A/N: Edmund's always been my favorite character of the series. I felt there was a lot that C.S. Lewis didn't explore with him, that Lion was more about Ed's journey than that of any other Pevensie. This story is respectfully dedicated to those of you who, like me, admire Edmund for what he overcame to become a King of Narnia: himself.
Ch 1: Masquerade
How did I manage to fool everyone?
The numbness of Edmund's reaction to the coronation had begun to fade, and the crown sat heavy on his brow. He stared across the dais at his brother and sisters, schooling his expression so that none of his confusion would show. They all smiled at their subjects, nodded graciously, wore regal looks that didn't seem silly on children's faces.
They deserved it.
Peter caught his eye and grinned. Edmund flashed his teeth in response, trying to shrug off his brooding thoughts. He ought to be enjoying this. King of Narnia. Just as he'd wanted, just as she had once promised him, though it hadn't happened by her hand.
Someone called for a dance, and the floor cleared to make way for it. Aslan stood nearby, watching. Even now, Edmund wanted to cringe before that solemn golden stare. Aslan's eyes seemed to pierce right down inside him and ferret out every little doubt, every worry, every wrong decision Edmund had ever made. Not judging, no. Even when he'd spoken to Edmund after his rescue, the great Lion didn't scold or condemn. But every word crashed through Edmund's head like a hammer blow, reminding him that without the courage of his brother and sisters, without the strength of Aslan's army, without the love of a family who should have gotten better in return, he might not be here today.
King of Narnia.
"Come on, Ed. On your feet," Peter whispered. "They're starting to stare."
Edmund realized that the others had gotten up and made their way to the floor at the foot of the dais. He sprang up, brushing his robe back. "What do they expect us to do? I don't know any Narnian dances."
"I don't think they'll mind," Peter said.
"Oh, look!" said Susan.
Into the great hall swept a line of dancers, male and female. Fauns, satyrs, dwarfs, all manner of Narnian creature, in a dizzying swirl of color and laughter. Lucy giggled and snatched Peter's hand, and the two went spinning onto the floor in something resembling a waltz. Susan accepted Tumnus's hand and joined them.
Edmund hung back, pretending to be interested in a fruit platter on the feast table. When a centaur approached to congratulate him, he accepted the goodwill with a broad smile that he didn't actually feel.
He found his gaze wandering back to Peter and Lucy. They danced round and round, circling in and out of a group of satyrs and laughing aloud at their clumsiness. No one seemed to care whether the King and Queen's steps were exact. A few meters away, Susan curtsied to Tumnus.
Edmund reached a furtive hand up to the clasp of his robe, wanting to pull it off. His family thought all had been forgiven and done with. And maybe it was, for them. But Edmund knew the hardest task lay before him yet. Breaking the White Witch's wand hadn't been heroic. It was a moment of pure panic, pure instinct to strike at her most powerful weapon. Pure luck that he'd destroyed it.
Heroes didn't panic. They chose to act.
Edmund slipped out of the great hall through a doorway at the side, noticing as he did so that Aslan was slipping out an opposite door.
Maybe a king needed to be alone sometimes. Even one as powerful as Aslan.