**Possible trigger warning for description of child abuse**
I don't own Narnia.
Edmund had always known that when the day came, it would be hard.
Now, as the first snow of the year swept over the land, he stood out on the hill, watching the sky turn grey against the dulling landscape and sighed, pulling his coat tighter around his torso, feeling the dampness on his cheeks as tiny crystals fell on his face. In the distance, he could hear his little sister's shrieks of joy as she ran below him, dancing in the flurry. Lucy had always loved snow. He walked a couple of strides to the edge of the hill, squinting against the snowfall as he tried to spot her. He could see the last patches of grey-green grass disappearing under the powder. He bit his cheek and drew a shuddery breath, suddenly chilled. "Lucy!" He called down to her, "it's time to go in." She tipped her head up to look at him.
"But I've only just come out!" She called back, the shawl she had wrapped around her head long since discarded. Now, her hair was soaked, falling in stringy strands across her cheeks.
"I'm cold," he answered. "And anyway, dinner is soon. I'm going in; Peter will be cross if I leave you out here."
"Fine," she relented, beginning the trek up the hill to meet him. He watched her stumble a couple of times and met her halfway, holding out his hand. She smiled up at him and took it, and together they climbed the rest of the way back up. She took his arm as they walked the short stone path back to the front entrance. It was not frozen yet, but still slippery all the same.
Once inside, the two headed up to their respective chambers to change into some warmer, dryer clothes; Lucy dripped water as she went. "Susan's gonna kill you," Edmund remarked. She turned and looked down.
"Oh," she gave a little giggle. "No matter, Ed, I'll fetch a towel from my washroom and mop it up once I'm out." Edmund said nothing more, just threw her a teasing glance as she disappeared into her room.
He entered his own, shut the door, and began stripping off his wet trousers. As he lifted his shirt to undo the button, he caught a glimpse of the scar on the left side of his stomach. The sound of jingling bells played faintly in the back of his mind. He shook his head to clear it as he quickly changed and exited his chamber, heading downstairs for dinner.
The meal that evening was hot stew, steaming bread with butter, roasted vegetables, rice, and fresh apples. Edmund shoveled in stew, the hot liquid warming him from the inside and easing both his mind and body. "Slow down, Ed," Susan chided quietly in between bites of rice. "I don't want you to choke."
"Have to sweep out your mouth like Mum used to do," Lucy chimed in, snorting.
"Better not do that," Peter added, "one of us might lose a finger at the rate he's going."
"Wow, you're all hilarious," Edmund glowered at them, "I'm beside myself with the utter creativity. Please, go on. Such wit." His siblings laughed and relented, turning back to their food.
Late that evening, Edmund laid in bed. He turned this way and that, trying to find a comfortable position. When he found he could not, he leaped to his feet with a huff, donned his slippers and housecoat, and went to his window. Staring out into the night, he saw that the snow was still falling, the ground long since having disappeared under a thick blanket of white. Panic rose within him and he swallowed it down, hard. He drew in the deepest breath he could muster, held it for a few seconds, and blew out. Feeling lightheaded, he blinked rapidly; opened and closed his hands firmly as he felt them begin to tingle. I need air, he decided, but I'm not going outside…I can't.
I can't.
But against everything in him, he felt strangely drawn to the winter scene. Everything was so serene, so quiet, so still. He found himself longing for the forest, the silence, the peace.
Perhaps just for a minute?
Desire got the best of him as he stole out of his room and crept to the stairs. He began to make his way down them gingerly, trying to avoid the areas that squeaked.
"Ed?" He started with a gasp, his whole body jerking with fright. He swung around in fear, but it was only Susan. "Oh, goodness, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I'm only returning my teacup," she held up the little white porcelain cup, reflecting the light of the candle she held in her other hand. "Where are you going?"
"I…" he paused, unsure of how exactly to explain himself. "I just…I needed some air."
"At this time of night?" She looked at him quizzically. "I rather thought you'd be well asleep by now, it's nearly midnight."
"I know. I guess I'm not tired." Susan began down the stairs. Edmund moved to walk with her.
"You headed for the sitting room? I'll join you for a bit if you like."
"Erm…not exactly. I mean, I suppose I could just do that instead. It's—"
"Oh, did you mean you were stepping out of doors?" Susan asked. She set her teacup on the kitchen counter and leaned against it, gazing at him.
"I…I was. Maybe. Just for a minute."
"It's cold outside."
"Really? I thought it was rather balmy," Edmund shot back. Susan gave him a look.
"Thanks for that."
"Sorry." She shook her head dismissively.
"Well, go on, I suppose. Don't be long or go too far. It's very dark."
"I won't," he muttered. Then, before she could say anything else, he had turned and marched down the hallway hurriedly.
Susan watched him go, concerned. She knew he wasn't feeling like himself; she had noticed his chagrin this afternoon when the clouds began to roll in. Perhaps, she pondered, the snow reminded him of reminiscences that he would rather keep buried like the ground underneath the cold. I've got to make sure he at least goes out with a coat on, she fretted, starting after him. She reached the hallway just as she watched his pantleg disappear out the door.
Edmund stood in the front courtyard, staring up into the sky. It was so dark, and yet somehow seemed lighter out than other nights when the stars dotted the expanse of the heavens.
He felt so small.
So much had happened.
So many wonderful things.
So many terrible things.
So much he hadn't had control over.
But a few, a terrible few, that he had.
Aslan, guide me, he breathed. Don't let me lose my way. I don't want to be what I was. I don't want to hurt anyone again.
He heard the crunch of snow on the stone behind him and turned. Susan, wearing her coat, a scarf, and mitts, his brown wool coat tucked under her arm.
"Would you put a coat on?" she requested, holding it out to him. "If you're going to be out here a while, that is." He took it from her silently, slipping into it. She glanced down. "Boots, Edmund," she directed quietly. "No need to get your slippers all wet. I'll get them," and she slipped back inside, returning a moment later with his winter boots. She held his arm to balance him as he stepped into them one by one.
"Thanks, Susan," he said, turning back to look out across the landscape.
"I'm going to set these inside," and then she was gone. But then, once again, she returned. "Edmund?" She spoke gently. "Do you want to go for a bit of a walk with me?" He froze, contemplating her request.
"Yes," he replied finally. "I…I think that I would. I'd like the company." Susan gave him a little smile. He held out his arm to her, as he had done for Lucy earlier that day, and the two set off down the winding path that led to the beach.
They did not go to the beach, however. Once they were a little over halfway down, there was a narrower path that jutted off into the woods against the cliffside. The siblings turned down it instead, Edmund walking after Susan.
The two reached a bit of a clearing where they could stand side by side. Here, the trees were thick against the night sky, so that it was very dark, save for a single circle of light that shone down through a little opening in the branches. Edmund and Susan stood watching the snow fall through it for some time before Susan spoke.
"Edmund, are you alright?" He didn't answer for so long that she wondered if he had heard her at all. Finally, though, he replied, very quietly,
"Um…no. But also, yes." She reached over to brush the snow out of his hair.
"What's bothering you the most?"
"I…I dunno. I think that…that maybe the winter makes me remember my time with…with…her…"
"More clearly?" He nodded.
"Does it frighten you?"
"No," he shook his head too quickly, and then his older sister's eyes were resting on him so kindly that he found himself unable to bluff. "Yes," he whispered. "A little bit." Susan walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from the side, tucking her head in to rest against his neck on his shoulder.
"You've never talked about it," she murmured. "For all that I imagine that you went through at her hand, you don't bring it up or talk about it at all."
"I don't want to bother you," he admitted. "Any of you. 'Specially Lu. She wouldn't be able to handle it, I don't think."
"I can," Susan rubbed his arm with one hand, "but only if it would help you to talk about it. I don't want you to feel obligated to recount a great deal of suffering simply for my sake." Edmund didn't say a word for several minutes.
Then, "she beat me."
And after that, "I was so hungry."
And after that, in a little shakier tone, "she told me every day how she was going to kill you all and it would be because of me."
Then, through tears, "I thought I would either never see you again or you would die hating me. I regretted it the moment I got to her castle. I wanted Mum. I was so afraid. My whole body hurt so much, all the time. I was so cold. My stomach hurt. I wanted to die. She hurt so many people. She made me hurt so many people." Then he could speak no more. Susan held him tightly and kissed his face over and over, having dropped her mitts in the snow so that she could touch his cheeks and stroke his hair.
"Shhh, shhh, shhh," she pressed his head tightly to her shoulder. "It's over, sweetheart, it's over. You are here with me and she can never hurt you or anyone again. Shhhh, do you feel my hand?" She patted his back gently. "I'm here. I'm holding you. You're safe, my love."
"She," he gasped, lifting his head, "She made me hold her wand. I…I…I ha-had to. I…she—"
"Shhh. Edmund-"
"She would have killed me,"
"Shhh," Susan hummed, "it wasn't your fault."
"What?"
"You're a child, Edmund. We're all children. We didn't ask for any of this. It worked out for good, but it wasn't our responsibility. It shouldn't have been, at least. It wasn't your fault, Edmund."
"It was," he sobbed.
"No," she rocked him, tears of her own streaming down her face. "You were thrust into a world you knew nothing about. You were 10 years old. You were subjected to a nightmare. It's not your fault what you did to survive it, Edmund."
It was the first time that Edmund had ever heard anyone make excuses or allowances or offer any sort of explanation for what he had experienced while in the Witch's clutches. No one, not even Aslan, had ever pretended to understand. They offered forgiveness for his sin, yes, but forgiveness and empathy were very different. He found himself quieting, deeply steadied as his sister hugged him close in the snow, hushing him, assuring him over and over again that it was all okay. He felt the fear and shame that had been gnawing at him all day begin to rapidly taper off.
"Su?" he half-whispered, half-whimpered at last.
"Yes?"
"Do you…do you wish that we had stayed in England?" He pulled back to wipe his face and she did the same.
"No," she forced a smile and kissed his forehead. "I love it here. I just…sometimes I wish that it hadn't all been necessary. The battle, I mean. I know that Aslan has enough power that He could have destroyed the Witch on His own, easily. I don't understand why He didn't do so. Instead, we had to go through all the blood, your injury, we lost friends on the field, Lucy and I had to be trained to wield weapons…Edmund, her face the first time she hit a target square on with her little dagger…she was so proud of herself...but I felt like I was going to be sick. She was—"
"Too young," Edmund finished for her. "Yeah. I think that every time she holds the blasted thing."
"You were too young, too, Edmund," She spoke morosely. "We all were." She took his face in her hands and thumbed over his cheeks. "You've got to have compassion on yourself."
"I'm worried that—"
"You won't," she interrupted him quickly. "Don't worry. You won't. We won't let you. And you won't let yourself."
Susan and Edmund stamped their boots off before stepping in the doorway, shutting the door behind them.
They had turned back after standing out in the snow together for maybe another 10 minutes. It was getting cold and the elevated emotions of their conversation had quieted, leaving them both tired.
Once their winter clothes were off and hung up, the two softly crept back upstairs. To Edmund's surprise, Susan followed him into his bedchamber. She took his hand and led him over to his bed, pulling back the covers. He sat and she tenderly pushed his shoulders until he was laying down, his head on his pillow. Then, she pulled the covers up and over him, tucking them in close to his neck.
Susan perched on the edge of his bed, stroking his hair and down the bridge of his nose. His eyes began to grow heavy. "You are loved, Eddy," she whispered. "You are loved and you are right where you should be. All is well. There is nothing to fear. You are forgiven and you are not alone, and you are so special and so strong and I am so proud to be your big sister." She heard his breathing steady and grow heavier, and she leaned over to kiss his forehead carefully. "Thanks for walking with me, Ed."
She tiptoed out of his room, shutting the door behind her with a careful 'click'.
Fin.
A/N: I have always felt so much compassion for Edmund. Perhaps that's why I write so many hurt/comfort scenes where he is centric. I feel as though the fact that he was so young and so displaced when the events of TLTWATW occurred and he literally did not know what he was doing is so overlooked.
I've also always felt that out of all of them, Susan is the one who was always the most affected by the sheer recklessness and ridiculousness of their whole adventure. All she ever wanted was peace and to be safe. Being thrust into a world and a situation that was so opposing to either of those desires must have taken a toll on her and I find it hard to believe that she wouldn't carry at least a little bit of bitterness, happy as she is to have a home in Narnia.
I also don't dive into Susan's character that much, so this was a challenge, but I really enjoyed the opportunity to stretch myself and embrace her a bit more fully.
A/N II: Title is a line from the song Alps by Novo Amor and Ed Tullet. I listened to it slowed on repeat tonight while writing this little fic and it just stuck.
Thanks for reading :) Please review with your thoughts!
All my love,
Cas xx
