08 | in the prophecy

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08 | in the prophecy

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08 | in the prophecy

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EDMUND CARRIES JUNE'S unresponsive body to the very last step of their solemn journey back. Throughout the night, as she came to and then lost consciousness moments later on a constant loop, not once did he leave her out of his sight, even when Peter commanded him to rest and let them place her comfortably on a griffin's back for at least a minute or two. After emptying a canteen of water and shaking out his sore muscles that beg for liberty, he'd hoist the General in his arms once again, for she shall never find safety as pure as it is right there.

❝Where are we?❞ June blinks open her heavy eyelids, entire body numb. Her limbs flop over Edmund's, dried streaks of blood coating the bottom half of her armour and flowing down until the tips of her fingers from the travels, where her arm was resting against the same spot of her largest wound.

❝We're almost there, love, just hold on, alright? Lucy will heal you in a minute, just give me a moment,❞ Edmund looks down at her drowsy frame, bandages over her now armour-less body almost soaked. His legs begin absentmindedly carrying him even faster.

❝Ed! Edmund, be careful!❞ Peter calls after him, watching as his brother crosses the remnants of the distance that stands between the grassy hill and the first pillars of Aslan's How.

❝What happened?!❞ Lucy interrogates, meeting her youngest brother and the Princess halfway. Her hands work around her belt, producing the crystal bottle with the healing cordial she was gifted last year. Now that June's lost consciousness once again already, Edmund has to set her down onto the ground and part her mouth with a gentle thumb to her pale bottom lip.

❝Ask him,❞ Peter spits venomously, an angered tilt of his head motioning to Caspian.

❝Peter,❞ Susan warns sternly.

❝Me?❞ The Telmarine glares at the High King, freezing in place and causing what's left of their army to stop behind them, still angry, mourning and exhausted beyond comprehension, ❝You could've called it off, there was still time!❞

A single drop of the potion lands on June's tongue, Lucy's concerned gaze lifting up to study the scene above them.

❝No, there wasn't, thanks to you. If you kept to the plan, those soldiers would be alive right now, and you almost cost Narnia its greatest General,❞ Peter points towards the girl's still frame, colour slowly sneaking back into her cheeks. Edmund impatiently waits for another sign of healing.

Now, Caspian raises his voice, ❝If you'd stay here like I suggested, they definitely would be! If your General died, too, her blood would be on your hands!❞

❝Her blood is on no one's hands,❞ dismissed Edmund, jaw ticking, for only his hands are painted with her blood and only physically, because June's wounds are slowly pulling together and her precious life is still her's.

𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ── edmund pevensieWhere stories live. Discover now