I understand and respect the spiritual implications of the story, who Aslan represented and why he came back to life. But this was just a quick idea I wanted to explore.

Mr. Beaver leads him up the rocky hillside. Edmund turns back for a final look at Peter. His brother is surrounded by enemies. Edmund hesitates.
Mr. Beaver gestures ahead urgently. "Peter said get out of here!"
Peter's final requests echoes in Edmund's head, desperate and pleading. Edmund leaves.

The thin line of stragglers trailing behind him isn't much of an army. But Edmund is grateful not to be alone. His stomach twists horribly under his ribs, heart striking quick and painful above it. They make it to the camp, the empty tents where only hours earlier they had planned for the battle which went so wrong. There's no sign of Susan or Lucy.

They send word by dryad. A meeting is arranged. Edmund takes his band of weary soldiers south. Susan and Lucy, teary eyed and exhausted, are waiting for him. When he tells them it's time to leave, Lucy protests. Susan says nothing, but her eyes hold relief.

They have only reached the Great River when they're ambushed. Harpies and Wolves and Tigers. They're outnumbered, pinned against the water. A gryphon appears, scoops them up and takes them just across the waterfall before an arrow pierces him through the chest. They crash in the forest. Miraculously uninjured, Edmund urges the girls forward. The fallen gryphon lies motionless on the ground.

That night, they cower in an abandoned burrow. Lucy weeps for Mr. Beaver, for the brave gryphon, the soldiers who held off the enemies at the river, and for Peter. Susan admonishes sleep. Edmund does neither. He stares into the patch of night sky he can see through the entrance, sword clutched between two shaking hands.

They leave while it's still dark. The howling begins soon after. They are being pursued. There is far to go. Without a guide, it is difficult to stay on course. He keeps heading west. It's all he can do. Lucy tires easily. Edmund remembers how the Witch's sleigh flew across the snow, and shudders.

Ice creeps over the ground. Edmund notices this when they're lying under a Rabbit's worn quilt. The kindly Animal offered them shelter for the night, a choice she might not live long enough to regret. The Wolves are circling. Lucy tells him Peter has already killed their leader. That should be more comforting than it is.

Snow is falling when they finally reach it. The lamppost. His sisters shiver in their summer dresses. Just a little further and then branches turn into coats. The wardrobe door is ajar. Susan is the first one to go through. Lucy follows after. And Edmund...Edmund backs away and slams the door shut.
Lucy cries, "Edmund, no!"
He did as Peter asked. The girls are home.

He doesn't stay in the woods long that first day. He can't let the witch find out his sisters have gone. So Edmund wanders. His armor weighs on him but he doesn't dare remove it. The returning winter can mean only one thing - the witch has won.

It's hard to imagine but there are Animals and Beasts still loyal to him as Aslan's chosen king. He doesn't know how they find him but they do. Their numbers grow to the point they need some sort of camp. Edmund decides on the Shuddering Woods. There, they form a sort of base. It's not much but it serves to give them hope.

There's a half-formed thought drifting like a specter in the back of his mind. Edmund mulls it over, contemplates it from every angle. He means to mount a resistance against the White Witch. They have no chance against her and her forces in open warfare. But perhaps if they carry out small raids, such as the one that rescued him when he was her prisoner, they can chip away at her army, at her hold over the land. But there's one thing he must do first.

His gut aches fiercely as he slips from shadow to shadow beneath the full moon gleaming across the Fields of Beruna. Vomit threatens constantly as he moves through the carnage. The witch and her followers have not bothered to bury their dead. The stench is overwhelming. Decomposing, rotting corpses litter the plains. Some have been picked at by scavengers. Edmund swallows bile and continues his search.

The stone captures every detail. Each strand of fur, every tensed muscle. Expressions of terror and pain preserved in full. There must be hundreds of statues in total. Edmund brushes the snow from a stone centaur. Oreius, the faithful general who carried him away from the witch's camp, who taught him to wield a sword, who supported Peter as leader in Aslan's absence. A single tear slides down Edmund's cheek.

The night gradually gives way to morning as he completes his search. Edmund has not found Peter. He was certain he would discover him, flesh turned to stone, frozen in time. But his brother is not among the statues. All he feels is dread. If the witch has spared Peter, it is only for far worse torments.

Days pass. Turn into weeks. Narnia is locked in bitter winter once more. Edmund trades his armor for a warmer, flexible leather jerkin. He is careful, doesn't take risks, posts lookouts. The witch won't get one scrap of information about the rebels if he can help it. Their seemingly random raids on her patrols, scouts, and strongholds are thoughtfully timed and meticulously organized. He's watching her, gauging her reaction, plotting his counter attack. Turns out, he has a mind for strategy.

Only a select few come with him. The bravest and the swiftest, the most loyal. Noble, all of them. Philip never falters as Edmund directs him to the imposing palace of ice. The heavily falling snow grants them the advantage of arriving unseen. Due to the recent attacks on her followers, the witch has increased her guard. Edmund takes a certain pride in that.

The others wait outside, safe in the shadows of the castle's pointed spires. Edmund goes in alone. He's noiseless as he glides like a wraith through the cold, narrow corridors. Once, he presses himself into an alcove to allow a pair of boggles to lumber by. Though he remembers well the way to the dungeon, the screams guide him to the castle's deepest, darkest depths.

Mist wreathes his legs, curls up his thighs as he creeps round a corner. All at once, his heart misses a beat, his throat closes, and his stomach plummets. She's here. The White Witch herself is barely ten paces in front of him. His hand goes to the dagger in his belt. But before he can make use of it, he catches sight of the prisoner kneeling in front of the witch.

Bruised and bloodied, Peter is only kept upright by the two minotaurs flanking him. Yet he stares, defiant, at the sorceress. Edmund's vision hazes over black as he lays eyes on his brother for the first time since the lost Battle of Beruna. The crack of the witch's hand against Peter's face splits the air. She's angry. Peter reels. Regains his balance and sets his jaw.
"I serve only Aslan."
The very name of the Lion enrages her and she raises her wand. Edmund tenses. Farther off, a wolf howls.

A dwarf bursts into the cell. A band of traitors has been spotted. The witch says nothing. Then she picks Peter up and tosses him to the far wall as if he weighs no more than a shoe. The dagger is tempting in Edmund's hands. But the witch is already leaving, escorted by the minotaurs. He has missed his chance. He makes to run into the cell but that opportunity also slips passed him. The door shuts with a clang, lock falling into place only a breath before his hand grabs it.

He can't stay. He has neither the tools nor the time to pick the lock. But Peter is right here! The mission was to rescue him. Yet, without the element of surprise anymore, Edmund can't afford to linger. If the witch finds him, she will kill him and any hope Narnia has dies with him. He must be a king first, brother second. If only he could let Peter know he came for him. That he will return for him. But Peter hasn't stirred. Edmund takes his last chance at freedom and turns his back. Behind him, Peter's eyes flutter and open wide when they settle on his disappearing form.

Months pass. Sometimes, when dawn crests the horizon and his troops settle in for some well earned rest, Edmund wonders about Susan and Lucy. Wonders how much time has passed in England. Perhaps only minutes. Maybe days. He wonders if they will return. But he always keeps in his mind, at the front of his thoughts, Peter's defiance and conviction. He remembers the Stone Table and the sacrifice made for him. He vows to honor Aslan and Peter. Their actions will not be in vain. He vows to kill the White Witch.

A gleaming sword in his right hand. In his left, a shield emblazoned with a crimson lion. Around him, winter rages. Snow and wind, and the harsh pounding of blood in his veins. Here, the White Witch. Edmund lunges.