A/N: The result of my ponderings on Edmund's torch...

Edmund stepped through the front door to his house and stopped as suddenly as if he had run into a brick wall. There was no brick wall there, but something worse. Much worse.

"What is that smell?" he gagged, and holding his nose, he stumbled through the house.

The smell of sewage was rank wherever he went, but the worst of it seemed to come from the kitchen. As Edmund blinked through watery eyes, he saw the torso and legs of a man whose head was hidden beneath the kitchen sink.

"Dad?" Edmund gasped, and bravely took another step forward.

"Hello, Ed!" came the cheerful, and slightly nasal, reply. "I didn't hear you come in."

"What is going on?" Edmund asked, wondering if he could escape into the open air outside.

His father stuck his head out from under the sink, a clothespin stuck neatly on the end of his nose. "The pipes backlogged and I'm thinking the drain may be clogged."

"It smells much too bad for it just to be the drain," Edmund countered.

His father nodded thoughtfully. "It does, doesn't it? Your mother and sisters have gone out to the backyard."

"Well," Edmund said in a very cheerful voice, "Maybe I'll go say hello to them." He took a step toward the door, but his father's voice stopped him.

"Hang on, Ed. Would you mind fetching your torch?"

Edmund froze. "My – my torch. Wouldn't it be better to just turn on the kitchen lights?" He flipped a switch and artificial light flooded the room.

"Doesn't help," was the reply. "Your torch would be much more helpful."

Edmund tried to come up with another excuse, but the stench made it impossible to think, so he slowly trudged up to his room. His new torch (bought with his own pocket money) was sitting on his desk, and he picked it up and returned to his father.

"Took you long enough," his father commented. He stuck his head out from beneath the sink and took the torch. "What's this?"

"My torch," Edmund answered uneasily.

There was a pause before his father asked, "What happened to the one I gave to you for your birthday?"

Edmund winced and tried to come up with a suitable response. He lost it? It broke? The first was relatively true, but the later more likely.

"I, er, lost it," he explained finally. In Narnia.

His dad was still looking at his in that peculiar way that made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. "You lost your torch?"

"It was broken," Edmund added for good measure. After all, it had momentarily stopped working after he'd clobbered a Telmarine guard with it.

"You broke your torch, and then proceeded to lose it."

"Yes," Edmund answered, wondering what this stench was doing to his brain cells that made it impossible to come up with a perfectly understandable explanation. He glanced at his dad and saw the disappointment in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Edmund, that torch cost money. It would have been easier to fix it than to buy a new one."

Edmund reddened. "I didn't try to lose it. I lost it on the way to school."

"Mm hm," was the reply as his father stuck his head beneath the sink again. The light from the new torch flashed beneath there, and Edmund got down on his knees.

"I can hold that for you," he offered, and took the torch.

There was silence except for the metal clanging of tools against the pipes. Edmund could feel what his father wouldn't say, and finally muttered, "It wasn't that I didn't like the other torch."

His father stopped what he was doing to look at Edmund. "It was a good torch, wasn't it?"

"The best," Edmund assured him. "And surprisingly useful. I never would have thought it would be so helpful."

"Oh?"

Edmund realized he had wandered inadvertently into unsafe territory and backtracked quickly. "Like fixing the pipes," he said quickly.

His father nodded and went back to his work, leaving Edmund with the feeling he had said something wrong again.

"Dad?" he said softly. "I – I'm sorry for losing the torch. You know I wouldn't try to."

For a moment there was no answer. Then, "I'm not upset about the torch, son." He paused to sit up again, wiping his hands on a rag before pulling Edmund close. "I'm just upset that you feel you can't tell me what happened to it."

Edmund swallowed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." His new torch felt heavy in his hand.

"Try me."

There was a pit in his stomach, a lump in his throat, and his nose hurt incredibly from pinching it. Edmund let go tentatively, and somehow the stench didn't seem as bad as before. "I lost it in the train station," he said finally. He wondered if he could use the fight as an excuse, then felt his dad would know it was a lie. Aslan, he thought.

He didn't realize he had spoken aloud until his dad commented, "I've heard that name before, from both you and your siblings. I can never figure out who you're talking about."

Edmund did want to tell his dad, but he felt afraid. After all, no matter what his father said, he would never believe a tale about magical worlds, and would probably think Edmund was making up yet another story. "I – look, you really wouldn't understand," he entreated, but his father's eyes were looking into his, and he tried again. "It isn't really my secret to tell. Really, dad. I can't tell you without consulting with..." he paused before any names came out.

"With Aslan?" his father asked gently. "With Narnia?"

"Narnia isn't a person," Edmund corrected, before inwardly wincing. "Look, I wouldn't keep this a secret if it was something bad," he added.

His father was still looking into his eyes, but as Edmund said this he nodded and turned away, reaching for a wrench. "I believe you, Ed," he said, his head disappearing beneath the sink again. "You know, you've changed a lot."

Edmund felt he could breathe again, and it wasn't because the odour had lessened any. "I know."

"You've matured a lot these last two years. You're a man already. I feel like you won't need me soon."

There was a stinging in Edmund's eyes, and he wiped the back of his hand across them. "I'll always need you, Dad," he promised, his voice thick with emotion. "No matter what."

His father looked up at him briefly, seemingly stunned by the grown-up quality in his son's voice. He flashed a brief, heartfelt smile, and Edmund could almost hear the unspoken words of love in his father's voice.

"Love you, Dad."

His father was surprised to hear such sentiment from his youngest son. "I love you too, Ed." There was another pause, and then, "Shine that light over here, would you?"

And Edmund thought later that there, kneeling by the sink, breathing in the rank, sewage air, he had never felt closer to his father.

I'm currently working on a looong story that takes place at the end of the Golden Age when the Telmarines attack, but I'm having trouble coming up with a title. So, if it isn't too much trouble, please take the time to go to my profile page, where I have a handy-dandy poll set up at the top. Thanks for your help!