Heart and Home~ Edmund Pevensie

Chapter 5: Do Not Go Gentle

Amelia:

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

They wouldn't stop. Obviously they were newbies, having not yet accepted their fate. They still had iron will – will as strong as the gates that kept them locked up. Not stronger. Never stronger.

BANG.

BANG.

She wasn't sure if he was kicking the door, throwing rocks at it, or simply banging his head against it. Either way, it was driving her insane. She vaguely remembered the traders bringing them in. Her mind was still drowsy from sleep, and she only heard faint mumurs of scuffling and yelling before the gates sealed shut and the banging commenced. Her own cell was empty, but the newbies next door had that old crazy to deal with.

Time in this cell had certainly made her more bitter, but she supposed she was slightly stronger. Her old owner, the twat, finally gave her back to the trade to be resold, only the traders were starting to get tired of her. This was her fifth time in this cell. She knew the guards by name.

The first owner had been the worst. He didn't beat her or rape her like the others, but she still had hope then. That simply worsened the pain, until finally, the glow inside her that she had been missing for so long gave her an idea. It was only a moment, perhaps a few seconds, where she felt the power of the Silvanus course through her veins, but it was enough. She knew what she needed to do. She needed to make it as difficult as possible for them to get rid of her. The hope faded with each passing owner, but that purpose, her job to make hell for these men, that's what she held on to.

And Edmund.

She prayed he was safe in his bed, dreaming about their days in Cair Paravel and Aslan's How.

Lord knows what would happen if he showed up here.

She head it again. Voices. She couldn't hear them clearly, her brain still fuzzled, but she knew they were speaking now. Her mind, although weak, was always stronger in the cell than with an owner. Thy fed her better here. Her hearing returned, and she tuned in to the Old Crazy's voice.

"It's hopeless," he lamented, "You'll never get out."

She almost laughed, Yeah, tell 'em Crazy. She and the man were somewhat friends, if you could call them that. They don't know each other's names or stories or backgrounds or anything, but they spoke every time Amelia found herself back in the cell.

"Who's there?" A male voice. Young. Familiar.

"Nobody. Just a voice in my head."

Silence.

"Lord Bern?"

Amelia furrowed her eyebrows, Crazy's got a name?

"Perhaps once, but I'm no longer deserving of that title."

The conversation had caught Amelia's interest.

"Is he one of the seven?"

That voice.

No, it can't be. He's back in London...

Amelia opened her eyes for the first time in what felt like years. She was met with the familiar darkness of her cell, but with a deep breath she leaned forward from her seat against the wall and dragged herself onto her stomach. Her throat was raw with dehydration, her stomach screamed for food. She dug her fingers into the soil and drug her body towards the iron gates that keep her locked in. The iron was cool to the touch, and she gripped it to pull herself closer.