Disclaimer: Does this story really sound like it was written by one of the best authors in history? I think not! Therefore, I believe it is safe to say that C.S. Lewis owns these characters, and that I am NOT C.S. Lewis.
He knew. Peter knew what she was capable of; so why did he just stand there, doing nothing, while a battle raged behind him? Why wouldn't he fight when he knew what she had done to the country he had fought so hard to protect… and to the brother who had fought beside him?
Anger surged through Edmund's veins as he rested on the ledge atop the How and thought over the events of the day. The castle raid… it had been completely unfair for Peter to blame Caspian for the Narnian army's failure, but that could be dwelt upon later. There were more important matters on the young king's mind. He leaned back against the wall of solid rock behind him and sighed, a troubled expression crossing his fair freckled features.
He found himself walking to the Stone Table with the intent to put Caspian's mind at ease about the raid. Peter had been quick to put the blame on anyone other than himself, and, since Caspian was next in line to the Narnian throne (Peter's throne), saw fit to throw it upon the prince's shoulders. As he continued down the corridor, Edmund started hearing raised voices. He sighed, thinking Peter had beaten him to Caspian, but as he drew closer he realized that they were the sounds of a small battle. His hand grasped the pommel of his sword and quietly pulled it from its sheath, and, taking a step forward, he saw his worst nightmare come to life.
Her hand was reaching out towards Peter through a wall of ice, and Peter appeared to be completely frozen. A werewolf was preparing to pounce on Caspian, though, so Edmund rushed forward to aid the prince. The beast saw him first and turned, leaving Edmund only seconds to take in the mangy fur, wild red eyes, and snarling teeth before it leapt at him. Any second now, Peter would snap out of whatever stupor he was in and stab the Witch through her black heart. Any second…
Edmund heard a squeak of pain and saw, in the corner of his eye, Lucy struggling with Nikabrik, but the werewolf was continuing his advances. An angry thrust of Edmund's sword finished the brute, and he turned to help his sister, but Nikabrik was already lying dead on the ground with a victorious Trumpkin standing beside Lucy. Edmund breathed a prayer of thanks to Aslan before turning to his brother.
His heart stopped. The Witch still had an icy hand stretched out towards Peter, and as Edmund watched, Peter lowered his sword as though actually listening to her lies. "Peter, darling, how I've missed you…" Edmund froze, half expecting Peter to raise his sword again, say, "I'm only joking!", and stab her, but he continued to stand there, doing nothing.
Realizing that Peter had failed him, Edmund sprinted, coming to a stop behind the Witch's ghostly frame. He lifted his sword over his head with both hands, but, before he could bring it down, he heard the Witch say in a voice as sweet as poisoned honey, "You know you can't do this alone… Come on… just one drop."
Through the Witch's apparition and the wall of ice, Edmund saw Peter lift Rhindon. Thinking he was finally coming around, Edmund relaxed, until Peter started bringing his sword to his hand."No…," Edmund whispered to himself.
Dizzied as a rush of adrenaline hit him, Edmund tightened his grip on his own sword. With a fierce yell, he brought it down; the wall of ice cracked, and the Witch went rigid. Then, with a thundering crash, the wall exploded and sent shards of ice flying in different directions. The light from the torches reflected off of them, casting an eerie glow across the room. Edmund stood, shocked, before looking at his brother. Peter's blue eyes lifted up to meet his brother's dark ones and the words were out of Edmund's mouth before he could stop them.
"I know; you had it sorted."
A/N: Review please! And, as this is my first published fic, I feel inclined to ask you to please be gentle! Thank you!