Well; here's my attempt at my first Narnia fiction – and I do hope you all like it. As you can see I desperately need a Beta, and I hope to put a multi-chapter fiction on here sometime – although I'm notoriously bad at finishing these things…
Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia. C. S. Lewis does. I won't say however that I don't hold it dear to my heart. Because I do.
Any feedback is appreciated.
Bleak
He would have been lying if he had said that he could not remember the last time he had felt so cold.
"Blast. I hate winter."
And so he did.
His dappled horse stopped its feed and gazed at him with a sad, pitied expression that clearly said that she would have felt sorry for him, had she been able to understand what he said.
"It's not completely my fault – horse, I don't recognise a thing with all this snow!"
She went back to her oats, clearly unimpressed at the excuse.
It was meant to have been a simple hunt, a quick ride about in the woods to catch the last of the autumn game. They'd been going at a steady pace, his mare was surefooted and knew the land well – while King Edmund was a guest in the land to the south of Narnia, Archenland. Needless, he was the one who held the reigns, and when his keen eyes caught the sight of the most magnificent stag he had ever seen, he immediately gave chase. The hunt was swift, and Edmund was lead into thicker and thicker woods, his bow string taunt, ready to fly – if only the stag would stay within sight for more than a fleeting moment.
His horse's flank was drenched with sweat, her nostril's flaring from the chase. The minutes ticked by, and after a quart of an hour, his mare came to a jolting stop – throwing her young rider from the saddle – and refusing to move until she had been suitably watered. Edmund could only stare at her from his back where he lay, luck had landed him in a soft bed of leaves.
"Alright Horse." He finally sighed, for he did not know the dumb beast's name. She nickered at him crossly. "I'm sorry for pushing you too hard."
Allowing the Just King to lead her by the reigns, they stumbled upon a small stream, barely deep enough to get your ankles wet, but suitable enough for the Horse to lower her grey head and take a long drink. Edmund waited for her patiently, idly wiping down his boots and taking a small drink himself.
It seemed a long while before the Horse was finished, but finally she raised her head and shook her mane, and looked towards her rider expectantly.
"It's getting late – we best be home before dark." He stated. Although he later wondered who he was actually talking to, for unlike the horses in Narnia, there were no talking beasts in this strange land. Edmund half expected the horse to nod, or announce her agreement – but was met by only silence and a pair of dark, sincere eyes.
He shook his head, smiling widely, grabbing at her saddle and throwing himself onto her back. "Still – shame to go back empty handed." Edmund mused, nudging the mare into a brisk walk.
They went that way for a few moments, before Edmund realized that he didn't actually recognise anything, and in his hurry to catch the stag – he'd forgotten to get his bearings.
Casting a weary look to the sky, Edmund was dismayed to find that night was already fast approaching, the sky was a tiresome grey and the air was heavy with the smell of winter.
"You know the way don't you – good horse?" Even if the beast couldn't answer, Edmund still found it good manners to ask. She only huffed, turning her large beautiful eyes to him as if to say 'now who's leading who here?'.
"Thought as much. Well – I think we're well and truly lost." He turned in the saddle, searching this way and that, but the surrounds were monotonous and silent, and the sky was no help – not yet laden with stars and the sun was truly hidden beyond the thick canopy.
The young king dismounted, slinging the reigns into a bush to hold his mare steady. She cocked her head. "I need a better look." He explained, grasping a low branch and hauling himself up into the trees. It took him a few tries, but eventually his head ceased to hit branches and hit the cool, winter air as he broke free from the foliage.
"Just my luck!" he called down. "It's too dark to see anything!" And it was true, for winter was already upon Archenland and night time came quicker than it did in Narnia. He managed to see the last fleeting rays of light loose themselves in the western mountains – before he was swathed in darkness.
Getting down from the great height proved to be more tricky than tackling it, and after a few minutes and a rip in his shirt – Edmund found his feet firmly planted in the mossy ground.
"We'll have to wait until morning – unless you know the way home of course?" he addressed his horse. She only bumped him with her soft muzzle, nickering softly and spraying him with a thin spurt of spit. He shook his head, taking the leather reins in his hand and leading her away from where they stood – intent on finding them someplace even slightly sheltered to stay.
They walked aimlessly for little over half an hour, until Edmund came across a small outcropping that looked like it might be able to keep them dry should it begin to rain. "Stay here Horse," he said gently, leading her towards it – "we'll need some wood for a fire."
There was precious few dry pieces of wood on the ground – even less considering he could not see – but after a few minutes of searching – he found his way back to his shelter with an armful of wood.
It had begun to snow by the time Edmund had the fire going, great soft flakes fell cotton from what seemed in the darkness a foot from your face. It was slow and lazy, and brought with it a bitter chill. The mare soon shuffled into the small space – and Edmund busied himself by taking the saddle off her great back. "Wish I'd thought to bring a brush – and something to eat would have been nice." He muttered idely, searching through the saddle bag wistfully. He did manage to find an apple, and a few handful of oats that the horse was thankful for. She lay down near him, busy crunching on the fresh food – watching the King thoughtfully as he stared mournful into bleak winter.
"I hate winter."
The fire provided little warmth – and Edmund was thankful that there wasn't a wind.
"It's always so cold. I hate the cold."
She bumped her head against his shoulder in comfort.
"Winter's always so bleak."
Absentmindedly, he pulled his cloak around his shoulders, winding his fingers into the thick material.
"It feels both like an age and like yesterday that we first came here – my sisters and my brothers and I. And now we're kings and queens. Peter says I shouldn't doubt it – that Aslan made me a King because I deserve it as much as any of them.
"But I'm always afraid, my dearest Horse, that I'd do it again. I dream of it sometimes. I dream that I've betrayed them and he's lay – Peter's lay in a bed of snow and frost and his face is contorted in an agonising scream because he's so cold and so hurt. And I dream that I'm standing there – and She's there – standing tall and beautiful and terrible like a remember her. And she laughs. And I can't do anything. Because I know in my heart of hearts that I've put him there – and that he'll never forgive me. Can you understand that?"
She was of course – silent.
"I was such a terrible person."
She offered him no comfort.
"I hate winter." He spat. "She made it always winter –never spring – the cold never thawed – the seasons never changed – and I wanted to be a prince. Her prince. I wanted my brother as my slave. I wanted him to be sorry for how he treated me, for every time he shouted at me – made me feel small – scolded me – protected me."
The snow was heavy – coating the ground in thick sheets. The outcropping was thankfully saved, and the small fire burned bright.
"I'm such a terrible brother."
Her gaze never faltered from his back.
It seemed as if an age passed in silence, and the night grew steadily colder. Horse and King sat still in the woods – barely stirring, illuminated by the soft embers of a fire; her kindly eyes glistening as she watches the snow with innocent wonder; his face thoughtful.
"I can't remember so much anymore why I hated him; I remember being young once – in a strange place where the animals didn't talk and the trees didn't dance and stars were simply burning balls of gas in the sky which always felt so restricting. I remember a war, and someone who loved us dearly but I can't remember her name or what she looked like – just that she smelled wonderful – homely and warm and whatever was for dinner.
"Has it only been three years since we came to Narnia?" Edmund wondered. "It seems like a lifetime."
By this time his hands and feet were numb with cold, the snow had begun to creep into their shelter, and the fire was fitfully fighting against the chill to stay alive. Edmund sighed, turning to his companion. "Dearest Mare – will you let me lie beside you less I freeze?" He asked. He took her steady gaze to be an invitation, and shuffled close to her, laying down between her and the fire so that her hot body warmed his back and the fire warmed his chest.
Edmund noted some time later, that the horse had lain her head on his shoulders.
"Such a noble horse." He whispered some time later. "You would do well as a talking horse of Narnia – gallant and strong – free to run through woods and forest as you please. I think that's what Narnia is you know – freedom. While She had Narnia, it wasn't free – couldn't grow, unable to breath. We're the same good horse.
"Winter for me signifies the days I lacked freedom – caught in a fantasy that could, and should, never be real. I've never felt so very free until my family was safe and warm around me and I could be myself around them. It was so exhilarating, the first time I looked to Peter once I had been rescued from the White Witch to see him smile at me. I feared I would never see that smile again."
The snow and cold was finally victorious, the fire gave up its noble battle and faded into soft embers that sizzled out into smoke and the into nothing.
"Perhaps I was once a terrible brother, fair Friend," Edmund murmured, feeling his eyes lids close against their will. "But his smile gives me strength… I'll be a better brother just to see it."
Horse and boy slept, and the snow fell.
-
"Edmund!"
It wasn't the calls that first woke him, but the shifting of the Mare against his back. His mind emerged from its slumber, slow and warm and comfortable. Edmund stared into his surroundings in a lazy haze, aware only of the warmth pressed against his back and the silence of the scene around him.
"King Edmund!" Well. What was once silence.
Moments passed before he realised that Edmund was his name and that he more than likely had a very worried family looking for him – considering he hadn't returned the night before.
"Here…" He called, his voice was hoarse and dry, and the sound didn't reach very far. The horse shook her mane, nudging the tired king from his stupor and getting to her feet. "Alright… keep your mane on… By the Lion you're worse than Peter!" he exclaimed, brushing wayward snow off of his clothes and stumbling out of their shelter.
For once, the sight of snow didn't faze him. It was oddly peaceful, bare branches were laden with thick white snow, and hung low to the ground – winter birds flitted from tree to tree – singing in merry harmony. These were the sounds he hadn't allowed himself to hear for fear of reminding himself of something he'd rather not.
He felt hot breath on his shoulder, and he patted the dappled horse's nose fondly. She ran her hot tongue across his ear. Edmund grinned.
"Edmund!" it was the unmistakable voice of his brother – of that he was sure.
Gathering strength in his lungs, Edmund called "I'm here!"
And for the first time in a very long while, Edmund felt he truly was.