Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Genre: General/Slight Romance
Summary: Edmund can't remember what it's like to live, but he Dreams.
Warnings: Some darkness here.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by C. S. Lewis, various publishers including but not limited to Harper Books and Harper Trophy Books. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: I gave Edmund green eyes because I don't believe they were described in the books.
It all seemed wrong to Edmund.
The Dreams haunt him.
The Dreams haunt him but sanity refuses to pay a visit.
Edmund had forgotten what it felt like to live. Edmund had forgotten what it felt like to be himself anymore. Edmund had forgotten his own name, but he never forgot his Dreams. He always Dreams.
Edmund dreams he’s back in Narnia. He’s always in Narnia.
Sloping green lawns rushed to meet mountains in a caress designed by Aslan himself. The sky shimmered with light, looking as though it breathed above him. Sharply outlined sunlight spiking between the clouds fell into his eyes, splitting the emerald green into a thousand different fractals of living color. Centaurs and Dryads sprint towards him, leading a charge of Narnian Men and Beasts alike, all padding up to him, nuzzling him, nosing him, and hugging him. Shouts and cheers filled the air as the creatures in front inform those in back that he is, in fact, King Edmund. He’s always King Edmund.
Edmund looks beyond the crowd and sees her. He always sees her. She stood there, exactly 15 feet away from him, as she has stood in every other dream he’s ever had about happiness or joy. Color flashes through him in the dream—it’s always color and never words to describe her: purestwhitehonor, goldenshiningbravery, freshgreenhope, liquidbluelove. Water sloshes at his feet and he looked up. He always looked up.
Green locked with blue. Liquid blue....
Edmund hears the dull roar but he can’t respond. He can never respond. Edmund feels the waves lap at his knees, soaking through his trousers. He tries to move. He always tries.
His eyes snapped shut and his arms and legs shift with the water as the silvery, cold, shining bodies of the fish caress him. Swirling, frothing, foaming, spiraling, churning water. Blue, blue, blue, blue. He can see his own pale hands slicing through the water. The tang of salt mixed with blood fills his mouth and his eyes flick open for a moment. He sees her again, standing on the ground even though the water is rising to the heavens. Her head tilts up and she watches him struggle for life. He sees her. He always sees her.
Green locked with blue...
For a moment, just before he wakes and the drudgery returns, he believes that he is trapped in a wardrobe filled with water, and that he is dead. He is always dead.
Edmund barely remembers Narnia anymore, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. What he remembers more than anything else was his own guilt, his betrayal, and how, even though he knew it was wrong, he’d deceived his brother and sisters. He hadn’t been thinking about Narnia in the last few years. In fact, Edmund had stopped thinking about a lot of things. He didn’t think about eating. He didn’t think about work. He rarely thought about relationships.
His mind was blank. Blissfully, peacefully, immovably blank. He was always blank.
His Dreams were a jumble of emotion.
Lucy came to his flat on a Saturday morning. She politely ignored the dust and general disorder of the place, saying she had come to talk to him, her brother, and not to critique his house. Peter was out. Peter was always out.
After much talking, the subject of Narnia came up. It always came up. Lucy mentioned a strange dream she had about the White Witch and how she always wondered what became of her.
Edmund didn’t say anything. He never said anything. He had been having strange dreams as well, dreams that make him certain that he's made all the wrong choices. He’s always made the wrong choices.
Lucy asked him if he’d been sleeping well. She said that Peter told her about him sobbing in his sleep, moaning an incoherent word. A flare of anger rose inside him and Edmund felt his cheeks burn.
He told her he'd had a nightmare, and he wasn't entirely lying.
He’d finally managed to survive the swirling water, breaking past a barrier in his own mind.
Green locked with blue.
He swam toward her, fighting the mad current that seemed determined to sweep him away from her. He was always away from her. He came closer to her, the water clouding his vision, her dark hair rising and falling with each wave. He could see her; he could feel the rays from her eyes pierce him. He could almost touch her. His hand reached out, fingers straining to feel her, to grab and hold any part of her. Choking back a strangled cry, he felt something smash into his fingers. Solid. Invisible, but immovable.
She was there. She was always there. Inches away from his outstretched hand. He loved her—he didn’t know her name but he loved her. Her image flickered, wavering like flames in a fireplace.
Wood. Edmund blinked the water from his eyes and focused groggily. The wardrobe. He was in the wardrobe again. He was always in the wardrobe.
He was drowning. He was always drowning. He was drowning in a wardrobe when love was a half an inch of wood beyond his grasp. Always beyond his grasp.
Everything shattered in Edmund's mind after that, but he said nothing to the others. His memories felt even stranger than they had before; it wasn't just that he didn't remember, he only remembered certain things, as if someone had sifted though his brain and left out the unpleasant bits and pieces. He remembered the castle at Cair Paravel but not the way to his rooms; he remembered dancing in the forest but couldn’t remember who he was dancing with.
Late at night as he fell asleep he remembered pulling someone into his arms and pledging eternal love, but he couldn’t remember a name. No name, no face, no first kiss, no first meeting, no hope. He had professed his undying love, he had promised himself forever to someone, somewhere, and now he betrayed that promise simply by leaving a place he wished to remain in forever. It was in his nature to betray. He always betrayed.
He betrayed his personality when he awkwardly picked up the knife and touched it reverently. He clutched it in his hands, twisting it this way and that, making the light shine and glimmer on the cold blade. He betrayed his will when he set it down with shaking hands, unable to do what he had so long wished for. He betrayed his character when he desired a quick death to end the torture. He betrayed his resolve when he allowed himself to dream.
He has many nightmares during the days, but he has many dreams as well. He dreams.
He always dreams.
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