Romeo || Edmund Pevensie

The London Boys

Narnia was a magical place, dust from the Dawn of time built into the very foundations of the world. Each of the residents of the place knew it, almost like a law, but none of them could feel it, not like Aramis could. Everything that moved, that breathed the same air he did, caused a pinprick of energy to spin through his body.

He was stood beside Aslan, as he often found himself, he was looking over the camp they had made. It had been in the works for quite some time, beside the stone table, with all of the most trusted creatures aiding them in fulfilling the task at hand. Though, there was still so much to be done, and very little time left to do it.

It was early in the day when it happened. The surge of energy, more powerful than anything before.

Aramis breathed heavily, dark hair standing on end, pupils enlarged. This was new. And it was brilliant.

"Aslan..." he trailed, everything making sense to him. "They're here."

"Can you feel it, my friend?"

"More than ever before." Aramis agreed, standing almost stiffly. "But they will be lost."

Aslan simply turned to the guide, and spoke as calmly as he always did. "You must be patient; it is one of your greatest virtues."

"I cannot leave them. What if something happens?"

"Then you shall be the one to save them."

He shook his head. "That is not what I want."

"But it is the way things have to be."

Aramis drew a breath, short, not enough to become sustainable over time. It wasn't going to be as easy as he had hoped. Now, there was much more to worry about than just the Witch.

The Pevensie's hadn't long been in the Beaver's small hut by the time conversation took a more whimsical turn. Mr Beaver had coaxed most of the children around the small, wooden table, to draw them in as he spoke of his world- but Edmund would not.

He had secluded himself, to the greatest extent without leaving. On the third step from the floor, he watched as his siblings conversed with the creature. From the very moment that he had set foot in Narnia, there had been a scowl on his face. The entire thing made him uneasy, not to mention his brush with the White Witch.

Guilt had racked him, and lying was making it no better. To seem upset was much easier than facing the truth. He knew that, even if it wasn't right.

Hurried, Mrs Beaver waddled over with her hands full with a hot tray.

"Fish 'n' chips?" She was desperate the distract from the awfulness, that her awkward laugh hung in the air like a bad smell.

She dropped the tray for the Pevensie's, and their appetite disappeared at once. The fish wasn't breaded, or battered, or even filleted. The best that came from it was that it had been gutted- though their jelly-like eyes still managed to stare a hole through Lucy.

Sensing the tension in the air, Mrs Beaver still knew that she had to say something to help.

"But there is hope, dear." She could only wish that it was enough. "Lots of hope."