A/N: Thought I'd be nice and give you all an early Christmas treat, as the next full chapter is still in development.

The first sensation Edmund noticed upon waking was the warmth. Though he did not know why, it felt unnatural yet incredibly calming, and he allowed his eyes to sink shut against the backdrop of a blue, snowless sky.

Edmund awoke on a beach, a strange place to find himself, though he could not remember why that was. The warm sea air blasted against his hot skin, causing him to flinch and once again open bleary eyes.

The water lapped against the heels of his boots, his leather trousers sun dried and ruined with bloodstains, indicating that he had been lying in the sand for some time. The sand beneath him was warm, and a brilliant white, softer than the beaches at Cair, and Edmund found himself lying back in it and sighing contentedly.

He didn't remember how he ended up here.

In fact, he couldn't remember much of anything, and yet, this hardly bothered Edmund.

Disoriented, he stared out at the gentle waves of the ocean, only to find that their constant swaying did nothing to cure the raging headache splitting through his skull, interrupting his peaceful awakening.

A sudden thought came to him then, that it should not be his head that hurt, but something else. It startled him, however, that he could not remember what, exactly, that was, just that there was some sort of wound.

Squinting, Edmund sat up and tensed, expecting the stab wound in his stomach to...

Stab wound.

In an instant, memories of the last few years, of the last few weeks, came flooding back, overpowering his senses until he nearly blacked out, falling back against the sand.

Lucy...

Narnia...

The Wardrobe...

The Witch...

...Aslan.

Bolting to his feet with an energy that had been beyond him for some time, even as a King of Narnia, an energy that better befitted an excitable child, Edmund took in his surroundings, breathing heavily. The air filling his lungs was sweet, reminding him of Mrs. Beaver's cream pies.

He expected each breath to bring pain, now that he remembered the Witch's dagger had pierced his lungs on the Stone Table, and was surprised when it didn't. Instead, it felt refreshing, almost comforting.

He glanced down at the stomach that should have been steadily bleeding, and found that the skin was not even scratched, as pink and whole as the day he first entered Narnia, or perhaps as the day he first entered the world before Narnia; he didn't know.

The fine white scar from the battle of Beruna was gone, as well, as was the scar on his temple he had received fighting back Telmarines last year in Lantern Waste. The sores that had torn at his wrists and ankles over the past few weeks, while bound in the Witch's dungeons, had dissolved into creamy white skin; there was not even a hint of dried blood.

Edmund Pevensie felt better than he had in years, though he was not old.

It took him a moment longer to comprehend where he was.

The calming waves of the Eastern Sea had a lethargic effect on him, pulling him down into the sand and making him wish to spend the rest of his life here, not bothering to figure out how he had arrived here to begin with.

Behind him, where the shallow beach ended stood a mountain of a wave, enormous and crystalline, the wave itself moving only up and down, but not growing taller. There was, however, a gaping hole in this giant wave, just large enough for someone to walk through, and Edmund fancied that this someone must be himself, but he did not move towards it.

Through it, through the clear blue water, Edmund imagined he could see something else, a different world, which called to him seductively, hinting of beautiful mountains and valleys as far as the eye could see, peaceful landscapes that stretched on for an eternity.

Aslan's Country, and he was standing at the Door.

That could be the only explanation, though Edmund had never heard of anyone who had gone there and returned. There were some, among them Mr. Tumnus, who claimed that it was possible, that once, a very long time ago, it had been done, but Edmund wasn't sure that he believed the rumors.

Which meant only one thing; he was dead.

Surprisingly, the realization didn't bother him as much as Edmund had always expected it to.

Instead, he felt an inner peace that he had not felt for some time; at least, not since before the Witch's reappearance in Narnia. The feeling began at the pit of his stomach and travelled outwards, warm and full, like he felt after a good spring's feast.

It made him want to run, want to race through these sands because he knew, somehow, that he would never grow tired here, that he could keep going along that stretch of beach forever, and the wave would always be waiting for him.

So he ran. His boots scuffed along the shoreline, throwing loose sand into the air and splashing at the water. Susan would be appalled; his boots were no doubt ruined by now, along with his trousers, but Edmund found out quickly that he hardly cared.

He could laugh at the thought. Instead, he kept running, enjoying the feel of breath filling his lungs so quickly, so effortlessly.

If he ran fast enough, the events of the last few days, of the Stone Table, were merely a blur behind everything else, and, here, that was all right.

Time did not exist in this place, and Edmund did not know how long he kept running until he finally sank into the sand, running his fingers through the grainy substance without thought.

"Edmund," a low, familiar voice broke through his musings, and Edmund spun around, only to see the Great Lion, only a few paces away from him. His great, yellow paws indented into the sand, his wide eyes gentle and searching.

And Edmund laughed. It had been so long since he laughed; in fact, he couldn't remember the last time, though he fancied it was back at Cair, when he was still with his siblings, rather than a prisoner of the Witch. This laugh was carefree, childlike, and it rose from deep in his belly, a further warmth rushing through him at the action.

He ran forward, feet tripping through the sand, and yet somehow managed not to fall before reaching the Lion's side, and coming to an abrupt halt, mere inches from the lion's mane, he stared in awe. It seemed then that an eternity had passed since Edmund had last laid eyes upon the Great Lion, as if he were greeting an old friend from another lifetime. "Aslan."

Aslan laughed as well, pawing the sand as Edmund rushed to him, and for a moment, all of Edmund's worries of the past few weeks vanished, and there was only Aslan, and sand, and Aslan's country, just on the horizon.

When he had collected himself, Edmund frowned. "Aslan..." he began, but the words quickly tittered off, as Edmund wasn't sure what it was he wished to say. Finally, "Am I dead?"

Aslan smiled at him, but it was not his usual smile, full of mirth. This one held a certain melancholy to it, a sadness that Edmund did not like seeing. "This is not my Country; it is merely the Door through which to enter it. You are in a state that is neither death nor life, Edmund, and there are two choices before you. But you cannot remain at the Door for long."

Edmund stared at the Lion, licking suddenly dry lips. "Then...you mean, I can go back to Narnia?"

"Or you could continue through the Door into my Country," Aslan explained, "but if you do so, know that it is not possible to return."

Edmund pivoted towards the Door in that wave, the gaping hole that had been calling to him ever since he woke up on this beach. It seemed to widen now, beckoning him, and Edmund took a hesitant step towards it.

He remembered his thoughts while lying on the Stone Table, waiting for death, remembered the pain that wracked through his body as he lay there, waiting for the final blow, glaring up at the White Witch, the object of his nightmares, with a defiance that he was not sure was entirely own, remembered praying to the Lady for Peace. Peace, not justice, and, in a way, his prayer would be answered if he walked through that Door.

While he had lay dying on the Stone Table, he had longed for this, longed for peace and Aslan, and this was his answer.

"S-Should I?" It all felt so real suddenly, where a moment ago he had been carefree and happy.

Aslan was silent, and yet, Edmund heard him as he if had spoken. That is your choice to make, Edmund. I cannot make it for you.

Then another thought occurred to him; more of an image, which flashed horrifically before his eyes before he could stop it. An image of Lucy sobbing, clinging to Susan as the two of them stood over an unmarked grave, of Peter, taking out his anger with a sword.

No. He could not. Aslan's Country was a place of eternal peace for those who found it, a happy, perfect place where Edmund knew he would be satisfied to wait a lifetime for his siblings to join him, but the thought of leaving them...

He knew that one day, they would be separated by death, in some way or another. That eventually, each one of them would make their way to Aslan's Country on their own.

But the thought of leaving them now, while the Witch tried to retake control of Narnia and his siblings needed to stay together, needed to stay strong...where moments ago it had felt right, had felt comfortable, now it felt only...wrong. Selfish, even, and his cheeks burned at the thought of what he had been so close to doing.

Something in the air seemed to shift with Edmund's choice, unconscious though it was, and Aslan nodded with approval.

They stood together in silence after that, watching as the Door inside that strange Wave sealed shut, before Edmund found the courage to speak again.

"The Witch has returned to Narnia," he said suddenly, still staring at the Door, and ignoring the Great Lion's studying gaze.

Aslan's eyes saddened, the bright light inhabiting them a moment ago dying out. "I know, child," he said softly, and Edmund turned to face him, a look of surprise etching across his features.

He supposed it should not have been so shocking, that the Lion knew of the Witch's return. But that was not what now shocked Edmund Pevensie.

"But then...why haven't you returned to fight her? Why have you not returned to Narnia?" Edmund asked.

Even as he spoke, he hated that he was questioning the Great Lion, had endeavored never to do so, since the Lion had sacrificed himself for Edmund. And yet the words slipped out, before he could stop them. Unlike his older siblings, Peter in particular, Edmund never doubted Aslan's will, even when he left them for long periods of time to face trials on their own. Because Edmund knew, as Lucy did, that Aslan need never be doubted. That he would always come through for the four of them, should they need it. And yet, this time, the doubt that crept into his voice could not be held back.

"Do you trust me, Son of Adam?" Aslan asked then, voice calm yet oddly conflicted, eyes staring intently into Edmund's own, searching for something there. The sadness was back then, the exhaustion, and Edmund could see now that Aslan was hiding something, something great.

And, though he couldn't have explained why, the question brought tears to Edmund's eyes. "Of course."

Aslan sighed, the sound so exhausted and full of pain that Edmund flinched at his own words, now sounding like an accusation, and ringing guiltily in his ears. "Then know that all things shall be revealed in time. The Witch shall not prevail; even now, her time in Narnia draws to an end. The magic used to awaken her cannot sustain her forever, as she was in her previous life, and is weakening, even now. She knows this, and it is why she moved so quickly to kill you."

Edmund supposed that, in any other case, he might have been bothered by the casual mention of the Witch killing him, but found that, now, it only left him feeling numb.

Aslan started to walk away then, back towards the Sea, great paws stomping through the sand, and Edmund rushed after him, filled with confusion.

"You must return home now, Son of Adam," Aslan said finally, large eyes staring out at the calm waters, and there was a sudden sadness in his eyes that scared Edmund. "It will be a difficult journey; one of pain and sorrow, and I cannot promise that you will leave it entirely unscathed. But there are some things more you must do in Narnia still."

Edmund swallowed hard. "Will you come with me?"

And Aslan faced him then, a gentle chuckle in his voice. "I am always with you, Son of Adam, even if it seems that you are all alone."

Edmund felt Aslan's warm breath against his face then, heard the gentle words, "Wake now, Edmund Pevensie, and remember to look to the dove."

Edmund blinked at that, was about to open his mouth and ask what these last, strange words meant, when Aslan breathed on him a second time.

And the world exploded in a blinding flash of white light, even as the words echoed in his mind.

Look to the dove...