Edmund is Comforted

This MS. was discovered quite strangely by B.K. Southern as revealed to him in a dream by His Lordship Aslan. This excerpt would have taken place in the final chapter of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Being after the Pevensie coronation but before the hunting of the Stag.
 

''Here, my dears, have a little bread and dried fruits, there now. It will bring your strength up to speed.''
''Aye, that and a pint. Suit you well, the lot of you.''
''Mr. Beaver! You shouldn't say such things!''

The Beavers, toting along baskets of food and drink, waddled up the stairs of the dais where the four thrones sat. And in them, regally dressed, sat the four newest rulers of Narnia. High King Peter, King Edmund, Queen Susan, and the good Queen Lucy. It was just the day after their coronation, which had been filled with much
congratulations and kissing of hands. Those things had drained their energy, as well as some of the signing into laws and breakfast arrangements. So it was good to see their old friends the Beavers coming in for a visit, laden with many swiped things off the kitchen that had quite upset the royal chef. Mr. Beaver himself got into the storehouse kegs, but that is a story for another time.

''Mister and misses Beaver,'' Lucy cried, rising from her seat and rushing to help. But Mr. Beaver would hear nothing of it. He shooed her back, helped his wife onto the platform, and exchanged pleasantries with the others. The food was brought out, buns and vegetables. A hunk of cheese Mr. Beaver was exceptionally fond of. All the goods were evenly distributed, places taken. Chit-chat went back and forth.
''Do you think Tumnus has made it to Archenland with the letter to their king yet?'' Peter asked, helping himself to an apple.
''It could be a few days,'' Mr. Beaver replied, ''those type things are always slow. He'll be asked to stay for a few days if admitted, rather abashed if not.''
''Abashed, what do you mean?'' Susan asked.
''Nothing you should worry about, my dear,'' Mrs. Beaver grunted and gifted her husband with a knock on the head.
''Wut?''
''Just eat your food dear and all will be well.''
Mr. Beaver snorted and set in on a bun.
''Now that we're kings and queens, what exactly are we supposed to do?'' Edmund asked, not interested in the food.
''Don't be silly, Ed,'' Peter chided, ''we'll be holding visits for the Narnians to come see us for easing of problems. Maybe some military campaigns, that way we can stamp out any stragglers in the Witch's army.''
''Aye, that's why a pact with Archenland would come in handy,'' Mr. Beaver mumbled and sat directly on the floor.
''What about the Tashbaans? Shouldn't we have sent an envoy to them?'' Susan asked, vaguely remembering the tales of how handsome their princes could be.
''No, no. Those we worry about last. The king is correct, if we have enemies it will come from the Witch's followers.''
''Oh, but Mr. Beaver, you surely can't think those horrors are still lurking in the forest,'' Lucy cried, dropping her croissant.
''Aye, yes I do. Why, good friend Badger told me there's word about that a werewolf and hag were seen creeping about Beruna. No good can come out of that, I'm sure.''
''What do you mean?'' Edmund asked, suddenly serious.
''You should know, my king, how dark the magic is of hags. I'd dare say they could find a way to bring the Witch back! Dreadful nasty stuff.''
Edmund grunted and leaned back. "I should know, shouldn't I? Because I used to be one of them.''
The chewing jaws paused on all present, some casting glances in the boy's direction. Mrs. Beaver shot her husband a withering glance, which Mr. Beaver seemed to shrink under.
''That's all behind you, Ed,'' Peter's voice rose, ''Aslan made the...''
''Aslan is gone!'' Edmund snapped, cutting him off. Hints of tears formed in the corners of his eyes and his hands gripped tighter to the throne arm rests. Edmund looked to each of their faces.
''That's it, isn't it? I'm different than the rest of you! I was the one who fell for the Witch and Lucy didn't. Then I betrayed you. It won't ever be the same. Like a shadow trailing me.''

Mr. Beaver jumped up. ''Now you just hold on a minute!'' He waddled forward, got his foot caught in one of the baskets laden in foodstuff, then fell forward in a grumbling swearing lump. The contents of the basket slid across the floor, spreading out toward the Royals feet. Edmund saw pears, puddings, biscuits, a roast bird of some kind, stopped bottles of ginger beer, and a peculiar candy. He did not hear nor pay attention to Mr. Beaver giving a humble apology. All he could see, as he rose from his seat and bent down to pluck a piece, was the powdered gooey candy.
''Turkish delight.''
Edmund's eyes snapped up to the Beavers.
''Where'd you get this?''
''We found it in the kitchen, dear,'' Mrs. Beaver replied timidly.
''They're making this in our royal chambers?''
''Of course, I shouldn't see why not either. Quite delicious, this Turkish delight,'' Mr. Beaver defiantly added and scooped up a piece in his paw, immediately eating it. Edmund's eyes widened considerably.
''See?'' Mr. Beaver mumbled stickily. ''This is the good kind. No enchantment in here. All Witch magic free.''
Carefully Lucy reached for a piece, popping it into her mouth.
''It is good, Ed,'' she smiled, still chewing. ''Do try some.''
Susan followed example, as well as Peter while Mr. Beaver collected the remnants and distributed them evenly. Edmund deserved two more pieces, which Mr. Beaver approached with. The boy king stared at the offering in the webbed paws, shuddering to even see Mrs. Beaver nibble a piece.
''You're fools,'' he mumbled, dropping the piece in hand.
''Come now, Edmund, there's no need for...''
The king fixed the beaver with an almost bloodthirsty glance.
''The lot of you,'' Edmund's voice rose. ''Fallen for it just like I did! After all this time, you were the holy ones only to throw it away. Just like that! And Aslan can't die
again!''
''Oh, Ed,'' Lucy wailed and stood up.
Edmund paced backward, holding out his hand.
''Stay away from me! I'm... I'm going to go for a walk in the garden.'' High King Peter regally rose from his throne.
''I think this has gone on long enough, Ed.''
''Don't try to stop me,'' his little brother snapped back, turning.
The three Pevensie children and the two beavers watched Edmund charge with fuming anger down the corridor and disappear.
Mr. Beaver surveyed the sweets in his paws and tossed them. ''So they were enchanted...''

Edmund Pevensie, freshly crowned king of the land stretching from the House of Harfang in the North all the way south to the borders of Archenland, glumly kicked a pebble along the path weaving through the garden courtyard of the seaside castle that was Cair Paravel. The walkways were quiet and deserted, not swarming with subjects wanting to show respect. Which is what Edmund wanted. He craved solitude. Here, in the garden, that is precisely what he got. But how funny it was to crave being alone, only to have the feeling replaced by an aloneness. A want for someone to talk too. The birds not presently sing. There was no chatter from the moles who kept the grounds. Just maybe a soft thump as a nut or fruit fell from one of the trees, to be collected or decay only the earth knew. Edmund decided to whistle an old Scottish dirge, seemingly befitting the way he felt, and shifted his course to the pool. No one really did understand who put the glittering clear water pool in Cair Paravel's garden. Some said it was a creation of King Frank's descendants. Others claimed the Emperor-Over-Sea commissioned it himself.
Edmund did not care how it got there. All he wanted now was to duck between the hedges, dip his feet in the water, and fall asleep for a long, long time.
A red breasted robin called forward a cheery melody suddenly, which interrupted the young king's dirge quite irritably. Edmund fixed the bird with a firm stare, watching it with a memory bleeding in the back of his mind till the creature took flight. Disappearing into orchard boughs. Silently Edmund watched it go, brushing
against a hedge wall where he found a more fragile entry point. He did not expect to see a lion by the pool. Edmund had to blink once or twice to be sure he wasn't imaging things. When the big cat spoke he was certain it wasn't an illusion.

''For what do you seek, Son of Adam?''
The boy king clutched the shrubbery, not frightened that something bad might happen but in awe the Great Lion had returned so soon.
''Aslan, I...''
''Edmund,'' the Lion interrupted and fixed his eyes on the boy, ''I did not ask you if you knew my name. I asked what you are looking for. Come. We have much to speak of.''
Edmund swallowed and nodded. Aslan lay down on the stones surrounding the water, staring at his reflection while Edmund came along beside him, gently sitting down.
''Do you doubt your value, my son?'' the Lion asked, not taking his eyes from the shimmering silhouette.
''Yes, sir,'' whispered the boy.
''Why?''
''Because of what I've done.''
''And what is it you have done?''
Edmund pulled off his shoe, dipped in his twitching toes.
''I fell for the Witch's trick, sir.''
''Ah,'' Aslan sighed, nodding with a despaired tone, ''you remember that.''
''How can I forget it? Everyone talks about it somehow, now that they know. Even the cooks are making Turkish delight in the kitchens!''
''All was once holy. It is only when thinking is used as a weapon, only then does pain come.''
Edmund glanced at the Lion beside him.
''What does that mean?''
''It means, Son of Adam, that your scar runs deeper than you show anyone. You have let it unmake you and reform you.''
Edmund winced at how accurate the words were. Absent mindedly he scooped up a rock, throwing it to a skip of three taps across the liquid glass.
''I can still taste it,'' he mumbled. ''Some nights when I'm alone I can taste her magic still on my tongue. Then all the remembrance of what happened comes back.''
''So I feel, just the same.''
The Great Lion stared directly ahead, unblinking.
''You... you've tasted her magic?'' Edmund stammered.
''No. I have been immersed in it. I have been bound by cords not even my power could break. I have been humiliated by hands that could turn summer to winter. I have died. And, in all these things my memory does not fail.''
A feeling of embarrassment washed over Edmund. Almost as if he were a child whining for the vase he had broken to a murderer.
''Do you know why I was put on that table, Edmund?''
Tears formed in the boy's eyes.
''It was because of me, Aslan.''
The Lion didn't answer. He simply stared at the tree opposite the pool, at a certain chrome sheened peacock feathered bird that perched in the branches above. A bird long disappeared from Narnia.
''The candy that you were tricked with is not a bad thing, Edmund. Nothing the Emperor, my father, has given to this kingdom is or was. Only through meddling with the dark does it lose what it was meant to be. The Witch knew much, even the tools necessary to bring her to your side. But as with every workman, his tools must be made elsewhere. By another, more careful, hand. Imagine if every candy was taken away from good children, simply because your pain justified the act. How much happiness, how much joy, would be stolen from those unscarred?''
Aslan carefully stood up, Edmund following his example.

''So I ask you, Son of Adam. For what do you seek?''
''Peace,'' Edmund replied, not even considering the answer.
''That cannot be given. Not even I can have peace. Only respite can be given here. When you enter into my country, then you will find peace.''
''Then I'm lost, sir.''
''No, you are not lost. You are trying to be someone else.''
''Someone else?''
Aslan fixed his gaze on the boy. Fatherly and searching.
''You are trying to be Peter when you should be Edmund.''
The boy held his gaze, looking deep into those bright eyes.
''Why, my son? Why be someone you are not to leave yourself behind?''
''I...'' Edmund stuttered, ''he's just...he's better than me!''
''How?''
''He didn't fall for the Witch and he fought bravely and...''
''Peter is not perfect, Edmund,'' Aslan interrupted.
''But he never does anything wrong! Mum and dad are always proud! The girls like him better than me!''
''The eyes are blind. Your brother has much in his heart he regrets. Things he durst not tell you. Things only he and I know.''
''Really?''
Aslan nodded.
''Remember that scars run deep, Edmund. Only if you can share can you heal. Making pain a game will only make your heart harder than that of the Witch's.''
''Aslan?''
''Yes, my son.''
''Are his scars worse than mine?''
The Lion watched as the magnificent bird spread its wings and lifted up, heading immediately to the east.
''Child. I am telling you your story, not his. I tell no one any story but his own.''
''All the same,'' Edmund mumbled, ''I wish I knew.''
''That can only be achieved by asking him,'' the Lion replied. ''You are brothers, after all. There are no strangers in family.''
''He'll only think I'm whining.''
''No. Peter will take you for who you are, just like he needs you to love him for who he is. No matter what he does.''
Edmund nodded stiffly and peered down at his damp feet.
''Peter will not always be able to be there for you, Edmund. There will be times when he will leave to face his own giants. In his absence you will have to be strong for your sisters and the kingdom which relies on you. From humbleness you will become a great man. But always remember, even though you may be an ocean apart, Peter will love you and think of you often. This is but the Shadowlands. My country will bring you peace and if Peter goes ahead know that there you will meet again.''

Tears flowed from in the boy's eyes. His body trembled, arms squeezing tight to hug himself and keep the pain inside. For a moment he felt the loneliest he had ever felt in his life. Aslan spoke of Peter going away, far away. He was supposed to be a king but no one understood how deep the rift cleaved his soul in two. A warm padded paw gently pulled him close. Aslan didn't speak a word. He allowed Edmund to clutch his mane, to spoil it with the tears coming through. He held him tight as a father would a son. The Father.
''I was never gone,'' the Great Lion whispered. Edmund perceived a breath, almost a minty cool sea faring wind from beyond, wrap around and enter into him. Like a shock to his senses and an extra thump for his heart. With tears trickling down his flushed cheeks, the boy cleared his eyes to find that by the pool in the garden of the castle Cair Paravel, seat of Narnia's royalty, he stood alone. The Lion had gone. Leaving behind a feeling the boy king had never felt before. Bliss. Respite. Solitude. Maybe even a bit of peace.

''There he is! I've found him, Lucy! He's by the pool.''
Edmund barely perceived Peter walk up to him, questioning but having his words land on deaf ears. Only when the High King saw his face, complacent and weeping, did he choose the right words.
''I say, Ed. What's happened?''
Younger brother seized his elder's hand, tight but gentle.
''Are you leaving?''
''Leaving?'' Peter gasped. ''What makes you say that?''
''Aslan told me.''
''Aslan?''
''He was here. By the pool. He said you would be leaving.''
King Peter's face could spell only one word and that was utter surprise.
''We've just received reply from Tumnus that the king of Archenland wants me to join him on an assault to the giants in the north.''
''And you're going?''
''I can't refuse him,'' Peter shrugged, still surprised, ''after all we are called to protect our friends, be they in Narnia or abroad.''
''But... but what about us? Your family...''
Peter smiled. The confusion had all but disappeared. He carefully took Edmund's face in his hands.
''You'll protect Lucy and Susan while I'm gone, won't you?''
Edmund nodded through the tears. Peter bent forward and kissed his brother on the forehead, squeezing him in a brief hug.
''You won't have too much fun without me, aye?'' Peter chuckled, feeling water in his eyes, holding out Edmund at arms length.
''Wait to roast Mr. Beaver till I'm back, yeah?''
The younger boy chuckled, wiped his tears. Farther away in the garden a young girl's voice called out, asking where they were.
''By the pool, Lu! We're over here!'' Peter yelled back.
A sheet of silence trailed his outcry, followed by distant voices in the hedges as they struggled toward the pool.
''What if you die?'' Edmund's voice whispered.
''Giants would have to be pretty buggers to get the better of me. Remember the fight at Beruna?'' Peter chuckled and ruffled his little brother's hair. Edmund dodged back, the tears still there.
''I'm serious, Peter. What if you're killed? How would the girls take it? And if we ever see mum and dad again...''
''We'll never be apart, Ed. I've got a feeling Narnia isn't the end. If I was to die, you'd have to be the defender of both our friends and the girls. That's the weight I carry. But don't worry, I don't plan to die anytime soon.''
The High King's smile was so piteously happy. Edmund crashed into his brother's chest, wrapping him in a hug. Not letting go.
''I'm sorry,'' he sobbed, ''I'm sorry I couldn't...''
''Shh,'' Peter hushed him.
''I didn't want to fall for her magic.''
''That's forgotten, Ed. Even Aslan forgets it. You just have to forget it.''
''I... I can't.''
''We'll help you.''

The brothers didn't look up as Lucy came forward to join in their fellowship. Susan, standing on the edge, watched with hesitation. But something about the sight of the three of them, with Edmund's whimperings and Lucy's consolings couldn't hold her back. She stretched out her arms, pulling them altogether. The four Pevensie children, the Royals, in a group hug weeping together with Edmund in the center. His siblings whispered.
''You are loved, Ed. Never forget that.''