Work Text:
Edmund keeps his eyes on the ground, scuffing his toes in the dirt. The aches of his body are nothing compared to the shame that curdles in his stomach.
He doesn’t know what Aslan will do to him, but he knows that he’ll deserve it. His fingers are gripping the hem of his torn and dirty sweater. His split lip still stings. He doesn’t need to see his face to know a bruise is blossoming on his cheek.
The Witch had not been kind. She may have seemed so at first, as soft as freshly fallen snow and just as beautiful. She had looked at him in a way that had made him feel important, made him feel like something more than just the second son.
But she hadn’t been kind for long and she had become as biting and as unforgiving as a midwinter blizzard.
She is not Aslan. She is the antithesis of Aslan.
Edmund knows this instinctively in a way he can’t explain and yet he remains excruciatingly aware of the fact that he stands in the presence of a power greater than anything he has ever seen before.
“Son of Adam, look at me.” The voice of Aslan is as gentle as it is commanding. Like a father with an erring son.
Edmund flinches, but he obeys, raising his head. He looks Aslan in the eyes and is almost swept away by what he finds. Such an outpouring of love and forgiveness swells in those warm, amber eyes.
Aslan has seen him for who he is, not who Edmund thinks he is and, in that moment, he sees that he is both known and forgiven.
It’s like looking into the eye of the storm and finding shelter. It’s like flying into the sun without burning. It’s like sitting snug and warm before the fireplace while the storm rages outside.
It’s indescribable. It’s marvelous.
His lip wobbles. Tears well in his eyes and he looks back down at the ground, swiping his sleeve across his face.
A soft muzzle brushes against his arm. He feels Aslan’s warm breath against his skin. “You think that what you’ve done is unforgivable.”
It isn’t a question, but Edmund still nods.
He reaches up, sinking his fingers into the lion’s mane, before he can wonder at his own boldness.
But Aslan doesn’t seem offended by this. If anything, the lion seems pleased and Edmund finds himself pulling from him a kind of strength he hadn’t known before.
He buries his face in it and feels the deep rumble of Aslan’s breath. “Do you want to be forgiven?”
Edmund nods again. He feels almost breathless with the want of it. “Yes,” he whispers.
“But what if they don’t forgive me?” he whispers, finally giving a voice to what he’s feared all along. He doesn’t know what he would do if that proved to be the case.
“Forgiveness is never such a simple thing,” Aslan says sternly. “Betraying those who hold you dear is a serious matter.”
Edmund drops his gaze as shame once again churns his gut. He feels sick with the strength of it, but Aslan steps closer, nudging him gently.
“You’ve made a mistake, Edmund, but love is a powerful force. I think you’ll find that your siblings love you more than you know.”
He sees his siblings.
“Edmund!” Lucy is the first to run towards him. Lucy, it’s always Lucy. So quick to forgive him no matter how beastly he’s been to her. No matter how undeserving of it he was.
Is it so surprising that she would forgive this of him too?
The tiniest warmth blossoms in his chest. He feels it start to grow. He almost dares to smile.
But Peter catches her before she can reach him. Peter stops her and Edmund’s heart sinks and the warmth fizzles out.
Of course he stops her.
Peter has no reason to trust him after everything he’s done and every right to be angry. Of course he doesn’t trust him with Lucy.
He looks to Aslan, looking for an answer, but Aslan says nothing. In his eyes,
He loses his courage. He falters, going weak in the knees, he thinks of Aslan. He thinks of Aslan and that keeps him on his feet, gives him the strength to look Peter in the eyes and face what he finds there, even if it’s disappointment, even if it’s condemnation.
Even if it’s hatred.
That isn’t what he finds.
Instead, Peter looks… sad. And there’s something else. Something Edmund can’t really put a name to. Whatever it is, it makes his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. He can’t think of a single word to say.
Aslan breaks the heavy silence. “What’s done is done. There is no need to speak to Edmund of what is past.”
And he sees Peter swallow. He sees Peter accept this. And he knows that there’s things Peter wants to say and he’s relieved. He’s humbled. He doesn’t deserve this.
But that doesn’t matter, does it? Because Aslan doesn’t seem to care whether he deserves it or not and neither does Lucy.
This time, when Lucy runs to him, Peter doesn’t stop her. She slams into him with all the force of her tiny body, throwing her arms around his waist. She squeezes him tightly- Edmund isn’t sure he’d be able to pry her off of him, even if he wanted to. He wraps his arms around her, rests his chin atop her head.
Susan is next. She enfolds him in her arms, asks him if he’s alright, and keeps a hand on his shoulder. She’s so much like their mother. Edmund had never quite realized it before.
Peter doesn’t hug him and Edmund pretends he didn’t want him to. But Peter tells him to get some rest and he thinks that that’s that. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles off, a pit opening in his stomach.
“And Edmund?” Peter calls him back and Edmund stops, turns, half-daring to hope- There’s something new in Peter’s eyes now, something soft and fond, something that warms him down to the bottom of his toes. Peter smiles, only slightly, when he finishes with, “Try not to wander off this time.”
Peter doesn’t hate him.
Edmund feels giddy, almost light-headed, with the revelation. It’s enough that he nearly forgets how tired he is, how his body still aches in multiple places.
But he also hasn’t had a peaceful, uninterrupted rest in what feels like ages.
There’s a tent, just for them, with cots for each of them. Edmund collapses on the first one he sees. The mattress and covering are thin, but that doesn’t matter to him.
It feels like the nicest thing he’s ever had to sleep on.
He hears someone else enter behind him and opens his eyes to see Peter taking a seat on the edge of his cot. He doesn’t say anything at first. He sort of sits there with his hands folded, staring at the ground.
Edmund sits up.
Peter looks at him and they still don’t say anything. Then Peter’s gaze drops down to his mouth and he says, “Your lip. She hit you?”
Edmund brings a hand to his mouth. He doesn’t think Peter should fuss over him. Not when this was only the consequences of his own actions. Not when others suffered worse because of him. He thinks of the Fox, turned to stone for addressing him with a respect he had not earned and did not deserve. “I’m fine, Pete.”
Peter reaches for his face, fingers barely grazing his cheek. “There’s a bruise…”
Edmund swats his hand away. “I said it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Did she hurt you anywhere else?”
“No.” He looks at the ground, twisting his hands in his lap.
“Ed…”
“She didn’t.” His head snaps back up. He meets Peter’s eyes. This time, he holds his gaze and resists the urge to squirm.
Peter doesn’t look like he believes him, but he also doesn’t seem overly willing to fight him over it.
After a long moment, filled with awkward silence, he drags Edmund into a tight hug, which Edmund protests simply for the sake of it, but is secretly glad for.