AN: *Sidles guiltily into the room hoping nobody sees her* PLEASE DON'T HIT ME... even though I deserve it TT_TT I'm sorry this update has been so long, but my life has been hectic- who knew school assessments were so tough? Not that I'm panicking. Not even a little. Nope, nada. Haha. Ha, um- ED! GET OVER HERE!

Edmund: I still hate you. I hope the reviewers flay you, roast you, sew you back into your inside-out skin and serve you with potatoes for Sunday lunch.
Moi: Now, now Ed-
Ed: Don't you "Ed" me! I am armed! *draws sword*
Me: No need to snap! I own nothing people, but-
*Edmund points sword at my throat*

King Edmund had to admit to some excitement when the hunting trip was announced. The sad truth about being King of a magical realm for twenty years was that after you got used to the wonder and joyousness etc. etc. of it all, nothing happened. All their military victories had been won in the first few years of their reign, and now all Edmund could do was sit around, and watch as his brother, who did not improve with age, commissioned new jewels for his crown. Every. Single. Day.

And besides, the fact that this white stag that they were chasing gave wishes to whoever caught it was no small matter either. King Edmund was having a good time, wondering which of his siblings to wish away first, and making conversation with the only other intelligent being in Narnia- his horse, Phillip. Edmund was worried about the horse, whose health was ailing, though not worried enough to leave him at home. "How are you feeling?" he asked his steed.
"Not great," the horse replied, "since I'm lumbered with your fat behind."
"He says he's fine!" called Edmund to his siblings.

It was after they had been riding around in circles for no less than seven hours that Edmund piped up again. "Whose directions are you following Peter?"
"My own," said Peter, "naturally. If I wasn't King, I could have been a navigator." Edmund slammed his face into Philip's neck with a moan of despair. "Gerroff," muttered Phillip.


Eventually, after many frayed tempers (from everyone) and patiently structured arguments (from Edmund), the group agreed to set up camp overnight.

"Peter," said Edmund slowly and warily, "I am not sharing a tent with you.
"But your tent is warmer than mine!" Peter protested, trying and failing to edge around his brother and through the tent flap.
"So light a bloody fire!" snapped Edmund, "You're high King in a magical land- figure it out."

Edmund grew to regret this advice later on when Peter managed to burn down his own tent, and had no choice but to intrude on Edmund's sacred personal space. Finally, long hours later after managing to drug Peter into a relatively peaceful state of slumber, tell Lucy that no, they could not have a sleepover, and tell Susan in no uncertain terms where to go when she offered to do his hair in curlers, he collapsed onto the softest patch of tent floor he could find, and attempted to sleep. It wasn't working.

Irritable from the disharmonious sound of his brother's snoring, Edmund sat up, and shuffled out of the tent. Aware that he would not be able to get back to sleep now, he pulled on boots and a coat, grabbed his sword, and tip-toed over to Phillip.

"Psst, Phillip. Phillip, wake up- we're going for a ride!"
Phillip suggested that Edmund did something anatomically impossible to himself, and went promptly back to sleep. Sighing, Edmund walked out of the camp alone, and padded quietly off into the darkness. He had walked for about ten minutes, just beginning to enjoy the quiet, when a snapping of twigs caught him abruptly by surprise.

He spun around, and saw a glowing white stag. "Good lord," muttered Edmund.
"Are you a dementor?" asked the stag, "because I should have a slightly stronger effect on you."
"What the bloody hell is a dementor?"
The stag sighed. "You know, dark shadowy guard of Azkaban, sucks the life, joy and happiness out of everyone and everything around him."
Edmund raised an eyebrow. "Just because I use sarcasm as a defense mechanism to hide my insecurities about my underlying morality as a former traitor and act as a black sheep in my family does not mean I am a 'dementor.'"

The stag groaned. "Well, in that case, I suppose you'd best hurry up and make your wish so I can go then."
Edmund blinked. "What?"
The stag sighed again. "You found me, you get to make a wish, blahblahblah. Oh, magic always comes with a price, yaadaayaadaayaadaa."
Edmund looked pensively at the ground for a second. He could be an only child! He could have a lie-in on sundays without the symphony of sounds emitted by his siblings! Or... he had to do what Narnia needed.
"My siblings are really shitey monarchs, and I'm not really the inspiring leadership kind. I wish for Narnia to have better leaders, and also-"
"No also! One is enough," snapped the stag. "Very well, your wish is my command, Potter."
"My name's not Potter."
"Details, details." The stag flounced off into the night.


"THE STAG THE STAG THE STAG OH MY ASLAN IT'S THE STAG!"
"Peter," said Edmund slowly, through gritted teeth, "please stop screaming. You'll scare the stag away." He had met with the stag earlier to discuss the execution of his wish, and was bracing himself for the big moment.

He and his siblings followed the stag through the forest, until it it vanished.

"What a weird metal pole thingy," stated Lucy, "it's glowing at the top, look!"
Edmund slapped a palm to his forehead. "It't a lamppost, Lucy," he groaned, "the lamppost. It's not been that long."
His siblings ignored him, naturally.
"War Drobe!" cried Lucy, "spare oom!"
"For the love of all that is holy, you know full well what wardrobes and spare rooms are, we had them in Finchley, we had them with the Professor, and we have them in Cair Paravel!" cried Edmund. His siblings barged past each other fighting through the ferny trees. Edmund sighed and walked sedately after them, utterly unsurprised when they emerged from a wardrobe the other side, 20 years younger.

"What happened?" yelped Peter.
"We're back in spare oom, drawled Edmund, and due to the flexibility of Narnian time, it's only been an hour since we left."
Just then, Professor Kirke walked in.
"We're back from Narnia," Edmund announced.
"How did you know I knew?" demanded Kirke.
"You're a reclusive old man that randomly takes in four kids, doesn't question the fact that earlier, one of us apparently went to another land and you have a wardrobe portal engraved with fancy designs on it. Of course you knew."
The professor shrugged. "Lunch in five. By the way, the wardrobe won't work now."

Edmund slumped against the foot of the wardrobe. "No shit, Sherlock, of course we won't get through the magic portal again, ignoring that Lucy and I have been through twice, it's just inconvenient now."
"Oh shut up, Edmund," snapped Kirke and swept out of the room.