Untitled fic: Narnia
Mar. 22nd, 2003 10:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ivyblossomTitle: You tell me!
rating: PG at best
Characters: Edmund. Edmund angsting about Bacchus, without remembering that Bacchus is in fact Bacchus. It's kind of complicated, really.
summary: Hmm. Edmund angsts. See 'Characters'.
spoilers: Well, this one is set in The Last Battle. But there are references to The Silver Chair, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Prince Caspian, and The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. Also sort of to the The Magician's Nephew, really. A little. It's one of those all in one fics.
Special thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
quire, and bonibaru for the betas. Especially bonibaru, who puts up with my obvious drunkenness.
This fic is a the third in a sequence. The first is Turkish Delight, the second is Tame. This one needs a title. I'm at a loss. I thought of calling it Rings, but that's a dumb title, really. You tell me, if you will. What should I call this thing?
*
In the dream his face is underwater, and he can see everything. The water is warm and sunlight is spiking through the surface. There are strange women floating past under him; they have green hair, pale skin, webbed fingers. They are talking and laughing, but he can't hear anything until the bubbles of air from their mouths reach his ears. Even then he can only catch a word or two before the bubbles burst and water fills his ears again. Lost, tame, dance, love. Words without context the women think are funny; they twirl around in the water and push lilies behind their ears.
On the lake bottom there's a man, a boy, really. He's lying naked among water vines and thick-stemmed flowers; there are fish swimming around him. His eyes are shut and his arms and legs shift with the water and the silvery bodies of the fish caress him. Sad, betrayed, sleeping. There are linden leaves in his hair. The women are still laughing, and when he looks toward the surface of the water he can see his own hands under water. His fingers are covered with rings. Yellow and green. For a moment, just before he wakes, he believes that he is trapped in a wardrobe filled with water, and that he is dead.
*
Edmund Pevensie pulls up a shovelful of dirt and scatters it into the grass in front of his brother Peter. It is nearly six o'clock in the morning, and they are trespassing in the garden behind one particular row house in the East End.
"If anyone asks," Peter says, "we're checking on a broken water main."
Two weeks ago Peter had gone in search of coveralls and tools while Edmund looked up the address Professor Kirke gave them, searching city records to see who lives in the row house these days. It’s a young couple with two small children, the purchase of the property made three years prior. If they sneaked into the garden early enough no one would ever know they had been there. Everyone seemed pleased with this plan, but to Edmund it seems all wrong.
A young couple, professional; two children. Two children with imaginations and trowels, with sticky fingers and dirty fingernails that have certainly sunk into the earth in their own garden. What if they have found the rings already? What if they are adult monarchs in Narnia by now, sleeping in the bed that used to be his, drinking from those golden goblets and resurrecting the White Witch? What if they have turned into monsters and gathered up all the talking animals, the fauns, the centaurs and dryads, and shot them through their innocent heads with silver bullets? What if they have poured arsenic in the rivers and burnt the forests to the ground? Edmund doesn't trust them, no matter how sweet and lovely their school photographs are. They could be demons. They could be the harbingers of doom that makes the others so sure they are needed in Narnia again.
Children are never just children, not in this place. They could be living lies, as Edmund has been himself, just adults turned back on themselves and twisted inside out. Children could be just memoryless shells who had at one time been other people, in some other place. Edmund has nightmares about these children, blond and blue eyed, innocent in England but blood-drinking tyrants in Narnia. He dreams that they pull down Cair Paravel stone by stone and chop down the linden tree that grew outside his bedroom window there. In his nightmares he pleads for forgiveness from Lucy, from Aslan, from other, nameless creatures with wild hair and sad eyes. But he never recieves it. When he wakes he isn't sure whether the linden tree had been real or not, if it was a memory or an invention.
He has many nightmares these days.
Edmund and Peter had gotten up at four that morning as planned, blearily rolling out of bed in Edmund's London flat and trouping up to the East End in their coveralls. They need to dig up twelve old rings; six yellow, six green. Professor Kirke buried them years ago around a Narnian tree he planted there, the tree that had turned into the old wardrobe, which sits in a place of honour in Professor Kirke's new house in Birmingham.
It was strange to see the wardrobe again. He remembers it more clearly than anything else; he remembers teasing Lucy, pressing his fists against the back of the thing, first while laughing and then later while crying. It had been tragic, leaving Narnia, but Edmund can't remember why anymore. Other than the fact that being a child was an inherently tragic thing, under the constant control of someone else. After a while he’d stopped noticing even that.
All that remains of the tree in the garden of the old row house is a flat stump razed so close to the ground they almost miss it. It was Aslan's will that Professor Kirke bury those old rings all those years ago; it was for the protection of humankind, or of Narnia, or both. It was for their own good, to keep them from grabbing at the rings and running away to Narnia whenever their hearts were broken. For their own good. No one else seems to think that maybe digging up the rings now is wrong.
They rake up the grass around the tree stump and Edmund pushes the shovel into the earth. He dumps piles of dirt in front of Peter, who sifts through it shovelful by shovelful with gloves on. Neither of them say anything. The first ring Peter finds is green, and he looks at it hard, holds it up into the air as if the pre-dawn light will reveal something on its surface, some mark of Narnia he might recognize. After a moment he tosses it into a box and keeps searching, not looking Edmund in the eye.
Once all the earth down to about a foot around the stump is in piles in front of Peter, Edmund pulls an old sieve out from his rucksack and sits down next to his brother, using a trowel and wishing his own gloves had holes in them. Six yellow rings, six green ones. More than enough to take us all home, but Edmund doesn't say so.
Edmund hasn't been thinking much about Narnia over the last few years. When he last returned from the place he had been thirteen, and the memories had drained from him faster than ever before. Three days after they had returned Lucy asked him about where he thought Reepicheep had ended up, and Edmund didn't remember what 'Reepicheep' was. After a year or two even Caspian's name sounded foreign, and it was only Lucy's stories, told vividly and often, that reminded him that anything had ever happened to them in a place called 'Narnia' at all. Truthfully he had almost laughed out loud when Professor Kirke called.
"Something's not quite right," he’d said. "I think we're going to be needed in Narnia soon."
Needed? Why would they be needed in Narnia? Why would a place filled with miracles and talking animals need them? He had been packing up clothes and dishes in his apartment when Professor Kirke called. He dropped a candy dish when the phone rang and cut himself trying to clean up the shards while making affirmative noises into the receiver. Yes of course, I'll come up to Birmingham. Yes, we should all get together and talk about it. Lucy had given Professor Kirke his new telephone number, and Edmund could almost feel her stern look on him as he wrote down Professor Kirke's address and discussed trains, times and dates. "Lucy said I should call you here," the Professor said, as if to refocus those invisible eyes that pierced Edmund through. He would go, even if he remembered nothing at all. Even if he had to drink too much to account for his eyes glazing over. He dumped the broken glass and stuck his bloody finger in his mouth.
What vague memories he had of Narnia had come back to him over dinner with the others in Professor Kirke's dining room. Caspian, Trumpkin, the sweet water at the edge of the world. A golden man in the bottom of a river, fairly glowing in the sunlight. Turkish delight in an elegant box, so attractive and forbidden; the sound of a stone cracking at dawn. Vague images of creatures whose names he didn't remember had flooded his brain while he broke a dinner roll and considered the elegant silver scroll on the handle of the butter knife.
The others had seemed to remember more than he did, even Peter. Eustace told the whole story of his adventures, with Jill inserting details here and there. Conversations they’d had, obstacles they had overcome, riddles, the smell of powder dumped on a fire. What Edmund always remembered more than anything else was his own guilt, his betrayal, and how, even though it all sounded like a fairy tale to him, he couldn't believe anything the others said was false. He couldn't add betrayal to betrayal. He nodded along to whatever Lucy said, but understood why Susan didn't want to be there.
They left a chair for Susan at the dinner table, but she hadn’t shown up.
By twenty past seven in the morning Edmund and Peter have all twelve rings in a metal box and Edmund shovels the earth back around the stump. It feels odd to Edmund to have them; rings that could take them back to Narnia when they are supposed to be no longer allowed to return. Imagine: a million questions answered, the gaps in Edmund's brain filled with something other than the smell of violets and grass. He prods the blank spaces in his memory as though they are a missing tooth, still hoping for something more solid than the vague taste of blood.
For a moment Edmund looks at the box in Peter's hands and considers grabbing it, running to the car and driving off. If he just disappears, really, who would miss him? What difference would it make?
Of course it is Edmund who imagines disobeying Aslan's direct command, scrapping all of their carefully laid plans and running back into the arms of some childhood dream of his own importance. Edmund the Betrayer. Peter just snaps the box shut and tosses it into his rucksack. Like a fairy tale hero, like a perfect High King. Edmund is baffled and envious of Peter's supreme faith, his self-control.
They hurry towards the car as quietly as possible, holding the rakes low so they won't scrape against the windows.
Edmund turns the key in the ignition just as a light appears in one of the upstairs bedrooms. They are safely out of the neighbourhood before anyone can notice them. Edmund keeps an eye on a tailgater behind him when Peter asks the inevitable question.
"Any word from Sandra?" Peter looks out the window as he asks, as though it is a casual question.
Of course he asks about it. It’s a distraction, something to talk about other than Narnia, other than Aslan and the old dented wardrobe in Professor Kirke's small house in Birmingham. Edmund and his failures, it’s up there with Susan and her horrible boyfriends and the overly-wet weather. Harmless topics. Harmless to everyone but Edmund, of course, who is still having nightmares.
He winces and hits the gas pedal a little too hard. "No, not since last week." Last week he answered the telephone and Sandra had been in tears. Still in tears, still livid. The sound of his voice made her collapse into a heap of sniffs and wet coughs. He hadn’t known what to say anymore, he’d put the phone down too quickly, pretended to be busy. She had wanted to know if he was sure.
"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" Peter looks at him.
Edmund swerves around a corner. "Define 'right'."
"Ed, if you call her and apologize, explain, I'm sure she'd-"
"Don't even start, Peter. I've heard this all from Lucy, you know." Why does everyone want to give him advice about his love life? "Besides, there's nothing to explain. She wants to get married, I don't. End of story."
Peter drops his hands into his lap and sighs. There is a long silence while Edmund takes out his anger on the street in front of them and Peter stares blankly out the passenger-side window. "Better wire Professor Kirke about the rings," he says finally.
Edmund shakes his head. "I hope Eustace is ready for this. What if Professor Kirke is wrong? What if they don't want them?" He pulls into his parking space in front of his flat.
"He's not wrong, Ed. Don't you feel it? Aslan is calling us. When I'm sleeping it's all I can hear. And I see his eyes. Don't you? His eyes, looking at me like he's waiting for me to do this."
Edmund doesn't say anything. He too has been having strange dreams, dreams that make him certain that he’s made all the wrong choices. He woke up nearly a month ago from a dream he couldn't remember and had turned to see Sandra's hair on the pillow, her leg dangling off the side of the bed, and had known this wasn't right, he was in the wrong place altogether. He’d gotten out of bed and paced back and forth in the living room, stubbing his toe on the coffee table and sobbing into the cushions on the couch like the world was ending. Something was terribly wrong.
They’d had one of their fights one night and Edmund fell asleep on the couch rather than in bed. She pursed her lips and asked if he was cheating on her, and he tossed out a sour "of course not." Her mother didn't like them living together, she wanted to see an engagement ring. Sandra had circled a reasonably priced one in a catalogue and left it on the table open to the right page. She dropped hints about her ring size and talked about her mother's visit in the spring. Edmund had known he was too young for the game, but it was expected and even Lucy had been dropping sly questions.
After that he had started to remember strange things. Glossy black hair under his fingers, skin browned from the sun and breath on his shoulder. Leaves everywhere, the smell of wine and sweat. I'll love you forever, who says that anymore? He had chalked it up to romantic escapism or some program Sandra was watching on television. He glanced at the catalogue and his hands had started to shake; he had thought he was just scared to commit, it was some kind of masculine ennui. He had bought the ring but left it in his sock drawer.
He dreamed of a silhouette in his window, moonlight streaming in against the night, his chest constricting with something that made it hard to breathe. It was real desire, not the pale imitation of it he had been living. He woke up feeling like his life here was a lie and not once did he think about Narnia. When he realized the figure in his dreams was a man he went to the book store and picked up a copy of Leaves of Grass.
As if a phantom caress’d me, I thought I was not alone, walking here by the shore. The dreams became clearer and clearer. Sandra had poked him awake a few times, shook him and pulled him into her arms because she had woken up to the sound of him crying.
"What is it?" She whispered. "What is it, love? What's wrong?" But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by the shoreÑthe one I loved, that caress’d me, As I lean and look through the glimmering lightÑthat one has utterly disappear’d. He told her he'd had a nightmare, and he wasn't entirely lying. In the dream he passed through coats in Professor Kirke's wardrobe and realized that had taken a wrong turn and left something precious behind. A vow, a promise, an entire lifetime. He couldn't turn back, there was only solid wood behind him, a history of love half an inch beyond his reach. Glossy hair, violets, the sound of a pipe, the stain of wine on his stomach. Edmund felt something burning inside him and was afraid it would leave scars on his skin.
Later on he had admitted to Lucy that he had been having dreams, that he'd been remembering things, in a manner of speaking. She smiled.
"It's Aslan," she had said, happy. "He's reminding you why you love Narnia, why Narnia loves you. He's asking for your help."
It hadn’t felt at all like Aslan to Edmund, unless Aslan had wine-red lips like that, wine-red lips that tasted like fruit and rainwater. He had woken up feeling as though he were about to call someone's name, as if he were about to be called. He woke and felt certain that in the dream he knew everything, but he never remembered. The dreams didn't coincide with any of the stories Lucy told him about Narnia; after dinner in Birmingham Edmund had gently asked her about a dark-haired boy who danced, but Lucy just shook her head and shrugged.
"We were in Narnia for so many years," she had said. "Sorry Ed, I don't know. Perhaps it's a friend of yours we didn't know." Lucy always had faith, even in strange dreams that made no sense. Edmund wasn't sure how to separate fantasy and memory; but then, he never had been certain there was a difference.
At dinner in Birmingham with all the others there had been an apparition that changed everything. They had just finished dinner and Lucy had been about to get up to help with the tea when the Narnian man appeared in front of them. He seemed to be tied to a tree, he looked terrified. The Professor knocked his wine glass to the floor and Lucy and Jill screamed. Edmund had felt a rush of air on his face and suddenly remembered what it felt like to be standing by the water near Cair Paravel on a windy night; he remembered the strange trees and flowers that grew only the southern forests; the taste of roast boar with honey. He remembered hands on his back, sliding against his arms, and a desperate, almost painful feeling welling in his chest: I'll love you forever. In that moment Narnia felt more real to him than anything else had ever been.
The apparition disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and it confirmed in everyone's minds that they needed to do something.A message from Aslan, they said, drinking tea and nodding to each other. Peter looked pale; Lucy was excited and nervous and couldn't stop talking. Eustace and Jill held hands under the table while Aunt Polly looked out the window, as if memorizing the stars.
Everything shattered in Edmund's mind after that, but he said nothing to the others. His memories felt even stranger than they had before; it wasn't just that he didn't remember, he only remembered certain things, as if someone had bored through his brain with a paring knife. He remembered the colour of the tablecloth at the high table at Cair Paravel, but not who sat to his right; he remembered dancing in the forest after dark but didn't remember who he was dancing with. Late at night as he fell asleep he remembered pulling someone into his arms feeling sun-warm skin under his lips, but didn't know who it could be. No names, no faces, no first kiss, first meeting, no memories of fighting, making up, making love. He had professed his undying love, he had promised himself forever to someone, somewhere, and now he betrayed that promise. It was in his nature to betray, it seemed; even without knowing it he was following the same path again and again.
He kissed Sandra one last time after that, on the lips, that morning as she fixed her hair. He was fond of her, he didn't want to hurt her, but this was no longer right. The idea of lying next to her made him think of Turkish Delight.
He had met her three years before, in music class. He played the trumpet, often too loud and too fast, and she played the flute. Once he had stayed behind the others and heard her playing a simple tune in low register. It had sounded familiar to Edmund, peaceful and beautiful. He’d watched her playing and liked the way her hair caught the light, the way she concentrated on the page in front of her. He’d asked her if she would have a drink with him and she had agreed to.
Sandra hadn’t known anything about Narnia. If Edmund had told her, she would have thought they were all crazy. She had found the engagement ring in Edmund's sock drawer and was so happy she’d cried.
Professor Kirke wires Peter and Edmund back that night: WILL MEET YOU AT PAD STOP SAT TEN AM STOP. Peter and Edmund understand the rest. They will send Eustace and Jill on to Narnia, they will all sit huddled on Edmund's living room floor and watch as the youngest ones touch the rings. Edmund will watch them quietly and feel jealous, wishing it were him going on to Narnia, wishing he hadn't squandered his time there eating bear meat and apples and complaining about the rain. There’s something else he should have done, something else he ought to have said. He can't remember what that is.
The train is scheduled to arrive at ten in the morning, and of course it is late. Edmund and Peter sit on the platform with their hands shoved into their pockets. The rings are still in the box, which still has dirt around the bottom of it. Peter hasn't touched it at all, there are still bits of grass on the sides of the rucksack. Why, Edmund thinks, those rings scare him too. This is reassuring to Edmund, that Peter too would be tempted. Has Peter also been destroyed by memories of Narnia, silently suffering as Edmund does, even just a little? Is this what happened to Susan? Has she turned her back on the rest of them because the nightmares don't make sense anymore?
Edmund glances at his watch and sighs. "Late again," he says. Peter nods and rubs his temples.
It isn't only the friends of Narnia they are expecting; it is their mother and father as well. They are concerned about Edmund, they want to know what happened with Sandra. He had an argument with his mother over the telephone, and he’s still a little sore over it. Yes he had broken up with Sandra, yes it was his fault, no he wasn't cheating on her. She tut-tutted and told him he was impossible; when she passed the telephone along his dad huffed and said, "But we liked her!" If they liked her so much, then they could marry her, couldn't they. He didn't mention the dreams, or Leaves of Grass.
Against Peter's always sage advice, Edmund had driven over to Sandra's house to drop off the rest of her things. He thought it was the polite thing to do, but she only cried at the sight of him. He was uncomfortable, he didn't really know how he should feel. Sad? Heartbroken? He felt nothing, mostly. Tired though, and guilty.
He had asked for the engagement ring back. He got what he wanted, the ring thrown at him across the table in her favourite restaurant, the bed to himself again, the bathroom counter cleared of perfumes and creams and pink razors. He was relieved, but he knew he was supposed to feel something else. So he just walked back and forth from the car, passing boxes to Sandra's roommate, and avoided making eye contact. He mumbled an apology at the half-closed door and drove back his flat. It felt good to be alone again. There must be something wrong with him. Maybe he really was a monster. Narnia has ruined me, he thought, closing his eyes and hoping for another dream.
"We're coming down tomorrow morning," his mum had announced over the phone as Edmund pretended to have something burning on the stove. He had thought to protest, but there wasn't much he could do. They are coming, and on the same train they are already forced to meet. Edmund already envisions the conversation they will have over lunch and dreads it. He doesn't know what he’s going to say.
When the train approaches, it's coming too fast, it's leaning strangely to the right and looks as if it's poised to run right off the platform. The engine sounds wrong.
"Peter," Edmund says. He looks over and sees Peter's hand clutching the rucksack with the rings in it, his face pale.
"I can hear him," Peter whispers.
There is a great screeching, metal against metal, someone screaming on the platform, pressure against his chest. Edmund feels himself pushed off his feet and shoved against a wall; there is something hot and sticky against his throat. As he loses consciousness, he is sure he can almost hear a pipe in the distance, sounding like wood and leaves and wine casks; he longs more than anything to follow it.
rating: PG at best
Characters: Edmund. Edmund angsting about Bacchus, without remembering that Bacchus is in fact Bacchus. It's kind of complicated, really.
summary: Hmm. Edmund angsts. See 'Characters'.
spoilers: Well, this one is set in The Last Battle. But there are references to The Silver Chair, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Prince Caspian, and The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. Also sort of to the The Magician's Nephew, really. A little. It's one of those all in one fics.
Special thanks to
quire, and bonibaru for the betas. Especially bonibaru, who puts up with my obvious drunkenness.This fic is a the third in a sequence. The first is Turkish Delight, the second is Tame. This one needs a title. I'm at a loss. I thought of calling it Rings, but that's a dumb title, really. You tell me, if you will. What should I call this thing?
In the dream his face is underwater, and he can see everything. The water is warm and sunlight is spiking through the surface. There are strange women floating past under him; they have green hair, pale skin, webbed fingers. They are talking and laughing, but he can't hear anything until the bubbles of air from their mouths reach his ears. Even then he can only catch a word or two before the bubbles burst and water fills his ears again. Lost, tame, dance, love. Words without context the women think are funny; they twirl around in the water and push lilies behind their ears.
On the lake bottom there's a man, a boy, really. He's lying naked among water vines and thick-stemmed flowers; there are fish swimming around him. His eyes are shut and his arms and legs shift with the water and the silvery bodies of the fish caress him. Sad, betrayed, sleeping. There are linden leaves in his hair. The women are still laughing, and when he looks toward the surface of the water he can see his own hands under water. His fingers are covered with rings. Yellow and green. For a moment, just before he wakes, he believes that he is trapped in a wardrobe filled with water, and that he is dead.
Edmund Pevensie pulls up a shovelful of dirt and scatters it into the grass in front of his brother Peter. It is nearly six o'clock in the morning, and they are trespassing in the garden behind one particular row house in the East End.
"If anyone asks," Peter says, "we're checking on a broken water main."
Two weeks ago Peter had gone in search of coveralls and tools while Edmund looked up the address Professor Kirke gave them, searching city records to see who lives in the row house these days. It’s a young couple with two small children, the purchase of the property made three years prior. If they sneaked into the garden early enough no one would ever know they had been there. Everyone seemed pleased with this plan, but to Edmund it seems all wrong.
A young couple, professional; two children. Two children with imaginations and trowels, with sticky fingers and dirty fingernails that have certainly sunk into the earth in their own garden. What if they have found the rings already? What if they are adult monarchs in Narnia by now, sleeping in the bed that used to be his, drinking from those golden goblets and resurrecting the White Witch? What if they have turned into monsters and gathered up all the talking animals, the fauns, the centaurs and dryads, and shot them through their innocent heads with silver bullets? What if they have poured arsenic in the rivers and burnt the forests to the ground? Edmund doesn't trust them, no matter how sweet and lovely their school photographs are. They could be demons. They could be the harbingers of doom that makes the others so sure they are needed in Narnia again.
Children are never just children, not in this place. They could be living lies, as Edmund has been himself, just adults turned back on themselves and twisted inside out. Children could be just memoryless shells who had at one time been other people, in some other place. Edmund has nightmares about these children, blond and blue eyed, innocent in England but blood-drinking tyrants in Narnia. He dreams that they pull down Cair Paravel stone by stone and chop down the linden tree that grew outside his bedroom window there. In his nightmares he pleads for forgiveness from Lucy, from Aslan, from other, nameless creatures with wild hair and sad eyes. But he never recieves it. When he wakes he isn't sure whether the linden tree had been real or not, if it was a memory or an invention.
He has many nightmares these days.
Edmund and Peter had gotten up at four that morning as planned, blearily rolling out of bed in Edmund's London flat and trouping up to the East End in their coveralls. They need to dig up twelve old rings; six yellow, six green. Professor Kirke buried them years ago around a Narnian tree he planted there, the tree that had turned into the old wardrobe, which sits in a place of honour in Professor Kirke's new house in Birmingham.
It was strange to see the wardrobe again. He remembers it more clearly than anything else; he remembers teasing Lucy, pressing his fists against the back of the thing, first while laughing and then later while crying. It had been tragic, leaving Narnia, but Edmund can't remember why anymore. Other than the fact that being a child was an inherently tragic thing, under the constant control of someone else. After a while he’d stopped noticing even that.
All that remains of the tree in the garden of the old row house is a flat stump razed so close to the ground they almost miss it. It was Aslan's will that Professor Kirke bury those old rings all those years ago; it was for the protection of humankind, or of Narnia, or both. It was for their own good, to keep them from grabbing at the rings and running away to Narnia whenever their hearts were broken. For their own good. No one else seems to think that maybe digging up the rings now is wrong.
They rake up the grass around the tree stump and Edmund pushes the shovel into the earth. He dumps piles of dirt in front of Peter, who sifts through it shovelful by shovelful with gloves on. Neither of them say anything. The first ring Peter finds is green, and he looks at it hard, holds it up into the air as if the pre-dawn light will reveal something on its surface, some mark of Narnia he might recognize. After a moment he tosses it into a box and keeps searching, not looking Edmund in the eye.
Once all the earth down to about a foot around the stump is in piles in front of Peter, Edmund pulls an old sieve out from his rucksack and sits down next to his brother, using a trowel and wishing his own gloves had holes in them. Six yellow rings, six green ones. More than enough to take us all home, but Edmund doesn't say so.
Edmund hasn't been thinking much about Narnia over the last few years. When he last returned from the place he had been thirteen, and the memories had drained from him faster than ever before. Three days after they had returned Lucy asked him about where he thought Reepicheep had ended up, and Edmund didn't remember what 'Reepicheep' was. After a year or two even Caspian's name sounded foreign, and it was only Lucy's stories, told vividly and often, that reminded him that anything had ever happened to them in a place called 'Narnia' at all. Truthfully he had almost laughed out loud when Professor Kirke called.
"Something's not quite right," he’d said. "I think we're going to be needed in Narnia soon."
Needed? Why would they be needed in Narnia? Why would a place filled with miracles and talking animals need them? He had been packing up clothes and dishes in his apartment when Professor Kirke called. He dropped a candy dish when the phone rang and cut himself trying to clean up the shards while making affirmative noises into the receiver. Yes of course, I'll come up to Birmingham. Yes, we should all get together and talk about it. Lucy had given Professor Kirke his new telephone number, and Edmund could almost feel her stern look on him as he wrote down Professor Kirke's address and discussed trains, times and dates. "Lucy said I should call you here," the Professor said, as if to refocus those invisible eyes that pierced Edmund through. He would go, even if he remembered nothing at all. Even if he had to drink too much to account for his eyes glazing over. He dumped the broken glass and stuck his bloody finger in his mouth.
What vague memories he had of Narnia had come back to him over dinner with the others in Professor Kirke's dining room. Caspian, Trumpkin, the sweet water at the edge of the world. A golden man in the bottom of a river, fairly glowing in the sunlight. Turkish delight in an elegant box, so attractive and forbidden; the sound of a stone cracking at dawn. Vague images of creatures whose names he didn't remember had flooded his brain while he broke a dinner roll and considered the elegant silver scroll on the handle of the butter knife.
The others had seemed to remember more than he did, even Peter. Eustace told the whole story of his adventures, with Jill inserting details here and there. Conversations they’d had, obstacles they had overcome, riddles, the smell of powder dumped on a fire. What Edmund always remembered more than anything else was his own guilt, his betrayal, and how, even though it all sounded like a fairy tale to him, he couldn't believe anything the others said was false. He couldn't add betrayal to betrayal. He nodded along to whatever Lucy said, but understood why Susan didn't want to be there.
They left a chair for Susan at the dinner table, but she hadn’t shown up.
By twenty past seven in the morning Edmund and Peter have all twelve rings in a metal box and Edmund shovels the earth back around the stump. It feels odd to Edmund to have them; rings that could take them back to Narnia when they are supposed to be no longer allowed to return. Imagine: a million questions answered, the gaps in Edmund's brain filled with something other than the smell of violets and grass. He prods the blank spaces in his memory as though they are a missing tooth, still hoping for something more solid than the vague taste of blood.
For a moment Edmund looks at the box in Peter's hands and considers grabbing it, running to the car and driving off. If he just disappears, really, who would miss him? What difference would it make?
Of course it is Edmund who imagines disobeying Aslan's direct command, scrapping all of their carefully laid plans and running back into the arms of some childhood dream of his own importance. Edmund the Betrayer. Peter just snaps the box shut and tosses it into his rucksack. Like a fairy tale hero, like a perfect High King. Edmund is baffled and envious of Peter's supreme faith, his self-control.
They hurry towards the car as quietly as possible, holding the rakes low so they won't scrape against the windows.
Edmund turns the key in the ignition just as a light appears in one of the upstairs bedrooms. They are safely out of the neighbourhood before anyone can notice them. Edmund keeps an eye on a tailgater behind him when Peter asks the inevitable question.
"Any word from Sandra?" Peter looks out the window as he asks, as though it is a casual question.
Of course he asks about it. It’s a distraction, something to talk about other than Narnia, other than Aslan and the old dented wardrobe in Professor Kirke's small house in Birmingham. Edmund and his failures, it’s up there with Susan and her horrible boyfriends and the overly-wet weather. Harmless topics. Harmless to everyone but Edmund, of course, who is still having nightmares.
He winces and hits the gas pedal a little too hard. "No, not since last week." Last week he answered the telephone and Sandra had been in tears. Still in tears, still livid. The sound of his voice made her collapse into a heap of sniffs and wet coughs. He hadn’t known what to say anymore, he’d put the phone down too quickly, pretended to be busy. She had wanted to know if he was sure.
"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" Peter looks at him.
Edmund swerves around a corner. "Define 'right'."
"Ed, if you call her and apologize, explain, I'm sure she'd-"
"Don't even start, Peter. I've heard this all from Lucy, you know." Why does everyone want to give him advice about his love life? "Besides, there's nothing to explain. She wants to get married, I don't. End of story."
Peter drops his hands into his lap and sighs. There is a long silence while Edmund takes out his anger on the street in front of them and Peter stares blankly out the passenger-side window. "Better wire Professor Kirke about the rings," he says finally.
Edmund shakes his head. "I hope Eustace is ready for this. What if Professor Kirke is wrong? What if they don't want them?" He pulls into his parking space in front of his flat.
"He's not wrong, Ed. Don't you feel it? Aslan is calling us. When I'm sleeping it's all I can hear. And I see his eyes. Don't you? His eyes, looking at me like he's waiting for me to do this."
Edmund doesn't say anything. He too has been having strange dreams, dreams that make him certain that he’s made all the wrong choices. He woke up nearly a month ago from a dream he couldn't remember and had turned to see Sandra's hair on the pillow, her leg dangling off the side of the bed, and had known this wasn't right, he was in the wrong place altogether. He’d gotten out of bed and paced back and forth in the living room, stubbing his toe on the coffee table and sobbing into the cushions on the couch like the world was ending. Something was terribly wrong.
They’d had one of their fights one night and Edmund fell asleep on the couch rather than in bed. She pursed her lips and asked if he was cheating on her, and he tossed out a sour "of course not." Her mother didn't like them living together, she wanted to see an engagement ring. Sandra had circled a reasonably priced one in a catalogue and left it on the table open to the right page. She dropped hints about her ring size and talked about her mother's visit in the spring. Edmund had known he was too young for the game, but it was expected and even Lucy had been dropping sly questions.
After that he had started to remember strange things. Glossy black hair under his fingers, skin browned from the sun and breath on his shoulder. Leaves everywhere, the smell of wine and sweat. I'll love you forever, who says that anymore? He had chalked it up to romantic escapism or some program Sandra was watching on television. He glanced at the catalogue and his hands had started to shake; he had thought he was just scared to commit, it was some kind of masculine ennui. He had bought the ring but left it in his sock drawer.
He dreamed of a silhouette in his window, moonlight streaming in against the night, his chest constricting with something that made it hard to breathe. It was real desire, not the pale imitation of it he had been living. He woke up feeling like his life here was a lie and not once did he think about Narnia. When he realized the figure in his dreams was a man he went to the book store and picked up a copy of Leaves of Grass.
As if a phantom caress’d me, I thought I was not alone, walking here by the shore. The dreams became clearer and clearer. Sandra had poked him awake a few times, shook him and pulled him into her arms because she had woken up to the sound of him crying.
"What is it?" She whispered. "What is it, love? What's wrong?" But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by the shoreÑthe one I loved, that caress’d me, As I lean and look through the glimmering lightÑthat one has utterly disappear’d. He told her he'd had a nightmare, and he wasn't entirely lying. In the dream he passed through coats in Professor Kirke's wardrobe and realized that had taken a wrong turn and left something precious behind. A vow, a promise, an entire lifetime. He couldn't turn back, there was only solid wood behind him, a history of love half an inch beyond his reach. Glossy hair, violets, the sound of a pipe, the stain of wine on his stomach. Edmund felt something burning inside him and was afraid it would leave scars on his skin.
Later on he had admitted to Lucy that he had been having dreams, that he'd been remembering things, in a manner of speaking. She smiled.
"It's Aslan," she had said, happy. "He's reminding you why you love Narnia, why Narnia loves you. He's asking for your help."
It hadn’t felt at all like Aslan to Edmund, unless Aslan had wine-red lips like that, wine-red lips that tasted like fruit and rainwater. He had woken up feeling as though he were about to call someone's name, as if he were about to be called. He woke and felt certain that in the dream he knew everything, but he never remembered. The dreams didn't coincide with any of the stories Lucy told him about Narnia; after dinner in Birmingham Edmund had gently asked her about a dark-haired boy who danced, but Lucy just shook her head and shrugged.
"We were in Narnia for so many years," she had said. "Sorry Ed, I don't know. Perhaps it's a friend of yours we didn't know." Lucy always had faith, even in strange dreams that made no sense. Edmund wasn't sure how to separate fantasy and memory; but then, he never had been certain there was a difference.
At dinner in Birmingham with all the others there had been an apparition that changed everything. They had just finished dinner and Lucy had been about to get up to help with the tea when the Narnian man appeared in front of them. He seemed to be tied to a tree, he looked terrified. The Professor knocked his wine glass to the floor and Lucy and Jill screamed. Edmund had felt a rush of air on his face and suddenly remembered what it felt like to be standing by the water near Cair Paravel on a windy night; he remembered the strange trees and flowers that grew only the southern forests; the taste of roast boar with honey. He remembered hands on his back, sliding against his arms, and a desperate, almost painful feeling welling in his chest: I'll love you forever. In that moment Narnia felt more real to him than anything else had ever been.
The apparition disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and it confirmed in everyone's minds that they needed to do something.A message from Aslan, they said, drinking tea and nodding to each other. Peter looked pale; Lucy was excited and nervous and couldn't stop talking. Eustace and Jill held hands under the table while Aunt Polly looked out the window, as if memorizing the stars.
Everything shattered in Edmund's mind after that, but he said nothing to the others. His memories felt even stranger than they had before; it wasn't just that he didn't remember, he only remembered certain things, as if someone had bored through his brain with a paring knife. He remembered the colour of the tablecloth at the high table at Cair Paravel, but not who sat to his right; he remembered dancing in the forest after dark but didn't remember who he was dancing with. Late at night as he fell asleep he remembered pulling someone into his arms feeling sun-warm skin under his lips, but didn't know who it could be. No names, no faces, no first kiss, first meeting, no memories of fighting, making up, making love. He had professed his undying love, he had promised himself forever to someone, somewhere, and now he betrayed that promise. It was in his nature to betray, it seemed; even without knowing it he was following the same path again and again.
He kissed Sandra one last time after that, on the lips, that morning as she fixed her hair. He was fond of her, he didn't want to hurt her, but this was no longer right. The idea of lying next to her made him think of Turkish Delight.
He had met her three years before, in music class. He played the trumpet, often too loud and too fast, and she played the flute. Once he had stayed behind the others and heard her playing a simple tune in low register. It had sounded familiar to Edmund, peaceful and beautiful. He’d watched her playing and liked the way her hair caught the light, the way she concentrated on the page in front of her. He’d asked her if she would have a drink with him and she had agreed to.
Sandra hadn’t known anything about Narnia. If Edmund had told her, she would have thought they were all crazy. She had found the engagement ring in Edmund's sock drawer and was so happy she’d cried.
Professor Kirke wires Peter and Edmund back that night: WILL MEET YOU AT PAD STOP SAT TEN AM STOP. Peter and Edmund understand the rest. They will send Eustace and Jill on to Narnia, they will all sit huddled on Edmund's living room floor and watch as the youngest ones touch the rings. Edmund will watch them quietly and feel jealous, wishing it were him going on to Narnia, wishing he hadn't squandered his time there eating bear meat and apples and complaining about the rain. There’s something else he should have done, something else he ought to have said. He can't remember what that is.
The train is scheduled to arrive at ten in the morning, and of course it is late. Edmund and Peter sit on the platform with their hands shoved into their pockets. The rings are still in the box, which still has dirt around the bottom of it. Peter hasn't touched it at all, there are still bits of grass on the sides of the rucksack. Why, Edmund thinks, those rings scare him too. This is reassuring to Edmund, that Peter too would be tempted. Has Peter also been destroyed by memories of Narnia, silently suffering as Edmund does, even just a little? Is this what happened to Susan? Has she turned her back on the rest of them because the nightmares don't make sense anymore?
Edmund glances at his watch and sighs. "Late again," he says. Peter nods and rubs his temples.
It isn't only the friends of Narnia they are expecting; it is their mother and father as well. They are concerned about Edmund, they want to know what happened with Sandra. He had an argument with his mother over the telephone, and he’s still a little sore over it. Yes he had broken up with Sandra, yes it was his fault, no he wasn't cheating on her. She tut-tutted and told him he was impossible; when she passed the telephone along his dad huffed and said, "But we liked her!" If they liked her so much, then they could marry her, couldn't they. He didn't mention the dreams, or Leaves of Grass.
Against Peter's always sage advice, Edmund had driven over to Sandra's house to drop off the rest of her things. He thought it was the polite thing to do, but she only cried at the sight of him. He was uncomfortable, he didn't really know how he should feel. Sad? Heartbroken? He felt nothing, mostly. Tired though, and guilty.
He had asked for the engagement ring back. He got what he wanted, the ring thrown at him across the table in her favourite restaurant, the bed to himself again, the bathroom counter cleared of perfumes and creams and pink razors. He was relieved, but he knew he was supposed to feel something else. So he just walked back and forth from the car, passing boxes to Sandra's roommate, and avoided making eye contact. He mumbled an apology at the half-closed door and drove back his flat. It felt good to be alone again. There must be something wrong with him. Maybe he really was a monster. Narnia has ruined me, he thought, closing his eyes and hoping for another dream.
"We're coming down tomorrow morning," his mum had announced over the phone as Edmund pretended to have something burning on the stove. He had thought to protest, but there wasn't much he could do. They are coming, and on the same train they are already forced to meet. Edmund already envisions the conversation they will have over lunch and dreads it. He doesn't know what he’s going to say.
When the train approaches, it's coming too fast, it's leaning strangely to the right and looks as if it's poised to run right off the platform. The engine sounds wrong.
"Peter," Edmund says. He looks over and sees Peter's hand clutching the rucksack with the rings in it, his face pale.
"I can hear him," Peter whispers.
There is a great screeching, metal against metal, someone screaming on the platform, pressure against his chest. Edmund feels himself pushed off his feet and shoved against a wall; there is something hot and sticky against his throat. As he loses consciousness, he is sure he can almost hear a pipe in the distance, sounding like wood and leaves and wine casks; he longs more than anything to follow it.
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no subject
Date: 2003-03-22 08:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-22 08:23 pm (UTC)title ideas
Date: 2003-03-22 08:25 pm (UTC)I like your short and one-word titles...
*fangirls your use of Narnia canon here, and your going beyond it so brilliantly*
Re: title ideas
Date: 2003-03-22 09:40 pm (UTC)how (turkishly) delightful
Date: 2003-03-22 08:26 pm (UTC)And it does feel very well-brewed in your craftmanship. I've only given it a once over; although, it deserves and warrants closer reads (if I can put off my "Ivy-fan" cap in order to read constructively).
What charms me most is how well you answer the questions of what post-Narnia-syndrome must be like for each of the characters individually. I like Edmund (so much I recently named my new ivy after him . . . I'll let you draw the conclusions). Still, I've always had a soft spot for Peter and particularly enjoyed that contrast in this bit.
*smiles* next please . . . yeah, I'm waiting for the E/B reunion.
Re: how (turkishly) delightful
Date: 2003-03-22 09:41 pm (UTC)Re: how (turkishly) delightful
Date: 2003-03-22 09:49 pm (UTC)Truthfully, the tidbits of canon that tickle my childhood memories of the books are marvelous. That's why I keep waiting for more--I'm reliving the series through this tangent.
(Psst . . . thanks for helping Ivy out. Keep her encouraged and on task! *grins*)
no subject
Date: 2003-03-22 08:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-22 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-23 03:13 am (UTC)Thank you!
/Betty
*runs away to read the Narnia books again*
no subject
Date: 2003-03-23 05:09 am (UTC)One day I will learn how to make insightful, interesting comments.
no subject
Date: 2003-03-23 05:11 am (UTC)"Things in Boxes"
"Station"
"Moments Before"
"The Boy, Beneath"
I quite liked "Rings" as title.
no subject
Date: 2003-03-23 09:32 am (UTC)As for a title suggestion, how about "Calling"