow your gracious hand for sake of a spurious peace would be against the designs of Aslan. For it has been many years that we have ruled here at Cair Paravel, and not once has he spurred any of us to ally ourselves.'

The argument went on for hours after that, for once Lucy and Susan began to debate they would not let it go lightly, being as opposite in their way as Edmund and Peter, but it was that moment that struck Edmund. Lucy always did know the mind of Aslan best, and she had been adamant that the way of Aslan was towards love, rather than expediency, to trust and belief, to noble causes and blind hopes.

Edmund has always been more cautious than Lucy, and usually it has served him well. But Aslan's presence always seems to swing that internal compass around and make fools of those who strive the hardest not to be foolish. Perhaps this time, just perhaps, Edmund thinks, it is time to strike out for the wild desire. Give in. Hope. Believe.

He reaches this decision just as the French master asks him to recite the conjugation to the class, which he manages reasonably credibly. French goes on for another half hour, leaving very little room for desires, wild or otherwise, and after that there is Mathematics to wrestle with, and History, which Edmund sits in, furiously taking notes and determined that the master will have nothing more to say to him about his behaviour or attentiveness. However, English cannot keep his attention; the ins and outs of sentence structure evade him, the room is too warm, the master drones ... and so, slowly and inexorably, he begins to daydream.

He is in council. A fly is buzzing around in the vaulted ceiling. The day is warm, and Edmund guiltily realises he's been dozing when he ought to have been listening to the Ambassador from the Lone Islands. He straightens up in his seat, earning him a look from Susan that is half amusement and half disapproval. She knows him far too well.

The Ambassador finishes, something about tribute, and immediately three different people all rise and attempt to talk over one other. Peter calls for order.

The fly is still buzzing.

There is a stained glass window in this council chamber, a great Lion's head casting golden light over the room, gilding Peter's hair, brightening Susan's carefully-cultivated pale complexion.

Where is Lucy?

The Ambassador has brought someone with him, some part of his retinue. A serving-boy, it seems, for he brings wine to his master, pours it most carefully.

Edmund would like some wine. The day is warm and he is thirsty.

The Lion roars over their heads and the gilded light and the ruby wine are the jewel-bright hangings in Edmund's room, the serving boy is removing the warming pan from Edmund's sheets and the shirt from his own back.

The serving boy is Telmarine, and Edmund vaguely wonders how the Lone Islanders came to meet the Telmarines some hundreds of years too early.

The serving boy is Caspian, and Edmund thinks it is a shame that kings must fall from grace, himself to schoolboy and Caspian to hired help, but the bed is warm from the embers in the warming pan, and Caspian's eyes are warmer, and his skin under Edmund's palms is warmer still, and his lips are like fire where they touch Edmund's face, and Edmund knows just how ungrammatical this thought is being. He cannot think of anything but getting closer to what he wants; he growls, low in his throat, determined to take, but all has been given, they are naked, they are moving under sheets in frantic conjunction, and he is close, he is there, he is in between the sheets and in between Caspian's thighs, and -

'Pevensie!'

There are more stripes of crimson on his palms that afternoon.

***

Edmund does not dream again, whether by day or by night, for several days, and he is glad. He isn't sure what to think of the last one. He did not know he had that wanton desire in him; he's used to being the quiet one, the practical one, the level-headed one, from a time when the four of them, Kings and Queens of Narnia, were a unit. This kind of lust, this kind of passion ... this is what he would have expected from Peter. The questions that have arisen in his mind occupy him to such an extent that, for the first time, a gang of older boys try to grab him in the bathroom, and succeed.

There are three of them, and only one of Edmund, and he is younger. They expect an easy conquest. They are wrong.

Edmund is standing at the washbasin, rinsing his hands, when he feels someone coming up behind him. Knowing that whoever it is cannot be planning anything pleasant, he thinks fast. Either he kicks, or he grabs. The floor underfoot is tiled, and wet. A backwards kick would thrust him off balance. Instead, he plants his feet further apart, and thrusts his hands behind him, grabs whatever he can reach and squeezes cruelly, turning in the same instant to see that there are three boys surrounding him and that he has one of them by the groin.

The boy in question has turned a cheesy white colour, and wrenches away. Edmund makes for the door, only to be blocked by the other two assailants. They grab at him, and the first boy draws a fist back to punch Edmund, his face a twisted mask of pain and anger, but Edmund ducks, and the punch connects with someone else's face. The punched boy falls, and Edmund darts away yet again.

The third boy tries to grab him, but only succeeds in tripping over his prone friend, and smashing his face on what Edmund assumes is the washbasin, though he doesn't see exactly what happens, because by this point he's slipped out of the door and is already half a corridor away. He finds out later that the boy broke his nose, and that his friends had run away rather than be caught by the masters. He worries a little that his name might have been mentioned, but when evening comes with no retribution, he assumes that none of them wanted to bring attention to having been bested by a younger boy.

The fight makes him think even more though. He has no doubts about why they were circling round behind him, or what they intended to do to him. He has no doubts about the fact that he would not have enjoyed it one jot. He wonders mainly about why they do it. To someone whose only real experience of the physical side of love is one brief, almost chaste, kiss, taking pleasure in such force seems inconceivable.

***

As the dawn breaks, Edmund is back in Narnia, on the top of the tower of Caspian's castle. Caspian is stepping away from him, looking wary and shy. 'I'm glad this was the right place, at least for a little while,' he says raggedly.

Their eyes lock, their hands lock, Caspian's around Edmund's waist and Edmund's around Caspian's neck, and they stare. The moon over Caspian's shoulder throws silver spangles on his hair and that hint of frost almost makes Edmund panic

- the Witch, the Stag ... don't make me leave! -

until he sees the love and the golden tawny tint in Caspian's dark and dilated eyes. This moment is warm and cold all at once, and their breath mists in the air.

The tower floor looms up fast, and cold flagstones knock the breath from Edmund as Caspian arches over him, a moan escaping the older boy's lips as Edmund drags his hands through Caspian's hair and down over flesh.

These are the things Edmund will remember later; Caspian's leg is between Edmund's thighs, Caspian's hand is hovering over Edmund's waistband, Caspian's mouth is hot against Edmund's collarbone. Caspian, Caspian, Caspian, all over everywhere at once.

Edmund is painfully aware of Caspian's hand and wishes that he had the courage to grab it, to give Caspian the permission he obviously wants. Instead he arches up underneath the older boy, pressing them together.

But when Caspian does finally slide his hand past nightwear and onto Edmund's sweat-damped skin, Edmund gasps, and Caspian draws back hurriedly.

It seems the cold gets everywhere, and, stung by the desire to exclude it, Edmund brings Caspian's hand to his mouth and gently licks the palm, then the fingers, as Caspian closes his eyes and shivers.

Caspian's eyes gleam with mischief as he suddenly thrusts his hand back in and - Edmund gasps, feeling Caspian slowly start moving his warm, moist hand up and down...

'Caspian, please...' Shyness is forgotten, as Edmund tears at Caspian's nightshirt.

Edmund thought he was demanding, but Caspian is more so, and the door to the tower is cold behind him and Caspian in front of him is sinfully hot, and they push at each other, sweaty and slick and full of so much desire but so frantically unsure of what to do, and suddenly something is growing, some wave is cresting somewhere inside him and it's all too much. Edmund convulsively crushes Caspian to him and is vaguely aware of a choked moan from the prince as a feeling of unbelievable heat cascades through him. He sags back, Caspian draped bonelessly over him, and the pair of them sink slowly to the floor.

Caspian is in Edmund's lap, fierce eyes all warmly protective and sated.

Edmund jerks awake, heart hammering in his chest. Around him, the dorm is dark, and silent. He exhales deeply, willing the dream to leave him; it is too confusing, too painful.

He lies awake for a long time, Caspian's face dancing on the back of his eyelids, smiling, teasing, never quite fully formed. Is this how Susan feels? He wonders, digging the heels of his hands into his eyesockets, willing the vision to leave him, for sleep to claim him, though he is almost afraid to sleep. He is certainly afraid of where his dreams will take him next. A part of him is not quite sure why he fears so much, but Edmund squashes it, rolling over to bury his face into the pillow.

He is tired again, the next day, inattentive and careless, and incurs the wrath of the Latin master with distracted insolence, and as he holds out his hands and listens to the whistle of the cane tearing the air, his mind sees only the cold glint in the White Witch's eye as the whip falls.

She did beat him, that once. He's almost forgotten about it, in the wake of all else that she did. It was her expression that he was more concerned with, when it happened. This was a woman totally consumed by the knowledge that her desires were the only true way for a world to be run. That has made him suspicious of people who take for their own sake. It caused friction in court, it caused friction at home: Edmund quietly and calmly telling Susan to think of consequences when she flirts; Edmund angrily shouting at Peter not to be such an idiot, not to be so selfish, that Narnia cannot afford for him to risk himself in single combat; Edmund fiercely grabbing Lucy's shoulders and telling her that if she ventures onto that battlefield she will be cut to ribbons, and then where will that leave all who look to her for healing and for strength?

He cannot escape the memory of the Witch's face that day, and then again, when he shattered her wand, her Magic, and her hold on the land. When she was gone, they took over. Aslan put four children on four thrones, and trusted in them to keep their own brands of selfishness from ruining everything.

Edmund fervently hopes that Aslan was right in what he did. He doesn't feel, at this moment, the slightest bit responsible. He's exhausted, he hasn't slept properly in weeks, he's keeping up with his Prep and so forth, but only just. He can barely manage to be a schoolboy, he thinks, resting his face in his throbbing hands. How on Earth can he ever be a king again?

***

Edmund has been in many fights in his life - lives - and they've all more or less been for honour, and there've been fights for duty and for anger and for hate, and there've been fights for necessity, fights for defence and offence, but Edmund has never had to fight to defend his right to have a fight before.

But Caspian is plainly angry, and Edmund doesn't understand why, except it has something to do with his battle with the Witch, something to do with his escape from shame at the hands of three boys, something to do with Caspian's jealousy and possessiveness, and Edmund doesn't know why it's his fault.

'How dare they lay hands on a King of Narnia?'

'They dare because they do not know,' he says. 'I don't know any more, either. Am I still a king?'

'Of course you are still a king, my King.'

Caspian kneels then, and Edmund thinks that one king ought not to kneel to another. He never knelt to Peter, and Caspian didn't either, and he and Caspian are supposed to be equals, and so he gets on his knees as well, determined to keep them equal and surprised when Caspian gently but inexorably forces him backwards.

This is worship, and this is equality, and this is loyalty, swearing fealty with hands and lips and hearts and minds. Never to be together, perhaps, but never to be apart, always chasing, never catching, but never separated, like Zeus and Ganymede, two sides of the same vase. To put them together would spoil the balance, but to cease the chase would ruin the masterpiece.

Edmund wakes, to pale sunlight filtering through the curtains, dappling his pillow and turning floating dust into tiny particles of gold, and knows that Aslan was right, as always.

Peter will settle, grow up in England. Edmund will always be there to support him, but that's not the only thing he will ever be; Peter's shadow, Peter's prop. Edmund will go back. He'll be needed and useful again. He and Peter need time apart. Together they've grown strong; without each other's support they will grow stronger.

Susan's place is here now, too. They can all see it, how comfortable, how settled she is. This is her home. And Lucy's young enough that she can still hold two worlds in her mind and in her heart. She's eager to go back to Narnia, but in the interim, this world holds so much that she loves as well that she will be content. Love is everything to Lucy, as home is everything to Susan.

While they are gone, Caspian will become a strong king; the leader Narnia needs to bring her through after the Telmarine occupation. He needs the time to establish himself; with the Kings of Old around he would never get to stand by himself.

And for Edmund himself? He will watch; watch his siblings, watch himself. And he will wait. Things are easier now. Now that he knows the why of it, the reason he had to leave. He can wait for Narnia, for his time there to come again. He can even wait for Caspian; after all, it is not for him to decide when he will be needed again. The flow of time and Magic may never bring them together again, but if all else fails, at least he has his dreams.