Eye of the Beholder

by Elecktrum

The usual disclaimer applies: I own nothing and make less. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.I borrow liberally from boththe books and the movie.

Author's note: This story takes place three and a half yearsafter the Pevensie children were crowned. Extra points to anyone who recognizes the song that inspired it.

Edmund

"Why does this always happen to me?"

"Does it? Yes, I suppose it does. Happy birthday, Peter."

He sighed. It was absolutely true that for the past three years, right around his birthday in early spring, we had ridden out to battle or had it come to us. "Did you see Methalain? He's the size of a building!"

"Cair Paravel or the Beavers' lodge?" I asked.

"Somewhere in between, I'd say. Closer to Cair Paravel."

I smiled up at Peter as he slid off of Flisk's back and pulled off his helmet. He and a party had just scouted out the enemy's position and despite his complaints I could tell he was confident. We had never heard anyone boast of the intelligence of Ogres and their weapons and tactics were nowhere near as developed as ours. They depended mostly on numbers, brute strength, and blunt force. Peter and I had learned years ago that these things, while helpful, are not necessarily the means to victory. Further, the only thing holding them in check and issuing orders was their king, unlike Narnia's standing army with its ranks of competent officers and trained soldiers. Leaning over the planning board set up on a map of the area, Peter moved a few of the pieces to more exact positions. I was glad to see the Hawks and Eagles and Crows I had sent out earlier had been mostly right in their descriptions of the enemy's movements as well as this beastly terrain full of rocky mounds and uneven plains.

"This is Methalain," said Peter, scooping up a smallish rock and setting it among the pieces. He pronounced the Ogre king's name with a Narnian accent, splitting the 't' and 'h.' "He's about this size in comparison to his troops, too. He must have gotten wind that we're in the habit of leading our own armies because he's placed himself opposite the two of us, behind about ten ranks of his biggest and ugliest."

"You'll beat him," I replied, intent on the map.

Peter cast me a look, running his hand through his flattened hair. "Did you hear me? He's monstrous."

"Magnificent trumps monstrous, Peter, I thought everyone knew that." I circled the table and Peter moved with me, arms folded across his chest. We both pored over the pieces outlining our battle plan. "Our strategy will still work. If Sir Giles and the Ravenwolf brothers are right - and they've never been otherwise - we can knock Methalain out of the fight and the Ogres will break and run."

He picked up my goblet of wine and drank deeply. "That's a big 'if.'"

I shook my head, my confidence an absolute. "You'll beat him."

"And where will you be while I'm performing this miracle, Sir Edmund?"

"Right beside you."

"You'd better be," he returned softly, his blue eyes glittering.

I smirked. As if I'd be anywhere else. I reached for my helmet and shield, following him to where Flisk and Phillip were quietly talking. Mounting the Horse, I adjusted my gear as Peter pulled his helmet back on and accepted his shield from a dwarf attendant.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked softly, his concern genuine.

I nodded in reply. My stomach was tied in knots now that we were setting out, but I would not waver.

"Then let's go to war, brother."