Based on Narnia: Prince Caspian, the movie.

I don't own Narnia or any other mention in this story

One shot, maybe

When Peter has handed him the sword, Edmund wasn't sure what he wanted him to do. The dwarf chuckled and mocked him, swinging the heavy sword around a bit, testing him. Edmund gripped the sword tighter and glanced quickly at Lucy, who smiled at him softly and nodded.

That was all he needed.

When the dwarf swung and whacked him with the blunt side of the blade on the head he wasn't ready. He stumbled backwards and ducked his head, hearing Lucy cry out his name.

With a hiss of indignant meaning Edmund narrows his eyes and swung again, he ducked and dodged, memories flooding. It was all coming back to him, it seemed, his eyes filled with dark rage, the wind whistling in his hair, battles after battles, blood spill after another. He saw it all.

When the dwarf swung for his feet he jumped and brought his sword down, met with a familiar clash.

He remembered

When he maneuvered a bit and slammed his sword against his opponents sword he remembered the first sting of his first battle wound, the hotness that came with that rushing exhilaration that was blood. That feeling of control that lingered at the edge of his frail and wondering mind. That was a battle.

All too soon the sword went flying and Edmund held his sword facing the dwarves scared face. Edmund was a London boy.

Edmund was a king

Edmund was the great king of Narnia, that ruled over the western woods.

Edmund was who everybody said he was, Edmund the Just. Unfairness to be met with cold unbending iron, innocence with a soft crown of melted silver that flowed through his veins.

Condemnation against rights made his blood boil at the thought of it, and everybody knew.

He had beaten, and demonstrated, that he was the King.

Peter can have all the magnificent gold that came with his title.

Edmund was better at war planning, the next step, the next dance move. For fighting was a dance. Feet nimble, arms twisting, eyes wide or narrow, sword clashing, grunt screams blood.

It was a violent dance for bloodthirsty tirants, and a violent dance for Edmund, Edmund the Judt

That's it. For now.