On Faith

A/N: I intended Ed's first story, To Be Just, to be a standalone fic, right up to the end. However, so many of you begged me for a sequel that I began wondering how Edmund's story could continue and still remain within the basic boundaries of the world C.S. Lewis created. The problem is, it can't. Fah, said my romantic-sucker side. What care I for canon? What care you that your author page says you like canon? Just jump in and let Ed take you where he wants to go. We're not done pushing you around yet, sister. Then Ed himself pulled me aside and said, much more diplomatically, Caleon, let me tell you a story about a girl ....

Ch 1: The Little Matter Of Sanity

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Pevensie, but I'm having difficulty understanding the reason for your distress. You have here what seems to be, in every way, a perfectly healthy boy." Doctor Sorensen pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. The boy, meanwhile, kept on staring at him with that calm, motionless attitude, as if he found the whole visit rather entertaining. Much as opposed to the dozens of other squirming, crying, eager-to-leave children the doctor had seen that morning. The doctor did wish the boy would stop looking at him like that. No eleven-year-old child ought to look at anyone like that. It was awfully disconcerting to be looked at by a child as if he were thinking, I could run rings around your medical degree and have time left for cricket. Let's be done with this bothersome thing and send me home, shall we?

"Doctor," said the boy's mother, "are you certain you checked ... everything?" She stroked the boy's head, and this time the boy showed some semblance of his age by grimacing as he suffered his hair to be ruffled.

"His blood pressure's excellent. His heart rate's excellent. He's in much better health than many of the children of his age that come through my door."

"But ... Well ..." Mrs. Pevensie blushed. "You see, doctor. He has this ... interest. In ... trees."

"Trees?" Doctor Sorensen scratched his cheek.

"Yes. He draws pictures of them. He has maps." The mother pulled a few sheets out of her handbag.

The first page was a skilled rendering of--well, the doctor didn't know what sort of tree, but a nice one. The second page was indeed a map, not of anyplace he recognized, with checkmarks here and there in what looked like the forested areas. The doctor eyed the boy, wondering how a child his age might have drawn such expert pictures. "I think they're remarkable," he said. "Perhaps your son is interested in pursuing a future in botany?" He looked at the boy as he said it.

The boy simply shrugged.

The doctor didn't know quite what to say, but the worried expression on his mother's face drove him to ask, "Son, is there anything you'd like to say about these pictures?"

"No, sir."

The doctor scratched his chin and handed the pictures back to Mrs. Pevensie. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't think an interest in drawing and--trees--is anything to be concerned about."

He met the boy's gaze for another moment, then looked uncomfortably away, wanting to straighten his tie. Winston Churchill had a less commanding stare than this strange little boy. When he and Mrs. Pevensie left, he was enormously glad to see the back of them.

- # -

"It's not fair to worry Mum like that," Peter said as they walked down the busy street.

Edmund peered through a display window at a bunch of vinyl records, then considered whether he had enough pocket money to buy any of them. He doubted it. "What am I worrying her about? A few sketches? You'd think she'd be happy that I've got an interest in something."

"Ed, you're scaring her with it. You were barely interested in recess and lunchtime, and now she never sees you without your nose in a book." Peter gave him a look of understanding. "Listen, we all know the tree you're looking for isn't in England. And we might not even get back to--"

"We will," Ed said, cutting him off. "I will."

"Ed, you've got a map of Narnia in your pocket. Don't you think that's going a bit far?" Peter sighed. "I don't know if this is your way of ... dealing ... or what ..."

"I'm going to find it, Peter. I remember almost every birch grove within two days' ride of Cair Paravel. None of them had silver leaves."

Peter stepped in front of him, and Ed was forced to stop on the sidewalk. "What are you going to do with that map if we never get there again?"

Scowling, Ed grabbed his brother's coat sleeves. "There is a reason I can't remember parts of our reign, Peter. I remember everything else. In detail. I can tell you how many steps were in the castle staircase. I can tell you how many medallions were on the cheekstraps of Phillip's hunting bridle. I know exactly how many steps it took to get from my room to the castle library, and I haven't seen it in months." He realized he was crushing the sleeves of Peter's coat, and let go.

They started walking again. After a while, Peter said quietly, "All of us are like that, Ed. Susan can't remember the last feast, and she's the one who planned it."

"Then there's got to be a reason for that, don't you think?" Ed demanded.

Peter shrugged. "Maybe ... Aslan ... wants us to forget something."

"Maybe something else does," Ed blurted. Then he thought about that. Why would Aslan have any reason to keep parts of their memories from them? No. Much more likely that something else was at work here. Reaching into his pocket, Ed thumbed the smooth birch leaf that lay there.

Whatever it was, it couldn't stay hidden for long. Not if he kept working on it.