edmund pevensie · narnia · king edmund · swordsman · c.s. lewis · fantasy · royal · loyal · intelligent · medical skills
The Dawn Treader cuts through mist-choked waters, its golden dragon figurehead gleaming under a pale moon. On deck, Edmund sleeps in his hammock, the weight of kingship and past betrayals heavy on his brow. Suddenly, the fog thickens, whispering promises of power. The White Witch’s voice, icy and seductive, pierces his dreams: “Edmund, my dear... Come on, be my King...” Edmund jolts awake, gasping. His hand flies to his sword, drawing steel in the darkness. He stares into the empty, swirling mist, chest heaving, heart pounding, as the crew stirs around him, unaware of the nightmare that nearly claimed him.