Sheer panic.
Slash left, dodge right. His muscles ached, burning with fatigue. How long had it been? It felt like a millennia. He clumsily struck out, the harsh clanging of metal against metal sending shockwaves through his body that rocketed him backward away from his opponent. "Lightweight!" The demon sneered, baring rotting, blackened teeth as he charged forward with axe held high. Edmund ducked as the half man half bull creature swung high, slicing at the ankles of the creature with blade held parallel. With a loud bray of pain, the minotaur fell to his knees, and Edmund kicked him over while turning just in time to shield himself from a black dwarf bearing down.
"Edmund!"
Finding a sudden sense of strength, Edmund fought off his attacker, whipping his head round just in time to see Peter fending off a charging cyclops. Staining his sword black, he turned to face his brother, face spattered with crimson and anxiety. "Edmund, there's too many! Get the girls, and get them home!" The frantic, crazed expression on Peter's face said it all: they were losing, and quickly. There were mere minutes before it was all over. Peter spent only a few precious seconds soaking in the sight of his brother before turning round to face the tiger leaping upon him, cutting down enemy after enemy. Edmund stood blankly for a few moments before he felt an unfriendly, hurried tugging on his hand. "You heard him, let's go!" Mr. Beaver barked, scurrying up the hillside with Edmund in tow. Edmund felt a sharp pain, seeing the resentment of the creatures with his own eyes and knowing they wished they could trade him for Peter. They wished Peter to live.
He wished Peter to live.
Suffocating under the weight of the frantic situation, he clambered up the hill after Beaver, pausing to take one look back at his brother, he couldn't bear for it to be the last time.
He froze.
Everything slowed to a screeching halt. There She was.
She saw Peter. She was looking right at him. She swiftly finished spearing a Gryphon, turning it to solid granite mid-screech, and began to stride confidently forward, wand raised.
His back was turned. He would have no idea. No matter how loud Edmund shouted, Peter couldn't hear him. He started forward.
Again, the agitated tugging. "Peter said get out of here!" Mr. Beaver asserted, eyes beady and distrusting. Edmund swallowed hard, pulling away.
"Peter's not king yet."
Arms weak, legs full of lead and an increasing sense of panic rising within him, Edmund slid back down the mountainside, sprinting as fast as he could toward his fear. He didn't give himself any time to think. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, nearing the edge, nearing her.
He opened his mouth in a scream.
She swiftly dodged to his right, avoiding him easily. She stared at him with blazing lust in her eyes, waiting to pounce. A small grin split her bloody lips, baring her teeth in a victorious snarl. He blazed back, eyes full of burning charcoal as he stared her in the face. The Witch shot out her wand, grazing his side with it as he twisted away and brought down his sword forcefully with shaking hands.
An explosion of light. Time stopped. Glass cut his hands, his face. Blinded temporarily, he stepped backward, stunned by the cold rush of ice that had swept over him. A feeling of complete cold washed over him, nearly knocking him unconscious. He was no longer seeing a blood-spattered battlefield strewn with unmoving, lifeless creatures of both sides. He was no longer listening to the sounds of metal collide with steel, hearing the agonized screams of wounded warriors.
He was in a cold, abandoned prison made of ice, frozen manacles of bitter steel biting into his ankles. He let out his breath in complete and total fear, unsure of whether everything that had just happened was
a dream or not. Suddenly, a mighty roar filled him completely, and his chains dissipated like smoke as Jadis filled his vision once again, incensed. He could have almost felt relief, short-lived though it was. It wasn't all a dream, he was still on the battlefield, and he had just stopped Jadis from reaching his brother. The Witch herself looked deranged with anger.
Furious, She performed a difficult maneuver with her remaining sword, knocking the weapon that shattered her own from numb, cold fingers, and what happened next was a blurred rush of color and sound.
Dazed, he saw Peter's face. He saw his expression turn from shock to horror. He felt his breath catch in his chest.
Without missing a beat, She plunged the shattered wand directly into his abdomen. She punched through mail and steel and bone, twisting the instrument as she went, and retracted it just as quickly. Edmund cried out, eyes squeezing shut as he caved in upon himself. Eyes flickering back open, he saw Her, face wrought in anger and eyes full of satisfaction. "Now," The Witch whispered triumphantly, giving the weapon a cruel twist as she embedded it further in, causing Edmund to exhale whatever breath he had left. "Die, little prince," She spat, throwing the broken, bloodied wand to the ground after him.
He exhaled in agony, hot blood pouring forth, and he didn't even hear Peter's hysterical screaming.
He closed his eyes, falling to the ground, clutching at his midriff and feeling the blood soaking through at an alarming rate. He writhed on the ground in agony as he gasped for breath, knowing the wand had punctured a lung at least. Breath came short and ragged, unable to satisfy his need of oxygen, of life.
He was paralyzed from the waist down. Spots began popping before his eyes as he looked up into the great blue expanse of sky, clutching at the grass and feeling so terribly alive as he was so quickly dying.
Edmund gasped for breath, trying to hang on to the thin thread of life that still separated him from the ever-growing darkness, but he almost felt like he should give up, give in, give away.
It would be hours before anyone found him, anyways. He would be gone by then.
Ice crept through his veins and he shivered, wondering if it was death or the shattered wand-particles inside him that were causing it.
The huge image of a roaring Lion invaded his thoughts for a mere second, chasing out the cold and bringing in warmth as he tried to keep his eyes open; He tried so hard, but the darkness and chill soon overshadowed his vision and he knew no more.
Aslan...
He had fallen among the morning glories.
