Hello, thank you for coming this far! This is my first attempt at a FanFiction so bear with me while I get the hang of it. This is meant to be more of a character study than a plot-driven story, though it is a bit exaggerated. If you'd like to leave a review on anything: story, word choice, mistakes made, I would appreciate it immensely. I haven't a beta, so every error is mine and mine alone, though some of the grammar, like short sentences, fragments, and those that begin with And and But, is intentional. I hope you don't find the next few minutes to be a complete waste of time. Thank you ever so much.
I would like to point out that this is based more on the movies than the books, though just barely. All credit to characters, settings, and situations goes to C.S. Lewis and appropriate publishing companies, related legal estates, and its rightful owner. A quote or two you'll recognize from some of the movies are credited to Walden Media, Disney, 20th Century Fox, and all other related persons and companies involved. No profit is made from the following, nor is any harm intended. Thank you for your understanding.
He could be quite an idiot at times. But weren't all brothers? Of course, not everyone's brother is a king. And not everyone is a king themselves.
But Edmund Pevensie was. Some forgot it, some refused to accept it, some just didn't care. He'd lost count of the times he'd had to make the correction: "It's King Edmund, actually." He had fought battles, led armies, and saved the world multiple times. He was a Knight of Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March. He had it memorized. They didn't. Peter was a knight, too, but he was also a Lord. And an Emperor. He was The Magnificent. He led Narnia into countless wars. He fought with a wild ferocity Edmund reserved for only the most desperate situations. He had a sword and a shield, whereas Edmund only had desperate memories. Peter had bested Kings and giants and minotaurs and who knew what else. He was the pride and joy of Narnia, a King to love.
And Edmund, he was the King to hate. Maybe not hate, no, that was too much. But he was there to remind them. To remind them that temptation was everywhere, and it was powerful. To remind them of their past and what Peter and Aslan had saved them from. To remind them to hold tight together against the forces of evil and darkness. Because where Lucy was light and life, Edmund was dark and cold. Where Susan was gentle and thoughtful, he was just and decisive. Where Peter was impulsive and ferocious, he was careful and calculated. He never struck without forethought for fear of hitting an ally; he never let his feelings fog the truth; he was no longer allowed his childhood. He'd had to grow up quite a lot those days he spent with the White Witch. He'd made a decision, but he'd never imagined the consequences would be so complete.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been truly pleasant. Certainly he wasn't the annoying little kid he'd been before that first night in Narnia, but then he'd met the Witch, and his heart hadn't felt warm since. She was still there, he knew it, lingering someplace in the back of his mind, the memory of those choices he had botched. The nagging knowledge, though he hated it, that everything Peter had could have been his. He could have been magnificent. He could have led armies and fought like a fighter, without thought. He could relax into the knowledge that he ruled with a different kind of fear than he did now. That he could have had that power. Because that's what it was about, wasn't it? The power? He could have had power. But he didn't. Now he was correcting everyone; "It's King Edmund, actually." Bearing it all in good humor. Not complaining. Fighting for Peter. No. He didn't fight for Peter. He fought for Narnia and for Aslan. Those were what deserved the loyalty, not Peter.
Some of the Narnians did love him more than Peter; that was true. Some of the minotaurs and dwarves had. Some of the conquered army he could have led to victory. He was their patron. Maybe they expected him to overthrow Peter and bring them back to power. If a coup occurred, Edmund would undoubtedly be the last to go. They'd keep him to see if he'd take their side; he'd stay to defend Narnia to the end. It was a predicament. A mirror image of what his life should be. Looking at himself as the world saw him, which was exactly what was on the inside. But that wasn't what he showed them. He radiated wisdom and courage. He was a likable person. But Narnians weren't simple people, to judge by looks or demeanor. They knew what was in his heart, and though he was ashamed of the past they saw and of the future they feared, he knew he could do nothing to change it. She'd always be there, holding empty promises of riches and power. He didn't need her now, he knew, to take Narnia. Sometimes he'd sit on a balcony at Cair Paravel, an oasis of finery that didn't nearly rival Peter's, and think, hypothetically of course, of what would happen if he did try to conquer his own land. Never in his imaginings did it work out, but sometimes he wondered what would happen if it did. If Peter was on his right and he was in the High throne. If every army listened to him, retreated when he ordered to save lives, charged when he ordered to take them. He couldn't help thinking that perhaps he could do better than Peter. But Peter had been chosen. And he was stuck being the favorite of the darker creatures who accepted the Pevensies' rule.
But he knew that he'd never do it. If she came back, and knowing her she'd probably find a way, he'd kill her the moment he saw her. He'd tried to do it before. This time he'd had years of training. Thirteen hundred years and there are some things you never forget. Peter hadn't tried to destroy the wand; he'd tried to get her directly. Peter couldn't strategize. But Edmund let him lead. And if she told him to do otherwise, he wouldn't listen. He'd never listen to her again. He was done with that. Narnia needed someone to keep them on their toes, somebody to unite against, even if it wasn't an active rebellion. He was a King, whether they liked it or not. He was a Pevensie, despite the disappointed glances from Lucy and almost imperceptible positions they took, so that he was rarely on the inside of any formation his siblings made, whether they did it unconsciously or not. He was a Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, and Aslan believed in him. Aslan had died for him, maybe not him alone, but it was his situation that demanded immediate assistance. And that assistance was complete. He had a debt to pay, one that would never be paid. But he was a King, albeit a colder one than Peter's comfortable fire, and he ruled as one should: chivalrous, courageous, and above all, Just.
Did you enjoy it? Did you find it to be a waste of time? I'd love to hear either way. I know that so very few readers take the time to review, but I have been working on other pieces, longer and more plot-driven, and would appreciate to know how my quiet little debut is taken. Thank you immensely. For Narnia, and for Aslan!