The pain in his abdomen had ceased only seconds after the Witch removed her blade, and yet while the stabbing agony had abandoned him, another pain had taken its place. A dull ache had spread from his wound to the rest of his body, consuming him slowly while his mind was transported to somewhere he'd never even fathomed in his dreams.
White and black blurs, like giant fish, swam before his eyes, blocking out the clear blue sky, as well as the griffins and phoenix that were so at home in it. Vaguely, he still heard the clashing of weapons and bodies, but they seemed to be muting, as if he were flying away from them.
Suddenly, there was only darkness. Darkness and silence. He couldn't hear the battle, nor could he see his brother's flying allies. His pain was worsening, but it felt to him as if it weren't his own pain. As if he was leaving as the pain was coming, as if every inch that was consumed by ache was being purged of his soul.
Edmund kept breathing, although the ache was making it extremely difficult to do. He wondered vaguely why his body was still fighting to survive; within the catacombs of his mind, he knew he deserved this. Although he wasn't sure of the exact numbers, he knew what he'd done would have hurt, and even killed, hundreds of the remaining Narnians. Their villages would have been destroyed, their families separated, their men turned to stone or skewered on spears. He would have been responsible, indirectly or not, for the pain and suffering of all of them.
And that was just the beings he didn't know personally! Far more painful to imagine were the deaths of his family, his brother and sisters. He knew if he'd remained faithful to the Witch, she would have murdered them, without a doubt in the sickest way she could imagine. They would die, perhaps right before his eyes, and he would be forced to live with that guilt. He would have been their murderer, if not that the orchestrator of their murders.
It was better to die now than to face the shame of what could have been.
He was surely at death's door by now, since the ache had reached his chin. His body was gone from his control; it was completely numb and felt almost like it wasn't there. Perhaps he'd been beheaded as well while he lay on the ground, surrounded by a war that was never theirs to begin with. His breathing quickened erratically, much to his dismay, in a desperate attempt to keep himself alive. He wondered, irritated, when it would end. He didn't want to live, he didn't want to stay in pain, he didn't want to face his shame, his siblings, he didn't want any of it…
An instant later, something warm began to take the place of the pain. Something warm and soothing that began to course through his body, strengthening his heartbeat. A cold spike seemed to pierce his stomach, for he realized now that he wasn't going to die, but it dissipated almost instantly as the warmth consumed it. He stopped breathing for just a moment, reveling in the awe of the feeling. He choked a moment later on the breath he'd held in, and slowly opened his eyes.
The darkness disappeared, and before him was the one person he feared facing the most.
Peter was leaning over him, laying on him some places, and the look on his face made Edmund feel sick to his stomach. His expression was lost; like a small child separated from his mother in a place he didn't recognize. His eyes were wide; tears welled up in their depths and were threatening to spill out. His face was red and shiny with the heat and perspiration from the battle, which seemed to have ended, and his chest was heaving with erratic breaths that had nothing to do with adrenaline from the battle.
A small smile was creeping onto Edmund's face, despite his apprehension.
Peter moved suddenly, yanking Edmund from the arms he later discovered belonged to his sister, and embraced him tightly. His shoulders shook only once as he emitted a strangled sob. He held him that way for, to Edmund, what felt like an eternity. In truth, it was only a moment or so, but it was long enough to very nearly rid Edmund of the guilt and despair that had plagued him only minutes ago.
"When you are you going to learn to do as you're told?" Peter's voice contrasted his words; he was laughing, his voice wavering in his relief.
Edmund simply smiled back; it was really all he could think to do.
He knew it wasn't over; he knew he would pay for what could have happened for the rest of his life, but that prospect didn't frighten him just yet.