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“We thought the Duke would have been pleased if the King's Majesty would have married his daughter, but nothing came of that—”
“Squints, and has freckles,” said Caspian.
-- The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Chapter 2: “On Board the Dawn Treader”
Edmund may have been young in body, but in mind he was far older than any boy of fifteen had a right to be; thus, he often showed a remarkable tendency to pick up on things that an average youth was wont to either disregard or overlook entirely – and, therefore, even if he hadn't been actively looking (which he was), he would have noticed that all was not well with Narnia's current monarch. What he saw troubled him. What he heard troubled him even more. And so it was that Edmund sought to catch the noble king alone after nightfall, once the majority of the crew had retired for a bit of shut-eye.
As expected, King Caspian showed little inclination to retire to his own bunk, his thoughts no doubt awhirl after the day's excitement (it wasn't everyday two old friends and one cranky brat fell out of the sky and into the sea out in the middle of nowhere), and instead he found a quiet corner to lean against the ship's rail and contemplate the stars. Even Edmund had to admit that the dark-haired youth cut a startling figure, elusive and fey, bathed as he was in the moon's silver glow. The pensive expression on his face – the pursed lips and furrowed brow – did little to detract from his majesty, but amplified it instead: he was a storybook hero come to life, a tortured soul ever seeking for something hidden just beyond the horizon, and for a moment – just a moment – Edmund thought he could understand how someone could so swiftly fall in love with such a man.
The moment passed.
“Squints, and has freckles?” Edmund said with all due seriousness as he came to stand at the elder boy's side, interrupting the Telemarine's seemingly dark musings. Caspian glanced at him, clearly startled. Edmund simply smiled back and peered over the rail into the rolling blackness below.
“I'm sorry,” said Caspian, “but I'm not sure I understand.”
“Squints, and has freckles,” Edmund repeated patiently. “That's what you said earlier – when Lord Drinian was explaining how you refused to marry the Duke's daughter. I've never taken you for a particularly shallow sort of person, so I'm a little confused as to why you would say such a thing.”
Cheeks flushed with shame – and something else – Caspian looked away.
Edmund huffed, annoyed at such a childish display of avoidance. Was that any way for royalty to behave? Really! “Come now, Caspian! Who did you think you were fooling? Anyone who knows you realizes that silly things like squints and freckles wouldn't put you off a girl if you were honestly willing to consider the matter of marriage – which, obviously, you aren't. And I think I know why.”
“Do you?” Caspian asked, voice hard and challenging. His eyes glittered dangerously.
So, Edmund thought, it's like that, is it?
If Caspian believed he could frighten him off the topic with a few well-placed glares, then he was in for a shock. Edmund was not one of his subjects, bound to bend to his will: he, too, was a king of Narnia, and where his beloved country and his familywere involved he would never relent. “You're already in love,” Edmund continued, heedless of Caspian's discomfort, “with someone you can't have.” Caspian shifted uneasily beneath his steely gaze. “Someone who just happens to be one of my siblings.”
The Telemarine's glare sharpened, hands clenching at the banister in front of him with white-knuckled fury. His response, when it came, was cool and laced with cutting amusement: “This has nothing to do with Susan.”
Edmund arched a questioning brow, blasé and unmoved. “Who said anything about Su? Perhaps your subjects believe you to be infatuated with her memory, but I know better.”
“If not Susan, then who?” Caspian laughed, but the sound was hallow as glanced surreptitiously about, as if to insure no one was eavesdropping. “Surely you can't believe I would have impure thoughts about Lucy?”
“Don't be daft!” Edmund growled, beginning to grow weary of this dance. There was no reason to bring little Lucy, who did so adore the charming (if exceedingly temperamental) young king, into this matter. “You know of whom I speak.”
Caspian must have recognized that he had gone too far, for he bowed his head in silent apology, his dark locks masking his eyes as at last he made his confession: “Peter.” It was a whisper, a benediction, and this time it was Edmund who had to look away, unable (or, perhaps, unwilling) to comprehend the depth of meaning held in that single cherished word and the softness in Caspian's eyes as he uttered it.
“Yes,” Edmund sighed, swallowing thickly. “Peter.”
Peter the High King. Peter the Warrior. Peter the Boy, who made a magnificent mess of things when he dared to love a prince.
“How did you know?”
“I have eyes,” Edmund murmured. “I saw how the two of you looked at each other – and to this day I still wonder how anyone could have mistaken your heated exchanges for anything but what they were: the result of unresolved sexual tension and worry for each other's fates.” He smiled faintly at the memories. His brother had been so passionate, then – so full of hope and vigor and determination. Before that, he'd just been angry and lost and without direction. It had been nice to see the old Peter return, full of the strength and courage he'd so admired, never mind the fact that he hadn't always been entirely level-headed in his decision-making. “Peter wanted so badly to protect you, and you wanted so badly to prove yourself worthy of him that you both just kept right on bashing your heads together like damn fools.”
“We were rather doltish, weren't we?” Caspian commented ruefully.
“Quite so,” Edmund agreed with a chuckle. They'd been impossible, really: no one had known just what to do with them. Had Susan not been so blindly in lust with Caspian (and hadn't that reminded him of the good old days, when they ruled!), he might have convinced her to help him lock them in some sort of makeshift bedroom until they resolved their issues, but that was neither here nor there. They'd resolved their issues eventually.
And now Edmund, much as he loathed to admit it, rather wished they hadn't.
If I had known then what I know now...
“But I loved him – still love him. We weren't always at each other's throats, you know. We had some good times, too.” Caspian's smile faded, replaced by an all-too-familiar longing. “I only wish there could have been more.”
“You're not doing him any favors, you know – clinging to his memory like this.” Edmund felt cruel for saying it, but someone needed to be sensible. This foolish moping would accomplish nothing. He had see what madness a love mourned could give rise to. Such selfishness was not to be condoned.
“Maybe not.”
Edmund frowned. “You have Narnia's fate to consider. It is your kingly duty to beget an heir to ensure Narnia's future and your reign's stability.” There was more at stake here than a love that had been doomed to begin with.
“Is the matter really so pressing?” the king asked with a forced laugh. “I'm young. There is no need to rush such things.”
“Are you really so naive, Caspian?” Edmund chastised, sending him a scathing look. “The Narnians and Telemarines may live in an uneasy peace under you, but neither Peoples will have peace of mind until your line is insured.”
“But when you ruled, none of you married—”
“And look what happened after we'd gone!” Edmund snapped. Perhaps Peter had felt the burden of his failure to prevent the Telemarine invasion most harshly, but the younger brother harbored guilt of his own. There were so many things they could have done, would have done, if only they'd known...
“Do you really think things would have been different if...?”
“We'll never know, will we?” Edmund said, the words bitter on his tongue. “But that's neither here nor there. What's important is that you realize that Peter understands that you can't wait around forever, clinging to an impossible dream. Aslan has already decreed that Peter would not set foot in Narnia again in this life. The best you can hope for is that you be reunited in the next.” Too bad his utterly mule-headed brother would not be persuaded to accept this as fact. False faith only prolonged suffering. “In the meantime, you must live your life and strive to be a good king.” Edmund reached out to rest his hands on the king's shoulders and glared fiercely, willing Caspian to understand. “The High King would thank you.”
Indeed, the High King would – but would the boy?
Edmund's frown deepened at the thought, but quickly shook off his uneasiness. Narnia needed a proper king. He needed a brother. Neither would happen unless this childish obsession was cast aside.
The silence stretched on into eternity, the determined stares of the two kings clashing until, at last, Caspian bowed his head and pulled free of Edmund's grasp. “Yes,” he agreed in a tortured murmur – even as he should his head in obstinate denial. “My mind knows these things – and even agrees with you. My heart, on the other hand, is far more stubborn.”
“Would it make it more bearable,” asked Edmund, “if I told you Peter had moved on?”
“Has he?” Caspian said softly, eyes distant – wistful and pained. “Really?”
And it was at that moment Edmund realized with full clarity how truly in love with his brother the former prince, now king, remained – and how easily he could render his already fragile heart in two.
I would be doing them both a favor, he mused, by giving them the excuse they need to truly move on. For in all honesty, as much as he might wish otherwise, Peter had not forgotten his first love – in fact, he was positively haunted by it. He had left his heart in Narnia, and without a heart he was naught but a pale shadow of himself. Always Peter had been the one plagued with the most difficulty in readjusting to life in their world, but this time it was different – this time he almost seemed to have a death wish.
Even as he studied the boy-king before him, he could hear their mother's tears as she begged her eldest not to enlist – not to take up arms against the Germans in bloody and brutal combat. In many ways, Peter and Caspian were very much the same, weren't they? They were both too steadfast to betray even a memory, too stubborn to move on, and too foolhardy to admit defeat. And they both risked their lives as they searched for another way to reunite. Edmund was no fool: just as Peter hoped to find some stray bit of magic in his march across Europe, Caspian was convinced that Aslan's Country held the key to finding Peter.
They would both get themselves killed – or worse – on this quest.
One small lie would be a mercy.
If Caspian moved on, then surely – surely – Peter would follow suit.
Just. One. Small. Lie.
“No,” he sighed, bowing his head in defeat. For Narnia, and for Aslan, he could do a great many things: destroying a love so pure and enduring, no matter how ill-advised, wasn't one of them. “No, he hasn't. Not at all.” And then, recalling the soul-shattering sorrow that had yet lingered, unwavering, in his beloved brother's eyes the last time he saw him – desperate and searching, and having been driven to cast aside his child's mask and seek solace in the bittersweet familiarity of war, this time on behalf of Mother England – Edmund admitted the terrible truth: “And he likely never will.”
Caspian nodded, then cast his attention back towards the shimmering night sky, no doubt remembering a similarly clear and crisp night three years past, which he had shared with a very different king under very different circumstances. “How sinful is it that I should find pleasure in the fact that the one I love is as unhappy as I?”
To this King Edmund the Just had no reply.
He didn't know what justice was anymore – for what justice could part two people who so dearly needed each other? For all Aslan's wisdom, he could not help but doubt his judgment in this.
Edmund would not speak of marriage again.