INCIPIENT ➵ EDMUND PEVENSIE

10 | An Attack of Defence

10 | AN ATTACK OF DEFENCE

He grapples about for his quilt, letting out a dampened whine when he finds none of that velvety textile.

    It may have, well, slid off the bed in his slumber, he thinks. He sweeps his hand about a little more, eyes still shut, just to discern if it is there. His hands lands on a fabric, one that is luscious and thick - his quilt, he confirms.

    Except, when his vision tardily sharpens the image of green watercolour into cutlasses of thriving grass, he knows that home is no where proximal. And by home, he implies Finchley - Narnia has become too unrecognisable for him to call home again.

    "Lu?" he questions. The material in his hands reveals to be her cloak, with no Lucy in it. He holds a palm to his amulet in instinct, and is slightly relived to find it at a normal temperature.

    "Peter, wake up, Lucy's-" he alters his position, only to find his brother missing, much to his dismal, "gone," he finishes, raising his brow for his own amusement.

    He guesses it is down to either waking his sister, a maiden famous for devouring an eternity just to open her eyes, or the antagonistic little man.

    The dwarf snores, his breaths catching thin strands of drool over his yellow beard.

    Edmund now has to choose.

    He wills to give a shot first at Trumpkin. Anything's better than waking the deep-sleeping sister who is likely to give him a slap or two, intentionally or not. He approaches the dwarf, the slight stench of his uncleansed teeth congesting his senses.

    He extends his hand to the dwarf's shoulder, tapping it swiftly. He isn't even spared a moment to retract his hand before Trumpkin himself bounces up from his position, his loaded crossbow pointed in his waker's direction.

    "You," Edmund stops, allowing his laughter to follow, "sleep over a loaded crossbow?"

    "Personal protection, your Majesty," says Trumpkin, rather sharply.

    "You could have killed me," he replies with equal bluntness.

    "Hmm, you're still alive," says Trumpkin, getting to his feet. "Your missing brother and sister may not be as fortunate in a Narnian wood like this, however," he states, gesturing to two sets of blotched footprints tracing into the encircling silva.

    "Wake your sister up, your Majesty, it's time we found your siblings," he continues, dousing the smouldering embers that were once their bonfire with water.

    "I can't," Edmund informs, shaking Susan by the shoulders, yet acquiring a swat from her.

    "Step back, your Majesty," instructs Trumpkin.

    He does as told, and the dwarf throws water over his sister's face before he can stop him.

    "By the Lion's mane, you're most certainly screwed, dear little friend," he enlightens the dwarf, observing as Susan shoots up into a sitting posture.