Waiting for the Sun to Rise
This ficlet is set immediately before The Last Battle. My Edmund really does seem to be getting emo-er and emo-er, doesn't he?
Waiting for the Sun to Rise
Edmund and Peter recover the old rings.
Waiting for the Sun to Rise
“Ed and I will do it, of course,” Peter says, all easy confidence, eyes gleaming in that old familiar way that he’s always had. Edmund especially remembers it from their days in Narnia - when Peter would come to him with new battle formations drawn up, or even when it was days before Lucy’s birthday and they were dreaming up ways to top the previous year’s festivities.
Edmund doesn’t say anything, even as the babble of excited, scheming voices surrounds him. He sits at the dinner table, idly toying with his empty wine glass, mulling over the apparition they’ve just encountered. It’s been so long since he’s really thought about Narnia. He used to go to bed much earlier and wake up much later than he was accustomed to, wanting to be left alone to immerse himself in the thousands of memories that he would dissect and relive and reach out to behind closed eyelids. He used to think about it all the time, the ache of knowing he could never return burning white-hot and brighter within him with every passing second. He used to wonder if maybe he should have gone on with Reepicheep on that last day - dying in Narnia, Edmund would think, was surely, infinitely more preferable to dying in England. Because at least he would have been in Narnia. He hasn’t erased it from his mind completely - of course not. But he thought he’d finally come to terms with English life. God knows he understands the importance of it - it’s why he’s Susan’s only ally these days, it seems.
“We’ll dress as, I don’t know, workmen or something,” Peter is saying now, and Edmund can see how flushed with excitement his face is in the flicker of the candlelight. Everyone else is nodding thoughtfully now.
“Yes,” the Professor says, drawing the syllable out longer than necessary and taking a pull on his pipe. “Yes, I do believe we have ourselves a plan.”
Lucy lets out a delighted “Oh!” and claps her hands. Peter grins boyishly, leans across the table towards his brother. “Just like old times, eh, Ed?”
Edmund doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. They all know he’d do anything for Narnia, no matter what the cost - emotionally or otherwise.
-
In the stillness of the early morning, the old, empty house looms dark and silent over them. Edmund studies the windows, imagines the Professor and Polly as young children, guesses that the topmost window would have belonged to the Magician, envisions Jadis striding out the front door. A shiver runs through him.
“Chilly, isn’t it?” Peter says cheerfully, before disappearing around the side of the house.
In the backyard they work swiftly, wanting to get out of there before the neighbors awake and the street comes to life. Peter is almost obscenely energetic this morning, his jaunty whistle slicing through the cold.
“Bloody hell,” Edmund mutters, halfway into Peter’s seventh tune, “how far down did the Professor bury the sodding things?”
Peter laughs, just as his shovel makes a thunking sort of noise. The two men fall to their knees, gloved fingers scrabbling at the loosened earth, reaching towards the plain brown box.
“Ah, there we are,” Peter says happily, finally pulling the small box out of the ground and up towards him. He balances it on a knee, fingers moving almost reverently as he wipes off the traces of dirt that still cling to it.
Edmund doesn’t witness the moment that Peter lifts the lid of the box to check that the rings are all there as the Professor told them, misses the otherworldly wink of them reflecting in Peter’s eyes, because he is looking towards the eastern sky, watching as it shifts its colors before him.
“Glorious view, isn’t it?” Peter says behind him. Edmund turns to see his brother carefully slipping the box into his coat pocket.
“It’s never going to be the same,” he says, voice impassive, before moving to erase all evidence that they were ever there.
The sun just keeps on rising.
Fin.
Waiting for the Sun to Rise
Edmund and Peter recover the old rings.
Waiting for the Sun to Rise
“Ed and I will do it, of course,” Peter says, all easy confidence, eyes gleaming in that old familiar way that he’s always had. Edmund especially remembers it from their days in Narnia - when Peter would come to him with new battle formations drawn up, or even when it was days before Lucy’s birthday and they were dreaming up ways to top the previous year’s festivities.
Edmund doesn’t say anything, even as the babble of excited, scheming voices surrounds him. He sits at the dinner table, idly toying with his empty wine glass, mulling over the apparition they’ve just encountered. It’s been so long since he’s really thought about Narnia. He used to go to bed much earlier and wake up much later than he was accustomed to, wanting to be left alone to immerse himself in the thousands of memories that he would dissect and relive and reach out to behind closed eyelids. He used to think about it all the time, the ache of knowing he could never return burning white-hot and brighter within him with every passing second. He used to wonder if maybe he should have gone on with Reepicheep on that last day - dying in Narnia, Edmund would think, was surely, infinitely more preferable to dying in England. Because at least he would have been in Narnia. He hasn’t erased it from his mind completely - of course not. But he thought he’d finally come to terms with English life. God knows he understands the importance of it - it’s why he’s Susan’s only ally these days, it seems.
“We’ll dress as, I don’t know, workmen or something,” Peter is saying now, and Edmund can see how flushed with excitement his face is in the flicker of the candlelight. Everyone else is nodding thoughtfully now.
“Yes,” the Professor says, drawing the syllable out longer than necessary and taking a pull on his pipe. “Yes, I do believe we have ourselves a plan.”
Lucy lets out a delighted “Oh!” and claps her hands. Peter grins boyishly, leans across the table towards his brother. “Just like old times, eh, Ed?”
Edmund doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. They all know he’d do anything for Narnia, no matter what the cost - emotionally or otherwise.
-
In the stillness of the early morning, the old, empty house looms dark and silent over them. Edmund studies the windows, imagines the Professor and Polly as young children, guesses that the topmost window would have belonged to the Magician, envisions Jadis striding out the front door. A shiver runs through him.
“Chilly, isn’t it?” Peter says cheerfully, before disappearing around the side of the house.
In the backyard they work swiftly, wanting to get out of there before the neighbors awake and the street comes to life. Peter is almost obscenely energetic this morning, his jaunty whistle slicing through the cold.
“Bloody hell,” Edmund mutters, halfway into Peter’s seventh tune, “how far down did the Professor bury the sodding things?”
Peter laughs, just as his shovel makes a thunking sort of noise. The two men fall to their knees, gloved fingers scrabbling at the loosened earth, reaching towards the plain brown box.
“Ah, there we are,” Peter says happily, finally pulling the small box out of the ground and up towards him. He balances it on a knee, fingers moving almost reverently as he wipes off the traces of dirt that still cling to it.
Edmund doesn’t witness the moment that Peter lifts the lid of the box to check that the rings are all there as the Professor told them, misses the otherworldly wink of them reflecting in Peter’s eyes, because he is looking towards the eastern sky, watching as it shifts its colors before him.
“Glorious view, isn’t it?” Peter says behind him. Edmund turns to see his brother carefully slipping the box into his coat pocket.
“It’s never going to be the same,” he says, voice impassive, before moving to erase all evidence that they were ever there.
The sun just keeps on rising.
Fin.