CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
DOUBT
✧✧✧
"I say, we throw a summer's ball next month!" the High King announced in a rather jolly mood, lifting his polished, golden goblet as he made the announcement.
Edmund's cutlery slipped from his grasp, and he gawked at his dear older brother, mid-chew. God, not another one. He mentally groaned, moving to briefly shake his head and continue eating his half-eaten bowl of porridge with one hand. His other hand, as mentioned before, was still in treatment as he'd injured it during the battle just last week. It was something he began using as an excuse, just to have Rose weekly attend to his injury in the infirmary.
After her expertly performance of voluntarily tending to the soldiers' wounds, Edmund had taken it upon himself to recommend her to Peter, as the physician's last assistant had abandoned the job (due to much more personal issues for me to tell you about). He thought Rose would be perfect for it, she had worked so well with the patients, helping them with their every need with such patience and kindness. She was quick, she could attend to their wounds faster than others. He just possibly couldn't. However, it was starting to look like another excuse just to see her, strangely.
It was not like she wasn't glad to see him show up so often either. In fact, Edmund was confident enough to say Rose looked forward to seeing him, even after she had endlessly jested about him being a pain in the ass and awfully infuriating. "You never miss an appointment, do you, Ed?" she would say, or "Right on time!" in her usual cheery manner. Then he would proceed to make a comment about him receiving sweets at the end of the session, just like doctors gave their patients back in England. To which Rose would respond with a shake of her head. And that simply kept him wanting to return again and again.
Although, the reason for it was unknown to him. All Edmund knew was that she swirled about in his thoughts often. Perhaps more often than she should, and for it, he would be uncharacteristically mindful of every little thing he would say or do around her. It was starting to become a bit of a habit, in fact.
But really, we are drifting away from the situation at the moment.
"Oh? What made you think of it? This is quite unusual for you," Susan said rather nonchalantly, cutting the knife into her food. Usually, she would be the one to announce that they were throwing a ball, having already planned most of the event with her younger sister two weeks in advance. Except this time, it was not the case apparently.
"Oh, how marvelous! I say, we do it," the youngest of the six sitting around the dinner table had spoken, her chirpy voice dripping with enthusiasm. "We could commemorate Narnians and the fallen, too, let them know their sacrifices were not in vain; that they are not forgotten."
"Precisely, Lu," Peter placed his goblet atop the lavish tablecloth on the table. Then, he proceeded to answer his sister's question, "Well, I just figured it would be a brilliant idea (just like dear Lu here said) to commemorate our people and fallen soldiers." At this, his sky-blue eyes darted to Anne sitting at the other end of the table, albeit briefly. The corners of her lips had returned his subtle smile with a hint of rosy in her cheeks. It happened all-too quickly that if you'd blinked in that moment, you wouldn't have been able to see it.
Peter thought this short exchange had gone unnoticed, at least to some of the others sitting around the table, but not to his brother and his overly curious friend. Whose gazes had also met when the latter had been taking a sip of her goblet's contents. A smile had graced Edmund's features almost straight-away, and creases appeared in the corners of his eyes as he did so. He did not forget the way his heart had sped up when her gentle gaze lingered on him.
Interesting, the look of mischief on his face said when their gazes met across the table once again.
Quite exciting, indeed, said hers. She bit into a small remaining piece of barley bread. Oh, what a lovely pair, indeed!
"Well," Susan's voice then cut through the piercing silence between them with a soft sigh, "I suppose that can be arranged. What do you think, Edmund? Or do you not wish to attend, again? I think this might be the perfect opportunity for you to—"
Edmund's gaze promptly flickered back to his finished bowl, and he scraped the remains of porridge stuck to the sides with his spoon to distract himself. "No, no. I'll go, I'll go."
Peter, seemingly impressed at his quick response and agreement to attend, hummed to himself, pleased. "I did not think you'd want to attend. That was unusual, even for you, Ed."
"When I do not wish to go somewhere, you complain," Edmund said, "and when I do, you complain too. Besides, it's the soldiers we are commemorating, of course I will be attending."
"Well, we just did not think you'd want to go, seeing as you always complain whenever there is a social event," Susan added.
"Whatever do you mean? I adore social events." Edmund scoffed, letting his fork slip with a reverberating clang on the now empty bowl. "Just not formals, but I am agreeing to attend just this one time."
Partly because he would have to stand pretty for almost the entirety of the ball, greet the all-too talkative lords and ladies of the court, and talk about politics for several hours. When all he wished was to rest for eternity, if he could. But alas, his duties as a king — which he was forever grateful for, but sometimes were quite tedious — eternally bound him to his study room. But he would do absolutely anything for the love of their people, as would his brother and sisters, now that was clear.
"Well, it depends on the occasion, really," Edmund then clarified, applying jam to his toast.
"See? Well, there you have it," Peter muttered at last, piling another plate with a slice of barley bread and egg. At last, the six sitting around the table finished their breakfast with nothing more than the gentle hum of the calm wind.
✧
She focused on that deriding little target just a few feet away from her. That little target, whose crimson and white circles tainting the fabric of the frame mocked her, daring her to miss it.
She took a shaky, deep breath and aimed, the razor-sharp edge of the arrow pointing at the center of the target. Her arms grew heavy as she struggled to held them in place, and the arrow shaft felt numb against her cheekbone. She thought she was in a film, suspense rising, stakes high, as she dared to let go of the piercing arrow.
Her fingers just barely left the arrow, when an all-too familiar voice — that had become the source of her growing irritation just now — caused her to miss the deriding target. But it was not like she was going to hit it, anyways.
"Are you aware that you have zero coordination at all?"
Of course, for who else could it possibly be other than Edmund Pevensie? He was not wrong, though, her aim was awful.
Rose could spot the crimson feather of her arrow punctured into the soil several feet away from the target.
"Well, I would certainly like to see you try, Your Majesty," Rose mumbled back, her arms falling limp on her sides, heavy with sweat and exhaustion. Her chest heaved, feeling her skin get flooded with warmth from the scorching summer sun. When she turned, her suspicions were proven true, it was Edmund. Sporting his typical training attire: a mere lavender with the top two buttons undone, dark-brown trousers, and the worn-out boots that still fit him from when he was sixteen. Why, the cherry on top would be his folded arms across his chest, and an air of feigned arrogance clinging to him.
"Have you even held a bow before in your life?" the lady strolled to the refreshments table, just where Edmund was leaning against. When he did not respond, she continued, "No? Then, I do not see why you, of all people, should be criticizing my poor archery skills." She poked his arm, turning to lean against the oak table next to him as well. She mimicked him, feigning the same arrogance he held.
"No, but I would probably be better than you at it."
"Oh?" Rose mirrored his stance and gestured at the five targets scattered across the field, aligned with the mossy, stone wall feet away from them. "Have at it, then. I would like to see you try," she challenged, setting her goblet on the table.
Edmund laughed. "You know," he began, "since you are so eager to beat me, why don't we have a... friendly, little duel? Settle things between us. I mean, you were the one who came up with the idea, after all."
"It would not be fair." Rose crossed her arms.
"And why not? Are afraid you will not win?"
"No, you wouldn't be able to beat me and my flawless dueling skills." She smiled. "Honestly, Edmund, who came up with such idea? It's like setting yourself up for failure!"
Edmund could not help but smile at her. "Yet, just two days ago you told me you were still learning how to properly hold the sword. I mean, if that isn't supreme expertise from your part, I do not know what is," he jested.
"I know right," Rose nudged him arm with her elbow playfully. "Whoever pronounced you as the finest swordsman was seriously wrong. Clearly they have not met me." She lifted her chin, pleased with herself. Edmund softly laughed and she shook her head, taking another refreshing sip of her water. "No. I do admit, I stink at both archery and sword-fighting."
"You're not as awful as you say you are, you just need some pointers and practice. Practice does not make perfect, it makes process. Trust me, I know." She merely watched him as he spoke, thoughtful. "Do you think I was born with this otherworldly swordsmanship? Of course not, I just trained an awful lot, Ro," he said. "If anyone's an expert at improving, it's me."
"I suppose you're right. But I have been training for the past weeks."
He arched a brow. "For longer than ten minutes?"
"Yes! For an hour, as a matter of fact," Rose told him. "I remember when you told me that you should not train for too long; it is truly exhausting. I must say, though, I think I am improving."
At last she'd gotten used to the feel of the sword in her hands and the weight of it. It took her some time to get used to it, but now that she had spent several weeks training and learning new techniques whenever she could, no longer did she feel scared of them. It was not like she would scream whenever she saw a sword, it was just the thought of a blade being capable of slicing through bone as easily as knife cutting through melted butter that really infested in her mind. But now, after some training sessions, she'd gotten used to them.
"Well, then," Edmund wandered off towards the armory, smiling softly. "Why don't we test that theory?"
With that, the corners of the lady's mouth turned up in a smile mirroring his as she chased after him.
✧
"In my defense, I did say I was still learning!" Rose defended, when she crashed against the sandy ground for the fourth time now. She would not give up, though. Not yet, at least.
Beads of sweat glossed her forehead, seeping into her hair, and sand clung to her chin — where it had crashed on the itchy sand of the pit. Her heavy skirts hung to her legs, making it a difficult task dodging Edmund's swift blows, but she did not let it stop her. Her chest heaved, making it harder to breathe as she laid face-first against the ground. Her sword had flown out of her grasp when the forceful blow of his sword's pommel collided against her back. She felt as good as dead, honestly. Her articulations ached and throbbed, her forearms falling heavy after they held the weight of her sword for too long.
But instead, Rose smacked the rippled sand beneath her and with determination rushing through her, she firmly stated, "Again." She held onto held sword, lowering into the stance Edmund had taught her — as did he. She curtly nodded, preparing herself for the lunge that was to come.
Do not let your guard down. Stand your ground, he had told her many times before. Be alert. And so she was. When his swift lunge came, she stood her ground, held her sword, and their blades clashed. She parried his attacks, offending him with a counterattack after he took a step back. She would not attack him unless he did first.
Not long into the spar, she was growing tired. And quickly. The muscles of her arms ached. She parried his forceful blows again, retreating steps back and attacking again.
It was a pattern, Edmund had told her during their first training session: attack, parry, retreat. As she could not hold the blade much longer, she made an attempt to trip him. But not long after she placed her foot behind his as he parried and retreated, to trip him, they both crashed against the other. It resulted in an unfortunate position, at least to her.
When they landed on their backs, side by side, a second of silence went by before they burst into immediate laughter. She sat up, her hand flying to the back of her head, snorting. He massaged his elbow that had crashed against her ribs and he sat up, sand sticking to their exposed skin.
"That was awful!" she exclaimed, snorting as she turned to him, dusting the sand off his trousers and shirt's sleeves. "Pardon me, did I hit you?" She grinned, reaching out to help him stand.
Edmund scoffed. "Did you hit me?" he repeated. "Ro, you tripped and then pushed me." She howled with laughter, patting the unpleasant sand off her. He could not finish his sentence, he just joined in on her contagious laughter. "What were you trying to do, anyway?"
Rose could barely breathe, her stomach ached. "I was losing! I had to think of something." Perhaps, it was not as brilliant as I thought it would be.
"And you thought that pushing us to the ground would be a good idea?" Edmund exclaimed incredulously, the laughter slowly dissipating in the wind until it became a mere chuckle. He reached out to his sword laying feet away from the tangled mess of sand clinging to their exposed skin.
"No, I meant to trip you," she said, "but you pushed me with you." She shrugged, the remains of their laughter finally dying out. "But I will master that move."
He could not help but smile at this. "You just never give up, don't you?"
"Not for a very long while, no." Rose paused, her eyes darting to the two lone, smiling figures strolling about in the radiant gardens.
The soft wind carried their pleasant laughter, the kindest smiles practically lighting up both of their faces as they vanished behind one of the bushes rich with dandelions. The sight even brought a smile to her face when it became clear that it had been Peter and Anne merely going for a stroll. Her arm had been wrapped limply around his, while her free hand held a thin cane. Not to mention, Peter's hand had been delicately resting atop Anne's arm that had been wrapped around his. She was going on one of her daily walks around the castle grounds.
"You know," the lady began, hopeful, "we could always go again." She stretched her hand out to Edmund, beaming. "How about best of three?"
He, on the other hand, shook his head, wiping his sweat-glazed forehead with his shirt's sleeve. "Maybe some other time, Ro." He grabbed his tossed sword and started for the table of refreshments.
"Why not?" She followed him, her posture slack. "Could you at least give me a reason?"
"I'm tired and the sun isn't helping." Rose beside him groaned in complaint as he said this. "Besides, believe it or not, I am actually busy. I have some paperwork awaiting me after lunch," he explained, raising a cup to his lips. "Not everyone has all the time in the world, Ro."
"I do not have all the time in the world," she defended. "I have duties, too. I just so happened to have completed them earlier than usual. For you see, I could not wait to come out here. It's perfect to go for a swim." She gestured wildly at the trees enclosing them, toying with the sword in her hands.
"Is that why you did not come last night?" Edmund instantly inquired.
At this, her enthusiasm slightly toned down. "Yes. I went to sleep early last night. Your sister tells me it's bad for me apparently; to go to sleep at midnight every night, I mean."
He rolled his eyes. I barely even sleep at night and I'm fine, he thought, but did not say it. Only for the sole reason that it would cause Rose to worry for him and his unhealthy sleeping habits, even if she's just as bad as him. She might even tell Susan, and he did not want another person to constantly hover around him and worry. Although, it did feel nice when someone thought and looked after you, just sometimes.
"It's Susan. Of course she did."
"It feels rather nice when someone thinks of you, though." Rose leaned her elbow on the table. "Don't you think?"
"Yeah, it does," he said in a hushed voice, thoughtfully. He kept quiet for a few prolonged seconds before stating, "Fine, then. Let's do it."
She stood up straight, her eyebrows furrowing in inquiry. "Whatever do you mean?"
Edmund stretched his hand out, taking her hand limply in his and shaking it. "Best of three."
A smile grew on her features and she eagerly nodded, shaking his hand properly this time. "But I thought you had paperwork due today." She followed him out to the sunny, grassy fields again.
Edmund tried hard not to smile, too. He tried swallowing back the lump that had formed in his throat when she smiled. A smile that he had caused, and apparently, that hadn't caused an effect on him until that very moment when he realized.
He brought his finger to his mouth to make a silent gesture and glanced at the doors that lead to the corridors. "Shh. No one needs to know. I can just do those papers later." He laughed, the blazing sun beating down on them again. Much harsher this time as midday was quickly approaching. The sky was cloudless, a bright-blue towering over all the land without showing intention of wanting to rain.
"Oh, how admirable, Edmund!" Rose jested, interlocking her fingers to rest them under her chin in a praying gesture. "You postponed your paperwork, just for me. I swoon!" She bumped her shoulder against his.
"Don't flatter yourself, I just want to see you lose again." He got into position, feigning arrogance in his voice.
"Oh, you are horrible," she said, grinning as she got into the same position: both legs bent, sword placed in front, perfect posture. The blade of her glinted with the blazing sun, nearly blinding them both.
Edmund shrugged, seemingly nonchalant. "Why, thank you; but not at sword-fighting." He twirled the blade in his hands expertly. Just for a show.
"Show-off. I see how it is, then." Her eyes narrowed, her posture straightened, and she slightly bent her legs. She was careful not to grip the sword too tight, got it would be more difficult to actually attack her opponent. Finally, he lowered into his position, without wiping that grin off his face. He thought he was going to win. She took a deep breath, taking her time to twist her hair into a braid, and Edmund gave her a look.
He leaned all his weight on his foot, tapping his thumb against the pommel. "By Jove, the year will be over by the time you are done."
She smiled cheekily before swiftly lowering into her stance and catching him off guard. He ducked just in time for her lunge, swinging the glinting blade and their swords clashed for the first time that duel. He parried a series of quick attacks before she swung her sword at his feet and he jumped. She dodged his swift blow, running off to the side of the pitch, panting and her chest tight and burning.
He scoffed, taking an abrupt stop. "You can't do that in a real battle; you'll get killed." Their chests heaved, both struggling to catch their breaths.
Rose rested her hands on her knees. "I'm just taking a break. Let me catch my breath first." She held a finger in his direction, turning to let air fill her lungs. "Oh, by Jove. It feels like my body's on fire."
He ran a hand through his jet-black hair with exasperation. "You—you can't just stop like that. In a real battle you won't get a chance to catch your breath, Ro. You, of all people, should know this by now."
"Yes, but this is not a real battle," she defended, clutching her sword now. "It's a spar. I'm allowed."
"No, you're not..." he sighed, "It's a—harmless duel. But regardless, you cannot run off like that." She moved to stand just in front of him, shrugging. "You have to stand your ground and face your opponent. All right?" Rose lazily nodded, lowering into the stance for the millionth time that morning. "All right. Let's go again, and no stopping abruptly this time."
"I promise."
Thus, the spar — or rather, harmless duel, as Edmund put it — recommenced with a lunge on his part. She swiftly blocked his blow and their blades clashed again, forming an X as she struggled to hold him off. Her muscles trembled as he placed more force on her, her teeth clenching. So, as gently as she could, she kneed him in the stomach and pushed him away, both panting as they watched each other like hawks, circling the other. His hand flew to his stomach as he bit back the pain with clenched teeth, an ache growing in his stomach.
She cheekily smiled, but it vanished when he lunged once again, more forceful this time. She parried, attack after attack, fending him off as she etched backwards, near the edge of the sandy pit. It all happened too quickly, her vision too blurry and the blows too quick to know what happened or what she did to disarm him. With a peculiar flick of her wrist, she parried his attack and, she did not know how on Earth it happened, but she disarmed him.
If she remembered correctly, she placed her foot behind his leg as she counter-attacked, causing him to stumble backward into the sand, his sword slipping from his sweaty hand.
Her mouth fell agape as she took a step back, glancing at her sword and the sprawled mess that was Edmund Pevensie. She disarmed him. She had actually disarmed him; won against him in a duel. He fell on his back, using his elbows to prop himself up.
"My gosh, I did it!" she spoke, incredulously, and ran her finger through her windswept hair. She laughed. "See? I beat you. I finally beat you!" she exclaimed triumphantly. She rested her hands on her waist and grinned, catching her breath. "Rule number-three, never fall for your opponent's tricks, Edmund Pevensie," she jested.
But just then, the air was knocked out of her lungs, her sword flew out of her hands, and the floor swayed beneath her. Her back hit the uneven ground with a painful thud, pain rushing to her temples and body.
Her vision was blocked when a blurry figure moved to tower over her, the icy, sharp tip of a sword resting right under her chin, lifting it. "Nice try, but rule number-three is actually to always make sure your opponent's dead. Especially before celebrating." Rose rolled her eyes, slowly pushing the blade away from her. "Nearly had me there, though," he offered her a hand up, seemingly impressed.
"Ouch." Rose winced when she rose to her feet, pressing her sleeve to the palm of her hand. It stung as though something had cut her and you poured alcohol over it to disinfect it. She shook the pain away, removing the now crimson stained sleeve, only to reveal a large gash across her palm, the thick liquid gushing out. Her skin slightly peeled away at the wound, now blotchy and red. She winced again.
"What's wrong?" Edmund asked when she moved to join him by the refreshments table, leaning against the edge.
"I cut myself," she swore when a wave of pain rushed to the new, open wound, stinging and burning. "I'm heading to the infirmary now. Thanks for today, I had fun. Until, you know, this part, I guess." She kindly smiled, curtsying in his direction as she did every time she bid him farewell. Her hair was a tangled mess as her little hairs spewed out of her braid, but still, she looked pretty as she turned and lazily waved at him. He did not wave back, though, he merely watched her.
It was at that moment when her words had sunk in his brain: what she'd said. She cut her hand, she was heading to the infirmary now. Thus with that, Edmund glanced around the fields and fetched her coat, rushing after her.
"Hold on." He found by the stairwell of the western wing on the other end of the corridor. "Blimey, you walk fast," he commented, struggling to catch his breath for the third time that same hour. He handed her the coat as she turned. "Here, you forgot it." His brown eyes flickered to her wound she'd been clutching with her hand all this time. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"
"It stings a bit, but otherwise, it's all right," Rose responded. "I'll just have to see how deep the gash is."
"I'll come with you," Edmund offered, and she smiled in gratitud as he took her brown coat for her, draping it over his forearm as they strolled down the corridor.
As they did, the silence that fell between the pair was too much for Edmund to bear, it was much too quiet. He wanted to say something, but he did not know what apart from asking if her wound hurt. Damnit, of course it hurt. All he knew is that he found himself sneaking glances at her every so often as they walked and the unmistakable feeling in his stomach when she'd smile at him just now. It was quite a long walk from the yards all the way to the infirmary, and truthfully, he did not know what was happening, he merely knew that he wanted to accompany her to the infirmary when he had paperwork due that afternoon for the meeting soon.
When they reached the hospital wing, and when they both stayed silent, not even uttering a single word, Rose rushed to the tall cupboard of medical supplies as she pressed her fingers to her palms in a fist. She fetched ointments, a cloth, and a small piece of fabric to wrap around her bleeding palm. "Could you fetch me a bowl of water? Over there," she said with a nod of her head, as she put more pressure on the wound with a soaked cloth.
When Edmund swiftly fetched her the bowl and brought it to her, she dipped her hand in the mildly cold bowl of water. The liquid sliced through her wound and removed the sticky blood off her hand, forming a dissipating halo around her submerged hand. She was rubbing the crimson liquid off with her thumb when Edmund suddenly inquired,
"Where did you learn to do all that?" He was leaning against one of the lumpy hospital beds, watching her work almost expertly.
She merely glanced over her shoulder briefly, still cleaning her wound as more blood gushed out. Yet she did not answer, too immersed.
When more silence followed after that, he corrected himself. "I mean... you did great when we returned from the battle the other day. With the patients, you know." He shifted his feet. "How—where did you learn to do all that?"
Edmund still recalled how she had quickly cleaned his injury and relieved some of the pain on his wrist almost in a blink of an eye. How she had scurried off back and forth helping the patients expertly, and not to mention, gently and caring; and even tried to cheer them all as they held crestfallen expressions. He would even dare say he was rather impressed at how quick she did it all.
At this, she took another glance at him over her shoulder, yet this time, it was longer. She stared back at her bowl, her lips forming a thin line at his seemingly innocent question. Begrudgingly, she took a short intake of breath and answered, "Frank, my father, taught me back at home. Long time ago, back when I first moved in with the Lovells." She turned to the bowl again, examining her hand closely. "Besides, your books really did help me when you were gone." She cracked a small smile, barely seen as it disappeared quickly after a second.
Rose turned to see him leaning against the cupboards now. She moved to take one of the stiff, rolled-up fabrics in a tin, and leaned against the edge, their bodies facing opposite directions. She seemingly recalled a memory, the corners of her mouth turning upwards again. He offered to help her wrap the bandage around the gash, for fortunately, it was not deep enough to really need stitches.
As she watched him unroll the stiff bandage, she told him, "As you know, my father's a doctor. Before he was called to the war to heal the wounded, he made sure I knew how to take care of myself." Edmund began wrapping the fabric around her stinging hand. "He taught me how to do stitches, how to wrap bandages, and whatnot, all in his study room as—oh, blasted me, what was her name?" She made a face, trying to remember the name of the lovely maid that would homeschool her, her name starting with an H.
"Oh, dear, I fear I do not remember her name." She gave up trying to rake through her deep memories to remember her name. "She was lovely and a good teacher at that. I do not remember her well anymore, but from what I do remember, she and father taught me all about medicine." She smiled softly as Edmund tied the ends of the fabric tightly, but not too tight that it stung too much.
"In fact, I see myself exploring medicine in the near future," Rose commented. "I mean, if we ever return home." Her expression fell, no longer did the sweet look upon her lit up her face as she recalled the memory. "Have you not thought about it once?" His brows crinkled up, "About if we will return home, or if we'll stay here?"
My, now that she mentioned it, he found himself thinking about it, deep.
Edmund supposed he had asked himself that very same question at least once when he was younger, but now that he'd grown, he did not find himself thinking about it. Not even once. He and his siblings were prepared to spend the rest of their lives in the wistful world of Narnia. Neither of them had even considered back home, where the war-streaked days caused more harm than good; where Edmund would find himself questioning rather often if his father was safe and when he would return home from the professor's antiqued mansion. But still, in this world, battles tainted their days, the fear of not knowing if they would return to the castle they'd grown to call their home, worry following them whenever they went.
It was a painful silence that was broken when she spoke, her fingers toying with the silly piece of bandage poking out from the small knot he'd made. "If I were to return home one day, I would see myself venturing across nursing. Helping people would bring me joy." It was not the fact that she wanted to become a nurse one day that made a feeling in his stomach plummet down on him, it was the fact that she even considered going back.
Edmund finally spoke, watching her. "Why, you want to return to England, is that it?" He thought she loved it here.
"No!" she interrupted, "It's not that. It's just that... don't you ever wonder about what my purpose here might be?" Her shoulders slumped, releasing a breath. "You and your siblings were brought here because of a prophecy, but why on Earth was I brought here? What is my purpose?" she inquired, her tone becoming lower and lower the more she spoke, solemn. "I just know mighty Aslan did not bring me here to merely serve your sister. He might have, but I do not think so."
"I wish I could tell you," he simply said, softly, but she did not say anything.
"I mean, is he really that great? Is he really all what you say he is?" Rose questioned herself, moving to rest her cheek upon her good hand on the nearest table.
"You're doubting because you have not seen him yet."
"Of course I am!" She threw her arms up dramatically, but immediately regretted it when a sharp pain shot to her bandaged gash. "Wouldn't you, too, should you be in my shoes?" He made a face. "I—I guess I do believe, I'm just... thinking about what my purpose here could be." Truth be told, Rose was starting to believe, yes. Believe that she was brought here by accident. Perhaps she was not intended to come, perhaps there was a mixup on their end. Anything could have happened, really. Who's to say it was an accident after all?
"I am certain you came here for a reason," Edmund tried, moving to face her now as she buried her face in her hands. "Don't you ever doubt it. Please." She did not believe him before and she did not believe him now. "Look at me, Ro," he snapped his fingers in front of her until he grabbed her attention again. When she finally looked at him, he tried comforting her, "For whatever reason you came here, you have a purpose. I'm sure you are important here."
"How could you be so sure?"
"He gave me hope when I thought all was lost." At this, she moved to look at him, seemingly reconsidering what she had said. "He helped me, Ro, in more ways than one. I knew him." Hell, he gave up his life for him. How could he not be indebted to him when it was all thanks to him and his siblings that he was there? Because, it was all thanks to him that he was alive, that he bore a title, a crown, that he was who he was now. He sacrificed himself for him, and he would kneel before him in gratitud for it.
Perhaps she would need to reconsider, to have more hope; the very same one she bore as a young girl, following her whenever she went. But for now, she would have to live with that doubt, that question. The strong doubt of the mighty Lion and all his air of greatness, her purpose in the enchanting world, and above all, the permanent blank stain tainting her early mind.
✧✧✧
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Thank you so much for reading!