INCIPIENT ➵ EDMUND PEVENSIE

42 | Messenger of Imminent Death

42 | MESSENGER OF IMMINENT DEATH

The early afternoon breeze blows invitingly at the king's sticky skin, ruffling his hair as it passes. He closes his eyes and rests the back of his head up against the wall in effort to relieve his fatigued mind and body. 

    The Just King doesn't take his amulet off from around his neck very often, but today just happens to be one of those rare moments where he'd become bored enough to do so.

    Front, back. Back, front. 

    He flips the metallic piece repeatedly between his pointer and thumb as he scans the surrounding thicket from the lookout point of the How, trying his best to keep his mind free of the thoughts that drove him up the wall.

    Edmund doesn't quite understand why the amulet has been in a constant state of warm and been going haywire at the oddest times in the past few days; his siblings and himself have all been well taken care of under the protection of the How and their people.

    Perhaps, it could've just been due to the heat gained from the copious hours he's spent training under the blazing sun, he likes to assure himself. In fact, he'd been practicing non-stop for five hours since the morning, and it was only after Peter ordered him to catch a breather did he grudgingly give in to his higher authority.

    The Just has always been known to be one of the toughest workers in the room, but his drive for mastering the art of swordsmanship has only increased exponentially in recent days, to the point where it has become worrisome to some. 

    But they don't know why, thinks Edmund. 

    Indeed, for how can they if he has never opened up about his personal worries? 

    Exerting himself is just an excuse to keep his consciousness preoccupied and away from the things that are sure to give him a vexing headache:

    One, should he not be cautious, he worries a breakdown may plague him again. Edmund has to admit, the episode he was hit with prior to when Elliott had been taken was bloody frightening, and as much as he doesn't wish for anyone to know of its occurrence, he hopes that attack was the first and the last. Meanwhile, the control he has over his sword bestows upon him a heartening sense of command over himself, and more. 

    Two, he is afraid that the Narnians have lost their confidence in him as the Sword of Narnia. Just how can one of the best swordsman - or, rather, the best swordsman - of Narnia fall victim to Telmarine varmints not only once, but twice? Surely our king has lost the glory of his past self, he overheard the minotaurs' gossip the other day; those creatures aren't built for being soft-spoken at all. 

    Three, the thought of what Elliott may be putting up with right at this very moment scares him. Edmund has once experienced the life behind bars under Miraz's authority first hand, and none of it was pretty, to say the least. And while he isn't a misogynist, he knows for a fact that women in captive may just have it harder. Not to mention, Elliott's blood is now worth more than gold to them - the Telmarines did lace their weapons with venom, if you recall.