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The White Stag

Summary:

15 years are swept away when the Pevensies fall back through the wardrobe. In the aftermath, Edmund has a conversation with his older brother.

Notes:

I wrote this a long time ago, but I couldn't ever finish it until tonight. I'd just watched Prince Caspian, and riding upon a fresh wave of unchecked rage toward C.S. Lewis for sending the Pevensies back the way he did, I consulted my sister and finally brought this story to a close.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“If you had caught the white stag,” began Peter thoughtfully, hoisting himself onto the bedside next to Edmund with a soft thud, “What would you have wished for?”

Edmund frowned, the ball he’d been passing from hand to hand slipped through his gangly fingers and ceased to occupy his mind,

“You know I couldn’t sleep last night,” he said, turning to face his brother,

“The beds are soft as down, yet not a wink,”

He studied the older boy’s pale, youthful face. It felt strange to see him, after so many years, devoid of that battle-ready nobility he’d once grown into. No longer Peter the Magnificent, but Peter the beardless and pale; yet looking in his youth more tired and careworn than Edmund had ever seen him in years,

“You too, huh,” he chuckled, coaxing from Peter a small smile,

“I kept thinking,” he swallowed hard, “That it had been a dream- tumbling back through the wardrobe. That- I’d wake up, back home, and you’d all be there,”

He was shaking. Peter rested a hand on his shoulder, but it seemed the grip of a stranger; of feeble and uncalloused hands.

“I know Ed,” he said quietly. His voice cracked and he chuckled, reminded of how relieved he’d been when at last he’d grown into his voice,

“Coming back here,” he continued with a shake of his golden hair, trimmed neatly in a style which did not suit him, “I’d almost forgotten it was real.”

Edmund mustered a boyish grin, one he’d only discovered with Aslan’s forgiveness and kept well into his twenties,

“Spare ‘oom,” he muttered, nudging his brother’s shoulder, and the two chuckled softly,

“I had a hearing this morning,” the boy king said somberly after a moment’s silence, “I hope Valtus does alright without me… my notes will still be there, and if he checks the archives—”

“I’ve a feeling they’ll reschedule Ed,” Peter interjected. Edmund fell silent; he pushed himself further onto the bed and hugged his knees to his chest.

“I know it’s hard,” Peter choked; his throat felt dry, “But nothing’s ever going to be the same, for them or for us,”

He paused, his smooth brow furrowed in thought, “I think that’s why He did it- to change us, because we needed it—”

Edmund flinched, though he knew Peter hadn’t meant it as a reminder, of who he'd once been.

“-because” Peter gestured to the window, “Because perhaps England needs it… perhaps the world needs it!”

Then he sat up straighter, a little of the High King’s old spark back in his eyes. Courage and Wisdom restored they glistened battle-ready. He shifted to face Edmund, who was smiling weakly through a pair of melancholy eyes.

“You looked like yourself for a moment there,” rang the bitter chuckle of Edmund the Just.

The gleam in Peter’s eyes faded and Edmund was sorry for it, but he could not be cheerful just now. It was not in his nature to give up so easily,

A cold silence fell on the room for a time before Edmund found it in himself to speak again.

“I wouldn’t have wished for anything,” His voice wavered with unshed tears before he continued, “back then- in Narnia—"

“-I had everything.”

Peter studied his brother’s silhouette in the room’s dismal light. He hesitated a moment before asking, though he knew what the answer would be,

“What would you wish for now? If you had the chance…”

King Edmund looked over at his brother, and his eyes conveyed an emotion unique to the world he had once known.

“I’d wish to go home.”

Notes:

I don't really hate C.S. Lewis, but I'm often frustrated by the fact that in many of his fantasy books the characters get overlooked in favor of other story elements.