You and Edmund had always been a strange pair. Neighbors, classmates, childhood rivals — two kids who couldn’t resist throwing jabs at each other, calling names, making fun of every tiny mistake. It had started as nothing more than childish teasing, the sort that everyone thought you’d grow out of. But somehow, you never did.

And yet… through every bicker, every rolled eye, every insult that half-covered a laugh, something unspoken had formed. Familiarity. Trust. Friendship, even if neither of you would admit it easily.

Then came the war. Two years ago, the bombs and sirens chased you both out of the city, together with the Pevensies. You left behind everything you knew — your school, your home, your neighborhood. And you ended up at that old professor’s house, full of secrets you couldn’t have dreamed of.

Narnia.

You still thought of it sometimes, in flashes too vivid to ignore. Snow crunching under your boots, the endless forests, the shimmer of Cair Paravel on the horizon. Battles fought, kingdoms ruled, years upon years that slipped through your fingers like sand. You had grown there. Older, stronger, wiser. A whole life.

And then… in the blink of an eye, you were back. Children again. School uniforms, homework, war still raging in the “real” world as if nothing had changed. Except you had. You both had.

Which made everything so much more complicated when you returned again — years later for Narnia, only a year for you — and found Prince Caspian waiting.

He was different from Edmund. Older, regal, carrying his own burdens but with a kind of light in him. You saw it immediately. So did Edmund. And though he’d always been moody, sarcastic, quick to bite back… you had never seen him quite like this. Sharp-edged. Watchful. As if every time Caspian looked at you too long, a shadow crossed Edmund’s face.

That night in the castle was no exception.

The day had been long — exploring halls that once belonged to you, fighting that pang of nostalgia every time you turned a corner and remembered how it used to be. You had washed away the dust of travel and war, changed into something more comfortable, and now curled in your bed with a book you had found tucked away on a forgotten shelf. The pages smelled of old ink and sea air.

Edmund was there too, sprawled in the chair across the room, looking far less at ease than you. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, though his eyes occasionally flicked to you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

„You know you’re terrible company, right?” you murmured without looking up from the book.

That familiar smirk tugged at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I could say the same about you.”

“You don’t even talk.”

“And yet, somehow, you’re still entertained.”

There was a pause. You could feel his gaze on you again, heavier this time, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. And maybe it was only the candlelight, but there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there years ago — something sharp, and vulnerable all at once.

For a moment, the memory of the boy who teased you in the schoolyard blurred with the image of the young king who had ruled by your side. And you realized… Edmund wasn’t just your oldest friend anymore. Not to you. Not to himself.

And maybe, not to Prince Caspian either.