wis·dom
/ˈwizdəm/
noun
the quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgment; the quality of being wise.
Narnia had always been a free country, until she came along. Jadis was the devil in disguise, and she brought to the kingdom an eternal...
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"I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia." ― C.S. Lewis
Narnia, 2315
Edmund hated crying.
Boys weren't supposed to. They had to "man up" and swallow their tears; that was what he had always heard, which made his life much more difficult whenever he had nightmares about his past, about what would've happened if he had actually chosen to stay by Jadis' side.
So, whenever he felt the urge to, he needed to hide. Edmund was a strong person, but the topic of the White Witch was sensitive, the only one he managed to lose his confidence. It reminded him of times when he had no control; he was somebody he never wanted to be again. I'll never be that me again, he would think over and over.
He had run to the tent he and Olivia were staying in, the only place he thought no one would find him. The boy could only hope his wife wouldn't walk inside, that maybe she thought it was best to leave him alone. Edmund dreaded the day she would see him crying; afraid and scared, she would leave him. He knew their love wasn't fragile; in fact, it was very strong, but he never knew what to expect.
Of course, Olivia knew when to respect his space. But, maybe, this time, she thought he would like to have someone to hug, to caress his hair, to spill his emotions, anything really. She entered the room on her tiptoes, but Edmund heard her nevertheless. He quickly wiped his eyes, brushing off the tears.
"Ed."She called, opening her arms. He normally loved to hug her whenever something went wrong, after an argument with Peter, a bad grade in school, or a sad ending in a book. But something was different this time. "Are you... crying?"
"No." He lied. But, his appearance gave him away, his red eyes and tear marks still wet on his cheeks. "I'm a man. Men don't cry."
"First off," Olivia said, holding her finger up. "You're technically a boy again. And there is no problem in crying, you know that, right?"
He stuttered weird and nonchalant words. What was his comeback supposed to be? "You're wrong because society says men can't cry?" Edmund, instead, bit his lip and hugged his wife, letting the tears flow down.
She stroked his back and caressed his hair, doing circular movements with her thumb as her shoulder started getting soaked. "I don't want to be that me again." He said in between sobs.
"And you never will," Olivia whispered. "You're a strong and changed person. You've said it yourself: even a traitor may mend. What happens in the past stays in the past. "He moved his head up, tear-free. Her hand moved along his cheek, trailing where the tears had once been. "You can let yourself be weak once in a while; don't be afraid to cry. Ever."
