A/N: Hey, ya'll.
So this has been sitting on my hard drive for awhile, now, desperately wanting to be put up but being refined and actually finished got in the way of that. So now it's finally here and I'm definitely really excited to hear what you all have to say about it. x]
I actually got the idea for this by listening to the song "All I can say" by the fantastic David Crowder Band. Best band ever. They've been around forever and they've still got an excellent style. Anywho, heard the song, fell in love with it, and you'll even see the lyrics to it in here. So this is kind of a song-fic thing. I highly recommend listening to the song...it's beautiful.
(youtube) /watch?v=s_7H1Z53g6g
IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm getting an awful lot of feedback saying that the setting of the story and such isn't specifically stated. I had actually intended for that to be so, wishing for you all to imagine it yourselves to kind of add a different feel to it for each individual person, but I can't ignore the reviews anymore and so I'll just set a time. When I wrote this I was thinking sometime in the Golden Age, Edmund being around fourteen or so, on my timeline that being about two years or so since LWW. There. But feel free to imagine it any way you like. I thought the first-impression idea was going to be a smash, but I probably should have said something. -___-" - 3/08/10
Anywho. Here it is. Bundle of angsty goodness. I really should get off this angsty stuff but it's way too much fun.
By the way - working on the first chapter of "Stranded". So if you were curious about that - I'm in the middle of writing. So hopefully it won't be long. :P
Happy Valentine's day everyone.
SPECIAL THANKS TO TONZURA123 FOR BETA-ING THIS AND BEING OVERALL FLIPPING AWESOME ABOUT IT!
Disclaimer: Not C.S. Lewis. There, was that so hard?
Staring.
Eyes wavering. Muscles twitching. Breath fogging.
He sighed, resting his forehead against the cool, smooth, ancient glass surface of the mirror, watching himself closely. Deeply breathing, he slowly drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his small arms around them as if to draw healing to his breaking heart by holding himself close. He sat there, staring at himself, unready to be crushed.
So unready to be crushed.
Lord I'm tired,
So tired from walking,
And Lord I'm so alone…
The long shadows of the room slithered across his face as he watched himself, hardly blinking, dark eyes boring so heavily into their twins in the glass that it was a wonder the mirror didn't shatter, so archaic as it was. Bits of wintry sunlight filtered in through the small, grime-coated window in the corner, illuminating the tiny gray room with shafts of faded and distorted gold as it fell over nearly every object inside.
Every object but two, the two hidden far in the corner where the sunlight just couldn't reach.
He wanted it that way. It was better that way. Better to be cold.
Cold made you numb to everything.
And Lord the dark,
Is creeping in,
Creeping up,
To swallow me,
I think I'll stop,
Rest here a while…
He let his eyes fall shut as a chill, not unlike the ones he had already been feeling, crept through his veins, causing an involuntary shiver as he pulled his knees closer. If he kept his mind off it, maybe it would disappear somehow. Maybe it would lose its intensity, and he wouldn't feel so lost when thinking about it.
Maybe if he chose not to dwell on it, it would turn out to be only a dream.
A horrible, wretched, terrifying dream.
He shut his mind in resistance against the whispered nightmarish howls and shrieks building up in his mind. Taunting, breaking him from the inside – if he concentrated on other things long enough, maybe he would be distracted –
/Look at all that dust on the mirror…how long had it been up here?/
The images, so horrendous, so alarming –
/Hadn't he seen that throw rug downstairs?/
His eyes wavered. The faintest amount of fear came through, but he held it…
/Didn't that vase used to be in Lucy's chambers?/
/"Despair, and DIE…!"/
Edmund's eyes flew open, flicking back to the sight of himself, reflected in the mirror, tears pooling fast. He drew in a sharp, hitching gasp in confirmation.
He fell apart.
And this is all, this is all that I can say right now,
And this is all that I can give,
That's my everything
Tears leaked onto the cracked, dusty glass, dripping to the grimy wooden floor in steady rhythm, everything silent all but for the occasional quiet, broken gasps issuing from his throat as he struggled to comprehend it at all. His knuckles were white, his fingertips red as he dug them into his knee caps, pressing his cheek against the dust-covered oak frame that supported the mirror. His own cries seemed to echo all around him, taunting him, just as they did that one night all that time ago.
Of course he had known something was done when the Lion had announced the witch's resolute claim for his blood invalid; of course he had known something was done when he saw the look of pure, agonizing lust in her eyes as she stalked past him, bound by whatever agreement she had been part of not to take him by the collar and drag him all the way to his death; of course he had known something was done when the dryad had informed them of the immortal Lion's untimely mortal death. He had known then that something was not right – how stupid he had been to not piece it together after all this time…
He let another breaking, near-silent wail escape him as he leaned more heavily against the mirror, tears falling faster. He was a disaster. A wretched, undeserving disaster. He had told Aslan that. In fact, it had been one of the very first things out of his mouth when he dared look into his Lord's terrible eyes for the first time all that time ago.
"But you are My beautiful disaster."
That was all He had said then. It had been enough to untie every sinful cord still binding his ragged, torn heart together, and it was enough to untie them now. How he could ever illustrate the Lion's incomprehensible love for him, he had no words; only the knowledge that this inexplicable Savior had been broken, torn, bruised, wounded, shamed, pierced, and slain – in his stead.
In his place. In his punishment. In his crime.
He couldn't stand to look at himself in the mirror anymore. There was nothing for him to look at.
How Aslan could have crowned him king, let alone laid eyes on him, was beyond his farthest understanding. He himself couldn't stand being him. How could anyone else bear to be in his company? He moaned and pressed his forehead up against the glass in despair, eyes still closed as the tears slipped down.
/"…did you honestly think that by all this you could save the human traitor?"/
/Traitor…traitor… traitor…/
The word echoed spitefully in his mind, causing the room to spin and making his chest throb painfully as more weight was added to his already crushed heart. His tears slipped faster down his face even as he choked a sob through his thin fingers, which were now pressed tightly up against his lips in an attempt to refrain from noise.
Oh, didn't You see me cry'n?
And didn't You hear me call Your name?
Wasn't it You I gave my heart to?
I wish You'd remember where you sat it down…
He felt so confused. Disoriented. Lost.
Faded.
His unsteady breaths misted against the cool glass, cruelly harking back to earlier memories, memories so frigid, so relentlessly chilling, his entire body shook as the cold pressed in on his mind and soul like a solid wall of ice that was ever growing. Nothing he could do would stop the shivering. Where was Aslan? Why wasn't He here? He had promised He would always be with him wherever he was…why couldn't he feel it?
Oh Aslan, why couldn't he feel at all?
In the space of mere seconds, he had gone from feeling so much to feeling nothing at all. An apathetic nothingness. He was so empty…he looked up at himself in the mirror.
Lion's alive, his eyes were completely blank. Just all over lifeless. He could still see the tear tracks on his cheeks and there were many unshed, just lurking over the edge.
But he didn't feel it at all. He couldn't…
Had he been forever destined to end up living like this? Vacant? Alone? He stared at himself, unable to breathe.
He had given his heart and very soul to this Lion.
Had he ever gotten it back?
And this is all, this is all that I can say right now,
And this is all that I can give,
This is all that I can say right now,
That's my everything
His head was pounding. Everything ached. His veins were made of ice, everything was so cold. So cold. It was the only thing he could feel. Everything was so numb, so frozen, like all that time ago…
/Solid Ice. Whispered words. Breaking hearts. Haunting screams…so much blood…/
He gasped aloud, clutching at his hair as his mind seemed poised to collapse in on itself. He felt so helpless…he could hear the fighting scream within him not to let go, but he couldn't last…his heart was bursting at the core, breaking apart and falling to pieces.
/"Traitor…traitor…liar…"/
But he couldn't feel it…oh how he wanted to. Anything but this…
He killed Him. He killed His holy King, His only shelter, His blessed savior. With his own words, he had tied the chords and sharpened the knife in advance. What power that was! What absolute control he had, deciding death days in advance, completely unaware of it but so dangerously in authority…!
/"Thief…murderer…"/
I didn't notice You were standing here,
I didn't know that
That was You holding me,
I didn't notice You were cry'n too,
I didn't know that
That was You washing my feet,
He still could not feel his breaking heart. He couldn't find the words to describe this unfeeling, apathetic anguish tearing through him, driven through his core as if by a knife of solid ice. He just didn't know what to know anymore…he closed his eyes. He closed his mind.
/The wind rushing through his hair was so nice…there was warm sunlight on his skin, but he couldn't feel it…/
There was a rustle amongst the tatted old drapery.
/He could taste the salt on the breeze. He was at the sea…/
Something wet trickled down his cheek. He was crying again…
/He could hear the cry of the gulls as they circled above him…/
More tears. Why was he crying? There was nothing to cry about anymore…
/Something brushed away his tears. Something…warm./
Warm?
/Perhaps it was only the traces of the burning humiliation lurking in his cheeks. Maybe he only imagined it../
/No, no. this was a golden sort of warm…the warmth you'll only ever feel if you step out into the bright spring sunshine after being kept indoors all winter long…/
Confusion began to settle in. He opened his eyes.
He blinked.
His eyes went wide.
The wintry sunlight had finally managed to filter through to the end of the room and just barely catch the very edge of the mirror – the spider webbed cracking patterns shone white in the golden hues of the brighter room. And in that golden spot, the eye of Aslan shone through the cracked and distorted glass.
He was so caught up in the sight of it, he had completely forgotten who he was.
He momentarily felt the warm, sweet calming breath that only a Lion could breathe pour over him and stir his hair up as the image in the mirror shifted to reveal His wide, open mouth – exposing dozens of sharp, terrifying teeth. He was shaken to the core with excitement and fright as the fangs glistened in the golden shades of the evening sun.
He then realized this was a mirror. It reflected. His eyes trained back to the spot where his own pallid, awestruck self stared back at him before whipping around to catch a full glimpse of his Aslan –
And there was no Lion in sight. He had gone again.
Everything was deathly quiet.
Edmund, breathing fast and sitting dazedly on his knees, blinked twice and crawled over to the spot where Aslan should have been moments before…
Nothing. The only sign that He was ever in the room was that the window that had been closed only a few minutes ago was now open, and a crisp breeze gusted pleasantly in and ruffled the curtains back and forth. There were even a few traces of snowflakes melting on the warm wooden floor, dark spots in the dust. He watched them for a moment, before slowly turning back and eying himself in the mirror once more. He realized his eyes weren't so empty now…the tears had nearly gone, and he looked a little less ghostly. He felt…warm. The darkness inside of him was dissipating…his heart was still shattered, but it would mend with time. He knew he would never forget what he had done, but maybe that was a blessing in itself somehow.
He knew that all that time ago on top of the hill that looked over a small, crimson-dotted camp where tents were set up, and with the dawn just peaking over the horizon, he had been made new. And the process hadn't stopped there, nor would ever stop, because he felt the keen sting of change working on him even now. But he would be alright.
He looked back to the grimy, gray floor where the sunlight pooled and stopped at his feet where the shadows began.
There was a Lion's paw print in the dust.
For the first time in what seemed like years, he managed a small smile, tracing his fingers in the dust around it, still gloriously awestruck. There was no possible way he would ever forgive himself for his crime now, but perhaps in the future, he would manage. If Aslan would make it so.
And He would. And did. But that's another story entirely.
And this is all that I can say right now,
Lord, I know it's not much,
And this is all that I can give,
And this is all that I can say right now, right now,
And this is all that I can give,
Yeah that's my everything,
Everything…
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