Disclaimer: so, uh...this story is not letting me write it, it's arguing with me at almost every step except when I do what it wants, so I'm definitely not claiming ownership, because it would be a problem child. And I've already been one of those, I'm pretty sure I don't want to be responsible for another.
Beta'd by trustingHim17, with my heartfelt thanks, and checked by SouthwestExpat, who helped keep the truth present.

A/N: I think this is still a K+ story, but I've little confidence in my own rating abilities. If I ever write a story and you think the rating isn't high enough, please let me know! There is a stabbing in this chapter, so if that deserves a T, I will change it!

"Would you take the place of this man, / would you take the nails from His hands?"
—Jeremy Camp, "This Man"

OOOOO

Edmund woke, breathing deeply. Aslan, he thought. Aslan must have breathed us back to life.

But he wasn't kneeling, Edmund thought, confused, and Lucy wasn't (thank you, Aslan!) a stone statue in front of him. And there wasn't a Lion - or a Witch - anywhere in sight. Where was he?

He was standing in the woods, in the midst of trees covered in snow. It was Narnia. It was near the Northern Mountains, and he could feel the cold numbing the skin of his fingers and his nose.

He was back. Again. And he didn't know what was worse, being brought back to wonder how horribly this time would turn out, or to stay in a world where they lost.

There was probably an interesting philosophical question in there, but Edmund couldn't care less about it at this moment. He could already hear the sleigh bells, and he had to decide what to do.

He couldn't hide. He couldn't hide Lucy. He couldn't betray Aslan again, not now.

But - maybe Edmund could take His place.

He had no chance of winning, Edmund knew. But perhaps winning wasn't the point. Perhaps paying for his mistakes was.

Justice, Edmund thought, swallowing. He had advocated the law in the years he'd been king. It would be just for him to pay for his own sin.

Even if he hadn't committed it yet, he supposed. He had done it. And he believed in justice.

This was justice.

So he waited, listening to the bells, praying for Aslan's protection on his sister.

This is just, he thought. He could hear the snow being packed under the metal. This is better than Aslan dying.

Better for Narnia? his mind asked. He tried to ignore it. But he couldn't, for that wasn't how Aslan had made him. Aslan rose, for He was innocent. You will not.

I'm innocent now.

You're paying the price for a sin you committed, and you'll argue it's justice, but that you're innocent? He could hear the scorn in his own words, the sarcasm.

Then I'm following Him! What do you want me to do? He never had a chance to respond, for it was then that he came face to face with the Witch.

"Stop!" came the command, and the Dwarf pulling so sharply on the reins (cruelty marked all of her servants, Edmund realised, and he hoped that mercy and justice marked all of Aslan's as clearly).

"And what, pray, are you?"

He could lie - but all Edmund wanted now was to be Aslan's. He wouldn't lie. "I am Edmund, someone who stumbled into your woods."

The Queen's eyes appraised him. "Is that how you address a Queen?" she demanded of him darkly.

Edmund resolved, inwardly, to never call her anything acknowledging her rule again - but he had to buy Lucy time, too. "I am not a Narnian," he prevaricated.

"If you are not one of mine, you are my enemy," the Queen warned, drawing herself up again.

Edmund looked at her. At the cruel mouth, the eyes so quick to fill with rage, the fingers grasping the wand that he'd smashed once and that he passionately longed to smash again. He took a step forward. "I am not one of yours," he told her fiercely. "I am not now. I never will be again. I am Aslan's, first and last, and were I not a boy with no sword and no dagger, I would fight for His side and all the Narnians you ever wronged. But I tell you this, Jadis, the throne you've taken you cannot keep. Justice will call you to account for all you have done, and that time is coming soon. The four thrones will be filled. Your life will end. And you will never, ever be able to stop it."

Jadis, hate twisting her face, drew a dagger from beneath her cloak and stabbed him in the stomach. Edmund felt it, the metal biting, the nerves beginning to scream, and he fell back onto the snow, gasping. It was cold, he thought. Last time it hadn't been cold. "If I lose," the Witch whispered, leaning over him, "you will not live to see it." She twisted the knife and drew it out, wiping it on the icy snow. She mounted back into the sleigh. "Drive on," she said, her voice calm, and Edmund watched as they sledged away, still gasping, hands warm with the blood from his stomach.

His back, his arms, his face, they were all so cold, and his body burned in his stomach. He was choking, choking on something, and there were no Leopards to save him,* no Peter to tell him to hold on, and no Lucy to save him with a cordial she hadn't been given yet.

This was justice, he told himself, crying. This was better than Aslan dying. This was what should have happened. But how can he save Narnia now? Four thrones, Aslan made four, how-

This was justice, surely this was best, this is what should have happened, it was, it was, and it hurt so much, and he was having trouble thinking, and he still wanted to know how Aslan would win now, he had to know.**

"Edmund!" he heard, called out in a girl's distressed voice. "Edmund!" Lucy, he thought, already fading. I'm sorry, Lucy…

Aslan? Edmund thought. His eyes were closed, and he was still so cold. His cheek was stinging, a small prickling pain against the furnace in his abdomen.

Not dead yet, he thought groggily. He remembered pain like this from before. He could feel small hands tugging him, hands that had probably just slapped him. Lucy, he guessed, though where she thought she could take him was a mystery.

He remembered this, too, the way time slowed as his body gave out. Last time he'd been thinking about Peter, fighting the Witch, the girls who'd gone missing, and where Aslan had gone.

This time - this time he just wanted Aslan. Aslan, who had loved him even when he was a traitor.

That had been Edmund's most precious gift. Given after his siblings got their gifts, but the one given to Edmund had been incomparable - the love of Aslan.

A love great enough the Lion died for him. Here, growing colder, with nothing but thinking to get away from the pain, Edmund started crying. He couldn't wish Aslan didn't love him. And with Aslan, to love was to save.

But he wished, oh how he wished, Aslan's love had not cost the Lion so much. Edmund had been in the Witch's company; he knew the cruelty Aslan would have suffered. And they both knew the touch of the Witch's blade.

It was killing him now. And that meant the prophecy would never come true, Narnia would never be saved, Lucy and Susan would never be queens, they'd never even meet Aslan.

But he couldn't choose to be a traitor again.

And he wondered what would happen when he woke up this next time. He didn't know any other options, to bring about any other outcomes.

He was so cold…

He woke up shivering.

But he wasn't standing. He wasn't in a forest.

He was lying down, and it wasn't cold. Underneath his cheek was a soft fabric, and over him too - he sat up quickly, the thin coverlet falling off his shoulders. He was in Cair Paravel.

He was in Cair Paravel, and his siblings were probably outside his door. Edmund jumped out of bed, running to the door and yanking it open, to find his three co-rulers in grave consultation outside his door. They fell silent as soon as they saw him.

Edmund didn't care. He dived into the group, pulling Lucy into a hug, then spinning around to get to Peter, then pushing him back and pulling in Susan. Susan could feel him trembling.

"Edmund?" she asked tentatively, and he shook his head.

"All right," Peter said, his hand cupping the back of Edmund's head. "Let's go sit down." One hand on Edmund, another on Lucy - Edmund checked to make sure she was coming too, he wanted them together right now - Peter steered them back in to Edmund's room, where they all sat on the bed and Edmund told them of his dreams, the defeats and deaths, while looking down at the sheets.

When he finished, Edmund looked up at Peter. "Did - was I doing the right thing?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Peter was frowning. "You could not have betrayed Aslan again, and been in the right," the High King said slowly.

"But it didn't work!" Edmund protested, trying to make sense. The Four were silent for a moment.

"Perhaps that wasn't the point," Susan suggested. The other three looked at her. "You could not have changed the past anyway," she offered. "It has already happened. And it made you who you are, made us who we are."

"It was a terrible thing," Lucy agreed thoughtfully. "But Aslan took it and made it something better."

"Lucy, He died doing that!"

"For you." Peter's voice was stern. "And you cannot accept part of His love and not the rest. Either you accept His love as He gives it, or you reject it. You cannot dictate His love for you."

Edmund stopped, ashamed. That had not been what he meant to do.

"And you don't repeat your mistakes," Peter began.

"My sins," Edmund insisted.

"Your sins," Peter agreed soberly. "But you will let Him make them a part of the story of Narnia." Because it was the story of Narnia, Edmund realised. If he wanted the Narnia he knew now, he had to accept Aslan's creation of it.

"And to make you a better King," Susan added thoughtfully. She reached for Edmund's hands, holding them in hers. "You've been offered a compassion and a love deeper than you expected, Edmund. Let it shape you as a king." Edmund, looking at her unhappily, saw where she was headed.

"With the Dwarves of the Mountains," he said reluctantly.

"With the Dwarves of the Mountains, and the others like them," she agreed. "You've a brilliant mind, a hunger for justice, and you see people clearly. If you add to that a compassion for mistakes, you'll be a Judge unlike any Narnia has ever known."

Edmund made a face, but Susan had a point. The depth of Aslan's love was a lesson in compassion indeed. One he might have needed.

"Enough for tonight," Peter said quietly. "Do you think you can sleep?" Edmund hesitated. Lucy looked at him and suddenly grinned.

"Tea first?" she asked, and Edmund smiled reluctantly.

"Tea would be nice," he agreed.

"Last one to the kitchen makes the tea," she sang out, jumping to her feet and running out the door on feet as quietly as Edmund's cohorts in mischief, the Leopard brothers. Peter was on his feet a moment later, Edmund tripping him and jumping over him. From the hall, he heard Susan checking to make sure Peter wasn't hurt, and Peter grunting to never mind, just catch the others!

By the time all four made it to the kitchen (having avoided other Cair Paravel residents), Edmund was feeling less shaky and more alive as he watched his siblings, who were panting and laughing. Peter put on the kettle (he'd been too much of a gentleman to push past Susan this time, after she'd helped him). All of them stayed close, close enough Edmund could reach out and touch them if he wanted. This, Edmund thought, after Aslan's love, was the best gift he'd been given.

This is what Aslan brought about even after I was a traitor. This is what He died to give.

Hours later, the sun was rising, and Edmund felt the last of the weight bleed away from his shoulders. This was Narnia, not the Witch's winter, not dying and trying and dying over and over again. This was real. He wasn't fine - he wasn't sure he ever would be - but the night was over. Susan left first, excusing herself to make preparations for the arrival of the Calormen delegation the Dwarfs competed for. Lucy followed soon after, as she'd promised the morning to several of the garden Moles. But Peter stayed, side by side with Edmund, looking at the open door of the kitchen and the lightening sky.

"You don't have to stay," Edmund said at last. "Oreius is probably expecting us."

Peter shook his head. "I let you go last time," he explained. "Not this time." Edmund looked at him, startled. He remembered Lucy explaining, once, that Peter had told Aslan Peter's anger had helped to drive Edmund away. Edmund wasn't the only one with regrets. The only one who asked what would have happened if he'd done something differently.

"I'm all right, Peter," Edmund reassured him. Peter looked at him, eyebrows raised. "I will be. Someday. When I get my head around this. But I'm not going anywhere this time, right? So go find Oreius and make some excuses for me, so we don't both end up dead by tonight." Peter hesitated. "It really would be quite helpful not to be dead tomorrow."

"Fine," Peter said, getting to his feet. "Send word if you need someone, yeah?"

"I will." Edmund promised, watching Peter leave. He waited, then stood and went out the kitchen door to the outside. This side of the Cair should be empty, if Lucy was out on the other side.

It was. Edmund slipped through the bushes, avoided the flowers, and went to his favorite spot, a place where five uninhabited trees grew close enough together to block him from the sight of most passersby. Edmund sunk to the ground, his back against a tree. "Aslan," he murmured, trying in vain to keep his voice steady. But the Lion never thought less of him when he couldn't.

A wild, sweet scent filled the air, and warm breath fell on his face. Edmund looked up to see the Lion, and hurled himself forward, kneeling before the Lion.

"Aslan," Edmund asked, his thoughts spilling out in broken rush. "The girls told me - they said - and last night I had these dreams, Aslan, of doing something differently. And it never worked." The Lion bent down, touching Edmund's forehead, and Edmund marveled at the love he'd been given.

"Did you not listen to your family, Edmund?" Aslan asked. "What is in the past, is past. There is no need to discuss it in the present, if you have spoken of it to me." Edmund flushed, remembering that first instruction Aslan had given them when they'd reunited. Aslan stooped to look His King in the eyes. "Do not hold on to your sins, King of Narnia. They are paid for, and they have been redeemed in ways you now can see. Do not repeat them in the future. Let them teach you in the present."

"Aslan," Edmund asked, looking up, needing to ask that one last question, "if I had gone back - were the dreams real? Could I have done something differently?"

Aslan shook His head, His golden mane brighter than the morning sun. "I have told your family before, I do not tell you what would have happened. Those dreams, perhaps, could have happened. Whether or not they would is not your concern."

"But You would have won?" Edmund asked, the question he needed to know the answer to the most. He had seen, so clearly, that he could not have won in his own strength. But he needed to know that Aslan would have. Aslan looked at Edmund, and that, suddenly, was enough. There was no evil that could overcome the Son of the Emperor-Over-the-Sea, no triumph that would last. Even death at the hand of the Witch had not held Him. "You would have won," Edmund said softly.

"I have won," the Lion said, bending still further to kiss the King, and the glory of His presence melded with the bright sunlight. When Edmund finished blinking, he was alone.

Alone, and warm, and breathing more freely than he had since he'd heard his sisters. Truly, he was loved.

Now, as King, he needed to find a way to follow the Giver of Love.

Starting, he thought with a sigh, with the Dwarfs of the Mountains. He needed a way to discipline their actions but show them grace. He settled down to think.

OOOOO

*Referencing my short story "Loyalty."
**The fun thing about writing stories where the hero dies repeatedly and comes back is that I don't have to deal with the fallout. Therefore, I have no idea how to answer Edmund's question; sorry, Edmund. Perhaps the point of it was that the story couldn't have happened that way?

A/N: for those who were curious, trustingHim17 reminded me that people not remembering their time as statues is canon, and Cayln and Anonymousme helpfully reminded me that Giant Rumblebuffin had no idea time had passed once Aslan breathed on him, so yes, they had no idea of time passing as they were statues. It kind of makes me wonder - what would it be like, to have turned into a statue 50 years into her reign, and coming to life again to find so much time had passed, but it was over?

A/N 2: I have no idea if people are interested in this, but some of the Scriptures for the mental debate that went on for this wacky, angsty story were:
"But if through my lie God's truth abounds to his glory, why am I still being condemned as a sinner? And why not do evil that good may come?-as some people slanderously charge us with saying. Their condemnation is just." - Romans 3:7-8
"Now the law came in to increase the trespass, but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more, so that, as sin reigned in death, grace also might reign through righteousness leading to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." - Romans 5:20-21
Because there's a very large difference between sinning and God using sin for good. Lewis himself said, "For you will certainly carry out God's purpose, however you act, but it makes a difference to you whether you serve like Judas or like John" in The Problem of Pain. I think I ended with the conclusion that it's never an excuse to sin - Paul is very clear on that - but we have the reassurance that God works each sin for His glory, in His plan - and there is no better one. Just in case that wasn't clear in the story (which wouldn't cooperate).

Response to Anonymousme: No,I wasn't bored. :) I confess I'm much the same - if I'm reading a story and Aslan becomes portrayed as less than God, I will stop reading. So if it ever seems my stories head that direction, please let me know! And thank you for a good discussion on Peter. For the statues, I'm thinking that it would be a little like falling into REM sleep for them, too deep to dream, and no, I don't think stone would age. That's what led to the question above, because it would be very odd to be turned to stone and then come back and find you're younger than your children and that, at twenty-five or so, you have grandchildren.