Title: Dreamland
Author: M Kari
Summary: 'Edmund still sees her sometimes, in his dreams.'
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Edmund/Jadis (kind of)
Spoilers/Timeline: Post TLtWatW.
Word Count: 790
Warnings: This is adult in subject matter, not in explicitness. No real sex, but dubious consent. Angst.
Notes: Written for maidenform for the narniaficathon. Edited slightly from the edition posted in that community. Prompt was Edmund & Jadis, angst and something with Poe or Baudelaire. Cut-tag quote and title are from Dreamland by Edgar Allen Poe.

By a route obscure and lonely / Haunted by ill angels only / Where an Eidolon, named night / On a black throne reigns upright...


Edmund still sees her sometimes, in his dreams. He's been back in England a year--a horrible, awful year of going through adolescence for a second time, of growth spurts he's already been through, of awkward first kisses and clumsy feet that don't remember the dances his brain can perform perfectly. As England becomes his reality again, Narnia slips away, its clear blue skies and lush green meadows becoming half-remembered dreams. But she, Jadis, the White Witch, Queen of Charn… She is clear.

As Aslan fades into childhood memory, she becomes the focus of a strange obsession. He cannot seem to go a week without dreaming of her. At first she is just a figure: statuesque and silent. She stands in the fog and stares into the distance, not deigning to acknowledge him. Edmund walks toward her, his steps speeding up to a jog, then a run, trying to reach her before she fades away. Just as he reaches out to touch her, she dissolves into the mist, and he wakes, covered in cold sweat and breathing hard.

Edmund grows, ages, changes, and she does the same. Sometimes her face is that of one of his classmates', even occasionally his sisters'. But each night, the closer he comes, the more sure he is that she is no one but Jadis, and when he realizes this, she smiles that wicked grin, and he wakes.

Lucy knows, he thinks. When he plods through the hallways in the mornings, so tired it looks as if he didn't sleep, she cocks her head at him, frowning. "You all right, Ed?"

He nods. "I'm fine, Lu. Just bad dreams is all."

She purses her lips, but nods, letting him go, letting him have his secrets. He thanks her for that.

He's nearly given up on touching her, but he cannot stop his dream self from running toward her still. His feet feel heavy, lead against the soft grass of Narnia's summer, but they are nothing compared to his heart. It knows this is wrong, this longing and need, and it weighs him down, dragging him to the earth. He falls, the weight in his chest throwing him to the ground with a force that takes away his breath.

In an instant, she is beside him, kneeling. "Dear boy, this is not how a prince acts," she says, her voice a musical lie, tinkling like icicles breaking in the spring sun. "You must stand tall."

His voice is rough, low with disuse, but strong; his dream self never speaks to her. "I am not a prince; I am a King."

She laughs then, and despite himself, he feels perverse joy at making her happy. Her hand is strong on his arm, pulling him to his feet. "Oh, that's right. The Lion did make you a King, didn't he? Even you, the traitor."

The word lances through him like a bolt from a crossbow, and he stumbles again. "I was forgiven," he whispers. "I was forgiven."

"But your sin was never forgotten, now was it, dear boy?" Her voice is low, her hand cool on his skin. It is as if her winter has slipped around him like a cloak.

Edmund wrenches his arm from her grasp. The flat land has turned into a hill and his momentum sends him tumbling down, ass over teakettle. She stands there still, tall and proud, laughing. He comes to a stop in a heap at the bottom of the hill, dazed and unable to move, and she is above him again. "And here you are, sinning again and again."

She kneels as he protests, her long legs straddling his prone form. Her small breasts are above his face, within easy reach of his hands. His body reacts against his wishes even as he clutches handfuls of grass to keep from touching her. She licks her lips as she presses down gently on his erect cock, and hot shame floods his skin. "Silly, silly boy. You were born sinful, didn't you know that?" She leans down, her hair brushing his face and her breath hot on his ear. "Evil is really a matter of degree, dear Edmund," she murmurs. "Can something be wrong when it feels right?" He tries to protest, but his voice is stolen when she reaches between them and cups him, her hand both cold and unbearably hot. "Doesn't it feel right?"

He wakes up, his body shaking, and his erection evident under the thin summer blanket. His body is covered in sweat, and he feels the needs to vomit. Her laugher rings in his ears, her voice a lewd whisper. She promises to be there next time he falls asleep, waiting for him.

Edmund no longer sleeps.