Disclaimer: As you can probably tell, I am not dead. Therefore I am not C.S Lewis and I don't own this stuff- just a twisted plot and these words.
Summary: Edmund doesn't survive the final battle. A year after his death, Lucy visits his grave.
The flowers I picked earlier lie against the cold marble of the memorial. I sink to my knees, the damp, cold grass wetting my skirts as I kneel with my head bowed.
I look up. You are there- immortalised in marble above me, your real body in a transparent casket beneath. Your real face looks so peaceful. You stone one wears an expression of defiant courage, but your real face gives me far more comfort because when I look at it, I know that wherever you are, it's somewhere good.
You face right now is different to the way it was. The way it used to be when you were in one of your old moods, the way it was when you sat with us at the camp. The way it was when you died. Your moods made it sulky, with a deep frown and eyebrows almost covering your eyes. When you came to the camp, it was a mixture of emotions, fear, shock and sorrow among them. And then when you died…
Oh, I don't want to think about it, but my memories come flooding back despite my mental shields. The way you lay there- the ragged, shallow sound of your breathing as you slowly died, your head on Susan's lap. Your facial expression was one of pain- your wound was small, but in the right place to kill you. I never felt so helpless-nothing, it seemed, could stop the red patch on your armour from steadily growing.And we watched as your battle was slowly lost. And then the sound of your breathing stopped. Your bodywent stiff, your hands slack.Your eyes were still open, though, staring at the sky. And we knew you'd gone.
When we were younger, me and you would lie on our backs in the garden and simply watch the sky. We'd giggle at funny-shaped clouds and you'd tell me what some cloud's names were. You were my big brother. Even when you got older, went moody, I still loved you. Always.
And there you were- or rather, there you weren't. Your body was there- head still in Susan's lap, hands still being clasped in mine and Peter's, but you weren't there anymore- you'd left us. It had hurt when you'd left us and gone to the Witch's Palace, but then we knew we'd get you back. Then you were still alive- and you came back to us. This time, though…
Only one person has ever come back from the dead, and that was Aslan. Anything's possible for him, but you're just Edmund Pevensie- a mortal, no matter how many times I wish otherwise. The Witch was dead, but at a terrible cost. Mum would have hated that Witch…
Narnia help me- I'd forgotten about Mum. What on earth will she say when she finds out you're dead? I hang my head. 'Help me' is my whispered plea. No reply. You'll never talk again, will you? I'll never hear your wonderful voice again, oh Aslan help me… Tears begin rolling down my cheeks and before long I am crying. Crying for the first time since you died. When you actually died, I couldn't cry. I was numb with shock and disbelief, the tears just wouldn't come and they haven't come until now.
Oh Edmund, I miss you so much