Note: As always, I take liberties with Narnia's geography, as well as mixing and matching the books and the movie to suit my needs.

Blood From a Stone

I knew this place. I had seen it, fought a mighty battle here. Both I and my order had been named after it.

Sir Edmund of the How, of the Most Noble Order of the Table.

I stood atop the unbroken Stone Table looking down at the gentle hill called Aslan's How and the wooded glen that surrounded it.

Only I had never imagined it like this

Moonlight and torches illuminated the frenzied scene. Hundreds of foul, unclean, and fell beasts danced about: Harpies, Giants, Werewolves, Hags, Boggles and Talking Animals, Magical Creatures, Trees, hideous things for which I had no name. This was the army of the White Witch, hideous ranks of dark and depraved beings that were - quite literally in this case - the stuff of nightmares. They danced and milled about, howling and gibbering and slobbering in some wild celebration. I looked around, trying to find the focus of their obscene ecstacy.

"Stop!" cried an imperious voice I recognized instantly. I whipped around. Jadis, all clad in black, stood atop the Table. She was looking down into the crush of grotesque creatures on the steps leading to the platform, a triumphant sneer on her face. "Let him first be shaved!"

Avoiding her sight, I stumbled to the edge of the Stone Table.

Aslan.

Helpless, bound with leather ropes, he lay on the ground as Ginarrbrik cut his golden mane away. The Black Dwarf was cackling madly as he sheared away great hanks of long hair and threw them this way and that. The crowd laughed with sadistic glee as they teased and berated their victim. I collapsed to my knees, trying to scream, but in this dream I was mute.

"Muzzle him!"

Shorn, diminished, Aslan was no less noble and he offered no resistance as his mouth was bound closed. One bite and he could have taken off the offenders' limbs, but he did nothing. That seemed to infuriate his captors all the more and they lashed out, beating and kicking and mocking him without mercy. They spit on him, hissing savage curses and jeers.

His only response was to close his eyes.

This would have been me. It had almost been me. The knife had been sharpened for my throat the night Oreius had rescued me. Death had been only moments away.

This was all for me. All because of me.

"Bring him to me."

Bound, muzzled, beaten and bleeding, the raving crew of beasts began hauling him towards the Table. They pushed and pulled and kicked, straining to get him onto the platform, letting his head bang against each step.

And still, he did nothing.

With a smear of blood following him the dragged Aslan onto the Stone Table and bound him tightly to it. I huddled off to the side of the Table, shivering and sick with anxiety for what I knew would happen. What had to happen. I did not want to be witness to this, but Jadis' blood controlled my dreams now and I had no choice until some mercy roused me from sleep.

Silence fell at a gesture from the White Witch. Then a strange, pulsing beat of staves on the ground began, growing in strength and speed. It was primal and dark. Jadis bent close to Aslan's ear, her expression both amused and pitying, her voice almost loving.

"You know, Aslan, I'm a little disappointed in you. Fool! Did you think that by all this you could save the Human traitor? You are giving me your life and saving no one. When you're dead, what will prevent me from killing him as well? Who will take him out of my hands then?"

He looked at her sadly. She cast him a contemptuous little smirk. "So much for love."

I felt sick. I wanted to throw myself over Aslan, shield him with my own body and sacrifice just as he had shielded me. Jadis rose and shouted out to her crazed followers, "Tonight the Deep Magic will be appeased, but tomorrow we will take Narnia forever!"

The crowd of hideous creatures was tense, eager for blood. I could not convince myself this was all just a dream. Aslan's flanks were heaving as he panted and I fully understood the instinctive fear gripping him. Knowing what was coming was the worst torture of all. I was an authority on it.

"And in that knowledge, despair...and DIE!"

She was speaking to Aslan, but looking at me.

The knife plunged down. Aslan jerked, eyes wide in shock and pain. I gasped at the same instant, knowing what it felt like.

Despair...

It couldn't be said that she had won...she simply hadn't lost...

...if I despair, I'll think of you and remember you love me.

Peter.

For one instant, no more than a heartbeat of time, I saw Peter sick and hurt and crouching in feeble shelter from a storm, leaning against Phillip's leg. He was in despair.

And he smiled.

How could the loss of all hope unite us like this? Was it simply our common blood? This curse? Aslan?

"The Great Cat is dead!"

I was snatched back to the Stone Table. Aslan's blood spilled over the stone, down the steps. The Fell Creatures celebrated as Jadis watched her enemy die. Suddenly, strangely, in a moment of agony and clarity, I understood Jadis better than anyone ever had, and steely determination began to take the place of fear.

I would not lose. Not my sanity, not my life, not my brother

Not to Jadis.

She had helped make this person King Edmund the Just and I would make her regret it.

I would not lose.

"General, prepare your troops for battle!" the White Witch ordered, then added with a vicious glimmer in her eyes, "However short it may be."

I glanced over at the huge Minotar as he grunted orders and the raving crowd began to surge away from the Table. I lingered by Aslan's limp body as Jadis swept past. Knowing the future did not ease the agony of this moment. I looked up and the White Witch cast me a sneering smile, pausing before me. She gestured at the shorn Lion.

"A king needs servants, Edmund."

Yes, he did. And here I stood. I could not think of a higher calling than to serve my brother and through him Narnia and Aslan.

She frowned as she realized her words didn't have the desired effect on me, for I completely misunderstood what she was implying. So she showed me instead.

I woke up just as she moved to run me through with the Stone Knife.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

I gasped and struggled to free myself of the dream before she could complete the blow. Voices were calling my name, ordering, pleading with me to wake up. I felt a light slap on my cheek. I sat up, panting and trying to calm my panicked heartbeat a moment before Susan cried,

"Edmund, it's midnight!"

Not again!

Not quite. I hadn't slept through it this time. Oh, marvelous. I got to enjoy being stabbed twice in a night.

I barely had time to seize upon Susan's hand and brace myself for the gory impact, unable to address anything but the fall of the curse once again upon me. A scream escaped me at the rush of pain and blood. Lucy was already poised and waiting to spare me as much as possible. Instead of lying there letting the cordial heal me so that I could be sacrificed tomorrow, though, as soon as I could think and feel again, the same resolve I'd felt in the dream flowed through me.

"Get Oreius," I gasped, fighting the hands trying to hold me down. I was still bleeding as I shook them off. Confused looks were exchanged and I lost all patience. Peter was injured and fading. We had no time. He had no time.

And I couldn't bear this any longer.

"Get the general NOW!" I commanded, and Silvo darted out of the room at a run, glad, I was certain, to escape.

"Edmund?" asked Aslan, an island of calm amidst the heightened emotions in the room.

"Peter," I panted, staring at the Lion, trying not to picture him shorn of his mane. "Peter is hurt. He needs help. I'm sending Oreius."

My sisters gasped. Aslan nodded and said nothing more and I was grateful for his faith. Susan wiggled her fingers and I realized I was still clutching her hand crushing tight. "Sorry." I loosened my hold, but she didn't let go. On my other side Lucy sat close, staring at me. Concern was written on her face, concern for both her brothers. I took her hand in mine in an attempt to reassure her. It was then I realized I had never made it beyond Susan's room and I had bled on her covers. Blast. Minutes later the bedroom was filled by the general of Narnia's army, unceremoniously yanked out of his sleep.

"King Edmund?" he asked directly.

"Go to the Western March, General. Send out scouts. Peter is hurt and needs help. Leave immediately."

Aslan bless this Centaur. He nodded without hesitation or question, his attention on me alone. "Celer is on patrol in that area now. Kanell and Cloudcaster will remain here. I'll bring some Bats and Hawks to keep you informed."

"Thank you," I whispered, knowing that everything that could be done, would be.

He bowed and left. My self-control seemed to desert me the moment his rapid hoof beats disappeared and I began to react to everything I had seen in the dream. The horror of it, the magnitude of Aslan's sacrifice, struck me with all the force of a physical blow as I looked at the Lion. I was shaking so hard that Susan pulled me into her arms and held me tight despite my bloodied tunic. I couldn't even hold her in return. I hadn't the strength. Lucy hugged us both, laying her head on my shoulder.

"Did you dream, Edmund?" whispered Lucy.

I nodded, squeezing my eyes tightly shut against the tears that wanted to spill down. Was I really only eleven? I felt closer to ninety.

"What of?" she wondered innocently.

"The Stone Table," I answered with effort. Nothing more needed to be said. I opened my eyes to see Aslan gazing upon with sadness and sympathy. A sob wracked my body and I groaned, for the spasm was pure agony in my chest. Lucy inched closer, holding me tighter.

"Shh." Susan rocked me gently, smoothing my hair, easing my terrors. "Shh, Edmund. Everything will be all right."

Oh, to be so sure! Aslan stepped over to the bed and laid his head against me, his mane so warm and soft. I reached out and touched his smooth muzzle.

"I'm sorry," I sniffed, refusing to cry.

He understood my meaning. Pressing his face closer against me, he said, "I would do the same again."