AN ENCHANTER'S FORETELLING. [NARNIA]

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX | DOUBT

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
DOUBT

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"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."