Disclaimer: With much admiration to CS Lewis, to whom everything familiar belongs.
Note: Originally written for the Narnia Exchange, with a prompt from athousandwinds. Beta work done by the lovely metonomia

Original Prompt: The main thing is Edmund as the diplomat king, maybe involving Archenland or Calormene politics...

Excerpt from the Annals of Cair Paravel, Year 1012 (Narnian calendar)

… it happened that in the year 1012, Tarkaan Akhosh, Minister of War to the Tisroc of Calormen, was struck with death. The Tarkaan Akhosh, long having been a faithful and beloved servant of the Tisroc of Calormen, was given for his service a great funeral procession, which was to be celebrated throughout the Empire…

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Excerpt from the personal letters of Queen Susan of Narnia to her sister, Queen Lucy of Narnia, summer of 1012

… and so Edmund is in Tashbaan. You know well that Peter is not overly fond of that city in the summer, and you are away, and I am not held in the same sort of awe by the Tisroc as Edmund is. Not that awe is precisely the correct word, sister. But in this situation, I find that the Tisroc may soon be very justified in whatever complicated emotion he holds in that regard.

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Tashbaan spread out on all sides of the Tisroc's palace, simmering in the heat. Beyond the neatly paved whitestone avenues of the upper city, the lower levels with their masses and their poverty spread all the way to the city's walls. And beyond the walls, the desert danced in the sun, mirages spreading past the horizon to where the mountains rose in the north, far beyond even the keenest of sight. Looking out on it all, the Narnian king grimaced.

"Remind me why Akhosh died in the summer."

"Your pardon, o noble king?" the junior minister queried, his voice little more than a murmur, and a cautious one at that.

"Exactly," Edmund said and, sighing almost inaudibly, moved on past the window, trailing nervous ministers, aides, servants and guards in his wake. Damn the city and its heat anyhow; someone had to be here for the Tisroc's pet's funeral and, given the exact nature of what would be occurring in the citadel on the side, it was undoubtedly best that said someone be himself. His presence was logical and reasonable and, logic and reason being among the foremost of the Lion's gifts to the world, there was obviously no room for him to complain when there was such important work to be done.

But how he hated Tashbaan in the summer.

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Excerpt from the personal letters of King Edmund of Narnia to his sister, Queen Susan of Narnia, summer of 1012

The weather is lovely, the heat enchanting, and the ministers ever so eloquent in their praises of our land, our wealth, your beauty. The funeral approaches with all the speed of Christmas in the Winter. I found grey hairs in my beard this morning. Dearest sister, your presence is greatly missed. And in relation to the matter of which we spoke before my departure, I find myself in the morally gratifying yet practically unpleasant situation of being in the right.

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Excerpt from the accounts of the High Holy Temple of the Great God Tash, year 808 (Calormene calendar)

… this sennight received as gifts to His inexorable holiness Tash:

300 jugs finest wine

47 bolts fine silk, 15 shot with gold thread

5 talents gold and silver

3 talents myrrh

1 fine torque, of heathen make, set with 5 brilliant matching blue sapphires…

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His Holiness the High Priest of the Great God Tash reclined comfortably, his eyes never leaving those of his equally relaxed guest. "Your Majesty," he said softly. "The inexorable Tash has called you here, I think, for our mutual benefit."

"Indeed, Holy One." Edmund smiled and sipped his wine slowly. It was very good wine. The best, in fact. And he would know; after all, it was Narnian. "Perhaps he has."

"Your Majesty is very wise." Belziar raised his goblet in a slight toast before drinking deeply. The scent of incense coiled through the room, seeping in from the main temple. But here, in the High Priest's private chambers, they were alone, protected by the sanctity of the temple and the certain damnation that would fall upon any who interrupted the privacy of Tash's greatest servant.

The Tisroc, Edmund reflected, had let his gods' worship get entirely out of hand. And Calormen's ruler would pay for that leniency now, because Belziar of the High Holy Temple was, in his own way and sphere, as powerful as the Tisroc. And Belziar of the High Temple was about to decide that that sphere included the political.

"It seems to me, Holy One, that Narnia is in the unique position of supporting you as you strive to do the will of the gods. It would give me the greatest pleasure to discover that I am able to… aid you in your work."

Belziar inclined his head, unconsciously stroking the torque around his neck. In the dim light, the sapphires gleamed. "Your Majesty has been most generous to the Temple in this time of mourning."

"Then I believe, Holy One, that the concerns of Tash's servants and the servants of Narnia are the same in this matter." He leaned forward suddenly, all pretense of nonchalance abandoned. In his seat, the High Priest straightened, a shrewd look slipping into his eyes. "Akhosh served Tash at least as well as he served the Tisroc, I believe."

"He did, wise king. He will be greatly missed."

"I presumed as much. His successor, I fear, may not serve the great god so well."

Belziar's face froze, but not before Edmund saw the glimmer of distaste chased by greed that stole across it. "Dassan is young. He has not yet learned the fear and humility, the gratitude with which the inexorable Tash and his servants must be treated."

"Your concern is mine, Holy One. If I may speak plainly?" The High Priest nodded indulgently and Edmund continued. "There are men- experienced men, men loyal to the Tisroc and to Calormen- who know well the reverence due to Tash and his priests. And the generosity. The Tisroc is blinded by grief for his lost servant. It is possible that he does not see so clearly as you, Holy One, in this matter." Edmund finished delicately and leaned back, knowing that pushing in this matter would lead to Belziar's withdrawl. Now was the time for patience, for tactical retreat. He had done as much as he could wisely do.

A thoughtful frown creased the High Priest's face; Edmund waited. Ever so slowly, the frown eased into another smile. "The inexorable Tash strengthens your insight, o noble king." Belziar leaned forward, refilled his goblet with the most expensive and rarest of Narnian wines, and gestured for him to continue.

And then Edmund did smile again, because whatever else might occur, he had just bought for Narnia the Highest of Tash's High Priests.

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Excerpt from a dispatch from the Narnian MoLT (Ministry of Linguistics, Tashbaan branch) to High King Peter of Narnia, summer 1012, as translated from the original code

Temple in open opposition to Dassan. Rumors of blasphemy against Tash. Field reports indicate Tisroc weakening; further action recommended by field commander, will begin immediately…

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Excerpt from the Lists of Tash and the Annals of the Tisroc, year 808

… it became known to the mighty Tisroc, may he live forever, that due to the wiles of foul enemies who were in their vanity and conceit opposed to the glory of Tash and the might of the Empire, the chosen successor of the loyal Akhosh, Dassan, nephew to the Tisroc, may he live forever, had become corrupt and had fallen into the ways of heathens, taking unto himself a harlot from the North and blaspheming against the inexorable might of Tash, the gods of Calormen, and the Tisroc, may he live forever…

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"I nearly wept, dear Lune, to hear of Dassan's defection."

Lune's grey eyebrows moved not a fraction of an inch at this marvelous statement; Edmund admired his control.

"Indeed, King Edmund," he murmured politely before carelessly dismissing the few servitors that lingered in the chamber. As soon as they had departed, taking Edmund's rather reluctant Guard contingent with them, Lune's politely familiar, slightly bumbling manner slide into something else entirely. Edmund, for his part, moved from the divan and seated himself on the window ledge. Tashbaan was there- well, of course it was- spread out in all its overcrowded, staggering opulence.

"Someday, Edmund, I will learn how you do it."

"Mmm," he replied noncommittally. At least it was cooler than it had been this past week. The funeral celebrations were dragging themselves out in the usual Calormene fashion and he was beginning to long for the sensation of having a chill.

"Has the Tisroc a replacement in mind?" Lune's voice was calm, but interested. Of course he was. Calormen's minister of war was of interest to everyone. Lune would be pulling the strings, had he the means to do so. Which, Edmund thought, watching a few wisps of cloud disintegrate as they sailed over the desert beyond the city walls, he probably did; he just wasn't using them properly. Too many Archenlandish spies in the palace and not enough in the temples, the markets, the richer brothels. The gardens. The kitchens.

"A replacement? Oh, I'm certain he has." He settled himself more comfortably against the arched frame and sighed. Finding an acceptable man in the Tisroc's circle had been difficult, but not impossible. And really, Khaleed was not an entirely undesirable successor from the Tisroc's perspective; the man was capable, experienced, and boasted a record of untainted loyalty to gods, Tisroc, and country. Granted, though, the Tisroc was most likely unaware of the fact that Khaleed's second (and favorite) wife's family had recently been granted sanctuary in Narnia, or that his second cousin (and childhood playmate) was supporting his opulent life with Narnian Lions and Trees. "Rumors, you know, of some sort of Tarkaan Khaleed. Obscure sort of man from the western districts."

At this, Lune snorted. Edmund could hear his fellow king rising from his seat. And then Lune was at his side, looking out over the city. "You're young enough to be my son," he said pleasantly. Edmund wished he wouldn't. He didn't feel young.

Lune, either missing or ignoring the silence that greeted this remark, continued. "One day, when you are grey and I am dying, you really must tell me what you are."

"What I am, Lune, is a diplomat."

"I've seen diplomats. Diplomats haggle over the price of grain and the tariffs on silks and agonize over borders. They don't pick their allies' ministers and buy foreign gods' high priests."

"That," Edmund said, "is because they're not trying hard enough."

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Excerpt from the personal letters of King Edmund of Narnia to his brother, the High King, summer 1012

… I believe that we should invest in two or perhaps three more kestrels in the mews, my brother; I have seen the falconry here in Calormen and it is quite unbelievable. Aside from this fanciful pursuit, the time in Tashbaan has not been restful, for the funeral is, of course, fraught with high emotion on every side…

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Excerpt from a memorandum from the High King to the Narnian MoLC (Ministry of Linguistics, Command), summer 1012, as translated from the original code

… field commander recommends addition of two-three agents in Tashbaan. Recommendation to be followed with all due haste. Further reports requested regarding current operation…

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"Had the boy done anything?"

Edmund sighed, drummed his fingers against the table. "Of course," he said, eyeing his companion wearily. "Everyone's done something."

"And so this boy's life is ruined?"

His hand twitched against the table. "Ruined?" he asked lightly, giving a tight smile. "Yes, I should rather say so."

"Will he be executed, then?"

"I shouldn't think so. It doesn't do for the Tisroc to go about executing family. Exile is more likely." He shrugged. "Not, of course, that exile will necessarily be more pleasant for him."

The Faun shifted uncomfortably; Edmund watched him closely. Vasil was young, it was true, and very promising as a secretary and general Linguistics scribe, what with his intelligence and keen insight into the workings of the mind. Tumnus' nephew; Lucy's friend. Never let it be said that nepotism did not exist in Narnia. But. But there was this hesitancy, this barely-concealed disgust for the truth of things. No, the youth would have to go. "And now, your Majesty?"

The question was simple, taken at face value, but Edmund knew Vasil wanted more than that. He wanted to know how great a part Narnia had played in this, whether he had played a part. Well, Vasil had made his choice; now Edmund made his. "The Tisroc will make his choice. And we shall congratulate Akhosh's successor and then we shall retire to our own land. And I think, Vasil, that when we do return home, a small transfer may be in order. To the library, perhaps? Working in the historical collection?"

"Your- your Majesty?"

Edmund leaned forward, forcing the Faun to catch his eyes. "You feel for this boy, Vasil? You feel that Dassan has been poorly treated?"

"I-" Vasil floundered. "He did nothing," he whispered.

"No, he did not. But he could not remain where he was. He was a danger to us, malleable as he was. He would have been putty in the hands of the anti-Narnian faction and that could not be allowed. You know this."

"But-"

"No. It's a different morality, Vasil. Get used to it or get out while the chance is being offered."

Vasil made no reply to this. A thick, uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Edmund reclined in his chair, watching as the Faun struggled with his sense of duty and his repulsion. All of this, despite the fact that Vasil was ignorant of the more distasteful pieces of Narnian intervention in this succession. It was well that he was removed from the Ministry of Linguistics now, before he got in too deep. A different morality, indeed.

"I think, King Edmund," he said finally, quietly, "that a transfer would be a very good idea indeed."

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Excerpt from the Lists of Tash and the Annals of the Tisroc, year 808

… and so it was that Khaleed, ever-faithful liegeman of the Tisroc, may he live forever, and devotee of Tash the inexorable, was named as successor to Akhosh, blessed servant of the Tisroc, may he live forever. And in the high summer, Khaleed, ever-faithful, took unto himself the position of Minister of War to the Tisroc, may he live forever, in the wake of the funeral festivities of the blessed servant Akhosh…

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Excerpt from the personal letters of King Edmund of Narnia to his sister, Queen Susan of Narnia, autumn of 1012

… this trip to Tashbaan has been most revelatory, and most difficult. I'm getting old, Susan. And you owe me a bottle of wine. Or something stronger. I was right, after all. King takes bishop…

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The windowpane was cool beneath his forehead. There was no great vista spread out before him, no glittering sea or mountain view; only fields leading to gentle forests. But that was Narnia; that was home.

A sound from the doorway of his study reached his ears, and he smiled against the glass. "Hello, sister," he said softly, knowing she would hear.

"Edmund."

Her hand on his shoulder made him turn, and he found himself facing her brilliant smile. He couldn't help but smile in return, not only at seeing her after so long but also at the sunburn splashed across her face and the sea in her eyes. "How was Galma, Lucy?"

"Maritime." He raised his brows and she laughed. "It was as you would expect; crowded and full of squabbling nobles who don't want to pay taxes but expect Narnian protection from pirates. But the sea was lovely."

"Good."

"And you. You look… how was Tashbaan?" Her voice was too blank for his comfort. With a nonchalant smile, he pulled gently away from her hand and turned his attention back to the window and the little piece of Narnia that lay beyond it.

"Hot. Full of arrogant lords and spies and rather lovely kebobs." Her silence was anticipatory. He sighed. "You've been talking to Vasil, haven't you?"

"Vasil. And Susan."

"Mmm."

"Khaleed is a good choice. He will serve the Tisroc capably, you think?"

"That is the idea, yes," Edmund replied. "But he will serve us as well, albeit in a slightly more roundabout manner."

"You did well, then." As always, Lucy's voice was gentle. When she'd been younger, when they'd all been younger, their talks after such operations as this had been fraught with emotion, full of confusion and reproach and uncertainty. Now these things were common, and understood to be necessary. And Lucy understood, as they all did, that leading a kingdom was not always glorious. It was not always open warfare and lovely peace and gentle trade talks. Sometimes it was shadows and underhanded deals and buying the unbuyable.

"I am the ultimate diplomat." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice, but it was only audible if you already knew it was there. "I have mastered the art of letting others achieve my ends."

And then Lucy put her hand on his shoulder again and pulled him to face her. The smile she gave him was slightly sad. "So much, brother." Her hands went to the sides of his face and, rising to the tips of her toes, she placed a brief, fond kiss on his forehead. "So much for Narnia."

He let his forehead rest against hers for a moment, drawing on her strength. Then he took one of her hands in his and faced Narnia. "Always," he said. "And everything."