[fic] Along the Midnight Edge 4/14
Dec. 31st, 2010 01:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keire_keTitle: Along the Midnight Edge
Rating: 18
Genre: drama, romance
Pairings: Edmund/Caspian
Wordcount: 80k
Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes
Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian’s reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years’ history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.
[CHAPTER FOUR -- Kosmos]
There was silence. It was as though the world had stopped spinning.
“My lady?” Caspian whispered.
“I was the one who told him how to commit such a deed in this place. I was the one to show him where an appropriate weapon could be found.”
Caspian took the news without as much as a blink to display his surprise. He stood there frozen, as were they all, for a heartbeat, then, without warning, he drew his sword and he would have driven it through Lilliandil’s neck, had she not raised a hand to protect herself.
Edmund was quite certain no one had ever fought a star, and now he came to realise the futility of such endeavour. Lilliandil caught the blade in her naked hand, and the sword shone in her grip. Edmund saw a tendril of smoke rise from Caspian’s palm and he let go with a cry. She’d struck him on the chest, just once, sending him sprawling a dozen feet back.
“I have no desire to fight you all. If you won’t stand in my way, you may continue to the bridge and beyond,” she said. “Edmund, if you value your companions’ safety, you must come with me.”
“He shall not go anywhere,” Emeth said, stepping in front of Edmund, “But across the bridge with us.”
“Peter, quick,” Edmund said, making use of whatever time Emeth bought him. “Take Lucy and Jill and cross the bridge. We’ll follow.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed, but he took in the quick way Edmund’s gaze flickered to the side. A frown and then they were on the same page. Without a sound Peter inclined his head and moved, ushering the girls on.
“Edmund, surely you will not allow your friend to fight your battles for you?”
“Madam, I shall not. I must however ask, is this necessary? If I offended you, I shall make whatever amends you see fit, but for the life of me I do not see what ill I caused you.”
Lilliandil stood there, serene and motionless. “You took something from me,” she said simply. “I wish it weren’t so, but it is an offence that can only be paid in your blood.”
Her gaze never wavered from his and Edmund felt as though his insides had frozen. Suddenly it was the witch’s face he saw, instead of the star’s, and her icy voice accusing him of ruining her, ruining the land she loved, in her own way, the only land she had ever loved. “My lady,” he began, but she didn’t let him finish.
“You took my husband from me.”
Edmund drew a breath that by some miracle did not shudder. He trembled, whether from the imagined cold or from the accusation, he didn’t know. “My lady, you are not fair,” he said, finding himself at a loss. “He hasn’t been yours when I saw him last. You cannot fault me for what I had no control over.”
Thankfully, Lilliandil had allowed herself to become distracted, even more so as Edmund walked towards her. There were seven of them; Jill, Lucy and Eustace were already on the bridge, Emeth and Peter stood at its beginning and Caspian was very nearly upright again, and moving towards it.
Edmund stood in front of the star with his mind empty of all thought. “Lilliandil, you must believe what I say. Taking him away from you was never my intention. I had left; I had no hope of ever returning to Narnia. We both knew that.”
“And yet it was to you my king’s thoughts strayed, no matter how far away your world was.” Edmund closed his eyes and resolved to yell at Caspian, when he got the chance. He opened his mouth to speak, but a feather-light touch upon his lips stopped him. “You must understand, that all debts shall be repaid and so this is what I must do.”
Edmund smiled. “You must understand,” he said, “that I shan’t go quietly to my death.”
With that he dropped to the ground and rolled away, just as Peter and Caspian struck at her simultaneously with their swords. He was running as soon he was on his feet again and he knew that both Peter and Caspian were too.
He reached the start of the bridge side by side with Caspian, but when he turned his breath caught in his throat. Lilliandil had Peter lying prostrate on the ground, the tip of his own sword held to his neck.
“Edmund, do not force my hand,” she said. “Please step off the bridge and come with me.”
“Don’t you dare!” Peter yelled, though there was no order anyone could give that would stop Edmund from conceding to all demands in the face of such ultimatum.
Save, it would seem, for Caspian’s hand grasping his arm. “Trust me,” Caspian whispered into Edmund’s ear. Then louder, “He shall not go, my lady. Whatever quarrel you have over my fidelity to you, it is with me and me alone.”
“I wish it were so.”
“Nevertheless, you will release the High King,” Caspian said with conviction.
Lilliandil was silent. The sword in her hand never wavered, but at long last -- after what felt like hours to Edmund -- she stood back, allowing Peter to his feet. As though to confirm her easy victory, she offered him Rhindon back, which he took and retreated to the bridge without taking his eyes off her luminous figure.
“Edmund,” she said once Peter was safely alongside them. “Are you certain you wish to run? You’re already broken; surely it would be better for you to face death with honour, with your spirit high, before you succumb to the inevitable.”
Edmund’s hand came up on its own, to rest against the mark made by Rilian’s knife. Peter and Caspian, and everyone, were looking at him in horror. “I do not feel broken, my lady,” he said quietly. Then, stronger, “Even if what you say is true, I shall die knowing I fought to the last, and no sooner.”
“If you leave here now you shall regret it.” She came forth and stopped at the very line that marked the beginning of the bridge. She would move no further. If there was ever emotion in her face, it had to be now: her eyes were pleading for understanding and surrender. “I promise you as much.”
“My queen,” Caspian said, and his voice was that of a warrior who’d survived a hundred battles, expected to be in a hundred more, and cursed each morning, but rose all the same, to fight his way through. “I promise you that you shall pay dearly, should any harm come to Edmund.”
Lilliandil merely smiled. Her fingers stopped short of crossing the borderline of the bridge, as though held off by an invisible barrier, and Edmund realised with relief that she couldn’t, not just wouldn’t, step onto the bridge after all. It was one thing to suspect, quite another to have the suspicion on which he’d bet his family’s lives confirmed.
They turned away from her, one by one, and marched on. Edmund chanced a look back when they were far enough, and he saw the star looking after them, serene, and certain, even as her hands curled into fists and dropped to her sides. If stars wept, he thought suddenly, she was doing it now.
He turned to face the distant mountain ahead, and tried to banish the sight of Lilliandil and her strange words from his mind, finding the task nigh impossible.
The once heavenly Narnia was far behind them, when they dared to speak again. “How did you know she wouldn’t harm Peter?” Edmund asked Caspian.
“She was my wife for thirty-five years.”
“I assume you haven’t had many dalliances during that time.” Edmund rolled his eyes. “It is always a good idea to study the customs of the people you plan on marrying into, and the stars evidently are violently monogamous.”
“I meant she has never harmed anything living. She would only eat fruit and milk and honey. She wouldn’t participate in, nay, wouldn’t even watch mock battles.” Caspian frowned at Edmund. “And no, I hadn’t. Not one.” The final comment carried a note of hurt, as though he expected Edmund to know and not be so flippant.
“It is a good thing, then, since she seems to regard your devotion to my brother as criminal,” Peter said. “I fear to wonder what she could have done as queen.”
“I have never lied to her.”
“You proposed marriage to her by saying you fancied someone else?” Eustace asked, and the silence from Caspian nearly caused Edmund to lose his footing.
“You did,” he accused. “You did just that! You told her you had no intention of marrying her, except a rashly made promise compelled you to propose anyway!”
“Do not be absurd.” Caspian looked away, presumably to hide the tell-tale flush that blossomed across his face. “That would have been disrespectful to the lady.” There was another moment of silence. “That might have been the general sentiment, though.”
“However did you manage to hold on to your kingship?” Edmund asked, incredulous and fiery. Such honesty was as noble as it was foolish, especially from a king, and Caspian… Well, what else should he expect from his king, but the breathless, uncompromising honesty, even if it threatened ruin? He laced their fingers together and gripped them tight, before he spoke next. “Unless you left diplomacy in charge of others, it is a wonder Narnia lasted as long as it had!”
“What did you say?” Jill asked meanwhile, with keen interest. “I mean, she did marry you, so it had to be convincing.”
In the pale light the burst of colour was stark against Caspian’s skin. “I dare say that is a private matter.”
“Not when your wife is trying to kill my brother over it, it isn’t,” Peter said darkly. “If it turns out she hurt Edmund because you mistreated her, I will kill you. Sorry Ed.”
“If it turns out he mistreated her, I will kill him myself,” Edmund said.
“Do you think I have no honour? She was my queen; she had my utmost respect and all the affection I could afford to give.”
“So what did you tell her?”
Caspian sighed. “I said that while my people are eagerly awaiting my return, they are equally eager to see me married, and I would find it an honour if she would consider returning with me, as my fiancée. I said that I would happily take her to Narnia, so she could see the people and land for herself and decide whether it would please her to become their queen. I said that although my affection lay elsewhere, they were unattainable, and therefore she could be assured her happiness would be my utmost concern.”
Edmund listened to most of the speech with his mouth open. “You,” he managed with difficulty, “you blundering idiot!”
“Well, what did you expect me to say? At least that I could say in all honesty.”
“Anything but that! However did Narnian diplomacy survive with you at the helm, I shall never understand.”
“So it is my diplomatic skills that are questioned now?” Caspian glared. “By my reckoning I was quite the success, given the lack of open conflict and only a few minor skirmishes.”
“Great lion. It’s not about politics and you know it! Caspian, that is not how one romances women,” Edmund said, earning himself a round of very pointed stares (and one nod of agreement from Peter), none of them as poignant as the very wounded look in Caspian’s eyes.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said stiffly.
“You may as well have told her you needed a breeding mare.”
“I considered it, but I thought it might be rude.”
“However incompetent that was,” Peter started before Edmund could reply, “it still begs the question why did she agree. Forgive me, Ed, but I have to give Caspian his due, if he said to her what he’d just told us, then she had been warned and if she agreed to the terms, then I don’t think she has grounds to complain now.”
“As I recall, there are sayings about women scorned in their affections and how one should steer clear of them. Besides, I don’t think we would gain much by speculating on the nature of her animosity, when she could easily overpower us all.”
“May I remind you, she had been my queen for thirty-five years. Even if my feelings regarding her as my wife weren’t what they perhaps should have been, she had been dear to me and I valued her as a companion. I know her, or I knew her, well.” Caspian shook his head in dismay. “No matter what Edmund seems to think of my skill, I am not wholly hopeless at telling apart affection from possessiveness and jealousy.
“Lilliandil does not feel like we do. The marriage was to her just as impersonal as it was to me, whatever affection was there between us was the result of not the vows but friendship, and I am telling you -- she wouldn’t have cared if I had philandered with every man and woman of the court. I know as much because she told me so.”
Edmund’s face, unexpectedly, grew very hot. Perhaps it was the idea that someone else had touched Caspian, which was a thought he had been trying to avoid, though of course the words “royal succession” spoke for themselves. But it wasn’t that. A queen he could have suffered, when he knew it was necessary, that Narnia demanded it, but someone, anyone else, someone that Caspian chose -- he suspected he must be not so different from Lilliandil after all, as the very thought that someone other than him saw the soft look in Caspian’s eyes, the way they darkened with desire with every fervent kiss, was enough to flood him with intense desire for revenge.
“Unless maybe she killed them without you knowing about it,” Lucy was saying. “Do not look at me like that. I know what courts are like. A casual affair is easy to hide, and it’s even easier for a queen to make an unwanted courtier disappear.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about disappearing,” Peter said with a grin, “but Lucy has a point.”
“I am as always delighted to hear my assurances treated with gravity,” Caspian growled. “Let me say once more that I was faithful to my wife, regardless of how either of us felt about the marriage itself.”
Caspian’s tone silenced all further questions. Peter and Lucy soon migrated to the front of the column, closely followed by Eustace and Jill, and Emeth. Edmund tried to match his pace to theirs, if only to outrun the vicious thoughts plaguing his mind, but Caspian held his arm in a vice-like grip.
“What would have you had me say to her?” he asked. “Would you rather I’d lied?”
“No, of course not. I would rather you sounded at least like it wasn’t some terrible punishment that you had to endure.”
“But it was.”
“Why must you dramatise?”
“It was mere weeks after you’d left me. What did you expect, that I would happily offer my affections to another, as soon as you were gone?”
“I had seen men do so,” Edmund said. Indeed, courtly love was often the most strange: it would go from fiery declarations and passion to having the very object of affection swapped for another the next.
Caspian, however, took offence. “I would have stayed faithful to you, were I free to do so.” Then, quietly, he asked, “Did you marry?”
“I died young.”
“But you would have.”
“Eventually. Are you disappointed?”
“I assumed that you wouldn’t. There was nothing to force you to.”
“Just because I wasn’t king in my world, it doesn’t mean I didn’t have expectations placed on me. Yes, to answer your query -- there was a girl that I would have married,” he said, discovering to his great surprise that he remembered Jane. Like Susan, she had been gone from his memory until now. He wondered how many other people he had yet to remember, how many friends he’d left in mourning, back in England.
Fortunately, he had a feeling there weren’t many.
There was another long moment of silence. Caspian wore the wounded look that made Edmund wish he could close the bedroom door behind them and never venture outside again. How else could he be sure that no one else would know the moans that spilled from his lips when he kissed the inside of his elbow, scraping his teeth along the fragile skin, feeling the faint pulse beneath his lips?
“Did you love her?” Caspian’s voice was so quiet, barely even a whisper. Edmund saw fear in his posture, and his heart constricted. Perhaps that was how his hand ended up tangled in Caspian’s hair, why he turned his head and stared into his eyes, dropping all pretence of hating this openness that was forced on him.
“She was kind to me. She entertained my drunken ravings. I would have to be made of stone not to repay her kindness with affection.” He did love Jane, he supposed; he would be glad to meet her in heaven one day. Of course there was being glad to see someone and there was the heart-stopping mindless elation of finding Caspian anew. “She wasn’t you,” he said at last. “She could never be you.”
“At least there’s that.” Caspian gave Edmund a small smile, that quickly grew mischievous. “How is it you are an expert on romancing women? There was precious little about your affairs in history books.”
“That is why,” Edmund said shortly turning to follow the rest of their small party.
A moment later he nearly tripped over Lucy.
“What are you doing?” he asked once he righted himself. All five of them were lying side by side on the edge of the bridge, staring into the chasm below.
Lucy was the only one to turn to look at him. Her eyes were wide as saucers. Her mouth trembled but she found no words, so Edmund edged towards the brink cautiously.
Far, far below, further than the eye could see, at the very bottom of the sloping mountain, there was light. Edmund gazed at it in wonder. It was brighter than any sun and warm, and its rays reached to all the mountains, illuminating them from within, and how had he never noticed this, that there was such a wonder beneath the ground they trod on. It wove itself into the earth, reaching into the highest mountains, into the deepest valleys, pulsing with the heartbeat that Edmund found his own heart eager to match.
It reached for him then, a bright and welcoming presence that he perhaps ought to be humbled by, but wasn’t, so he held out his hand and took another step, for surely all that he feared and dreaded, all that had gone wrong could be fixed if he could just reach the light and feel its embrace.
The next thing he knew was Caspian’s frantic face, twisted in an anguished scream. “Edmund!” he was yelling, over and over.
“Stop yelling,” Edmund managed to slur. There were hands gripping his face, and a hard edge dug into his head. He realised he was lying on his back, on the wooden bridge, surrounded by faces no less distressed than Caspian’s. “I’m right here.”
“We must get off the bridge,” Peter said. “We can’t risk going any further.”
“What? No, we must go,” Edmund said as he sat up, nearly hitting Caspian’s forehead with his. “Narnia is collapsing. We can only hope the same thing isn’t happening elsewhere.”
“Edmund, you nearly dived of the bridge!” Lucy said.
Edmund looked at the surrounding faces, seeking confirmation of what he knew couldn’t possibly be true, but the horror and panic in them proved otherwise. “What happened?”
“We don’t know. We just saw you walk straight to the edge and then try to vault over the railings.”
“I see.”
“That’s all you have to say? You just tried to kill yourself!”
Emeth looked over the railing. “Look,” he said urgently. “It changes!”
As one, they rushed towards the brink, though Edmund’s progress was hindered by Caspian and Peter, who insisted on gripping his arms on either side, “So to prevent any shenanigans,” Peter said, and he was strangely humourless as he did so.
“Really, is this necessary?” Edmund asked as they neared the railings enough to peer over them. “I am not a child.”
“A tether might not go amiss,” Caspian muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.
“You try that, Caspian, and I will hogtie you and drown you in a pond.”
“I am tempted to lend a hand,” Peter said. “To Caspian.”
“Tu quoque, frateri mi?”
“Ed, you tried to jump off a bridge,” Peter started saying, but his voice washed over Edmund, suddenly meaningless, because they were looking down.
The bridge that connected the mountains was long and the mountains high -- they hadn’t walked far enough to reach even a quarter of the bridge’s length, so directly below them there was the grassy slope, disappearing into the fog lower still, and the light was at the mountain’s roots, if not lower down. Edmund could see now that where the mountain met the ground, if there was any to meet, the light had taken hold, licking at the bases of the range like waves lick at the sands of the shore. It beckoned to him like gravity beckons a jumper, who’d taken a step off the ledge, if gravity could open her arms and be this blinding brightness that promised absolution.
Edmund keenly felt the hands on his arms, which held him back from the light, and for a moment he considered struggling, but the grip was burning and pouring into him warmth and love, and if he turned just enough he knew he would see Caspian, and that his eyes would be fixed on him and full of worry.
“Does it seem to anyone else like it’s rising?” Eustace said from far away. There were more voices then, but Edmund ignored them all, in favour of staring at the light below. It was rising. Tendrils detached from the pool to climb the mountain’s slope, and then left it entirely, reaching towards the bridge.
Edmund tried to hold out a hand, but they were all running, hauling him along, and the light retreated, back into its bed.
“Well, that was educational,” Peter said breathlessly when they found themselves at the beginning of the bridge again.
Edmund collapsed and wallowed in relief, but it was so hard when part of him wished to be torn out and to join the light below. His gripped Caspian’s hand, focused on its warmth, banishing the memory into the back of his mind.
Caspian would have gone after him, he realised with dread as their eyes met. If Edmund tried again, he wouldn’t even hesitate. He would just… let go.
“What now?” Eustace asked.
“What was that thing?”
“Doesn’t matter right now. We must find another way out, and quickly. Aren’t there other bridges?”
“All bridges are much the same,” Jill said.
“And this light is underneath it all,” Edmund added. The rest of the group looked at him. “It was everywhere, under every mountain, under every bridge. It’s like an ocean and the mountains are very tall islands.”
“Ocean of light,” Lucy said dreamily. “That must be lovely.”
“You didn’t see it?”
“I only saw mist and flashes in it,” Peter said. “Like shiny fish in dark water. Until it started rising, anyway.” He seemed to be pondering something.
Edmund shuddered. “It was so queer. It was calling my name, in so far as this,” he waved his hands about, trying to convey the heat and light and vibration, “could be interpreted as a word.”
Too late he realised no one was following, and that he was getting some very strange looks. He must have been the only one to see then, which was rather disquieting. Usually it would be Lucy who insisted on seeing the impossible, while the rest of them tried to make sense of it. He wasn’t used to that kind of attention.
“This is heartening,” Peter said. “In its own strange way. We should split up.”
“Peter!” Lucy cried, “Surely not!”
“Hear me out. Eustace, Jill, and Emeth, if you would take orders from me?”
“I am at your command.”
“You three shall go to England, find Polly, Digory and search for Aslan, because he certainly isn’t here. The rest of us shall stay and figure something out, until you return.”
“Now hold on,” Edmund said, or tried to. He meant to argue that he could certainly walk the distance, if assisted, and that the light was in no way malignant and furthermore it could probably be communicated with, but Peter didn’t let him finish.
“You don’t get a vote,” Peter said. “Seeing as you cannot move two feet without having some shining monstrosity try and murder you. No offence to your wife, Caspian.”
“I admire your verbal restraint,” Caspian said. He had yet to loosen his grip on Edmund’s hand and he was looking around wildly, with his other hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Fortunately, neither Lilliandil nor Rilian were anywhere to be seen.
“That’s all very nice, and I especially admire you taking my civil rights away, just because some people want me dead, but I have to ask, what is your actual plan?”
“We need to find a safe place and wait there.”
“Brilliant. That safe place would be where, exactly?”
“I have no idea yet.”
“Wonderful. It will be the world’s most exciting game of hide and seek, in which we run through the many layers of this land and try to evade a star, who is easily strong enough to conquer…” Edmund said and then fell quiet. There was an idea forming in the back of his mind, slowly wedging to the forefront.
“What place here could be easily fortified and easier to defend?” Peter was asking meanwhile.
“Not here,” Edmund said. “There is Narnia.”
“We are in Narnia.”
“The other Narnia. The dead world. You had the key, didn’t you?”
“It may no exist anymore,” Peter said slowly, but Edmund saw in his eyes that he was considering the idea.
“It might,” Lucy said then. “I remember Aslan saying that it was a place before Narnia, the world, was born, that there were spells written there in the darkness before the world existed. It might still be there.”
“If it is, we shall have but one door to guard, and a whole world to hide in,” Eustace said, with a sense of wonder.
“It is settled then. Eustace, Jill and Emeth go across. The rest of us out, back to the door.” Peter stood up straight and stared into the distance, as though he was judging the way. “Let us hurry. We cannot risk Lilliandil catching us again.”
They bade farewell to Jill, Eustace and Emeth right there, wishing them luck on their quest, but privately Edmund thought they would need it more. He watched as the three made their way down the bridge, but there was no hint that the light took interest. It remained in its bed, but he could hear its pulse now that he knew what it was. He could feel the rhythm move the land beneath his feet, like music moves the soul.
“Will they be safe?” Lucy asked tearfully.
“Eustace and Jill braved the Northern Giants and the underworld with the aid of a single Marsh-wiggle, as I understand it, and they travel to England. They will be fine,” Edmund said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t fret. Everything will be fine.”
“You dare to say that? Honestly, Edmund! At the very least try and come up with a plausible lie!”
“Well, in that case, I will probably be killed within the next three days, but otherwise I think we have nothing to fear.” He earned himself a punch to the shoulder, which to be fair he deserved; what he didn’t feel he earned was Lucy’s tears. She clung to him, as if her embrace could ward off the danger, which was a welcome illusion. Edmund rested his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes.
He hoped he could spare her the sight of whatever would befall him.
“Edmund, you are bleeding!” she exclaimed, tearing herself away.
Indeed, the front of his shirt was red. “I feel fine,” Edmund kept insisting, even as Lucy made him sit by the pillar of the bridge and rewrapped the wound with stripes torn off her dress.
“It seemed healed before,” she said, inspecting the edges with enthusiasm Edmund had not seen in many surgeons. “It’s clean. If nothing else, it should be healing. Did you pick at it?”
“Yes. With zeal. Until it bled.”
“This is not amusing in the slightest. I think it is also upsetting Caspian.”
“Why do you insist on knocking a man who is down already?”
“I am merely stating a fact.”
“Caspian was upset consistently since this morning. I don’t think I can upset him more just by sitting here and being tended to.”
“Then you are a bloody fool.”
This was quite possibly the most shocking thing Edmund had heard come out of Lucy’s mouth to date. Not the words, as she was not shy in expressing her mind, but the hard, cold tone in which they were delivered. For the longest time he could do nothing but stare at her, open-mouthed.
“Honestly, you must think me such a child. He won’t get any less upset until you are completely healed and he’s had assurance you are safe from further harm. You must realise that.”
Edmund did. He disliked the thought, but he was aware of it. “I think it’s foolish,” he said, low enough to make sure only Lucy would hear, but of course heaven worked against him, and Caspian was never fully unaware of his actions here.
“You are an idiot,” Caspian said hotly. “Why is this such foolery, that I would place my happiness wholly in your hands?”
“Is the evidence not clear enough for you?”
“As touching as I find your arguments, I suggest we move forward,” Peter said. “There’s a long way to travel and time is working against us.”
There was much wonder to be found in the nature of the wound that Rilian caused. It hadn’t hampered Edmund’s movements -- he was quite confident he could shoot a bow as accurately as he ever did -- and it didn’t even hurt. He would feel a twinge, every now and then, but only if there was an abundance of fear weighing him down. He stood without trouble and kept up the pace as though there had been no wound at all. This was one of the advantages death had over living -- one need not worry about the state of one’s body.
Although plenty had to be re-evaluated in the face of recent events.
Rating: 18
Genre: drama, romance
Pairings: Edmund/Caspian
Wordcount: 80k
Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes
Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian’s reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years’ history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.
[CHAPTER FOUR -- Kosmos]
There was silence. It was as though the world had stopped spinning.
“My lady?” Caspian whispered.
“I was the one who told him how to commit such a deed in this place. I was the one to show him where an appropriate weapon could be found.”
Caspian took the news without as much as a blink to display his surprise. He stood there frozen, as were they all, for a heartbeat, then, without warning, he drew his sword and he would have driven it through Lilliandil’s neck, had she not raised a hand to protect herself.
Edmund was quite certain no one had ever fought a star, and now he came to realise the futility of such endeavour. Lilliandil caught the blade in her naked hand, and the sword shone in her grip. Edmund saw a tendril of smoke rise from Caspian’s palm and he let go with a cry. She’d struck him on the chest, just once, sending him sprawling a dozen feet back.
“I have no desire to fight you all. If you won’t stand in my way, you may continue to the bridge and beyond,” she said. “Edmund, if you value your companions’ safety, you must come with me.”
“He shall not go anywhere,” Emeth said, stepping in front of Edmund, “But across the bridge with us.”
“Peter, quick,” Edmund said, making use of whatever time Emeth bought him. “Take Lucy and Jill and cross the bridge. We’ll follow.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed, but he took in the quick way Edmund’s gaze flickered to the side. A frown and then they were on the same page. Without a sound Peter inclined his head and moved, ushering the girls on.
“Edmund, surely you will not allow your friend to fight your battles for you?”
“Madam, I shall not. I must however ask, is this necessary? If I offended you, I shall make whatever amends you see fit, but for the life of me I do not see what ill I caused you.”
Lilliandil stood there, serene and motionless. “You took something from me,” she said simply. “I wish it weren’t so, but it is an offence that can only be paid in your blood.”
Her gaze never wavered from his and Edmund felt as though his insides had frozen. Suddenly it was the witch’s face he saw, instead of the star’s, and her icy voice accusing him of ruining her, ruining the land she loved, in her own way, the only land she had ever loved. “My lady,” he began, but she didn’t let him finish.
“You took my husband from me.”
Edmund drew a breath that by some miracle did not shudder. He trembled, whether from the imagined cold or from the accusation, he didn’t know. “My lady, you are not fair,” he said, finding himself at a loss. “He hasn’t been yours when I saw him last. You cannot fault me for what I had no control over.”
Thankfully, Lilliandil had allowed herself to become distracted, even more so as Edmund walked towards her. There were seven of them; Jill, Lucy and Eustace were already on the bridge, Emeth and Peter stood at its beginning and Caspian was very nearly upright again, and moving towards it.
Edmund stood in front of the star with his mind empty of all thought. “Lilliandil, you must believe what I say. Taking him away from you was never my intention. I had left; I had no hope of ever returning to Narnia. We both knew that.”
“And yet it was to you my king’s thoughts strayed, no matter how far away your world was.” Edmund closed his eyes and resolved to yell at Caspian, when he got the chance. He opened his mouth to speak, but a feather-light touch upon his lips stopped him. “You must understand, that all debts shall be repaid and so this is what I must do.”
Edmund smiled. “You must understand,” he said, “that I shan’t go quietly to my death.”
With that he dropped to the ground and rolled away, just as Peter and Caspian struck at her simultaneously with their swords. He was running as soon he was on his feet again and he knew that both Peter and Caspian were too.
He reached the start of the bridge side by side with Caspian, but when he turned his breath caught in his throat. Lilliandil had Peter lying prostrate on the ground, the tip of his own sword held to his neck.
“Edmund, do not force my hand,” she said. “Please step off the bridge and come with me.”
“Don’t you dare!” Peter yelled, though there was no order anyone could give that would stop Edmund from conceding to all demands in the face of such ultimatum.
Save, it would seem, for Caspian’s hand grasping his arm. “Trust me,” Caspian whispered into Edmund’s ear. Then louder, “He shall not go, my lady. Whatever quarrel you have over my fidelity to you, it is with me and me alone.”
“I wish it were so.”
“Nevertheless, you will release the High King,” Caspian said with conviction.
Lilliandil was silent. The sword in her hand never wavered, but at long last -- after what felt like hours to Edmund -- she stood back, allowing Peter to his feet. As though to confirm her easy victory, she offered him Rhindon back, which he took and retreated to the bridge without taking his eyes off her luminous figure.
“Edmund,” she said once Peter was safely alongside them. “Are you certain you wish to run? You’re already broken; surely it would be better for you to face death with honour, with your spirit high, before you succumb to the inevitable.”
Edmund’s hand came up on its own, to rest against the mark made by Rilian’s knife. Peter and Caspian, and everyone, were looking at him in horror. “I do not feel broken, my lady,” he said quietly. Then, stronger, “Even if what you say is true, I shall die knowing I fought to the last, and no sooner.”
“If you leave here now you shall regret it.” She came forth and stopped at the very line that marked the beginning of the bridge. She would move no further. If there was ever emotion in her face, it had to be now: her eyes were pleading for understanding and surrender. “I promise you as much.”
“My queen,” Caspian said, and his voice was that of a warrior who’d survived a hundred battles, expected to be in a hundred more, and cursed each morning, but rose all the same, to fight his way through. “I promise you that you shall pay dearly, should any harm come to Edmund.”
Lilliandil merely smiled. Her fingers stopped short of crossing the borderline of the bridge, as though held off by an invisible barrier, and Edmund realised with relief that she couldn’t, not just wouldn’t, step onto the bridge after all. It was one thing to suspect, quite another to have the suspicion on which he’d bet his family’s lives confirmed.
They turned away from her, one by one, and marched on. Edmund chanced a look back when they were far enough, and he saw the star looking after them, serene, and certain, even as her hands curled into fists and dropped to her sides. If stars wept, he thought suddenly, she was doing it now.
He turned to face the distant mountain ahead, and tried to banish the sight of Lilliandil and her strange words from his mind, finding the task nigh impossible.
The once heavenly Narnia was far behind them, when they dared to speak again. “How did you know she wouldn’t harm Peter?” Edmund asked Caspian.
“She was my wife for thirty-five years.”
“I assume you haven’t had many dalliances during that time.” Edmund rolled his eyes. “It is always a good idea to study the customs of the people you plan on marrying into, and the stars evidently are violently monogamous.”
“I meant she has never harmed anything living. She would only eat fruit and milk and honey. She wouldn’t participate in, nay, wouldn’t even watch mock battles.” Caspian frowned at Edmund. “And no, I hadn’t. Not one.” The final comment carried a note of hurt, as though he expected Edmund to know and not be so flippant.
“It is a good thing, then, since she seems to regard your devotion to my brother as criminal,” Peter said. “I fear to wonder what she could have done as queen.”
“I have never lied to her.”
“You proposed marriage to her by saying you fancied someone else?” Eustace asked, and the silence from Caspian nearly caused Edmund to lose his footing.
“You did,” he accused. “You did just that! You told her you had no intention of marrying her, except a rashly made promise compelled you to propose anyway!”
“Do not be absurd.” Caspian looked away, presumably to hide the tell-tale flush that blossomed across his face. “That would have been disrespectful to the lady.” There was another moment of silence. “That might have been the general sentiment, though.”
“However did you manage to hold on to your kingship?” Edmund asked, incredulous and fiery. Such honesty was as noble as it was foolish, especially from a king, and Caspian… Well, what else should he expect from his king, but the breathless, uncompromising honesty, even if it threatened ruin? He laced their fingers together and gripped them tight, before he spoke next. “Unless you left diplomacy in charge of others, it is a wonder Narnia lasted as long as it had!”
“What did you say?” Jill asked meanwhile, with keen interest. “I mean, she did marry you, so it had to be convincing.”
In the pale light the burst of colour was stark against Caspian’s skin. “I dare say that is a private matter.”
“Not when your wife is trying to kill my brother over it, it isn’t,” Peter said darkly. “If it turns out she hurt Edmund because you mistreated her, I will kill you. Sorry Ed.”
“If it turns out he mistreated her, I will kill him myself,” Edmund said.
“Do you think I have no honour? She was my queen; she had my utmost respect and all the affection I could afford to give.”
“So what did you tell her?”
Caspian sighed. “I said that while my people are eagerly awaiting my return, they are equally eager to see me married, and I would find it an honour if she would consider returning with me, as my fiancée. I said that I would happily take her to Narnia, so she could see the people and land for herself and decide whether it would please her to become their queen. I said that although my affection lay elsewhere, they were unattainable, and therefore she could be assured her happiness would be my utmost concern.”
Edmund listened to most of the speech with his mouth open. “You,” he managed with difficulty, “you blundering idiot!”
“Well, what did you expect me to say? At least that I could say in all honesty.”
“Anything but that! However did Narnian diplomacy survive with you at the helm, I shall never understand.”
“So it is my diplomatic skills that are questioned now?” Caspian glared. “By my reckoning I was quite the success, given the lack of open conflict and only a few minor skirmishes.”
“Great lion. It’s not about politics and you know it! Caspian, that is not how one romances women,” Edmund said, earning himself a round of very pointed stares (and one nod of agreement from Peter), none of them as poignant as the very wounded look in Caspian’s eyes.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said stiffly.
“You may as well have told her you needed a breeding mare.”
“I considered it, but I thought it might be rude.”
“However incompetent that was,” Peter started before Edmund could reply, “it still begs the question why did she agree. Forgive me, Ed, but I have to give Caspian his due, if he said to her what he’d just told us, then she had been warned and if she agreed to the terms, then I don’t think she has grounds to complain now.”
“As I recall, there are sayings about women scorned in their affections and how one should steer clear of them. Besides, I don’t think we would gain much by speculating on the nature of her animosity, when she could easily overpower us all.”
“May I remind you, she had been my queen for thirty-five years. Even if my feelings regarding her as my wife weren’t what they perhaps should have been, she had been dear to me and I valued her as a companion. I know her, or I knew her, well.” Caspian shook his head in dismay. “No matter what Edmund seems to think of my skill, I am not wholly hopeless at telling apart affection from possessiveness and jealousy.
“Lilliandil does not feel like we do. The marriage was to her just as impersonal as it was to me, whatever affection was there between us was the result of not the vows but friendship, and I am telling you -- she wouldn’t have cared if I had philandered with every man and woman of the court. I know as much because she told me so.”
Edmund’s face, unexpectedly, grew very hot. Perhaps it was the idea that someone else had touched Caspian, which was a thought he had been trying to avoid, though of course the words “royal succession” spoke for themselves. But it wasn’t that. A queen he could have suffered, when he knew it was necessary, that Narnia demanded it, but someone, anyone else, someone that Caspian chose -- he suspected he must be not so different from Lilliandil after all, as the very thought that someone other than him saw the soft look in Caspian’s eyes, the way they darkened with desire with every fervent kiss, was enough to flood him with intense desire for revenge.
“Unless maybe she killed them without you knowing about it,” Lucy was saying. “Do not look at me like that. I know what courts are like. A casual affair is easy to hide, and it’s even easier for a queen to make an unwanted courtier disappear.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about disappearing,” Peter said with a grin, “but Lucy has a point.”
“I am as always delighted to hear my assurances treated with gravity,” Caspian growled. “Let me say once more that I was faithful to my wife, regardless of how either of us felt about the marriage itself.”
Caspian’s tone silenced all further questions. Peter and Lucy soon migrated to the front of the column, closely followed by Eustace and Jill, and Emeth. Edmund tried to match his pace to theirs, if only to outrun the vicious thoughts plaguing his mind, but Caspian held his arm in a vice-like grip.
“What would have you had me say to her?” he asked. “Would you rather I’d lied?”
“No, of course not. I would rather you sounded at least like it wasn’t some terrible punishment that you had to endure.”
“But it was.”
“Why must you dramatise?”
“It was mere weeks after you’d left me. What did you expect, that I would happily offer my affections to another, as soon as you were gone?”
“I had seen men do so,” Edmund said. Indeed, courtly love was often the most strange: it would go from fiery declarations and passion to having the very object of affection swapped for another the next.
Caspian, however, took offence. “I would have stayed faithful to you, were I free to do so.” Then, quietly, he asked, “Did you marry?”
“I died young.”
“But you would have.”
“Eventually. Are you disappointed?”
“I assumed that you wouldn’t. There was nothing to force you to.”
“Just because I wasn’t king in my world, it doesn’t mean I didn’t have expectations placed on me. Yes, to answer your query -- there was a girl that I would have married,” he said, discovering to his great surprise that he remembered Jane. Like Susan, she had been gone from his memory until now. He wondered how many other people he had yet to remember, how many friends he’d left in mourning, back in England.
Fortunately, he had a feeling there weren’t many.
There was another long moment of silence. Caspian wore the wounded look that made Edmund wish he could close the bedroom door behind them and never venture outside again. How else could he be sure that no one else would know the moans that spilled from his lips when he kissed the inside of his elbow, scraping his teeth along the fragile skin, feeling the faint pulse beneath his lips?
“Did you love her?” Caspian’s voice was so quiet, barely even a whisper. Edmund saw fear in his posture, and his heart constricted. Perhaps that was how his hand ended up tangled in Caspian’s hair, why he turned his head and stared into his eyes, dropping all pretence of hating this openness that was forced on him.
“She was kind to me. She entertained my drunken ravings. I would have to be made of stone not to repay her kindness with affection.” He did love Jane, he supposed; he would be glad to meet her in heaven one day. Of course there was being glad to see someone and there was the heart-stopping mindless elation of finding Caspian anew. “She wasn’t you,” he said at last. “She could never be you.”
“At least there’s that.” Caspian gave Edmund a small smile, that quickly grew mischievous. “How is it you are an expert on romancing women? There was precious little about your affairs in history books.”
“That is why,” Edmund said shortly turning to follow the rest of their small party.
A moment later he nearly tripped over Lucy.
“What are you doing?” he asked once he righted himself. All five of them were lying side by side on the edge of the bridge, staring into the chasm below.
Lucy was the only one to turn to look at him. Her eyes were wide as saucers. Her mouth trembled but she found no words, so Edmund edged towards the brink cautiously.
Far, far below, further than the eye could see, at the very bottom of the sloping mountain, there was light. Edmund gazed at it in wonder. It was brighter than any sun and warm, and its rays reached to all the mountains, illuminating them from within, and how had he never noticed this, that there was such a wonder beneath the ground they trod on. It wove itself into the earth, reaching into the highest mountains, into the deepest valleys, pulsing with the heartbeat that Edmund found his own heart eager to match.
It reached for him then, a bright and welcoming presence that he perhaps ought to be humbled by, but wasn’t, so he held out his hand and took another step, for surely all that he feared and dreaded, all that had gone wrong could be fixed if he could just reach the light and feel its embrace.
The next thing he knew was Caspian’s frantic face, twisted in an anguished scream. “Edmund!” he was yelling, over and over.
“Stop yelling,” Edmund managed to slur. There were hands gripping his face, and a hard edge dug into his head. He realised he was lying on his back, on the wooden bridge, surrounded by faces no less distressed than Caspian’s. “I’m right here.”
“We must get off the bridge,” Peter said. “We can’t risk going any further.”
“What? No, we must go,” Edmund said as he sat up, nearly hitting Caspian’s forehead with his. “Narnia is collapsing. We can only hope the same thing isn’t happening elsewhere.”
“Edmund, you nearly dived of the bridge!” Lucy said.
Edmund looked at the surrounding faces, seeking confirmation of what he knew couldn’t possibly be true, but the horror and panic in them proved otherwise. “What happened?”
“We don’t know. We just saw you walk straight to the edge and then try to vault over the railings.”
“I see.”
“That’s all you have to say? You just tried to kill yourself!”
Emeth looked over the railing. “Look,” he said urgently. “It changes!”
As one, they rushed towards the brink, though Edmund’s progress was hindered by Caspian and Peter, who insisted on gripping his arms on either side, “So to prevent any shenanigans,” Peter said, and he was strangely humourless as he did so.
“Really, is this necessary?” Edmund asked as they neared the railings enough to peer over them. “I am not a child.”
“A tether might not go amiss,” Caspian muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.
“You try that, Caspian, and I will hogtie you and drown you in a pond.”
“I am tempted to lend a hand,” Peter said. “To Caspian.”
“Tu quoque, frateri mi?”
“Ed, you tried to jump off a bridge,” Peter started saying, but his voice washed over Edmund, suddenly meaningless, because they were looking down.
The bridge that connected the mountains was long and the mountains high -- they hadn’t walked far enough to reach even a quarter of the bridge’s length, so directly below them there was the grassy slope, disappearing into the fog lower still, and the light was at the mountain’s roots, if not lower down. Edmund could see now that where the mountain met the ground, if there was any to meet, the light had taken hold, licking at the bases of the range like waves lick at the sands of the shore. It beckoned to him like gravity beckons a jumper, who’d taken a step off the ledge, if gravity could open her arms and be this blinding brightness that promised absolution.
Edmund keenly felt the hands on his arms, which held him back from the light, and for a moment he considered struggling, but the grip was burning and pouring into him warmth and love, and if he turned just enough he knew he would see Caspian, and that his eyes would be fixed on him and full of worry.
“Does it seem to anyone else like it’s rising?” Eustace said from far away. There were more voices then, but Edmund ignored them all, in favour of staring at the light below. It was rising. Tendrils detached from the pool to climb the mountain’s slope, and then left it entirely, reaching towards the bridge.
Edmund tried to hold out a hand, but they were all running, hauling him along, and the light retreated, back into its bed.
“Well, that was educational,” Peter said breathlessly when they found themselves at the beginning of the bridge again.
Edmund collapsed and wallowed in relief, but it was so hard when part of him wished to be torn out and to join the light below. His gripped Caspian’s hand, focused on its warmth, banishing the memory into the back of his mind.
Caspian would have gone after him, he realised with dread as their eyes met. If Edmund tried again, he wouldn’t even hesitate. He would just… let go.
“What now?” Eustace asked.
“What was that thing?”
“Doesn’t matter right now. We must find another way out, and quickly. Aren’t there other bridges?”
“All bridges are much the same,” Jill said.
“And this light is underneath it all,” Edmund added. The rest of the group looked at him. “It was everywhere, under every mountain, under every bridge. It’s like an ocean and the mountains are very tall islands.”
“Ocean of light,” Lucy said dreamily. “That must be lovely.”
“You didn’t see it?”
“I only saw mist and flashes in it,” Peter said. “Like shiny fish in dark water. Until it started rising, anyway.” He seemed to be pondering something.
Edmund shuddered. “It was so queer. It was calling my name, in so far as this,” he waved his hands about, trying to convey the heat and light and vibration, “could be interpreted as a word.”
Too late he realised no one was following, and that he was getting some very strange looks. He must have been the only one to see then, which was rather disquieting. Usually it would be Lucy who insisted on seeing the impossible, while the rest of them tried to make sense of it. He wasn’t used to that kind of attention.
“This is heartening,” Peter said. “In its own strange way. We should split up.”
“Peter!” Lucy cried, “Surely not!”
“Hear me out. Eustace, Jill, and Emeth, if you would take orders from me?”
“I am at your command.”
“You three shall go to England, find Polly, Digory and search for Aslan, because he certainly isn’t here. The rest of us shall stay and figure something out, until you return.”
“Now hold on,” Edmund said, or tried to. He meant to argue that he could certainly walk the distance, if assisted, and that the light was in no way malignant and furthermore it could probably be communicated with, but Peter didn’t let him finish.
“You don’t get a vote,” Peter said. “Seeing as you cannot move two feet without having some shining monstrosity try and murder you. No offence to your wife, Caspian.”
“I admire your verbal restraint,” Caspian said. He had yet to loosen his grip on Edmund’s hand and he was looking around wildly, with his other hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Fortunately, neither Lilliandil nor Rilian were anywhere to be seen.
“That’s all very nice, and I especially admire you taking my civil rights away, just because some people want me dead, but I have to ask, what is your actual plan?”
“We need to find a safe place and wait there.”
“Brilliant. That safe place would be where, exactly?”
“I have no idea yet.”
“Wonderful. It will be the world’s most exciting game of hide and seek, in which we run through the many layers of this land and try to evade a star, who is easily strong enough to conquer…” Edmund said and then fell quiet. There was an idea forming in the back of his mind, slowly wedging to the forefront.
“What place here could be easily fortified and easier to defend?” Peter was asking meanwhile.
“Not here,” Edmund said. “There is Narnia.”
“We are in Narnia.”
“The other Narnia. The dead world. You had the key, didn’t you?”
“It may no exist anymore,” Peter said slowly, but Edmund saw in his eyes that he was considering the idea.
“It might,” Lucy said then. “I remember Aslan saying that it was a place before Narnia, the world, was born, that there were spells written there in the darkness before the world existed. It might still be there.”
“If it is, we shall have but one door to guard, and a whole world to hide in,” Eustace said, with a sense of wonder.
“It is settled then. Eustace, Jill and Emeth go across. The rest of us out, back to the door.” Peter stood up straight and stared into the distance, as though he was judging the way. “Let us hurry. We cannot risk Lilliandil catching us again.”
They bade farewell to Jill, Eustace and Emeth right there, wishing them luck on their quest, but privately Edmund thought they would need it more. He watched as the three made their way down the bridge, but there was no hint that the light took interest. It remained in its bed, but he could hear its pulse now that he knew what it was. He could feel the rhythm move the land beneath his feet, like music moves the soul.
“Will they be safe?” Lucy asked tearfully.
“Eustace and Jill braved the Northern Giants and the underworld with the aid of a single Marsh-wiggle, as I understand it, and they travel to England. They will be fine,” Edmund said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t fret. Everything will be fine.”
“You dare to say that? Honestly, Edmund! At the very least try and come up with a plausible lie!”
“Well, in that case, I will probably be killed within the next three days, but otherwise I think we have nothing to fear.” He earned himself a punch to the shoulder, which to be fair he deserved; what he didn’t feel he earned was Lucy’s tears. She clung to him, as if her embrace could ward off the danger, which was a welcome illusion. Edmund rested his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes.
He hoped he could spare her the sight of whatever would befall him.
“Edmund, you are bleeding!” she exclaimed, tearing herself away.
Indeed, the front of his shirt was red. “I feel fine,” Edmund kept insisting, even as Lucy made him sit by the pillar of the bridge and rewrapped the wound with stripes torn off her dress.
“It seemed healed before,” she said, inspecting the edges with enthusiasm Edmund had not seen in many surgeons. “It’s clean. If nothing else, it should be healing. Did you pick at it?”
“Yes. With zeal. Until it bled.”
“This is not amusing in the slightest. I think it is also upsetting Caspian.”
“Why do you insist on knocking a man who is down already?”
“I am merely stating a fact.”
“Caspian was upset consistently since this morning. I don’t think I can upset him more just by sitting here and being tended to.”
“Then you are a bloody fool.”
This was quite possibly the most shocking thing Edmund had heard come out of Lucy’s mouth to date. Not the words, as she was not shy in expressing her mind, but the hard, cold tone in which they were delivered. For the longest time he could do nothing but stare at her, open-mouthed.
“Honestly, you must think me such a child. He won’t get any less upset until you are completely healed and he’s had assurance you are safe from further harm. You must realise that.”
Edmund did. He disliked the thought, but he was aware of it. “I think it’s foolish,” he said, low enough to make sure only Lucy would hear, but of course heaven worked against him, and Caspian was never fully unaware of his actions here.
“You are an idiot,” Caspian said hotly. “Why is this such foolery, that I would place my happiness wholly in your hands?”
“Is the evidence not clear enough for you?”
“As touching as I find your arguments, I suggest we move forward,” Peter said. “There’s a long way to travel and time is working against us.”
There was much wonder to be found in the nature of the wound that Rilian caused. It hadn’t hampered Edmund’s movements -- he was quite confident he could shoot a bow as accurately as he ever did -- and it didn’t even hurt. He would feel a twinge, every now and then, but only if there was an abundance of fear weighing him down. He stood without trouble and kept up the pace as though there had been no wound at all. This was one of the advantages death had over living -- one need not worry about the state of one’s body.
Although plenty had to be re-evaluated in the face of recent events.
