Moonshine

Chapter 16- Trávma

τραύμα: trávma
Greek
trauma
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trigger warning: memory of child molestation
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Edmund knew things were happening, that people were leaving and coming in, that Peter and Caspian needed to be supported and comforted and berated and yelled at- but he couldn't move.

It was a miracle that he'd been able to walk all the way here, to the little cove that he had dressed in before leaving for the raid a few hours ago.

And it was an even bigger miracle that he hadn't gone catatonic the moment he had seen her- and then heard her voice.
The voice from the worst of his worst nightmares, who had given him memories that tormented him when he couldn't sleep, the creature that had darkened so much of his past.

The White Witch.

The scar on Edmund's stomach, where she had stabbed him, had stung with a cold so severe it felt like flame.

He had frozen, but just for a second, as he'd heard her voice ring out through the cavern- trying to manipulate, to seduce his brother into giving her his blood, to return to life.

She had hurt his son for that very reason, to revive herself and return to her corporeal body. She'd kidnapped and chained him up, and she'd intended to get his wife to murder the toddler.

Edmund wouldn't let her hurt another person he loved, and that was the thought that spurred him to action, and his feet dragged him to behind the ice-wall her spirit was trapped in. He hadn't even given a thought to the werewolf he had killed moments prior- though, he was glad he had, for it had been a werewolf that had attempted to kill his wife, son, and then-unborn child- because his only focus was on saving Peter.

He had been able to hear her, hear her silky voice whisper promises to his brother- his brother, who wasn't fighting the impulse to give in anymore, who had lowered his sword- and he'd been afraid that he would be swayed by her again, that he'd fall pray to the darker angels in his nature.

But he hadn't.

All he had thought was to end her, to save his brother and Caspian, to make sure the infernal Witch never returned in any shape or form again.
He had stabbed his sword through the ice-wall, right through her midsection, and the wall had cracked and exploded.
And she was gone.

And his scar stopped flaring.

He'd walked away, after he had looked at Peter, chest heaving, and he had said, "I know. You had it sorted."

Of course Peter wouldn't thank him or acknowledged that he'd needed him- when did he ever? Not once during the several times he had come to his aid in the past year, supporting him in fights that might have killed him otherwise.
Even the fight at the train station, just before they'd returned to Narnia- Peter hadn't thanked him, though without Edmund he might have been injured grievously enough to be hospitalised. All he'd said was that he had had it sorted- which anyone with eyes knew was a delusion or a lie.

He ran his hands through his hair, dropped his sword- he'd taken to carrying only one, the one whose weight hadn't been altered, though he would use both in battle- and took deep breaths.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
But it did nothing to calm his tumultuous mind, or the cold grasp that seemed that it would never let his heart go.
His brother nearly falling prey to his worst nightmare. How many more times would he have to face her?
Wasn't it enough that he saw her in his nightmares, in his thoughts when he couldn't sleep, on so many he couldn't even keep count? She had to show herself in his reality, as well?

At least she didn't appear in his dreams anymore, not much. Sanya had taken over that spot, especially since he had returned to Narnia days.

But that didn't mean the nightmares had stopped being nightmares. All his dreams may have his wife in them, but they ended in ways that made his chest tight.