A/N: Whoo-hoo, it's Edmund. This is a particular scene from the movie (which I saw again) that I figured had some possiblities, so here it is. Let me know if you think it belongs here among the "Family" oneshots. If people don't think it fits, I will remove it and put it on its own. As it is...
"I will speak with you alone."
The great lion turned and went back into his tent. He was not hurried -- regal was the word for it. His golden mane shone for a minute in the entrance to his tent and then disappeared inside. The White Witch hesitated for a moment and then followed, and though she was a queen of ice, she was not regal like Aslan. She was like a cheap imitation.
But as she passed him, Edmund shivered.
That had been what seemed like ages ago now. Edmund pulled up the grass that lay in front of him in little handfuls, ripping away at the green, velvety stuff in his anxiety. Surely… Surely the White Witch would not wish for him as a prisoner? He was nothing. A small boy who had been no use to her at all. Why had she returned for him then? Why did she wish to reclaim him?
Was he going to die?
He looked over at Lucy to find that her hands too were pulling away at the grass, her little had looking steadily down at the ground between her legs, her eyes narrowed in concentration and worry. Susan was far less obvious about it, as she was about everything, but her thumb was tapping against her index finger and if she bit her lip any harder it would bleed.
And then there was Peter.
Peter wasn't moving at all. He sat, staring at the hilt of his sword every thing about him speaking of perfect stillness. That was what was so strange. Peter was always moving. His thumbs twiddled or his head tilted to on side or the other, or his foot jiggled. But here and now, he was not moving at all, his back tense and his sword held perfectly upright in his hands.
"Just you try and take him then!" The words sprang out of Peter's mouth and his sword came up to back them, his eyes snapping with anger and fear. He was rather a frightening sight, and Edmund's stomach tensed and then…
She laughed. Utter dismissal lay there under that forced laugh and Edmund's insides suffered a sudden frost and withered and died all at once.
Edmund almost smiled as he remembered Peter's angry words in his defense. He couldn't help but think he didn't deserve such defending and yet, he was not so noble or righteous as to think he deserved to die. He couldn't bring himself to wish for his own death, not even because he had…betrayed, this country. It made him all the more furious with himself, that he could not wish for his own death after what he had done. He did deserve it. He did.
But then he thought of ice cream on hot, sticky, summer afternoons and bike rides with Peter and laughter with Susan, and games of hide and seek with Lucy. He thought of finally meeting Mr. Tumnus properly. He thought of crossword puzzles, which he'd always been good at for some reason. And after this the thought of dying at the hands of that imperious, cold woman who was now speaking in a cold, low, voice in Aslan's tent, was unbearable.
He stared at the door of the tent, thinking he saw a ripple in the cloth, his stomach jumping, but no, it was only the wind.
Was he going to die?
The worst part was not his stomach, which threatened to show him his delicious breakfast all over again, nor his hands, which felt like if they didn't keep moving they might explode with nervous energy, nor even the guilt he felt when he looked at Peter, willing to defend him after all that had happened.
The worse part was his neck.
He could still remember what it had been like to be bound to the trunk of a tree. He could still hear the sound of a great knife being sharpened, feel the hot breath of the dwarf as he chuckled nastily at him. He could see the tall figure of the White Witch, looking down at him as he might look down at a slug, and simply nodding disgustedly, nodding away his life.
He had never felt cold metal on his neck, but he could anticipate it.
And with every moment that passed he could feel the pressure of a blade on the back of his neck, where the hair ended, and just before his shirt began, pressing down and down and down and then --!
He involuntarily drew in a huge breath, almost afraid that it would be his last. Lucy glanced over and placed a hand on his knee, looking worried. He just kept tearing away at the grass.
Was he going to die?
There was a commotion at the door of the tent. Edmund's head jerked up as though someone had shouted his name in his ear and he knew, without looking, that Peter and Susan and Lu had all looked up too. His heart did not beat more rapidly -- he suspected it might have stopped beating all together. His hands clenched around a handful of grass so hard his knuckles grew white.
The White Witch walked out first, her head held high and her face unreadable and then…
Was he really going to die? Was he really going to die? Oh please, oh please, ohpleaseohpleaseohplease no…
And he very suddenly realized how very very much he wanted to live, live, live, live, live.
"She has forsaken her claim to the Son of Adam's blood."
And suddenly the world was the most beautiful place in the world and his siblings glowing faces were only a part of what was the best moment of his life, and the grass could stay just where it was. His fingers slowly unclenched and muscles he hadn't even known you could tense suddenly relaxed. His breath came out in a great whoosh of air and he realized that his heart was suddenly beating very fast indeed.
He wasn't going to die.
A/N: Did you think it was good? Bad? You could care less? Tell me all about it. Constructive crit. much appreciated. :)
