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Edmund knows that perhaps self-control isn’t his winning trait, but he does pride in his ability to keep a good head on his shoulders in times of distress. Getting lost in uncharted waters or in the midst of the thick foliage of Narnian forests is no big drama to him, and he knows it never will be. After all, Edmund has always been able to step back, get his bearings straight and reassess his options before continuing on without any major hiccups.
So he wonders why he can’t do the same with Caspian’s newfound strange behaviour.
For whatever strange reason, it starts off right after their playful sword fight on the deck of the Dawn Treader. After the crowd has dispersed, still buzzing with energy from the thrilling show, Caspian slings an arm around him and grins.
“What?” Edmund says, a smile on his lips as he gulps down the drink offered to him by one of the shipmates.
“You’ve grown stronger, my King.”
Edmund nearly spits his drink out, surprised by the tingle the title , not to mention the possessive pronoun. There’s a tightening in his chest, and his first reaction is that he desperately wants Caspian to say it again. But he’s not one to nitpick and is clearly past the age to overreact like a lovestruck schoolboy, so he wipes his mouth on his sleeve and gives Caspian a lopsided grin. Perhaps Caspian is simply giddy with excitement over the prospect of Lucy and him being out in Narnia again. Hell, a single year feels like a lifetime to Edmund — he can’t imagine three years in Narnia.
He shakes his head, deciding not to challenge Caspian on the matter.
“Seems I have,” he laughs, and tries not to think too much of Caspian’s grin, looking all too pleased with himself.
*
The next time it happens, Eustace is snoring away on his bunk, mumbling complaints and odd grievances under his breath even in his slumber. It takes all of Edmund’s willpower not to snicker or whack him upside the head, his cousin being his only source of entertainment. That is, before Caspian walks in to occupy his own hammock.
“Our course may prove to be perilous in the near future,” announces Caspian softly without prompting, untying his ponytail. “The sea is not its kindest at the moment."
“Great! Looking forward to it,” says Edmund earnestly.
He hums. “Do you really mean that?” Caspian asks. He turns in his hammock to face Edmund, who looks away from the ceiling to return the gaze. “Are you really that glad to be here, that even the prospect of a storm seems so… appealing?"
“Yes, is the short answer,” replies Edmund. “I’ve been tied up for so long out there. Made to do mundane things that can’t, and will never, make an impact on anything around me. Forced to be content with having my opinions curbed, my rights diluted and my worth degraded.” He flips onto his side, arm supporting his head. “So it’s no mystery that I’m absolutely thrilled to be here."
There’s a moment of silence in which Edmund watches a myriad of emotions flit through Caspian’s dark eyes, from excitement to anxiety to ecstasy, all illuminated by a number of candles in the room. A soft breath escapes his lips.
“It is an honour, my King."
There it is again. The same tingling sensation running up from the pads of his fingers all the way to the tips of his ears, which he’s convinced are turning the slightest shade of red.
“King? Are you pulling my leg?” He grumbles almost inaudibly. “You’re the King around here, I’m sure Drinian agrees."
“I was merely being polite,” rebukes Caspian easily.
“You can call me Ed, you know,” Edmund says with a frown. “We’re not strangers."
Caspian chuckles, and it’s a while before he replies: “Never said we were, my King."
*
“Anything else you’ve been keeping around here?” Edmund laughs, weighing the ancient flashlight in his hand. Doubtless, it has survived countless adventures long after he has left, but the metallic body is still pristinely flawless and its light is far from losing its old lustre. When Caspian doesn’t answer immediately, Edmund shoots him an expectant gaze. “Well?"
Caspian shrugs. “Nothing that would be of your interest, at least."
“Oh, come on, how are you so sure I wouldn’t find it interesting?"
“I don’t particularly remember you having a penchant for antique furniture — or old-fashioned sailor clothing, for that matter."
“Sailors and adventurers may be right up my alley. You never know, I’m a changed man, ’see.” He taps his head twice. “Not the same up here as I was a year ago. Or, well, three years. Or thousands, whichever timeline you’d like to go by."
At this, Caspian can’t help but chuckle. “Shame, I quite liked my King’s old head."
Flustered at Caspian's none too subtle response, Edmund simply stays in his spot, frowning at the flashlight clutched in his hands in confusion — so intensely that he starts outright glaring at the device. Caspian must have detected his shift in demeanour, because he quickly redirects his attention.
“Then how about we pore over the maps in this trunk for a few more hours?” Caspian suggests, and Edmund doesn’t miss the slightly triumphant lilt in his voice. “At least that is guaranteed to pique your curiosity and unbridled imagination."
*
Edmund is not in a good mood.
The prevalent and pleasant winds to the East has morphed into a monstrous cycle of violent storms, unrelenting in its course that soon enough it leaves the crew demotivated, hungry, and severely lacking sleep. And these things made an especially dangerous breeding ground for short tempers.
So when Caspian saunters into their shared cabin, eyes tired but lips still curled into a motivating smile for his men, Edmund can’t help his brusque attitude.
“And what do you think you’re doing, dripping all over the floor like that?” asks Edmund curtly, watching with an irritated sense of satisfaction at the way Caspian’s white shirt clings to his chest. “It’s indecent, not to mention unhygienic. I’d like to keep our sleeping quarters as dry as possible, thank you, else Aslan knows what would find home in the damp corners."
“As much as I share the sentiment, I’m afraid that’s a little hard to do.” The smile on Caspian’s face remains, but there’s a vexed taut to its corners. “If you haven’t noticed, there’s a raging storm outside. Has been there for the past three days, my King."
“Stop it,” demands Edmund.
“Stop what, my King?” Caspian smiles wider, oblivious to Edmund’s very real and very explosive anger. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go outside, my King? Entertain us all, my King, for the men out there are —"
“Stop, stop, just drop it will you? Is this journey boring to you?” snaps Edmund, “or is this your way of reminding me that I’ll never be as good as Peter the High King?"
Caspian’s face hardens at that, the smile on on his lips melting into a frown. He glances away, stares down at the floorboards with a frown so morosely that Edmund almost feels bad for him. But Edmund, apart from being level-headed at his best, is also obstinate at his worst, so he refuses to look at Caspian another second, glaring instead at the pattern on his hammock.
“I’m sorry,” Caspian mutters. When Edmund turns around for a last glance, the door is slightly ajar and the room is empty once again.
He realises Caspian never gave him an answer.
*
Edmund doesn’t hear the word ‘King’ for the next week. It has reverted back to ‘Edmund, Edmund, Edmund’ with Caspian, so much that Edmund is starting to hate his own name. And there is less shoulder-hugging, less slinging of the arms after dinner or during deck inspection, less midnight talks in the hammock during sleeping hours, less smiles illuminated by the blinding sun and less Caspian in general. And yes, even the sun can’t seem to bring Edmund’s mood up. Even Lucy is starting to grow concerned.
The logical thing to do would be to step back, take a deep breath, and continue with life on the ship. Because rationally speaking, this little amendment to their respective routines have no detrimental effects to neither their lives nor the voyage of the ship.
Try as he might, Edmund’s mind obstinately decides on the irrational course of action — to brood over the loss, to revert back to the immovable, stubborn child he was long ago.
Edmund just needs to hear Caspian say it again.
*
In the span of fifteen minutes Caspian must have sighed at least five times, and tossed in his hammock the same number of times — and Edmund can’t rein his curiosity anymore.
“Is something bothering you?"
“It’s fine,” Caspian mutters. “Go to sleep, Edmund."
He chews on his lip. He misses the tingle of his fingers, the curling of his toes when Caspian says his name. But now it’s detached, unemotional, similar to the way one would say ‘schoolwork’ or ‘obligations’. Because that’s what it is — Caspian is addressing him out of necessity, out of politeness, even when there’s no one but the two of them.
Checking that Eustace is fast asleep, Edmund carefully clambers out of his hammock and tiptoes his way to Caspian’s.
“Look, I —“
He doesn’t want to admit it. By Aslan, he doesn’t want to admit anything, let alone that he’s wrong and that there are things he very much would like his friend to continue doing. But lying down on the hammock, with the ship at the mercy of the waves and the wind, Edmund comes to the realisation that his time in Narnia is terribly transient and indefinite. The decision to leave and to come back has become increasingly out of his control over the years — he may find himself whisked away any day, at any time.
If Edmund wants to make a change, he has to make them immediately.
“I’m sorry. I was being unfair and I was simply — exhausted. And so downcast that I must have directed my discontentment to you. And you didn’t deserve it in the least,” he takes a deep breath. “So I’m sorry."
There’s a long silence, and Edmund thinks Caspian must have gone to sleep. He’s about to give up and retire to his hammock when there’s a barely inaudible reply.
“That was all you had to say,” mutters Caspian, turning in his position to stare at Edmund, his mouth still set in a firm line but his dark eyes belying his relief.
“I know. I’m just — not very good at admitting my mistakes sometimes."
Caspian tries to say something, but is promptly interrupted by a long yawn. “Alright. Let’s go to sleep, and we shall have a proper discussion in the morning."
“Right when dawn breaks?"
“Right when dawn breaks,” Caspian reassures.
Before the pair drift off to sleep, Edmund blurts out: “You know, I didn’t really mind you calling me King. Your King."
Edmund swears he can hear the satisfied grin in Caspian’s voice as he replies, “Good night, my King."