Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The men who kidnapped him were supposed to turn him over to the king of Telmar for a public execution, to assert Telmar's dominance over Narnia in the ongoing war. However, in typical Telmarine fashion, they had double-crossed the king and so now Edmund sat, hands bound, in a rowboat headed for the slave market at the Lone Islands.

"You'll live to regret this," Edmund said.

The Telmarine rowman had a face pockmarked by the sun and a crooked nose like he'd been on the losing end of one too many fights. He grinned without humor and said, "Ah, perhaps. But the point is, young prince, I will live."

Edmund couldn't argue the point. King Miraz had a habit of tying up loose ends with the edge of a knife. "It isn't Miraz you should be worried about," Edmund said, returning the shrewd grin. "It's my mother."

The grin slipped from the man's face and Edmund watched as he struggled to suppress a shiver at the mention of the White Queen. After that, he fell silent.

Edmund shifted in his restraints, feeling the metal shackles bite into his skin. He had to admit, the Telmarines who captured him had at least come prepared. Something about the cold iron of the manacles combined with the runes inscribed on the bands was dampening his magic. In the seven years he had been with Jadis, he had gone from prisoner to prince, and each year she taught him more of her magic. He had become quite proficient, but he wasn't powerful enough to fight whatever this was, and so here he sat, as useless now shackled in a boat on the ocean as he had been as a boy of eleven, shackled in the ice of the White Witch's dungeon.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had learned a great deal more than magic under the White Witch's bitter tutelage. For example, he had learned the value of patience. Eventually, the opportunity for escape would present itself, so long as he stayed vigilant and kept his eyes open for ways to exploit his captors' weaknesses. Until then, he would have to endure. Another virtue he had learned from Jadis.

The boatman pulled up to the docks at the Lone Islands and hauled Edmund out by the chain at his wrists. The town was nearly deserted aside from the slaver's market, and Edmund examined the dead-eyed slave trader as they approached the auction stand. Edmund saw the moment recognition lit in the man's eyes.

Edmund was still wearing his clothes of the Queen's royal court, a high-collared, pale blue tunic that fit him like a second skin because it was woven together with magical threads of frost. Scattered along the shoulders and collar stood gems of ice that glittered like small diamonds. The only thing missing was his crown, forged in ice and snow. Even without it, there was no mistaking his identity.

The slaver eyed Edmund's Telmarine captor with vivid skepticism. "You must be joking."

The Telmarine shrugged. "If you don't want him, someone else will. And I can cut out the middle man."

He moved to haul Edmund away and the slaver spoke up. "No…Fine. Bring him here."

While the Telmarine and the Narnian slaver haggled about the division of profits, Edmund took in his surroundings. There wasn't much but a stone courtyard and a dusty wooden dais at one end, the crowds milling as they casually bid on the people on the auction block. Along one wall stood a line of people in chains, men and women and children and mystical beings alike, united in their dismal subjugation. It made something in Edmund's blood boil. If he had access to his magic, he'd reduce this place to rubble.

And then Edmund was getting hauled forward by his chains, the slaver calling to the crowd as he approached, "We have something new added to the docket, a real treat, I'd say!" The crowd let out an assortment of jeers, but their voices all went abruptly silent when Edmund was led up onto the dais and placed on full view.

For a long moment, no one spoke, and Edmund tried to hold himself tall with as much dignity as he could muster in front of an assortment of the worst types of men. If nothing else, they had the good sense to look shocked and even afraid at the sight of their prince on the auction block.

One man with a slack-jawed look about him finally spoke up. "He looks like royalty."

Edmund cast him a withering look and said with heavy sarcasm, "So you're the brains of this bunch, then."

There was a round of uneasy chuckles from the crowd, but the slaver dealt him a swift backhand across the cheek. It hurt, and would likely bruise later, but Edmund couldn't help raising a sardonic eyebrow at the man. He'd have to do a lot better than that if he expected it to cow Edmund. That didn't even come close to the queen's love taps.

"Shall we start the bidding at a thousand coin?"

There was a heavy, leaden silence from the crowd.

The slaver looked like he was starting to regret taking on the Telmarine's deal, but he pressed on. "Surely a thousand is a fine price for such a prize as this one! You know who this is!"

A voice yelled out from the back of the crowd. "That's the problem, innit? We know who he is, and we don't want no part of his mother comin' after us!" There was a low murmur of assent from the rest of the crowd.

Edmund couldn't help the bitter grin that broke across his features at that.

"Surely there's someone here man enough to take home the crowned prince," the slaver said, a hint of desperation starting to creep into his voice. He yanked Edmund's chains, making him stumble closer to the edge of the dais, and he clamped a hand under Edmund's jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks. "Look at this pretty face, that alone should be enough to—"

The slaver cut off in a scream as Edmund's teeth clamped down on his thumb hard enough to draw blood. Edmund quickly spat the foul taste from his mouth.

The slaver snarled and raised his hand to strike once more, but another voice with a strong Calormene accent spoke up from the crowd. "I'll thank you not to damage my property."

The slaver whirled on the newcomer. "Your property?"

"Since it seems no one else is willing to take on the challenge. Or at least, no one willing to match my offer." The Calormene tossed a relatively large bag of coins onto the dais that landed with a metallic jingle.

The slaver looked at the coins, then at Edmund, then bent to pick up the heavy bag. "Going once, going twice, sold," he said dully, then shoved Edmund down off the dais towards the Calormene. "Pleasure doing business with you," he muttered, and walked away cradling his thumb gingerly.

The Calormene bent to pick up the end of Edmund's chain and started winding it around his palm, slowly pulling Edmund forward, then he raised Edmund's shackled hands to kiss his knuckles. "It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesty."

Edmund felt his lips curl and he said snidely, "If only we'd met under different circumstances."

The Calormene grinned. "Oh, I think the circumstances suit me just fine," he said, and turned to his crew. "Take him back to the ship."

~❄️~

Edmund was held in the brig for roughly an hour or two, judging by the shift of the sunlight he could see through the small porthole in the hull. Then he was unceremoniously dragged to the captain's quarters. The captain was luckily not there, and Edmund took the opportunity to survey the room. His eyes quickly landed on an old dinner plate with a knife sitting on it, and said aloud to himself, "Oh, it can't be that easy."

Edmund quickly snatched up the knife and started working it in the lock of his shackles. But he only had a minute before there were voices outside of the door and Edmund hastily slipped the knife up the sleeve of his shirt.

The Calormene captain entered as if he thought he was gifting Edmund with his presence. "Forgive me for keeping you waiting, your majesty."

Edmund scowled. "Let's dispense with the pleasantries. What do you want with me?"

The Calormene captain looked him up and down. "I should have thought that was obvious," he said, with what he no doubt thought was a charming grin. "You are an investment, my young prince. I may have paid handsomely for you, but I believe you'll fetch an even more handsome ransom."

Edmund couldn't help the bitter chuckle at that. "If you're expecting my mother to pay for my return, I'm afraid you'll be sorely disappointed." She was far more likely to cut the man's throat and be done with it.

"That's a shame," the Calormene said. "But she would, perhaps, be willing to pay to keep you out of the hands of the rebels. And the rebels, I'm sure, would pay a pretty penny for you."

Edmund swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. It was true, Jadis would stop at nothing to keep him from falling into the hands of the rebels. The civil war in Narnia that had been raging for the last seven years was, in part, being fought over Edmund. But he had made his choice, and he could never return to his siblings now, not after—Peter's betrayed, battle-marred face flashed through Edmund's mind. No, he could never return.

"I also heard that you were on your way to the king of Telmar before you got diverted by this little detour." The Calormene flashed a grin. Miraz was an opportunist, and after years of Narnian civil war, he had sensed blood in the water. The moment he'd seized the throne of Telmar he'd started an invasion, leaving Narnia to fight wars on both its eastern and western fronts. He would relish the chance to strike a blow against Narnia by executing their crowned prince.

"I anticipate we'll have quite the bidding war on our hands. In the meantime…" the Calormene ran his eyes slowly over Edmund's body. "I'm sure I can find a use for you."

An unpleasant shiver ran down Edmund's spine. But while his mother was unequaled in cruelty, she was also unnaturally beautiful, and Edmund had spent many of his formative years watching her wield her beauty like yet another weapon in her arsenal, and he had learned.

Swallowing down the rising bile in his throat, Edmund stepped closer to the Calormene, until he could feel the man's foul breath on his face. He looked up at the man from under his lashes and said, softly, "Sounds like I have incentive to convince you to keep me for yourself."

The Calormene licked his lips hungrily and Edmund fought the compulsion to retch. "I had planned to spend that coin on at least three new slaves," he said, hooking his fingers under Edmund's chin and tilting his head up sharply. "I certainly hope you're worth it."

Edmund held up his shackled wrists. "Might be able to make it better for you if I didn't have these."

The Calormene smiled cruelly. "What makes you think I'm the kind of man who wouldn't enjoy having the prince bound and at my mercy?"

Edmund sighed. "Well, it was worth a try," he said, then smashed his manacles into the Calormene's face. In the moment of shocked recoil, Edmund slipped the knife out of his sleeve and drove it between the man's ribs, through his lung and into his heart. Edmund held his free hand over the man's mouth to stifle any noise and watched the light leave the man's shocked eyes, then dropped him unceremoniously to the floor. It was hardly the first time he'd taken a life, and he doubted it would be the last.

Edmund cleaned the knife and resumed working at the lock, now feeling slightly more pressed for time. He didn't know how long he worked at it before he heard a commotion outside.

He cracked the door to the captain's cabin open and peered outside. For a moment, Edmund thought a mutiny was in progress, but then he saw the Narnian ship pulled up alongside the Calormene one, grappling hooks and ropes attached to allow for a boarding party. Edmund looked at the skirmish with new eyes, and what he saw made his stomach drop. The invading crew was clearly Narnian, but it was such a mishmash of Narnians he couldn't tell on what side of the divide they fell. There were humans and fauns, but there were also dwarves and a Minotaur. There was no flag on the ship either, no emblem of the queen and no golden lion flag of the rebels. But what finally caught Edmund's eye was when a short grey mouse dashed across the deck, tiny sword held aloft. Edmund knew that none of the mice were loyal to his mother. That meant that this could only be a crew of rebels.

Edmund spared one short, panicked moment to wonder how they had found him so quickly. Of all the three factions, it was the rebels that he would rather die than have to face. He couldn't bear to think of what kind of revenge his siblings likely had planned for him.

Edmund's only choice for survival was to fight on the side of his Calormene captors. Once the rebels were defeated, with the Calormene captain dead, perhaps Edmund would be able to strike a deal with the rest of the crew. It was a long shot, but it was better than the alternative.

Edmund quickly ducked back inside the captain's quarters and retrieved the scimitar from the dead captain's belt. It wasn't his weapon of choice, and his hands were still bound, cutting off access to his magic. Still, he'd fought under worse circumstances.

Edmund burst from the door and struck out at the first Narnian he spotted, a red dwarf. He quickly dispatched the sword from the dwarf's grip and kicked him down the stairs to the deck below, only sparing a moment before he sighted his next opponent.

Edmund whirled and his blade clashed with the man's. Edmund stumbled for a moment at the sight of him, tall and unmistakably handsome, his strong jaw framed by the stubble of a short beard. His shoulder-length hair was partly pulled back from his face and was a dark brown that reminded Edmund of the rich drink the dwarves of the court drank in the mornings, not unlike coffee. The man's eyes were somehow an even darker brown, and they widened at the sight of Edmund, no doubt taking in the picture that Edmund presented and putting the clues together as others had done.

Edmund took advantage of the man's brief shock and swung his sword once more.

His opponent barely managed to block his attack and the metal of their swords screeched together. The man made a wild, sweeping strike and Edmund easily dodged the blow, his feet carrying him swiftly out of the way. He moved quickly, using the momentum from the dodge to his advantage.

His opponent was off-balance, and Edmund saw his chance. He lunged forward, his scimitar aimed for his attacker's exposed side. Edmund didn't expect his attack to be anticipated.

His attacker's sword rose and met his. The force of the impact jolted Edmund, and he stumbled back a few steps, barely recovering in time to avoid his attacker's next blow. He blocked another of his attacker's strikes and the two of them danced around each other as they fought, parrying and attacking and striking, swords flashing in the sun.

His attacker was a formidable opponent, but Edmund had been taught to fight by the unforgiving instruction of dwarves and minotaurs. The man had enough skill to make Edmund work for each blow, and Edmund could admire the way his opponent fought.

It had been a long time since anyone had been able to match Edmund.

His palms itched for his magic to even the playing field, but he didn't need magic for this. He had learned to fight without it.

As Edmund fought, the sounds of battle grew fainter, replaced by a roaring in his ears and his own, harsh breaths. He blocked another of his attacker's hits, his feet sliding across the deck and nearly tripping over the prone body of a sailor.

Edmund swung his blade in a sharp arc, and the sound of metal scraping against metal rang out across the deck. His opponent recovered more quickly than Edmund expected and used Edmund's momentum against him, spinning Edmund so his back was pressed against the railing.

When his attacker's sword came crashing down again, Edmund met it with his own and the two weapons remained locked together. Edmund's arms shook from the force of the man's attack. Their faces were mere inches away from each other.

"My prince," the man said. "I don't wish to harm you." His attacker's voice was surprisingly soft, his breath hot against Edmund's cheek. He had a Narnian accent but the vowels lilted slightly.

The wood of the railing dug into the small of Edmund's back. "You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it, given the circumstances." He hooked his leg behind the man's knee and shoved, sending him careening backwards. Edmund spun and in a flash brought the tip of his blade to the man's throat, but in that same second he felt the sharp edge of metal against his own neck.

They both froze, staring down the lines of their swords at each other, locked into a seeming stalemate. Edmund clenched his jaw, mentally calculating his chances of escaping unscathed if he pressed his blade forward. The man seemed to be working through similar thoughts by the look on his face, but after one tense moment, the feel of cool metal at Edmund's throat vanished, and the man took a step back, lowering his sword to his side.

"Lay down your sword, and no harm will come to you. You have my word."

Edmund's shock kept him frozen in place. He spared only the briefest glance at the fighting below, noting in a moment of frustration that there were far more Calormenes down than Narnians. He shook his head. "You're a rebel."

"I'm not," the man said, and the earnest sincerity in his voice sounded almost foreign to Edmund's ears.

There was no reason to believe him. Still, after a moment, Edmund found himself lowering his sword. "Then who are you?"

"Captain!" a voice called, and it seemed Edmund had his answer, at least partially. An older man with a bald head and skin just starting to go leathery from his time at sea stepped up to the handsome man, who was apparently the captain of this invading crew.

"What is it, Drinian?"

"The Calormene crew has surrendered," Drinian said. "We found their captain in his cabin, dead."

Both men cast Edmund a dubious look, apparently coming to the correct conclusion about how the former captain had met his untimely end. Drinian slid a look sideways to the captain then, and said, "Your orders, sir?"

The captain seemed reluctant to pull his eyes from Edmund, but after a moment he sheathed his sword and placed his hand on Drinian's shoulder in a show of almost deferential camaraderie, and Edmund frowned at the unfamiliar display. "I'll address the prisoners. In the meantime," he turned to Edmund, "You may share my cabin, as my guest. It's not every day that we are host to royalty."

Drinian coughed, and he spared a dark look for the captain who just grinned back with a glint of sharp humor in his eyes. But then he schooled his expression and stepped forward towards the prisoners, taking a deep breath as he looked down on the men assembled on the deck below.

"I lay claim to this vessel, by the laws of the sea and the pirate code," he said, his voice ringing clear and containing a note of courtly manners that Edmund found out of place in the sea air. "Your captain has trafficked in stolen goods and human slaves, and as such I am within my rights to throw you all in the brig and turn you over to the authorities when we next make port. However, I understand that his crimes are not yours, and so I offer you this deal. Join my crew, serve with loyalty, and you may be granted pardon. I know some of you may hold loyalty to your former captain, but for you I say that it would be better to choose the brig, because anyone who acts against my crew will be thrown to the sea to take their chances with the merpeople and the sharks. For now, you will all have a night in the hold to consider your choice."

And with that, Edmund was led across the gangplank to the Narnian vessel. It was a well-made, beautiful ship, with an elaborate dragon head carved into the bow. Underneath the bow, in gold lettering, Edmund read the name of the ship as he boarded.

Dawn Treader

Chapter Text

Once aboard the Dawn Treader, Edmund was again led, shackled, to the captain's cabin to await his arrival. This time, however, the circumstances were very different. For one, Edmund was much less sure of what his role was to be amongst this crew. He'd been called a guest, but what did that entail, on a crew of self-proclaimed pirates? And what kind of pirates offered both mercy and justice under the law?

There was also the fact that if this captain looked at him the way the Calormene captain had, Edmund wouldn't exactly feel the urge to drive a knife between his ribs.

Edmund shook his head to dispel those kinds of thoughts. He focused instead on examining the captain's cabin, hoping to learn something about the man that might prove useful. There was a balcony and a bed, as well as a table and cabinets. Edmund moved first to the table, where he found various maps strewn across the surface, all of them showing the Eastern Ocean and its various islands, some of them familiar, some not. It appeared as if the crew had been exploring and mapping the uncharted areas of the ocean.

Next Edmund moved to the cabinets. He found first a small collection of books, some written in Narnian and some written in Telmarine, some novels but mostly books on history. There was also a ship's manifest—clearly fabricated—a medical kit, and a half-full bottle of some kind of brown liquor—unsurprising, on a pirate ship. What Edmund didn't find were any sorts of weapons or anything useful to pick the lock of his shackles. Despite himself, Edmund was already more impressed by this current crew than the former.

Edmund settled onto the bed with one of the novels. He'd read it before, so it didn't provide much of a distraction, but he wasn't left waiting long. When the captain entered, he was carrying both a plate of food and a basin with water and a cloth. He set both on the table and approached Edmund with the wet cloth. "I thought this might be helpful for that bruise on your face."

Edmund lifted a hand to his cheek and winced to find it tender to the touch. He'd almost forgotten about the vicious backhand he'd suffered from the slaver on the Lone Islands.

The captain held the cloth up tentatively. "May I?"

Edmund eyed him for a moment, then nodded. The captain placed one finger under Edmund's chin and turned his face gently to the side, then lifted the cloth to place it over the heated bruise on his face. The cool cloth felt good against his inflamed skin, but it did little to dampen the way his heartbeat kicked up a notch when he realized how close the captain was standing, cradling Edmund's face in his hands.

The captain seemed to realize it at the same time, and he took a step back, a faint pink rising in his cheeks as he gave the cloth over to Edmund. He cleared his throat lightly and said, "Are you hungry?" He pulled the chair out at the table where he'd placed the plate of food, then sat himself in the chair next to it. "Dinner will not be served for some time yet," he explained.

Edmund approached the table and sat hesitantly, still holding the cloth against his cheek. He didn't immediately reach for the food, partly due to the fact that with his wrists shackled together he would have to put the cloth down to eat, but he caught the captain's raised eyebrow out of the corner of his eye. "I assure you, it's not poisoned," he said, then reached over to pluck a grape from the plate, eating it himself as if in proof.

Edmund rolled his eyes. "I didn't think it was," he said, though in truth the thought had crossed his mind. He took in the assortment of snacks on the plate, grapes and bread and cheese and—"Is that chocolate?"

The captain smiled, somehow looking both sheepish and extremely pleased with himself. "From my personal stores. I wasn't sure what you'd like."

Edmund set the cloth down so he could reach for the chocolate. He'd lost his taste for sweets during his time with Jadis, though his love for chocolate remained intact, likely because it was the one sweet she hadn't forced him to eat during her time as his mother.

Edmund bit into the corner of the chocolate and the taste of it was almost enough to hold back the wince as the action aggravated the pain in his cheek and jaw. Still, it wasn't painful enough for Edmund to forgo the chocolate and pick up the cloth again.

The captain seemed to sense his predicament, and he reached for the discarded cloth at Edmund's side. One corner of his mouth turned up in amusement as he lifted it to Edmund's cheek once more. "Allow me, your majesty."

Edmund stilled under the touch. He wasn't used to this kind of gentle care, but from the soft look in the captain's brown eyes, Edmund thought that this level of kindness wasn't out of the ordinary for the man, and he felt a part of himself melt as easily as the chocolate melting on his tongue. "This isn't exactly the kind of treatment I would have expected from pirates."

The captain huffed out a soft laugh at that. "In truth, we are a bit of an exception," he acknowledged. "Most of the pirates in these waters support the slave trade. But I abhor it, and we seek to stamp it out wherever we can. The piracy is just a bit on the side to make ends meet. Most of my crew is made of rescued slaves."

Edmund thought back to the deal the captain had offered the crew of his captors. "Or rescued slavers," he said.

The captain nodded. "There are a few of those, too," he admitted.

They said nothing more for a while, and Edmund finished the chocolate, sucking the smudges of melted chocolate from his fingers and feeling the captain's eyes on him. Then he sat back and took the cloth from the captain's hand. The captain watched him for a moment more, then said, "I offered your captors a deal to serve on the crew, but that deal is for you, as well."

"Me?" Edmund asked.

"You aren't a prisoner here."

Edmund held up his still shackled wrists pointedly, and the captain at least had the good grace to look chagrined. "You know who I am," Edmund said. "You could ransom me to whoever you like."

"I could," the captain agreed. "But I have no love for Miraz," he said, a bitterness creeping into his voice for a moment. "Nor loyalty to the White Queen. And I have no desire to get involved in a rebellion. I just want to sail my ship, and stay free. When we get to port, you may go where you wish…Or you may stay here."

Edmund studied him for a long moment, his eyes searching the captain's but finding nothing to raise Edmund's suspicions. He took a deep breath, and said, "If I stay here, it puts your ship at risk."

The captain shrugged. "We're used to that. We are pirates, after all."

Somehow, Edmund didn't think it was that simple. And yet, Edmund let himself really consider the possibility for the first time. From the moment Jadis had told Edmund of the power the deep magic gave her over him, he had known his life was forfeit. He had spent all his years in Narnia as a pawn, pulled between factions in the ongoing wars and powerless to exert any control of his own life. But what he desired more than anything was a chance to carve his own path, to rise above those who had held him down and held him back. And that was what the captain was offering. He'd said himself that he valued nothing more than the freedom his ship offered him, and now he was offering that same freedom to Edmund. But Edmund didn't know if it would be enough to outrun the role he'd been given by the magic of Narnia and his own foolish choices.

The ache of hope in his chest was almost too much to bear, and he was surprised to feel the hot sting of tears pooling in his eyes. "I don't know, but I...I don't want to go back."

The captain stood and placed his hand on Edmund's shoulder. It reminded Edmund of the way he'd clasped Drinian's shoulder on deck, though it felt different somehow. Something about the way the captain's thumb fit solidly in the groove of Edmund's collarbone. "Then that is enough, for now," the captain said, and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before releasing him. "I'll send Reepicheep in to work on those shackles. He has the most nimble fingers at lockpicking."

The door closed softly behind him, and Edmund tossed the cloth back into the basin to wipe furiously at his eyes. He was left alone long enough to get himself together, and a few moments later, there was a knock at the cabin door and the mouse that Edmund had seen before entered. Edmund immediately stiffened, but the mouse just gave a gallant bow and said, with an equally gallant air to his words, "Your majesty, I am Reepicheep, at your service, sire. I understand that I have been enlisted to free you from your bonds."

"Er," Edmund said, much less gallantly. "Yes, if you would, please."

With another smaller bow, Reepicheep said agreeably, "Of course, it's an honor to be of service, your highness."

Try as he might, Edmund couldn't fully stifle his flinch at the words. He was not the mouse's chosen ruler, after all.

Reepicheep approached and took one of the shackles gently between his paws, examining it closely for a moment before calmly withdrawing his small sword from its sheath. Edmund eyed the movement, but Reepicheep said nothing as he inserted the sword tip into the lock and began to work with a quiet clink of metal. After the struggle of several minutes, the manacle opened with a click, and Edmund breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the magic flow through his fingers like the pinpricks of sensation returning to a dead limb.

Edmund flexed the fingers of his freed hand and Reepicheep deftly moved on to the second manacle. "One more moment, sire, and we'll have you right as rain." Edmund could only frown and nod in reply. Reepicheep eyed him shrewdly from under the fall of the red feather he wore over one ear. "You find my behavior odd, don't you?"

"No," Edmund said quickly, then thought better of it and said, "Well, yes. It's just that the mice have all sworn allegiance to Aslan, and I'm…I'm your enemy."

Reepicheep's movements stilled for a moment before he resumed picking the lock. "That may be true," he said, with the tone of someone choosing their words carefully. "But on this ship, my allegiance is to the captain, and to my own duty and honor. And in truth, I bear you no ill will."

Edmund thought of all the Narnians he had faced down on the battlefield and felt his eyebrows climb up his forehead. "Why not?"

Reepicheep smiled at him like he'd said something particularly amusing. "Because, sire, according to the prophecy, you will be seated at the throne at Cair Paravel, in the end."

Edmund frowned, confused. "But that prophecy has already been broken. I've sworn loyalty to the White Witch."

"I see. So you believe the prophecy is false, then?"

"What? No, I—" Edmund stammered. He wasn't used to feeling this wrong-footed. He had a great deal of feelings about the prophecy, but he had never questioned its authenticity, as if he could feel the deep magic breathing truth into the words.

Reepicheep continued, his voice light, "Strange, then, that the White Witch should hold such fear for a prophecy that isn't even true."

Edmund blinked, but before he could reply the second manacle clicked open, and he felt the rush of his magic returning to him fully. He sucked in a breath like a man breaking the surface after a deep dive in the ocean, and then with a flick of his wrists he released a modicum of his power, freezing the water in the basin into a solid block of ice.

He turned his relieved grin on Reepicheep, who just glanced warily between Edmund and the frozen basin. "Yes, well, I'll inform the captain you're feeling better then, shall I?"

"Please do," Edmund said, flexing his fingers and calling flurries into his palms with a sigh, then added sincerely, "And Reepicheep, thank you."

The mouse bowed deeply once more. "My pleasure, your highness."

~❄️~

The captain entered, a bundle of cloth under one arm and a hammock slung over his shoulder. He offered the cloth to Edmund and said, "I brought you a change of clothes. I thought it might help you feel more comfortable amongst the crew."

"Oh," Edmund said, looking down at his elaborate tunic as if he'd forgotten for a moment he was dressed as royalty. "Thank you," Edmund said, taking the clothes. He unfolded them to find a simple, loose cotton tunic, dark pants, and a wide belt in the typical Narnian seafaring style. The captain crossed to the corner of the cabin and began hanging up the hammock, presumably as somewhere for Edmund to sleep.

Edmund waved his hand and his elaborate court tunic evaporated into snow and mist, and he heard the captain gasp. He turned, expecting the shock and fear he'd grown used to seeing when someone realized he possessed the same powers as the White Witch, but instead he found the captain's eyes fixed on the bare skin of Edmund's back. The look in his eyes seemed pained, and Edmund belatedly realized that he'd forgotten about the scars criss-crossing their way across his back. They were so well-known by his retinue at the White Queen's court that he'd almost gotten used to them.

When the captain spoke, there was a hard edge to his voice that Edmund hadn't heard there before. "Your mother."

Edmund quickly shrugged into the tunic, feeling the cotton settle soft and warm over his skin. "I wasn't always a prince," he said.

"I know the stories. You were a captive. A child. Mistreated by those who would claim you as family in name only." As he spoke the last, he gave a vicious tug on the hammock strings to knot them in place.

Edmund leaned back against the edge of the table with a sigh. "You've been listening to the rebels' tales."

"Are they untrue?"

"No, they're true enough," Edmund said, though he found himself unwilling to dredge up the fact of his own betrayal in those stories. He lifted his hand and conjured a single snowflake in his palm, sending it dancing in the air between his fingers before he vanished it into mist. "And yet, she's shared her power with me. That's no small gift, for someone like her."

Edmund suddenly felt very, very tired, and he sank his weight heavily into the nearest chair. "She could still come for me."

The captain seated himself at Edmund's side and reached across the table, stopping himself a scant inch from where Edmund's hands rested against the glossy wood. "She may. But I gave you my word as captain, no harm will come to you."

"I can't ask that of you."

"You don't have to. You're a member of my crew," the captain insisted, but then seemed to remember himself. "If you so choose," he corrected, hesitantly. "...In any case, I've promised you safe passage, and as such you are under my protection." Edmund was struck once more by his courtly manners. He spoke as more of a reigning sovereign than a pirate captain playing hero on the high seas.

"Captain," Edmund said, carefully. "What is your name?"

Edmund watched as the light in the captain's eyes dimmed, like frost clouding a window. When he stood to leave, Edmund felt a chill settle over him.

"Finish changing," the captain said, but kindly. "I'll join you and the crew for dinner."

~❄️~

When Edmund entered the hold where dinner was being served, the previously rowdy chatter quieted to a hush. He stood awkwardly in the doorway as all eyes turned to him, and was considering just turning on the spot to retreat back to the cabin, his presence clearly unwelcome, when Reepicheep's voice rang out clearly across the hold.

"Your highness, over here! I've saved you a seat."

Edmund hesitated a moment, but then stepped forward to grab a plate. By the time he found his way to Reepicheep's side, the din of chatter had resumed. As he took his seat he spotted the captain across the way, taking a seat at Drinian's side, and they nodded amiably to each other.

Seated on Edmund's other side was a dwarf. He had red hair and a beard, and there was a cut over his left eye that made Edmund recognize him as the dwarf he'd kicked down the stairs during his failed escape attempt.

Edmund had been fond of the dwarves in the White Queen's court, in general. They were a proud people not prone to flattery or sycophantic compliance, and therefore the most honest members of the queen's court. Whether they respected him or found him annoying, they let him know in no uncertain terms. Unfortunately, the queen's dwarf Ginarrbrik was one who had always hated him.

"So," Edmund said, conversationally, "You're a dwarf."

The dwarf turned to him with an absolutely scathing expression. "And you're the git who kicked me in the face. Care to state any more obvious facts, or can I eat in peace?"

Edmund winced internally. So much for his reputation as the silver-tongued prince.

"Trumpkin!" Reepicheep chided sharply. "Show some respect!"

The dwarf, Trumpkin, sneered a little but made no further comment. After downing a healthy bite of bread, Edmund tried again.

"The captain mentioned that the crew is mostly freed slaves. Is that the case with you as well?"

Trumpkin didn't look at him, and grumbled into his stew, "Something like that."

"And you chose to stay."

Trumpkin dropped his spoon into his dish with a frustrated splash. "Why don't you stop beating around the bush and ask me what you really want to know?"

Edmund faced the dwarf and lost all pretense of small talk, though he was careful to keep his tone neutral as he said, "Why are you here, instead of in the queen's court?"

Trumpkin eyed him through a curious glare. "I could ask you the same thing, your highness. I should think you of all people would understand."

But Edmund didn't bend. "I know why I'm here," he said. "I want to know why you are."

Trumpkin turned back to his stew, but after a moment of begrudging silence, he said, "The captain believes in second chances. Otherwise neither you nor I would be here. And neither would he."

~❄️~

Reepicheep spent much of dinner entertaining them with tales of his adventures, and if Edmund hadn't already gotten a sense of the mouse's strict code of honor, he might have questioned the truth of a single mouse facing down a ferocious dragon.

By the time Edmund made it back to the cabin, it was late, and he was surprised to find the lamps dimmed and the captain already asleep. He was even more surprised that the captain had chosen to sleep in the hammock, and left Edmund the bed. But knowing what he did of the captain, he shouldn't have found it surprising at all.

Edmund quickly readied himself for bed and tried to slip under the covers as quietly as possible, enveloping himself in sheets that smelled of sandalwood and cloves and the spray that rose off the ocean, and Edmund fleetingly wondered if that was what the captain would smell like if Edmund pressed his nose against his skin. But he quickly banished the thought, turning with his back facing the captain for good measure.

He got himself settled as quietly as he could, trying not to wake the captain, but he had only been settled for a few minutes when the captain's quiet voice spoke into the darkness. "I saw you speaking with Trumpkin at dinner. He seems to like you."

Edmund turned and caught the captain's dark eyes glinting in the low lamplight. He couldn't help the sardonic tone as he said, "How can you tell?"

The captain chuckled at that. "Even for a dwarf, he's grumpy. But I've learned to read him quite well."

Edmund smiled, but then the specifics of his conversation with Trumpkin returned to him, and he couldn't hold back his quiet curiosity. "He said that you believe in second chances."

There was a soft hum of agreement from across the room. "That's true. It's why I always offer the prisoners we take a chance to join the crew."

Edmund curled his fingers into the sheets, and when he spoke his voice was almost too quiet to carry. "And you think someone like me deserves a second chance?"

There was a long silence only broken by the sound of waves crashing against the hull. When the captain spoke, his voice was equally quiet. "I think everyone does. But perhaps, especially, you."

Edmund felt like a rope that had been coiled tight around his chest had just suddenly snapped free. He just laid there for a long moment, as if he needed to remember how to breathe.

When he felt he could safely speak again, he said, "And what about you? Trumpkin mentioned you were given a second chance, as well."

In the dark there came a quiet sigh and the shifting of the hammock as it swayed. "I was, but perhaps not in the way you're thinking. I…ran away, and ended up stowed away on a ship bound for the eastern sea. When I was discovered, they offered me a place on the crew, just as I do now for others. This has become my new life, now."

Edmund curled up on his side, watching the dark shape of the captain. "Then we're both runaways, it seems."

Silence settled over them, then. Edmund lay awake for a long time, but eventually the gentle rocking of the ship lulled him, and he was just beginning to drift into sleep when the captain spoke again, barely audible over the creak of the ship. "Caspian."

Edmund wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"Earlier, you asked my name. It's Caspian."

Edmund swallowed, suddenly feeling much more awake. "That's the name of the prince of Telmar. Miraz reportedly killed him two years ago, before taking his throne."

"That is what they say."

Edmund felt like a stone had dropped into his gut, and things started to fall into place: the Telmarine books, the avoidance of political alignment, the courtly manners, the way he sometimes pronounced words just a little bit different than Edmund would expect from a native Narnian. Edmund sucked in a shaky breath and said, "To the best of my knowledge, there have only ever been ten men to bear that name."

The answer, this time, came in a clear Telmarine accent. "That is correct."

Edmund felt like his chest had been cracked open. There was the revelation of Caspian's identity, but beyond that Edmund selfishly clung to the realization that they were more alike than he'd thought. Two princes, both on the run from the throne, and somehow they'd found each other.

Edmund had been alone for so long, even surrounded by the queen's court, but now, suddenly, he had someone who could understand his situation and what he had left behind in a way no one else could. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such relief, such hope. It was a strange and new concept for him.

Edmund wanted to say something, to tell the man who had been a prince and was now a pirate how glad he was that their paths had crossed, but he simply said, voice thick with emotions he couldn't quite name, "Goodnight, Caspian."

Chapter Text

Edmund awoke to the sound of quiet voices.

"Captain, I'm sorry, it's too dangerous," Drinian hissed. "Everyone saw the prince there, it's too high profile. The queen's forces and the rebels could both be headed there now in the hopes of picking up on his trail, and we can't risk encountering either of them."

Caspian sighed, and Edmund pried his eyes open to see Caspian scrub a hand through his hair in frustration. "I refuse to let an injustice like that stand," he said, voice low. "We need to take that slave market down before they sell any more prisoners into servitude."

"I can't condone an attack, captain. Not right now," Drinian pressed. "Maybe after some time has passed, we can—"

"I'll go," Edmund said, his voice still rough with sleep. He rubbed at his eyes and sat up on the edge of the bed to find both men watching him.

Caspian looked at him with soft eyes. "Edmund, I'm sorry, we didn't mean to wake you."

Edmund shrugged and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Despite the events of the previous day, he'd slept more soundly than he ever had at the palace, and he found his body reluctant to give up the warm comfort. He'd never felt safe enough amongst the ice to truly relax.

"What did you mean when you said you'd go?" Caspian asked.

Edmund stood and stretched. "I can go back to take down the slave market. I've already been seen there, so it won't cause any more commotion than it already has. And it will keep everyone else out of harm's way."

Caspian frowned at him. "You don't mean to say you'd go in there alone? Edmund, there could be dozens of men there."

Edmund shrugged again. "And I've fought dozens of battles."

"With an army at your back," Caspian replied, voice rising.

Edmund rolled his eyes. "I can handle myself, thank you very much."

But Drinian seemed to think about it. "It could work, captain."

Caspian glared at his first mate, then turned his glare on Edmund. "No, Ed, it's out of the question."

Edmund sighed, then reached out to grip Caspian's arm. "Caspian, I—"

Drinian's gasp was what alerted Edmund to what he'd just done. Edmund looked up to find Drinian looking at him with wide eyes, a stern look on his face bordering on anger.

"I-I'm sorry," Edmund stammered. "I just assumed—"

Caspian sighed, then reached a hand up to cover Edmund's where it still lay against his arm. "It's alright, the rest of the crew knows."

But that hadn't been Edmund's assumption—not entirely. He had brazenly thought that since Caspian trusted him with such a valuable secret, the rest of the crew would simply defer to his judgment. It was the sort of deference that would be shown for decisions in the queen's court. But as Edmund caught Drinian's glare, he realized he hadn't counted on the fierce protectiveness Caspian inspired in his crew, and Edmund was still an unproven outsider.

Edmund's theory was quickly confirmed by Drinian's next words. "Yes, they do. Because they've proven their loyalty."

Caspian turned to him with hard eyes. "I trust him, Drinian."

Edmund ignored the way the words sent an unfamiliar warmth fluttering in his chest in favor of meeting Drinian's skeptical glare. "It's alright," Edmund said, voice sincere. "His secret is safe with me. You have my word."

Drinian glanced from Edmund's hand clasped on Caspian's arm to meet Edmund's eyes with far too shrewd a look, and Edmund casually—but quickly—released his grip. "Fine," Drinian said gruffly, ignoring Edmund in favor of addressing Caspian. "But I don't like the idea of sending him off by himself with that kind of knowledge."

"In that, at least, we are in agreement," Caspian said.

Edmund sighed. "And yet, you're both going to let me go, because you know it's the best plan given the situation."

Drinian met his eyes, then huffed. "If you die, he'll be insufferable, so I'll thank you to spare me that much."

Caspian chuckled, and Edmund felt another warm sensation flood his chest.

"Then, by all means, let's make sure the plan is solid," Caspian said.

Drinian grumbled. "That would involve breakfast, and the sooner I get there the less I'll have to share."

Edmund snorted, and watched the first mate leave before turning to Caspian.

"Well, he's delightful," Edmund drawled.

Caspian grinned. "He'll warm up to you, he always does."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then you'll have to win him over." Caspian's grin widened for a moment before he sobered and said, "As first mate, he'll obey orders, yours or mine, but that doesn't mean he has to like them."

Edmund thought of his role in the queen's court and felt his lips turn up in a self-deprecating grin. "I understand the sentiment."

Caspian ducked his head. "I should apologize, then," he said, "If I've ever made you feel that you owed me obedience. I may be the captain, but we're both princes, no matter how little our actual authority may match that rank. More than that, you're still a guest on my ship, and as such it's my responsibility to ensure you're well taken care of."

Edmund bit his lip, thinking back over all of Caspian's gestures of kindness since coming aboard—his offers of clothes, the bed, the chocolate, the soothing touch to his bruised face—and Edmund found his cheeks coloring as he fought a sudden blush. He hadn't expected such consideration from Caspian. Jadis had always made sure he knew the price she paid for his care, and that he needed to be grateful for her small mercies. "Thank you," he said. "Though at the risk of starting another argument, I'll have to disagree, you've treated me...quite well. As you said, we're equals."

But rather than looking relieved at Edmund's words, Caspian just looked more uncertain of himself. "I've offended you."

Edmund lifted his eyebrows and shook his head. "No, not at all."

"Your blush would suggest otherwise."

Edmund's blush darkened, and he looked away. "N-no, I'm sorry. I'm just not used to...to being taken care of."

Caspian regarded him for a long moment, and when he spoke his voice was soft. "It's a privilege to do so."

Edmund scoffed. "I would have said burden."

Caspian reached a hand out, fingers catching Edmund's chin. "A captain's job is never easy. And mine is no different." He tilted Edmund's face until their eyes met, and Edmund couldn't breathe for the intensity of Caspian's gaze. "But you are no burden."

The words were too much. Too much sincerity. Too much promise. Too much caring. The flush on his face traveled down his neck, and Edmund was suddenly overcome with the urge to flee.

"We should eat," he mumbled, pulling away. "And you have a ship to run."

Caspian let his hand drop and took a step back. "Right," he agreed, and cleared his throat as he mustered a smile. "We can't let Drinian hoard all the good sausages."

Edmund tried not to think about the flash of something like disappointment he saw in Caspian's eyes, and led the way out of the room.

They didn't speak again as they joined the crew in the hold, and the moment was soon lost to the bustle of morning duties and planning Edmund's attack.

~❄️~

The late morning sun glinted off the ripples of the lagoon as the Dawn Treader dropped anchor. The cove was on the opposite side of the island from the harbor, and well protected by high cliffs that would shelter any view of the ship from other approaching vessels. It was imperative that Edmund's presence not be linked to the Dawn Treader, or Jadis would stop at nothing until the entire ship and crew lay at the bottom of the ocean.

"I don't like this," Caspian muttered.

"Yes, you've said that already. Several times, in fact," Edmund said, watching the crew lower a single longboat into the water. "But you know it's the best plan."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it."

Edmund sighed, then turned and gave Caspian a wry smile. "No, I suppose it doesn't. But you know it will work."

Caspian sighed and gripped Edmund's shoulder. "Please be careful, Ed."

"Always am."

Caspian raised a disbelieving brow. "Somehow I very much doubt that. I seem to recall you planning to take on two full crews of sailors single-handedly."

Edmund rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "And I would have won, if my magic hadn't been hampered at the time," he said. "But, you haven't seen me fight, not really. I'll be fine."

Caspian huffed. "Then you'll have to make it back and show me this 'real' fighting." He met Edmund's eyes. "You are quite brave, Edmund. And I don't doubt your strength, but...you shouldn't always feel that you have to do it all alone."

Edmund felt a sudden lump in his throat. "Thank you."

"I wish I could come with you."

Edmund chuckled darkly. The entire purpose of this plan was to keep Caspian safely hidden. "You really can't."

"I know. I just..."

"Want to help," Edmund finished. He had gotten a clear sense that Caspian wasn't the type to enjoy sitting on his laurels while others did the fighting. If Edmund had to guess, he would say that Caspian had been sidelined from any important duties during his time as Miraz's ward, and it had left him feeling superfluous and useless and with a deep need to prove his worth. It was a feeling Edmund could relate to well.

Caspian ducked his head. "Exactly."

"I've got it," Edmund said, with as much assurance as he could muster. "Just wait here and be ready to leave as soon as possible."

Caspian nodded, his grip on Edmund's shoulder tightening once before he said with deceptive lightness, "You know, I'm the captain, I could order you to stay."

Edmund laughed and said with mock outrage, "What happened to us being equals?"

"I find myself willing to assert my authority as captain if it will keep you safe," Caspian said.

Edmund raised an eyebrow. "Prince outranks captain."

"Not on my crew," Caspian responded.

"But I'm not a member of your crew yet."

"Yet?"

The word made Edmund stumble, losing his verbal footing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd blushed this many times in a single day. He tried to force flippant humor into his tone as he said, "I still haven't decided."

But Caspian just continued to look at him, shifting his hand on Edmund's shoulder to graze his thumb over the side of Edmund's neck, the touch almost a caress, his eyes dark and deep as they met Edmund's. "At least promise me you'll come back," he said.

Edmund felt his own gaze soften. "That much, I can promise you." Edmund didn't think he could have stayed away if he'd tried, and that was part of the problem. He wanted to stay, to take Caspian's offer, to be truly free for the first time since stepping through that wardrobe all those years ago. But despite Caspian's assurances, he knew it would be selfish to put them all at risk.

The minotaur, Tavros, lowered the rope ladder over the side and turned to tell Edmund that the longboat was ready, and Edmund felt the first stirrings of nerves. He forced them down, refusing to let anything show. "Well, that's my cue," he said, trying for levity.

Caspian didn't seem convinced, but he grinned and squeezed Edmund's shoulder once before releasing him. "Alright. Good luck, then. Not that you'll need it, with your 'real' fighting."

Edmund snorted, then moved away toward the ladder, Caspian following. He watched as Edmund descended the ladder. When Edmund reached the bottom and stepped into the longboat, Caspian's grin fell and the look in his eyes made something in Edmund's chest seize.

"Ed, if something goes wrong, if there's too many of them, or if they're expecting you...if the queen or the rebels got there before you, run. We can find another way."

Edmund swallowed, unable to speak. It was an option, yes, but not one he could entertain. He had a vested, personal interest in ensuring he tore the slave trade on the island to shreds. And this was the only way to do it that kept Caspian and his men off the queen's radar.

Caspian seemed to read the thoughts and the accompanying refusal in his expression, because he sighed. "Be careful, Edmund."

"I will," Edmund managed, and settled onto the bench, picking up the oars.

He began rowing, and the trip across the lagoon was quick, the Dawn Treader getting smaller and smaller, and Caspian's concerned face growing harder to discern. Soon Edmund reached the cliff face and tied the boat to an outcropping of rock. Then he began climbing.

Edmund pulled spikes of ice from the rock to use for handholds as he scaled the cliff. His arms burned by the time he reached the top, but he barely paused before starting the trek across the island to the harbor on the other side. It wasn't all that far, but Edmund was glad he'd chosen not to bring any swords with him, it would have made scaling the cliff and hiking across the island all the more arduous. And Edmund knew better than anyone that just because he didn't carry a sword at his hip, it didn't mean he wasn't armed.

Soon, the harbor came into view.

Edmund made his way to the stone courtyard as stealthily as he could, keeping to the edges of crowds, his plain clothes helping him blend in much better than when he'd been paraded through the square in his royal garb. He spied the line of prisoners chained against the nearest wall, and just as before it lit a hot fury in his chest. At the time, he'd thought that if he had access to his magic he'd reduce the place to rubble.

And he had his magic back, now.

He made his way to the wall and crouched behind the faun at the end of the line. The faun startled, eying his approach with fear, but no recognition. Edmund held his finger to his lips, hoping to still any alarm in the faun, then said, "If I release you, can you and the others make your own escape?"

The faun frowned but nodded. "We were brought here by a ship in the harbor. Most of the crew is ashore, but I think we could overpower those that remain."

"Good, lead the others to the harbor from here, as fast as you can," Edmund said, to the faun and the other prisoners nearby who had turned to listen. Then he placed his hands over the faun's shackles…and hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know what kind of reaction to expect, once he used his powers and they realized who he was. He looked up at the faun and said, with a slight tremble to his voice, "Please, don't be afraid."

The faun frowned and looked at him curiously for a moment, but then Edmund released his power and the iron under his hand turned icy and brittle with frost. He supercooled the metal until it gave under the slightest strain, cracking open with a sharp metallic snap, the trail of his magic traveling up the line of the chain that connected the other prisoners and doing the same for each of them. There were gasps all down the line as the ice broke their shackles free. Edmund looked up and found the faun watching him with wide, shocked eyes, the realization that he was face to face with the White Prince clear in his expression. Edmund swallowed past his suddenly dry throat. "You're free," he said, "Go quickly."

The faun snapped out of his daze and turned to the others with a harsh whisper. "You heard him, get to the ship!" They rushed past Edmund, crouched low. Edmund's attention had already turned to the men in the courtyard, but a gentle touch on his elbow brought him back to the prisoners. He turned to find the faun looking at him with a reverence he didn't deserve. "Thank you, your majesty."

Edmund's throat closed up, and all he could offer in return was a brief nod. Then the faun was rushing off after the others and Edmund was left alone to deal with the slavers. As he approached the dais in the courtyard, no one paid much mind to his presence, but that would soon change. Caspian most likely would have planned to capture and arrest the men responsible for the slave market, but Edmund had no such plans.

Edmund conjured two swords into his hands, made of ice as dense as steel, the one in his right full sized and the other slightly shorter, replicas of the swords he normally carried with him into battle.

As he expected, his display did not go unnoticed. Heads turned towards him, and then a few more, glancing nervously between him and the crowd, until nearly every eye in the courtyard was on him. The whispers began, murmurs growing frantic as he approached. Edmund didn't care, he walked right up to the middle of the dais and sliced cleanly through the chains of the girl at the auction block. As she dashed off in fear, the slaver beside her reacted almost immediately to the challenge, swinging his sword, but Edmund parried easily with his first sword before quickly following it up with a strike of the second blade, slicing a deep warning cut along the man's cheek. The man fell back, the tip of Edmund's icy blade at his throat, and only then did Edmund recognize the same slaver who had auctioned him. Edmund's fury intensified, the air growing chill around him, and the man blanched.

"For those of you who need a primer in politics," he announced from the center of the dais, "I am Edmund, the White Prince, the son of Her Majesty the White Witch, Queen of Narnia and Empress of these Lone Islands." His words rang out through the courtyard, echoing back to him. He was so used to invoking the queen's name in battle he barely registered the emptiness of claiming his title while on the run from the throne. But he could hear the awe and fear in the murmurs around him, and it fueled his fury. "This," he shouted, gesturing around him, "ends now. Slavery ends here." He raised his voice to a roar, his rage finally erupting. "Does anyone disagree?"

The answer came from Edmund's left. "You are not the ruler here!" the slaver with the cut cheek said, somehow mustering the resolve to speak from the end of Edmund's sword. "You're not a prince, you're a spoiled brat who should have been cut down as a child. The queen's son? You're nothing but the queen's pet."

He wasn't wrong, but Edmund had rarely had the truth of it spoken so boldly to his face. It didn't matter, Edmund knew what he was, knew what he'd done—what he was capable of doing—in service to the mother who'd only ever shown him the cruel mockery of love. And he'd never really cared what anyone else thought of him, least of all a mob of people who were the lowest of the low. He raised the handle of his sword, the icy tip digging further into the man's collarbone. "Be thankful I'm here and not the queen. She wouldn't leave a single one of you alive," he said, voice low and seething. "Then again, perhaps she has the right idea."

Edmund let loose the icy cold that had been building within him. It came forth as a mist of ice and snow that swirled through the courtyard, a whirlwind that whipped at the men's clothes in the midday sun. And then even that started to fade as grey clouds began to gather overhead, a shadowy chill settling over the previously sun-warmed stone.

All around the edges of the courtyard, spikes of ice began to rise from the ground. They grew until they were towering crystalline spires, jaggedly criss-crossing and cutting off all the possible exits from the square. Edmund felt the tension rise in the air as the men realized they were trapped, that there was no escape. The wind swirled around them in a vortex, blowing the flurries of snowflakes collecting at their feet, whipping at Edmund's hair.

Edmund stood in the center of the dais, facing the crowd with a blazing stare, grip hard on his swords, and waited.

The first attack came from his right. A slaver charged him with his sword raised, and Edmund met the man's wild swing easily, catching the blade and pushing back against him, the strength of his anger fueling his movements. In seconds, the man's sword was knocked from his hand and Edmund followed with a swift thrust of his own, the point of his sword piercing the man's chest, and a quick pull drew it back out with a spray of blood.

And then, chaos.

The courtyard exploded in a riot. The slavers came at Edmund from all sides, a mob of bodies. He lost track of how many men he had to fend off, his swords working furiously to strike them down. He raised his arms and unleashed a whirlwind of snow and ice, overwhelming the slavers before him, and he let his rage drive him forward.

A slaver took a swing at him, and he ducked the wild blow, sweeping the slaver's legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. More men rushed him and he spun, cutting them all down easily, the crowd of people parting around him as he moved. A slaver lunged at him from the side and Edmund parried the attack and shoved the man away.

More men had joined the fray. They weren't the best fighters Edmund had ever encountered, but the number was overwhelming, and it seemed they'd finally realized they were fighting the White Prince, because the fear and panic in the air was palpable.

Edmund spun his swords and deflected the next strike. It was quickly followed by another, and then another, but the fight was hardly a challenge. Edmund blocked the strikes, parrying and dodging. His heartbeat pounded with a rush of blood in his ears only drowned out by the growing howl of the wind. When an opening finally appeared, Edmund struck with both blades at once, a double strike that the man wasn't able to block in time, leaving a deep gash across his chest.

The man stumbled back, but his companions didn't seem deterred.

The next man was too slow, and Edmund's blade pierced his chest. Edmund spun and met the next with his smaller blade, slicing his throat.

Another came and Edmund batted his strike aside with his short sword, then sliced his long sword across the man's belly, a deep enough cut to bring him to the ground. More men rushed him and Edmund's swords sang through the air as they struck flesh.

His body moved in a familiar dance, a routine he'd practiced with his dwarven instructors hundreds of times—and on the battlefield against the Narnian rebels—the weight of the two swords in his hands as exhilarating as the magic flowing through his veins. It seemed to guide Edmund's movements, the energy it infused in his muscles lending him speed and strength as it never had before. Edmund spun and twirled, the blades a part of his body, the ice a part of him. His skin grew cold, frost formed on the tips of his hair, and the air around him took on a bitter chill. His harsh breaths clouded the air.

His magic built within him, his icy rage and his need to end this, and it seeped out, freezing the ground beneath his feet. He raised his hands, and ice crept along the ground towards the nearest man's feet, freezing him in place. The next man to charge Edmund met the same fate.

A few more slavers fell to his icy blades. Edmund spun the larger sword in his hand, the familiar grip bringing him comfort. He could take these men, his magic would allow him to win easily.

But his confidence, his wrath, made him reckless. In the crowd, through the blizzard, Edmund saw the approach of the slaver with the slash across his cheek, his sword bearing down in a sharp arc. Edmund raised his blade to deflect the strike. The slaver's sword came crashing down on Edmund's, and the ice of the blade cracked and shattered under the blow. Edmund gave a pained shout as he felt a line of fire erupt on his ribs where the slaver's blade sliced through his unprotected side.

Edmund fell to one knee, clutching his side, and the slaver raised his arms for another strike. Edmund thrust his broken blade up into the man's exposed gut. He stood, pausing only long enough to furiously meet the slaver's shocked eyes, before he shoved the man away and let his body fall where it may, conjuring a new sword to replace the broken one. The blizzard around him raged.

More slavers attacked, and the ones who tried to flee Edmund stopped, one after the other, with an ice spike to the foot or the leg or the thigh, the frost creeping over their bodies from the point of impact until they were solid ice.

The slavers rushed forward and Edmund swung both blades. A spray of blood coated his face and chest as one slaver fell, screaming, clutching his face where one eye had been. A second fell a moment later, barely getting close enough to strike before he was frozen in place, solid ice from head to toe. Then a third, a fourth, a fifth, Edmund fought with cold fury, not a hint of mercy or regret. One by one, the slavers fell to his wrath, frozen or bleeding, until the only movement in the square was his own, and the swirling wind that rose around him.

When the winds and the snow finally abated, the square was still, the silence deafening.

His strength left him as quickly as it arose, and he dropped his swords from his lax grip. They dissolved to nothingness as they hit the stone. Then he collapsed to his knees, the pain of his injured side suddenly intense. He was panting from exertion, the last remnants of the blizzard he'd conjured drifting down around him.

There were sprays of red on his clothes. He swiped at his face with a trembling hand, and it came away wet with cold sweat and chilled blood.

There was a small voice of conscience within him that whispered, 'Cold, cruel, ruthless.' He was the son of the White Witch. But these men had brought this upon themselves.

The thought gave him little comfort as he raised his head and saw the courtyard before him littered with statues, men frozen with their faces locked in pain and fear. It was a sight that was chillingly familiar.

Edmund felt a sudden bout of nausea and fought down the rising bile in his throat.

"If only you fought with this kind of vigor during battles with the rebels."

Edmund stilled so suddenly that he might as well have been one of the frozen statues that surrounded him. He felt a wave of terror rip through his body more violent than the slash of a sword, but he steeled himself and turned towards the bearer of the voice that he knew all too well.

"Mother?"

The White Witch met his gaze with cold, black eyes. "Clearly, you've been holding back against your siblings." Even in his terror, Edmund wondered how she could dare say that to him, after everything he'd done, after Peter—

Edmund cast one more look around the carnage, his sharp breaths not entirely due to the activity of the battle, then forced himself to meet her eyes again. "I didn't realize that I could—This is something new." It was true. He'd used his powers in battle before, but never like this. It was almost as if he had summoned the power from outside himself, as if he'd tapped into some deep reservoir of magic that had smashed its way through him and left him feeling drained to the point of exhaustion.

"Oh?" the queen said, with a horrible spark of curiosity in her eyes. "And what brought this out in you, I wonder?"

Despite his fear, Edmund met her gaze with a spark of his own and said, "I'm not sure. Must be something about seeing people held captive and forced to do another's bidding that just set me off."

Jadis held his gaze and lifted one eyebrow, ever so slightly. "...Indeed."

Edmund slowly drew himself to his feet, clutching his side, his bones aching with exhaustion. He could feel his blood soaking through his tunic.

"You're injured," Jadis said, a simple statement of fact.

"I am," Edmund agreed, just as bluntly. It would do him no good to try to hide it at this point.

"Well? Take care of it then," she said, voice impatient.

Edmund gingerly lifted the edge of the tunic to reveal a nasty cut, deep enough to be painful but luckily not deep enough to inflict any real damage. Edmund touched his hand to the wound and drew forth threads of frost that bit into his skin, pulling the wound shut and sealing it with a bandage of ice. It seared into his skin like frostbite, but it would hold well enough until he could get to a proper healer.

"Better," she said. Then she slapped him with such a vicious backhand that his head snapped to the side and his eyes watered. In his exhaustion he barely stayed on his feet from the force of it, and he raised his hand to his stinging cheek, right over his bruise from before.

"Stupid boy! Are you trying to make a fool of me?" Jadis hissed. "As if I would name an heir so inept as to get yourself kidnapped by a couple of common humans." Edmund wisely refrained from pointing out that he, too, was a common human. Her voice was dripping with condescension and barely restrained violence as she said, "I expect you will not let such incompetence happen in the future. The wolves have been suitably punished in your stead."

A cold wave of anxiety washed over him. Asena. She was his chief bodyguard, and one of only two beings who had offered him anything like comfort in his childhood. Edmund desperately wanted to ask what had been done to her, was she alright? But asking would only alert his mother to the care he held for the wolf, and she was always on the lookout for weaknesses she could exploit against him. So he had to swallow down his worry and let it settle like a stone in his gut.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said. And he was, though perhaps not for the reasons she wanted.

She hummed, a low note that vibrated through the air. "Perhaps there is hope for you yet." Then she turned and began to walk away, through the hole she'd apparently blasted in Edmund's ice wall, where Ginarrbrik was waiting, looking at the carnage of the courtyard with bloodthirsty glee. Edmund hesitated before following her. He had no intention of returning with her, but he needed to figure out an escape strategy. The Dawn Treader was waiting for him. Caspian was waiting for him, and the pull Edmund felt to return to him was like a siren song.

She led him through the streets to the harbor, and Edmund noted that hers was the only ship docked. He could only hope that the prisoners he had freed were able to escape before she had arrived, or that she had simply found them all so beneath her that she paid them no mind in her quest to reach Edmund.

It took all of Edmund's resolve to take the first step up the gangplank. His mind was still whirling, trying to think up some way to escape, some reason to slip away that wouldn't alert suspicion. He had a sinking feeling that the moment he set foot on the deck, he would never see Caspian again.

Ginarrbrik led the way up the gangplank, and he bowed his head as he held the door open for them to the queen's quarters, leering at Edmund with a smile that promised pain. But it was nothing out of the ordinary for Ginarrbrik, so Edmund just responded with his usual heavy sneer and roll of his eyes.

The queen's ship was nothing like the Dawn Treader. Caspian's quarters had seemed spacious enough for the two of them and housed a collection of tools and personal items that held meaning to the captain, but it was the antithesis to the sparse grandeur the queen had set aside for herself. Her expansive quarters spanned multiple decks, lush with furs and ice and little else save for utilitarian furniture. There was a table set out with food and wine, but even that was covered in a fine layer of frost. Everything about her was cold and empty.

She looked at him with undisguised disdain. "Go change into something more suitable. You look like a common beggar. Then come back and eat. You can rest on the journey."

"Yes, Mother," Edmund replied, because he didn't know what else to say.

The queen settled into the cushions and picked up a goblet. Edmund had seen her do this a hundred times, but she always did it with a kind of studied grace that had seemed, to his young mind, otherworldly. Now, she just seemed brittle.

She waved him off, and he walked to the smaller closed off section that housed his rooms. In the privacy of his room he let himself sag against the door, his body struggling just to stay on his feet, feeling like whatever magic he had conjured during the fight had bled him dry. He found a stark white tunic and a regal silver brocade doublet already laid out for him, along with a wash basin. The water was frigid but served its purpose well enough. He wiped away the blood and grime of the slaughter, and pulled on the fresh clothing. The tunic slid over his skin like silk, and the doublet was tailored to fit his narrow frame as only the royal clothing woven from magical frost could. Edmund already missed his borrowed clothes made of simple cotton.

Along with the clothing, Edmund found his swords laid out for him as well. He hesitated a moment, then strapped them on, one at each hip.

He looked at himself in the mirror and frowned. He'd grown accustomed to seeing the face of the White Prince looking back at him, but the bruises stood out sharply, and the dark circles under his eyes seemed more prominent than ever. He ran a hand through his hair and tried not to think about the people he had just killed. He didn't have the time. He knew he had only until the crew readied the ship to set sail to make his escape.

Then he went back out to meet his mother.

She was lounging in her chair, taking small bites of her meal, when Edmund emerged. Her eyes were coldly assessing, lingering over the place where the doublet covered Edmund's injury, but when she stayed silent and looked away he knew he met with her approval. He approached and took the seat across from her. The table was laden with meat and bread, wine and fruit, and a bowl of grapes and melon sat between them. Edmund was tempted, but his stomach twisted at the thought of eating. He knew he'd need to keep his strength up, but the thought of consuming anything at the moment made him ill.

Instead, he took a long drink from his cup, the rich red wine bitter on his tongue, and he watched Jadis over the rim.

"You're lucky you survived this whole embarrassing escapade," she said. Her tone was dismissive, but there was something underneath it, an undercurrent of anger. It was a tone Edmund knew well, that meant if he didn't choose his words very carefully, she would unleash that anger on him. But Edmund wasn't feeling particularly cautious.

"I'm alive, aren't I?" he said, and her grip on the goblet tightened.

"You're also lucky you still have me to clean up your mess."

Edmund's blood boiled.

"And why is that, Mother?" Edmund asked, the title rolling off his tongue with a sarcastic lilt.

Jadis met his eyes. They were black and unyielding. "Don't be stupid, Edmund," she snapped. "And don't pretend to be something you're not," she added. Her voice was low and dangerous.

"And what is that?" Edmund challenged.

"Naive. Innocent. I've raised you as my son. If anyone should understand the importance of maintaining power and control, of not showing weakness to the enemy, it's you."

"I do understand. I know exactly what I mean to you, and your conquest of Narnia."

Jadis cut her gaze towards him, as sharp as glass. "I am a goddess in this world, Edmund," she said, matter of fact. "And you are the one I've chosen to share my power. It is a gift. One you should be grateful for."

Edmund was silent, turning the stem of the goblet between his fingers, and the queen watched him. He wondered, not for the first time, what her thoughts were. He had no illusions about why she had spared him all those years ago. It wasn't mercy. She had used him as a tool for power then, and she still did now. But the surest path to maintaining her power would have been to eliminate him, to prove the prophecy false and reduce the foretold four to three, so what purpose did he serve now that was great enough to keep him alive, despite the prophecy?

Edmund thought back to Reepicheep's counsel, and wondered if Jadis still feared the words of the prophecy as she once had. "Why not just kill me, Mother?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The queen sighed. "Do you really have so little faith in me, Edmund?"

Edmund looked away, his gaze unfocused.

"What you did today," she continued, "the power you have…" She trailed off, and when Edmund looked at her, he could see the greed in her eyes, just for a split second, before her tone shifted to one of beneficence. "You are the only one who has the potential to be the ruler I envision. With the proper guidance, you could be an asset."

"I'm nothing but an asset," he grumbled, only half under his breath.

But this conversation had gone on long enough, and the anxiety rising in the back of Edmund's mind had reached a fever pitch. He needed to find a way to slip off the ship without Jadis noticing, and he needed it now.

He stood abruptly.

"Where are you going?" she snapped.

"To rest. As you ordered," he said, and let an edge of petulance bleed through to keep the lie convincing. The queen looked at him as if she had a mind to continue their argument, but instead she decided to be mollified by his reluctant show of obedience.

"Good," she said, "You're dismissed."

He had to bite his tongue to keep the retort from leaving his lips. He was not her subject, no matter how often she insisted on treating him otherwise. But now was not the time for defiance, so he merely gave her a small nod, and left her to her meal.

The servant corridors were empty, as were his quarters, and he could only hope the crew were so preoccupied getting the ship ready for departure that no one would notice his absence.

Edmund moved as quietly as he could through the ship, making his way up the ladder onto the deck. The sun had almost dipped below the horizon as he slipped along the port side, giving him the cover of late dusk as he kept out of sight of the crewmembers that were bustling about the ship. At the front of the ship, the gangplank had been removed. Edmund peered over the side, but there was no way for him to make the jump to shore. Even if he could, his body was exhausted, and he wasn't sure how much more abuse it could take.

He would have to sneak off the ship in a different way, then.

As Edmund made his way around the aft end of the deck, a shout rang out between the crew as the sails unfurled, and then the ship started moving.

Edmund froze. He was out of time.

The ship began picking up speed. He was running out of options.

His mind raced. What could he do? How could he escape now, when the ship was moving out to sea?

He steeled himself. At this point, there was only one option.

The water was choppy below him. His hands gripped the railing hard enough to hurt. The thought of going over the edge and plunging into the frigid waters below when he was already so exhausted he could barely stand made his heart pound with fear. But the thought of sailing away from Caspian and returning to Narnia frightened him more.

He took a deep breath, then as fast as he could, he swung himself over the railing, and the ground fell away from him. The wind rushed past his face, and for a second that seemed like an eternity, he was free falling.

Then he crashed into the waves.

The water hit him like a punch, stealing the breath from his lungs, the shock of the cold nearly paralyzing. The currents whipped around him, the sea dragging him down, and it took every ounce of strength he had to swim towards the surface. It seemed impossibly far.

And then, he broke through.

He gasped in a desperate lungful of air, the sound ragged. The waves crashed against him, and the salt water stung his wound.

Luckily, the shore wasn't far. He swam, every stroke pulling at his injury and sapping what little remained of his energy. His limbs were sluggish and his ribs were burning with fire by the time he reached shore, but he dragged himself up the rocky bank and laid on his back, shivering and panting.

Edmund didn't have the time to catch his breath. There was a stable near the docks, and Edmund made his way to it. He spared a brief thought for the fact that the horses' owners likely all lay dead in the courtyard, and then he grabbed the first horse he found already saddled and hoisted himself into the seat on shaky limbs. Then he tore out across the island at a breakneck gallop, headed for where the Dawn Treader was moored on the other side of the island.

It wasn't a far ride, but his head was throbbing and his injury ached with a persistent, searing pain. The wind was cool and his clothing was drenched from the sea, but he didn't let that slow him. The Dawn Treader would not set sail without him, and any moment now Jadis would realize Edmund was gone and return to the island, ready to tear it apart in a rage to find him. The Dawn Treader needed to be long gone by then, and it felt like a race against time.

Edmund slowed the horse near the cliff's edge, then dismounted with a pained grunt. His whole body protested, and his limbs felt like jelly, but he forced his legs to stay strong. The night had fully fallen, but Edmund could pick out the shape of the Dawn Treader in the moonlight, and his heart leapt in relief despite his exhaustion.

He quickly removed the horse's bridle and sliced through the belt of the saddle, then gave the horse a sharp pat to its flank to send it racing off, hopefully somewhere far from here. He turned and tossed the horse tack over the side of the cliff, watching it splash down into the ocean below. He thought briefly of following it over, but a fall to the water from this height would surely be lethal.

Instead, Edmund fashioned a rope of frost and tied it to a boulder near the cliff's edge. He climbed down as quickly as his injuries allowed, slipping the last few feet and dropping heavily into the rowboat waiting below, then vanishing the rope into mist. With any luck, he and the Dawn Treader would be far away by the time Jadis realized he was missing, and he would have covered his tracks sufficiently to avoid her easily picking up his trail.

He rowed across the lagoon, every stroke of the oar sending fire lancing up his ribs. He felt weak and shaky, a clammy sweat breaking out across his face and neck, making his hair stick to his forehead. He realized that the patch of ice holding his wound together had fractured, and he had bled through his doublet. He hastily closed the wound again, though he could tell the patch job was poor in his fatigue.

The night watchman on the Dawn Treader had a keen eye and had apparently spotted him coming, because by the time Edmund reached the ship they had already tossed a rope ladder over the side and were lowering the sails to shove off.

Caspian was there waiting for him, helping to haul him over the side of the railing, catching him with steady hands as his strength faltered the moment his feet hit the deck. Edmund leaned into him heavily, relief crashing over him like a tidal wave at the feeling of Caspian's hands on him, strong and sure, and Edmund felt the mortifying pinpricks of tears building behind his eyes. He didn't realize until this moment how terrified he'd been of never seeing Caspian again. "Edmund, what–"

"Go, Caspian," Edmund breathed, clutching Caspian's shoulders for balance. "Go now."

Caspian turned and called, "Ready the sails!" with the air of someone who had already given the order at least once already. Then he turned back to Edmund, the question clear in his eyes.

"Jadis," Edmund said. "She's here."

The way Caspian's hands tightened their grip on his arms told Edmund he understood.

Edmund looked up at the sails fluttering in the anemic wind, and knew that it wouldn't be enough, and they didn't have time to get the men below deck to the oars. Edmund sucked in a deep breath that made his side split with fire, and he called on what felt like the last of his power to conjure a blistering, icy wind. The sails billowed and snapped, and the ship lurched into motion.

The last of Edmund's strength gave out and he collapsed, only saved from crashing to the deck by Caspian's arms around him, lowering him gently to the wood. As if from the end of a dark tunnel, Edmund saw Caspian pull his hand away from Edmund's side and stare at his palm covered in blood. "Edmund, you're hurt." When Edmund didn't reply, Caspian called, "Edmund? Ed!"

The last thing Edmund heard before the blackness overtook him was Caspian's frantic call for a medic.

~❄️~

The first thing Edmund became aware of was the mist, wet and cold, more ice than vapor, the kind that settled over the mountains of the White Queen's palace and flowed down its slopes. The sky was as bright as midday, but the mist was so thick he couldn't see through it.

He took a step forward, and snow crunched underfoot.

Edmund looked down and found he was dressed head to toe in stark, gleaming white, his elaborately embroidered doublet sparkling with the threads of silvery frost from which it was woven, a livery chain of diamond-like jewels of ice draped across his shoulders and chest. His crown sat perched on top of his head, a collection of sharp icicles bound together by hardened snow at the base, modeled after his mother's, though smaller. It was the same outfit he'd worn to his coronation, three years ago.

In the distance, Edmund heard shouting. It seized him with a cold, familiar fear, but it was the only thing to give him a sense of direction in the endless snow and mist, and so he moved towards it.

The shouting grew louder, more distinct, and then the mist parted and Edmund was standing in the queen's icy throne room at the palace.

Jadis burst through the doors, hauling along a child version of Edmund by the wrist. Edmund could almost feel the grip of her hand crushing his small bones together, even now. Jadis hurled him to the ground with such force he slid across the ice. His child self looked up with wide, terrified eyes, tear stains and a deep scratch marring his round cheeks. Neither of them seemed to perceive the adult Edmund's presence.

"Foolish boy!" Jadis snapped, her loud voice echoing in the empty chamber of ice. "Did you think I wouldn't find you? Did you think you could escape the reach of my power?"

Realization settled in Edmund's gut like a block of ice. He remembered this. He'd been twelve. It was the first time he'd received a lashing, for the first time he'd tried to run away.

"I'm sorry," his child self said, voice small and pleading. Fresh tears sprang to the boy's eyes, and they were matched in the older Edmund, because he knew what was coming.

But Jadis just snarled at him, eyes black and vicious, "There is nowhere you can go—nowhere—that I can't find you. In all of Narnia, the deep magic obeys me, you are mine to do with as I wish. Perhaps you need a reminder of that." Edmund watched, as if in slow motion, and Jadis conjured a whip of ice, and let the loop fall to the ground. "Ginarrbrik, bind him."

His child self struggled as his small, thin wrists were tied with a thick coil of rope. "No, no please, your majesty! I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I promise!"

"There is no worth in the promises of a traitor," Jadis bit out harshly, and with a wave of her hand a short block of ice rose from the ground, an iron ring in the center. Ginarrbrik tied his child self's wrists to the ring.

"No, please, please!" his small voice rose, desperate.

Edmund felt sick and overwhelmed and he looked away, only to find himself looking at two familiar figures. Bodur, his dwarven teacher, and his wolf bodyguard Asena stood against the wall, watching. They hadn't been here the first time this happened, though Bodur had bandaged him afterwards with rough hands and Edmund had cried into Asena's warm fur until he passed out from pain and exhaustion.

"Help him," Edmund said, the words coming out before he'd really even thought them. But Asena and Bodur turned away, ashamed.

Edmund felt a tear roll down his cheek. "Help him!" he shouted, and they both flinched at the command, but neither moved to intervene.

Edmund turned back to the scene before him, and saw Jadis raise the handle of the whip over her head.

Edmund tried to stop her himself, running across the throne room to grab at her wrist, to push her away, but his limbs were weak and ineffectual as he shoved at her, all the strength of a rag doll, powerless.

The queen's beautiful face twisted in a rictus of cruelty and rage, and she drew back her arm. "Let this teach you the price of disobedience!"

Edmund did the only thing he could, then. He threw himself across the space between her and the young Edmund, kneeling on the hard ice as he wrapped his arms around the small body, and took the lashes in his place.

The first lash bit into his skin, ripping through his clothes with a freezing tip of ice. As did each lash that followed.

Edmund cried out with each strike, lines of fire bursting across his skin. It had been years since he'd had to endure his mother's favorite punishment, reserved for severe infractions, but he still remembered the pain well, debilitating and all-consuming. His body shook and convulsed with each crack of the whip, each icy burst of pain.

There was a roar in his ears, the roar of blood pounding in his head, the roar of a great beast, like a lion—and the roars transformed into his name. And then he heard it again, but this time it was Caspian saying his name, and then, "Edmund, wake up!" and he jerked awake under Caspian's touch.

Caspian's concerned face looked down at him in the warm lamplight, his hands folded around Edmund's upper arms as if he'd been trying to restrain Edmund from thrashing. "It's alright, Ed. You're safe. It was just a dream."

Edmund didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded and focused on getting his shuddering breaths under control. He lifted one shaking hand to wipe at his eyes.

At length, Edmund sat up, hissing as the movement pulled at his side. He looked down to find himself shirtless, lying in the bed in Caspian's quarters, with bandages that smelled of herbs wrapped around his middle. Caspian was sitting on the edge of the bed as well, facing him.

"How are you feeling?" Caspian asked, his expression a mix of concern and uncertainty.

"Sore," Edmund admitted.

Caspian nodded in acknowledgement. "Your side is fine. The medic cleaned and bandaged the wound. We were able to remove the shards of ice that were still stuck in it. The frostbite isn't too bad either, but..." Caspian trailed off...

Edmund looked down at the bandages. His whole side ached with a deep throbbing pain, and a few spots on the wrappings were freshly tinged pink.

"What happened, Ed?" Caspian finally asked, voice soft.

Edmund let his gaze rise and meet Caspian's, and was surprised to find an intense look of determination. Edmund's heart stuttered in his chest.

"Jadis came to retrieve me," Edmund began, and Caspian's brows drew together.

"We knew that was a possibility," Caspian said as if choosing his words carefully. "But somehow I suspect there is more to it than that."

"I escaped, but I'm not free," Edmund said, skirting dangerously close to the truth. "And I never will be."

Caspian frowned. "But the Dawn Treader left—"

"It doesn't matter," Edmund interrupted. "As long as she draws breath, there's no escape. She'll always come for me."

"Edmund, we're not going to leave you to her. We'll find a way to defeat her. To end the White Witch's reign," Caspian promised.

Edmund couldn't hold back the mirthless chuckle that escaped his lips, the sound hollow and bitter. "Oh, so now you're ready to pick a side in the war."

Caspian's voice was soft as he held Edmund's gaze. "Is that really so surprising?"

Edmund swallowed thickly, a slow warmth spreading through his veins like treacle. He felt bolstered by Caspian's words, but Caspian needed to understand the full extent of what Edmund would be bringing with him if he stayed. "Caspian, I've made my choice. I want to stay here, with you…o-on the Dawn Treader. As a member of your crew. But there's something about me you need to know."

"Go on," Caspian said, his tone gentle, coaxing. "You already know my secret."

Edmund drew a fortifying breath. This was the moment, and his nerves were suddenly alight with tension, like the strings of a harp strung too tightly.

"There is a deep magic in Narnia, born from the creation of this world. Jadis has ties to it. It gives her power over any traitor she chooses to claim. The day I betrayed my family, I became hers."

Caspian shifted closer, the bed creaking beneath them. "I don't understand."

"She's laid claim to my life, and she can do with it as she pleases. At the moment, what she pleases is to use me as a tool to extend her power and control over Narnia. As long as my siblings live, there is a half-thaw over Narnia. But as long as I live, as long as she has the allegiance and life of one of the four prophesied rulers, they can't fully break her magical winter. We're locked in a stalemate, but one that keeps her in power. She'll never let me go. I'm her most valuable chess piece. She's waiting to either use me to claim her victory or to sacrifice me at the most opportune moment."

Caspian shook his head as if to refute Edmund's words. "But surely, if she can't find you, she can't—"

"It doesn't matter."

Caspian looked away sharply, and Edmund saw the muscles tense as he clenched his jaw. "So you just give up, and go back to her? Is that what you want?"

"Of course not!" Edmund's voice was sharp, the sudden outburst pulling at his tender ribs and eliciting a small grunt of pain. Caspian looked a little taken aback. Edmund closed his eyes, the frustration and bitterness and despair welling up inside him like a flood, threatening to drag him under. "But what would you have me do, Caspian? I can spend the rest of my life running, and when I can't run anymore, she'll catch me, and I'll go back to being a prisoner in a gilded cage. I'm trapped."

As quickly as it arose in him, the anger drained away, replaced by resignation. "You can take me away from her, as far as we can go, but it's still not enough to outrun her, not forever."

"We can try," Caspian said, voice dreadfully earnest and hopeful. "We'll sail to the edge of the world if we need to. I'll not let her have you."

Edmund let his head flop back against the pillow, feeling drained at the prospect of squashing Caspian's hope, but he needed to understand. "It's too late for that. She already owns me, as real as any of the slave traders on that island. You may have saved me from the slavers who bought me, but you can't save me from this. The power of the deep magic is absolute. It's written into the very fabric of reality."

Edmund sighed and felt his gaze go unfocused in thought. "I can feel it, even now, pulling me like a tether." Edmund put a hand over the middle of his chest, rubbing at the bare skin as if he could block out the ethereal sensation there. "I've no doubt she feels it too. I've tried escaping from her before. She always finds me. It's always just a matter of time."

Edmund looked at Caspian then, his gaze sharpening. "If I join your crew, none of you would ever be safe. You'd never be free," Edmund said, tone despondent, almost pleading for Caspian to understand. "I can't ask this of you, or your men."

Caspian made a small, frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "They're not soldiers, they're sailors," he said. "They are free to leave if they choose. We'll tell them the risk, and some may go, but the ones that stay will be making that choice for themselves."

Edmund ducked his head at the thought of all the men taking on the hardships meant for Edmund to bear, even if they did so knowingly. He felt his lips pull into a thin, grim line. "Still think I'm not a burden?"

Caspian's eyes were deep, dark pools of certainty. "I do." It wasn't a gaze Edmund could hold for long, and he had to look away to still the pounding of his heart.

After a moment, Caspian said, "This…tether. Can she command it? Use it to call you to her?"

Edmund shook his head. "No, the deep magic can't be commanded, it just exists, like a force of nature. You could no more command the color of the sky or the motion of the sun across it."

Caspian nodded, and resolve seemed to settle across the line of his shoulders. "Then we'll just have to keep you out of her reach."

"You could be spending the rest of your life on the run."

Caspian shrugged. "I'm already doing that. It might be nice to have company."

"It's not the same as staying hidden from Miraz, and you know it," Edmund said, a challenge in his voice rising to meet Caspian's glib tone. "Right now, you can go where you please, whenever you want, with no concern about who might be awaiting you or that you might need to flee at any moment. You're not constantly looking over your shoulder. You're free. You'd be sacrificing that…for me." Edmund felt the weight of the words settle over him like a yoke around his neck. "Joining the crew would be the closest thing to freedom I've ever known in Narnia, but it would be at the cost of yours. I can't ask that of you."

"You keep saying that, but you can. You can ask for anything," Caspian said, and he reached out to grasp Edmund's shoulder at the join of his neck. The weight of his palm was heavy against the bare skin of Edmund's collarbone, his fingers gentle where they curled against the nape. "I think I would gladly do anything you ask."

Edmund felt like his heart had stopped beating in his chest and his breath had stilled in his lungs. Caspian's eyes locked on his with a fierce tenderness as he said, "If you truly wish to stay here, to be a member of this crew, then that is your choice. Nothing will prevent that." He paused then, as if bracing himself, the look of a man drawing in his courage, but his voice was so soft as he asked, "Is that what you want?"

Edmund's whole body ached to say yes, his lungs burned with the longing to speak the truth of it, the desire to stay ran so deep it sank into the marrow of his bones. Even so, he felt like he had to force the words past his throat, his voice rough as he said, "…It is. More than anything."

"Then it's settled," Caspian said, his eyes burning into Edmund like coals. "You're a member of my crew now, Edmund. I don't care what the deep magic says. That makes you mine, not hers."

The words flooded Edmund with such fire that he thought it might scorch him from the inside. There was a part of Edmund that ached to pull Caspian down until their lips met, to ask Caspian to claim him with more than words. But he had made enough selfish decisions for one day.

Instead, Edmund let his eyes slide closed, and he breathed, "Thank you."

"There's no need," Caspian replied, voice low.

After a moment, Edmund felt the bed creak as Caspian shifted his weight. "I'd best leave you to get some rest," he said quietly, and then Edmund felt the bed shift again as Caspian moved to stand.

Edmund acted without conscious thought, his mind suddenly flooded with panic at the thought of being left alone. "Wait!" he said and his hand shot out to latch onto Caspian's wrist. Caspian stilled and Edmund struggled to explain himself. "Stay with me, just for a while," he said, hating how small his voice sounded. "Help me keep the nightmares at bay." The phantom ache of the White Witch's lashes still stung across his skin.

Edmund lifted his gaze to find Caspian watching him with an unreadable expression.

"You did say you'd do anything I asked." Edmund tried to inject his voice with a teasing lilt that he didn't much feel.

Caspian held his gaze with a kind of hesitant consideration. Edmund thought about withdrawing his request, then watched Caspian's hesitance seem to melt and give way to something else, something softer. Caspian's throat bobbed before he gave a single, wordless nod, and then he gingerly lowered himself down on top of the sheets to stretch out next to Edmund on the bed. Both men lay on their sides, facing each other.

Caspian's wrist was still encircled by Edmund's fingers, and Edmund let his grip loosen, sliding his thumb gently along the inside of Caspian's wrist, feeling the pulse under his skin, a gesture of silent gratitude. Caspian returned the touch, grazing his thumb along Edmund's palm until their thumbs were hooked together, hands clasped in the kind of embrace Edmund had seen men make dozens of times on the battlefield. But here now, in the soft lamplight, with the hush of waves washing against the hull of the ship, it felt more intimate, and it took every ounce of strength in Edmund not to draw Caspian's hand up to his mouth and kiss his knuckles. Instead, he left their joined hands curled in the space between them and Edmund sucked in a shallow, shuddering breath as he said, "Thank you," his heart racing and his mouth dry.

Caspian's dark eyes locked on Edmund's across the small stretch of mattress between them. "Anything," he said, voice quiet but strong, and to Edmund the word carried the weight of a vow.

They lay in silence for a long time, each lost in his own thoughts, but their hands remained linked. Finally, the steady rocking of the boat and the gentle lapping of the waves began to pull at the edges of Edmund's consciousness, and he found himself drifting off to sleep, lulled by the soothing warmth of Caspian's hand resting lightly over his own, a solid and reassuring presence.

~❄️~

Chapter Text

The sunlight glinted off their swords as they sparred, the men giving a hearty cheer as the clang of metal rang out across the ship's deck. Edmund deflected Caspian's blow but it knocked him back a few steps. He felt the newly healed skin at his side stretch, but it was barely a twinge. The healer's poultice had done its job well. Even so, the fight had him breathing hard, and sweat broke out across his skin under the sun's rays.

He twirled his sword in his wrist and resettled his stance, grinning as he said, "I'm beginning to regret agreeing to fight you without my magic. And one-handed." Edmund wished he at least had his second blade. Caspian was fighting even better than in their first fight aboard the slavers' ship, and Edmund was beginning to suspect that Caspian had gone easy on him at the time.

"You know Reepicheep would never stand for allowing you the unfair advantage," Caspian laughed, adjusting his grip on his sword and circling Edmund. "It would offend his honor."

"There's nothing shameful about an honorable fight," Reepicheep called from the sidelines, sounding miffed. Edmund and Caspian just grinned at each other.

Caspian was smiling wide and breathing hard, sweat dripping down his forehead, his shirt sticking to his chest, and his dark hair clinging to his cheeks. It was all unfairly distracting. Which was probably why Edmund almost didn't see Caspian's next attack coming.

Caspian feinted to the right and then lunged forward. But Edmund parried his sword, knocking him off balance, and then pressed his advantage. Their swords clashed, blades flying as they exchanged a flurry of blows. The ship was alive with cheering and the sounds of the fight. And then Edmund caught the hilt of Caspian's sword. The two swords locked and they strained against each other. "You're doing better than in our first fight," Caspian said, voice tight.

"I could say the same to you," Edmund replied, smiling even as Caspian shoved forward to dislodge him. "I had my hands shackled in our first fight, what's your excuse?"

Caspian laughed, and a devious spark lit in his eyes. "In truth, I fear I didn't have all my wits about me," he said, and lunged.

Edmund blocked his attack, but Caspian quickly recovered and sliced his sword towards Edmund's knees. Edmund dodged with a well-timed jump. He tried to twist and counter-attack, but the angle was wrong. Caspian caught his arm with his free hand and spun him so his back was pressed against Caspian's chest and Edmund's arm was twisted behind his back, just on the edge of discomfort. Edmund raised his sword in time to catch Caspian's blade on the hilt and their swords locked together in front of Edmund's chest. From this position, Caspian's breath ghosted over the shell of Edmund's ear as he said, letting his Telmarine accent surface, "After all, I'd just seen my childhood hero in the flesh." And something about the shock of the words and the feeling of Caspian's hot breath on his neck proved too distracting. When Edmund pushed forward out of Caspian's grip, he stumbled.

Caspian took the opening to rush him, pressing him up against the mast and pinning him there. The cool wood at his back was a stark contrast to the heat of Caspian's body. "Yield?" Caspian asked, his voice breathless, the sun-warmed blade of his sword resting against Edmund's throat.

"No," Edmund said. "You fought dirty," he accused with a grin, his voice just as breathless. He made no move to dislodge himself.

Caspian's grin turned sharp. "Pirate, remember?" he said, and also didn't pull away. They were both panting, their faces close. Caspian's gaze was heavy, his lips parted, eyes bright. It was a sight that almost made Edmund think it would be worth it to yield. But Edmund wasn't above using a bit of distraction to his own advantage. He conjured a knife of ice in his hand and tapped the point of it against Caspian's ribs.

Caspian glanced down in shock, but then he laughed and raised a challenging eyebrow. "I thought we agreed, no magic?"

Edmund shrugged. "I'm a pirate too now, remember?" Caspian's smile only broadened at the reminder. Something in his gaze softened, and Edmund thought he felt Caspian press infinitesimally closer.

Reepicheep cleared his throat loudly. "Yes, alright, it's a draw. Though quite frankly I'm very disappointed in the both of you. Such dishonorable tactics."

They both laughed and Caspian pulled away, taking the heat of his body with him, but his hand lingered with a soft squeeze to Edmund's arm.

Edmund sheathed his sword and vanished the knife into mist as he looked down at the mouse and rolled his eyes. "It's just a bit of fun, Reep."

The mouse opened his mouth to argue the point, but he was cut short as Tavros, the minotaur, rushed up the gangplank and called out with a booming voice, "Ready the ship!"

The mood of the crew instantly shifted, all hands snapping to attention to get the Dawn Treader seaworthy. Drinian started barking out orders as Caspian approached the minotaur, Edmund hot on his heels.

"Tavros, what happened?"

The minotaur had been the leader of the small party sent ashore to procure supplies and restock the ship. He wasn't supposed to have returned for hours. The fact that he was back so soon didn't bode well.

As if to confirm Edmund's worst suspicions, Tavros said, "We spotted the White Queen's scouts in the port."

The bottom dropped out of Edmund's stomach. "Did they see you?" he asked.

"No, we managed to get away without being recognized. But we were only able to get half the supplies you requested, captain."

"That's alright, Tavros," Caspian said, giving him a conciliatory pat on the arm. "You did the right thing. Ed, you'd best get below deck until we're at sea, just in case."

Edmund nodded and moved towards the hatch that led to the hold, but as he knelt he caught sight of Caspian leaning in conspiratorially towards Tavros, and he could just make out the words, "Did you get it?"

In answer Tavros merely removed a burlap bag from his belt and held it out to Caspian. After a quick peek inside, Caspian grinned wide and said, "Excellent, thank you Tavros. Please put it in my cabin." Tavros nodded and headed towards the captain's quarters, but the moment he departed Caspian's eyes lit on Edmund, who had very clearly not followed his orders to get below.

"You know," Caspian said, with mock sternness, "eavesdropping isn't very princely behavior."

Edmund grinned, now even more curious about the bundle and sensing that it might have something to do with him. "I'd argue that in the White Queen's court, eavesdropping is very princely," he said. "And also–"

Caspian failed to hide his grin. "Yes, yes, I know. Pirate," he said. "Now get below deck and don't come out until I say."

Edmund gave him a jaunty salute and an, "Aye aye, captain," before finally ducking below deck.

~❄️~

At dinner, Edmund sat in his usual place between Trumpkin and Reepicheep. His plate held only meager offerings due to the need for half rations, since they hadn't been able to fully replenish their supplies when they stopped at the port.

Edmund frowned at his paltry meal before glancing up, his eyes seeking out Caspian almost without conscious thought. He'd seen Caspian enter the hold just as Edmund was sitting down to eat, but when his eyes found Caspian, the captain was already making his way towards the exit. As if sensing Edmund's eyes on him, Caspian turned and met his gaze.

What followed was a nonverbal exchange that was still somehow as clear as if they'd both spoken. Edmund's curious eyebrows were answered with a shrug as Caspian lifted his hand to show Edmund the solitary apple he'd taken. Edmund's flat look of disapproval was answered by Caspian's grin, and he bit into the apple as if in challenge. Edmund just rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the answering grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Their argument apparently settled, Caspian cast one last look Edmund's way and with that he was gone, sweeping out of the hold to no doubt go perform duties on the deck that were suitably noble and burdensome, with only an apple for his dinner.

Edmund turned back to his own meal, but then he bit his lip, considering. He tore off half of his bread and a hefty chunk of his meat and wrapped them up in his cloth napkin. He wasn't sure how he would convince Caspian to eat it later, but he was not above resorting to blackmail and threats, if necessary.

He tucked the bundle inside the front of the vest he'd taken to wearing since his injury. At first it was because he'd found it helped hold his bandages in place under his clothes. He continued to wear it now out of habit, and because it was comfortable.

The fact that it was something Caspian had fished out of his own closet to give to Edmund was irrelevant.

"We're on half rations," Trumpkin grumbled from beside him. "What are you so happy about?"

Edmund didn't even realize he'd still been smiling, but at Trumpkin's words Edmund's smile dimmed somewhat. He nibbled at what was left of his bread and said, "I haven't had many happy moments in my life, Trumpkin. Don't begrudge me the few I have."

Trumpkin glanced up, a brief look of shame passing over his features before schooling them back to his usual scowl. "Of course, your majesty."

From Trumpkin, it was as clear an apology as any of the bowing and scraping of the White Queen's court, and it didn't sit right with him. Edmund gave a sigh and shook his head. "Oh, don't 'majesty' me, please."

Trumpkin snorted. "What do you expect me to call you?"

"I don't know, exactly. Something other than 'your majesty,'" Edmund said.

"Your highness, then."

Edmund let his forehead drop to the table and gave a groan.

"Your lordship? Your grace?"

Edmund looked up at Trumpkin with narrowed eyes, his forehead still pressed against the table. Trumpkin's expression was a careful mask, but his lips twitched ever so slightly.

"King Edmund."

Trumpkin blinked and they both turned to Reepicheep. "Don't you start," Edmund said.

"My apologies, your majesty," Reepicheep said, and despite the humor in his tone the honorific sounded much more sincere than Trumpkin's had.

"Just 'Edmund' is fine. On this ship I'm just a sailor, same as you both." He swirled his fork through the puny pile of mashed potatoes on his plate. "Though the rest of the crew probably has some choice titles for me, given that I'm the reason they'll be going to their bunks hungry tonight."

"I can assure you that they don't hold you responsible for the White Witch's vendetta," Reepicheep said.

Trumpkin nodded and groused, "As far as we try to outrun her, it seems that the queen's reach still extends as far as our stomachs."

Edmund thought of the hardships he'd already brought to the crew. Once Caspian had made the circumstances of Edmund's joining the crew clear, there had been a few who had left as Caspian predicted, mostly men with families who were reluctant to shoulder the added risk at the prospect of never returning to their partners and children again. The ones that had stayed had said they would gladly protect Edmund with their lives as they would any other member of the crew, but Edmund still couldn't shake the feeling that he was at least in part responsible for their half-empty bellies, and who knew what other misfortunes he would bring along in the future.

"I'm sorry my burden has become yours," Edmund said sullenly. "If there was a way to turn her away, I would. But she fears nothing short of Aslan himself."

Trumpkin hummed in begrudging agreement. "Well, him and the white tree."

Edmund frowned, looking at Trumpkin in confusion. "What?"

Trumpkin paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "The white tree of protection. Beards and bedsteads, have you lived all your life in the White Witch's court and never heard the legend?"

"She wasn't exactly keen to get chatty about her potential weaknesses."

Trumpkin lifted his eyebrows. "Huh. I see your point." Then he turned to Edmund and for once his surly demeanor seemed to melt away in favor of imparting the story of the magical tree. Edmund knew that the dwarves of Narnia had long memories and they held any sort of important knowledge in high esteem, and it seemed that it was no different for even Trumpkin. "Back when Narnia was first created, when the White Witch was still making her deal with the deep magic, Aslan knew that she wanted Narnia for herself, so he planted a tree that would be rooted in the deep magic as well, to keep her out, and to keep Narnia safe."

Edmund raised a skeptical brow. "But she's been the ruler of Narnia for a hundred years."

Trumpkin shrugged. "Even magical trees can't live forever. Once it died, she was free to do as she pleased, I suppose."

Edmund cynically returned to his meal, muttering, "Not exactly a foolproof plan for protecting Narnia."

Trumpkin snorted. "Well, that's what you get when you let a ruddy wild Lion create the world, I suppose. Logic flies out of the window."

There was a rattle of cutlery as Reepicheep banged his tiny fist on the table. "Now see here—"

Trumpkin held up his hands in surrender. "Right, sorry, nevermind. We don't need to get into that discussion again. That was a fun three hours."

Edmund chuckled, but he couldn't help asking, "So this tree, you're saying that it has a link to the deep magic of Narnia?"

Trumpkin grimaced, still eying Reepicheep like he was expecting to be challenged at the point of a sword, and said, "It would seem so, if you believe the stories. Just a bunch of fairy tales, if you ask me."

Reepicheep scoffed but did not, luckily, draw his sword, and Edmund said, "Either way, if the tree does exist, it would be dead and useless, now."

After that, their conversation drifted to topics that were less likely to end up with Reepicheep challenging anyone to a duel. Still, Edmund found he couldn't shake the thought of the tree from the back of his mind.

~❄️~

Edmund reached the cabin first from dinner, Caspian having duties elsewhere, and what Edmund saw there made him pause. Laid out on the table was a wooden chess set, clearly second-hand and weathered from use, but a chess set all the same. Next to it sat a small bowl of chocolate.

Edmund felt something tighten in his chest, constricting his lungs.

He approached the table, setting aside the plate he'd brought for Caspian. Hesitantly, he reached out and took one of the pieces from the board. It was a knight, the white paint faded and chipped, exposing a fair bit of the plain oak that had been used to carve it.

When Edmund had still been laid up recovering from his injury, he'd complained about missing his chess set, as it would at least give him a way to pass the time while sentenced to bed rest. Caspian must have been looking for one since then. Edmund couldn't remember the last time anyone had gotten him a gift. It was surely before his time in Narnia. And Edmund was certain it hadn't been something that made his chest ache like this decrepit old bit of wood, no doubt bartered from some old man in the village at Caspian's request, solely for the purpose of making Edmund happy.

Edmund had never met anyone like Caspian, so purely good and honorable and kind. In the scant few weeks they'd been at sea together, Edmund had already witnessed so many instances of how Caspian bolstered the crew with his easy smiles and honest praise, had seen him sit down with the common sailors at dinner, or to play a game of dice or hear their stories, had seen him help with the ropes and the sails and even muck the deck, as dirty and laborious as any task on the ship. There was good reason he had earned the love of his men, and their loyalty.

But Edmund had never done anything to earn this kindness—quite the opposite, in fact. Even so, he found himself clinging to the idea that Caspian, at least, found him worthy of it, of his friendship and camaraderie, something that had been denied to Edmund in all his time in Narnia. Edmund would not disabuse him of that notion, and would not risk that connection for his own selfish desires.

The door to the cabin opened, but Edmund didn't turn, somehow already able to recognize Caspian's footfalls. After a pause, the door clicked closed and he felt Caspian slowly approach.

"I'm sure it's not anything like what you had in the White Queen's palace," he said, hesitantly. "But I thought, well–"

Edmund ran his thumb over the chipped and battered wood of the knight. "It's perfect," he said. He could feel Caspian's presence behind him, hovering close over his shoulder, but he didn't turn. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to keep himself from pressing up against Caspian and kissing him until he couldn't breathe.

When Edmund felt like he'd finally gotten the frantic thrumming of his heart under control, he put the chess piece back in its place on the board. "Shall we?" he asked, moving to take a seat at the table.

Caspian ducked his head in that bashful way he sometimes had when he was second-guessing himself. "Oh, I'm afraid I won't be much of a challenge. Miraz always soundly beat me, whenever we played."

Edmund had an inkling that Miraz was a man who didn't like to lose, and was not above hamstringing his opponent to do so. "Somehow, I doubt he ever taught you how to play properly," he said, voice dry. "But…I could, if you like."

Caspian smiled, one corner of his mouth turning up gently. "I would like that very much, actually."

As Caspian seated himself at the table, Edmund none too subtly shoved the plate he'd brought towards Caspian, then added a piece of chocolate to the lot. The look Caspian gave him was equal parts annoyed and grateful, and Edmund just grinned smugly as he ate his own piece of chocolate.

"It's a shame we can't save any of this, with the rationing," Edmund quipped. "But it would melt, and then where would we be?"

"In dire straits, to be sure," Caspian said with a grin. "I have a feeling that you would react to a waste of good chocolate about as well as Reepicheep does to a dishonorable sword fight." Then he reached for his plate of food.

Caspian was right, he wasn't much of a challenge in terms of chess strategy, but he learned quickly, and by the end of the game he'd improved considerably. In the end, he conceded his defeat with a smile, toppling the white king with one finger. "Checkmate," he murmured.

"You'll have to get better than that," Edmund said, trying for humor, "if you're hoping to outrun the White Witch."

"I think it's going to take a bit more than one chess game," Caspian chuckled, gathering the pieces and placing them back in the carved wooden box. Edmund moved to help, but when he reached for it, his fingers lingered over the defeated white king as he held it in his palm.

"Caspian, you said that you have no allegiance to my mother, but when we first fought, you yielded to me. Why?"

Caspian looked at him curiously, as if searching for the reason behind his question. But Edmund was loathe to confess that Caspian's show of trust had stuck with him, even now. And sometimes, in his weakest moments, he still thought of how Caspian had first called him, "my prince."

At length, Caspian said carefully, "If I hadn't yielded to you, would you have tried to kill me?"

Edmund thought hard on the question, and he didn't have an answer—not one that he liked, in any case. "My mother would have done it," Edmund answered instead, his eyes on the chess piece, his thumb tracing the lines of the crown atop its head.

"She would have," Caspian agreed. He seemed equally lost in thought for a moment, then said, "You know, I grew up with the stories of you."

"Of me?" Edmund balked. He couldn't imagine why anyone would tell the stories of Edmund's life, unless as a warning to the fate that befell traitors in Narnia. "Did Miraz tell them to you as a cautionary tale?"

Caspian's lips curled into a bitter smile. "No, my tutor, Dr. Cornelius. In truth, he kept me apprised of all the political workings of the Narnian civil war, so I know a great deal about your siblings as well, but it was the stories of you that captured my attention."

Something of Edmund's skepticism must have shown on his face, because Caspian continued, "I knew what they said in the Queen's camp, that you had seen the error of your ways and joined the 'right' side of the war, and that's why you went to battle against your siblings in her name. But I also knew the kind of power she held over you. Miraz may have been my uncle, but he never…" Caspian swallowed thickly, then said, "I know what it is to be a lonely heir to a contentious throne. I suspected that we shared much in common, and the thought that there might be someone out there who could understand…Well. I admit, I used to daydream about us meeting, as a child, and becoming friends."

The words released a flood of conflicting emotions in Edmund. He felt warmth at the thought of their blossoming friendship having taken root before they'd even met, but he also felt a burning guilt at selfishly wanting more. He wondered if he'd picked up this greedy inability to be satisfied from his time with the White Witch, or if it was something that had always simmered within him. Edmund thought back to when he and Caspian had sparred on the deck, and couldn't stop the shiver as he remembered the feeling of Caspian's breath on his neck. "You called me your childhood hero."

"It's the truth," Caspian said, though he seemed reluctant to admit it, ducking his head to hide the embarrassed smile and the faint rise of pink in his cheeks. "Though I think, perhaps, even in my daydreams I was not prepared for how much I would enjoy having you around."

He looked at Edmund then with such soft fondness that it made Edmund's heart ricochet sharply inside his chest, and then Caspian sighed a short breath and looked away. "And that is the answer, perhaps, to why I yielded to you that day. And I would gladly do it again, for what it's given me."

Edmund stared, stunned and a little shaken. "I'm not a very good person," he finally said, which was certainly the truest thing about him, though he couldn't help but wish that weren't the case.

"I don't believe that," Caspian said, softly, almost too quiet for Edmund to hear.

Edmund wanted to argue with him, tell him the whole sorry tale of his life and the mistakes he'd made and the people he'd hurt and the things he'd done, the things he'd tried not to think about for the last seven years, all in service to his own self-preservation. But instead he said, "Thank you. For the gift."

Caspian nodded. "You're welcome."

After a moment, Edmund got up and readied himself for bed. Caspian joined him and settled into his hammock across the room. He seemed deep in thought, so Edmund didn't disturb him, only said, "Goodnight, Caspian," before dimming the oil lamp with a twist of the knob and climbing into bed, wishing he could just as easily turn down the ache in his chest.

~❄️~

It had been close to two weeks on half rations when they came across an island. Through the telescope it looked rocky and barren, but they could hardly pass up the chance to at least see what provisions they could find.

Caspian assembled a landing party, and there was little question of Edmund joining them. Once they'd climbed ashore and Caspian had given his orders for the men to fan out and collect what they could find, he and Edmund fell into step next to each other, directing themselves inland across the rocky terrain. They proceeded together in amiable silence for some time, and it wasn't until they were hiking their way up a gravelly slope that Edmund turned to find Caspian watching him intently.

"What?" he asked, frowning.

"Nothing," Caspian said, shaking his head. After a moment, he added, "Your bruise is healing nicely."

At the mention of it Edmund reached up to touch his cheek. He barely felt it anymore, the ugly purple having faded to a pale yellow.

"And all the sunlight is bringing out your freckles."

Edmund turned his head sharply at that, but Caspian wasn't looking at him, too busy picking his way across the uneven stone terrain. Edmund peered at his back curiously for a moment, then shrugged, even though Caspian couldn't see it. "I can't say I ever got much sunlight in the queen's palace."

Caspian turned to look at him then, and his smile put the sunlight to shame. "It suits you," he said.

Edmund hoped Caspian thought his pink cheeks were also just an effect of the sun.

As they moved through the island, they found no food, though they did find a dragon hoard—curiously, without a dragon. Edmund was sure Reepicheep would be disappointed for missing a chance at another dragon adventure.

It was at the top of a rocky outcropping that they spied the rope. It had been tied fast and lowered into a cave that disappeared into the cracked hillside. "Do you think there are people here?" Edmund asked, scanning the surroundings.

They both shared a look. It seemed like a strange place for the queen to set up an ambush, but they couldn't rule it out. "Do you sense her nearby?"

Edmund gave an uneasy grimace. There'd been no change in the magic tether he could feel linking him to Jadis, but when Edmund focused, he could sense a different kind of pull emanating faintly from the deep well of that cave. "Not exactly," Edmund hedged. "But there is something down there."

Caspian looked wary but resolved as he picked up the rope, clearly intending to be the first down, just in case. "Let's go find out," he said.

They lowered themselves into the mouth of the cave, Caspian waiting for Edmund with his sword already drawn. They moved together through the dim stone corridor, towards the flicker of sunlight they could see filtering through the rock ahead, painting the stone in shades of warm orange and brown.

The tunnel opened up into a wider cavern, at the center of which lay a pool. The surface was completely still, and it had a strange metallic sheen, like a semitransparent mirror.

At the bottom of the pool sat some sort of golden statue.

Caspian moved towards the pool and reached towards the water, intending to investigate the portion of the statue that sat just below the surface. But something wasn't right, some sensation working at the back of Edmund's brain like an insistent, prodding tap, and in a sudden moment of rising panic Edmund shouted, "Wait!" He reached out and snatched Caspian's wrist away from the water.

Caspian didn't fight his grasp, but he did raise his eyebrows at Edmund, silently asking for an explanation. But Edmund wasn't sure what had prompted the reaction himself, save for perhaps the look on the statue's face, twisted in pain and fear, so similar to the looks of all the stone statues in the White Queen's courtyard, and like the faces of the men frozen in ice at Edmund's hand.

Edmund reached his hand out to hover over the pool's unnaturally still surface, and he felt Caspian's eyes on him. "Ed?" Caspian asked, voice tense.

"There's magic here," Edmund answered, not quite sure how he knew, but just as certain that he was right. On a hunch, Edmund crouched by the water's edge and picked up a coiled seashell. He dipped one edge of it in the water and watched it turn to gold everywhere the water had touched. But it didn't stop there, it creeped up the rest of the shell, and Edmund hastily dropped it before the gold reached his hand.

Caspian gasped and pulled Edmund back from the water, though Edmund was already moving away on his own, ending up with his back pressed to Caspian's front, Caspian's hands clenched around his upper arms. They both turned back to the statue, and Edmund knew they'd both come to the same conclusion, that some traveler had fallen victim to the pool's magic.

"You can sense it," Caspian said.

Edmund nodded. "I can."

"Has that happened for you before?"

Edmund hesitated for a moment, considering, before he ultimately shook his head. "Not like this," he said. He had been able to sense magic before, it was part of Jadis' training, but he'd never felt it so strongly, and he'd never felt magic with such intent. There was a purpose to this place.

Edmund moved to approach the water again, and at first Caspian held him fast, his fingers tightening around Edmund's arms, but after a moment he peeled his grip away and released Edmund. As Edmund peered once more into the strange, metallic water, Caspian asked, "The magic here, is it hers?"

"I…don't think so. It feels different," Edmund said, but it wasn't the whole truth. The magic felt different, but it felt familiar. Edmund was reminded of the power he'd tapped into on the Lone Islands, of the link he felt tethered to his own soul, and if he was being totally honest with himself, the feeling of his own magic as it flowed through him, drawing on power from outside of himself but also from within himself as well.

Edmund had a theory, one he'd long held on to in the back of his mind, since the time he'd first started learning how to use magic, and realized that Jadis felt it differently than he did. He'd never voiced it, beyond his own fleeting thoughts, because it just seemed too preposterous.

But regardless of all that, the magic in the cave seemed to serve a function. "The dragon hoard, now this golden pool," Edmund said, considering. "I think the magic here is meant to lure men to temptation."

"Perhaps," Caspian said, casting a wary look around the chamber before coming to land on Edmund. "But there are other things men can be tempted by besides greed."

After a moment, Caspian reached out and hooked his fingers into the cuff of Edmund's sleeve, tugging gently. "We should go."

"Don't you want to take some of this with you?" Edmund asked, mouth quirking upwards. "You are a pirate, and this is treasure."

"Cursed treasure," Caspian noted with a wry grin. "Why, did you want to take some of it with you? As you're fond of saying, you're a pirate too."

Edmund glanced at the golden shell. "There was a time when I might have. But after so long surrounded by royal finery, gold has lost its luster. There isn't much it has to offer me." He shrugged and turned to Caspian with a smile. "I had a solid gold chess set back at the palace, but I like the one you gave me better." He'd meant to strike a note of humor, but he found far too much honesty bleeding into his tone and he looked away before he could see Caspian's reaction. He nudged the golden shell into the water with his toe.

In the reflection of the pool, Edmund watched Caspian come stand beside him. He felt Caspian's hand settle against his back, low enough for his fingertips to curl slightly over the curve of Edmund's waist, and Edmund watched his own expression in the water grow soft with a longing that all the gold in Narnia could never elicit. He quickly schooled his features as Caspian said, "Let's get back to the ship. I'd wager the open sea holds far more lure for a proper pirate than treasure."

Edmund grinned and met his eyes. "I'd say that's true enough, for our sort of pirate, at least."

They stayed like that for a moment. For all his insistence on leaving, Caspian seemed almost unable to move away from him towards the exit of the cave. Then, with a deep breath, he stepped back and began heading towards the mouth of the tunnel.

Edmund turned to follow, then paused. "Wait," Edmund said. "Was that passageway there before?"

Caspian returned to stand at his side, gazing at the opening in the rock that led to what appeared a much dimmer chamber. They shared a look, and Caspian said hesitantly, "Perhaps we just missed it before."

Edmund could tell neither of them believed that. Edmund could feel the power of the magic emanating from that chamber. He looked through the doorway into the darkness, and he took a step forward.

Caspian's hand instantly latched onto his shoulder. "Ed, wait," he said. "I don't like this place. I think we should go back."

Edmund cast him a dubious scowl for a moment, then lightly shrugged out of his grasp. "It won't do any harm just to look," he said, and moved quickly toward the chamber.

Edmund was already through the entryway when Caspian followed behind him with a hissed, "Edmund!"

Inside the second chamber it took a moment for Edmund's vision to adjust to the darkness. The only light was a single hazy grey beam filtering from a crack high in the ceiling, falling onto a second pool of water. This one was as unnaturally still as the first, but the water was crystal clear as a pane of glass—at least, for the first few feet. The view disappeared into a sudden murky darkness in the water that shouldn't exist at so shallow a depth, as if the water was hungrily absorbing all the meager light of the cavern.

There were stone steps carved into the rock, beckoning, descending into the pool, starting at the edge of the crystalline water and disappearing into the darkness below.

Edmund took a step towards it.

Caspian was immediately at his side, a restraining hand to his chest. He looked at Edmund with wide eyes. "What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

Edmund shoved Caspian's hand away less gently than he might have intended. "I told you, I'm just going to look."

"And what good will that do?"

Edmund ripped his eyes away from the pool and trained them on Caspian, willing him to see, to somehow understand the driving need Edmund felt down to his bones. "I have to know, Caspian."

For a long moment, Caspian just looked at him with clear, intense reluctance. And then he swallowed hard and stepped aside, but he didn't go far. Caspian was standing so close that Edmund could feel the heat from his body, and Caspian's hand was already fisted into the back of Edmund's tunic as if ready to pull him back at a moment's notice. Under other circumstances, Edmund might have questioned Caspian's sudden, overprotective closeness, but he was too focused on the pull of the magic he felt from the water.

Edmund reached out to the surface, holding his hand over it as he had done with the other pool. As if sensing him, the water began to vibrate under his hand, like there was a bowstring being plucked against the surface, a thrum of energy that reached back to him, tingling up his palm and over his skin, making it erupt in goosebumps, the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

Edmund could feel the magic in it. He somehow knew that if he stepped into that pool he would have the power to defeat Jadis, to claim the throne for himself, to put down the rebellion and unite all of Narnia once more, to defeat Miraz and put Caspian on the throne where he belonged, maybe even bring Telmar under Narnia's rule, to create an empire, with Caspian at his side…

There was a sharp tug at the back of his shirt and Edmund was flying backwards, a harsh, "No!" ripped from his throat before he was reaching towards the pool once again. The only thing that stopped him was Caspian, placing himself between Edmund and the pool, his arms holding Edmund like iron bands around his middle.

"Edmund!" Caspian said sharply. "Ed, what is it?"

Edmund swallowed, his eyes fixed on the gleam of the water. "It's not gold, Caspian. It's power. Power unlike anything Narnia has ever seen."

Edmund's fingers curled and dug like claws into Caspian's shoulders, trying to pull himself free. "Let me go," he begged. "Don't you see? This is the answer, this is exactly what we've been looking for!"

Caspian cupped his hand under Edmund's jaw and forced Edmund to look away from the pool, to meet his eyes. "This isn't you, Ed. This place is poisoning your mind."

Edmund gave a vicious shove to Caspian's chest, forcing his way out of Caspian's hold. "I'm more myself than you know," he shouted. "Why do you think I started learning magic in the first place? All I wanted was the power of it, to be strong enough to beat her, to get away. But with power like this…" he trailed off, the idea of it almost too overwhelming to put into words.

He stepped in close to Caspian once more, imploring him to understand. "We could have everything we want. We could be truly free. We could sail the entire Eastern Ocean together, and no one could stop us."

Caspian's response was so quiet Edmund almost didn't hear him, barely a breath amidst the silent stone. "Together?"

Edmund nodded, his breath coming in harsh pants. "We'd be free, Caspian."

For one glorious, hope-filled moment, Edmund thought Caspian would let him go. He saw how much Caspian wanted that too, written plain as day across his face. But then something shuttered behind his dark eyes.

"No, this place…It's cursed," Caspian said. Edmund clenched his jaw and shook his head in bitter betrayal, but when he tried to step away Caspian reached out to hold Edmund fast with hands clamped to his shoulder and around the back of his neck, and Caspian looked at him with such pained longing and Edmund didn't understand. "Whatever we take from here," Caspian said, voice thick, "it would come with a price."

Edmund felt his lips curl into a snarl and he pulled out of Caspian's hold once more, shoving at his hands. "There's no price it could take that I wouldn't be able to take back, with that kind of power."

"I won't let you do this, Edmund," Caspian said, like the words ached as he spoke them, but Edmund saw the way his hand twitched to the hilt of his sword on his belt.

Edmund sneered. "Who are you to stop me?" he said, letting out a vicious chuckle at the thought. "You ran away from your own throne, too afraid to fight for it, but you expect me to believe you'd be brave enough to fight me to take away mine? This is what I was meant for!"

Caspian's eyes hardened with hurt. "I'm your captain, and you're a member of my crew. I can order you to—"

"No. I'm a prince, and once I'm done with the White Witch, I'll be a king. And you'll be just a memory."

Caspian looked as if Edmund had reached out and slapped him.

Edmund withdrew both his swords, hefting their weight in his palms. "Now you can either get out of my way, or I will not be as kind as I was when we sparred."

Caspian slowly withdrew his sword. "Edmund, please don't make me do this."

"You'll have to, if you're not willing to give me what I want," Edmund said. He didn't hesitate any longer before launching himself at Caspian.

The first clash of steel was like a gunshot in the stillness of the cavern.

Their duel was swift, swords flashing in the dim light, the two of them moving with equal intensity and a familiarity from sparring together. Their blades crashed against each other, the clanging ring echoing in the stillness of the cave, a frantic, violent staccato.

Edmund's mind was full of the same frenzied desperation and need as when he'd fought the slavers in the courtyard. But Caspian had never gone up against Edmund when he wasn't holding back.

Caspian was fighting to subdue, but Edmund wasn't fighting for submission. And he wasn't holding back, now.

His blood was racing, his heart thundering, and every part of his being was demanding more, more, more! He was driven by a power he couldn't name, the strength of it filling him, pouring through his limbs. The temperature of the cavern dropped, their harsh breaths misting in the air.

And the more Caspian blocked, the angrier it made him.

They traded blows and parries, and the force of the clashing metal vibrated painfully up Edmund's arms. Edmund had always known he was an impressive swordsman. He'd been trained by the best and Caspian hadn't, and he could see the frustration building on Caspian's face, his teeth bared and his brows drawn low.

Caspian swung a strike for Edmund's side, but Edmund batted the sword away, the clash of steel on steel ringing through the cave, and they stood frozen, swords raised against each other. "You can't win, Caspian," Edmund said, and it came out like a growl. "You're not going to take it from me," Edmund seethed, the words cracking in his throat. "I need it."

"You don't," Caspian insisted.

"I can end this," Edmund shouted. "I will have power enough to destroy her. Then you'll see what kind of king I can be!"

Edmund lashed out with a double-bladed strike, but Caspian caught it with a flick of his wrist and pressed forward. Their swords locked against each other, the hilts held tight and the blades grinding. Their faces were inches apart.

Caspian panted, his sword pressing down on Edmund's. "Listen to yourself! Do you really want that, to become like her?"

The words were like ice in his veins.

Caspian took advantage of Edmund's sudden distraction, using his leverage and knocking their locked swords towards the wall, bringing Edmund with it. They hit the cold, hard rock, the force knocking Edmund's wind out, and Caspian had the upper hand. Edmund struggled, but he was no match against the solid bulk of Caspian's strength, the way he had his body pinned, the weight of him heavy against his hips, trapping him.

"If you won't give me what I want, then get out of my way," Edmund snarled. "Move!" At the word, he released a blast of power as an icy gale, the force of it throwing Caspian backwards. Caspian's boots scraped over stone as he skidded to his knees, stopping before the edge of the water.

Edmund didn't give him a chance to recover. Edmund charged towards the pool, his blade coming down with an unrelenting fury.

Then Caspian's sword was there, slashing through the air and catching him with the flat of the blade right above the elbow. Pain bloomed sharp, and Edmund cried out and stumbled, his grip on his sword slipping and his knees giving out. His short blade went flying.

Caspian looked at him a moment longer, and Edmund saw the anguish in his eyes. Then his jaw went tight, and the next second a flash of silver filled Edmund's vision as Caspian brought up his blade to deflect Edmund's next strike, and his other arm hooked around Edmund's middle, sending them both crashing to the ground. As Edmund tumbled towards the cave floor, Caspian fell on top of him. Caspian had his knees planted on either side of Edmund's waist, and Edmund could hardly breathe under the sheer weight of him. Caspian's free hand grasped Edmund's sword arm and held it stretched out, pressed flat against the frost-covered rock, pinning Edmund's wrist to the ground.

Edmund still had one arm free, and he raised his fist to strike. A moment later, he heard the metallic clank of Caspian's sword hitting the rock as Caspian moved to pin that wrist to the ground as well.

"Get off me!" Edmund raged, bucking and kicking and arching. Caspian was using all his weight, crushing Edmund into the stone. Edmund's muscles screamed in pain and fatigue, but he couldn't stop fighting.

"Stop," Caspian gritted, his face mere inches away, the weight of him unrelenting. "Your fate does not lie in that pool," Caspian hissed. "Stop this. Please."

Edmund struggled and fought beneath him, but he stilled when he felt Caspian release his wrist in favor of cupping a hand around his cheek, forcing Edmund to meet his eyes. "This isn't you, Ed," Caspian said, voice fierce. "Come back to me."

Edmund sucked in a harsh breath. "Don't touch me," he said, his voice low and rough.

Caspian's lips parted in shock, and it was a moment before his expression morphed into hurt and confusion.

Edmund slammed his fist into Caspian's mouth. Caspian's head snapped back, and he rolled away, releasing Edmund. Edmund scrambled away, but his movements were halted, his gaze drawn back to the pool, and Edmund could feel the magic inside it, pulsing, calling him. He needed it.

Take it, take it, take it, take it, take it, TAKE IT—

Edmund rolled onto his stomach and got his feet under him, then jumped up. He turned his attention to the pool, the prize that was almost within his grasp.

He'd only just taken a single step forward when he was being thrown back, his head cracking against the rock wall. Edmund gasped, dazed, Caspian's body on top of him, and he reacted almost purely on instinct, his magic exploding out of him in a bolt of pure power, throwing Caspian back through the air towards the other side of the cavern. Caspian hit the stone wall hard.

Edmund was instantly on him, pinning him to the frigid stone with the weight of his body, the edge of Edmund's sword against his throat.

Caspian stared down at him, and the disbelief and hurt were clear on his face, even in the dim light. Caspian had one hand over Edmund's on the hilt to hold the sharpened blade at bay, the other wrapped tight around his waist, holding Edmund firmly in place. There was a flush high in his cheeks and a tremble to his lips, and his eyes rested dark and desperate on Edmund's face. Edmund had never seen him like this before.

"Ed, stop," Caspian said, voice tired and strained, and a trickle of blood leaked down from the side of his mouth.

Edmund's fingers shuddered under Caspian's grip, and his breath came in short, shallow gasps, puffs of white that hung heavy in the air between them. He twisted against Caspian's arm around his waist. "Let me go," he hissed.

For a moment, Caspian held fast, and Edmund looked down at his sword held against Caspian's throat, a thin line of red welling up along the edge of the blade. He sucked in a quivering breath and felt his heart seize in his chest.

Then Caspian released him, and Edmund lurched backwards, his body shaking like it might fly apart. He held the tip of his sword at the hollow between Caspian's collarbones. The dark pool was behind him, the path towards it clear.

Caspian stood before him, unarmed, and reached out to him with empty hands. "Edmund," Caspian breathed. His voice sounded broken, desperate. "Ed, please."

Edmund blinked, and the rage and mania that had consumed him moments before fell away like the parting of a curtain.

And suddenly Edmund wasn't facing Caspian in a darkened cave, he was facing Peter out in a sunlit field, the same desperate look in Peter's eyes as he begged from the end of Edmund's sword, "Ed, please." And then the next moment Peter's blood was on the blade, the stain of it forever etched into the metal.

Edmund dropped his sword like it had burned him, the clatter of metal on stone echoing loudly in the silence.

Edmund wrenched his eyes shut and backed away from Caspian, stumbling until his back hit the wall. He tried to suck a breath into his lungs, raised shaking hands to his face, and from somewhere distant he thought he heard a faint roar, though it could have been the rush of blood in his head.

They stood there, gasping, staring. Then, Caspian closed the distance between them, and his arms wrapped tight around Edmund, crushing him close. Edmund didn't try to stop him as Caspian placed his hands on Edmund's back, and for a brief, blissful moment the contact was a salve, calming the storm in Edmund's veins.

"Edmund," Caspian said, and his voice was like a caress, his fingers warm and soft as they stroked soothingly over Edmund's spine, his expression so open and vulnerable and hopeful—

A noise broke out of Edmund, like a wounded animal, and his knees gave out, but Caspian was right there, supporting him with his arms. Edmund clutched at the fabric of Caspian's shirt, burrowed his face into the crook of Caspian's shoulder and breathed in the scent of him, sandalwood and cloves and sea spray. Caspian's arms wrapped around his shoulders, clutching him tight, and Edmund swallowed down the ragged sobs rising in his throat.

They stayed that way for a long moment, just holding each other and breathing.

Edmund sat back, wiping a shaking hand over his face, and peered up at Caspian. "I—" he started, but words failed him, and he reached up to run his thumb over the thin line of red at Caspian's throat. "I almost—"

"It's alright," Caspian said. "It wasn't you."

Edmund wasn't sure how true those words were, but he didn't argue.

Once they'd climbed free of the mouth of the cave, Edmund turned back and released a wave of power, blades of ice slicing into the rock and making it crumble, making the cave collapse in on itself, tearing it to rubble. He wasn't sure if it would be enough to deter future visitors, but it was all he could do.

The trip back to the Dawn Treader was made in tense, sullen silence.

~❄️~

Edmund had always been drawn to the lure of power. But it wasn't just the power, it was the freedom that came with it, the ability to control his own destiny. Back in England, his father had been taken from him, sent off to fight in a war where men were dying, and fathers weren't coming home. Practically every week one of his classmates received word of someone's father having fallen on the front, or someone dying in the blitz.

And the stress of the war spilled over into their lives in other ways. Every day he had to put up with being pushed around by the school bullies, boys he could now see were made to feel small and inconsequential at home and passed that feeling on to others to try to lift themselves up. And Edmund became another link in that chain. He knew he was smarter and better than them but too small and weak to fight back and prove it, and so he lashed out at home. And that made Peter—well, at the time Edmund had thought he was just being an annoying, bossy older brother, trying too hard to be like their father. Now, with the buffer of time, he could look back with the eyes of an adult and see that Peter had been just like the rest of them, a scared child trying to cling to as much normalcy and control as he could in the chaos of a country at war.

After returning to the Dawn Treader with barely any provisions, dinner had been a solemn affair. Edmund had taken barely enough to fill his stomach and eaten alone, in the mouth of the dragon at the bow.

When Edmund returned to the cabin, he found Caspian seated at the table, charts and maps spread out before him, adding the island they'd discovered with the careful pen strokes of a cartographer. Edmund caught the name "Deathwater Island" over Caspian's shoulder and had to resist the urge to snort at the appropriateness of the name.

The tense silence between them since leaving the cave had not quite abated. Even if Edmund could sense how badly they both wanted to move past it, the things that they had done and said, the emotions it had dredged to the surface still lingered, heavy in their minds.

Edmund settled into the bed with one of Caspian's novels, but by the third time he'd reread the same page and remembered none of it, he was willing to admit that it was a lost cause. He let the book fall open across his chest and gathered as much courage as he could, then muttered words he'd been afraid to speak, only because of the conversation he knew would have to follow. "Caspian?" he said, his voice a low rasp in the silence of the cabin. "I-I'm sorry. For…everything."

The soft scratch of Caspian's pen stilled. "It wasn't your fault. That place, the magic of it…It got into your mind, plucked out what you wanted most and whispered in your ear that you could have it, all yours for the taking." Caspian's voice sounded thick and quiet. "Everything you wanted. You just had to give in."

After that, they lapsed back into silence, save for the soft creak of the ship rocking in the waves, the gentle sound of the water lapping at the hull. The oil lamps cast a gold glow in the room, and Edmund thought about returning to his book, and letting this tentative peace between them settle. But in the end, his need for confession got the better of him.

"I think that island was meant for me," he said. "The temptations, they were all about power. The dark pool, of course, but even the golden pool. The lure of gold isn't really greed, it's all the things that come with it, the freedom and the power. And the dragon hoard is the same, a man might be willing to pick up a cursed piece of dragon treasure in exchange for the ability to become a powerful, ferocious beast."

Edmund fidgeted, his fingers twisting over each other slightly. "I've always been tempted by power, and I've come to accept it about myself. Jadis knows it. She sensed it in me even at our first meeting. It's the reason she taught me her magic in the first place. It was a carrot she could dangle, to keep me close, to keep me under her control."

Edmund heard the creak of Caspian shifting in his chair. "You think she created that island, as a trap for you? Do you think she has that kind of power?"

Edmund's hands tightened their grip on each other. "I don't know."

There was a long, thoughtful pause before Caspian said, "I don't think that island was meant for you. I think there are many kinds of magic in Narnia, and not all of it can be linked back to her."

"The deep magic, you mean," Edmund said, thinking of the familiarity he'd felt in the cave. Though he had no idea why the deep magic would create such a place. "But if that island wasn't meant for me alone, then why weren't you tempted, in the cave?"

The question hung in the air, and there was the soft rustle of parchment as Caspian shuffled through papers at the table. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded dry and rough, like pushing a ship's hull up barren shores. "I was."

Edmund frowned. "But, you never—"

Caspian cut him off sharply, but his voice still sounded like it was being dragged through the sand. "There are other things men can be tempted by besides greed. And power."

The words were an echo of what he'd said in the cave. Had he been talking about something specific? But it didn't make sense. There had been nothing else in the cave to be drawn to.

For a moment, Edmund didn't understand. But he thought back to their time in the cave, and he remembered the things he'd been too out of his head to notice at the time. He remembered the feeling of Caspian's hands on him, touches that lingered too long, hands gentle on his face, the way Caspian had held him close even when Edmund had been spitting with rage, how he had reached for Edmund even when Edmund held a sword to his throat.

Edmund sat up on the bed and looked at Caspian with wide eyes. But Caspian was seated with his back to Edmund, the line of his shoulders tense. "Caspian, what did the cave make you want?"

Caspian sucked in an unsteady breath and stood. "It doesn't matter." He cleared his throat and said, "I'm going to go help Drinian plot our next course," then moved towards the door.

Edmund stood and rushed to head him off, his blood hot in his veins as he slammed his hand against the door to hold it closed just as Caspian reached for the knob. Caspian sighed and bit out gruffly, "Ed—"

"Caspian, look at me," Edmund said, fisting his hand into Caspian's sleeve and holding fast, keeping him close. "What did you want?"

Caspian finally turned, and the look in his dark eyes cracked open an ache in Edmund's chest. He was quiet for a moment, and Edmund could feel the tension singing between them, his lungs squeezed tight as he drew shallow breaths, and when Caspian's gaze dropped down to his lips, Edmund suddenly felt light-headed.

"Oh," he whispered, and the world shifted around him.

Boldly, he stepped forward into Caspian's space, until he was close enough to feel the heat of Caspian's body in the air between them. Caspian tracked his movement like he was powerless to look away. "Edmund—" he said, sounding almost pained, but he stopped short when Edmund reached up and threaded his fingers into Caspian's hair. It was as soft as it looked, and Caspian angled his head into the touch.

Edmund's heart was thundering against his ribs, and then he pulled Caspian down and brought their lips together.

Edmund had kissed others before, as a tactic, a tease, a manipulation, but never like this, because he wanted to.

The first touch was gentle, a mere brush of their mouths, and Edmund could feel the tremble running through Caspian, the tension thrumming in the line of his shoulders and the back of his neck where Edmund had a hand wrapped around him.

They pulled apart to take in short breaths, their lips barely a hair's breadth apart. Caspian looked at him with eyes dark with longing, and it lit a fire under Edmund's skin.

Edmund sank his hand deeper into Caspian's hair and slid his other over the expanse of his chest as he leaned up again, kissing him harder, licking along the seam of his mouth, and Caspian gasped into it, his hands coming to Edmund's hips and clutching tightly.

The kiss went deep, and Edmund opened his mouth to let Caspian's tongue sweep in and lick into him. It was soft and wet, and Edmund made a quiet, hungry noise as Caspian's hands tightened on him, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic.

Edmund's whole body was buzzing with a warm, pleasant tingling sensation, and the slide of their lips and tongues was making his pulse pound, his skin prickling with heat. He felt flushed and dizzy with it, and he clutched tighter at Caspian's shoulder, his fingers twisting through the long strands of Caspian's hair.

He felt the moment Caspian's control snapped, and a rush of heat swept through him. He gasped into Caspian's mouth as Caspian's hands tightened around his waist and he felt himself pressed back against the rough wood of the door. Edmund wrapped his arms around Caspian's neck and pushed closer, pressed his chest against Caspian's until he could feel the pounding of Caspian's heart echoing his own.

Edmund groaned as he slotted their legs together, letting Caspian's hips fall into his, and his cock gave a sudden throb of interest as he felt Caspian's hard length against his hip. He pulled his mouth free long enough to gasp into the humid space between them, "You do want me."

And Caspian said, far too gently for the way he was raking his fingers up under Edmund's tunic, "Of course I do, Ed."

Then he kissed him again, and Edmund's head spun, his entire body flaring hotter as he pushed back into it. He grabbed fistfuls of Caspian's tunic and tugged until Caspian got the message and reached back to pull it over his head, barely breaking the kiss long enough to untangle his limbs from the fabric. Then their hands were on each other again, and the glide of bare skin under his fingers made Edmund's heart pump fire through his veins.

Edmund shivered as Caspian's touch grazed over his ribs, pulling Edmund's tunic up and off as well, and then the press of their naked skin together was almost too much. Edmund could feel Caspian's heart thudding against his chest, his breath warm on Edmund's lips, his fingers hot on the skin of Edmund's sides and gentle on the scars of his back, and it all felt so good, he almost couldn't stand it. When Caspian dipped his head to mouth kisses at his neck, Edmund's head fell back with a solid thunk against the wood, exposing the long column of his throat. He could hear the hitch in Caspian's breath, feel the way his fingers tightened on Edmund's sides. Caspian's mouth trailed along his jaw and down his throat, and Edmund's hips jerked forward helplessly as Caspian licked and sucked at the hollow of his collarbone. Caspian's beard rasped against Edmund's skin, and Edmund felt like his lungs were parched for air.

Edmund hooked one leg behind Caspian's and thrust up with his hips, a moan ripping its way free from his throat at the feeling of their cocks grinding together. His mind was reeling, and the blood was pounding in his veins, and Caspian's kisses were setting him on fire. If they kept on like this, Edmund had no doubt his knees would give out before they finished.

"Caspian," he gasped, and his voice sounded so wrecked, he almost didn't recognize it. "Bed."

Caspian groaned, the sound vibrating through Edmund's chest, and it sent a shockwave of desire through him, making him gasp and cling tighter.

He could feel the heavy, hard weight of Caspian's cock pressing against his hip, and when Caspian pulled back to look at him, the need in his eyes sent a hot flush rushing through Edmund's body.

"Yes," Caspian gasped with breathless urgency, and Edmund shivered.

Edmund felt a hand come to rest under his thigh and sucked in a harsh breath as Caspian hooked his arm underneath and lifted. Edmund's breath hitched as he wrapped his legs around Caspian's waist and found himself cradled against Caspian's chest. He clutched his arms tight around Caspian's shoulders and pressed their foreheads together, panting against Caspian's lips.

Caspian carried him easily over to the bed and lowered him onto it, the bedding cool against his skin. The mattress shifted and dipped as Caspian crawled onto the bed with him, and Edmund's heart was in his throat. He could see the play of muscle under the smooth skin of Caspian's shoulders and chest as he moved over him, and it made Edmund's whole body ache with want.

Caspian was braced over him, looking at him with such a raw tenderness, and it was almost too much. Edmund surged up and caught his mouth in another kiss, and moaned when Caspian settled between his thighs and let his weight pin Edmund to the mattress.

The heat of Caspian's bare chest against his own was intoxicating, and he arched his hips up into Caspian's, a shudder running through him as their cocks slid against each other, trapped in the layers of fabric. The feeling of it was electric, and Edmund was gasping, clutching at Caspian's back, the skin so warm and smooth beneath his hands.

Caspian kissed him deeply, hands sliding over his waistband, and when he pulled away, he panted, his breath hot against Edmund's lips, "Let me get these off you."

"Please," Edmund gasped, and he heard the desperate edge in his voice, the neediness of it, and would have blushed if not for the fact that he was so hard it almost hurt.

Caspian knelt up over him and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Edmund's trousers. Edmund's heart was pounding, his whole body flushed, and his breath came in short, ragged pants. His hips lifted automatically as Caspian drew the fabric down over his hips, and he watched the look in Caspian's eyes sharpen with hunger as his cock sprang free.

Caspian pulled his trousers off the rest of the way, leaving him completely bare. Edmund felt a thrill run through him at the heated, dark look in Caspian's eyes as his gaze swept over Edmund's body. He knew he was more slender than Caspian's build, but he was still a fighter, built with lean muscle, and he had seen the looks he'd been given by diplomats sent to the White Queen's court. And while they had been lewd and full of lust, no one had ever looked at him the way Caspian did now, a softness behind the fire, like he wanted to crawl inside Edmund's skin, get under his ribcage and live inside the pounding rhythm of his heart.

Edmund lifted a hand to Caspian's face, his fingers trembling a little where they cradled his cheek. His mouth was dry, his voice cracking as he said, simply, "Caspian…"

Caspian turned his head and pressed a kiss to the inside of Edmund's wrist, and Edmund's breath shuddered in his lungs. Edmund pulled him down for a soft kiss, almost chaste for a moment until Edmund uttered a low, needy noise into the cavern of their mouths that had Caspian deepening the kiss, lips and tongue slick as they glided over each other.

Edmund's hands trailed down over Caspian's stomach, the jut of his hip, then lower, slipping his fingers past the waistband of his trousers to palm the hard length of his cock. The touch had Caspian moaning, and Edmund swallowed it, sucking a kiss into Caspian's bottom lip, releasing him with a soft, wet sound.

"Caspian, please," Edmund pleaded, rough and broken.

"Anything you ask," Caspian replied, the words a breathless promise.

Edmund watched, breath caught in his throat, as Caspian stripped his trousers away. Caspian's naked body was laid bare before him, his long legs and narrow hips, the planes of his stomach and the smooth, golden expanse of his chest.

His cock was thick and flushed dark, and it hung hard between his legs, and the sight of it made a rush of desire coil tight in Edmund's gut. He was transfixed by the sight of it, his mouth watering.

Edmund's cock gave a hard throb, and his hips jerked up on their own accord, a whine escaping him as his cock brushed against the underside of Caspian's, and his fingers clawed desperately at Caspian's hips, drawing him down and closer.

"Fuck," Edmund breathed, as their cocks rubbed together.

Caspian made a low, helpless noise, his body going tight, and the feeling of him above Edmund, the weight of him, was maddening.

"Come here," Edmund urged, his voice sounding desperate and wrecked.

Caspian's hips rocked down, and their cocks slid together as their mouths met once more, and the friction made Edmund's head spin. He could feel the damp tip of Caspian's cock brushing against his, and the sensation made his heart pound, his breath coming in sharp pants.

"More," he moaned. "Caspian, I need...need you inside me."

Caspian made a guttural noise and said, "Yes," as if the word had been punched out of him. He slid his palm up the inside of Edmund's thigh to drag dry fingertips over his entrance, and Edmund keened. Just that light touch felt like it ignited every nerve in Edmund's body.

Caspian stretched to retrieve a vial of oil from the nightstand drawer.

He leaned back and sat on his heels between Edmund's thighs. His hand was clenched around Edmund's hip, his mouth was wet and red, and his eyes were so dark they glittered in the flickering lamplight. He was so beautiful, and Edmund had never wanted anyone like this.

Caspian seemed caught in similar thoughts. "You are..." he trailed off, staring at Edmund, his expression so full of awe, it made Edmund flush hot with embarrassment.

"I am waiting, is what I am," Edmund said, and his voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

Caspian smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Edmund's heart leapt in his chest.

Then Caspian was opening the vial and coating his fingers in the slippery oil.

Caspian fit his hand over the curve of Edmund's hip as he leaned down to graze their lips together. "Relax for me, Ed," Caspian said softly.

Edmund nodded, melting into the kiss, and then a moment later, he felt a gentle pressure at his hole. His breath stuttered as the first fingertip slid inside, and Caspian paused, watching him.

"Alright?" Caspian asked, his voice thick.

Edmund nodded again. "It just…feels different. With someone else."

Caspian stilled, and Edmund made a low noise in the back of his throat. He clutched at Caspian's shoulders and said, "Don't stop."

Caspian pushed deeper, and Edmund bit his lip, trying not to make a noise.

"Edmund, have you ever…"

Edmund tried to focus past the thick drag of Caspian's finger inside of him. "I…There wasn't much chance to find a bed partner I could trust in Jadis' court."

Caspian reached up to brush the sweaty hair from Edmund's forehead, and as oversensitized as he was he couldn't help but curl into the touch. "Neither did I, as a ward of Miraz."

Edmund groaned as a second finger teased at his entrance, lighting his nerves on fire. He was glad his admission hadn't made Caspian reconsider bedding a novice, though when Caspian pushed his second finger inside he did it slowly and deliberately, with such care that it was almost torturous.

"And now?" Edmund panted. "You've had two years to yourself."

Caspian ducked his head. Edmund barely had enough functional thought left to marvel at the fact Caspian was able to blush with two fingers buried inside him.

Edmund let out a shaky laugh. "Better get on with it, then," Edmund said, bucking his hips greedily. "Seems I have some catching up to do."

Caspian groaned, his fingers curling deep inside him, and Edmund gasped, arching his back, his eyes falling closed.

"More," Edmund gasped.

"You sure?"

Edmund thrust his hips down, trying to work Caspian's fingers in deeper as he moaned. "Yes."

Caspian was careful as he stretched Edmund open, moving his fingers slowly, gently, but it wasn't until his third finger was sliding smoothly in alongside the others that Edmund felt truly full, a pleasant ache coiling in his gut. His back arched with every graze of Caspian's fingers over that spot that left him writhing, and when Caspian finally withdrew, the feeling of emptiness had Edmund gasping, his legs shaking, his cock hard and dripping against his stomach.

Caspian's breathing was ragged, and his body was tense, the muscles in his stomach flexing. "Edmund, can I–"

"Yes," Edmund gasped. "Just hurry up about it."

Caspian let out a huff of laughter, his lips curving into a smile that banked none of the burning desire in his eyes, and the expression made Edmund's heart flutter against the cage of his ribs.

Caspian reached for the vial of oil once more, and there was something obscene about the wet sound of his hand stroking along his cock, and Edmund couldn't help the small, desperate noise that escaped him. He couldn't wait any longer, and he sat up and shoved at Caspian's shoulder.

"Lie back," Edmund ordered, his voice low.

A dark ember lit in Caspian's eyes and he leaned in for a brief kiss. "Anything you ask, my prince," he said, voice rough and teasing, before doing as instructed. A shiver ran down Edmund's spine like water.

The sight of him spread out on the sheets, golden skin and dark hair fanned out around his head, made Edmund's lungs struggle for breath.

He shuffled closer and swung a leg over Caspian's hips. He reached down and wrapped his hand around the heavy, hard length of Caspian's cock and guided the head to his entrance. He couldn't help but shudder when the tip nudged against him, and he heard Caspian's breathing catch. His hands clutched at Edmund's hips, fingertips pressing indents into his skin.

Edmund bit his lip as he lowered himself onto the thick head of Caspian's cock. He was slow and careful, taking his time and savoring the way the stretch of it burned in the best possible way. It was a long, steady slide, and by the time he was fully seated, his legs were shaking, his heart pounding.

"Caspian," Edmund rasped. The feeling of being so full was almost overwhelming.

Edmund let out a shuddering breath, and the sound was loud in the otherwise silent cabin.

Edmund braced his hands on Caspian's chest and slowly, carefully, Edmund began to move. He lifted his hips, and the first drag of Caspian's cock inside him had him whimpering, his legs trembling with the effort.

"Oh, oh," he moaned, his voice raw and shaking.

The sight of Caspian beneath him was staggering. Caspian was staring up at him with dark eyes, his face and neck flushed, and with each rock of Edmund's hips he could see the muscles straining in Caspian's shoulders and arms as he held Edmund's hips firmly.

Edmund couldn't tear his gaze away from the way Caspian's chest heaved, the sweat beading on his collarbones. Caspian was so handsome, and he was watching Edmund with a look so reverent, it made his heart squeeze painfully.

"I want..." Edmund panted, the words falling from his lips without conscious thought, and Caspian's grip tightened.

"What?" Caspian asked, his voice a low groan. "Tell me, and I will do anything you ask."

The words gave Edmund a heady rush, and he thrust his hips down harder into Caspian's, a needy sound bursting from his throat. Caspian met his thrusts with vigor, the cords of his neck straining.

"Anything," Caspian repeated, and Edmund was sure he didn't know the power of that word.

Edmund reached out to curl his fingers around the nape of Caspian's neck and pull. "Come up here."

Caspian pushed himself up and came towards Edmund as if drawn in by a magnet, their mouths meeting hungrily. Their hips were still moving together, and Edmund could feel the pleasure building deep inside him, spreading out to every nerve in his body.

"Closer," Edmund whispered against his lips, his hands scrabbling at the sweat-damp skin of Caspian's back, clutching desperately. Caspian latched his mouth over Edmund's pulse and Edmund's head tipped back with a wordless cry, his fingers clawing at Caspian's skin.

"More," he begged, and the words felt ripped from the back of his throat. He was so gone he didn't even know what he was asking for, he was just a raw nerve aching with need. "Caspian," Edmund whined.

"Anything," Caspian said again, like a benediction, his voice thick with promise, the edge of his native Telmarine accent creeping into his words.

Then Caspian's hands were sliding under Edmund's thighs and lifting him easily as Caspian rolled to his knees, graceful as any swordplay, and settled Edmund's hips in the cradle of his thighs. He was still buried deep inside Edmund, but the angle had him shifting, and Edmund cried out as the new position drove the head of Caspian's cock perfectly over that spot that made him feel like his whole body was on fire.

And then Caspian's hands were wrapping around Edmund's waist, holding him tightly as Caspian thrust up and buried himself deeply.

Edmund cried out, his eyes slamming shut, his mouth dropping open as Caspian's cock hit him deep inside, and the sensation was incredible. Caspian did it again, and this time the base of Edmund's spine lit with fire, the heat building in his belly, his skin tingling, and he had to force his eyes open.

Caspian was looking up at him with naked longing. "Oh, Ed, you feel—"

"Don't stop," Edmund gasped.

"Never," Caspian breathed.

Caspian's arms were like iron bands around his waist, and he could only clutch at Caspian's shoulders as he rode out his pleasure, each thrust hitting just right, punching a breath from his lungs, the yearning building in him like a banked fire. He'd never wanted like this, and he could feel it rising in him, like a wave threatening to crash down and sweep him out to sea.

"Come on," Edmund panted against his mouth, his voice broken and desperate. "I want to see you come. Please, Caspian."

"Anything you ask," Caspian gasped. "Anything, Ed."

Edmund kissed him, deep and wet, and Caspian began thrusting up into him with sharp, quick snaps of his hips, hard thrusts that made Edmund cry out, the feeling almost too much. His eyes clenched tight, his breath coming in short, panting gasps.

Edmund could feel his release coiling tighter in his gut, and he fisted a hand into Caspian's hair and held their mouths together, more sharing breath than a kiss.

"Ed," Caspian moaned, and his hands tightened around Edmund's waist, holding him close, and Edmund watched his features twist into something beautiful, his eyes going glassy and desperate as his hips jerked, once, twice, and then he was coming with a shuddering moan, the heat of it flooding inside Edmund, spilling between his thighs.

Edmund kept up his own rhythm as Caspian rode out the aftershocks. Caspian's hands gripped his hips hard, holding him firmly as he pulled Edmund's body down to meet each last wanton thrust, his cock rubbing against Caspian's sweat-slick belly, and the friction was perfect. Edmund's orgasm rushed up so suddenly, he could do nothing but gasp helplessly as he spilled, hot and wet, between them.

Caspian's forehead pressed against Edmund's and his hands stroked along Edmund's spine, the touch gentle on his scars. Caspian's breath was warm against Edmund's face, and the feeling was overwhelming, and Edmund could barely breathe.

Edmund's knees ached, his muscles trembling, but the rest of him was relaxed, boneless and sated. Caspian's body was warm and solid, and the room smelled of sweat and sex, and Edmund breathed in deeply.

Edmund wasn't sure how long they stayed there, his face tucked against Caspian's neck, Caspian's arms around him, and Edmund didn't want to move, not ever.

"Ed," Caspian said, his voice a soft rumble against Edmund's chest.

"Hmmm?"

Caspian stroked his fingers through Edmund's hair, and Edmund just settled in further, certain that if he let himself he could fall asleep sitting up against Caspian's chest. "Darling," Caspian murmured, and Edmund shivered. "Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but I worry if you don't shut that off we'll wake up buried beneath a snow drift."

"What?" Edmund blearily opened his eyes to find a gentle snow falling all around them inside the cabin. Edmund turned to Caspian and saw that fluffy white flakes had collected on the delicate tips of his eyelashes, and they had settled in his dark hair like a crown of stars in the night sky. Edmund smiled at the sight, feeling something soft and delicate unfurl in his chest. "I'm not sure if I want to," he confessed.

Caspian answered him with a gentle smile. "It's going to get very cold in here shortly."

Edmund couldn't resist raising a sultry eyebrow as he leaned in, lips hovering just above Caspian's. "I'll keep you warm," he grinned.

"What have I unleashed?" Caspian said, laughing, and let himself be kissed.

Edmund did banish the snow, eventually.

~❄️~