~ by Hannah Skipper

Peter, Edmund, and Lord Highland sat quietly by the roaring fire waiting for Susan and Lucy to arrive. Peridan stood outside the door with orders not to permit anyone but the queens inside. No one spoke. The room was quiet, save for the snapping wood in the fireplace and the steady strokes of the grandfather clock’s pendulum along the wall. The room was cloaked in an air of weariness.

Peter sat stone-faced as he poured and sipped the spiced wine that had been set out for them. Hundreds, if not thousands of scenarios played through his mind as to why and how Lord Highland could be capable of becoming the Ape and doing the things he was accused of. None made sense. Edmund sat next to his older brother, sipping his tea, with a large gash cutting through his forehead, just above one eye. It was an angry wound, but the younger king seemed unaffected by the pain. He was thankful they had recovered their friend without incident, and he awaited an explanation with a soft smile.

Lord Highland sat opposite the two brothers, wearing the look of a man who no longer controlled anything, particularly his own future. But he didn’t care. Indeed, somehow he was glad. He stared, unseeing, at the goblet that had been placed in front of him. He could think of nothing but blackness.

Running feet in the hall made the kings look to the door, and a moment later their sisters burst in the room with anxious expressions of relief. The noise and brightness of them changed the atmosphere in the room, rousing the three men from their sedated state.

As the queens entered, Peter and Edmund automatically rose from their places, still holding their half-empty goblets, and only realized their hands were full when they attempted to hug the girls. They scowled at their hands and thunked their glasses down. Watching the family reunion, Lord Highland struggled to his feet as if all his burdens were resting in his lap. The noise turned the tetrarch to face him and the room fell silent again.

Lucy moved first and broke the silence. She crossed the floor to take Lord Highland’s big, cold hands in her own small, warm ones. Her eyes held nothing but compassion, but they also danced with thankfulness that he was safe. Lord Highland couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that, and it made his knees weak. His brain seemed foggy, as if his coldness had run into her warmth. 

She pressed him down into his seat. “We’re so glad—so thankful—that you’re safe,” she said, as she knelt in front of him, still clasping his hands. They stayed that way for a minute or so.

“Lucy.”

Peter’s voice made the young queen swivel around to see her older siblings already seated together on the couch. There was hardly room for them all.

She turned back to Lord Highland. “Won’t you tell us now?” she pleaded. 

Lord Highland bit his lip, his eyes welling up at her brightness, as if he’d stared at the sun too long. Then he nodded slowly.

With a final squeeze to his hands as reassurance, Lucy rose to her feet and looked around for a place to sit. Edmund quietly cleared his throat and patted the tiny spot next to him. They were all going to sit together. Lucy was surprised, but she obeyed her brother and crammed down into their midst.

Lord Highland felt somehow reassured by Lucy’s gesture—he didn’t know what lay ahead for him, but somehow he felt that he could tell his story and take whatever happened afterward. He still didn’t think he had the courage to look them in the face, but he drew in a deep, shuddering breath and began.

“Many years ago, when I was much younger, I took a trip to Archenland with my family—Grandfather was old and dying then, and he wished to be buried as close to Narnia as possible. He had been nearly middle-aged when the Witch took over, and as he had worked on the Royal staff, he’d always bitterly regretted being a part of that final retreat although, I admit, he didn’t share much about it with me. Well, anyway, we came to Archenland during his final days, and the King—Lune’s grandfather—gave us shelter until he passed, and we buried him pretty close to the border.

“Well, I’d grown up on the Lone Islands, and had never seen the mainland. I’ll admit, I was half-giddy about the whole trip—perhaps some would say I was foolishly excited—but anyway, I spent a great deal of time exploring the great woods, and wide valleys—any kind of scenery that seemed different than what I saw everyday on the Islands. I was having a wonderful time until…”

The tetrarch held their breath in anticipation and apprehension.

“Well, you see, one day I was out riding near the border. The King had given me a beautiful mare to ride during our stay with them—she was a great big bay, with incredibly long, slender legs and a fine arching neck. Her mane and tail seemed to sparkle like black diamonds, and her gait—oh, she moved as if she were floating in the air.” 

His eyes watered a bit as he recalled her, and it took him a few moments to continue his story. “Well, anyway, not long after my grandfather was buried, I was riding along, exploring, when I saw the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen before—she was standing just over the border, in the snow, and oh, she was gorgeous—of course, you can probably imagine my shock when she beckoned me to come with her—” He drooped his head at some shameful memory. 

“Well, I followed her into Narnia—through the high snow drifts and wicked barrier batches—they were nothing but thorns that tore deep into my mare’s flesh—but to me, they only held me back from this gorgeous woman that I was falling more in love with at every step. It was as if she was pulling me along with invisible chains.

“Well, after a good many hours of slow, hard travel—for my mare, at least—we came to a particularly dark cave although, to me, when she went inside, it fairly glowed. She told me that she needed my help with chores that were too hard for her. She said I was to stay with her for a while. She said she wanted me to—well, she wanted me to do all sorts of things for her and she sent me off to do some of it away from the cave. When I came back she had—” His voice cracked at some yet to be mentioned memory, and he sobbed for several minutes. 

One by one, Lucy and Susan moved to sit beside him and offer what comfort they could. The boys stayed seated, watching intently and waiting. 

Finally, Lord Highland pulled himself together, drew in a deep shaking breath, and forced himself to continue. “She—” He almost faltered again, but Lucy gripped his hand. “She had bludgeoned my—the King’s—beautiful mare. She’d dismembered that beautiful creature—and she was letting her pack of mongrels tear her to sheds. I am sick with the memory of it.” 

He shuddered deeply, near uncontrollable, until the tetrarch reassured him either with gestures or words. Then he continued, “Well, she told me that I shouldn’t worry myself about the horse—she said she had more beautiful ones, swifter ones—she said that one was nothing more than a broken down old plug—her voice dripped with such sweet honey that I let her convince me that what I was seeing—what was in front of my very eyes—was not true.” He shook his head with wonderment at such a foolish thing.

“Anyway, I ate the lies right out of her hand, and I did many, many things for her. There was a search party sent for me in Archenland, but they didn’t cross the border, and they found no trace of us. My family eventually returned to the Lone Islands without me.

“Well, the lady became so confident that I was under her spell—and she was quite right, I was—that she dropped any pretense of being beautiful—in fact, she was a hag. She dabbled in witchcraft and taught me some simple spells and encouraged me to practice them—she said I was gifted in the craft.” He shook his head and shuddered, as if trying to shed his memories. “Of course, she also told me that she had the best control over me when I performed her spells but, of course, I didn’t mind, because I thought I loved her.

“But, really, I wasn’t so completely under her spell that I didn’t, at times, long for home, and eventually I did make a break for it. Surprisingly, I made it.

“Well, you can imagine the celebration that took place in Archenland when I showed up—and later in the Lone Islands—it was fantastic and I had a grand time. Of course, I didn’t tell the truth about what happened to me. That was too shameful. I made up a story about being kidnapped by an ugly band of hags and forced to do slave labor for them—and about hating every second. They ate it up, of course, and I struggled with guilt forever afterward.

“Well, the years went by and life got back to normal. I figured that I’d put the past behind me—then the four of you came.

“Well, as you know, I was part of the delegation that was sent from the Islands to greet you all—and well, I fell in love with my new bosses—for the first time, I really felt free. I thought that since you four didn’t know that part of my past, I could just live as though it had never happened, and I did, until—” He looked pained to go on, as if he’d ruin their goodwill if he told the rest.

“Well—,” he spoke haltingly, as if trying to soften the blow for himself. “Well, on just my last trip here—when you sent me out to deliver that message to those little ones who were visiting from the Islands—I ran across the cave where I was enslaved for so long, and well, I took it into my head that you sent me there to remind me of that time. I thought that someone must have tipped you off, and I was deathly afraid. I thought I was about to lose everything that I’d worked so hard to get!

“Well, as the stress of anticipation grew, I started looking for ways that I might be able to rectify the whole mess, and then when you came to fire me, I’d be able to say that I had taken care of the bad me, and only the good me remained.

“I remembered a particular spell the old hag taught me, so I decided that I’d create a creature that would be the bad me—something I would have complete control over, and I’d be the good me—only I didn’t have complete control over the Ape.” Lord Highland bowed his head in embarrassment. “The only thing I seemed to be able to do was clean up whatever messes the Ape made.

“The Ape hurt Gawain’s sister and the boy caught me, so I paid for her surgery and took Gawain under my care because I feared that he would tell. The Ape stole the heirlooms from the old widow, so I sent Gawain to return them. The Ape killed the horse, so I replaced it with one of my own. The fourth sighting—the one where the villagers saw the Ape—well, that was a lucky stroke for someone, because I was only just coming out.

“The inquiries you sent frightened me witless—I figured you already knew and you were just toying with me. Then, at some point, I realized that you didn’t know—but by then it seemed too late—you see, it really is true that the old hag has more control over me when I’m dabbling in witchcraft, and I couldn’t make myself stop! Although I like to believe I put up a fight, it seems all for nothing when the Ape popped up again.”

Lord Highland looked up into the faces of the tetrarch for the first time that evening, and was genuinely shocked at the compassion and sorrow written on their faces. For a moment, none of them spoke, but finally Edmund gathered himself for what needed saying. 

“It has been my experience,” he spoke with deliberate slowness, weighing his words, “my personal experience, mind you, that attempting to separate your good and bad sides by yourself will never end happily.”

Lord Highland understood what he was getting at, but he felt like he needed to justify himself. “Yes, Edmund, I wish I’d come to realize that many years ago, but if I may, you never—”

“Oh, but I did, Governor,” Edmund interrupted in a frank voice, “oh, but I did. No one in this world deserved death more than I, and He forgave me—for all of it—and He’s kept my path straight ever since. Surely you know that He can do the same for you.”

Lord Highland puffed up, a little indignant. “But I’m strong enough on my own—I can handle this without the Lion helping me—I’m strong enough. Why, all this time—”

“And where has that attitude gotten you for all these years?” Susan interjected. “Surely, you haven’t forgotten the tale you just told us—why, you just said that all your fight seems for nothing each time you’ve fallen to temptation. Why then do you continue to fight alone?”

“Yes,” Lucy agreed. “Yes! There’s Aslan, of course. He must be the main source, but you have the four of us, too! We knew nothing of your dark history, and that pains me—I think it pains all of us. Surely, you know that we care for you enough that we would help you though this—not throw you away.”

“And how could you help, Lucy?”

“Accountability,” Peter broke in to answer for her. “No doubt, you’ve spent many sleepless nights trying to run from dark thoughts, but wouldn’t it be easier if you had someone—four someones—who you could call on when the nights are darkest? Personally, I love the idea. I think Aslan called us here because we are four together—no one of us could run Narnia by ourselves, but the four of us together are pretty unbreakable. Of course, if you throw Aslan in the mix, it makes five and no one can break that!”

Lord Highland looked down again, a little red-faced, but he still couldn’t quite believe things could be fixed so easily.

“And what happens now? It seems to me that there is an awful lot of fixing to do—more than four, or five, can fix.”

A smile slowly crept over Edmund’s face. So, Lord Highland didn’t believe things could be fixed, did he? Edmund couldn’t wait to show him otherwise.

“First,” he said, “I have three questions. Will you let Aslan show you how very easy it is for Him to clean you up?”

“Y-yes.”

“Second, are you willing to ask forgiveness from those you wronged when you were the Ape?”

Lord Highland’s mouth went dry and his eyes bulged. “Yes, but—”

“A yes will do.” Edmund silenced him with a smile. “And third, what did you use to transform yourself into the Ape?”

“There’s a little box in a chest at the back of my room—full of vials—red liquid for turning me into the Ape and green for keeping me human.”

Edmund heaved to his feet and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Peter called after him.

“Oh, come on, Pete, you know exactly where I’m going!”

It was over half an hour later, and the group in the drawing room still awaited Edmund’s return. Peter was starting to get irked. He’d wracked his brain to figure out where Edmund had gone, and hadn’t come up with anything that would possible take this long. His patience was running thin.

The door opened and Edmund walked in. Gawain, tousled hair and all, held one hand and trudged in a step or two behind. In the other hand, Edmund carried a small box. He gave his sibling’s questioning eyes a baffled look, then smiled widely—if they hadn’t figured it out by now, they’d find out soon enough.

“Sorry that took so long,” he apologized. “Gawain here was sound asleep—go sit with my brother and sisters, lad.”

Gawain trudged over and Susan pulled him into her lap.

“Now,” Edmund began, as he set the box on the coffee table between the two couches and opened it to reveal the remaining vials of liquid. Lord Highland swallowed nervously and licked his dry lips. “I’ve explained to Gawain about your story and told him about your desire for forgiveness and your willingness to change—I talked to him previously about the Lion wanting us to forgive those who wrong us. Gawain, will you take it from here, lad?”

“I-I,” Gawain spoke a little haltingly. He had never done something like this before, and he felt quite grownup; he wasn’t used to that. “I-I’m willing to forgive you for hurting Daisy.”

Lord Highland was shocked that a little child could do something that a lot of adults can’t do, and Gawain’s gesture made the Governor proud of the little boy.

“Ah…well,” he fumbled for words. “Uh-well, thank-you, lad, thank-you. I don’t quite know what to say, but-but I-I want to-to try to go right from now on.”

“Aslan will help you,” Gawain nodded with confidence. “That’s what King Edmund says.”

“Yes, I believe He will, lad, but, ah, what’s next for me?” Lord Highland looked nervously at the tetrarch.

Edmund stood again, and picked up the little box of vials. “Next, you throw the rest of this stuff in the fire—Aslan doesn’t need any help setting us right. These are useless now.”

“They seemed to be useless before,” Peter remarked.

Edmund handed the box to Lord Highland. The Governor took the box and stared at the vials that he thought were his lifeline. He almost hated to toss them, but Peter’s comment hung in his brain, so after a moment his regret began to lift and he started tossing vials into the flames—his resolve growing as each vial exploded and the flames leapt as if they were eating the accused liquid. 

As the last vial broke open in the flames, there was a loud blast, as if a Lion was roaring. The tetrarch smiled with the knowledge of His pleasure and Lord Highland, after a moment of fear, looked relieved.

The Governor sat back down, looking weary. Then he got pensive again. “And next?” he asked.

“If you’ll agree to it, we’ll—that is, you and I will go back to the Lone Islands,” Edmund explained his plan, “as soon as your ship gets fixed.” His dimples showed as he smirked good-naturally. “And we—again, that’s you and I—will stand before all the Lone Islands. Then, if you agree, you’ll explain your story to all the company, and I will testify as to your words and actions in this council tonight, and then I will ask that each man, women, and child forgive you, as they forgave me.”

Fear flashed across Lord Highland’s face for a moment; then he remembered that someone would be standing next to him, and resolve chased his fear away.

“Do you think they’ll forgive me?”

Edmund smiled.

The End

---

Image Credit: Walden Media