AN: *crickets chirping as I sidle nervously into a spotlight* Wow. Okay. I AM SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW LONG IT'S BEEN SINCE I POSTED BUT I'VE HAD A TRANSATLANTIC MOVE ANOTHER MOVE AND LOST A LAPTOP AND ALL SORTS OF OTHER MADNESS AND I KNOW THAT'S NO EXCUSE I AM SO SO SO SORRY BUT I'M HERE I LOVE YOU PLEASE DON'T HATE ME!
Edmund: Please stop embarrassing us.
Me: The penance must be paid, PAID I TELL YOU.
Ed: You're not helping anyone.
Me: THE PENANCE
Ed: Oh for the love of God, she owns nothing, blah blah blah. Now shut up.

Honestly, what the bloody hell goes on in the minds of birds? Why do they collectively decide to shriek shrilly into the void of darkness that engulfs the world even before the sun can be asked to rear it's ugly head? And what the hell kinds of crimes must Edmund have committed in his past life to earn him a brother who would cause him to wake to hear said birds? Edmund, as you may have gathered, was not a morning person.

This meant he was the crankiest when Lucy came running in shrieking and waving her arms in a fairly good YMCA rendition, howling something about Peter having a homoerotically tense sword fight with a man in a dress shirt. Edmund, Susan, and Trumpkin all traipsed off behind Lucy, though Edmund still wasn't entirely sure why.

"PETER STOP IT!" hollered Susan leaping into view dramatically. Peter, not to be outdone, swung around from his duel equally dramatic.
"Not to be a bother," interjected Edmund, "but why the hell is there a pack of massive fricking minotaurs standing over there?"
"Dios mio!" cried Peter's opponent, "Ustedes son los Kings and Queens of old!"
Edmund blinked. "What accent was that?" Of course, he was ignored.
"Obviously," snapped Peter, "what did you think we were?"
"Lo siento," said the other guy, "I thought you'd be older."

"Seriously," Edmund said, "who are you?"
The man-boy swept a black-with-scarlet-lining cape over his shoulder. "My llama est Caspian."
Edmund furrowed his brow. "Sorry, where are you from?"
"Telmar," answered Caspian, "I am very European."
"What art thou doing in Narnia, foul usurper?" hollered Peter, brandishing his sword.
"Mamma mia, I am-a rescuing it from my evil zio Miraz!" hollered Caspian. He had by now produced a black mask for his eyes and was twirling the sword like a wand.

"Wait, you have the same enemy," pointed out Edmund, "can't you reserve your repressed sexual tension for later? We should be focusing on more important things right now. Like, oh, I don't know the flock of minotaurs that were literally symbols of Satan's minions last time we encountered them?!"
Peter and Caspian both glanced at the minotaurs. The minotaurs waved battle axes in the air. One wore a t-shirt that said: I killed Jesus Aslan.
"Pssht," snorted Peter, "not a threat.
"Pasta! Minestrone! Leonardo!" cried Caspian.
"I'm sorry, were you not just fake Spanish?" asked Edmund. "Never mind. Are we serious about the minotaurs?"

"BEHOLD!" came a voice from the area near Caspian's feet. Edmund watch in a disgusted fascination as a lump moved up Caspian's trouser leg, into his crotch, and out the waistband. The lump, it appeared, was a mouse.
"Okay," said Edmund, "why not?"
"'TIS THE KINGS AND QUEENS OF OLD!" shrieked the mouse.
"I feel like we just had this conversation," sighed Edmund, "catch up. Can you explain the minotaurs?"
The mouse glanced at the minotaurs, who were now passing round the remnants of what may once have been a satyr, snacking on it like popcorn. One wore a badge with #TRUMP4PREZ emblazoned on it.
"TRUSTWORTHY!" hollered the mouse.
Edmund stuffed his hand in his pocket to avoid using the mouse as a bowling ball. "Um... how?"
"A COMMON ENEMY UNITES EVEN THE OLDEST OF FOES!" the mouse howled.
"That is a terrible reason," stated Edmund, "a really shite reason. Especially considering they killed Jesus, I mean Aslan."
"CHIVALRY!" screamed the mouse "HONOUR! VALIANCE! GLORY! FOR ARTHUR!"
"Why would you this for King Arth- oh shit..." he stopped short as the mouse stabbed himself through the heart, screaming "I REGRET ONLY THAT I HAVE BUT ONE LIFE TO GIVE FOR MY COUNTRY!".
Edmund looked around. "Is... anyone seeing this?"
"Mais bien sûr," replied Caspian, " Reepicheep was a très brave petit mouse, non?"
Edmund just looked at him.
Caspian had now added a beret to his ensemble. He shrugged. "Baguette? Du pain? Du vin? Du boursin? Mon dieu! L'escargots!"
Edmund went to go sit with the minotaurs.

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced Peter, clearing his throat, "it is time for strategy."
"Yes Peter," said Edmund, "let's do this right here in the middle of a forest with trees that can hear everything if they aren't 'asleep' and where the Telmarine soldiers that we're trying to defeat are searching for Eurovision over here-" he nodded at Caspian who was now playing an accordion.
"Exactly," continued Peter. "After much deliberating, and because I am the Magnificent King Maginificent Peter the Magnificent, I have decided upon our strategy." He paused for dramatic affect. "We shall kill the Telmarines!"
A minotaur passed Edmund a hip-flask. He swigged wearily.
"NEIN!" shrieked Caspian all of a sudden. He had switched his sword for a rapier and was busy carving Zorro-style "Zs" everywhere. "VEE MUST VERBERGEN HERE!"
"Look I don't even speak real German mate," Edmund groaned, "so don't expect me to follow whatever that is.
"JA. DAS AUTOMOBILE. ATOMKRAFTWERKEN. BREMEN MOTOR WERKEN. BRATWURST. LIEDERHOSEN. HEIL H-"
"Don't do it," begged Edmund, "please don't."
"LET US SLAY THE VILLAINOUS FIENDS!" cried Reepicheep.
"Didn't you just kill yourself?" asked Edmund.
"I WAS REVIVED BY MY SACRED DUTY TO GIVE MY LIFE IN BATTLE!" he yelled.

Edmund turned to the minotaur. "I'm going for a walk. A long one. Possibly off a cliff. Can I take this with me?" he gestured to the hip flask. The minotaur nodded.
"Do svidaniya Comrade," Caspian barked, saluting him. His Zorro ensemble had been replaced by a floor length fur coat with a matching hat and a stick-on handlebar mustache. "Bring me back ze vodka pliz. Vladimir. Stalin. Putin. Maria Sharapova. Moscow. Kremlin. KGB. The Romanov Dynasty. Ra-Ra-Rasputin. Dimitri." He paused. "Edmund, I can't think of any more European countries..." he whined.
"Azerbaijan," Edmund called over his shoulder as he went to bang his head against a sleeping tree.