R A N D O M || OS

108. (Narnia) Edmund Pevensie - Crying Yourself to Sleep

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//Y/N- Your Name; Y/S/N- Your Son's Name; Y/C/N- Your Country's Name)//

–

"Has she come out of her chambers yet?"

Susan sighed, and shook her head. "Not once. If it wasn't for the fact that servants take in plates of food and bring out empty plates, I'd be worried that she-"

"Don't say it." The High King said tiredly. "I cannot imagine what she must be going through. And Y/S/N's only two-"

"I still can't believe he's- that he could be..." His sister whispered, and Peter wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I can't, Peter, I can't. Our baby brother is alright, he must be-"

"I hope he is." But his tone was solemn, and not at all optimistic. "But- the reports- from everyone- even Lu sent back a letter saying she has not seen him since he lured a giant up to a cliff-"

The Gentle shook her head wildly, "Don't. Don't. I might become as desolate as Y/N if I think of Lucy's letter." The parchment had been stained by their little sister's tears, and the words had been shakily written. "Lu is supposed to arrive in two days, yes? Perhaps she'll have some good news for us."

"Yes." The blond kissed the top of his sister's head, and held back a weary sigh. "Lucy always warms the day, and lifts us up. That, I am certain of."

But even the thought of Lucy and her infectious joy arriving soon could not keep his mind from thinking of his brother...

His dead brother.

–

I regret to tell you this, Your Majesty. The captain of her country's Royal Guard had sent a telegram. But your husband, King Edmund of Narnia, appears to have perished in battle. There is no sign of him- we found one of his swords, bloodied and the hilt twisted-

Y/N had the entire telegram memorised, but she did not want to think of the rest, of all the proof there was that her husband was dead, killed, and that she would never see him again-

"Mumma?" Y/S/N poked her cheek, and she looked down at her son. He was in her lap, her arm under his neck, and he'd been sucking away at a milk bottle for the past ten minutes. "Milk over."

"Oh- right, baby. Do you want another bottle?"

She would have to tell the maid to bring by more bottles- Y/S/N was over two years old, but she still had enough milk in her breasts; though, over the past few weeks, it appeared that there was not much left, so she was reduced to depending on cow's milk. Y/S/N hadn't quite liked the change in taste, but he'd taken it into stride, just like the little angelic prince he was.

If only the servants were as easy to deal with as he was.

The stupid servants had kept bringing food and drink for her instead of the milk and mashed veggies her son needed. She did not care in the least to eat- it was the first time in her life her appetite was less than nil- but she had to feed Y/S/N.

He shook his head, nestling closer to her.

He blinked sleepily, and murmured, "Can get Daddy's fae tales?"

No, she would not cry in front of their son. She would not. She was a Queen, she would be strong.

"When he returns, I'm sure Daddy will tell you all the fairy tales, he knows." She assured him, tickling his stomach. He giggled, and for a moment, things felt alright. "Sleep now, Y/S/N. Your eyes have become small- the sleep angels are calling to you...."