INCIPIENT ➵ EDMUND PEVENSIE

24 | A Weapon Fought For

24 | A WEAPON FOUGHT FOR

With an aerial view, he observes as Narnian combatants spill onto the drawbridge and into the courtyard.

    His eyes track the maiden suited in familiar armour and dress - he was the one who chose them for her, after all. She enters gates with the men, taking down her first Telmarine, her second, then third, with use of a combination of knives and touch.

    "We should've called for retreat," mumurs Edmund. His brows furrow in distress at the foes that emerge from their quarters, more than a hundred of them, he speculates, with hundreds more awaiting within.

    But they only have a hundred and fifty individuals under their command.

    "By Aslan, this is bloody insane," he swears, peeking over the roof he has leapt upon. He spectates Peter's combat with a soldier near the centre of the yard, frowning upon some of his brother's tacky moves.

    A row of archers burst out from a door on his right and line themselves along the balcony with little warning, shouts of 'take aim!' sounding. Edmund's attention snaps from the raging warfare below as he ducks into hiding, nearly losing his grip due to the torch he holds in his hand.

    It isn't till moments later does he become aware of who the Telmarine in front of him has picked as his target - the High King, his brother, now caught up with a different contender. 

    With little thought in the heat of this nail-biting moment, he heaves himself over the roof and slides down the tiles in a slick manner. Kicking the archer off the ledge, he glances over the parapet to witness him fall to his probable death. A reverberating boom sounds upon the impact, which catches the attention of those in the courtyard and on the balconies of the architecture enclosing it.

    Peter traces his gaze up from where the fallen has settled, still tackling a Telmarine, and notes that Edmund has guarded him well. But instead of giving him the assuring smile he desired to, he yells his brother's name and bobs his head in the direction of jeopardy, anxiousness written across his features. 

    The archers have settled with one collective victim - Edmund himself.

   The Just King's movements stall in puzzlement, but he soon snaps his head to the left at the sound of projectiles clicking into place on crossbows. Reflex takes over as he flees in the opposite direction. Edmund dives down onto his elbows - which must hurt - once he's made it past a doorway, the arrows supposedly aimed at his head and torso fleeting past above him, and those directed at his legs missing his hair by inches. 

    "Stop him! That door can't be opened from this side!" yaps one of them near the back.

    He flips himself over and kicks the door shut just milliseconds before a second attempt is made by the Telmarines. He recovers, then inspects the arrows that are lodged in the wood, their metal tips now visible on his side. Something on the tips baffle him, and with his torch he confirms his guess - they are splotched with dark liquid.