[fic] On a Transparent Belt of Ether 1/4
Feb. 14th, 2011 01:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keire_keTitle: On a Transparent Belt of Ether
Rating: 14
Pairings: Caspian/Edmund
Genre: Romance, drama
Wordcount: 22k
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Edmund the Just made his kingship telling people the right things at the right time. The night before Caspian’s coronation Edmund tells the anxious prince the right thing. It is only later, on board the Dawn Treader that he realises just what his words achieved.
Author's Note: On the whole the movie is best viewed as “the epic love story of Edmund and Caspian,” otherwise it may not be the most formulaic thing committed to film, but it’s certainly close.
Chapter breaks may seem a little awkward - I never planned for chapters. It was supposed to be ten pages, tops.
Betaed byyami_tai. <3 Thank you so much, hun, for all the hard work!
There was a nervous thrumming in the air, as though the land and the castle hadn’t yet seen past the excitement of the battle. It rose from the ground to the tops of the trees with such intensity that even the stars seemed to hum in tune with the earth.
Edmund had made himself comfortable on top of a high tower, with a bottle of wine and a goblet at his side. Festivities he could only stand in small amounts. Usually, by the time the drink flowed and coherent speech was a memory, he was long gone. He’d had a few drinks himself by now, and he fully intended to finish the bottle before he staggered back into his room. Although that would mean facing tomorrow -- accursed tomorrow -- and making the certain return to England even more unpleasant, but that Edmund could handle.
He stretched his legs out on the cool stone and flicked the torch on. The beam of light shot through the sky. It amused him for a few seconds, so he clicked it on and off, until the novelty wore off and he set the torch aside in favour of the wine.
It was good wine. A far cry from the old Narnian wine of their reign, when the trees themselves had selected the best grapes and brought them to the Cair Paravel winery, a dominion of fauns. To Edmund, that was the taste of Narnia. Still, this here wasn’t bad. Lacking some undefinable aroma, lacking in magic, perhaps, but worthy of a king’s palate.
Down below the noises of the courtyard were mellowing. The hour was late and the castle was settling at last, having finally spent the energy from the battle. Edmund sighed and leaned against the wall. He had a feeling this was his last night in Narnia, at least for a while, so what remained but watching the sky? He’d been denied a good-bye the previous time, he wouldn’t let that be so again.
Edmund knew, on an intellectual level, that the stars were moving. At least he knew they were moving above his home world, and so he assumed that they moved in Narnia too. Now it would seem they were galloping across the sky at a breakneck pace, trying to outrun the night. He closed his eyes and let the world turn around him for a few seconds.
He was going to miss the Narnian stars. Being a king, obviously, too, as Aslan would send him back to the world in which he was just another peep squeak, whose opinions counted for naught. Never mind that he was qualified to lead armies into battle, when his own family (barring his siblings, naturally) couldn’t comprehend that he was mature enough to handle himself.
Footsteps invaded his thoughts while he tried to doze. They were the footsteps of a adolescent, a boy rather than a girl, too. Edmund sighed and resigned himself to a scolding from Peter. He supposed he might topple the bottle over the parapet, send the goblet flying after it, but that wouldn’t disguise the smell of wine on his breath.
The door flew open and instead of Peter there was Caspian in the door. Edmund smiled at him and raised the goblet in a silent greeting.
“I apologise, Your Highness,” Caspian stammered immediately. “I did not mean to intrude on your solitude.”
“Not at all. Join me.” Edmund looked down at the remains of his bottle. There was easily enough to share, given how his head was already spinning. “Unless you would rather be alone?”
“No- No, I am content. Thank you.” Poor Caspian, too nervous to conceive of a proper excuse. Edmund wordlessly filled the goblet and handed it over.
“Have a drink.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Edmund, Caspian. Or have you forgotten?”
Caspian flushed, but took the wine and raised it to his lips. “I thank you.”
Edmund watched him carefully. “Escaping the festivities?”
“Yes,” Caspian said. “I’m- I know it is improper of me, but I could not stay there. Stay there, among all the Narnians, I mean.”
“You don’t wish to abandon the Old Narnians, I trust?”
“No! Of course not.” Caspian approached the wall carefully, to perch across from Edmund. “I do not wish to burden your conscience,” he said, but his flushed face and earnest gaze betrayed his urgent need to speak.
“I don’t think there is anything you can say that would burden my conscience,” Edmund told him.
“I fear tomorrow. And the day after. I fear your departure. I can’t- I don’t know if I can be king. How can I be king to people, whom my family, my ancestors, murdered by the hundreds?” Caspian wrung his hands and found the goblet clasped within them, so he finished its contents in one gulp and continued a long litany of doubts and fears and crimes that the Telmarines had committed against Old Narnia.
Edmund was silent throughout the speech. He busied his hands with refilling the goblet from time to time, and only intervened when Caspian’s gestures became ebullient enough to threaten his balance, a dangerous state for one perched on the parapet of a castle, taking care to keep the horror he felt from showing on his face. It was not meant for Caspian, after all, who was innocent of the crimes he was confessing too.
“I’m scared,” Caspian concluded, staring up at Edmund through half-lidded eyes. Caspian was drunk, Edmund realised then, with some surprise. His eyes were glassy and his face was flushed. The words had escaped his mouth with barely any movement, as though his body was no longer involved in the action of speaking.
Edmund sighed and reached out to take the goblet out of his hand, and then stayed with his hand clasped around Caspian’s for a long moment. “Caspian… Trust me. You will make a fine king.”
There was a shine to the young monarch’s eyes just then, as though the entire night sky wished to be reflected in his pupils. Edmund knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Caspian would have little to no memory of this night. He ought to lead Caspian down to his chamber, so that he would be awake and sober in the morning, but his own legs remembered his drinking then and he wasn’t sure he could support them both on the narrow staircase.
“Shall I tell you a story?” he said instead, as Caspian sagged against the stone wall opposite of him. “How much history of before your people arrived in Narnia do you know?”
“I know of your reign. I know of your defeat of the White Witch and I know of how Narnia blossomed under your rule.”
“Ah. I don’t expect certain parts of tale would be passed on much.” Edmund tipped the bottle up over his open mouth. It was quite empty. “I betrayed my family when I first arrived in Narnia. Betrayed them and betrayed Narnia itself to the White Witch, and were it not for the swift actions of Aslan and my siblings, my life would have been forfeit to the Witch. They snatched me back just as she was readying to take my life.”
“That’s awful,” Caspian whispered.
“I know.” Edmund looked up at the stars. No one had dared judge him after Aslan declaring the past foregone, no one even seemed to remember, actually. He remembered though. He would always remember, he suspected. “I was stupid and the misery I caused was quite beastly.”
For the longest time he had no idea just how horrid the consequences were, but this Caspian didn’t need to hear.
“I’m telling you this,” Edmund continued, waving his hand in the air, “because if treachery can be forgiven, and if the Narnians can trust a traitor on their throne and revere him, surely then you, who have no crime on your conscience, will be accepted without question.”
Caspian smiled, half-asleep already. “The stories of you are splendid,” he said. “Edmund the Just… Doctor Cornellius told me such stories.”
Edmund raised the goblet. “I’d drink to that… Except I have no more wine. Let us retire. There shall be more tomorrow, Aslan permitting.”
“Will you stay?” Caspian asked, his eyes open wide and pleading, even as Edmund helped him stand up. “Please? I cannot do this all by myself, I am just a boy, I cannot!”
“You’ll be a fine king,” Edmund said once again, when they were both stable on their feet. “Trust me, and if not me, trust in the Narnians. Trumpkin will stand by you, and he will tell you off when you go astray, as I’m sure many others will, and their advice is worth listening to.”
“I trust you,” Caspian, looking down, told his shirt. “But…”
Edmund wasn’t sure what prompted him to step closer to Caspian (he suspected it was the wine and the Narnian stars that he feared he wouldn’t see again), drop onto one knee and take his hand. Caspian watched him, confused and sleepy, as Edmund pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, like a subject would. “My king.”
Caspian trembled and took a step back. He caught himself on the edge of the wall, and stayed there, while Edmund sorted out the difficult business of getting back to a standing position. They made their way downstairs arm in arm, staggering at the landings. They bid each other goodnight at the door to Caspian’s bedroom.
Come morning the alcohol was just a painful memory. Edmund had to smile at the pained grimace on Caspian’s face, when the sunlight shone in his face. Clearly, the young prince -- or king -- wasn’t used to wine being poured so generously. He gave Caspian a nod, then it was time to step forth and through the door, back into the world where there was Algebra and Latin and where he was just a schoolboy.
*****
The English sun was nowhere near as bright as the one in Narnia. Edmund caught himself as soon as the thought crossed his mind and banished it. This was no time to reminisce, it would surely bring him nothing but pain.
He looked away from the sky in the window and focused on the Latin grammar book before him. His task for the afternoon, the translation of a portion of Latin text, was done, but it was another matter that captured his attention -- Tom, the poor fellow who shared his class and (unfortunately for him) did not share his quick mind, was struggling with the words.
“That’s an ‘ae’, not an ‘e’. It is pronounced as ‘a’, and it is indicative of Genitivus or Dativus, in nouns of this type,” Edmund explained patiently for the fifth time.
“Right, sorry.”
“No trouble at all.”
Tom was a nice enough chap, reasonably bright, but for his trouble with Latin. He was set to inherit his father’s law practice, which Edmund (having met Tom’s father previously) thought amusing. Tom was kind, most of all, and unable to twist the truth in any way he might want it to go. If his father hoped for the practice to continue flourishing as it had under him, he was going to be disappointed.
“Ed?”
“Sorry, lost my place. What are you on?”
Tom pointed and Edmund was soon so engrossed in the art of explaining the inexplicable turns of the dead language, that he missed Peter’s arrival entirely.
“I think I’ve had enough for today,” Tom said with a sigh, when Peter and Edmund corrected his abysmal pronunciation in unison. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
“Certainly.” Edmund nodded and rested his chin atop his folded hands and watched Tom leave. “Oh, won’t this week finally be over, already?”
“I’ve got mail for you,” Peter said handing him an envelope. “It’s from mother.”
“Oh?” Edmund ripped open the envelope and skimmed the letter quickly. Mother was never keen on long letters, and this one was exceptionally concise. “Oh, bother!”
“What is it?”
“We are to stay with Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta in Cambridge over the summer, Lu and I!”
“Bother,” Peter said with as much feeling. “I bet Eustace won’t be happy to see you.”
“Do not remind me.” His head fell onto the table with a loud thump. “It’s going to be a hellish summer, I’m sure of it.”
Peter was silent for a good long while. Edmund could tell his thoughts had strayed far from Eustace or Cambridge. “Hey, Ed. That kid, Tom. I thought you said you were friends.”
“We are friends, why?”
“Do you ever talk to him?”
Edmund gave his brother a long look. “What on earth are you on about?”
“You speak to him like he was a foreign diplomat.” Peter leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “Certainly not like he’s your friend.”
This was news to Edmund. He had deemed himself decent, on all accounts; he was eager to help out when necessary, played cricket whenever asked, and shared whatever sweets mother sent him. If he sometimes had difficulty speaking as a peer would to his classmates, well, it was not their fault his experiences were so different to theirs.
“I do consider him a friend,” he said eventually, to which Peter responded with a raised eyebrow. “Though perhaps I don’t have many close friends.”
“Indeed. How many people know that you would trample infants in their cribs to get the new Heyer novel?”
“You, obviously.” One person too many, far as Edmund was concerned.
“Why aren’t you going to Aunt Alberta’s?” he asked, as he skimmed the letter again. It only mentioned him and Lucy, and father’s trip to America, of which he was already aware. “And what about Susan?”
Peter winced. “Su is going to America with them. She wrote to me today. I’m going to stay at Professor Kirke’s. No,” he continued after Edmund opened his mouth to protest. “I know, and I asked. Apparently he lost the big house somehow, so there’s no room for the three of us where he’s living now.”
“Bother,” Edmund said again. “What a summer this going to be!”
*****
Cousin Eustace was a right prat, which was no shock whatsoever. He was born a prat, and -- Aslan permitting -- he would die a prat, by being shoved overboard by a friendly gust of wind.
No, Edmund wasn’t going to entertain that thought, no matter the comedic value. Eustace was a prat, but he was kin; he was a stranger to Narnia and he wasn’t evil (in a manner of speaking) and for all those reasons he would have respect and all the care Edmund could stomach to give him, bless his own kingly heart. He thanked Aslan daily for Lucy, whose compassion was so much greater than his. It made him feel guilty for running and hiding whenever the little blighter opened his mouth to whine some more, but in truth what words were there to tell a man who was unwilling to listen?
“Are you hiding, King Edmund? There are more remote places on the ship.”
“I am merely choosing my battles,” Edmund replied. Caspian was standing behind him, a small smile on his face.
“An answer worthy of a diplomat.”
“If there’s a better way of handling Eustace, I haven’t found it.”
“He is a handful, true.” Caspian leaned against the side of the ship. “It is often hard to believe he is your kin.”
“Believe me, I wish he wasn’t. Then again, Narnia has a way of changing people, so perhaps Eustace has a chance yet.”
Caspian hesitated and then stepped even closer. “Like it changed you?”
Edmund looked at the young King, who was watching him earnestly. “I’m- I’m sorry if I overstepped. I meant no offence.”
“I’m not offended.” Another moment of staring and Edmund felt the nag of something much like a long-forgotten memory creeping around in the back of his mind. It surfaced eventually, slow and thick like honey, and Edmund felt a wave of heat crawl up his face. He had, well, forgotten was not the word. He rarely forgot events or facts, and so he recalled with perfect clarity his talk with Caspian on the last night they spent in Narnia that time. What was coming back to him now was the wine and the wind, the flush on the young king’s face and the stars reflected in his eyes. “I’d almost forgotten I spoke to you about it.”
“I haven’t. It gave me much comfort, when I thought the burden of kingship too great. I wished, many times, to be able to thank you for it. I am most grateful for the opportunity.”
“The tale of my treachery comforted you?” Edmund said under his breath, uncertain yet whether he ought to feel offended -- Caspian’s smile would indicate otherwise -- or complimented.
“I barely recall the tale, to tell you the truth. Drink had been involved.” Caspian stood up straight, and unless Edmund was seeing things, the king was blushing, however slightly. He tried to recall what else he had said that night, that Caspian would find a comfort, but couldn’t. “I should like to hear it again, the whole story, if you will oblige me.”
This was a right puzzle. Edmund stared at his hands, willing his heart to calm. “If you wish,” he said slowly, “I will tell you the story. Though I admit it is painful for me to recall the events.”
“I would hate to cause you pain.”
“Yet you want to hear it.”
Caspian shook his head. “I wish to know more about you. I should very much enjoy hearing stories of your world, too.”
Dimly, Edmund was beginning to recall the balls held in the halls of Cair Paravel. He recalled the words spoken in the shadows, and those spoken in the brightness of the afternoon, to and by ladies who sought favour from King Edmund the Just. The realisation was perhaps not as striking as his school masters would like it to be -- King Edmund had once been eager to exchange pleasantries of such nature with both the ladies and the lords, for Narnia did not discriminate in that regard -- but he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle himself when it was Caspian who said the words.
“My world is not a happy place. There was, or there is, a great war going on right now.”
“Were you taken from the battlefield?”
Edmund laughed, bitterly. “No. In my world I am still considered a child, not old enough to fight in a war.”
“You’ve had great many victories as king.”
“Yes, as a King of Narnia. It wouldn’t have been well received if I boasted of those victories in England, as they would think me mad. People do not believe in magic.”
“How so?”
“It is considered the stuff of fantasy or an old wives’ tale at best, which is made all the easier for the lack of talking beasts or trees.”
“Maybe they are merely asleep, as the trees in Narnia had been.”
“If that is the case, they have been asleep so long, they have likely forgotten how to speak altogether. No, I’m certain the trees in England never spoke.” Edmund gazed in the distance, somewhat wistfully. “I often wished they had, after we returned. It would have been a great comfort to hear even a whisper.”
Caspian straightened. “Are you still unhappy? Even now?”
“I don’t think it is possible to be happier than I am now,” Edmund said, carefully concealing a smile. “Perhaps only if Aslan himself promised that I could stay for good this time.”
“We shall hope, and in due time, ask this of him,” Caspian said. “Tell me, do you still remember the art of the sword?”
*****
“Land north!” called the sailor on the observation deck.
Edmund started, a dangerous thing to do when one was busy fitting a new reefline onto the sail. He turned away from the sun and stared hard into the distance. There was a cloud on the horizon, and beneath it a darker spot that had to be dry land. Thankfully, he was almost finished, and so some minutes later he was jumping onto the deck and racing to the poop, where Drinian, Caspian and Reepicheep, were already sharing a spyglass to inspect this new land.
“It seems quite odd, from this distance. Like a great mountain, only it’s as though it doesn’t touch the water at all,” Caspian said, passing the spyglass to Edmund.
It was odd, Edmund thought, and even odder still as they approached. Though it seemed impossible, the island did not touch the sea. Edmund stared open-mouthed at the rock, which was hovering perhaps thirty feet above the surface of the water at its lowest, with nothing for support but a handful of lianas hanging from the rim. The waters underneath were calm and dark. A little to the west there was a waterfall, spilling over the rim of the island directly into the sea.
“Well, this is interesting.”
“How does it stay up?” Lucy asked.
“Magic,” Edmund said. “I know of nothing else capable of such a feat.”
“Shall we try going up, Majesty?” Drinian asked as the men gathered onboard, each watching the strange land. Eustace was standing there with his mouth open, occasionally spouting a line about gravity and the importance of it, and his inevitable complaints to the British Consul.
Caspian, with his gaze firmly fixed on the island, nodded. “There should be support enough with the ropes, and our supplies need replenishing. Water we can get at the fall, but if there’s game to be hunted, it needs to be hunted all the way up.”
Drinian called at once for the sail to be reefed and for all available men to take to the oars. Within a quarter of an hour they reached the thickest cluster of lianas (the only cluster, in fact, to be composed of more than three separate lines), whereupon a problem emerged: they were not strong enough to support the men.
“It is a high climb, Majesty, and I fear the weight of any of the sailors would be too heavy a burden,” Drinian said, having tried the ropes himself and succeeding in tearing one from its roots.
“I’ll go,” Edmund said. “I’m lighter than any of you here, except Lucy. I should be able to make it,” he added with a touch of doubt. He had climbed previously, though never to such heights without support. He shrugged it off. The island floated over water, and though a fall from such a height would not be pleasant, he ought to have no trouble surviving it.
“Your Majesty,” Reepicheep said immediately, “I am the smallest here, and I climb with ease. I should be the one to go.”
“I thank you for volunteering, Reep, but you are not a hunter. King Edmund, if he chooses to go, has a much better chance at replenishing our pantry.”
“Be careful, Edmund,” Lucy said. “It is frightfully high.”
“Don’t I know it! Here, let me have your bow. I will try to search for more lianas, but in case there’s none, I shall do what I can on my own.” Lucy fetched her bow and a quiver of arrows, along with a knife, and Edmund, soon as he had fitted them to his person, started the climb.
It was easier than he expected. Though frail, the lianas were knobbly and offered plenty of support for hands and feet, so if he pushed to the back of his mind that they proved to be delicate enough to snap under the weight of one man, this was quite the adventure. Edmund was breathing hard by the time he reached the edge of the rocks, but from there it was even easier -- there were plenty of nooks and crannies that he could worm his hands and feet into. He didn’t dare to look down when he heard the cheer of the crew. Instead he made it over the edge and fell onto the lush grass and breathed deeply, until his heart stilled. Only then did he dare to lean over the edge, looking back the way he’d come.
He saw the anxious faces -- at least he assumed them to be anxious, as at this distance it was hard to tell -- of the crew, as they in turn watched Caspian steadfastly following Edmund’s lead and climbing ever higher. “The fool!” Edmund thought, not a little irritated.
“I could have managed on my own,” he told Caspian as the king heaved himself over the final edge and devoted his time to catching his breath.
“Of course,” Caspian said, “but why should you? Let us see about the ropes now.”
Really, one would think he was a child, in need of constant supervision, Edmund thought, but didn’t get to finish even that, because just then the island shook and started tilting. Edmund lost his footing and by the time he was falling in earnest, the ground was almost vertical and so he fell into the thick jungle, closely followed by Caspian.
When the shaking stopped and the island had righted itself once more, Edmund was now lying on the ground holding on to the nearest tree with both hands. One of Caspian’s hands was tangled with his, and they were both as white as a sheet. “What was that?” Caspian whispered.
“I don’t know.”
Slowly, creeping on all fours, they made their way back to the ledge. The lianas they used to climb were gone, torn from their roots, except from one, which snapped some distance from the edge. Edmund dared to look down, and saw that a great creature -- he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a griffin -- was attacking the ship. It got as far as to scratching the port side, before one of the archers took it down.
“Majesty!” they heard the anguished scream of Drinian, along with Lucy’s shrill cry for Edmund.
“We’re fine!” the yelled in unison. Some of the sound must have got through, because the crew, as one, cheered. “We will find another way down,” Caspian yelled. “Though it could take days, the jungle is very thick!”
Edmund looked around. Days was right. It seemed that this was the sole spot that the jungle hadn’t yet claimed for its own; a narrow shelf, which tapered into a sheer cliff on one side, and by a thick, green forest on the other.
“Well, your Majesty, shall we?”
“What on earth possessed you to come up here?”
“It wouldn’t be sporting to leave our royal guest all by himself,” Caspian said.
“You have a very strange view on personal security, Caspian.”
“I hardly think a hunting party dangerous.”
“If we come across another griffin, it might be.”
“Surely, not, when I have you to protect me.”
“If my archery skill is what you put your faith in, you will be disappointed. I am just good enough to shoot a deer at close range, if it’s standing still. Lucy is a fine archer, except she doesn’t climb as well as me.”
“We shall have an interesting time then,” Caspian said.
Edmund laughed. “That I don’t doubt.”
Conquering the jungle proved to be no small feat. Fortunately Caspian had the foresight to bring along a machete in place of a sword, and so he took point, hacking at just enough of the shrubbery to let them through. Even so, they moved slowly.
“You’d think a magic island would be easier to navigate,” Edmund said, when Caspian’s best efforts cleared enough space for them to slide between a fallen tree trunk and a thick thorn bush with long, blade-like leaves, one at a time. “It was surely no more than three, four miles across.”
“At this rate it will take us days to get to the other side. And none of these plants look suitable to make rope.” Caspian slashed at a particularly stubborn branch. He was winded already, and they had barely walked a hundred yards.
“Here, let me have a go.”
Edmund managed to get them through another hundred, though when they finally stopped he was sweating and about to fall to the ground. “I need a rest,” he stammered.
“How much further do you think we can go today?”
“It has been noon when we started here, what time can it be now?” Edmund leaned against a tree, and looked up at Caspian. There was no sky visible from where they sat, though the sun still shone through the thick leaves, bathing them in golden-green light, which became more gold than green the longer they spoke.
“It’s been a couple of hours, at least. Possibly three. It cannot be long before darkness falls.”
“I sure hope we can find some food before then.”
“Water at least there is aplenty.” Caspian nudged a leaf with the tip of the machete, spilling most of the clear water within onto Edmund’s head. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Edmund collected himself from the ground. “I was aching for a bath.”
“Maybe we can find a bath more fitting for a king further along.”
“Never you mind a bath, I would be far happier with a laid table.”
“Some of these trees must bear fruit.”
“Some that are not poisonous, maybe. Let us go further -- I think I am rested enough.” And on they went, struggling through the undergrowth, until finally -- after perhaps an hour -- they got to a place where the jungle lost some of its thickness and they could walk more sedately.
Twilight was upon them, faster than normal, because of the foliage. The edges between the shadows and light blurred, but before darkness could fall fully, leaving them stranded and hungry in the dense forest, Caspian grasped Edmund’s shoulder. “Look!”
There was something much like an orchard there, interspersed with the trees that made their journey so far, so difficult. There was fruit on the higher branches of the other trees, yellow and pear-shaped, such as Edmund had never seen before, and would likely never see again.
“So, should I climb, or will you?” Caspian asked, having dumped his belt and the machete on the ground.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Edmund said, already racing for the nearest tree. They were tall, much like oaks, and gnarly, so climbing them was no great hardship. Though the first few yards were more difficult, further up the branches were thick and close together, so Edmund found that within minutes he was above the level of the forest. From there the island seemed quite small indeed, though it was hard to say if it would be any easier to navigate. The mountain towards its centre looked a lot less steep from here, too.
“If we find nothing, we will be forced to jump,” Caspian said quietly, making himself comfortable on Edmund’s branch.
“I would very much like to avoid that.”
“So would I. Do you think there’s anything to hunt up here?” As if to answer Caspian’s query, a flock of birds flew up from a tree nearby. They were slow and fat, so much so, in fact, that Edmund wondered how was it possible that they were flying at all.
“Those even I could shoot,” he said.
The sun started disappearing beneath the island. “We should probably get down.” Caspian said, very quietly. Edmund nodded, but as they started on their way down, he remembered the fruit and how desperately hungry he was.
The fruit were quite soft to the touch, smooth and easy to bruise, but their juice was sweet. It was unlike any fruit in Narnia, Edmund thought -- it tasted like orange and apple and honey. Each was as big as a head of cabbage.
“Well, they don’t seem to be poisonous,” he said and started taking off his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“It should be easier to carry them down this way. I don’t think they are poisonous, but just in case, it would be more sensible to eat them on the ground.”
Caspian agreed and so they fashioned a bag out of Edmund’s shirt and climbed down with great care, for it was already dark. The ground was the only option they had, but as it was covered with thick grass, it was as comfortable as a mattress in Cair Paravel. The fruit were quite excellent, thick and sweet, but not sickly sweet. They were much like pears, though more creamy, and with one large seed in the middle.
“I’ve never seen such trees in Narnia,” Caspian said when they finished eating. “Though right now I would like a bath.”
Edmund agreed -- on the sea cleanliness always came with a thin layer of salt, and add to that the exercise and then the sweet juice, they were both sticky. There was plenty of water in the nearby leaves, but as the night fell and the wind quieted down with it, Edmund heard something far more promising: the sound of water trickling over stones.
Sure enough, they only needed to walk a short distance through the great trees to find a small pond, into which a small stream fell from the height of about ten inches. High above the pond there was an opening in the tree canopy, so that on the far side, where the water was still, stars were reflected on the surface. There was virtually no light to see by, a thoroughly strange sensation.
“I really hope Lucy doesn’t worry about us too much,” Edmund said as he sat down to remove his boots. “It would be beastly to have her worry when we’re enjoying ourselves.”
“She will worry, until you are back safe on the ship,” Caspian said with a chuckle. “But I do hope her mind is not too troubled, while we’re here.”
The night was warm, so Edmund shed all his clothes without much care and stepped into the water. It was perfect, warm enough for comfort, but cool enough to be refreshing. He closed his eyes in bliss and let himself sink under the surface, until he felt the tiredness and aching dissolve and float away. He opened his eyes underwater, somewhat shocked to discover that it was lighter down here than it was on the surface, and that Caspian was staring at him, just as surprised as he was. The glow turned his face pale like that of a ghost, and Edmund feared that he would dissolve were he to touch it.
He and Caspian resurfaced at the same time, and Edmund didn’t quite know where the impulse came from, but he splashed a handful of water in the king’s face, earning himself swift retribution in the same vein and soon they were having an outright battle, as though they were schoolboys and not kings.
They were breathless with laughter when, some time later, a truce was declared and they trudged out of the pond to put on their clothes in the nearly complete darkness. Strange, that above the surface the water was as smooth and black as ink, marred only by the reflection of fireflies floating over its surface.
Despite their exertions during the day, sleep was slow to claim them, so they lay side by side, watching the fireflies chase one another through the air.
“Edmund,” Caspian said after a while. “Would you tell me the story of how you arrived in Narnia?”
Edmund turned, so that, were there any light to see by, he would be looking into Caspian’s eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
“It seems to weigh on you, even still. May-hap it will help to talk about it.”
“I wonder if it would,” Edmund muttered, though of course that was the one thing he’d never tried previously. “I was ten,” he began, and slowly he told Caspian of how Lucy had been the first enter the wardrobe, and come running straight out, how there was nothing there when they looked, but then, on the second time, how he had become quite enchanted with the White Witch and what befell thereafter. To his great surprise, he found the words came easily, even when the tale turned to the part he had only heard when Susan and he fought, not a year after they became rulers of Narnia, and she let slip (or hint, at least -- but the rest Edmund wheedled out of her later) just what had been done to save him.
When he finished, he thought for a minute that Caspian had fallen asleep, it was so quiet. “I am most thankful,” he whispered at last, “that you were saved.”
Edmund smiled and then yawned. “Thank you,” he whispered. Minutes later he was asleep.
On to Part Two
Rating: 14
Pairings: Caspian/Edmund
Genre: Romance, drama
Wordcount: 22k
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Edmund the Just made his kingship telling people the right things at the right time. The night before Caspian’s coronation Edmund tells the anxious prince the right thing. It is only later, on board the Dawn Treader that he realises just what his words achieved.
Author's Note: On the whole the movie is best viewed as “the epic love story of Edmund and Caspian,” otherwise it may not be the most formulaic thing committed to film, but it’s certainly close.
Chapter breaks may seem a little awkward - I never planned for chapters. It was supposed to be ten pages, tops.
Betaed by
yami_tai. <3 Thank you so much, hun, for all the hard work!There was a nervous thrumming in the air, as though the land and the castle hadn’t yet seen past the excitement of the battle. It rose from the ground to the tops of the trees with such intensity that even the stars seemed to hum in tune with the earth.
Edmund had made himself comfortable on top of a high tower, with a bottle of wine and a goblet at his side. Festivities he could only stand in small amounts. Usually, by the time the drink flowed and coherent speech was a memory, he was long gone. He’d had a few drinks himself by now, and he fully intended to finish the bottle before he staggered back into his room. Although that would mean facing tomorrow -- accursed tomorrow -- and making the certain return to England even more unpleasant, but that Edmund could handle.
He stretched his legs out on the cool stone and flicked the torch on. The beam of light shot through the sky. It amused him for a few seconds, so he clicked it on and off, until the novelty wore off and he set the torch aside in favour of the wine.
It was good wine. A far cry from the old Narnian wine of their reign, when the trees themselves had selected the best grapes and brought them to the Cair Paravel winery, a dominion of fauns. To Edmund, that was the taste of Narnia. Still, this here wasn’t bad. Lacking some undefinable aroma, lacking in magic, perhaps, but worthy of a king’s palate.
Down below the noises of the courtyard were mellowing. The hour was late and the castle was settling at last, having finally spent the energy from the battle. Edmund sighed and leaned against the wall. He had a feeling this was his last night in Narnia, at least for a while, so what remained but watching the sky? He’d been denied a good-bye the previous time, he wouldn’t let that be so again.
Edmund knew, on an intellectual level, that the stars were moving. At least he knew they were moving above his home world, and so he assumed that they moved in Narnia too. Now it would seem they were galloping across the sky at a breakneck pace, trying to outrun the night. He closed his eyes and let the world turn around him for a few seconds.
He was going to miss the Narnian stars. Being a king, obviously, too, as Aslan would send him back to the world in which he was just another peep squeak, whose opinions counted for naught. Never mind that he was qualified to lead armies into battle, when his own family (barring his siblings, naturally) couldn’t comprehend that he was mature enough to handle himself.
Footsteps invaded his thoughts while he tried to doze. They were the footsteps of a adolescent, a boy rather than a girl, too. Edmund sighed and resigned himself to a scolding from Peter. He supposed he might topple the bottle over the parapet, send the goblet flying after it, but that wouldn’t disguise the smell of wine on his breath.
The door flew open and instead of Peter there was Caspian in the door. Edmund smiled at him and raised the goblet in a silent greeting.
“I apologise, Your Highness,” Caspian stammered immediately. “I did not mean to intrude on your solitude.”
“Not at all. Join me.” Edmund looked down at the remains of his bottle. There was easily enough to share, given how his head was already spinning. “Unless you would rather be alone?”
“No- No, I am content. Thank you.” Poor Caspian, too nervous to conceive of a proper excuse. Edmund wordlessly filled the goblet and handed it over.
“Have a drink.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Edmund, Caspian. Or have you forgotten?”
Caspian flushed, but took the wine and raised it to his lips. “I thank you.”
Edmund watched him carefully. “Escaping the festivities?”
“Yes,” Caspian said. “I’m- I know it is improper of me, but I could not stay there. Stay there, among all the Narnians, I mean.”
“You don’t wish to abandon the Old Narnians, I trust?”
“No! Of course not.” Caspian approached the wall carefully, to perch across from Edmund. “I do not wish to burden your conscience,” he said, but his flushed face and earnest gaze betrayed his urgent need to speak.
“I don’t think there is anything you can say that would burden my conscience,” Edmund told him.
“I fear tomorrow. And the day after. I fear your departure. I can’t- I don’t know if I can be king. How can I be king to people, whom my family, my ancestors, murdered by the hundreds?” Caspian wrung his hands and found the goblet clasped within them, so he finished its contents in one gulp and continued a long litany of doubts and fears and crimes that the Telmarines had committed against Old Narnia.
Edmund was silent throughout the speech. He busied his hands with refilling the goblet from time to time, and only intervened when Caspian’s gestures became ebullient enough to threaten his balance, a dangerous state for one perched on the parapet of a castle, taking care to keep the horror he felt from showing on his face. It was not meant for Caspian, after all, who was innocent of the crimes he was confessing too.
“I’m scared,” Caspian concluded, staring up at Edmund through half-lidded eyes. Caspian was drunk, Edmund realised then, with some surprise. His eyes were glassy and his face was flushed. The words had escaped his mouth with barely any movement, as though his body was no longer involved in the action of speaking.
Edmund sighed and reached out to take the goblet out of his hand, and then stayed with his hand clasped around Caspian’s for a long moment. “Caspian… Trust me. You will make a fine king.”
There was a shine to the young monarch’s eyes just then, as though the entire night sky wished to be reflected in his pupils. Edmund knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Caspian would have little to no memory of this night. He ought to lead Caspian down to his chamber, so that he would be awake and sober in the morning, but his own legs remembered his drinking then and he wasn’t sure he could support them both on the narrow staircase.
“Shall I tell you a story?” he said instead, as Caspian sagged against the stone wall opposite of him. “How much history of before your people arrived in Narnia do you know?”
“I know of your reign. I know of your defeat of the White Witch and I know of how Narnia blossomed under your rule.”
“Ah. I don’t expect certain parts of tale would be passed on much.” Edmund tipped the bottle up over his open mouth. It was quite empty. “I betrayed my family when I first arrived in Narnia. Betrayed them and betrayed Narnia itself to the White Witch, and were it not for the swift actions of Aslan and my siblings, my life would have been forfeit to the Witch. They snatched me back just as she was readying to take my life.”
“That’s awful,” Caspian whispered.
“I know.” Edmund looked up at the stars. No one had dared judge him after Aslan declaring the past foregone, no one even seemed to remember, actually. He remembered though. He would always remember, he suspected. “I was stupid and the misery I caused was quite beastly.”
For the longest time he had no idea just how horrid the consequences were, but this Caspian didn’t need to hear.
“I’m telling you this,” Edmund continued, waving his hand in the air, “because if treachery can be forgiven, and if the Narnians can trust a traitor on their throne and revere him, surely then you, who have no crime on your conscience, will be accepted without question.”
Caspian smiled, half-asleep already. “The stories of you are splendid,” he said. “Edmund the Just… Doctor Cornellius told me such stories.”
Edmund raised the goblet. “I’d drink to that… Except I have no more wine. Let us retire. There shall be more tomorrow, Aslan permitting.”
“Will you stay?” Caspian asked, his eyes open wide and pleading, even as Edmund helped him stand up. “Please? I cannot do this all by myself, I am just a boy, I cannot!”
“You’ll be a fine king,” Edmund said once again, when they were both stable on their feet. “Trust me, and if not me, trust in the Narnians. Trumpkin will stand by you, and he will tell you off when you go astray, as I’m sure many others will, and their advice is worth listening to.”
“I trust you,” Caspian, looking down, told his shirt. “But…”
Edmund wasn’t sure what prompted him to step closer to Caspian (he suspected it was the wine and the Narnian stars that he feared he wouldn’t see again), drop onto one knee and take his hand. Caspian watched him, confused and sleepy, as Edmund pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, like a subject would. “My king.”
Caspian trembled and took a step back. He caught himself on the edge of the wall, and stayed there, while Edmund sorted out the difficult business of getting back to a standing position. They made their way downstairs arm in arm, staggering at the landings. They bid each other goodnight at the door to Caspian’s bedroom.
Come morning the alcohol was just a painful memory. Edmund had to smile at the pained grimace on Caspian’s face, when the sunlight shone in his face. Clearly, the young prince -- or king -- wasn’t used to wine being poured so generously. He gave Caspian a nod, then it was time to step forth and through the door, back into the world where there was Algebra and Latin and where he was just a schoolboy.
*****
The English sun was nowhere near as bright as the one in Narnia. Edmund caught himself as soon as the thought crossed his mind and banished it. This was no time to reminisce, it would surely bring him nothing but pain.
He looked away from the sky in the window and focused on the Latin grammar book before him. His task for the afternoon, the translation of a portion of Latin text, was done, but it was another matter that captured his attention -- Tom, the poor fellow who shared his class and (unfortunately for him) did not share his quick mind, was struggling with the words.
“That’s an ‘ae’, not an ‘e’. It is pronounced as ‘a’, and it is indicative of Genitivus or Dativus, in nouns of this type,” Edmund explained patiently for the fifth time.
“Right, sorry.”
“No trouble at all.”
Tom was a nice enough chap, reasonably bright, but for his trouble with Latin. He was set to inherit his father’s law practice, which Edmund (having met Tom’s father previously) thought amusing. Tom was kind, most of all, and unable to twist the truth in any way he might want it to go. If his father hoped for the practice to continue flourishing as it had under him, he was going to be disappointed.
“Ed?”
“Sorry, lost my place. What are you on?”
Tom pointed and Edmund was soon so engrossed in the art of explaining the inexplicable turns of the dead language, that he missed Peter’s arrival entirely.
“I think I’ve had enough for today,” Tom said with a sigh, when Peter and Edmund corrected his abysmal pronunciation in unison. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
“Certainly.” Edmund nodded and rested his chin atop his folded hands and watched Tom leave. “Oh, won’t this week finally be over, already?”
“I’ve got mail for you,” Peter said handing him an envelope. “It’s from mother.”
“Oh?” Edmund ripped open the envelope and skimmed the letter quickly. Mother was never keen on long letters, and this one was exceptionally concise. “Oh, bother!”
“What is it?”
“We are to stay with Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta in Cambridge over the summer, Lu and I!”
“Bother,” Peter said with as much feeling. “I bet Eustace won’t be happy to see you.”
“Do not remind me.” His head fell onto the table with a loud thump. “It’s going to be a hellish summer, I’m sure of it.”
Peter was silent for a good long while. Edmund could tell his thoughts had strayed far from Eustace or Cambridge. “Hey, Ed. That kid, Tom. I thought you said you were friends.”
“We are friends, why?”
“Do you ever talk to him?”
Edmund gave his brother a long look. “What on earth are you on about?”
“You speak to him like he was a foreign diplomat.” Peter leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “Certainly not like he’s your friend.”
This was news to Edmund. He had deemed himself decent, on all accounts; he was eager to help out when necessary, played cricket whenever asked, and shared whatever sweets mother sent him. If he sometimes had difficulty speaking as a peer would to his classmates, well, it was not their fault his experiences were so different to theirs.
“I do consider him a friend,” he said eventually, to which Peter responded with a raised eyebrow. “Though perhaps I don’t have many close friends.”
“Indeed. How many people know that you would trample infants in their cribs to get the new Heyer novel?”
“You, obviously.” One person too many, far as Edmund was concerned.
“Why aren’t you going to Aunt Alberta’s?” he asked, as he skimmed the letter again. It only mentioned him and Lucy, and father’s trip to America, of which he was already aware. “And what about Susan?”
Peter winced. “Su is going to America with them. She wrote to me today. I’m going to stay at Professor Kirke’s. No,” he continued after Edmund opened his mouth to protest. “I know, and I asked. Apparently he lost the big house somehow, so there’s no room for the three of us where he’s living now.”
“Bother,” Edmund said again. “What a summer this going to be!”
*****
Cousin Eustace was a right prat, which was no shock whatsoever. He was born a prat, and -- Aslan permitting -- he would die a prat, by being shoved overboard by a friendly gust of wind.
No, Edmund wasn’t going to entertain that thought, no matter the comedic value. Eustace was a prat, but he was kin; he was a stranger to Narnia and he wasn’t evil (in a manner of speaking) and for all those reasons he would have respect and all the care Edmund could stomach to give him, bless his own kingly heart. He thanked Aslan daily for Lucy, whose compassion was so much greater than his. It made him feel guilty for running and hiding whenever the little blighter opened his mouth to whine some more, but in truth what words were there to tell a man who was unwilling to listen?
“Are you hiding, King Edmund? There are more remote places on the ship.”
“I am merely choosing my battles,” Edmund replied. Caspian was standing behind him, a small smile on his face.
“An answer worthy of a diplomat.”
“If there’s a better way of handling Eustace, I haven’t found it.”
“He is a handful, true.” Caspian leaned against the side of the ship. “It is often hard to believe he is your kin.”
“Believe me, I wish he wasn’t. Then again, Narnia has a way of changing people, so perhaps Eustace has a chance yet.”
Caspian hesitated and then stepped even closer. “Like it changed you?”
Edmund looked at the young King, who was watching him earnestly. “I’m- I’m sorry if I overstepped. I meant no offence.”
“I’m not offended.” Another moment of staring and Edmund felt the nag of something much like a long-forgotten memory creeping around in the back of his mind. It surfaced eventually, slow and thick like honey, and Edmund felt a wave of heat crawl up his face. He had, well, forgotten was not the word. He rarely forgot events or facts, and so he recalled with perfect clarity his talk with Caspian on the last night they spent in Narnia that time. What was coming back to him now was the wine and the wind, the flush on the young king’s face and the stars reflected in his eyes. “I’d almost forgotten I spoke to you about it.”
“I haven’t. It gave me much comfort, when I thought the burden of kingship too great. I wished, many times, to be able to thank you for it. I am most grateful for the opportunity.”
“The tale of my treachery comforted you?” Edmund said under his breath, uncertain yet whether he ought to feel offended -- Caspian’s smile would indicate otherwise -- or complimented.
“I barely recall the tale, to tell you the truth. Drink had been involved.” Caspian stood up straight, and unless Edmund was seeing things, the king was blushing, however slightly. He tried to recall what else he had said that night, that Caspian would find a comfort, but couldn’t. “I should like to hear it again, the whole story, if you will oblige me.”
This was a right puzzle. Edmund stared at his hands, willing his heart to calm. “If you wish,” he said slowly, “I will tell you the story. Though I admit it is painful for me to recall the events.”
“I would hate to cause you pain.”
“Yet you want to hear it.”
Caspian shook his head. “I wish to know more about you. I should very much enjoy hearing stories of your world, too.”
Dimly, Edmund was beginning to recall the balls held in the halls of Cair Paravel. He recalled the words spoken in the shadows, and those spoken in the brightness of the afternoon, to and by ladies who sought favour from King Edmund the Just. The realisation was perhaps not as striking as his school masters would like it to be -- King Edmund had once been eager to exchange pleasantries of such nature with both the ladies and the lords, for Narnia did not discriminate in that regard -- but he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle himself when it was Caspian who said the words.
“My world is not a happy place. There was, or there is, a great war going on right now.”
“Were you taken from the battlefield?”
Edmund laughed, bitterly. “No. In my world I am still considered a child, not old enough to fight in a war.”
“You’ve had great many victories as king.”
“Yes, as a King of Narnia. It wouldn’t have been well received if I boasted of those victories in England, as they would think me mad. People do not believe in magic.”
“How so?”
“It is considered the stuff of fantasy or an old wives’ tale at best, which is made all the easier for the lack of talking beasts or trees.”
“Maybe they are merely asleep, as the trees in Narnia had been.”
“If that is the case, they have been asleep so long, they have likely forgotten how to speak altogether. No, I’m certain the trees in England never spoke.” Edmund gazed in the distance, somewhat wistfully. “I often wished they had, after we returned. It would have been a great comfort to hear even a whisper.”
Caspian straightened. “Are you still unhappy? Even now?”
“I don’t think it is possible to be happier than I am now,” Edmund said, carefully concealing a smile. “Perhaps only if Aslan himself promised that I could stay for good this time.”
“We shall hope, and in due time, ask this of him,” Caspian said. “Tell me, do you still remember the art of the sword?”
*****
“Land north!” called the sailor on the observation deck.
Edmund started, a dangerous thing to do when one was busy fitting a new reefline onto the sail. He turned away from the sun and stared hard into the distance. There was a cloud on the horizon, and beneath it a darker spot that had to be dry land. Thankfully, he was almost finished, and so some minutes later he was jumping onto the deck and racing to the poop, where Drinian, Caspian and Reepicheep, were already sharing a spyglass to inspect this new land.
“It seems quite odd, from this distance. Like a great mountain, only it’s as though it doesn’t touch the water at all,” Caspian said, passing the spyglass to Edmund.
It was odd, Edmund thought, and even odder still as they approached. Though it seemed impossible, the island did not touch the sea. Edmund stared open-mouthed at the rock, which was hovering perhaps thirty feet above the surface of the water at its lowest, with nothing for support but a handful of lianas hanging from the rim. The waters underneath were calm and dark. A little to the west there was a waterfall, spilling over the rim of the island directly into the sea.
“Well, this is interesting.”
“How does it stay up?” Lucy asked.
“Magic,” Edmund said. “I know of nothing else capable of such a feat.”
“Shall we try going up, Majesty?” Drinian asked as the men gathered onboard, each watching the strange land. Eustace was standing there with his mouth open, occasionally spouting a line about gravity and the importance of it, and his inevitable complaints to the British Consul.
Caspian, with his gaze firmly fixed on the island, nodded. “There should be support enough with the ropes, and our supplies need replenishing. Water we can get at the fall, but if there’s game to be hunted, it needs to be hunted all the way up.”
Drinian called at once for the sail to be reefed and for all available men to take to the oars. Within a quarter of an hour they reached the thickest cluster of lianas (the only cluster, in fact, to be composed of more than three separate lines), whereupon a problem emerged: they were not strong enough to support the men.
“It is a high climb, Majesty, and I fear the weight of any of the sailors would be too heavy a burden,” Drinian said, having tried the ropes himself and succeeding in tearing one from its roots.
“I’ll go,” Edmund said. “I’m lighter than any of you here, except Lucy. I should be able to make it,” he added with a touch of doubt. He had climbed previously, though never to such heights without support. He shrugged it off. The island floated over water, and though a fall from such a height would not be pleasant, he ought to have no trouble surviving it.
“Your Majesty,” Reepicheep said immediately, “I am the smallest here, and I climb with ease. I should be the one to go.”
“I thank you for volunteering, Reep, but you are not a hunter. King Edmund, if he chooses to go, has a much better chance at replenishing our pantry.”
“Be careful, Edmund,” Lucy said. “It is frightfully high.”
“Don’t I know it! Here, let me have your bow. I will try to search for more lianas, but in case there’s none, I shall do what I can on my own.” Lucy fetched her bow and a quiver of arrows, along with a knife, and Edmund, soon as he had fitted them to his person, started the climb.
It was easier than he expected. Though frail, the lianas were knobbly and offered plenty of support for hands and feet, so if he pushed to the back of his mind that they proved to be delicate enough to snap under the weight of one man, this was quite the adventure. Edmund was breathing hard by the time he reached the edge of the rocks, but from there it was even easier -- there were plenty of nooks and crannies that he could worm his hands and feet into. He didn’t dare to look down when he heard the cheer of the crew. Instead he made it over the edge and fell onto the lush grass and breathed deeply, until his heart stilled. Only then did he dare to lean over the edge, looking back the way he’d come.
He saw the anxious faces -- at least he assumed them to be anxious, as at this distance it was hard to tell -- of the crew, as they in turn watched Caspian steadfastly following Edmund’s lead and climbing ever higher. “The fool!” Edmund thought, not a little irritated.
“I could have managed on my own,” he told Caspian as the king heaved himself over the final edge and devoted his time to catching his breath.
“Of course,” Caspian said, “but why should you? Let us see about the ropes now.”
Really, one would think he was a child, in need of constant supervision, Edmund thought, but didn’t get to finish even that, because just then the island shook and started tilting. Edmund lost his footing and by the time he was falling in earnest, the ground was almost vertical and so he fell into the thick jungle, closely followed by Caspian.
When the shaking stopped and the island had righted itself once more, Edmund was now lying on the ground holding on to the nearest tree with both hands. One of Caspian’s hands was tangled with his, and they were both as white as a sheet. “What was that?” Caspian whispered.
“I don’t know.”
Slowly, creeping on all fours, they made their way back to the ledge. The lianas they used to climb were gone, torn from their roots, except from one, which snapped some distance from the edge. Edmund dared to look down, and saw that a great creature -- he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a griffin -- was attacking the ship. It got as far as to scratching the port side, before one of the archers took it down.
“Majesty!” they heard the anguished scream of Drinian, along with Lucy’s shrill cry for Edmund.
“We’re fine!” the yelled in unison. Some of the sound must have got through, because the crew, as one, cheered. “We will find another way down,” Caspian yelled. “Though it could take days, the jungle is very thick!”
Edmund looked around. Days was right. It seemed that this was the sole spot that the jungle hadn’t yet claimed for its own; a narrow shelf, which tapered into a sheer cliff on one side, and by a thick, green forest on the other.
“Well, your Majesty, shall we?”
“What on earth possessed you to come up here?”
“It wouldn’t be sporting to leave our royal guest all by himself,” Caspian said.
“You have a very strange view on personal security, Caspian.”
“I hardly think a hunting party dangerous.”
“If we come across another griffin, it might be.”
“Surely, not, when I have you to protect me.”
“If my archery skill is what you put your faith in, you will be disappointed. I am just good enough to shoot a deer at close range, if it’s standing still. Lucy is a fine archer, except she doesn’t climb as well as me.”
“We shall have an interesting time then,” Caspian said.
Edmund laughed. “That I don’t doubt.”
Conquering the jungle proved to be no small feat. Fortunately Caspian had the foresight to bring along a machete in place of a sword, and so he took point, hacking at just enough of the shrubbery to let them through. Even so, they moved slowly.
“You’d think a magic island would be easier to navigate,” Edmund said, when Caspian’s best efforts cleared enough space for them to slide between a fallen tree trunk and a thick thorn bush with long, blade-like leaves, one at a time. “It was surely no more than three, four miles across.”
“At this rate it will take us days to get to the other side. And none of these plants look suitable to make rope.” Caspian slashed at a particularly stubborn branch. He was winded already, and they had barely walked a hundred yards.
“Here, let me have a go.”
Edmund managed to get them through another hundred, though when they finally stopped he was sweating and about to fall to the ground. “I need a rest,” he stammered.
“How much further do you think we can go today?”
“It has been noon when we started here, what time can it be now?” Edmund leaned against a tree, and looked up at Caspian. There was no sky visible from where they sat, though the sun still shone through the thick leaves, bathing them in golden-green light, which became more gold than green the longer they spoke.
“It’s been a couple of hours, at least. Possibly three. It cannot be long before darkness falls.”
“I sure hope we can find some food before then.”
“Water at least there is aplenty.” Caspian nudged a leaf with the tip of the machete, spilling most of the clear water within onto Edmund’s head. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Edmund collected himself from the ground. “I was aching for a bath.”
“Maybe we can find a bath more fitting for a king further along.”
“Never you mind a bath, I would be far happier with a laid table.”
“Some of these trees must bear fruit.”
“Some that are not poisonous, maybe. Let us go further -- I think I am rested enough.” And on they went, struggling through the undergrowth, until finally -- after perhaps an hour -- they got to a place where the jungle lost some of its thickness and they could walk more sedately.
Twilight was upon them, faster than normal, because of the foliage. The edges between the shadows and light blurred, but before darkness could fall fully, leaving them stranded and hungry in the dense forest, Caspian grasped Edmund’s shoulder. “Look!”
There was something much like an orchard there, interspersed with the trees that made their journey so far, so difficult. There was fruit on the higher branches of the other trees, yellow and pear-shaped, such as Edmund had never seen before, and would likely never see again.
“So, should I climb, or will you?” Caspian asked, having dumped his belt and the machete on the ground.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Edmund said, already racing for the nearest tree. They were tall, much like oaks, and gnarly, so climbing them was no great hardship. Though the first few yards were more difficult, further up the branches were thick and close together, so Edmund found that within minutes he was above the level of the forest. From there the island seemed quite small indeed, though it was hard to say if it would be any easier to navigate. The mountain towards its centre looked a lot less steep from here, too.
“If we find nothing, we will be forced to jump,” Caspian said quietly, making himself comfortable on Edmund’s branch.
“I would very much like to avoid that.”
“So would I. Do you think there’s anything to hunt up here?” As if to answer Caspian’s query, a flock of birds flew up from a tree nearby. They were slow and fat, so much so, in fact, that Edmund wondered how was it possible that they were flying at all.
“Those even I could shoot,” he said.
The sun started disappearing beneath the island. “We should probably get down.” Caspian said, very quietly. Edmund nodded, but as they started on their way down, he remembered the fruit and how desperately hungry he was.
The fruit were quite soft to the touch, smooth and easy to bruise, but their juice was sweet. It was unlike any fruit in Narnia, Edmund thought -- it tasted like orange and apple and honey. Each was as big as a head of cabbage.
“Well, they don’t seem to be poisonous,” he said and started taking off his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“It should be easier to carry them down this way. I don’t think they are poisonous, but just in case, it would be more sensible to eat them on the ground.”
Caspian agreed and so they fashioned a bag out of Edmund’s shirt and climbed down with great care, for it was already dark. The ground was the only option they had, but as it was covered with thick grass, it was as comfortable as a mattress in Cair Paravel. The fruit were quite excellent, thick and sweet, but not sickly sweet. They were much like pears, though more creamy, and with one large seed in the middle.
“I’ve never seen such trees in Narnia,” Caspian said when they finished eating. “Though right now I would like a bath.”
Edmund agreed -- on the sea cleanliness always came with a thin layer of salt, and add to that the exercise and then the sweet juice, they were both sticky. There was plenty of water in the nearby leaves, but as the night fell and the wind quieted down with it, Edmund heard something far more promising: the sound of water trickling over stones.
Sure enough, they only needed to walk a short distance through the great trees to find a small pond, into which a small stream fell from the height of about ten inches. High above the pond there was an opening in the tree canopy, so that on the far side, where the water was still, stars were reflected on the surface. There was virtually no light to see by, a thoroughly strange sensation.
“I really hope Lucy doesn’t worry about us too much,” Edmund said as he sat down to remove his boots. “It would be beastly to have her worry when we’re enjoying ourselves.”
“She will worry, until you are back safe on the ship,” Caspian said with a chuckle. “But I do hope her mind is not too troubled, while we’re here.”
The night was warm, so Edmund shed all his clothes without much care and stepped into the water. It was perfect, warm enough for comfort, but cool enough to be refreshing. He closed his eyes in bliss and let himself sink under the surface, until he felt the tiredness and aching dissolve and float away. He opened his eyes underwater, somewhat shocked to discover that it was lighter down here than it was on the surface, and that Caspian was staring at him, just as surprised as he was. The glow turned his face pale like that of a ghost, and Edmund feared that he would dissolve were he to touch it.
He and Caspian resurfaced at the same time, and Edmund didn’t quite know where the impulse came from, but he splashed a handful of water in the king’s face, earning himself swift retribution in the same vein and soon they were having an outright battle, as though they were schoolboys and not kings.
They were breathless with laughter when, some time later, a truce was declared and they trudged out of the pond to put on their clothes in the nearly complete darkness. Strange, that above the surface the water was as smooth and black as ink, marred only by the reflection of fireflies floating over its surface.
Despite their exertions during the day, sleep was slow to claim them, so they lay side by side, watching the fireflies chase one another through the air.
“Edmund,” Caspian said after a while. “Would you tell me the story of how you arrived in Narnia?”
Edmund turned, so that, were there any light to see by, he would be looking into Caspian’s eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
“It seems to weigh on you, even still. May-hap it will help to talk about it.”
“I wonder if it would,” Edmund muttered, though of course that was the one thing he’d never tried previously. “I was ten,” he began, and slowly he told Caspian of how Lucy had been the first enter the wardrobe, and come running straight out, how there was nothing there when they looked, but then, on the second time, how he had become quite enchanted with the White Witch and what befell thereafter. To his great surprise, he found the words came easily, even when the tale turned to the part he had only heard when Susan and he fought, not a year after they became rulers of Narnia, and she let slip (or hint, at least -- but the rest Edmund wheedled out of her later) just what had been done to save him.
When he finished, he thought for a minute that Caspian had fallen asleep, it was so quiet. “I am most thankful,” he whispered at last, “that you were saved.”
Edmund smiled and then yawned. “Thank you,” he whispered. Minutes later he was asleep.
On to Part Two
