The suggested categories are:

a. an emotion

b. a color

c. an adjective

d. an element (fire, earth, air or water)

e. a Creature or Animal (must be mentioned somewhere in one of Lewis's Narnia books).

From bigtimecrazy123 I have: anger, blue, dead, fire and Faun. Here's the story I made from them.

Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.


"Ow." I rubbed the back of my head. "Cut it out. I mean it."

There is nothing, and I mean nothing, worse than a bored Edmund. I winced as another little chunk of ice collided with my skull. I turned to glare at him, and found him sitting there smiling at me, both hands on his fishing pole, his face the picture of angelic innocence. Before I could even turn all the way back around, I felt the sting of another frozen little missile, this one right above my ear.


"All right, all right. Can't we go in now?"

"No." I didn't look at him again. "Keep trying."

He answered with only an exasperated little huff and then, predictably, with another chunk of ice.

"One more time," I warned, my voice low and taut. "One more."

"But they're just not biting."

"We promised Mr. and Mrs. Beaver we'd catch some fish. It's the least we can do since they're nice enough to let us visit."

"But Peeeeter," he whined, "it's cold. Can't we just have stew for supper?"

"No. Keep trying."

"But Peeeeter–"

I turned again, scowling as fiercely as I was able, and saw him smirking at me, little devil. He knew how much I hated it when he whined, and he only did it to annoy me. He had changed so much in the four years since the first time we came to the Beavers' house, but he was still utterly and entirely himself. He still delighted in tormenting me.

I looked determinedly into the hole I had cut into the ice, into the dark water that ran beneath it. Part of me wanted to admit defeat. We'd been out here for nearly two hours, neither of us had had so much as a nibble, and I was prepared to swear my backside was frozen solid. Then he hit me right on the crown of the head with another chunk of ice, and I clenched my jaw, determined to stay right where I was until I had caught enough fish to feed the four of us.

Three, two, one–


His latest projectile caught me right in the ear and stung like blue blazes. I tossed down my pole and leapt to my feet. He darted away, scampering across the ice as nimbly as a young Faun, still laughing at me.

"Edmund, get back over here."

"Can't make me."

"Since when?"

I strode towards him and then stopped when I heard the ice beneath my feet creak. Again, he smirked at me.

"Edmund, come on now. It's not funny. The ice is too thin there."

"Too thin for big lummoxes like you, you mean, not for me."

I crossed my arms over my chest. He had me and he knew it. Little devil. Well, he couldn't stay out there forever. I looked him up and down, lips pressed into a hard line, and then I nodded.

"Fine. Enjoy standing there." I stalked back towards our fishing poles. "I'm going in."

"About time." He hurried after me, all smiles now. "Wait. Peeeeter."

Jaw still clenched, I turned to glare at him. My anger twisted into terror as the ice cracked and he disappeared under it.


Immediately, he bobbed up again, gasping for breath, arms flailing until he managed to catch the edge of the hole he had fallen through. I wanted to run to him and pull him out, but I knew that would be disaster for us both.

"Hang on, Ed! Hang on!"

I ran back and grabbed my fishing pole and then went back to where I had been standing. I got down on my belly and slid over towards him, extending the pole until he could reach the end of it.

"Come on, Ed. Hold on. Pull yourself out."

Still gasping, he grabbed the pole, and I started pulling him towards me.

"Come on."

"Peter. I can't–"

The pole snapped and once more he disappeared into the dark water.


I couldn't wait. I tossed the pole aside and shoved myself towards the hole, ice scraping my chest and forearms, creaking ominously below me. I had to get him before he could be swept away and never come up again. Aslan, please–

I stuck both arms down into the icy river, thrashing around as he had done, desperate to somehow reach him. Hour-like minutes passed, one after another after another, and I couldn't find him. I couldn't find anything but dark icy water and growing hopelessness. Aslan!

Finally, miraculously, Edmund's flailing hands struck mine and I seized them. He pulled me down, pulled my head and shoulders under when another few inches of ice gave way under me, but I held on, pushing with my feet until I was out again, drawing heaving, desperate breaths, knowing he'd been under that water far too long.

Then I hauled him out, my hands numb, my breath coming in loud gasps. He was perfectly silent, perfectly still. His always-pale skin was dead white now. His lips were blue.

I cradled him against me, patting his wet cheek with my wet hand, breathing his name against his dripping hair.

"Wake up, Edmund. Come on now, wake up."

He did not respond.

My gasps were sobs now, the warmth of my tears the only thing I could feel on my frozen cheeks, and I crushed him against me.

"Aslan, please. Please, please, please."

It was all the prayer I could manage. It had to be enough. I had to get him inside while there was still the slightest possibility that he wasn't– I had to get him inside.

I staggered to my feet and started walking, half running, murmuring my feeble prayer over and over again, desperate for any sign of life. There was nothing. His head merely hung limply back. I couldn't see his face, only the underside of his jaw and his throat, so white and bloodless. Aslan, please.

The journey back to the Beavers' house seemed interminable, though I know it took only a few minutes. Edmund never moved all that time. I had to stop every once in a while to listen to his heart, to press one hand to his lips to feel the barely noticeable seeping of breath from his lungs. Please, please, please.

"King Peter!"

Eyes wide, Mrs. Beaver shrank back against her little stove when I kicked her front door open and stumbled into the house.

"Over here," Mr. Beaver said, clearing a place before the hearth fire, and Mrs. Beaver was already scurrying around, dragging blankets from their little bunks and making a pallet. I stripped off Edmund's wet clothes as quickly as I could and dried him with the warmed towels Mrs. Beaver gave me. Then I dressed him again in the spare clothes from his pack and rolled him in as many blankets as I could find.

"Save at least one for yourself, dear," Mrs. Beaver urged, patting my cheek, but I shook my head.

"I'm all right. He needs them."

"And you'll do 'im a right bit o' good dead with pneumonia." Mr. Beaver shoved my pack into my hands and jerked his chin towards their little sleeping loft. "Get yourself changed. Me and the missus can see to 'im till you do."

Mrs. Beaver brought a couple of warm towels for me to take up with me. I glanced once more at the still figure before the crackling fire and then scrambled up into the loft. A moment later I was down again, still shivering with cold, hair still wet, not caring. Edmund still hadn't moved.

"Edmund," I pled, patting his face once more. Even now, even with the blankets turning hot on the side nearest the hearth, his skin was still dead white and ice cold. "Edmund?"

I pulled his hand out from under the covers, rubbing it between both of mine and then slapping his wrist, trying to urge the blood into it. Mr. Beaver brought in more wood, and soon the fire was roaring. I was sweating as I knelt there at my brother's side, but he was only still. He was only white and cold.

I looked up at Mrs. Beaver. "Please, are there more blankets? He's not warm yet. Do you have–"

Pity in every furry line of her face, she started to shake her head, and then her expression changed. I was puzzled by the sudden twinkle in her eyes.

"Just you wait, love."

She scampered up into the loft, and I glanced at Mr. Beaver who couldn't have been any less baffled than I was. A moment later she was back again, dragging something with her. I shook my head, startled into a half-choked laugh when I saw what it was.

"You– you still have that? After all this time? I thought it was long gone. With the others."

"It's still nice and warm, dear. You never know when something like this might come in handy, now that we have humans in Narnia again."

She helped me spread it over Edmund and we tucked it under him. After that, I held him close to me, trying to give him what warmth I could, and finally there was a touch of color in his slack face. After a while, after a constant stream of half-coherent prayers, there was a trace of sweat on his upper lip and he started to stir.


The inky lashes fluttered and the dark eyes finally focused.

"Ed?" I cupped his cheek in one hand and managed a trembling smile. "Eddie?"

"Peter. You're– you're all right?"

I laughed faintly. "Just fine."

Edmund glanced at the warmth covering him and scowled, eyes bleary. "Where'd you get this? How–?"

"Mrs. Beaver still had it, and I'm glad, too. You needed something to keep you from freezing." My grin was a little lopsided. "Like before."

Edmund plucked at the thick, silvery furs, a touch of a smile now behind his scowl. "But that's a girl's coat."

My eyes filled with tears and I started to laugh. "I know."

Then I buried my face in those blessed furs and cried.

Author's Note: Anyone who is interested is welcome to leave me a review with a list of words based on the above categories. I can't guarantee I'll write stories for all of the suggestions I get, but I might. :)

Thanks to OldFashionedGirl95 for looking this over for me.