AN: A little story that probably needs a better conclusion, but I'm just too impatient to get it out there. :) Reviews are very appreciated.
Reposted because, for some reason, it was deleted from my archives. Ah well, here it is again.
Disclaimer: No, I don't believe my name ends with "Lewis".
Love.
Love is such a strange word. Is it the love of sweethearts, the love of friendship, or the love of respect that gives a person the resolve to give their life for the one they love?
For Edmund, the answer is none of the above.
His love for his family runs deeper then mere lovers, kindred spirits, or mutual sharers of regard. His love at times seems to be even stronger than his job as a caring sibling dictates it should.
Their bond is of blood. And nothing, not even death, will sever that.
Their love for each other is born from this bond, and circumstances have only strengthened it.
Because he loves them, all three, the choice at this moment isn't so hard to make.
He's going to die. Now. Right here. And he couldn't care less.
Why?
Because they, for who his love is so deep, will live.
They will mourn, they will cry against his decision, but they will live.
For that prize, Edmund would gamble everything.
He did gamble everything, actually, and he won. What matters the cost?
"Edmund!"
The boy addressed makes a groaning noise in the back of his throat, and turns from the voice.
No. They can't have come back, the fools.
He's going to die, and it was worth nothing -- for, by coming back for him, they are putting their lives in danger. Now, most likely, they will be killed.
"That really was stupid, Ed."
Peter's voice. It's shaking.
"Brave, but stupid."
Susan's voice. It trembles.
"Stop it, both of you! Can't you see he's hurt?"
Lucy's voice. It's soft.
With another groan, Edmund turns toward the voices and fixes them with as fierce a glare as he can manage in his current state.
"Get away," he growls, ignoring the sickening sound of his own blood hitting the hard ground.
"Not - without - you." says Peter, placing his hands on Edmund's forearms, and shifting slightly so that the smaller boy is now draped across his back. "Not after that stupid display."
That stupid display was Edmund's last minute charge against a group of Giant bandits, wielding more dangerous weapons than their profession dictated, as he gave his siblings precious minutes to make their escape.
Now, most likely thanks to his brother's pigheadedness, Edmund reflects, it was all in vain. Now they will all die.
That can't happen.
"Get away," he says again, struggling as frantically as he is able. It is very difficult to be frantic when your leg and arm feels half-mangled and your ribs are (most likely) cracked. Being clamped in place by the vice-like hands of a king who is (literally) running for his life, doesn't make the task any easier.
"Why?"
Peter's stern question shakes Edmund out of his struggling, and he peers down at his brother over the latter's shoulder.
"Because," he replies, as though it were the most logical answer in the world.
"That's not an answer, Ed," growls Peter, ducking under a giant mace, and casting a hazardous glance at his sisters over his other shoulder.
Although Lucy's aim could be better, she is making good use of her bow and arrow, stopping only briefly to shoot, before darting into her oldest brother's shadow. Susan is on his right, her long skirts a flurry as she keeps up with the pace Peter has set.
"Because... I didn't want you to die," Edmund whispers, dark eyes widening as Susan just manages to escape the grasping reach of a balding Giant.
"And the alternative was any better?" asks Peter, his voice strained as he struggles to go even faster.
"Yes," whispers Edmund, "most definitely."
Fortunately, Giants (though a deadly enemy in close-ranged combat) are rather pathetically clumsy and mockingly slow. Peter, with his lithe body and extensive training, realises that he and his sisters are slowly gaining the advantage. With an encouraging smile over his shoulder for the other two monarchs, he allows himself to start looking for a refuge.
"There... in the cave," he breathes, motioning with his head towards a low hole in a wall of earth and rock.
"Right," says Susan, sounding surprisingly calm and efficient. She has Lucy's hand in her own, and her cheeks have returned to their normal hue. "Just keep going, Lu," she encourages the other.
"Uhum," Lucy nods, following her sister's example and trying to regulate her breathing.
A swing of a brown and bloody club, and the Pevensie siblings suddenly find themselves airborne, hurtling towards what could either be a place of safety, or a shallow hole where the Giants will be able to fish them out with ease.
Peter offers a small prayer to Aslan, as they make contact, praying for the safety of his sisters, and the limp bundle of limbs on his back.
"Ehh," grunts Lucy, as she is the first one to hit the cave. She scuttles to the back of the, thankfully, deep hole, and prefers to catch her older sister's flying form.
Susan doesn't grunt, she just turns slightly so that the full effect of her weight will not strike her sister. They both go down in a tangle of limbs and billowing dresses.
Peter is the last through the hole, and, as he is going faster than either Susan or Lucy was, he has less time to prepare for the hit. Even in this brief amount of time, however, he doesn't lose his head. Throwing Edmund in front of him, he turns on his back and hits the wall hard, his larger form flung over his brother protectively.
A howl goes up, as the attacking Giants start squabbling about the loss of their prize. Their arms are too fat, and their clubs are too thick to reach the siblings. Bashing the hole in is a rather extreme option, but even they (with their limited intelligence) realise that this could start an avalanche of rocks. With another round of howls and a few ill-sounding whacks, the group of Giants take their leave.
Susan smiles grimly and helps Lucy to her feet, before turning to the unmoving figures of their two brothers.
"Peter," she says, nudging his shoulder gently, "are you alright?"
"Yeah," says Peter, with a pained grunt, sitting up and allowing his brother to fall between his knees, "but I don't think Edmund is. I think he's unconscious."
With gentle fingers, Susan pries Edmund from Peter's willing fingers and lays him on his back. She feels his broken bones, pulls open his tunic, and lays an ear to his heart.
"Blood loss," she says shortly, not daring to look at a terrified Peter. "His pulse is there, but it is weak. We can't move him, Peter, even if we dared to escape. We'll have to make do with Lucy's cordial, but even then the bones must be set."
"Do it," says Peter, his eyes never leaving the pale face of his little brother, "but be quick. I don't want him to wake up in the middle of it."
Susan nods and withdraws a short way to converse with her little sister, who knows more about the medical profession then Susan ever wanted to. Lucy looks concerned, but uncorks her bottle with practised ease and begins making her own examination.
With Edmund's last words ringing in his ears, and the sight of his numerous wounds fresh before his eyes, Peter gets to his feet and shuffles to the opposite end of the cave. He can't watch. He can't bear it if the life should be snuffed from Edmund's body... again.
If Edmund were to die, Peter knows without the shadow of a doubt, that he would be the one to descend into madness. If Edmund were to die, not one of them would ever recover. If Edmund thought that he was doing them a favour by giving his life, then he was darn wrong.
For without Edmund, it wouldn't be life, but a living hell.
Without Edmund every day would be worthless; every breath he took would reproach him that Edmund was not doing the same; and there would be a sense of such loneliness that he would not be able to survive.
No, without Edmund it would be a living death.
Susan swiftly tears the bottom of her dress to strips, and uses it to bind Edmund's ribs, arm and leg. Then, and only then, does Lucy place a small amount of cordial in her brother's mouth.
The bleeding had been staunched, but there was still a moment of stifling concern, as Susan and Lucy lean over the prone form.
Cough. Cough.
"Are -- are you alright... Edmund?" Lucy whispers, as brown eyes blinked open.
"Yeah... 'course I am," says Edmund, still a little dazed from the already receding pain. "Where are we?"
"We're in a cave," cuts in Peter's voice, as he hurries forward and kneels beside his brother's side. "Are you alright? Does it still hurt? Can you breathe? Do you --"
"I'm fine, mother hen," coughs Edmund, with a smile. "Just help me to my feet."
Peter gives Susan a worried glance, before conceding, and helping the younger king up.
"You should have stayed on the ground, Edmund," says Peter, matter-of-factedly. "We can't leave for a little while yet. They could be watching the hole."
Edmund grumbles and slumps against the wall, obviously still tired and a little sore, but not willing to admit it.
"Well... what are we going to do, then?" he asks.
"We're going to talk," says Peter, with a new resolve. "Sit down, Susan and Lucy, I think that we need to talk over a few things."
"Like what?" asks Edmund absently.
"Like what in the name of all things Narnian you were doing fighting those bandits," says Peter, sitting down himself.
"I was saving you," points out Edmund, drawing his legs to his chest, "and I thought that we already had this talk."
"We haven't thrashed it out," retorts Peter, looking to his sister's for support, "and you didn't give me a straight answer."
"I was saving you," repeats Edmund stubbornly.
"Maybe," concedes Peter, "but you would have died."
"So?"
The indifference and lack of emotion in the younger boy's voice shocks Peter and he looks up, meeting Edmund's eyes in a puzzled frown.
"So!" he shouts. "So! You would have died, Edmund. They wouldn't have left you lying there..."
"I know. I was ready."
"But... why?"
"You, Susan, and Lucy would have been safe. That was enough. If you were alive, I was willing to give my life to ensure that."
"But, Edmund," says Lucy, taking the opportunity to interject. Her blue eyes are filled with tears, and her nether lip is trembling. "We wouldn't have stayed alive very long if you had done that. Can't you see that? We should have never got over it. You're a part of our hearts -- the most important part -- and if that part dies... we should not have been able to survive."
"But I..."
"Next time, Edmund," says Susan quietly, "next time... you won't have the chance to do something so... illogical. We won't let you. We'll die first... or after... it really doesn't matter. We just couldn't live without you."
"You don't understand," says Edmund wearily, "you're so precious... so precious to me... and to Narnia. I couldn't let you all be taken. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. You're needed... by me... by everyone. And if my life was the price, I was willing to pay it.
Peter was by him in an instant, lifting him up by the shoulders and staring fiercely into his eyes. "No. No! Stop it. You are what holds us together, Edmund. Can't you see that?"
Edmund, on the point of retorting, was stopped by another shake.
"You're more precious to us, Ed, then any crown... then any kingdom. If you died, we'd fall apart, and so would the kingdom. Get that into your thick skull, why don't you?"
Edmund says nothing, instead opting to keep a firm gaze upon the ground.
"Edmund... look at me, Ed.... you die, as Susan said, and we all die. Simple. So no more stupid, heroic plans... okay? If we had died back there, it would have been better then just you. We're a family. We're going to stay a family."
Peter lets go of Edmund's shoulders and steps back, allowing his two sister's to engulf the smaller boy in a warm hug.
And Edmund, meeting Peter's eyes, allows himself a hesitant smile.
For, sometimes, a certain type of bond is enough to challenge the powers of death.
But nothing... nothing can challenge the powers of a certain kind of love.
And Edmund was glad that he shared that love with those closest to him.