Edmund the Betrayer A/N
Edmund stared at the darkness, not being able to close his eyes. After all those years, he had really believed that he could finally be free… but in the end, he always found out that he couldn't and wouldn't be. Why was it so that even now, the White Witch seemed to have some kind of control over his mind? She was dead! Or at least… supposed to be… Edmund shook his head. He didn't want to think about the first time they had came to Narnia… Well, after the war, everything had been really great but it still didn't change the fact that Edmund had basically sold his siblings… over candy.
I was just a stupid kid back then who didn't understand a thing, Edmund told himself over and over again. But he couldn't help thinking that maybe it wasn't just about that. Maybe there was something in him… something which was not inside his siblings. Darkness. And after his betrayal, the shadow in him always appeared at times like that… He just wasn't like Lucy, Susan or… Peter. Well, Edmund knew very well that Susan's and Peter's faith in Narnia and Aslan had at times staggered… But when thinking about Lucy, Edmund felt sick to his stomach. Lucy had been the one who had found Narnia. Who had always believed. Somehow Edmund was kind of jealous of that but… he couldn't help it, he just wasn't like Lucy. He wasn't pure… not at all.
The things in him… The dreams, the thoughts, and everything he'd done… Nothing pure in them. Edmund glanced at Caspian who was sleeping next to him. He remembered every glance, every touch, and the burning skin underneath his palms, Caspian's soft voice whispering a name… someone else's name. Edmund had tried to stop it. But he couldn't. Caspian had been the one starting it and apparently he had no intention to make an end for the thing, for the burning between them. And every single time, Edmund just gave in. At first he had told himself all over again that it was what he wanted, he wanted Caspian… as he did but he still couldn't get it out his head. Every glance. Every thought, every dream… Every single time Caspian came inside Edmund, sweaty, breathing loudly but not too loudly, not that anyone would hear them.
Every time when it happened, Edmund felt so sick. He had to keep his eyes open even when Caspian kissed him. He couldn't close his eyes… But it was hard, almost impossible. And sometimes, Edmund just wanted to close his eyes and get swept away with his feelings, confusing reality with his fantasies. And when Edmund did that, he came so hard that it was impossible to stay quiet, impossible to burn inside. After that he was ashamed of himself, he couldn't look at himself in the eyes. Edmund wondered if Peter would forgive him that if he knew… He didn't think so.
Edmund tried to convince himself that it hurt when he knew that Caspian was thinking someone else when they were together. He tried to convince himself that it burnt his chest as Caspian whispered someone else's name. But it didn't hurt. At all. Because Edmund didn't care. Because he just didn't care about Caspian like that. And the feeling was mutual. Even though both of them were trying to deny it from themselves, deep inside, both of them were just betraying themselves. Edmund knew it all. It was nothing but sleeping together, trying to forget, trying to satisfy their needs, their hopes and dreams which wouldn't become true. Edmund was someone else's replacement for Caspian. And Caspian was also just a replacement for Edmund.
He wanted to care about Caspian. He wanted to want and need him. To love him. But Edmund was certain that it wouldn't happen. He wasn't able to see anyone else. To want, need, love anyone else… Caspian wasn't the one Edmund desperately needed. And that was the thing which made everything between them so bittersweet.
Edmund felt sick to his stomach as his eyes closed, he wasn't able to resist the urge… And Caspian's breathing against his skin seemed to burn holes in Edmund's skin, his hair was shorter… lighter, thicker… His hands softer, knowing every single inch in Edmund's body, holding him close, in that familiar feeling which make Edmund warm inside. He was safe, finally, in those arms… In his arms… Caspian thrust inside him, deeper, harder, faster…
Edmund moaned and grabbed his hair, trying to be closer, closer… as close as two people could get. As Edmund reached the climax, he opened his eyes, stared into blue eyes, the only heaven he was allowed in, shaking, moaning, he closed his eyes and his body relaxed. As he finally slumped against Edmund's chest, breathing heavily, sweaty, Edmund could almost sense the familiar scent, the only air Edmund wanted to breathe. Heart was beating strongly against Edmund's chest and for a moment, he almost believed that it was reality.
And then Caspian got up and avoided looking into Edmund's eyes who was doing the exact same thing. As Caspian silently went to his bed, Edmund turned around and grabbed the blanket, throwing it on his naked body, heart beating heavily against his chest, feeling dirty and disgusted with himself. But even more he was afraid of Caspian's reaction… Had he said anything? Edmund couldn't remember. Sometimes he did though, afterwards he recalled the moment when he had moaned his brother's name. But Caspian hadn't noticed. And even if he had, he hadn't reacted to it.
Edmund couldn't sleep for the whole night, with disgust and guilt filling his mind. Indeed, there was something bad, something dark about him. Perhaps it had always been there, always would. Edmund bit his pillow as hot tears started to roll down his face. There was nothing pure in him. Because… how could anyone consider a person pure, a person who fantasized about his own brother? Who was in love with his brother…?
He was full of dirt. He wasn't Edmund the Just. He was nothing. And as the night turned into day, Edmund was relieved. But he knew that once dusk would fall again, those thoughts wouldn't leave him alone. They only disappeared when Caspian held him for a moment, when Edmund imagined that he was someone else, somewhere else. At least now he didn't betray anyone. Anyone but himself.