Young Writers Society

Kay, I did NOT write this my best friend did i just wanted it to get a bit of "publicity" xD In this fanfic pretty much the whole story is centered around Jadis (The White Witch) and Edmund (the person who wrote this has an absolutely crazed obsession with Edmund Pevensie DUNT ASK MEH! XD Here it is, brace yourselfs its long but its AMAZING for a person of her age:

Soft moonlight bathed the forest in silvery beams as clouds slowly drifted over it, casting shadows over the trees as a cool breeze whipped through the night, rustleing the foliage. All was clear, all was silent, all was peaceful.

All except in the small clearing deep in the very heart of the forest.

Sounds of metal and steel being sharpened with crude tools, iron being heated, armour being fitted, and the sound of a hundred or more foul creatures talking in low, growling voices filled the air as the night wore steadily on. If you looked, you would have wondered what was going on, what they were doing. If you looked a bit farther in, you would have seen a woman bent over a chart with her Minotaur captain, discussing battle plans. And if you looked even farther in, you would have nearly cried out at the absolute cruelty of it all.

A boy, easily twelve years-old, was knelt down on his knees, bound and gagged to a tree, looking thoroughly torn and abused and feeling ready to grab the next chance he could to kill himself, to end it.

A dwarf stood a little ways off, whetting a knife with an evil smirk as he continued scraping the metal down to nothing but sharp steel, every now and then stopping to steal quick glances over at the tree before returning to his work.

The boy slumped forward as far as the ropes would allow--which wasn't very far, as they had been tied to an absolute cruel standard around his sickeningly thin frame-- and groaned around the gag, closing his large brown eyes wearily and letting the cool breeze whip his black hair around as it passed. He shivered slightly beneath it; It was chilly, as Spring hadn't completely chased out the Winter yet. He was numb with cold and completely drained of energy--even the energy you get after all your energy is gone. He was spent, he was finished. He was miserable and guilty and wanted nothing more than to just leave the world. But he would not have to wait long, it seemed, as he heard the faint scratching of the Dwarf's knife getting a bit faster, sickeningly enthusiastic. But he just didn't care at the moment.

He was just glad that she wasn't anywhere near him right now. He would be even colder if she was.

He groaned, having lost the feeling in his hands and legs a long time ago, and now both were just numb and painful. He tried again for the umpteenth time to pull his hands from the ropes that tightly bound his bloody and raw wrists, but only suceeded in making them bleed through the ropes, having torn his already deeply cut wrists again. He gave a slightly exasparated sigh, letting his eyes drift closed again as fatigue washed over him like a flood. He needed sleep. He needed food. He needed to be away from here.

He needed his family.

But they weren't coming. They didn't care.

And he didn't blame them, either.

He hadn't even known they were alive until only eight hours earlier.

He had watched from atop a high cliif-like outcropping over a river as his siblings just dissapeared beyond the trees on the other side with the Beavers. He had wanted to scream, to cry out, to let them know how sorry he was, to throw himself in front of Peter's sword and let him kill him personally.

But if he did that, the Witch would most certainly see them and then they'd all be dead.

And he'd much rather just the guilty one of the four died rather than any of the innocent, even if that meant himself.

He regretted strongly what he had done, now, but it was far too late. He should have turned back when he had the chance.

But he hadn't, and now he was making up for it, even if it meant death.

Hot tears began to prick at his eyes, but he held them back, unwilling to show any sign of weakness to his captors, even as he was bound and thoroughly abused and had every right to.

Finally, something happened.

The dwarf, chuckleing maniacally, held his knife up to the low light and examined it. It looked razor sharp. He grinned and dashed off in the other direction, intent on getting something. The youth didn't really care, though, and tried not to fall asleep, as he might never wake up. He held on to the slightest sliver of hope he had; the chance that his siblings had gotten to that Aslan chap, and somehow, someway, found it in their hearts to seek him out and rescue him.

Most definately unlikely, but he tried not to give in to total dispair as best he could.

Aslan.

The very name sent chills down his spine, and it wasn't from the cold, either. Somehow, the name frightened him, as it had frightened the Witch when he had first mentioned it to her. He had left the beaver's home before he had heard anything else about Aslan, though, and knew only that He had a camp, was preparing an army, and was the King above all the Kings of Narnia.

And he didn't know why, but he felt terrified of the unknown Aslan, as if He was something that should be respected and feared.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Right now, anything or anyone that was against Jadis were the most wonderful beings on earth, even Aslan. He was just sorry he hadn't ever been on their side.

The dwarf, Ginnarbrik, came traipsing back with a wicked, excited beam on his face, and behind him, tall, stately, and looking almost as excited as the dwarf, came the Witch herself.

Her lips curved into a cold, cruel smile as she studied the broken figure before her, and the boy wished more than anything that he was anywhere but there at the moment. He stiffened under her icy hand, which she placed below his chin as to raise his head as she bent down, still smiling.

She was so close that he could feel her chill breath over his face as she leaned forward, whispering mockingly, "Edmund, dear...you look so cold..."

He glared at her, guilt and an icy numbness creeping up inside of him, freezing the blood in his veins. She seemed satisfied and stood up again, looking down at him quite nonchalantly.

"Get him, Ginnarbrik."

The dwarf, who until now had been waiting excitedly near her feet for the command, seized upon it at once and began kicking and hitting every bit of the boy that he could, knocking the wind from his lungs several times as blow upon blow was rained down upon him. Ginnarbrik also seemed fond of screaming taunts and jeers at him as he made an even bloodier and bruised mess of the boy. And the entire time, a small, unwanted voice in the back of Edmund's head whispered; "You deserve it."

When the dwarf had to stop for lack of breath, Edmund was panting right alongside him, broken and bruised, bleeding in a few places, ready for death to come for him. He had no hope of living, now.

He gave in to the dispair that quickly enshrouded his soul. He would never see his siblings again, he would never be able to tell them how sorry he was, for everything...

He was alarmed when he found himself untied with a quick slash of the dwarf's knife, and Ginnarbrik had decided to use the knife to cut away the gag, too; Edmund couldn't restrain the cry of pain as a fresh cut now adorned his left cheek. The dwarf only continued to grin as he yanked the boy to his feet, and the youth had to restrain a whimper as the feeling began to flow back into his legs again, and it was pure agony. His wrists were still tied, and he couldn't do anything to stop it as he was roughly kicked forwards in the small of the back and crashed painfully to his knees before a large slab of rock. It was flat-ish, and it slanted to the side a bit, but all it was to Edmund was cold, unforgiving grey. He was about to be killed on it, because the Witch couldn't get acess to the Stone Table she had talked about; His blood was about to be running down its side, splashing onto the ground, giving Narnia her payment for the debt he owed to her...

He never realised how much of a miracle he really was until then.

Eyes and ears and hands and mind, everything about him was so detailed, had such a complicated science behind it, that it was a wonder he hadn't ever really thought about it until then. He could breathe, he could see, he could hear, he had muscles that worked involuntarily, it was all complicated and wonderful. How could he not have noticed before? He was roughly jerked back into reality when a sharp knife was pressed into his back, right where it would slice through his heart and end his life quickly and forcefully, but the knife wasn't going to kill him just yet, it was just there to keep him still for a few minutes. He moaned in annoyance when he heard Jadis's voice ring out to the dwarf that she would rather like him standing; that way, she could watch the traitor fall onto the rock as life was taken from him. He felt the dwarf's rough hands grab him by the arm and yank him into a standing position, and the knife was pressed to his back again. He realised vaguely that it was the Witch who was holding the knife, not the dwarf.

"Hmmm...Spin him 'round, Ginnarbrik. I want to watch the light leave his eyes."

Edmund was spun around again, and he rolled his eyes, annoyed with all of this and wishing she would just kill him already. She pressed the knife to his chest, bending down and putting a hand on his cheek, and he ducked away, thoroughly annoyed and weary with her stalling.

But he probably deserved that, too.

She grinned at his resistance, her nose almost touching his as she mocked him over and over again, much to the amusement of the onlookers; deciding that she wanted him kneeling at her feet where he belonged, and then deciding again that she wanted him standing so that he would fall backwards in a shower of blood, etcetera. She finally decided to keep him standing after several mock-decisions in which she used just to make a fool of him. He closed his eyes, feeling the tip of the knife at his chest again, and breathed out slowly. This was finally it. He would be able to get his wish at last. He would be free of this world, of pain...

"Do you know why you are here, Edmund?"

Her question forced him to open his eyes, to stare back into the amused, cold ones of the Witch. He didn't answer.

"Because you are a lying, traitorous, worthless dog, who would love nothing more than to see his family killed before his very eyes, and deserve nothing more than what I am about to give to you."

Cold laughter rang out around the clearing, and his heart rate quickened, as if it were trying to work a lifetimes amount of beats before it was ended.

"But you have been a little useful, all the same..." The Witch pondered, keeping the knife steadily pressed to his chest, where his heart beat frantically, like a caged bird trying to escape. "You did give me a useful amount of information, and one of my wolves just told me mere seconds ago the exact whereabouts of your siblings, so you'll be pleased to know that they'll be dead by morning."

No...

He paled, nearly as white as the Witch herself as he thought about this over and over.

She's lying...She has to be...

"So I'll give you a little time to rejoice before I spill your blood." She added sweetly; mockingly. Laughter rang out again, and Edmund closed his eyes in disbelief.

What have I done...?

“And now Edmund, Son of Adam, Traitor of Narnia and Aslan’s Traitor, my Traitor, dispair...”

His heart was beating so fast he felt dizzy--his ears were pounding with blood and the ground seemed to shake beneath him--

“...And...”

The knife was being raised--This was it, these were his last breaths--He took in a lungful of air and exhaled it slowly, making it last--The ground continued to shake, was it a thing that came with death?--

I’m sorry, Peter, Susan, Lucy...So, so sorry...

“...DIE!”

The knife was falling, falling rapidly towards his chest where his heart continued to beat frantically, keeping him alive to the very end--

Edmund was suddenly grabbed by the arm and was airborne for a split second before his feet hit the ground again, he was being slightly dragged along at a fast pace; Screams and shouts filled the air, he had no idea what was going on--

“HERE!” Someone shouted into his ear, slicing away the ropes that bound his bloodied wrists; He hissed in pain but had no time to focus on that--He was being stolen, stolen away and he didn’t care where he was going, he just knew that it was away from there and he was grateful. He was forced to sprint along, fueled by adreniline and adreniline alone--his hand was held in a solid, iron grip, but it was somehow soft and gentle at the same time, too-- He panted, images blurred before his eyes as he was yanked along in a fast gallop from the clearing, away from this Hell--

He was losing every ounce of strength he had left in him faster than anything--which wasnt much, anyway. He gave a slight jerk and promptly fell to the ground, nearly knocked unconscious. He vaguely registered that the thing that was pulling him along had been a Faun, and the creature came to an abrupt halt, cocking his head and staring down at him. Edmund was slightly cross-eyed, not entirely focused on one point of vision as faces swam before his eyes. Another face appeared, that of a Centaur. The Faun looked up at the general nervously, as if he had been a child caught in wrongdoing.

“I--err, I guess I pushed him a little too far...”

Another face appeared--that of a girl, a very pretty Dryad girl, a tree spirit. She looked concerned.

“Tireus, you should have known better!” She shot at the Faun, who had the decency to look abashed. “He’s no more than a mere foal, and look what you’ve gone and done to him when he was already thoroughly spent! Poor thing,” She mused, looking down at him again, her feirce tone quieting down to the sympathetic one she had earlier. “Aslan only knows what else that horrible Witch has put him through...”

Something seemed to snap back into place in Edmund’s mind. He shot up as quick as lightning, nearly cracking heads wih the Faun as he looked around frantically, skin stark-white against his dark hair and few freckles.

“The Witch!--I--where--she had a knife--”

“Shhh,” Quieted the Dryad before she shot a nasty look at poor Tireus. “It’s all right, she’s gone. We got you just before she did.” She said gently, deciding wisely not to use the word ‘killed’ or ‘knife’ just yet as she unstrapped a flask of something Edmund had no name for, but he was so thirsty he really couldn't care less as she handed it to him and he drank. "There," She said kindly, taking the flask back when he was finished and gently pushing him back against the ground where he had fallen. “Just keep still, you’re all right, now.”

Edmund couldn’t help but believe her as he rested his head against the cool moss on the ground; It was such a relief after the wretched and gnarled tree bark that had continually ground into the back of his head. He closed his eyes, feeling like he could just fall asleep there and never, ever wake up...

“He’s smaller than I imagined him,” The Dryad muttered, cocking her head curiously as her greenish hair blew about her tanned face. “And skinny, too...I like him. He's much smaller than his brother...”

“Arleah, we have to keep moving. We can pick favorites later. There’s no time.” Said a slow, calm voice. Edmund guessed it to belong to the Centaur in his feverish, half-awake state. Arleah looked at him as though he were out of his mind.

"I wasn't picking favorites--!"

“We killed a few of her creatures, but didn’t get to slay very many before we found him-” --He ignored her completely, gestureing to Edmund-- ”-So that means we have little or no time until she sends out forces of her own. We cannot stay.”

Arleah, the Dryad, looked positively mollified. “We can’t just make him run the entire way back to camp! If he’s like this now--”

“I will carry him back. Just go on ahead.” The general said, dismissing any and all argument. Arleah pouted, glaring at Oreius and looking from one to the other before finally giving in. She sighed, turning slowly on the spot.

“Be gentle,” She whispered, laying a small hand on the Centaur’s arm and sprinting after Tireus into the night. Oreius looked down at the boy he considered a Traitor, who was almost nearly asleep but still dreadfully pale, and took a deep breath.

“Right,” He said, kneeling down low and slipping his arms beneath the youth’s too-thin form and lifting him effortlessly into his arms. Edmund hissed in pain sub-consciously, as the Centaur had irritated several of the whip-marks he had received earlier that day, and Oreius’s hardened face softened a tad bit as he moved his arms to where they wouldn’t cause as much pain. Lying limply in the Centaur’s arms, Edmund slowly began to drift unconcious without a care in the world. What he needed was sleep, and having been deprived of such a luxury for so long, he felt remotely safe in Oreius’s care as sounds and feelings began to drift away to make room for warm darkness. He vaguely registered that they were now galloping along quickly through the woods--he could feel the wind on his face. He curled up slightly in the Centaur’s arms, all worry fading away on the wind.

“Thank you,” He breathed tiredly, sincerely, before he promptly slipped off into unconsciousness.

Edmund hadn’t seen the hardened face soften even more noticably, nor had he felt the strong arms holding him tighten a bit more protectively, nor had he heard the whisper he got in reply.

“You’re welcome.”

And Oreius decided that even he could misjudge people sometimes.

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Saphire blue eyes scan the landscape anxiously, pale hand gripping the hilt of a sword so hard the knuckles are white.

Peter Pevensie stands alone, watching two silent figures atop the hill with worry, pain and satisfaction as the wind caresses his face, tossing his hair in the gentle morning breeze.

He looks over at the sound of a tentflap and both of his sisters meet his eye, wondering why he was so stony-faced. Lucy looks over, and her slight frown turns to a bright, bubbly laugh as she races forward with a cry.

"Edmund!"

Peter throws out an arm to stop her, and she looks at him with a mix of both confusion and hurt. Susan throws him an almost scolding glance. But Peter doesn't want to think about how he's hurting others right now.

'After all, he hurt us first.'

Edmund suddenly realizes they have an audiance, and with a slow nod from The Lion, he nervously begins the slow, quiet decsent from the hilltop, Aslan at his heels.

Peter isn't sure whether to hug his brother, or slap him.

The raven-haired boy draws tentively nearer; was he afraid of them? Peter wonders as Aslan steps up beside Edmund, casting a meaningful glance at Peter.

"What's done, is done. There is no need to talk to Edmund about what is past."

And with that, he stalks away. Peter eyes his brother with an unreadable expression, and Edmund steps back a little bit under it, hands jammed into his pockets and wondering if he should break the awkward silence.

"...Hello."

It's almost a whisper, and Peter doesn't miss the slight hoarseness and fear of being rejected in his brothers voice. Peter bit his lip.

Without a word, Lucy finally releases her joy inside and rushes forwards, enveloping her brother in a whole-hearted hug. Peter didn't miss the slight, pained grimace that crossed Edmund's face as he hugged his sister back, and Peter knew he would have to check into that, later. Lucy pulled away reluctantly as Susan had her turn, fussing over her sibling like a mother hen and scrutenizing the various cuts and bruises worridly.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm...a little tired," Edmund confessed, but he looked more like he was going to pass out on his feet.

"Get some sleep," Peter snapped, jerking his head in the direction of the tent and knowing he sounded a bit more harsh than he intended , but he was a bit angry and relieved and confused all at the same time, and it hurt.

The slight smile on Edmund's face was completey wiped away and replaced with the nervous, pale look he had earlier, knowing that forgiveness was not his as he walked wordlessly over to the tent. Peter stared after him, recieving reproving glares from the girls as he said nothing. He battled with himself before finally choking out, "And Ed?" The younger turned, hardly daring to hope.

"...Try not to wander off," Peter finished lamely, shrugging lightly with a small smile. The smile he recieved in return was something he would never forget as he watched the black-haired boy enter the tent tiredly, walking in a slightly unbalanced way.

What he hadn't managed to get out was "I'll be there in a minute."

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Peter stood uncertainly at the entrance to the tent, holding a bowl of warm water with a cloth and a bottle of salve for bruises, hesitant to go in. He had tried and failed, and now he just stood, looking at the tips of his boots and wondering if he could do it or not. Maybe he should just go get Susan to do it...

And then there was a whimper.

A whimper, silence....

Then a scream.

A loud, tortured, agonized wail of pain, coming from inside the tent.

Peter abandoned all his previous thoughts and dashed in, setting the bowl of water on the ground where it sloshed out of its container violently as Peter fell to his knees beside the hammock, trying to stop the younger from thrashing around in the hammock, obviously caught up in a vivid nightmare.

"Ed, Edmund, wake up," Peter pleaded, not liking how pale his brother had gone, nor how suddenly silent and still he was.

"No, please...stop, dont...please," The younger begged, talking to some demon that Peter couldnt see.

"Eddy, its me, wake up, please," Peter whined, not liking this at all. He shook his brother a bit, slightly unnerved as he saw tear tracks on his brothers face.

"No...please...don't! PLEASE!" Edmund screamed again, arching his back slightly and continueing to scream. "MAKE IT STOP! I DIDN'T WANT THIS! NO, PLEASE!"

Peter blinked back tears, stroking his brothers black hair and muttering nonsense, trying to coax him back into conciousness. "Edmund, please, PLEASE wake up...NOW." Peter snapped his fingers, and to his utter astonishment, Edmund's dark brown orbs snapped open, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. "...You...you're alive?" He asked quietly, sitting up on one elbow and blinking owlishly at Peter, eyes not entirely focused.

Peter looked astounded.

"Y-Yes..." He trailed off, noticing the look of absolute relief that passed over Edmund's face with slight confusion. "Ed?" He asked quietly, raising an eyebrow slightly. Edmund shook his head and looked down, noticing with quiet suprise that Peter was holding his hand. Peter noticed this too and quickly pulled his hand away, and then almost screamed.

Edmund's hand had blood all over it.

Edmund made a small strangled noise of his own and hurridly hid his hand behind his back while Peter studied his own, gaping at the crimson smeared all over it.

"Ed, I-...what? Let me see," He damanded, pulling at his brothers arm, but Edmund shook his head wildly, eyes widening.

"Peter, don't--"

Too late.

Being quite a bit stronger, the blond yanked his brothers hand into veiw and held it there, despite Edmund's struggleing. Peter stared, completely lost for words.

The word 'TRAITOR' was cut deeply into the skin on his brother's hand, and it was bleeding rapidly.

Peter looked up, his tear-ducts ready to explode as he tried to gasp out a full sentance, but was cut off by Edmund's own, silent stream of tears. Without a word, Peter yanked his brother into a feirce embrace, sobbing into his shoulder and not daring to let go, lest he lose one of his most prized treasures again. Edmund leaned against Peter, tears tracking down his face as he poured out all of the pain and darkness inside, holding onto his brother for dear life in fear that he would dissapear if he let go. After what seemed like hours of this, Peter pulled back a bit, clumsily wiping his eyes on his sleeve as he grasped Edmund's hand tightly in his own, staring down at the crudely cut letters streaming crimson over pale skin with a mixture of cold fury towards the witch, so much fury he felt sick. He continued staring at it, not really noticing the fact that they were both on the grass floor now, Edmund still clinging to Peter so hard that he was actually on his lap.

"Did she do this?"

A slight nod, and a sharp intake of breath. Peter looked up curiously to find that Edmund was wincing in pain, and he looked down to find that he had his brothers hand in an white-knuckled iron grip.

"Sorry," He said quickly, releasing it, but Edmund still had a slightly pained look in his eye.

"Does it...does it hurt?"

He nodded slowly. "Sometimes. It usually hurts if she's close by, or if she's exceptionally happy, or if..." He trailed off, ducking his head and not showing any signs of finishing. Peter wanted answers, though.

"If...what?"

Edmund looked up, and Peter was suprised to see a slight pinkish tinge to his cheeks before he answered.

"...If...Um, nightmares..."

"Like just a bit ago?"

He nodded quietly.

"Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of, Ed, you know that?"

Edmund seemed to think about it for a minute, watching Peter intently. He got the feeling that he was being x-rayed or something, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"But you never have nightmares. You're so...perfect...all the time...and...I just--" He made a slightly exasparated sound, as if struggleing to put something into words.

"I just...wanted to be like you...perfect and...liked... and noticed...but it didn't really work out very well, did it? The perfect and liked bit." He muttered sarcastically, displaying his bloodied hand. Peter struggled for words, but Edmund cut him off.

"Got what I wanted, though, right? I'll always be known as the complete brat of a kid who went and tried to kill his siblings and ended up the most popular being in the world next to Aslan, and not in a good way." He escaped Peter's hold and stood up, brushing off the pain in his arms and legs as he stood up and stalked over to the corner of the tent, folding his arms and closing his eyes.

"I should have died."

It was only a whisper, but Peter heard it as loudly if it had been screamed into his ear. He jumped up off the ground and glared as if boring holes into the back of Edmund's skull, but his brother was almost immune to that anyways, so it didn't really work. But he pressed on.

"You're wrong."

"What else is new?" Edmund snapped, opening his eyes, but not looking back at Peter.

Peter growled dangerously, but tried to keep himself calm. This was going to be a long, hard war, and he planned on winning it.

"I do have nightmares, you know."

No reply. He took this as a good sign.

"I had nightmares about you every single night until you got back, and so did the girls--"

"Ah, so thats my fault, too. Great. I feel so reassured now that I know I caused more pain than I'm worth."

Peter's nerve snapped.

Almost without thinking or realizing that he was doing it, he strode quickly over to his brother, grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around and hit him squarely in the nose.

Breathing heavily and ignoring the look of complete shock that filled Edmund's eyes, he screamed so loudly anyone would have heard it outside the tent;

"EDMUND RANDALL PEVENSIE, YOU ARE WORTH EVERY SINGLE BREATH YOU TAKE, AND IF I HAVE TO PROVE IT TO YOU-- LION'S MANE-- I HATE THAT CENSORED WITCH!"

As if coming out of a crazed trance, Peter finally realised what he just did, and his eyes widened considerably at the sight of his own fist raised in the air, and Edmund sitting on the ground where he had been knocked down, clutching his nose where crimson blood was gushing through his fingers, staring completely wide-eyed back at Peter.

Silence followed this. Even the very birds were silent. Nothing moved, none of the life outside was stirring.

The blond king gaped, and struggled for words. He had just physically abused his brother, which is what he was supposed to be protecting him from, even more so now.

"E-Ed, I--" He fell to his knees in front of Edmund, who backed away hurridly and scrambled to his feet, trying unsucessfully to run on unsteady legs and falling down onto the grass again, blood still streaming from his nose as he made to escape. Peter felt as though a rusty knife had just been driven into the part of him called 'brotherly instinct' as he crawled on hands and knees cautiously towards Edmund, who was backing away as Peter came forward.

The black-haired boy backed up against the tent canvass, pinching his nose with one hand to try and stop the bleeding, looking at Peter, pale, suprised; and though it was like a sword driven into his gut, terrified.

Peter reached forwards and laid a hand on his brothers shoulder, biting his lip as he felt Edmund tense beneath it.

"Ed, I'm so, so sorry--"

"No, stob," The younger interrupted him, voice slurred as his nose continued to slowly bleed. "Why? How cab you love me like this? Why aren't you hibbing me more?"

Peter looked dumbfounded.

"Should I?"

"Yeah," Edmund replied, looking at Peter curiously. "Yeah you shoulb. I trieb to kill you anb the girls for no reason, I hateb you, you hate me anb wish I were dead, wish you hab a better brother..." He trailed off, arching an eyebrow and not sounding completely sure of himself. Peter looked sick.

"You thought I what?"

"She said that when the wolves went to search the dam, and before dey killed you, you were screambing about how you wished me deabd and how you were sorry you didn't have the chance to kill me before I ran off..."

Peter made a weak choking noise.

"She said that? And you believed her?..."

"The wolves had come back and reported the dam thouroughly searched and the alive left deabd. I hab no idea you were still alive..." He closed his eyes, now holding his sleeve against his nostrils, trying to stem the flow.

Peter made another faint coughing noise and promptly tackled Edmund to the ground, holding him as tightly as he possibly could.

"PE'ER!" Edmund gasped, trying to free himself, but Peter began to positively sob, and wasn't really listening. Only when he realised he was nearly strangleing his brother did he release him, and when he did, Edmund backed away a bit farther against the canvass.

"You shoulbn't love me, though," He persisted, still watching Peter with a mixture of complete shock and terror. "You just canb't."

"But I do."

"No."

"Is that why you were trying to run?" Peter asked, aghast.

"Yeah, I can'b stand it. You shouldbn't."

"Well, tough luck. I do."

"You shoulbn't."

"I do."

"No,"

"Yes,"

"No,"

"Yes,"

"NO,"

"YES!"

Edmund stared, and Peter looked shocked himself, as the 'yes' hadn't even left his lips, and the voice was slightly higher. Edmund looked over Peter's shoulder and the older did the same; There, standing in all her valiant ten-year-old glory, was a slightly windswept and miffed Lucy Pevensie, followed by a rather timid looking Susan. Lucy strode forward, and both boys were completely silent as she stopped in front of them, tapping her foot.

"Well?"

"...Well...whabt?" Edmund asked cautiously, looking at each of his siblings in turn, feeling like he was missing out on something. Peter looked like he was, too.

"What do you mean, 'what'? How did you get that?" She snarled, gestureing to his bleeding nose and looking like an angered lioness, and the boys treated her as such. Cautiously.

"Well, ehm, I fell." Edmund looked at her, hoping his lie would work this time.

"You fell."

"I fell."

Lucy sighed exasparatedly.

"You're lucky I don't knock you across the head with this, Edmund Pevensie," She growled, shaking a beautifully designed diamond bottle full of a flaming red liquid in his face.

Edmund looked completely confused. He looked at Peter inquireingly, who merely shrugged as if to say 'I have no idea, either' and then at Susan, who was shaking with quiet laughter. It would have been a rather hilarious scene; A ten year old striking fear into the hearts of everyone older than her--unless you're the one she's striking fear into. Edmund gave a sort of nervous laugh, and Lucy just rolled her eyes, mumbling about something that sounded questionably like "Overbalanced idiots," and proceeded to draw herself up to her full hight of four foot three and glare feircely at her brother.

"Sit down."

Edmund cocked an eyebrow.

"Whabt?"

"SIT."

Lucy forcefully shoved her brother backwards onto the hammock, and yanked the stopper off her bottle.

"Open your mouth," She ordered, leaving no room for contridictions. Edmund obeyed hurridly, not entirely willing to be possibly beaten senseless by his sister. She was dangerous when she was angry. She proceeded to pour a single drop onto his tongue, and he gagged; It tasted absolutely horrible at first, and then it became sweeter and sweeter as what felt like fire shot through his limbs and he felt warmer than he had felt in a long time before it died away. He shivered slightly at its effect, and felt his nose. It wasn't bleeding anymore.

"How--what?" He asked, dumbfounded. Lucy's bad mood lightened a bit.

"Fireflower cordial. Father Christmas gave it to me, and it can cure any injury it's applied to, but it wont cure the ones inflicted by magic--"

"Wait wait wait; Father Christmas?" He asked, looking at each of his siblings in turn, absolutely confused.

Peter looked about ready to explain before Susan interrupted him forcefully.

"Not now, Peter. You've been in here this entire time with the treatment supplies, and you haven't even gotten started! The water is already freezing cold." She glanced at the blond reprovingly, who gave a sheepish grin in return. Susan shoo'd the two out of the tent as they laughed, and she busied herself with getting warmer water and straightening blankets, all the time muttering about older brothers and how irresponsible they were. Edmund resisted the urge to both laugh and cry as she began to fuss over him; washing his various cuts and bruises clean while muttering incoherantly, talking faster and faster each time she came upon a particuarily deep cut and looking quite pensive as she moved from cut to slash. He tried not to just perfectly moan in pain as she continued, dipping the cloth in the water every once in a while to get the blood and dirt off. He made a slight, strangled whimpering noise as she wordlessly began to clean the deep, bloodied mess of his wrists, the places where cruel ropes had been tied. She made a slight noise of her own, but continued as if nothing had even happened.

"That stings," He said quietly, watching her curiously as she wrung the cloth over the bowl. She looked up with a slight smile.

"Good. Then we know it's working. I have to admit, I was waiting for you to say that this entire time..." She cocked a thin eyebrow, and continued wringing the cloth out.

"I'm sort of...used to it."

Susan looked slightly horrified. He realised he said the wrong thing and quickly made to change it.

"I-I meant--"

"I know."

Susan sighed, standing up and perching herself on the hammock next to him, holding the bowl in her lap as she leaned over to clean the other hand. He leaned into her shoulder, closing his eyes and letting her gentle manner wash over him. He didn't realise that she had stopped suddenly until he opened his eyes. He looked at her, confused.

"...Su?"

She looked nothing short of shocked. She closed her eyes and took a sharp breath, setting down her cloth shakily. Her lower lip trembled slightly as she put her face in her hands.

"S-Susan?" He asked hesitantly, reaching over and putting a hand on her shoulder; The cruel letters continued to slightly bleed across pale skin as he watched his sister curiously. She looked up, and he was unnerved slightly at the sight of tear tracks on her cheeks.

"S-Sorry," She choked out, wiping her eyes and sniffing. "I just--just--How long have you had that?" She blurted out, grabbing at his hand and causing him to give a small noise of protest. He tried pulling it back, but she had it in a firm grip, and her expression was unreadable.

"Since the first night..." He muttered, suddenly interested in his other hand. She let out a loud, shuddering sigh.

"I..." He started, but she pressed a quieting finger to his lips, and he fell silent.

Edmund was confused and caught completely off guard when he felt himself being pulled into a warm embrace, one that only a sister could possibly give. He felt a slight burning feeling behind his eyes, and he closed them, willing himself not to break down as she rocked back and forth, wrapping his arms tentiveley around her waist, as if he had forgotten how to do it properly these last couple of days.

Truth was, he almost had.

Susan let out a slight strangled noise and pulled him closer, and after awhile, she pulled back reluctantly and smiled in a watery sort of way.

"Let's finish getting you cleaned up, now, mm?" She suggested, and he sighed, watching her fuss with the cloth again beneath the black bangs that hung over his eyes. She looked at them with distaste.

"You need a haircut..." She mused, wringing the cloth absent-mindedly in her hands while scrutenizing the black locks in a sort of annoyed way. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.

Susan sighed, holding the dripping cloth in one hand and putting the other on her hip.

"Ed, this is awkward, I know, but I need you to take off your shirt."

The slight smile died away at once.

"You need to--what?..." He asked, knowing full well what she had said, but also knowing her reaction to what she would find.

"I know," She sighed, shaking her head. "I'd have Peter do it, but he didn't even bother trying last time, and he wouldn't treat them properly, anyways. Git. So, off it comes."

Edmund looked nothing short of horrified.

"I--I don' t think you wan't to do that, Susan...maybe you SHOULD get Peter..."

"What are you talking about, Ed? Just let me see," She pressed, slightly confused. She hadn't really expected this reaction.

"Susan, seriously, go get Peter--He'll handle it better--"

"Handle WHAT better? Edmund, let me see!"

"No!"

Too late.

Susan had caught ahold of his arm, yanking the torn and slightly bloodied article of clothing off over his head as he tried to run, and nearly fainted when she did.

As Edmund had been turned away from her as he tried to escape, and as she had caught hold of him and suddenly let go, he fell to the ground with an exclamation of "OUCH!"; And all she could really pay attention to was the whip-marked and torn back of her youngest brother. He rolled over quickly and snatched his shirt away from her with a yelp of "Su!" as she continued to stare, horrified, at him. He held it over his chest and stood up, looking back at her with a look that plainly said "I told you so,".

"What--Were those whip marks?" She asked, gaping.

"Yeah," He said uncertainly, wondering how bad they really were. They were extremely sore, yes, but he didn't know how deep they were.

Susan looked ready to pass out.

"And--and when was the last time you ate something?" She asked faintly, pressing a shaking finger to her forehead and watching him closely.

"Erm," He muttered, trying to remember as he looked down at himself. He looked almost skeletal. He would have been ready to pass out, too, if he were Susan. "Uhh, back in Finchley, I think." He decided.

Susan looked positively mollified.

"Thats two and a half days! How come you haven't said anything, then!?"

"Well, my stomach kinda stopped protesting about...a day or so ago. Now it just sort of doesn't respond..."

She looked like she would like to throw something at him. He thought he saw her hand twitch towards the water bowl.

"I'm going to take care of those whip marks before we do anything else. After that, you will eat something before you become anorexic!"

He snickered.

"Yes, mum."

She growled, taking the water bowl back up and shoving him back towards the hammock.

------------------------------------------------------

He had almost forgotten what food tasted like until that morning.

He snatched up a third peice of toast, positively devouring it while Lucy watched, giggling.

"Narnia's not going to run out of toast, Ed."

"We'll see."

She laughed as he caught another mollified look from Susan, and he smirked, poking at something he didn't reecondnize on his plate.

"What's that?" He asked Lucy, who suddenly seemed to be the person to ask about something new to you in this land. She giggled again.

"Dunno," She said simply.

Figures.

"It looks funny," He decided, cocking his head. "Say we try it together, at the same time? I dare you," He shot a mischiveous sideways glance at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Well, I'm not going to let my absolute git of an older brother best me this time," She prodded him in the arm playfully, laughing. "On three. One," They both grabbed the one on their plates. "Two," It looked like a kind of tropical fruit-thing.

"THREE!" They both shouted, taking a large bite out of the sweet smelling thing. There was no possible way to describe it--it was sweet and sour at the same time, but in a good way. It was a Silvery color with a bright red juice inside that seemed to burst from it when you took a bite. It smelled sweet and tangy at the same time, and it was delicious. It looked slightly like a pear. But if you've never had one, I can't describe it. You'll have to try one for yourself to know.

They both looked at each other, cocking an eyebrow as if to say "Wow," and then they looked at Susan, to their absolute horror, had already eaten hers and was putting the core down on her plate. They looked at one another again and burst into fits of laughter.

Lucy, her eyes streaming with tears as a result of her laughing, tried to calm herself by taking deep gulps of air while Edmund fell back onto the grass, trying desparately to stop. Susan began to giggle, too, but only because she was laughing at them. Lucy took in a breath of air wrong and it resulted in a loud, rude un-ladylike snort.

They exploded into peals of laughter again.

Edmund wiped his eyes with his sleeve; he very much thought that he had cracked a rib or two just trying to hold it in.

It was sad. really; He hadn't had much to laugh about in the last couple of days, and it seemed to just explode when something related to funny came up. Lucy dropped beside him, trying to control her giggles. She felt for his hand and began pointing at the clouds, chattering on and on about how each one looked and how fast they moved, how blue the sky was and how the sun didn't seem to hurt your eyes as much as the one back in England. Meanwhile, he was wondering to himself how he could have ever wanted his family dead. Had he really been this blind to them, only seeing what he thought was annoying or evil in them? He hated himself, he really did. He couldn't possibly see how he thought Lucy's incessant chattering was annoying. Sure, maybe it got a bit boring after awhile, but it seemed like music to him after nothing but cold words and lies.

"Look, Ed, don't you think it looks very much like a Lion?" Lucy's question broke through, and he looked up at where she was pointing.

It did look like a Lion. A huge, terrible, roaring Lion, with jagged teeth and a raging mouth, narrowed eyes and an angry expression. He took in a sharp breath; With the sun shining on it like that, it could have been Aslan.

Aslan...

"I think it looks quite nice, don't you? He looks so soft and gentle..." Lucy mused quietly, seeming to be captivated by the cloud. Was she seeing what Edmund was seeing? She didn't seem to be, but Edmund almost didn't care, either, as words and visions came flying back at him in full speed...

"Please," A dark figure begged, on his knees, talking to something that was overshadowed by the dark trees of the forest. "Please..."

"You want to die?"

Asked a calm, almost soothing voice; Powerful and awful but at the same time gentle and rich.

"Yes," Came the broken reply of the dark figure again, who was now shaking slightly where he was knelt. "Kill me; Please..."

"You want me to kill you."

Came the voice again, but this time it was merely a statement.

The figure nodded vigourously.

"They don't want me back, they never will; They'll be happy to know I'm gone after this..."

A slight growl came from the trees. Nothing moved, nothing except the silently shaking figure on the ground.

"Do you know how much you have underestimated your siblings, Edmund Pevensie?"

The thin silhouette on the ground made no indication that he had heard.

"Kill me," He moaned, putting his face in his hands. "Scatter my blood on the ground; End me, end me and send me to Hell, I DESERVE NOTHING LESS!" He screamed, leaping to his feet and shouting at the hidden figure in the trees.

A loud, angry Roar shook the very heavens and the earth; birds screetched, shooting from their nests like bullets, the figure toppling forwards onto his knees again, continuing to shake with supressed sobs.

"Kill me..." He whispered piteously, not daring to look up.

"I ask again, Son of Adam; Do you know how much your family loves you? Do you know how much they want you back?"

"No." Denied the figure quietly, feircely. "They don't love me, and I don't blame them. How could they, after this?"

"They do. And I do."

"But...no. No no no, not Peter, not Susan, not Lucy, and most definately not You. You can't, You couldn't--It's just not right--"

"Edmund," The figure growled from the foliage again, and the boy fell silent.

"Do you know who I Am?" The overshadowed figure asked softly, waiting for an answer.

Edmund shifted, and even in the dark, his suprise was visible.

"You're--You're--...You're Aslan," He trailed off, not entirely sure of who exactly he was talking to. It felt right, though; He hadn't ever seen Aslan in his life, let alone met him, but something clicked into place...

"You're the one the beavers talked about...?"

"I Am," The Lion nodded, looking shrewdly out at him from the trees. "And do you know who you are, Edmund Pevensie?"

"I'm..." Edmund started, wondering how to answer. Was this a test of some sort? He was too tired, and didn't have a will to live anymore. He just didn't care.

"I'm nobody."

"Ah, but you ARE somebody. I'm going to tell you a story. There is a boy walking on a long, winding path. The path is gentle and smooth, and pleasant to tread upon. He comes to a fork in the path; One of the paths is long and wide, with many people strolling about on it, and it looks very nice. The other is narrow and jagged, with many holes and dangerous area's to walk on, with wild animals lurking around the bend, ready to take a life. He has no idea which to choose, when a lady, the Temptress, comes up beside him and smiles. 'Come with me,' she says, beckoning for him to follow her down the wide path. 'And you shall find Love, and a family that cares.' Another figure walks up beside him; A man, a man carrying a large Cross. 'Follow Me,' He says, beginning down the narrow path. 'And you will find Life.'

"The Temptress calls back, beckoning the boy forward. 'Come, come!' She pleads, taking his hand and smiling serenely. 'This is the way to Love!' Three more figures walk up beside him, and follow the man with the Cross. 'Come on!' They call back, beckoning the youth to come with them. The lady jerks at his hand, and he follows her without a second glance at the narrow path. The four figures watch him go with great dissapointment.

The Temptress leads him inside, and he walks behind her, suddenly caught up in the words she tells him. She leads the boy in, farther and farther, deeper and deeper down the wide path. They pass many people, all milling about, laughing and chatting and having a good time as the road continues on.

" Weeds and dead things begin to appear on the sides of the road; Warning signs, but he takes no notice as she entices him farther and farther in. They cross a stone bridge, and the path becomes suddenly pitch-dark and cold; and with no visible way out. Muffled screaming begins to cut through the silence. Beginning to panic, he looks around for the woman. She is nowhere to be found. Screams and yells fill the air, louder and louder as he begins to run back, trying to escape--

A cold, white hand shoots out from the darkness and snatches him by the foot, causing him to fall and hit the stone painfully as the shrieks and screams get higher and louder.

The lady, the Temptress, stands above him in all her beauty, her hair splayed about her white face as she grins in satisfaction, brandishing a knife held high.

" 'It ends tonight,' She cackles above the screams, undying fire suddenly erupting from what was a dark forest. Terrified, the boy seeks someone, anyone, to take the knife for him, to save his life--but there is none.

The dagger descends, singing the song of death as it slices through the air, ready to steal another soul.

"As he lies on the ground, bleeding, waiting for the dagger to fall, accepting death; strong arms whisk him away from the path of the knife, and a voice as loud as thunder calls, 'It has been ended!'

The woman's screams of rage can be heard for miles as another life that was hers is stolen.

The boy finds himself back at the crossroads. The man is there again, standing before the narrow path, a Cross over his shoulder. He was the one who saved him from a fate worse than death; The youth is too awed to speak.

' My path is not easy, nor is it safe. But I promise you, you will find Life. Come, Follow Me,' The man says, holding out his hand.

"The question is, Edmund Pevensie, if you will hold out your hand to take it."

Silent tears streamed down the face of the twelve year-old as the Lion strode forward, shaking his mane and fixing Edmund with a patient stare.

"That was--That was me?" He asked quietly, tears of desparation and sorrow straining his voice.

"It was."

"And--And you're--"

"I Am."

A small bit of sunlight began to stream through the trees, lilluminating the faces of The Lion and the traitor as birds began to chirp quietly; the morning was coming.

"Did...What did you tell to Peter and the girls? Did you tell them a story? What was it?" He asked, unable to hold the question back any longer.

"Child, I tell no one any story but his own." The Lion replied, flicking his tail. Edmund fell silent, staring at the grass in the uncomfortable quiet that followed.

"Edmund," The Lion whispered, bending down His face to meet the downcast eyes of the boy. "Look into my eyes."

The boy looked up, slowly, and then yelped, looking away again quickly.

"I can't!...Its like staring into the sun..."

"Edmund, look into my eyes." It was a simple sentance, but it was so commanding that he had to look up and obey. "What do you see?"

"I see..." Edmund started, looking into the amber eyes that blazed back into his. "I see...myself...a decietful, traitorous, selfish me..." He whispered, closing his eyes again.

"Look again, beyond yourself. What do you see now?" Aslan asked gently, causing Edmund to open his eyes again and slowly look back at The Lion's.

"I see...my family. And You, standing a bit farther off...there's a huge canyon-like gap between us..." He trailed off, bowing his head.

"Aslan," He whispered, staring at The Lion's paws. "...How can I get across that gorge? There's no way over it..."

"I Am the way across."

He looked up at Aslan's face, hardly daring to hope.

"I Am the Great Bridge Builder. I can fill the gap in your soul, as I filled your sibling's, so you can get across. I Am the Way, the Truth, and the Life." The words were so simple, yet so powerful. Edmund continued to stare into The Lion's face until he could stare no longer.

"Hope springs eternal," The Lion said, bending closer and touching the boy's forehead gently with soft, wild Lion kisses.

Edmund threw his arms as far as they would go around Aslan's neck, buried his face in the sea of fur, and wept.

"Aslan," He choked, stroking the golden mane with pale fingers as he cried. "Oh, Aslan..."

"Child, child," The Lion muttered, dropping into a sitting position and putting a huge paw around the boy while he wept, letting everything wash over him like a flood. He was saved; He would never have to see the Witch again. Ever. Not while Aslan was around.

Edmund tangled the gold fur in his fingers as he cried, inhaling the sweet perfume that seemed to hang around the Lion's mane like a cloud. He hardly knew why he was crying; Was it gratitude? Joy? Hope? He didn't know, but Aslan seemed to know, so he continued until his sobs were reduced to slight hiccups, but tears still flooded down his face.

"Child," Aslan asked, drawing back a bit and bending down so close they almost touched noses. "Will you Follow Me?"

"I will," The thin boy gasped out brokenly, tears continueing to silently stream from his eyes as The Lion smiled in a very cat-like way.

"Then, Edmund Pevensie, you are forgiven. Take up your cross and Follow Me."

And another roar shook the earth like an earthquake, warmth seemed to burst into the air like invisible fire as the sun rose higher and higher, and then in a flash of bright light, everything was gone.

"Ed?"

He was brought back to reality when he opened his eyes and found Lucy sitting over him, looking down with obvious curiosity and concern. How long had he been day-dreaming?

"Wha--? Oh, Lucy." He muttered, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. He felt emotionally drained, and Aslans roar continued to ring painfully in his ears. Lucy giggled slightly.

"You're thinking about something. Hard. What is it?" She pressed, leaning over. He pushed her away gently, producing more giggles. "Thinking? Who said I was thinking?" He asked, glancing at her.

"Well, if your distracted appearance and un-responsive attitude is anything to go by..."

He smacked her lightly on the arm.

"Come off it; it was nothing."

She looked ready to pester him until he took it to the grave, but a silencing look from Susan stopped her from asking any more questions. She just sat back and pouted, a beady look in her eye.

Edmund looked back over his shoulder, watching Peter stare at them all distractedly before the younger called at him.

"Oi! Peter!"

"Hmm? What?" Peter asked, snapping out of a daze. The girls giggled.

"What're you thinking about?"

Edmund could have sworn he heard a low growl at his side yelp "Hypocrite!" and he smirked, but didn't tear his gaze away from his brother, who was looking pensive.

"I'm thinking of what would be the best way to send you all home..."

"WHAT?!"

Obvious suprise and outrage toned three voices at once as their owners lept up, staring at the oldest.

"I promised mum I'd keep you three safe!" Peter yelped in defense, striding over to them with a hand in his pocket. "But it doesn't mean I can't stay behind and help!"

"They need us!" Lucy roared, stepping forwards slightly and fixing Peter with a defiant glare. "All four of us!"

"Lucy, no. Thats final. I'm staying, you three are going. You almost drowned, Edmund was almost killed! If I--"

"--Which is why we have to stay."

Edmund fixed Peter with a stare, and was slightly pleased to see the older lose a bit of confidence beneath it. He pressed on.

"I've seen what the White Witch can do. And...I've helped her do it." He muttered, seeing Peter's eyes flicker to Edmund's right hand, and he quickly hid it from veiw.

"And we can't leave these people behind to suffer for it." He finished quietly, staring back at Peter, daring him to contradict. He thought he saw a flash of pride in his brother's eyes beneath defeat, and he felt Lucy's hand catch his. He looked down at her and smiled lop-sidedly before looking back at his brother. Susan nodded as if to end the discussion and walked towards the tent.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked dispairingly, watching as she picked up her bow, slinging her quiver over her shoulder.

"To get in some practice," She replied smartly, grinning mischiviously as she set off to find a couple dwarves to help her set up targets.

"WAIT FOR ME, SU!"

Came an excited cry from his left; Edmund barely caught a last glimpse of Lucy shooting off after her sister, hand on her dagger. Peter chuckled softly.

"Don't kill yourself, Lu!" He called after her, watching her dash off in mad persuit of Susan, who had also began running, just to tease the ten-year-old. Peter turned back to face his brother, smirking slightly.

"Well, since you insist we stay, lets get in some sword practice ourselves."

Edmund was horrified. He had no inkling of an idea on how to use a weapon like that.

"But Peter--"

"On horseback."

He gaped. He hadn't ever ridden a horse, either. He submitted himself to glaring at Peter feircely. The older laughed and strode forwards, resting a hand on his shoulder and grinning.

"Its not that hard. Come on, you'll see."

Grumbling slightly, the younger followed, preparing himself for sore legs and ruthless defeat.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Swooping, wild jolts and warm breeze whistleing in his ears were almost all that Edmund knew as he urged his mount on, faster and faster, racing his brother and his pearly white Unicorn. Its indigo horn glistened in the sunlight as it ran at a taunting trot, while the poor chestnut horse the younger rode gave an annoyed whinney and ran litterally as fast as it could. The Unicorn let out a bray of laughter as Peter lightly kicked it in the side with an evil grin at his brother, spurring it on, and they were suddenly twenty yards ahead, thirty, fourty...

Nothing ran faster than a Narnian Unicorn. That was final.

He slowed his horse, bringing the poor creature to a halt near a stream, where it immediately dipped its head to drink. Edmund slid off, watching it absentmindedly as it continued to look determined to CENSORED the stream dry in its haste.

"Don't drown yourself," He joked, and it paused long enough to give him a roll of the eyes before returning to his drink. Edmund ran his fingers through its black, coarse mane, thinking about nothing in particular as he watched the blue sky above, listening to the grass bend and whistle in the wind...

The horse beside him suddenly gave a jerk and promptly rolled over, nearly knocking Edmund upside the head with one of its long, gangly legs.

"WOAH, HORSIE!" He yelped, leaping back and narrowly avoiding a hoof in the face as it rolled in the grass, quite content with itself. It paused to glare at him.

"My name is Phillip."

They boy was quite stunned. He hadn't known this was a talking horse.

"O-oh, Um...sorry..."

Phillip gave a satisfied nod and continued his roll.

"Um, just out of curiosity; Do talking horses...usually...let people, err, ride them?" Edmund asked, still slightly unhinged.

"Mm, no." Phillip replied casually, nipping at a butterfly that flew past his muzzle.

"...Why me, then? Why didn't you tell me you could talk?" He asked, slightly annoyed that he had already inconvinienced someone and it was only halfway through the day.

"Because," Phillip began, grunting slightly as he continued to roll. It was quite hilarious to watch. "I like you."

"You like me? Thats it? Thats why you let me break a rule?" Edmund asked, somewhat annoyed.

"It's not neccicarily a RULE, mind you," Phillip argued. "I wanted to be your mount. I could have bucked you off unceremoniously if I wanted to, but I thought that it was rather fun, being ridden."

"That...makes me feel loads better, thanks..."

"Anytime."

The horse gave a very horse-like smirk, and got to its feet.

"Thank you for the rest. Shall we get going again? Or--"

A screaming brey cut through the air before Phillip could finish, and they looked for the source. A flash of white on the far hilltop was drawing closer, and Phillip only just had time to grudgingly mutter "Flisk," before the Unicorn trotted to a halt before the horse and his boy. Edmund was disconcerted to see that Peter was nearly stark-white and windblown.

"Peter, what--?"

"The Witch," He gasped out, blue eyes darting from Phillip to Edmund. "Beaver told me she's demanded an audience, and she's here, NOW, we have to run."

Before Edmund even had time to let a single surge of apprehension flow through his veins, Peter had caught hold of his arm and swung him up onto the Unicorn behind him.

"You can ride back alone, Phillip?" The black-haired boy only just had time to call shakily back over his shoulder before Flisk was kicked into a run. The chesnut horse neighed a yes in reply, but it was lost on the wind as the creature bolted forwards, sprinting back to the camp quick as lightning. The younger held his arms loosely around Peter's middle only to hang on as the grass was a mere blurr beneath them, but he wasn't really paying attention as apprehensive thoughts filled his mind to no end.

What does she want, here, now? Could she possibly be more out of her mind to come before Aslan Himself?

As soon as the white stallion came to a halt, Edmund was already on the ground and racing towards the middle of the camp, towards Aslan's tent, Peter hot on his heels.

They pushed their way through the crowd of creatures, coming to a stuttering halt beside the girls, who were standing together, white as paper. All of them looked from one another in confusion, all of them having the same question, all of them deathly afraid of the answer.

What did she want?

A sudden chill gathered over the whole congregation, and a high voice Edmund immediately recondnised shouted, "Make way! Make way for the Queen of Narnia!"

All the Narnians screamed and taunted, throwing insults at the Witch as she passed, but she didn't seem in the least bit annoyed. She actually looked quite pleased.

Edmund found himself inching slightly closer to Peter as Ginnarbrik neared, shooting a