Further Up & Further In

Valiant

Mr. Tumnus scampered into the High King's bedchambers, and set the tray he carried down on the small table next to the bed. King Peter lay ill. Queen Susan sat next to him, a chair positioned close by his right side, as King Edmund paced thoughtfully near the foot of the bed, and Queen Lucy sat in another chair to the High King's left. There was stone in her face.

The news had come at the worst of times. There were whispers: rumours of outlaws; remnants of the Witch's army gathering in the north. Their numbers were thought to be few, yet the threat of them cooperating was great enough. ("Easily dealt with, but best dealt with soon," Oreius had told them.) Even if the gathering army proved larger than expected, both kings, (now young men,) were certain of themselves.

But the High King was bedridden; fallen to fever, and suffering nausea and dizziness. His body was weak, and he could hardly walk, let alone fight, though not for lack of trying. He had pushed himself hard those first few days when he began to feel sick, and it had taken a near mutiny to get him to rest. Of course Lucy had offered him a drop from her cordial, but he had refused. The King Peter was stubborn, and perhaps too independent for his own good, and he insisted that the cordial only be used in great need. He knew he would heal. He also knew others may not without its help. He wouldn't risk it, and that was that.

Six years had passed since they'd begun their reign, and they were less and less children every day. Sometimes, they thought, it felt like only yesterday. Other times it felt like a lifetime. They were kings and queens now, and they were loved.

The High King sought council with his brother and sisters now. An army was being built against them, and they owed it to their people to remove the threat, but Peter couldn't fight, and he'd never allow Edmund to go alone. The young king was formidable, they all knew. He was an excellent soldier: agile, passionate, and focused. But no matter how his skills grew, he remained Peter's younger brother, and Peter would not risk losing him for anything. They'd never gone into battle without the other.

"Edmund," Peter began, as Susan finished wiping at his forehead with the cool cloth Tumnus had brought for her. "How long can we reasonably wait?"

Edmund stopped his pacing and turned to his brother, his eyes twinkling momentarily. It was unintentional. Edmund's mind danced between strategies as he asked himself all the same questions that haunted his brother, but he was relieved, if only for a second, by Peter's earnestness. He managed a half-hearted grin, and answered. "Not as long as you need. We need to act quickly." He settled his body into the chair next to Lucy's, and began drumming his fingers on the arm. With a deep breath he continued. "I can lead them, Peter."

"You're not going without me." There was a glint in Peter's eyes as he glared at his brother.

"You know you're not well enough to fight."

"I can try." He began to heave himself up, pushing his blankets aside.

"No, Peter, you will not," Susan reprimanded. She'd long since earned the name "Gentle," and even in her viciousness she maintained it. Here, she acted as caretaker, and she took on the role dutifully. "You need rest now. Doesn't he need rest, Tumnus?"

The faun in the corner refused to meet the High King's eyes as he nodded.

Peter stared accusingly at him only for a moment, though he knew it wasn't Tumnus' fault. "So what can we do, Susan?" he shot back at his sister. "I am useless here, and someone must go with Edmund."

The two stared each other down, warring with each other over the High King's fate. Certainly Susan wouldn't let Edmund go alone, either. (If it was reasonable, she wouldn't allow him to go at all.) But she knew her elder brother would force himself into his armour and drag himself into battle if nobody stopped him, and she would never allow that either. He was too sick right now, too weak, and yet, still too stubborn to fight with. The people called him "Magnificent." He'd earned the title early on, as he began to win battles, and as he began to win the peoples' hearts. Surely the Magnificent King would not let down his people, even at great risk to himself. He called it strength. Susan called it vanity.