Chapter Text
As a child, Edmund had loved winter. He took savage, primal joy in the biting cold, of skating and sledding and pitting himself—or so he imagined—against the harsh elements, and returning victorious to Mum’s warm kitchen and hot cocoa.
In Narnia, Edmund dreaded winter. The biting cold reminded him of the White Witch, of the frigid hours he’d spent huddled at her feet in the sledge, the harsh crack of a whip driving the reindeer forward. He remembered the lost, angry child he’d been when the Witch had found him, preyed upon his jealousies and plied him with enchanted food. He could only excuse some of his treachery with magic; the rest was his own fault. A fault he must bear forever.
Forever faded into ten years, and by the time Edmund was a grown man of twenty-one, his dread of winter had waned to a melancholy restlessness at the first snowfall. He could drive it away in his sister’s company, however, and so he sought out Lucy the moment the sky darkened. An hour later, they were thundering across the snow-dusted fields outside of Cair Paravel astride their favorite horses. They stopped to have a snowball fight, of course, and then Lucy carefully constructed a snow lion out of the snow Edmund rolled up for her. They trampled the frozen grasses with their play, their cheeks flushed with exertion and excitement.
It was difficult to tell that night was falling until it had all but fallen upon them, and they raced back to the Cair against thickening snow and darkness. The kitchens were warm and brightly lit, and Mrs. Beaver fussed over them with hot drinks and clean blankets.
“Honestly, the pair of you! It’s as if you’re children all over again, running amok in the snow and cold with dignitaries arriving throughout the day!”
“Susan has it handled,” said Edmund. It was true that his older sister was the most enthusiastic host among them and a skilled diplomat besides. “As long as the High King is in attendance, no one will miss us.”
Mrs. Beaver huffed. “That is hardly the point, you scapegrace, and you know it. Now, go upstairs and get out of your wet things at once!”
Edmund could hardly remember his mother’s kitchen; it had been overshadowed by Mrs. Beaver and the Cair. That warmth and safety bolstered him. His melancholy was gone, replaced by the contentment he’d long associated with winter. He could still find joy in skating and sledding. The shining Christmas decorations still stirred something in him, something pure and good. He was no longer huddled at the Witch’s feet. He was not broken.
He and Lucy dutifully trooped upstairs to the suite they shared with their brother and sister. Edmund changed quickly into court costume, roughly toweling his hair before tamping it down underneath the silver crown he wore for formal occasions. His tunic was deep blue and trimmed with silver; his preferred colors.
Lucy was waiting for him in the common room. It was forever a mystery to Edmund how his younger sister could take half his time getting dressed and still look twice as refined. Her damp reddish-blond curls drifted down her back as if by design, twining effortlessly into the silver flowers of her crown. At least she was still shorter than him.
“Do you reckon they’ve started dinner already? I’m starving,” said Lucy as they hurried downstairs again, their soft indoor shoes hardly making a sound on the Cair’s stone floors.
“I hope not.” Edmund glanced out the window, but there was little to discern about the time in the darkness. “Susan will glare daggers if we slink in.”
Lucy winced. “You’re right about that.” She quickened her pace so that Edmund struggled to keep up. Lucy, he decided, spent too much time with nymphs and dryads; she was learning to move like one.
There was a door for the monarchs off the dais of the throne room. Mr. Beaver was waiting for them there.
“Just a moment,” he murmured, greeting Lucy with a squeeze of the arm and Edmund with a respectful nod. “There’s about to be a gap in the greetings; there’s a big party from Galma coming in.”
Lucy pulled a face. The Duke of Galma had been courting her relentlessly for one of his six sons—he did not seem to care which.
“All right, go quickly!” Mr. Beaver opened the door quietly and ushered them through.
The throne room was packed to the walls, a cacophony of light and color. Most of their Christmas guests were Narnians, but there were human nobles and dignitaries from their nearest neighbors.
Edmund kept his head down as he hurried to his throne, which was the farthest from the door. As he passed Peter, his brother murmured: “Nice of you to join us.”
“Hello, Su,” said Edmund, gently touching his sister’s shoulder as he slid into his seat. “I trust you kept the hearth warm for us?”
Susan’s beautiful smile was carefully fixed in place. “You’re lucky to have gotten here before Galma. He would have noted your absence.”
“It’s hardly an absence,” Edmund protested. “Just informal greetings.”
“All the same.”
There was no time to say more: the Duke of Galma was approaching with four of his sons. Bows and greetings were exchanged. The Duke’s flinty eyes flashed on Edmund for a moment. Edmund made a point of holding eye contact for a moment, then letting the Duke watch him look at all of Lucy’s potential suitors. An upward twitch of his left eyebrow would be enough to make the Duke doubt his entire suit, hopefully buying Lucy a day or two’s peace.
“We are glad of your presence, Your Grace,” said Susan, “and wish you a Happy Christmas on behalf of Narnia. May the Lion bless you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesties.” The Duke and his sons bowed low and retreated.
Edmund sank back in his seat and leaned to one side, resting his cheek on his hand and stretching out one leg. He sometimes put on an appearance of sulkiness to foreigners. It made his staring look more bored than discerning. Susan shifted in her seat, as if she disapproved of his posture—which she probably did.
The Lone Islanders were next, obsequious in their praise of Susan’s courtliness and the general spectacle of the throne room. Obsequious but accurate, Edmund thought, looking at the garlands of holly and fir, the careful placement of candles. Susan outdid herself every year. The Christmas tree was a nice touch.
He was making careful note of which ladies were staring openly at Peter, whose crown and hair glowed in the candlelight, when Lucy’s glad cry rang out: “Mr. Tumnus!”
Edmund straightened in his chair; Tumnus was a dear friend, and there was a stranger with him. She was thin, almost emaciated, and wore a travel-stained cloak and muddy boots. Her dark blond hair was pulled back into a severe braid, highlighting her sharp cheekbones and wide-set gray eyes.
“Your Majesties.” Tumnus bowed low. The golden horns nestled in his curly hair gleamed. He wore a wooly red jumper. “It is a joy and an honor to be back at Cair Paravel for Christmas.”
“You’ve been away too long, Tumnus,” said Peter. “But please, introduce us to your guest.”
“Gladly, Your Majesties.” Tumnus straightened. “It is my pleasure to present Lady Elswyth of Rohan, who has journeyed far to see Your Majesties’ court.”
“You must forgive my appearance, Your Majesties,” said Lady Elswyth in a hoarse voice. “I did not realize that this was a holiday, and that you would have so many guests.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Lady Elswyth,” said Susan. “We all know the weariness of long travel. Accommodations can be made for you.”
“I look forward to hearing more of your homeland,” said Peter. “I confess I have not heard of it.”
Lady Elswyth hesitated. “Nor would I expect you to, Your Majesty, for I had not heard of Narnia until recently.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” said Edmund. Heat rushed to his face when Lady Elswyth’s piercing gray eyes met his for a moment. Susan tipped her head toward him, curious; Edmund rarely spoke in large gatherings.
“You are welcome regardless,” said Peter, covering the awkwardness—though Edmund wondered if Peter had noticed. His brother could be oblivious, sometimes, but his good nature and charm could carry him through. “This is an occasion for celebration, and the more the merrier.”
“Mr. Tumnus, I trust you can find Mrs. Beaver and arrange for Lady Elswyth’s room?” said Susan. “I suspect a hot bath is in order.”
“Is the stench so obvious, Your Majesty?” said Lady Elswyth quietly. Those standing near enough to hear her laughed, and her face turned pink.
Tumnus drew his guest to the side door, and King Lune’s representatives stepped forward. The King and Prince sent their regrets, and hoped that Lord Darrin would prove an acceptable substitute.
“More than acceptable,” said Peter. “You’re a far better shot than your King, my Lord, and we have several hunts planned.”
Uproarious laughter met this remark, and Edmund resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Peter was amiable enough, and a matchless warrior, but he had developed an overinflated opinion of his own humor. It was no mystery why.
Lord Darrin was the last of the day’s guests. Susan rose from her seat, and her siblings hastened to follow suit.
“Thank you all for coming,” she said in a ringing, melodious voice. Edmund knew better than most that she’d carefully cultivated her speaking voice through years of poetry recitations. “We invite you now to a supper in the dining hall. You are all weary from your travels, and so we have granted you a respite before tomorrow’s ball.” She smiled graciously, and tucked her arm gracefully into Peter’s to step off the dais and sail out of the throne room.
Edmund and Lucy linked arms and followed in their siblings’ wake. Lucy traded smiles and nods with several people, but Edmund kept his gaze fixed ahead. There were still some among their friends and allies who would call him traitor.