LOWBORN : Edmund Pevensie

28

"You must come with me," Evangeline says. "I cannot bear to do it alone."

We are in my room once more, and she is pleading with me. I want to remind her we are equals now, but she seems to understand that. At least, she isn't demanding. Her voice is quiet and meek where it is usually loud and shrill.

"I'm not a fighter," I remind her. "This is not my cross to bear."

She mumbles something under her breath, but when I turn around to face her not a word is on her lips. Her eyes are wide and her mouth shut tight. I move back to folding my linens.

"Well, it ought to be," she snaps. "You know, you should take some responsibility for this all. None of us would be in this predicament if it weren't for me."

I whip around to face her. "No, none of us would be in this predicament if it weren't for your father. I did what I could."

She doesn't argue with me but instead leaves. I sulk in my room for the next hour, trying to read a book I procured from the library but with no luck. A curse is still carved into my door. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe, some of this is my fault. I'm not sure how much, but some of it is at the very minimum.

Eventually, I resign myself to going to the training fields. When I arrive there, the royals have sequestered themselves into a corner of the field. I follow after them, watching as Evangeline charges with a claymore at a stick figure. She attempts to swipe at it, but it seems that fields haven't grown her arms as strong as she might think. She is slow, and she drags. The sword hits the figure, but it would be too late if she was actually attacked.

Edmund sees me and heads over. He gestures for me to take his arm, and he leads me inside the armoury.

"Evangeline said you weren't coming," he says. "Couldn't resist me, could you?"

I smile, looking down at my feet. "I was hoping to fight."

"You can't," he stops and looks at me. "I mean, you shouldn't. It'd be pretty cool if you did, don't get me wrong. Just..."

"I'm not strong enough," I finish for him. My fingers were made for fine movements. The biggest of which is making a bed. "I could become an archer?"

"We aren't training archery right now," he tells me. "You could ask Susan to practice with you?"

Inside the armoury, he suits me up with a leather vest. It would, hopefully, not be what I would wear in battle. It's bulky and restrictive. I wonder what armour, if any, archers wear. I am out of my element. This was always a possibility, but there hasn't been a war in Narnia since I was a little girl. That was specifically due to the White Witch, who specifically kept out of our way if we weren't bothersome.

"That should fit," Edmund says, smoothing the leather down. He grabs me by the collar of the leather vest and pulls me in.

I kiss him, briefly, worried that someone might see. He laughs and shakes his head at me.

"You afraid, Theodosia?" he asks. "No one is going to come."

"It's enough being the traitor, I can't stand to be a seductress as well," I point out.

Edmund grips my shoulders. He scans my face and settles in on my eyes. "Who's giving you grief?"

"Everyone?" I move my shoulders, shrugging out of his grip.

"Tell me who, and I'll get them to knock it off," he says.

I sigh. He'd have to fight the best swordsman in the land to do that.