This is my first fanfic, so... go easy on me, kay? ;) Constructive criticism is welcomed.

If you like to picture what the Pevensies look like, when I was writing I was thinking of how they look in the Prince Caspian movie. It was filmed roughly 3 to 4 years after they filmed LWW, and this is set 4 years into the Pevensies' reign.

Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia or any of its characters or places. They belong to the spectacular C.S. Lewis.

The hall was cold and dark; the stale air hung about him and threatened to suffocate him. Everywhere he turned, he could see nothing but icy walls so cold they looked blue. And where he couldn't see walls, there was only shadow—before him, behind him, above him. There was no way out, and apparently nowhere to go. Still, taking action was better than standing and doing nothing. So he set out at a brisk pace, moving forward.

The scenery never changed, and his faster breathing brought the freezing air inside him and filled his lungs, hurting and making him cough. The cold seemed to press in on him from every direction—seemed to pierce his very soul. He was so alone. The feeling of helplessness grew and he felt as if there was nothing he could do to save himself from the endless winter. And still he numbly moved onward, not knowing what else to do.

Then, from the shadows ahead of him, he heard something. Distant and queer, at first he couldn't tell what exactly was making the noise. But as he moved even further along the hall, the sound grew until he knew—it was a scream. Agonizing and filled with pain and sorrow, it pierced him to the very center and made him tremble. Then another scream started, and then another. Soon it was hard to tell if they were coming from in front of him or behind him, as the sounds of terror echoed and bounced off the walls of ice. The mounting pain in his head forced him to stop walking and clutch at his hair. The screams and moans were of the most desperate, most tortured kind. While he heard them, their pain became HIS pain, their sorrow was HIS sorrow. Just when he thought he could take no more, he saw the statues.

Stone statues, frozen in expressions of horror and agony, slowly emerged out of the shadows and surrounded him. Fauns and centaurs, giants and various animals, all faced him and made him shudder even more violently. Though he knew they couldn't possibly be alive, the screaming and moaning seemed to be coming from their frozen mouths. And he somehow came to understand that it was HE who had caused their pain. They were hurting, HE was hurting, and it was all his fault.

More statues moved out of the darkness. His brother and sisters stared at him, their frozen eyes blank, their pained, tortured expressions cemented into stone. It was more than he could bear.

"No…" his voice shook with fear and horror and panic. "No… No, NO! This isn't what I wanted!" He sobbed to his frozen siblings. "Make it all go away!" he yelled to the dark ceiling.

The endless noise grew louder. His yells and moans of agony joined theirs as he crumpled into a ball on the stone cold floor. With tears streaming down his numb face, he cried for mercy, for forgiveness. He couldn't stand it; he couldn't take any more. He felt like he was dying, and he almost welcomed it—felt he deserved it for what he had done.

Then, above the screaming, a voice spoke—loud and clear. "Have you had enough, Little King?" Hearing that voice speak was the most horrible shock he had yet experienced. How he loathed that voice, and the owner of it. It was HER voice, and she was mocking him, taunting him in her overly sweet way.

"Have you looked around you, Son of Adam? Do you see what you have done?" She laughed, an empty, humorless laugh that echoed around the hall and mixed with the screams. "Did you think that you were forgiven? Is that what that Lion, the great fool, told you? How can you ever be forgiven for committing a crime so terrible?" Her words pierced him like nothing else had, and he hid his face under his arms and sobbed into the stone floor while the screams grew into an unbearable volume. His body ached, his head wanted to split open…

Then, as if on cue, there was sudden and absolute silence. It was an eerie silence, without any echoes of shrieks or moans. He felt as if he had been plunged into a pool of ice cold water. Afraid to move, he remained in a crumpled ball on the floor, breathing heavily. After a few seconds, he began to sense the presence of something hovering above him. When he finally gathered the courage to look up, his heart jumped and he yelled out of horror. Her face was staring down at him, smiling cruelly.

"Every traitor belongs to me," she spoke softly. "You are mine, Traitor."

Then suddenly, the stone floor vanished, and he was falling, falling into her realms, falling…..

"AAARRGGHHHH—NOOOOO!" Edmund jerked up in bed, panting and shaking. His whole body ached, and his sheets were damp with perspiration. Dizzy, it took him a few seconds to remember that he was safe in his cozy bedroom in Cair Paravel and not in the White Witch's castle of stone and ice. But he did not feel safe. He sat there, hugging his knees and letting tears stream down his face, trying to push the vivid images from his mind.

Since the beginning of the Pevensie's reign 4 years ago, he had been having these dreams—nightmares filled with ice and snow and cold, filled with imprisonment and being trapped. Often, they resulted in him or someone else being killed. They used to be more mild than this, in earlier years, but the longer they occurred, the more vivid and the more real they became. They were getting to the point of actually affecting him physically—Edmund really did feel pain when he dreamt, and he hadn't been sufficiently warm since he'd slept in his old bed back in Finchley. He thought that he might never stop feeling cold. Even during the day, he was often shivering when everyone else was comfortable, although most dismissed it as just part of his nature. Only Lucy ever got worried enough to bring him a coat or cloak every now and then, for which he was very grateful.

Edmund didn't dare roll over and try for more sleep—he couldn't take any more ugly nightmares tonight. He got up and walked over to the bay window that overlooked the ocean. The first glow of morning light was just visible in the eastern sky, so he judged it to be about 6 o'clock or shortly thereafter. Deciding it was close enough to when he usually woke anyway, he dressed and walked downstairs, thinking he could get some fresh air in an early-morning walk along the beach before it was time for his morning archery practice.

More to come soon!

-AlambilStar