Romeo || Edmund Pevensie

Quicksand

Violence was not something that came to Aramis naturally as it might have to a leader. Battles and wars were second nature to some, but to him, it was anything but. Despite his healing abilities, his stomach was not as strong as he might have liked to believe. Blood was not an issue, but anything worse often overcame him with great pain and sickness.

     For this reason, and this reason alone, Aramis had not been apart of the planning phase for their invasion. Everything had to be precise and unemotional. He, of course, was kept in the loop by everyone, though their accounts of the plans were all slightly different, he did have a clear view of what the coming days were to behold.

     It was all relying on a few key moments, and if anything were to go wrong, so many could die. They didn't need the guilt on their hands, or the blood stains in their mind.

     The morning of the invasion, Aramis found that he hadn't slept a wink. He might've laughed if he wasn't so nervous. His eyes were heavy, and often he felt like he might drop off, without warning. However, he didn't want to miss them leave should he be unconscious for too long. He needed to say his goodbyes. It couldn't end the way it did last time. They had to say goodbye.

     Unable to control anything but himself, the spirit put his talents to good use. For when they returned, he had set up a makeshift medical ward in the first section of the tomb where their main craftsmen had worked. Now, they would be gone, to fight. It would all be so empty.

     The tables that he used wobbled a little, one leg shorter than the others, titling whenever he placed anything upon it. There wasn't much equipment available to them, which was worrying, should many wounded return. Of course, there was an abundance of the natural supplies, but the dressings and bandages were all limited in number (for now, enough, but it was impossible to tell when they would inevitably come to an end).

     He ordered every individual piece, and made sure that they would stay when he left. The anxiety was creeping up on him, and even though he had been reassured many times, he couldn't help it. Edmund's avoidable cut from a few days ago had plagued his mind; he couldn't think of what state he would find himself in should anything worse happen.

     Perhaps in a different life he would have been able to stay by the side of those he was bound to, through battles and all. In this life, however, it was not meant to be. His bound duty would be broken the moment he harmed another with intention. It was against everything his kind promised to the Narnian's upon their arrival, and peace was an old friend of his. To betray was a fate worse than death: to kill was inconsolable.

     Aramis drew a deep breath, and released it slowly. As long as he remembered to breath, it would be easier. He wouldn't be alone, either. The Pevensie's had deemed Lucy too young to fight, despite all of her protests, and she would be left as the ward of Aramis for the time being.

     They would have fun. When they were together, they always had fun. It was what friends did... though, not many friends had to ignore the idea of their family and friends dying as they spoke. 

     After his tasks had all been completed, Aramis retired himself to his room, if only to freshen his robes before the others were due to leave. He wanted to leave a positive lasting impression; not one that reeked of mud from a distant land and smoke from the constant fires.

The white robes were so beautiful, even to him. A gift, from the first Narnian King, Frank I, after serving him as nothing more than a boy. Only the finest, he had been told, clearly a favourite of the man as he shared nothing but the truth, and answered in they way others often hoped for.