bantha_fodder: ([narnia] king edmund - tris)
[personal profile] bantha_fodder
Left it to Fend on its Own by Pen
Narniaaaa, G, Edmund.

After the last time. I don't own, etc.

My word do I love Edmund.

For Lizzencakes.


He doesn't spend any time looking for loop holes. Aslan said they weren't going back, and Aslan's not a liar.

Well, not so's He'd get caught, anyway, and Edmund knows that Aslan knows that he knows. Takes a thief to know a thief, after all.

So he doesn't go looking for loopholes.

He waits for the loopholes to find him.


Lucy weeps. Edmund shifts uneasily from foot to foot, hovering in the doorway. He knows why she's crying, of course he does, he'd be a cad not to; but he doesn't know what to say.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, and she buries her face into his neck. Her tears are damp against his skin, and he remembers every time Aslan has made her cry; remembers every time she's turned her face back to wait for Aslan's blessing.

"Wait," he says, and Lucy looks at him. "You know the way." Lucy smiles.

Well. It turns out he did know what to say, after all.


He waits, and Lucy searches, just in case.

You know what they say about liars.


You can't trust them.


Peter and Susan argue, and it bores Edmund. Their fights are in circles, judgements of Susan's actions and criticisms of Peter's vision. It has been what feels like eons, and Edmund remembers the sun setting over Cair Paravel and the light reflecting gold in Lucy's hair as they listened to Peter and Susan arguing.

Always the same fights, always the same endings.

He cocks an eyebrow at Lucy across the room, and she giggles into her book.

Peter and Susan keep fighting, and eventually, Susan slams the door on her way out. He thinks of her skirts swirling around her legs, her ladies jumping down the steps after her as Peter kicked things in his room.

Edmund longs for a change.

Or for his castle, and his horse, and Narnia on the horizon.


Aslan stands on the platform. "Edmund," He says, and His voice is reproach, and disappointment, and concern. He shakes His mane, and the sunlight reflects bright. Edmund blinks in the light, looks for a way around.

He wakes.

"Edmund," Lucy hisses from the doorway. Edmund looks around, and he has kicked his sheets onto the floor, and the sunlight streaming through his window draws patterns on the floor.

"Just a minute;" Edmund blinks the sleep from his eyes, and puts the reproach behind him.

He doesn't need the invitation there, not one bit.

Edmund knows a trick when he sees one.


Peter catches his arm. "Ed," he says, his voice soft. "I've been thinking."

"That's a new one for you, Peter," Edmund quips back, and darts off before Peter can elaborate.

He doesn't need to know Peter's latest ponderings of Aslan's words. They're likely to be wrong, afterall, and Edmund doesn't care for the hope in Peter's eyes.


Been back, Eustace writes, took a friend with me. Saved N from a witch. C dead.

Edmund's heart chills. He presses his thumb to the line, obscures the word witch. Here he was, thinking Aslan had saved them all, and kept them from returning because Narnia was safe and there was no need of the High King and his siblings; because it was all adventures and exploring from here on out.

He should have known better than to trust a liar.

He sits by the fire, holds the letter over the flames. "Are you all right?" Lucy asks, as she walks past.

"Of course," he replies, and she smiles at him. He watches the ashes crumble into the fireplace.

Lucy doesn't need to know.


Edmund is a fool. Lucy already knows, and this is how he learns of his foolishness:

Term has begun, and he has bruises up his arm from football, and a giant puff of purple on his leg from where he failed to remove himself from the path of a cricket ball. He limps into the dorms, and the boys make fun of him, but when he shows the bruise there is a lot of friendly admiration and he knows it's all right, that they take it as a mark of respect. It's a funny way of earning respect, he supposes; but no different from riding into the fray with his soldiers.

He takes the bus in to town on a Saturday afternoon; bumps into Lucy by the Post Office. "Edmund!" she exclaims, and hugs him hard, her arms brushing forcefully against his bruises. He hides his wince, but she laughs at him. "You are ridiculous," she says. "I don't need you to lie to me, too."

She takes him to the bakery and buys him a pastry. He's not sure how she's got the money to spend, but he's too busy dwelling on her words.

"I met Eustace's friend," Lucy says, as she bites into her pastry. "She doesn't like Aslan at all, not one little bit." Edmund raises an eyebrow; it shouldn't surprise him that Eustace has been won over by Lucy, and is writing to her also. "It's just as well," Lucy continues. She pauses to swallow. "She's a bit too straight-forward to appreciate a lie."

Edmund coughs on his pastry.

Lucy leans forward, rests her hand on his wrist. "Dear Edmund," she says fondly, almost gently, like she thinks he can't take the shock. "You have so lost your touch."

Edmund is a fool, and he knows it.

He keeps no secrets from Lucy.


She always was the best of them.


Aslan appears and disappears, as He always did. Edmund sees the Lion in the clouds; in the rain; sees his visage on the side of a car and in the Priest's reflection.

Edmund stifles a laugh, and across the way, Peter frowns.


"I think," Lucy says, eventually, "that it might be time."


In the mirror, he sees naught but his own reflection. When he waves, it is only at himself; only Edmund waves back.

He shuts the door, turns out the light.


On the train, at the station, wherever He wants, Aslan pushes it open.

What a surprise.

Anonymous( )Anonymous This account has disabled anonymous posting.
OpenID( )OpenID You can comment on this post while signed in with an account from many other sites, once you have confirmed your email address. Sign in using OpenID.
Account name:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.


Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.
Page generated Sep. 23rd, 2017 12:25 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios