when we were young and our hopes were high - Lion, Witch, Wardrobe drabble - PG

[tigriswolf]

Title: when we were young and our hopes were high
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Deanna Carter.
Warnings: spoilers; movie ‘verse
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Point of view: third
Wordcount: 325
Notes: dreamlittleyo, this is not that fic.


                Edmund gasps and falls, the Witch standing above him, serene and full of power. She stares down at him, lips slightly curved. 
                Edmund’s gasp and fall is all Peter knows. The rest of the battle is lost to him-only his brother, his little brother, his baby brother-Edmund-
                The Witch turns and strides toward him; Peter forces his way to her, not stopping or pausing for anything, rage giving him a strength he’s never known before.
                It is a desperate battle he fights, and not for Aslan or Narnia. All he thinks of, as he swings his sword and sucks in sobs, is Edmund gasping and falling, is Edmund on the ground. 
                The Witch doesn’t seem to tire, and he’s already exhausted. But the fury and pain courses through him, and such a deep hatred he’s never imagined he could be capable of feeling.
                He stumbles, sword sliding from his grip, falters. Triumph fills the White Witch’s cold eyes. 
                And then a roar tumbles over the battlefield, Aslan’s voice full of hope and light.   The Witch flinches and Peter straightens, victory thrumming through him as the Lion charges over the rock. 
                Now the Witch gasps and falls, and Peter watches in satisfaction while Aslan defeats Winter.
                Aslan turns to him after, a gentle rebuke in those golden eyes. Peter meets his gaze unflinchingly. 
                Susan and Lucy arrive, asking for Edmund; Peter rushes to where his little brother fell, where he is jaggedly gasping, his breath slowing, whole body shivering and shuddering.
                But Lucy’s gift heals him and Peter wraps his arms around his brother, around Edmund, crying. 
                So close. Too close. Edmund grips him back, arms tight and trembling, the girls sobbing and laughing in relief.
                Forgive me, Peter thinks but doesn’t say, face buried in the space between Edmund’s jaw and shoulder. 
                If it’s meant for Ed or Aslan, Peter doesn’t know, but no one responds and he grips Edmund tighter.