ironysoul

Long before Al cleared his throat, Edmund caught the soft sound of footsteps approaching, hardly able to hold out hope that it was really Al. He forced himself not to turn and gawk. He simply kept his gaze looking out to sea. He let Al speak, and even then he did not move a muscle. A long moment of silence passed. He wasn't sure what to make of Al being here. Maybe he didn't have to make anything of it. But Al was right about one thing. His path as King was lonely, and a friend would be a precious thing indeed. It was a shame they had a snowball's chance in Aslan's spring of being simple friends. When he spoke at last, it was quiet and musing against the hushed crash of the waves. "The sea has heard so many secrets. How does it bear the weight of them all? Do you suppose storms rise up when the waves can no longer stay still with a thousand heavy hearts?" The moon threw Edmund's profile into relief, the proud yet boyishly vulnerable angles of his cheeks and forehead and lips, the thoughtful darkness of pensive eyes sweeping the sea's horizon, inky curls spilling over his forehead. Here he was no unapproachable King or fierce predator; simply a man with a great many things in his heart, perhaps even secrets.