[fic] Along the Midnight Edge 12/14
Dec. 31st, 2010 10:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keire_keTitle: Along the Midnight Edge
Rating: 18
Genre: drama, romance
Pairings: Edmund/Caspian
Wordcount: 80k
Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes
Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian’s reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years’ history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.
[CHAPTER TWELVE -- Darest Thou Now, O Soul]
They got dressed in relative silence. Caspian then led Edmund through the darkness back towards the main chamber of the How, or at least that was his intention. Susan met them at the entrance, torch in hand, with the air of one who had been waiting impatiently and just now had their vigil rewarded.
“Su,” Edmund said.
“Ed, for heaven’s sake! You’re supposed to get eight hours of sleep, it’s been barely six!”
“Which means you haven’t slept well either.”
“I am not injured. Did you eat?”
“No, didn’t have time.”
She gritted her teeth. “Then we will eat. Then I think we better talk, alone.” The last word she added glaring at Caspian. As the only source of light was the diffused glow of the distant fire and the weak torch, the glare wasn’t terribly potent, though Edmund felt his stomach clench all the same.
Despite the nervousness, he ate with considerable appetite. Though all they had was dried, cold and unappetising, Edmund found himself enjoying the food for the first time in months.
“Now,” Susan said when they were done. “Do you want to explain why you thought it was a good idea to lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You told me you and Caspian were friends.”
“We are friends.”
“Five minutes of honesty, Edmund, it’s all I ask.” Susan glared at him. “You used to be honest with me.”
“I said nothing because if I were honest, you would have prevented me from going at all,” Edmund said. Susan stared at him.
“That’s it? That’s your reason? You aren’t even going to pretend you thought I might have feelings for him, that you would hurt, or that I would be outraged to find that you are…” She caught herself and the rest of the comment died in the awkward silence.
“You asked for five minutes of honesty. This is the truth. I know you, Su. I know you well enough, I hope, to be able to guess you wouldn’t look down on me, or that your feelings would fade over time, when not fuelled.” Edmund looked down at his hands. “I did, however, suspect that if I told you I wanted to return to Caspian, you wouldn’t allow me to do so. You are right, in many ways. I was too invested in Narnia, in Caspian, to ever truly move on. Especially now.”
Susan watched him carefully -- it would seem that for all his claims of understanding of her way of thought she knew him just as well -- and Edmund bore her scrutiny with an unflinching gaze.
“I still think you were wrong. Sooner or later you will have to return,” she started saying, then fell silent. Edmund looked on impassively. “You plan on staying,” she said. “You have no intention of ever going back.”
“No.”
“Edmund!”
“What do you wish me to say? I am invested in this world and if the recent events are any indication, this world is just as invested in me, regardless of my choices! I cannot abandon it again.”
“It, or him?” Susan asked casually. A twitch of her brow revealed she wasn’t quite as comfortable with the notion of Edmund and Caspian as she would pretend to be, but she was accepting it. The comfort would arrive in time. Edmund saw that and smiled. He rose to his knees and kissed Susan on the forehead.
“It has almost been five minutes now,” he said. “I love him, perhaps more foolishly than I should.”
“There is no perhaps about it.”
Edmund laughed. “Now, are there any questions you would like me to answer dishonestly?”
“I assume you have some kind of a plan?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well?” Susan prompted after a minute of silence.
“I cannot tell you,” Edmund said. “I’m sorry. I have confidence this will work out and you must trust me on this, but I cannot share the details.”
“I can’t trust you,” Susan said. “You won’t tell me and now I won’t be able to sleep, for fear what you plan is awful. It is awful, isn’t it?”
“Forgive me, Su.”
It was odd that it was in this moment that Peter ran into the chamber, closely followed by the others. “We have trouble,” he said, and as one everyone ran for their swords.
“What happened?”
“The dragons,” Peter said. “They are coming from all around. We are going to have to fight, soon.”
Edmund instinctively thrust out his hand to catch the sword thrown his way. Unfortunately, he reached out with his right arm, had the handle slip through his palm, catch on his fingers than the muscle gave out under the weight. “Right when I was thinking I didn’t need the cast anymore,” he said out loud.
“You are staying behind,” Caspian said.
“How far behind, when there are eight of us?”
Susan, meanwhile, stood and demanded a weapon of her own, which proved to be a problem. “I have a hunting knife,” Emeth said. “Unless you desire the sword, my lady?”
“I am an archer,” Susan said, coming to take the knife all the same. “Though I suppose I have no choice. Thank you, Emeth.”
“No, wait,” Jill said. “Here, have my bow. I shall take the knife.”
“I wouldn’t want to leave you without protection.”
“Lucy tells me you are a brilliant archer. I’m sure it is best for us all to allow the best archer the bow.”
“Thank you,” Susan said with feeling. There were still doubts plaguing her mind, with the praise or without it, but as soon as her fingers danced across the string she was confident again. It was as though all the magic of Narnia, where Susan was concerned, was found in the thrum of a string of the bow and the feather of an arrow.
“Let us see what the excitement is about,” Edmund said, fastening the belt of his sword to his left hip. Drawing the sword with his left hand was a trouble -- he had nowhere near enough practice -- though with enough incentive he could fight left-handed competently.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to let him out,” Caspian said loud enough for Peter to hear.
“I agree, absolutely.”
“Oh, come on! I am just dextrous enough to manage a distraction, at least.”
“I believe that’s the problem,” Eustace said, earning himself a glare.
“I notice a dearth of rope, if you plan to hold me back.”
“There is that. What have we got in term of bindings?” Peter asked seriously.
“Maybe we better stop them,” Lucy whispered to Edmund some minutes later.
“I rather enjoy them discussing things without an argument,” he said. “It’s a novelty.” It was also a novelty in term of the information exchanged. Caspian’s prowess with a rope was easily explained by his seafaring habits, whereas Peter’s was both a mystery and a point of future investigation.
“They talk sometimes.”
“Usually when the pool of insults has been drained and they are both swaying on their feet,” Edmund said, shaking his head. Lucy grinned at him.
“It is amusing, is it not?”
“Shouldn’t we go out?” Eustace said. “I understand fighting here gives us something of an advantage, but I would at least like to see what we are up against.”
The discussion on the finer points of bondage ended, with Edmund filing away some of the juicier comments to torment Peter with at a later time.
“Edmund, you are to keep behind us,” Peter told him. “You are not well, you would get in the way. Jill, keep an eye on him.”
“Yes, because that is exactly what we need to be doing in a battle against a multitude of dark creatures, looking to the cripple so that he doesn’t hurt himself,” Edmund said.
“Shut up,” Susan said then, stomping her foot. “You will cease the gibbering. We worry! Of course we all worry about your well-being. Everyone will be making sure you are safe!”
“Wouldn’t it be sensible, then, to put me in front?” Edmund asked, earning himself three consecutive smacks, from Peter, Lucy and Jill.
“We cannot avoid the fight,” Peter said then. “We have nowhere near enough to conquer everybody. We can however hope that the stars will be distracted enough with the creatures for us to escape.”
“Where should we go?” Emeth asked.
“Back to heaven. I know it is in no great shape either, but at the very least we have allies there. With an army we may stand a chance.”
“But Peter,” Susan said slowly, “neither Edmund nor I are dead. How can we enter heaven?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Eustace said confidently. “We have been to Aslan’s country before, Jill and I, when we rescued Rilian.”
“Which still begs the question of why shouldn’t we send the two of you back to your world,” Peter said. “When all else fails, you have the advantage of there being no magic there.”
Susan shook her head at that. “I wish that matter would be dropped. I would rather stay, unless we have no other choice.”
“I am not going anywhere the lot of you isn’t going,” Edmund said.
“We need to know what we are up against,” Peter said. “The mouth of the cave will be easy to defend, and if the worst should happen we could try blocking the exit and escaping through the wood between, though I would rather avoid that.”
“There’s no telling what would happen to you in the wood,” Edmund said, as the vision of the light underneath the bridges flashed before him. Suddenly he knew why was the wood so familiar. The very same light was its sun. “It is very queer. It makes you want to just stay there forever.”
He had wanted to melt in the light, when he was dead, or close to it.
“It shall be our last route of escape,” Peter said.
They exchanged no more words, but followed Peter through the dark corridors to the very entrance of the cave, Susan and Edmund with their hands gripping the shoulders of whoever walked in front of them, as it was too dark to see.
Outside it was bright as though the moon were full. Edmund longed to look out at the sky, for though his eyes told him there must have been a source of the light comparable to the moon, he knew there was none, for he had seen it consumed by the dying sun not that long ago. The stars must have congregated overhead, though how many to cause this brightness he dared not imagine.
Peter inched towards the mouth of the cave, keeping his back to the wall. From his position at the end Edmund could see little but the silhouettes as they cautiously stepped outside. He didn’t need eyes, however, to know what was going on. There was screeching that rolled over the white plain, which wasn’t so much echoed as repeated, over and over, until it quieted in the distance. Even from where he was standing Edmund saw the sleek shadows dance across the starry sky, occasionally erupting with an orange flame. There must have been thousands of the beasts, he thought and his heart sank a little.
There was no clear plan, save for that when it came to running Jill was to lead the way, and if it came to fighting, well, there the plan was much less concise. Edmund was glad of it. Sneaking away would be so much harder with well-defined battle arrangements.
They stepped out of the How, ready to face whatever end this would come down to. Edmund found Caspian looking at him and smiled. He watched Caspian’s eyes narrow and flicker towards their family and friends before returning to him, and saw the choice made.
He ought to have doubts, he thought when Caspian turned away, tense and ready for a battle a hundred times worse than the others imagined. He probably ought to come clean. He probably ought to want to.
He probably shouldn’t have gone and declared his undying love to a king who should have known better than to look for more than a quick tumble, he thought, glad of the humour. Now all that remained was seeing it through to the very end, and, if at all possible, containing the damage.
As soon as they were out of the cover, it became apparent that being unnoticed was the last thing they could hope for. Immediately the sky above them darkened and the creatures descended, roaring at nothing in particular. They fell onto the How and the surrounding area, covering it as the falling leaves cover the molehill, and they remained there, staring at the eight of them with bright, vicious eyes.
For a moment there was silence. Then with a shrill screech one of the beasts gave a signal and they leapt forward. The one to utter the command fell with Susan’s arrow through its mouth before it could finish the note. The second was felled by Peter’s sword. After that there was too much confusion, too much movement to keep track of whose sword killed what. The blades flashed, but soon they became dulled with the tar-like ichor of the creatures and there was no way to distinguish them from the scales in the silvery light.
Edmund made sure to remain close to Susan, though it soon became clear that he had miscalculated and that whatever had made the dragons avoid him before was much less potent now, and the defence was not easy.
Though there was barely time to breathe, Edmund saw that far in the distance the sea of blackness was being broken by the presence of shining people, armed with spears and knives. The stars were coming, but given the amount of creatures to be fought, they were still far enough for the concern to be secondary.
Edmund searched their ranks for Rilian, but all he could see was a hissing silvery brightness. He cursed when a swipe of the dragon’s tail nearly knocked the sword out of his hand. It was too close. There were too many of them and to make matters worse, breathing was becoming a chore, for the air was so cold that a deeper inhalation felt as though tiny icicles were stabbing into his throat and lungs, freezing him from the inside.
“Head inside,” Edmund yelled to Susan, who was experiencing a similar struggle.
He saw, then, that a creature had landed before him, spreading its wings. Its gaze was cruel and the mind behind it possessed just enough intelligence to be capable of malice. Edmund lowered his sword and held out his hand. It was awkward, for short of dropping his weapon he could only reach out with his right, and it had to remain encased, at least for the duration of the fight.
The creature’s head dived for him and its jaws closed instead around Caspian’s forearm. Edmund found himself on the icy ground, with the breath knocked out of him.
“Caspian!” Edmund screamed, but he had already dropped his sword and grasped the dragon’s jaw with his other hand.
The world seemed to still, but when Edmund looked around he saw that the range was quite limited -- it was only the dragons who were less than a hundred yards away that had stopped moving, and on the fringes of the herd there was fighting still. There were few that tried to leap over their brothers’ heads, and those still had free reign, until they dared to venture too close to the swords between them and their prey.
Caspian stood quite still, staring into the green eyes of the dragon, with his fingers digging into the scales. There was no expression on his face. Slowly, he bent to the ground for the sword, pulling the creature’s head with him.
“Caspian!” Peter yelled, “what on earth are you doing!”
Caspian wasn’t listening anymore.
“It is easy,” he said calmly, as though he was discussing the weather.
“Caspian, stop this!” Peter lunged over the empty space with his sword thrust forward, aiming for the creature’s head, but Caspian blocked his strike almost absentmindedly.
“No.” Caspian turned towards them. His face was terrifyingly blank, pale and wonderful. Edmund’s heat fluttered madly and fire burned in his soul.
“Caspian, this is madness,” he said, stepping forth. He couldn’t catch his breath, speaking was verging on painful, but still continued. “You cannot do this. You don’t realise the consequence.”
“I realise,” Caspian said, and even in the strange, shifting starlight Edmund saw his eyes darken. “You were right,” he whispered. “This will solve so much.”
“Stop this,” Peter screamed, so close that Edmund winced at the sheer volume. “You cannot!”
“You won’t tell me what I can and cannot do, Peter.”
“Edmund, make him stop!” Lucy beseeched. “This is wrong, this cannot be good, please!”
“How?” Edmund asked. His eyes were locked with Caspian’s.
“Tell him you won’t speak to him ever again, anything! Tell him you won’t forgive him, lion’s mane!” Peter made a move to step towards Caspian, but a growl from a hundred dragons kept him in place. “Edmund!”
“I am not that good a liar, Pete,” Edmund said, and his voice felt as though it was coming from far away.
Caspian grinned. He let go of the dragon, which remained quite docile, even as his hand left its jaw, and stepped to Edmund. His skin was heated, Edmund thought, and it was the only thought he was capable of presently. Caspian’s grip on his back was nigh on painful, the press of his lips bruising in its intensity, but it was perfection, ice and fire, damnation and heaven all into one. His heart sang.
Edmund gasped for air when they separated. There was a sinister promise in Caspian’s dark eyes: there would be nothing and no one to stand in their way. They would conquer worlds together; they would burn them, freeze them; they would sail to the very ends of the universe and there wouldn’t be a land which wouldn’t bow before them. It was thrilling.
Caspian let him go and then he was mounting the dragon and taking it into the sky. One by one the surrounding creatures took flight as well, at the very least those which stood closest to Caspian.
There were so many, and even though Edmund saw them pause, one by one, look up and take off, for every one that did there were two that leapt over their heads to attack. There was no pause, no respite for the fighters, not until Caspian managed to wrestle the whole population under control.
There was so little time.
Edmund dived under the wing of a creature which was ready to take Susan’s head off and thrust his sword into its side. It writhed on the ground for a few moments and stilled, but he was already running, throwing himself into the thick of the herd, so that, with any luck, he would not be seen.
The ability not to think too hard would have been a blessing at this point, Edmund thought, as he whirled and rammed the blade into another dragon. He was badly winded; using his left hand meant his more fanciful fighting skills would have to give way to crude stabs and hacks, which of course made him lose precious time on balancing his steps. Having to put his weight on the hilt of the sword to break the thick hide was a terrible impairment. Had he been healthy, or dead, he thought with amusement, the same result he could achieve with a graceful pirouette and a slash across the throat.
He had the advantage, though, one that his siblings unfortunately did not possess, and that was the dragon’s reluctance to approach. Even though he was wrapped in mortal flesh, they must have still sensed that he was broken and it scared them off.
More and more creatures around him ceased moving. The ice field was becoming deserted, but the journey still had plenty of obstacles. It was enough. It was too much. He needed to hurry.
Edmund stopped. Less than fifty yards away there was a star, struggling with a great creature, whose eyes were less listless than those of the others.
“Rilian!” Edmund yelled, mindless of the cold stinging his face and hands. He’d foregone gloves, as the control of the sword seemed more important. He was regretting it now. “Rilian!”
The star turned to him with a look of surprise and the dragon took that opportunity to bite into its shoulder. It screeched, which was a sound no human throat would be capable of.
It was different from Lilliandil and Coriakin, who both looked human, although in Lilliandil’s case the looks were overshadowed by the glow, constantly suffusing her surroundings. She was a lovely woman, ageless in one way, but very much showing the signs of human maturity. Coriakin was an elderly man. This… Edmund wasn’t even sure if it even had a gender, and its age could be anything at all.
Well, this would later be used to tease Caspian.
The star speared the dragon’s head and let the carcass fall to the ground. “You,” it hissed, though the word sizzled in its mouth like its silvery blood sizzled around the dragon saliva on its shoulder. “You come to us.”
“I will speak with Rilian alone,” Edmund said straightening. He looked at the creature, through half-lidded eyes, the eyes of an aloof king who deigned to speak to an insignificant worm. “You will either get him, or take me to him.”
It was getting brighter, and the shadows all around started flickering. Edmund found his chest was bothering him again -- though the wound Rilian had given him had not so much as twinged since he woke on the station, now he found it aching.
He counted, drawing out each syllable in his mind. First ten in English, then Latin, then Greek, then reverse, until his mind was utterly calm and devoid of panic. There were still dragons to be fought around him. There was still time, so he stood and waited, as the stars, gathering in multitudes, surrounded him. Some of them snarled, though their faces were so bright he found looking at them was hard.
It was strange that there was no warmth in their light. Edmund wasn’t gifted in the field of physics, he knew just enough to get by, but he was aware that at the very least a source of light should emit heat. Evidently, it was not so with Narnian stars.
There was movement in the ranks, at last, and the stars parted to allow Rilian through. “Edmund,” he said with some surprise. “You have returned.” He looked better than he had when they last spoke, or perhaps it was merely that Edmund’s mortal eyes couldn’t focus properly on the immortal body, especially when it was wrapped in the heavenly light. He was clad in black, and carried no weapon but the stone knife, tucked into his belt.
“You promised me a duel,” Edmund said. “You should at the very least acknowledge and honour that.”
“You come here, virtually unarmed, and demand that I duel you?”
“I do.”
“Why would I?”
“Because you all but promised that you would fight me honourably. Am I to understand you would go back on a given word?”
“No more than you would.”
There was a murmur among the stars, then. They disagreed. They wished for little else than to be given the word they were free to tear Edmund apart, limb from limb, until they could take his heart from the bleeding husk and present it at Rilian’s feet.
Then again, Edmund thought, given what the actual intention seemed to be, a silver platter was more likely. Maybe with a fork and a knife on the side.
“Tell me,” he asked, “Is it necessary for you to consume my heart? I couldn’t stop wondering about that.”
Rilian gave him a look of surprise and then an awkward laugh. “I am… Yes. Unfortunately, yes. I myself am not entirely sure why this must be so, but I am told that there is one way only to destroy a soul, and that is to consume it.”
“It can be done with no harm to you?”
“Yes.” Rilian wasn’t absolutely certain, however. Deep inside, and this was betrayed by only the tiniest flicker in his eyes, he feared -- he hoped! -- that he was not exempt from the rule and that he would be spared the aftermath.
“It is fascinating.”
“Edmund… Must we fight?”
“As opposed to me laying down my life and betraying the promise I made to your father?” Edmund raised his sword and bowed. “We must all live up to our word. Do me the honour, then, and defeat me in an honourable battle. Allow me to die as a king should.”
“You shouldn’t have to die,” Rilian said, but he turned to say a word to one of the stars, and soon he was handed a sword. “I shall never stop mourning your demise.”
“Thank you.”
Though his hands would barely move, and his feet were starting to rebel at the proximity of ice, Edmund found that his body sang at the prospect of the duel. He was in Narnia, the world which had made him a king; it remembered his kingship and the knowledge was alive well after his death. It remained long enough to carry on the echoes well into her death, so that he could feel them now, all the memories of the duels fought and won, of the precious lessons in duels lost.
Granted, he was never considered a true master of the sword -- Peter was undoubtedly his better -- but there were few to match him, when the occasion called for it. Fighting Rilian, who was crippled by guilt of deeds not yet committed and his own misgivings shouldn’t be too hard.
Their swords crossed and though Rilian frowned at the fact that Edmund chose to fight left-handed, he made no comment.
Were there sympathetic onlookers, Edmund thought when the first surge had them clash and then jump back, they would be hissing at him to submit, in the hopes that the victor would be magnanimous. There was little hope for Edmund to win, little hope he would even look like he might win. Rilian had experience over him, for Edmund might have learned to fight for his life early, but Rilian had at the very least twice Edmund’s swordsmanship experience, in combat and in tournaments. He was also healthy, unhindered by recently broken bones and unaffected by the cold.
Then again, Edmund wasn’t exactly playing to win.
Another clash brought them into proximity, so that were it not for the crossed blades Edmund would have felt Rilian’s breath ghost across his face. Instead, he was just as likely to be burned by the icy-cold metal. Even this would be easier, had it not been for the fact that his left hand was nowhere near strong enough to allow for such test of strength. Edmund was convinced even his right would fail.
A hurling screech came from directly above and Edmund found himself gripping the handle of the stone knife. His jacket, hindering though it was in a fight, allowed for some concealment and so he was able to hide the weapon away, hopefully before the stars took their eyes off the sky.
He pushed at Rilian’s waist, and jumped back, not bothering to hide his exhaustion.
“You are not well,” Rilian observed.
“I am well enough,” Edmund wheezed.
“I cannot fight you in good conscience when you are not well enough to reciprocate.”
“Your subjects are of different mind.”
“They have been waiting for far longer than I.”
“You have been waiting for hundreds of years.”
“I have been granted the opportunity to meet all those I treasured in heaven. I can hardly say I suffered for it.” Rilian smiled thinly and his voice trailed to a whisper so low, Edmund would have missed it, had he not been supported by the man. “I know my father wishes to kill me, for what I’ve done to you, for what I plan to do.”
“Caspian is being an idiot about it. You mustn’t let him.”
“How can I just ignore such intense hatred, when he is my father?” Rilian asked.
Edmund smirked. “You can remember your father is ruled by his passions, as often as not. Had he not travelled to the rim of the world, when a sufficient excuse presented itself? Had he not made rash promises in the heat of the moment, without so much as a thought to the consequences? I’m sure you will find he regrets plenty of what he did and promised, before he thought about it.”
“To be fair to his choices, the consequences were such that no man could in his conceit hope to foresee.”
Edmund mused, how strange it was that he could converse with this man, who had been sworn to end his existence, in such a playful manner, with hundred’s of spears pointing in his direction. The beauty of diplomacy, he mused, was flirting with one’s enemies and duelling one’s friends, all for the greater good. What poetry it was!
He was not the only one to entertain such thoughts. “Sire,” one of the stars said. “’Tis foolishness. Let us be done with this king, when there is no way but forth.”
“I sha’n’t kill a man who’s unable to defend himself,” Rilian said decisively. “I was wrong to ever attempt it. I will not let such a deed burden my conscience ever again.”
“Aye, my lord, you heart does you a great honour, but it is not time for it. So much more is at stake.”
Edmund found that the circle of spears tightened around him and that there was a hand -- burning, cold, luminescent hand -- on his throat, tilting back his head.
Rilian’s brow furrowed. “Release him,” he said forcefully.
“No,” said another voice, hidden by the stars. Once more the shining folk had parted, letting through one who should be as them, but her visage was more like that of a human, her light diminished. “No, Rilian, he is right. There is no time to lose. We must act and we must act swiftly.”
“Mother, no. It is dishonourable.”
“That is not a concern of mine,” Lilliandil said, striding to Edmund. The star holding him by the shoulders trembled, and Edmund heard a gasp of reverence, but pulled his head back further, exposing his throat.
“I sha’n’t beg your forgiveness,” Lilliandil whispered. “I hope that you will some comfort in that I shall share your fate.”
“What a short-lived comfort it will be, my lady,” Edmund said as she laid her hands upon his chest. “When your son will be screaming in anguish.”
Her hands shook. “You sha’n’t hear it.”
“Neither shall you.”
“I will not let you change my mind, Edmund.”
“No, it is a sound choice. A fair one. I cannot help but approve.”
Though he willed it not to, his heart hammered in his chest, louder and louder, as he saw her hesitate. Then, when Lilliandil brightened with resolve, there came the screams and the flapping of great, leathery wings.
The first creature descended upon Rilian, though its effort was half-hearted, at best. A swipe of the sword took its head off its neck. It had done the job, however. Edmund was free, as Lilliandil and all the stars had rushed to aid her son.
She realised her mistake within moments and when she turned to face him her face was terrible. Edmund couldn’t help but recall the face of the White Witch in her anger, and though they were as different as night and day, there was something of her in the ice-cold fury in Liliandil’s eyes. “You dare to play tricks on us?” she hissed, and for once her speech was as sizzling as that of the other stars. “You dare to ruin our triumph?”
“It is not a triumph, my lady, until you have won,” Edmund said lightly. There was a battle behind him and there was a battle in front. Only he and Lilliandil stood unmoved in the face of the wave of the dark creatures, and they all stepped around, like water parts for a stone in the stream. “I have told you, I shan’t go quietly.”
“You will always be a traitor,” she said. “Your name will only be recalled for its treachery!”
“Fine words, madam, but as you have come to this earth to steal a man’s soul, I am not moved by your accusations.”
She would have lunged at him then and he would have fallen, to the despair of many, and the joy of countless. However, as it happened Lilliandil made no step forward, for a blade, blackened with corruption and ichor, had pierced her through the heart. She looked up to find Caspian, whose arms were cushioning her fall, even as he pulled his sword out of her body.
He said nothing as he lowered her to the ice. His face was devoid of all emotion, even as he leaned forward to plant a kiss upon her parted lips. “Farewell, my queen,” Caspian said as her eyes grew vacant and empty.
Rating: 18
Genre: drama, romance
Pairings: Edmund/Caspian
Wordcount: 80k
Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes
Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian’s reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years’ history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.
[CHAPTER TWELVE -- Darest Thou Now, O Soul]
They got dressed in relative silence. Caspian then led Edmund through the darkness back towards the main chamber of the How, or at least that was his intention. Susan met them at the entrance, torch in hand, with the air of one who had been waiting impatiently and just now had their vigil rewarded.
“Su,” Edmund said.
“Ed, for heaven’s sake! You’re supposed to get eight hours of sleep, it’s been barely six!”
“Which means you haven’t slept well either.”
“I am not injured. Did you eat?”
“No, didn’t have time.”
She gritted her teeth. “Then we will eat. Then I think we better talk, alone.” The last word she added glaring at Caspian. As the only source of light was the diffused glow of the distant fire and the weak torch, the glare wasn’t terribly potent, though Edmund felt his stomach clench all the same.
Despite the nervousness, he ate with considerable appetite. Though all they had was dried, cold and unappetising, Edmund found himself enjoying the food for the first time in months.
“Now,” Susan said when they were done. “Do you want to explain why you thought it was a good idea to lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You told me you and Caspian were friends.”
“We are friends.”
“Five minutes of honesty, Edmund, it’s all I ask.” Susan glared at him. “You used to be honest with me.”
“I said nothing because if I were honest, you would have prevented me from going at all,” Edmund said. Susan stared at him.
“That’s it? That’s your reason? You aren’t even going to pretend you thought I might have feelings for him, that you would hurt, or that I would be outraged to find that you are…” She caught herself and the rest of the comment died in the awkward silence.
“You asked for five minutes of honesty. This is the truth. I know you, Su. I know you well enough, I hope, to be able to guess you wouldn’t look down on me, or that your feelings would fade over time, when not fuelled.” Edmund looked down at his hands. “I did, however, suspect that if I told you I wanted to return to Caspian, you wouldn’t allow me to do so. You are right, in many ways. I was too invested in Narnia, in Caspian, to ever truly move on. Especially now.”
Susan watched him carefully -- it would seem that for all his claims of understanding of her way of thought she knew him just as well -- and Edmund bore her scrutiny with an unflinching gaze.
“I still think you were wrong. Sooner or later you will have to return,” she started saying, then fell silent. Edmund looked on impassively. “You plan on staying,” she said. “You have no intention of ever going back.”
“No.”
“Edmund!”
“What do you wish me to say? I am invested in this world and if the recent events are any indication, this world is just as invested in me, regardless of my choices! I cannot abandon it again.”
“It, or him?” Susan asked casually. A twitch of her brow revealed she wasn’t quite as comfortable with the notion of Edmund and Caspian as she would pretend to be, but she was accepting it. The comfort would arrive in time. Edmund saw that and smiled. He rose to his knees and kissed Susan on the forehead.
“It has almost been five minutes now,” he said. “I love him, perhaps more foolishly than I should.”
“There is no perhaps about it.”
Edmund laughed. “Now, are there any questions you would like me to answer dishonestly?”
“I assume you have some kind of a plan?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well?” Susan prompted after a minute of silence.
“I cannot tell you,” Edmund said. “I’m sorry. I have confidence this will work out and you must trust me on this, but I cannot share the details.”
“I can’t trust you,” Susan said. “You won’t tell me and now I won’t be able to sleep, for fear what you plan is awful. It is awful, isn’t it?”
“Forgive me, Su.”
It was odd that it was in this moment that Peter ran into the chamber, closely followed by the others. “We have trouble,” he said, and as one everyone ran for their swords.
“What happened?”
“The dragons,” Peter said. “They are coming from all around. We are going to have to fight, soon.”
Edmund instinctively thrust out his hand to catch the sword thrown his way. Unfortunately, he reached out with his right arm, had the handle slip through his palm, catch on his fingers than the muscle gave out under the weight. “Right when I was thinking I didn’t need the cast anymore,” he said out loud.
“You are staying behind,” Caspian said.
“How far behind, when there are eight of us?”
Susan, meanwhile, stood and demanded a weapon of her own, which proved to be a problem. “I have a hunting knife,” Emeth said. “Unless you desire the sword, my lady?”
“I am an archer,” Susan said, coming to take the knife all the same. “Though I suppose I have no choice. Thank you, Emeth.”
“No, wait,” Jill said. “Here, have my bow. I shall take the knife.”
“I wouldn’t want to leave you without protection.”
“Lucy tells me you are a brilliant archer. I’m sure it is best for us all to allow the best archer the bow.”
“Thank you,” Susan said with feeling. There were still doubts plaguing her mind, with the praise or without it, but as soon as her fingers danced across the string she was confident again. It was as though all the magic of Narnia, where Susan was concerned, was found in the thrum of a string of the bow and the feather of an arrow.
“Let us see what the excitement is about,” Edmund said, fastening the belt of his sword to his left hip. Drawing the sword with his left hand was a trouble -- he had nowhere near enough practice -- though with enough incentive he could fight left-handed competently.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to let him out,” Caspian said loud enough for Peter to hear.
“I agree, absolutely.”
“Oh, come on! I am just dextrous enough to manage a distraction, at least.”
“I believe that’s the problem,” Eustace said, earning himself a glare.
“I notice a dearth of rope, if you plan to hold me back.”
“There is that. What have we got in term of bindings?” Peter asked seriously.
“Maybe we better stop them,” Lucy whispered to Edmund some minutes later.
“I rather enjoy them discussing things without an argument,” he said. “It’s a novelty.” It was also a novelty in term of the information exchanged. Caspian’s prowess with a rope was easily explained by his seafaring habits, whereas Peter’s was both a mystery and a point of future investigation.
“They talk sometimes.”
“Usually when the pool of insults has been drained and they are both swaying on their feet,” Edmund said, shaking his head. Lucy grinned at him.
“It is amusing, is it not?”
“Shouldn’t we go out?” Eustace said. “I understand fighting here gives us something of an advantage, but I would at least like to see what we are up against.”
The discussion on the finer points of bondage ended, with Edmund filing away some of the juicier comments to torment Peter with at a later time.
“Edmund, you are to keep behind us,” Peter told him. “You are not well, you would get in the way. Jill, keep an eye on him.”
“Yes, because that is exactly what we need to be doing in a battle against a multitude of dark creatures, looking to the cripple so that he doesn’t hurt himself,” Edmund said.
“Shut up,” Susan said then, stomping her foot. “You will cease the gibbering. We worry! Of course we all worry about your well-being. Everyone will be making sure you are safe!”
“Wouldn’t it be sensible, then, to put me in front?” Edmund asked, earning himself three consecutive smacks, from Peter, Lucy and Jill.
“We cannot avoid the fight,” Peter said then. “We have nowhere near enough to conquer everybody. We can however hope that the stars will be distracted enough with the creatures for us to escape.”
“Where should we go?” Emeth asked.
“Back to heaven. I know it is in no great shape either, but at the very least we have allies there. With an army we may stand a chance.”
“But Peter,” Susan said slowly, “neither Edmund nor I are dead. How can we enter heaven?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Eustace said confidently. “We have been to Aslan’s country before, Jill and I, when we rescued Rilian.”
“Which still begs the question of why shouldn’t we send the two of you back to your world,” Peter said. “When all else fails, you have the advantage of there being no magic there.”
Susan shook her head at that. “I wish that matter would be dropped. I would rather stay, unless we have no other choice.”
“I am not going anywhere the lot of you isn’t going,” Edmund said.
“We need to know what we are up against,” Peter said. “The mouth of the cave will be easy to defend, and if the worst should happen we could try blocking the exit and escaping through the wood between, though I would rather avoid that.”
“There’s no telling what would happen to you in the wood,” Edmund said, as the vision of the light underneath the bridges flashed before him. Suddenly he knew why was the wood so familiar. The very same light was its sun. “It is very queer. It makes you want to just stay there forever.”
He had wanted to melt in the light, when he was dead, or close to it.
“It shall be our last route of escape,” Peter said.
They exchanged no more words, but followed Peter through the dark corridors to the very entrance of the cave, Susan and Edmund with their hands gripping the shoulders of whoever walked in front of them, as it was too dark to see.
Outside it was bright as though the moon were full. Edmund longed to look out at the sky, for though his eyes told him there must have been a source of the light comparable to the moon, he knew there was none, for he had seen it consumed by the dying sun not that long ago. The stars must have congregated overhead, though how many to cause this brightness he dared not imagine.
Peter inched towards the mouth of the cave, keeping his back to the wall. From his position at the end Edmund could see little but the silhouettes as they cautiously stepped outside. He didn’t need eyes, however, to know what was going on. There was screeching that rolled over the white plain, which wasn’t so much echoed as repeated, over and over, until it quieted in the distance. Even from where he was standing Edmund saw the sleek shadows dance across the starry sky, occasionally erupting with an orange flame. There must have been thousands of the beasts, he thought and his heart sank a little.
There was no clear plan, save for that when it came to running Jill was to lead the way, and if it came to fighting, well, there the plan was much less concise. Edmund was glad of it. Sneaking away would be so much harder with well-defined battle arrangements.
They stepped out of the How, ready to face whatever end this would come down to. Edmund found Caspian looking at him and smiled. He watched Caspian’s eyes narrow and flicker towards their family and friends before returning to him, and saw the choice made.
He ought to have doubts, he thought when Caspian turned away, tense and ready for a battle a hundred times worse than the others imagined. He probably ought to come clean. He probably ought to want to.
He probably shouldn’t have gone and declared his undying love to a king who should have known better than to look for more than a quick tumble, he thought, glad of the humour. Now all that remained was seeing it through to the very end, and, if at all possible, containing the damage.
As soon as they were out of the cover, it became apparent that being unnoticed was the last thing they could hope for. Immediately the sky above them darkened and the creatures descended, roaring at nothing in particular. They fell onto the How and the surrounding area, covering it as the falling leaves cover the molehill, and they remained there, staring at the eight of them with bright, vicious eyes.
For a moment there was silence. Then with a shrill screech one of the beasts gave a signal and they leapt forward. The one to utter the command fell with Susan’s arrow through its mouth before it could finish the note. The second was felled by Peter’s sword. After that there was too much confusion, too much movement to keep track of whose sword killed what. The blades flashed, but soon they became dulled with the tar-like ichor of the creatures and there was no way to distinguish them from the scales in the silvery light.
Edmund made sure to remain close to Susan, though it soon became clear that he had miscalculated and that whatever had made the dragons avoid him before was much less potent now, and the defence was not easy.
Though there was barely time to breathe, Edmund saw that far in the distance the sea of blackness was being broken by the presence of shining people, armed with spears and knives. The stars were coming, but given the amount of creatures to be fought, they were still far enough for the concern to be secondary.
Edmund searched their ranks for Rilian, but all he could see was a hissing silvery brightness. He cursed when a swipe of the dragon’s tail nearly knocked the sword out of his hand. It was too close. There were too many of them and to make matters worse, breathing was becoming a chore, for the air was so cold that a deeper inhalation felt as though tiny icicles were stabbing into his throat and lungs, freezing him from the inside.
“Head inside,” Edmund yelled to Susan, who was experiencing a similar struggle.
He saw, then, that a creature had landed before him, spreading its wings. Its gaze was cruel and the mind behind it possessed just enough intelligence to be capable of malice. Edmund lowered his sword and held out his hand. It was awkward, for short of dropping his weapon he could only reach out with his right, and it had to remain encased, at least for the duration of the fight.
The creature’s head dived for him and its jaws closed instead around Caspian’s forearm. Edmund found himself on the icy ground, with the breath knocked out of him.
“Caspian!” Edmund screamed, but he had already dropped his sword and grasped the dragon’s jaw with his other hand.
The world seemed to still, but when Edmund looked around he saw that the range was quite limited -- it was only the dragons who were less than a hundred yards away that had stopped moving, and on the fringes of the herd there was fighting still. There were few that tried to leap over their brothers’ heads, and those still had free reign, until they dared to venture too close to the swords between them and their prey.
Caspian stood quite still, staring into the green eyes of the dragon, with his fingers digging into the scales. There was no expression on his face. Slowly, he bent to the ground for the sword, pulling the creature’s head with him.
“Caspian!” Peter yelled, “what on earth are you doing!”
Caspian wasn’t listening anymore.
“It is easy,” he said calmly, as though he was discussing the weather.
“Caspian, stop this!” Peter lunged over the empty space with his sword thrust forward, aiming for the creature’s head, but Caspian blocked his strike almost absentmindedly.
“No.” Caspian turned towards them. His face was terrifyingly blank, pale and wonderful. Edmund’s heat fluttered madly and fire burned in his soul.
“Caspian, this is madness,” he said, stepping forth. He couldn’t catch his breath, speaking was verging on painful, but still continued. “You cannot do this. You don’t realise the consequence.”
“I realise,” Caspian said, and even in the strange, shifting starlight Edmund saw his eyes darken. “You were right,” he whispered. “This will solve so much.”
“Stop this,” Peter screamed, so close that Edmund winced at the sheer volume. “You cannot!”
“You won’t tell me what I can and cannot do, Peter.”
“Edmund, make him stop!” Lucy beseeched. “This is wrong, this cannot be good, please!”
“How?” Edmund asked. His eyes were locked with Caspian’s.
“Tell him you won’t speak to him ever again, anything! Tell him you won’t forgive him, lion’s mane!” Peter made a move to step towards Caspian, but a growl from a hundred dragons kept him in place. “Edmund!”
“I am not that good a liar, Pete,” Edmund said, and his voice felt as though it was coming from far away.
Caspian grinned. He let go of the dragon, which remained quite docile, even as his hand left its jaw, and stepped to Edmund. His skin was heated, Edmund thought, and it was the only thought he was capable of presently. Caspian’s grip on his back was nigh on painful, the press of his lips bruising in its intensity, but it was perfection, ice and fire, damnation and heaven all into one. His heart sang.
Edmund gasped for air when they separated. There was a sinister promise in Caspian’s dark eyes: there would be nothing and no one to stand in their way. They would conquer worlds together; they would burn them, freeze them; they would sail to the very ends of the universe and there wouldn’t be a land which wouldn’t bow before them. It was thrilling.
Caspian let him go and then he was mounting the dragon and taking it into the sky. One by one the surrounding creatures took flight as well, at the very least those which stood closest to Caspian.
There were so many, and even though Edmund saw them pause, one by one, look up and take off, for every one that did there were two that leapt over their heads to attack. There was no pause, no respite for the fighters, not until Caspian managed to wrestle the whole population under control.
There was so little time.
Edmund dived under the wing of a creature which was ready to take Susan’s head off and thrust his sword into its side. It writhed on the ground for a few moments and stilled, but he was already running, throwing himself into the thick of the herd, so that, with any luck, he would not be seen.
The ability not to think too hard would have been a blessing at this point, Edmund thought, as he whirled and rammed the blade into another dragon. He was badly winded; using his left hand meant his more fanciful fighting skills would have to give way to crude stabs and hacks, which of course made him lose precious time on balancing his steps. Having to put his weight on the hilt of the sword to break the thick hide was a terrible impairment. Had he been healthy, or dead, he thought with amusement, the same result he could achieve with a graceful pirouette and a slash across the throat.
He had the advantage, though, one that his siblings unfortunately did not possess, and that was the dragon’s reluctance to approach. Even though he was wrapped in mortal flesh, they must have still sensed that he was broken and it scared them off.
More and more creatures around him ceased moving. The ice field was becoming deserted, but the journey still had plenty of obstacles. It was enough. It was too much. He needed to hurry.
Edmund stopped. Less than fifty yards away there was a star, struggling with a great creature, whose eyes were less listless than those of the others.
“Rilian!” Edmund yelled, mindless of the cold stinging his face and hands. He’d foregone gloves, as the control of the sword seemed more important. He was regretting it now. “Rilian!”
The star turned to him with a look of surprise and the dragon took that opportunity to bite into its shoulder. It screeched, which was a sound no human throat would be capable of.
It was different from Lilliandil and Coriakin, who both looked human, although in Lilliandil’s case the looks were overshadowed by the glow, constantly suffusing her surroundings. She was a lovely woman, ageless in one way, but very much showing the signs of human maturity. Coriakin was an elderly man. This… Edmund wasn’t even sure if it even had a gender, and its age could be anything at all.
Well, this would later be used to tease Caspian.
The star speared the dragon’s head and let the carcass fall to the ground. “You,” it hissed, though the word sizzled in its mouth like its silvery blood sizzled around the dragon saliva on its shoulder. “You come to us.”
“I will speak with Rilian alone,” Edmund said straightening. He looked at the creature, through half-lidded eyes, the eyes of an aloof king who deigned to speak to an insignificant worm. “You will either get him, or take me to him.”
It was getting brighter, and the shadows all around started flickering. Edmund found his chest was bothering him again -- though the wound Rilian had given him had not so much as twinged since he woke on the station, now he found it aching.
He counted, drawing out each syllable in his mind. First ten in English, then Latin, then Greek, then reverse, until his mind was utterly calm and devoid of panic. There were still dragons to be fought around him. There was still time, so he stood and waited, as the stars, gathering in multitudes, surrounded him. Some of them snarled, though their faces were so bright he found looking at them was hard.
It was strange that there was no warmth in their light. Edmund wasn’t gifted in the field of physics, he knew just enough to get by, but he was aware that at the very least a source of light should emit heat. Evidently, it was not so with Narnian stars.
There was movement in the ranks, at last, and the stars parted to allow Rilian through. “Edmund,” he said with some surprise. “You have returned.” He looked better than he had when they last spoke, or perhaps it was merely that Edmund’s mortal eyes couldn’t focus properly on the immortal body, especially when it was wrapped in the heavenly light. He was clad in black, and carried no weapon but the stone knife, tucked into his belt.
“You promised me a duel,” Edmund said. “You should at the very least acknowledge and honour that.”
“You come here, virtually unarmed, and demand that I duel you?”
“I do.”
“Why would I?”
“Because you all but promised that you would fight me honourably. Am I to understand you would go back on a given word?”
“No more than you would.”
There was a murmur among the stars, then. They disagreed. They wished for little else than to be given the word they were free to tear Edmund apart, limb from limb, until they could take his heart from the bleeding husk and present it at Rilian’s feet.
Then again, Edmund thought, given what the actual intention seemed to be, a silver platter was more likely. Maybe with a fork and a knife on the side.
“Tell me,” he asked, “Is it necessary for you to consume my heart? I couldn’t stop wondering about that.”
Rilian gave him a look of surprise and then an awkward laugh. “I am… Yes. Unfortunately, yes. I myself am not entirely sure why this must be so, but I am told that there is one way only to destroy a soul, and that is to consume it.”
“It can be done with no harm to you?”
“Yes.” Rilian wasn’t absolutely certain, however. Deep inside, and this was betrayed by only the tiniest flicker in his eyes, he feared -- he hoped! -- that he was not exempt from the rule and that he would be spared the aftermath.
“It is fascinating.”
“Edmund… Must we fight?”
“As opposed to me laying down my life and betraying the promise I made to your father?” Edmund raised his sword and bowed. “We must all live up to our word. Do me the honour, then, and defeat me in an honourable battle. Allow me to die as a king should.”
“You shouldn’t have to die,” Rilian said, but he turned to say a word to one of the stars, and soon he was handed a sword. “I shall never stop mourning your demise.”
“Thank you.”
Though his hands would barely move, and his feet were starting to rebel at the proximity of ice, Edmund found that his body sang at the prospect of the duel. He was in Narnia, the world which had made him a king; it remembered his kingship and the knowledge was alive well after his death. It remained long enough to carry on the echoes well into her death, so that he could feel them now, all the memories of the duels fought and won, of the precious lessons in duels lost.
Granted, he was never considered a true master of the sword -- Peter was undoubtedly his better -- but there were few to match him, when the occasion called for it. Fighting Rilian, who was crippled by guilt of deeds not yet committed and his own misgivings shouldn’t be too hard.
Their swords crossed and though Rilian frowned at the fact that Edmund chose to fight left-handed, he made no comment.
Were there sympathetic onlookers, Edmund thought when the first surge had them clash and then jump back, they would be hissing at him to submit, in the hopes that the victor would be magnanimous. There was little hope for Edmund to win, little hope he would even look like he might win. Rilian had experience over him, for Edmund might have learned to fight for his life early, but Rilian had at the very least twice Edmund’s swordsmanship experience, in combat and in tournaments. He was also healthy, unhindered by recently broken bones and unaffected by the cold.
Then again, Edmund wasn’t exactly playing to win.
Another clash brought them into proximity, so that were it not for the crossed blades Edmund would have felt Rilian’s breath ghost across his face. Instead, he was just as likely to be burned by the icy-cold metal. Even this would be easier, had it not been for the fact that his left hand was nowhere near strong enough to allow for such test of strength. Edmund was convinced even his right would fail.
A hurling screech came from directly above and Edmund found himself gripping the handle of the stone knife. His jacket, hindering though it was in a fight, allowed for some concealment and so he was able to hide the weapon away, hopefully before the stars took their eyes off the sky.
He pushed at Rilian’s waist, and jumped back, not bothering to hide his exhaustion.
“You are not well,” Rilian observed.
“I am well enough,” Edmund wheezed.
“I cannot fight you in good conscience when you are not well enough to reciprocate.”
“Your subjects are of different mind.”
“They have been waiting for far longer than I.”
“You have been waiting for hundreds of years.”
“I have been granted the opportunity to meet all those I treasured in heaven. I can hardly say I suffered for it.” Rilian smiled thinly and his voice trailed to a whisper so low, Edmund would have missed it, had he not been supported by the man. “I know my father wishes to kill me, for what I’ve done to you, for what I plan to do.”
“Caspian is being an idiot about it. You mustn’t let him.”
“How can I just ignore such intense hatred, when he is my father?” Rilian asked.
Edmund smirked. “You can remember your father is ruled by his passions, as often as not. Had he not travelled to the rim of the world, when a sufficient excuse presented itself? Had he not made rash promises in the heat of the moment, without so much as a thought to the consequences? I’m sure you will find he regrets plenty of what he did and promised, before he thought about it.”
“To be fair to his choices, the consequences were such that no man could in his conceit hope to foresee.”
Edmund mused, how strange it was that he could converse with this man, who had been sworn to end his existence, in such a playful manner, with hundred’s of spears pointing in his direction. The beauty of diplomacy, he mused, was flirting with one’s enemies and duelling one’s friends, all for the greater good. What poetry it was!
He was not the only one to entertain such thoughts. “Sire,” one of the stars said. “’Tis foolishness. Let us be done with this king, when there is no way but forth.”
“I sha’n’t kill a man who’s unable to defend himself,” Rilian said decisively. “I was wrong to ever attempt it. I will not let such a deed burden my conscience ever again.”
“Aye, my lord, you heart does you a great honour, but it is not time for it. So much more is at stake.”
Edmund found that the circle of spears tightened around him and that there was a hand -- burning, cold, luminescent hand -- on his throat, tilting back his head.
Rilian’s brow furrowed. “Release him,” he said forcefully.
“No,” said another voice, hidden by the stars. Once more the shining folk had parted, letting through one who should be as them, but her visage was more like that of a human, her light diminished. “No, Rilian, he is right. There is no time to lose. We must act and we must act swiftly.”
“Mother, no. It is dishonourable.”
“That is not a concern of mine,” Lilliandil said, striding to Edmund. The star holding him by the shoulders trembled, and Edmund heard a gasp of reverence, but pulled his head back further, exposing his throat.
“I sha’n’t beg your forgiveness,” Lilliandil whispered. “I hope that you will some comfort in that I shall share your fate.”
“What a short-lived comfort it will be, my lady,” Edmund said as she laid her hands upon his chest. “When your son will be screaming in anguish.”
Her hands shook. “You sha’n’t hear it.”
“Neither shall you.”
“I will not let you change my mind, Edmund.”
“No, it is a sound choice. A fair one. I cannot help but approve.”
Though he willed it not to, his heart hammered in his chest, louder and louder, as he saw her hesitate. Then, when Lilliandil brightened with resolve, there came the screams and the flapping of great, leathery wings.
The first creature descended upon Rilian, though its effort was half-hearted, at best. A swipe of the sword took its head off its neck. It had done the job, however. Edmund was free, as Lilliandil and all the stars had rushed to aid her son.
She realised her mistake within moments and when she turned to face him her face was terrible. Edmund couldn’t help but recall the face of the White Witch in her anger, and though they were as different as night and day, there was something of her in the ice-cold fury in Liliandil’s eyes. “You dare to play tricks on us?” she hissed, and for once her speech was as sizzling as that of the other stars. “You dare to ruin our triumph?”
“It is not a triumph, my lady, until you have won,” Edmund said lightly. There was a battle behind him and there was a battle in front. Only he and Lilliandil stood unmoved in the face of the wave of the dark creatures, and they all stepped around, like water parts for a stone in the stream. “I have told you, I shan’t go quietly.”
“You will always be a traitor,” she said. “Your name will only be recalled for its treachery!”
“Fine words, madam, but as you have come to this earth to steal a man’s soul, I am not moved by your accusations.”
She would have lunged at him then and he would have fallen, to the despair of many, and the joy of countless. However, as it happened Lilliandil made no step forward, for a blade, blackened with corruption and ichor, had pierced her through the heart. She looked up to find Caspian, whose arms were cushioning her fall, even as he pulled his sword out of her body.
He said nothing as he lowered her to the ice. His face was devoid of all emotion, even as he leaned forward to plant a kiss upon her parted lips. “Farewell, my queen,” Caspian said as her eyes grew vacant and empty.
