Chapter 15


Both Edmund and Kryn kept silent as they landed. The remnants of the Narnian army were regrouping, well away from Beaversdam, in order to reorganize and take stock of injuries…and losses. Edmund dismounted Kryn with a quiet, "Thank you," knowing that the griffin could not carry him all the way back to the How. Though strong, griffins had light bone structures and could not bear a heavy burden on their backs for very far.

Edmund grimaced as he started walking forward. His shoulder burning, his head aching, the young king wasn't quite sure he could hold his own weight up for long. Still, though close to complete exhaustion, Edmund forced himself to move.

Only to be stopped by a large, familiar form. "My king," nickered Hwella, her soft voice filled with relief as she nuzzled his hair.

At his friend's actions, Edmund felt himself collapse forward. He buried his face in her mane, clutching it with his good hand. Hwella didn't move as her king leaned against her in order to hold himself upright. "Hwella," he croaked out, hoping she could hear his own relief at seeing her escaped from the slaughter.

She did, rubbing her head gently against his back in comfort. Hwella frowned as he tensed up at the movement. "Are you injured, my king?"

Edmund took in a deep breath, not wanting to further worry his already overprotective friend. Hwella did not react well when he was injured, as he knew from previous experience. "It will keep, Hwella."

He saw that the Horse did not believe his strong front, but she did not push him. "Climb up, my king. It is a long journey back to the How."

Edmund moved away and shook his head. "There are other, probably worse off…"

"Your majesty," Looking up, Edmund dazedly stared as Glenstorm, who motioned towards the figure he held in his arms. Edmund bit his lip as he barely recognized Trumpkin; Lucy would be devastated. "Your majesty, Hwella has agreed to bear Trumpkin. But he is gravely injured and cannot hold himself upon her back."

Edmund knew what the Centaur was asking. It showed how out of it he was, though, that Edmund did not realize that Hwella was also just learning of her supposed offer, or that Glenstorm could easily carry Trumpkin himself. In fact, Glenstorm had seen the youngest king's condition and, knowing Edmund, felt that a conspiracy was in order to take care of him. But Edmund knew none of this; instead, he quietly mounted a concerned Hwella before taking Trumpkin from the Centaur general as gently as possible.

Settling the unconscious dwarf against his right shoulder, Edmund blinked back tears. His mind could not shake away the image of those Narnians who hadn't escaped, who did not have the hope of survival that even Trumpkin had, if they could reach the How in time. It's my fault, though Edmund, the pain in his heart worse than that in his shoulder. I shouldn't have let Caspian deviate from the plan. I should've stopped Miraz. I should have gone back and forced Peter to retreat. His words to Lucy haunted him. How arrogant that I thought my faith would be enough! That I thought I could rein in Peter, that I had any control at all! Edmund choked back a sob, the movement rippling pain from his injury. It's all my fault. It's my fault that my soldiers died, that Trumpkin and the others were hurt. It's my fault that so many families won't see their loved ones again. "I'm sorry," he whispered to Trumpkin, to the ghosts of his dead soldiers. But there was no answer to give him absolution.

~*~

The Narnians pushed through the night, arriving back at Aslan's How by midmorning. The sky matched the dismal hearts of the army, grey and sunless. Hopeless. By the time they emerged from the forest, Edmund was drifting close to unconsciousness, staying awake through sheer strength of will and determination to protect his helpless charge. Emotionally and physically, he was exhausted; waves of pain pulsed through his body from his wounded shoulder. In the back of his mind, Edmund knew he was on the verge of collapsing completely.

Not yet, though. As the group approached the entrance to the How, Edmund was jolted to awareness when he heard someone, a familiar someone, let out a heartbroken, "What happened?"

Edmund sighed in weariness as he heard Peter's tight answer. "Ask King Caspian." The tone of disgust was palpable, though Edmund also heard the underlying guilt. It didn't matter, really, not now. Now Edmund could only struggle to find the strength to stop the impending argument. But, with his head dizzy and aching and grief closing his throat, Edmund found that he couldn't make his mouth speak the necessary words. This could be a problem, he thought dazedly.

"Me?" sputtered Caspian with angry amazement. "You were the one who did not call it off when there was still time to save lives!"

"There wasn't any time, thanks to you running around like an idiot instead of following the plan! Why call us at all if you aren't going to listen and follow orders?" Edmund vaguely thought that Peter's argument was flawed, since Caspian had not actually meant to call them when he blew the horn.

Caspian did not see this discrepancy either, and Edmund idly noted that he needed to teach the boy the finer points of debate. If he could ever get his mouth moving again. While Edmund attempted to force words from his brain to his tongue, Caspian speared Peter with an icy glare. "It is unfortunate that the horn had to call all of you. Ed and I were fighting and winning for weeks before you arrived and slaughtered half our army!"

Edmund was glad to hear someone – Susan? – give a shocked, "Caspian!" because he was fairly certain that he had been rendered speechless by those callous words. If he had actually be able to speak in the first place.

Caspian's condemnation only ignited Peter's dark fury, and the High King flew at the other boy, grabbing the front neck of his shirt. "Don't you dare bring my brother into this! Don't you even dare try and compare yourself to him, you filthy Telmarine!"

Edmund watched in detachment at the two Narnian kings preparing to brawl like schoolboys. A flash of red interposed itself between the boys, shoving them apart. "Stop it, both of you! You're acting like children; fighting when you should be thinking of what we need to do now!"

Blinking his blurred eyes, Edmund realized that the flash of red was a girl. Lucy, his mind whispered and he suddenly remembered that the dwarf he was holding needed her. Healing cordial. Lucy. "Lucy," he whispered, his lips numb around the word. She didn't hear him, and Edmund grew desperate. He needed to catch her attention before she left, following Caspian into the How. "Lucy!" he was able to cry out, and he was relieved when the red blur materialized into the sister he knew, as she ran to his side.

Edmund felt Hwella kneel beneath him and he struggled to remain sitting upright. Feet touching the earth, Edmund slowly dismounted and gently slid Trumpkin off the Horse. He felt rather shaky himself and so remained kneeling on the ground, holding Trumpkin up against his chest. Lucy did not hesitate, uncapping her cordial even as she and Susan knelt next to the pair. Edmund tilted Trumpkin's head back so that Lucy could let fall a precious drop of fireflower juice into the dwarf's mouth.

After a moment of tense anticipation Trumpkin coughed, opening his eyes to take in their worried faces. "What are you all staring at? Beads and breadsticks, standing around when the Telmarines will be here who knows when," he muttered and Lucy grinned to see her friend back to being himself.

Lucy stood, helping the dwarf to his feet. Edmund vaguely heard Trumpkin thank her, but he was too busy trying to gather his own strength to stand. "Edmund?"

He heard Susan's voice and looked up from the ground to see her worried gaze. He blinked in confusion. Why was she looking at him like that? "Su?" he hoarsely whispered.

The young king watched as she reached a hand across his chest to pull at the sleeve of his armor. His eyesight blurred a moment and he let out a ragged gasp at the burst of agony in his chest. "Lucy!" came Susan's cry and his little sister was back at his side.

Edmund frowned as he saw Lucy go for her cordial. "Lu, what're you doing?"

She gave him a look that clearly said, What do you think I'm doing, you idiot? "Edmund, you're injured."

The dark-haired boy looked down at his shoulder and saw the crossbow bolt sticking out of his flesh, end broken and hanging. "Oh, that."

"Yes, that," stated Susan, her lips tight in disapproval and fear.

Edmund thanked Aslan he was actually able to think and speak coherently now. Well, as coherently as he could hope considering. "No need for cordial, Lu. I just…I just need a healer to remove the bolt and stitch the wound."

He could tell Susan did not fully believe him; but Lucy, who had more experience dealing with battle wounds, had to admit that his diagnosis was fairly accurate. Lucy frowned, but put her cordial away, despite Susan's disapproving look. With a sigh, Susan gave in as well, though she insisted on helping Edmund to his feet - for which he was infinitely grateful - and made him lean against her as they walked into the How.

No one commented on the fact that Peter was no where to be seen. Edmund just hoped he hadn't gone after Caspian.

He didn't know that he would later come to regret that hope.

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This and the next few chapters are fairly short. I can probably combine chapters 17 and 18, but that would throw off my numbering even more than usual. I'm contemplating just posting them at the same time, actually, but that would mean the story will end sooner than you (the readers) have been expecting. Thoughts, wishes?